As Capril concluded his peroration, a rustle of motion among the congregation caught his eye. The worshipers were beginning to make ready to leave. Then a young man, perhaps in his mid-twenties, strode purposely toward Capril’s lectern. A heartbeat later, the young man had turned to face the milling worshipers. Before Capril could gather his thoughts, the man removed his earring and ceremoniously dropped it to the floor.
“For Kira Nerys,” the young man intoned. Then he stood quietly beside the lectern, his eyes closed as though in prayer or meditation.
Capril was beside himself with surprise, as were most of the worshipers, each of whom sat or stood about in stunned silence. But before Capril could make a move to remonstrate with the man, another supplicant, this one a middle-aged woman, stood and walked toward the lectern. Like the young man, she turned to the congregation, solemnly doffed her earring, and said, “For Kira Nerys.” Her voice was aimed for the back of the temple. Like the young man beside whom she stood, the woman immediately lapsed into silence. Now a third supplicant, a young woman, stood and repeated the behavior of the first two.
Ohalavaru,Capril thought. He was rapidly growing irritated, though it occurred to him that these people could have caused far more disruption had they not waited until the close of temple services to undertake their little demonstration.
But this was still unacceptable behavior within the hallowed walls of a Bajoran shrine.
“For Kira Nerys.” Yet another Bajoran rose to remove an earring, and stood beside the growing cluster of Ohalavaru. Two more. Then another. “For Kira Nerys.” Several more people joined the group.
Voices were rising in consternation throughout the chamber. Looking out across the congregation of perhaps sixty or so lay people and vedeks, Capril saw that he was far from alone in his vexation.
“For Kira Nerys.” This time it was a woman, barely old enough to have completed her schooling. Her robes were brightly colored, trimmed with various brocades from over a dozen Bajoran regions. Like the others beside her, she stood still—passive, yet at the same time resolute.
Capril shot a worried look at several of the other vedeks. He was grateful to see a scowling Vedek Sinchante muttering something to one of the ranjens near the back of the shrine, who quickly scurried out of the temple. I hope she’s sent them to summon security.Struggling to master his own rising anger, Capril waved his hands outward, as if to sweep all disruptive influences to the edges of the temple.
Three more Ohalavaru joined their fellows, making more than a dozen. “For Kira Nerys.” Capril saw that one of these, a pale, dark-haired woman, held a gray-skinned, half-Cardassian baby. The woman looked somehow familiar.
Before he could speak again, the mother’s voice rang out across the temple, echoing over the heads of the congregation. “We are the Ohalavaru, and we do this in the name of Kira Nerys, the Truthgiver.”Like her fellows, she removed her earring and dropped it to the floor.
A Bajoran man, his scowl articulating his disdain for the Ohalavaru, stood and pushed one of the Ohalavaru women away from Capril’s lectern, toward the door. She nearly fell, then recovered her footing, clearly determined not to be moved. Several of the angrier worshipers were beginning to insist—loudly—that the Ohalavaru leave the shrine. And a handful of these had made it plain that they would take the matter into their own hands should the heretics refuse to go voluntarily.
Since the end of the Occupation, Capril had had nothing to do with violence of any kind. I must gain control over this situation,he thought, knowing that a general melee could erupt at any moment. While the heretics were clearly outnumbered, violence of any sort in the temple was unthinkable, regardless of the provocation; if it were to occur now, it could also generate sympathy for the Ohalavaru. Though Capril knew that something decisive had to be done, his feet seemed to have become rooted to the floor.
Desperate, Capril shouted over the rising tumult. His voice reverberated loudly from the vaulted temple ceilings. “Children of the Prophets! Violence here will solve nothing!Turn your passions toward the Prophets, nottoward these intruders!”
Capril saw First Minister Shakaar and Second Minister Asarem in the back of the hall, gesturing to several security officers. To his discomfort, he realized that one of the incoming officers was Ro Laren, the woman who purposely wore her earring on the wrong ear, in the manner of the now thankfully extinct Pah-wraith cult. He wondered momentarily whose side she would take as she and her deputies dispersed through the increasingly agitated crowd.
Ro and Sergeant Etana were having quick cups of raktajinonear the front door of Quark’s when Ro’s combadge chimed, followed a second later by the voice of Corporal Hava. “All available officers, report to the shrine. It sounds like there’s a confrontation of some sort brewing there.”
In the shrine?
Ro got up so quickly that the raktajinospilled on her hand and onto the table. She shot a quick guilty glance toward one of the dabo girls who had heard Hava’s message. Shaking the scalding liquid from her right hand, Ro slapped her combadge with her left. “Ro here. Etana and I are on the way. What’s going on?”
Of course, by the time Hava’s voice filtered back, explaining that temple service was being disrupted, Ro and Etana were already approaching the shrine’s entrance, and sounds of the tumult within were already becoming audible. Several Bajorans and non-Bajorans had already begun crowding toward the door.
As a squad of six other officers joined Ro and Etana, First Minister Shakaar and Second Minister Asarem and their entourage approached them from just inside the temple. Ro could hear shouting inside, and thought she heard Kira’s name being spoken.
“What’s the problem, Minister?” Ro asked.
“The renegade followers of Ohalu are treating us to a little demonstration,” Asarem said, her voice trembling with anger. “At the behest of your commanding officer, evidently.”
Before Ro could ask Asarem to explain her puzzling comment, Shakaar spoke up, pointing into the sanctuary. “I want those people arrested. Drag them out of here and make an example of them.” Although his words were harsh, Ro didn’t sense the same roiling passion behind them that she observed in Asarem and several of the ranjens who stood nearby.
“If we arrest them within the temple, there could be violence, Minister,” Ro said. “And you also run the risk of turning them into political heroes.”
“Of course youwould argue that,” said Vedek Bellis, his jowls wobbling angrily as he pushed his way toward them through those assembled nearby. “You’rehardly fit to deal with a crisis in ourtemple.”
Ro glanced quickly at Etana, her eyes narrowing. During her days with the Maquis, Ro might have dropped the obnoxious vedek with a knee to the groin. But she was well aware that tactics of a very different sort were necessary here. Etana rolled her eyes, clearly trying to mask her disgust at the vedek’s sentiments.
Ro turned to the assembled deputies, who now numbered over a dozen. “First, let’s make sure nobody gets hurt. Escort the protesters out in the most expedient manner possible, and order them to disperse. If they refuse, take them to holding cells so I can explain station regs to them. And don’t forget that you’re in a holy place.” That last comment, though spoken to her deputies, was intended as a backhanded jab at the still-huffing Bellis.
Ensign Jimenez trailed Ro as she made her way up the center aisle. Several of the assembled worshipers moved aside, allowing them to reach the group of Ohalavaru, all of whom had linked arms. They were apparently meditating or praying, their eyes closed as though maintaining some sort of vigil. Ro placed her hand gently on the back of the nearest protester, a middle-aged woman.