The War of the Prophets

  could interrupt Wey­oun again.

  "Behold," the Vorta intoned as if reciting from some ancient text, "you shall

  know the final prophecy of Jal­bador is fulfilled when the False Emissary shall

  rise from among those that did die in the destruction of the gate­way, to face

  the final battle with the True Emissary of the Prophets, and to bow before his

  righteousness at the time the doors shall be opened and the One Temple

  restored."

  Weyoun's voice trembled with ecstasy as he con­cluded, "And by his return, and

  by his defeat, this shall you know as the True Reckoning, which shall come at

  the end of all days, and the beginning of that which has no beginning."

  Sisko was unable to restrain Kira from another out­burst. "More Pah-wraith

  heresy!" she exclaimed. "The Reckoning took place less than a month ago! And Kai

  Winn stopped it!"

  Weyoun regarded her with pity. "Major, do you re­ally believe any corporeal

  being could defy the will of the Prophets? Especially a nonbeliever such as

  Winn?"

  Sisko could see the conflict in Kira. Winn was not the religious leader she had

  preferred, but neither did Kira doubt that the Kai had faith. "Kai Winn is not a

  nonbe­liever. She is ... sometimes misguided in her attempts to reconcile her

  spiritual duties with her political ones."

  "Was," Weyoun corrected her. "Winn was misguided."

  "She's dead?" Kira asked in a disbelieving voice.

  "One of the first to be hung."

  "Hung?!"

  Weyoun sighed and bowed bis head. "You missed so much. The end of the war. The

  Ascendancy of Bajor. The collapse of the Federation—"

  Sisko, Kira, and Arla all said, "What?" at the same moment

  "Near-collapse," Weyoun amended. "Oh, there's still a council that meets...

  somewhere. Ships here and there that claim to be part of Starfleet. But all of

  it is little more than the twitching of a corpse, I'm afraid."

  "What about those ships that attacked us?" Sisko asked.

  "Oh, they weren't attacking you, Captain. They were attacking Captain Riker's

  ship in order to capture yours. Or, more to the point, to capture you."

  "Why me?"

  "Isn't that obvious? Without you the True Reckoning can't take place."

  Sisko stared at Weyoun, afraid to draw the only con­clusion that seemed logical.

  Weyoun nodded as if reading his mind. "That's right, Captain. You are the False

  Emissary. Risen from among those who died at the destruction of the gateway to

  (he Celestial Temple, that is, your late lamented Deep Space 9."

  "But if I'm the False Emissary ..."

  "Exactly." Weyoun bowed. "I am the True Emissary to the True Prophets of the One

  Temple, now Kai to all the believers of the Bajoran Ascendancy."

  "Kai?!" To Sisko, Kira sounded as if she were about to choke. "You're a pawn of

  the Pah-wraiths!"

  Weyoun's smile faded. 'True, I am their servant. But

  consider this, Major. Even in the fringe beliefs you cling to, when was evil

  visited upon the universe?"

  Whatever uncertainty Kira felt, it didn't prevent her from standing up to

  Weyoun. "Bajorans don't presume to speak for the universe. But evil came to

  Bajor when the people first turned away from the Prophets."

  "And when was that? In your beliefs?" Weyoun added condescendingly.

  "I don't think anyone knows the actual time period."

  "Then approximately ... how long ago?"

  Kira shrugged. "At the... the very beginning of our time on our world."

  Weyoun leaned forward, his manner suggesting to Sisko nothing so much as a

  spider about to complete its web. "Exactly. At the very beginning of time. And

  what will eliminate evil from the universe—or, at the very least, in your

  beliefs, from the people of Bajor?"

  Sisko couldn't help feeling that the Vorta was about to spring his trap, and it

  seemed by the slowness of Kira's reply that she sensed the same possibility.

  "When... when all the people of Bajor return to the Prophets and ... accept them

  as our Gods."

  The Vorta nodded as if Kira had just answered her own question. "Then I ask you,

  Major, what better way to bring the people of the universe—or of Bajor—back to

  the Prophets than by bringing them back to the One Celestial Temple? And in all

  the 'blasphemous' and 'heretical' text that you refuse to accept, what is the

  one thing the Pah-wraiths always want to do?"

  "Return to the Temple," Kira said reluctantly.

  "Because by doing so the One Temple will be re­stored, and all the people will

  be returned to the Prophets."

  "But the texts clearly state that the Pah-wraiths want to destroy the Temple!"

  Kira insisted.

  Weyoun's reply was unexpected. "I agree. That's what your texts—inspired by the

  False Prophets—say. Because the False Prophets don't want the Temple to be

  restored. The False Prophets want to delude the peo­ple of Bajor into thinking

  that the Pah-wraiths are demons." The Vorta's voice began to rise accusingly.

  "But answer this, Major Why is it that the Prophets you worship hide themselves

  in their Temple, refusing to come out, refusing to do anything except sow

  confu­sion with the Orbs they inflicted upon your world, while the

  Pah-wraiths—even in your own texts—are known to walk amongst the people of Bajor

  and to con­stantly struggle to open the Temple doors?"

