“This appears to be in order,” the pilot said reluctantly.
“You said she was supposed to go to Dahkur,” the Bajoran said. “Is that where the rest of them are going?”
The pilot shook his head. “One of the testing facilities. A hospital.”
The Bajoran spoke in her ear, his voice soft. “You’re lucky I came when I did, then. They like to do experiments on pretty little things like you. You didn’t really think he was going to take you to Dahkur, did you?”
Kira recoiled from him, her skin crawling. She looked out the open door onto the empty docking platform, saw that there weren’t any other soldiers. The collaborator had come alone.
“He said she was to be released in Dahkur,” the pilot insisted sullenly, still hesitant to answer to a Bajoran. “Dukat’s orders.”
“Who told you that?” the Bajoran asked. “You’ll have to come with me to the prefect’s office, immediately. This needs to be resolved.”
The shuttle’s captain shook his head, handing the padd back to him. “I’ve just received clearance for departure. I’m on a schedule. You got what you came for, didn’t you? I’ll be back in twenty-six hours, I can make a report then.”
The balding man released Kira to take the padd back. “You have no choice in the matter,” he said. “Whoever told you that this…this woman…is to be released was not acting upon Gul Dukat’s authority, I can assure you. The prefect will want to speak with you directly.”
The pilot didn’t care for the way things were going. “Let me see your identification again,” he said darkly, backing up a step. The pompous collaborator stepped forward, and Kira realized her opportunity had come.
She didn’t stop to think. As the Bajoran held out his padd, Kira stepped forward and took the phaser from his belt, the motion fast and fluid. He squawked, turning, and she pulled back with the phaser and hit him with it, as hard as she could.
The weapon glanced off his left temple with a dull chunk, splitting the skin, but he was on the floor before he’d started to bleed, out cold.
The Cardassian dropped the padd, grabbing for his own phaser, and Kira stepped back, flipping the weapon against her palm. She pointed and fired, releasing a brilliant blast of light in the small cabin.
The pilot fell, the smoking hole in his chest telling her that the phaser had been set high. The passengers were trying to get up, talking, their voices high with fear.
“Hey,” Kira called, keeping her voice low but pitched to carry. “Calm down, please. I’m taking us home, okay? Just—just buckle in.”
She hurried back to the open door, spun it closed, her heart racing. She turned, looked at the two bodies crumpled by the partition. One dead, the other only stunned—she could see that the Bajoran breathed still. She raised the phaser, thinking that it would be the second Bajoran she’d killed in as many weeks.
Second collaborator, she told herself, and that she had no choice. She fired at close range before she could consider it any further. She didn’t wantto consider it any further; only wondered, for a brief glimmer of a second, what could motivate a Bajoran to turn on his own people like this.
A few of the passengers turned away—Jaryn among them—but most looked on, their faces still frightened but calm once more. A man wearing bandages on both of his hands started to weep.
“Thank you,” he said, and Kira could think of nothing to say to that, nothing at all.
She stepped over the dead men to get to the cockpit, hoping she could handle the shuttle’s controls, thinking that she’d find a way.
OCCUPATION YEAR THIRTY-NINE
2366 (Terran Calendar)
18
The Oralians still met in the Torr sector, in an underground shrine that was conspicuously adjacent to the Cardassian theater—hiding in plain sight, among the most prominent features of Cardassia City. It was here that Thrax Sa’kat met with Kutel Esad late one evening, long after Cardassia City had fallen silent for the night, with only a few of the civilian city guard out, idly patrolling the sector. Thrax was still a soldier of Central Command, and Esad was still an agent of the Obsidian Order, but their status did not mean that they weren’t cautious when they made the exchange of the curiously bulky object, draped with a cloth and tied about clumsily with a piece of rope.
“This is the one?” Thrax inquired.
“I do not know if this is the object that Astraea first encountered at the Ministry of Science,” Esad replied. “Retrieving this item required a great deal of haste on my part, for although Enabran Tain is no longer the head of the Order, his successor is not exactly a fool.”
“No, of course not,” Thrax said, gratefully accepting the object from his friend. The bundle was heavier than it looked.
“I was able to confirm one truth about this item which you may find helpful,” Esad told him. “These objects had designations among the Bajorans—each was said to be for a specific purpose. I do not know what designation the others in the Order’s collection bear, but I know at least that this one was known as the Orb of Wisdom.”
“The Orb of Wisdom,” Thrax repeated. “I believe Astraea will be pleased.”
Esad seemed uncomfortable with something, and he regarded Thrax. “Have you told her that you intended to retrieve this item for her?”
“Not exactly,” Thrax confessed. “A very long time ago, I may have implied that I would try, but…”
Esad’s lips thinned. “If I may give you some advice, Thrax…”
“Certainly. Your advice is always welcome.”
“That object…should not remain on Cardassia Prime.”
Thrax involuntarily clutched the object tighter. It had been his intention that the Orb would be a gift for the followers of Oralius—for Astraea.
“But…the Guide should have the Orb, Kutel. It was the Orb that brought her back to us, that returned Astraea to Oralius once again. Don’t you suppose it was meant to be here, where she is?”
“The object belongs to the Bajorans,” Esad pointed out.
“But there is no way that you or I could possibly return this to Bajor,” Thrax argued. “I believe that Oralius meant for us to have it.”
Esad was silent for a moment. “I fear that it will put Astraea in danger,” he said.
“Then why did you agree to retrieve it?” Thrax protested. “I don’t understand, Kutel.”
“I don’t either,” the other man admitted. “When I originally came into possession of the Orb, I thought you were right—I thought that those who walked the Way should have it. But then…then I…I touched it, and I was…”
“You…opened it?” Thrax was stunned. Astraea had told him that nobody else had been able to open the case, nobody but her.
“No,” Esad said. “I didn’t open it. It happened when I placed my hand on the case. It didn’t happen immediately. I lifted the item, and then…it seemed…as though I was beginning to…” He trailed off, looking embarrassed. “I was overcome,” he said finally. “With the feeling that it should be taken from Cardassia Prime, right away.”
Thrax continued to clutch the Orb case to his chest, looking at the sheepish face of his friend. He did not want to listen to what Esad was saying, but he felt a strange, reluctant pull…
“The Orb is for the Oralians,” he told Esad firmly, and turned to carry the heavy case into the shrine. Esad murmured a good-bye as Thrax let himself inside the ground floor front, a small, darkened shop that sold replicator parts. It was surprising to Thrax that a man as normally businesslike as Kutel Esad would so quickly succumb to mystical ideas regarding the Orb. Although Thrax believed very strongly in the power that the item possessed, he had been under the impression that Esad was much more skeptical of it himself. Esad was a practical man. Overly cautious, perhaps.
Thrax carried the item down the back stairs of the shop, into the office where Astraea met with individual followers. He set the item on her table and began to tug at the wrappings that Esad had hastily swaddled around the case. As the item was revealed to him, his breath hitched in his chest. Its appearance was appropriately impressive, and he wondered where it had come from. Had the ancient Bajorans fashioned this splendid case for the precious relic that resided inside?