He walked on. Back into the sunlight, to the creek's edge. The water purled against the rocks, glinting achingly bright. When he shaded his eyes with his hand, he found more death. Less than a meter away, the body of a man sprawled facedown, fingertips clawing into the muddy bank. Kneeling down, Sisko turned the body over. And found himself gazing at his own face, sightless eyes fixed upon the sun.
Somebody was watching him; he could feel it. He looked up and saw a man with arms folded across his chest, eyes dark as holes into the night on the other side of this world. A mocking smile twisted one side of his narrow face.
"Who are you?" Sisko let the corpse with his face slip from his grasp.
"Don't you know?" The figure's voice was a parody of gentleness. "I'm McHogue. I live here."
The rage he had felt before burst like a red flower in his vision, blinding him as he leaped forward, hands outstretched for the throat of the image—
Which vanished. His fingers scraped hard into the wet earth and rounded stones at the creek's edge.
He drew back onto his haunches. His hands slowly curled open; the illusion of water, mingled with his own blood, fell into the stream and was borne from his sight.
McHOGUE
CHAPTER 6
From an arched, open window of the temple, she could see the runabout Mekong, which had brought her home once more. The rough stone, set into place centuries ago and ornamented with the carved tracery of a long-dead artisan, contrasted with the smoothly functional lines of the craft.
"We did not expect to see you again, so soon after your last visit." One of the acolytes stood beside Kira; they had both come to the tower to watch the first rays of morning disperse the flocks of birds that nested beneath the compound's tiled eaves. The last of the fluttering specks were even now disappearing into the vastness of the golden sky. "Was there something else of the Kai's that we forgot to give you, that you wanted?"
"No—" Kira shook her head and smiled sadly at the acolyte. "I'm afraid the only thing any of us want of Kai Opaka is for her to be with us again."
"You speak truly. For her to have answered the call of the Prophets . . . did we not know that it would happen someday? Such being the nature of time, for even the wisest among us. And yet we find ourselves weeping like children, at the fulfillment of the inevitable." The acolyte gazed across the dew-wet fields surrounding the temple. "And as always with unguided children, we are in danger of wandering off and becoming lost."
The acolyte's words touched a nerve of apprehension in Kira. "What do you mean? The faith . . . our people's faith . . . it can't be lost."
"Perhaps not." The acolyte kept her hands tucked inside the heavy sleeves of her robes. "At least not while it remains in the heart of one such as yourself. A fire that can light worlds is contained in a single spark. But as for the people of Bajor . . ." She fell silent for a moment. "These are difficult times."
"We've been through some pretty tough times already. The Cardassians—"
"Ah, but those times were a forge. The oppressors could never have destroyed us, but their efforts to do so made something harder and more resilient of us, like a sword blade hammered upon an anvil. You yourself, child, were born of that process. All that was taken from you—your home, your family, all that would have been a comfort in your most lightless hours—all that was given back to you in a different form. So that you could serve Bajor and its people."
If that's true . . . She had heard that simple teaching before, from the Kai herself. Not just redemption through suffering, but apotheosis: a transformation into another order of being, carbon to diamond. But if it was true, if all she'd lost had been restored to her, she had no way of explaining the emptiness she felt inside herself. Except by admitting the possibility of failure, unworthiness; the blade forged in the purifying fire had broken at the first blow, the diamond had shattered like false glass.
She had told no one, not even Kai Opaka, of the doubts came to her in sleepless nights, along with the bad dreams and memories. The commander and all her fellow officers aboard Deep Space Nine—none of them had ever suspected. Or would ever, as long as she could keep her perfect mask and armor in place.
"Now," continued the acolyte, "the people of Bajor face trials that are as dangerous as those that came before, but are of greater subtlety. When the Cardassians ruled us, we knew who our enemies were, and we knew by what sacrifices our freedom would be achieved. But now that we have that freedom in our hands . . ." The acolyte watched the last straggling bird dart toward the east. "We find our bitterest enemies in those of our own blood, those for whom such a little while ago we would have given our own lives."
"It's harder now. To know what to do." Kira laid her fingertips against the rough stone sill. "We all wanted the Cardassians gone, or in their graves. Even the Kai, I think, could envision them being . . . translated, so to speak, to another plane of existence. But with the Cardassians gone at last, we have to face the fact that we don't all want the same things for Bajor."
"Is that not what you have learned, Kira? That one may be a Bajoran, a sharer of the same blood and past, and still disagree—even disagree violently—with another Bajoran?" The acolyte smiled gently. "And if that be so, and if among those who disagree some may be right and some may be wrong about what should be done—then it raises the possibility that it is you who are in error."
Kira laughed, short and mirthlessly. "As if I hadn't thought about that already. Everything I do—everything any one of us does—we could all be messing things up in a big way."
"The cynical among us might say that that is why, in retrospect, our oppression seems such a state of grace. When one is a victim, there's no doubt that one is in the right."
"I don't know. . . ." Kira shook her head, fighting off a familiar weariness. "Maybe we should ask the Cardassians to come back—that would solve all these new problems, at least. Then we could just go on suffering and struggling in glorious martyrdom. We did it for so long, is it any wonder we neve learned how to be good at anything else?"
"Now you're the cynic," chided the acolyte. "It ill suits you. What shall we do if you are lost to us in that way, when you are Bajor's link to the worlds beyond our sky?"
"They don't even know I'm here. I didn't tell anyone at Deep Space Nine where I was going, I didn't submit a flight plan before I left; I just went. And came here."
The acolyte nodded. "We knew that your return must have come of your own initiative. The station notifies us beforehand of any official visit." The acolyte turned to study her. "What we don't know is your purpose in coming this time."
"I'm not even sure I know myself." The sun's edge had risen over the horizon, enough to bring a smokelike mist up from the damp fields. "There's some other, completely unrelated crisis going on aboard the station; right now, Commander Sisko's attention is completely taken up by that. And frankly, if he were burnt out on dealing with every little twist and turn in Bajoran politics, I wouldn't blame him. He must feel sometimes like a nursemaid to a whole planetful of squalling brats, every one of them trying to climb into his lap."
"So you decided to take care of this latest problem all by yourself."
"I suppose." Kira shrugged. "This business with the Severalty Front—it's too important to let it slide, and then just hope that we can pick up the pieces later. There might not be a later, if Aur and the other Front leaders get their way. At least not as far as Bajoran involvement with the Federation is concerned."