  "Lies!" Kira said. "I refuse to listen to more of your lies!"

  "Listen to yourself, Major. Where are your argu­ments, your reasons? You are

  simply denying the truth out of habit" Weyoun was almost taunting her. "I

  ex­pected so much more of you."

  "Heretic!" Kira shouted as she rushed forward to strike Weyoun.

  Sisko lunged after her but before he could reach her—

  —a brilliant flash of red light flared from around Weyoun, and Kira was thrown

  back onto the flat stones that covered the deck.

  Sisko dropped to his knees, supporting Kira as she gasped for breath, her dark

  eyes wide and unfocused. Arla moved to Sisko's side to add whatever aid she

  could give.

  Weyoun's voice floated over them. "Forgive me. Major Kira's attack was quite

  unexpected, and in the

  years since we last met I have perfected my control of... telekinesis, I suppose

  you would call it. A little too well, it seems."

  Sisko turned to Weyoun, who still stood in front of the observation windows. "Do

  you have a medkit or a tricorder—anything?" Kira shuddered in his arms, each

  hard-won breath shallower, as if her throat were closing.

  "I'm afraid we have no medical equipment of any kind on board this vessel,"

  Weyoun said apologetically.

  Sisko was appalled. Klingon ships were not known for their medical facilities,

  but still they carried some supplies, if only for the command staff. "Then beam

  us back to the Defiant!" He felt Kira's body arch, then go rigid as she opened

  her mouth and made no sound, as if her airways were now totally obstructed.

  "She's dying!" Sisko shouted at Weyoun.

  Weyoun moved away from the windows and leaned down to observe Kira. "No, she's

  not." He waved one arm free of his robes, then placed his thumb and fore­finger

  on the lobe of Kira's left ear. "Her pagh is strong. She did not journey al
l

  this way to die so close to the end...."

  And then Sisko watched, uncomprehending, as shimmering red light sprang forth

  from the Vorta's pale hand and spread across Kira's distorted features, until

  suddenly her entire body trembled, she inhaled deeply, and—

  —went limp, breathing easily as if she had merely fallen asleep in his arms.

  Sisko looked up at Weyoun, and for just an instant saw the Vorta's eyes flash

  red as well.

  "Yes, Captain?" Weyoun said, as his eyes returned to their crystal-gray clarity.

  Sisko looked down at Kira, whose eyes remained closed. Her chest rose and fell

  with normal regularity.

  "What did you mean... 'so close to the end'? The end of what?"

  The Vorta smiled like a child with a secret. "Why, not the end, Captain. The

  beginning. Didn't you hear what I said? The reason you've been returned from the

  dead is so the final prophecy of Jalbador can be fulfilled."

  Sisko struggled to recall the exact words Weyoun had used when he seemed to be

  reciting sacred text to Kira. "The end of all days, and the beginning of that

  which has no beginning?"

  "Exactly," Weyoun said, beaming as if at his favorite pupil. "When we shall all

  be returned to the Temple, and this imperfect creation shall at last come to an

  end."

  Had he heard anyone else speak in that way, Sisko would have assumed the speaker

  was insane. But he had seen the red glow in Weyoun's eyes. The same glow that

  had been in Jake's eyes when a Pah-wraith had possessed his son's body and

  controlled his son's mind.

  Arla got to her feet, her voice uncertain, colored by fear. "You're both talking

  about the end of the universe, aren't you?"

  Sisko felt the chill of madness fill the room, as Wey­oun bestowed a smile of

  blessing upon the Bajoran Starfleet officer. "Oh, Commander, nothing as drastic

  as that. Merely the end of material existence. But at that time, you—" the Vorta

  smiled at Sisko. "—and the captain—" He brushed his fingers along the side of

  Kira's face. "—and even the nonbelievers will ascend to a new level of

  existence, wrapped for all time in the love and the wisdom of the Prophets."

  Glow or no glow, Pah-wraith or no Pah-wraith, for Sisko, Weyoun had gone too

  far. He eased Kira onto the floor and stood up to face the Vorta. "You're

  in­sane," he said.

  Weyoun merely shrugged. "Of course that's what you must think. It is demanded of

  your role as the False Emissary. But rest assured that even you will ascend to

  the Temple when you fulfill the final prophecy and ac­knowledge the True

  Prophets."

  "Never," Sisko said. But even as he spoke, Sisko was aware that not even he, the

  Emissary of Kira's Prophets, knew what he must do next to stop Weyoun and the

  Pah-Wraiths from whatever terrible action they were planning. He still needed to

  learn more about this future before he could help anyone change it

  "Ah, but never doesn't mean what it used to," Wey­oun replied. "Not when all you

  have left is fifteen days."

  "Fifteen days... till what?" Arla asked.

  Weyoun closed his eyes, as if at total peace with himself and the universe.

  "Fifteen days until the doors of the two Temples shall open together, and the

  final battle of good and evil shall be fought..." He opened his eyes, sought out

  Sisko as he continued, "... and won, and this cruel, imperfect universe shall at

  last pass, and we shall all ascend to the Temple for eter­nity."

  Apprehension swept over Sisko. It was obvious mat despite the complete insanity

  of Weyoun's proclama­tion, the Vorta believed every word he spoke.

  And when the universe did not end in fifteen days, Sisko did not doubt there

  would be, quite literally, hell to pay.

  CHAPTER 8

  in the small, low-ceilinged briefing room on the Boreth's main cargo deck, Elim

  Garak read the sensor-log identification screen on the main wall-viewer, and

  felt nothing.

  He didn't have to be paranoid to know that he and the seventeen other crew and

  passengers removed from the Defiant were under close observation. But from what

  he had already deduced about the state of this time period in general, and of

  the Bajoran Ascendancy in particular, being paranoid would stand him in good

  stead.

  The large irregularly-shaped Klingon viewscreen on the far bulkhead flickered

  once, then displayed an image of Deep Space 9 as it had existed on Stardate

  51889.4, as seen from the vantage point of the U.S.S. Garneau. The Garneau

  was—or had been—one of two Akira-class Starfleet vessels dispatched when the

  sta­tion's computers had fallen victim to some rather

  clever, if disruptive, Bynar codes inserted by two vi­cious Andorian sisters

  intent on obtaining the Red Orbs of Jalbador.

  At the time, as he had helped Jadzia Dax eliminate the codes from Deep Space 9's

  Cardassian computer components, he had been impressed by the meddlesome

  Andorians' audacity—though given the results of their endeavors and how they had

  affected him personally, he would happily eviscerate them now, very slowly.

  On the viewscreen, the image of Deep Space 9 grew as the Garneau closed in. This

  moment of calm before the inevitable temporal storm to come gave Garak the

  chance to admire once again the stately sweep of the Cardassian docking towers

  and the profound balance in the proportions of its rings to its central core. To

  his trained eye, the station was an exquisitely compelling sculpture,

  majestically framed against the subtly shift­ing energy cascades of the Denorios

  Belt, and it spoke to him of his long-lost home.

  None of this would he reveal to others, of course. In­stead, keeping his

  expression deliberately blank, he checked the timecode running at the bottom of

  the image. In terms of his own relative perceptions—and what other perceptions

  could there be that were as im­portant?—the time it indicated was barely a day

  ago. He had been in Ops at that moment, still working on the computer though

  curious about what was going on in Quark's, where so many others of the

  station's per­sonnel had congregated.

  Not that he would admit to being curious, either. Far better to be aloof, he

  knew. Far better to be uncon­cerned. Far better to be so unremarkable and

  innocuous that the passing crowd could do nothing but ignore him.

  At last, something happened in the recording. A faint red glow pulsed through

  three or four of the observa­tion portals ringing the Promenade level. Garak

  de­cided that must have been the moment when the three Red Orbs of Jalbador were

  brought into alignment in the Ferengi's bar, beginning the process of opening

  the second wormhole in Bajoran space—and in the middle of Deep Space 9.

  The alignment had been quite a sight—or so he had been told by one of his fellow

  passengers, Rom to be precise. The lumpish but loquacious Ferengi repair

  tech­nician had described how the three hourglass-shaped orbs, indistinguishable

  from the better-known Orbs of the Prophets—except for their crimson color—had

  levi­tated, as if under their own control, until they had de­scribed the

  vertices of an equilateral triangle. Suspended in midair less than two meters


  above the floor of the bar, they had proved impossible to budge.

  Garak sighed as if stifling a yawn. But inwardly he was anything but bored. No

  wonder dear, sweet Leej Terrell had been so eager to obtain the Orbs for

  her­self—and for Cardassia. The Cardassian scientist had been his lover once,

  his nemesis many times, and was one of a scattered and secretive handful of

  highly skilled and exceedingly ruthless operatives who had survived the

  Dominion's obliteration of the Obsidian Order.

  With the three Red Orbs in hand, Garak had no doubt that Terrell had believed

  she would have the se­cret to creating a translocatable wormhole. If anything

  could break Cardassia free of its devil's bargain with the Dominion, the ability

  to open a wormhole connect­ing any two points in space would be the ultimate

  deal-breaker. No planetary defense force would be able to

  stop a Cardassian fleet that could launch from the homeworld and within seconds

  appear in the atmos­phere of the enemy's home. Terrell's trio of orbs and that

  second wormhole would be the key to a Pax Car­dassia, bringing order to a

  troubled galaxy.

  But at the same time as Garak fully supported Ter­rell's passion for freedom and

  admired her patriotism for Cardassia's sake, he also secretly hoped for his own

  sake that this sensor log would show her vessel's de­struction. In detail.

  On the viewscreen, the red emanations in the Prome­nade's observation portals

  had become a constant glow, slowly increasing in brightness. Garak noted a

  handful of escape pods already breaking free of the habitat rings. Then, almost

  obscured by a docking tower, the Defiant released her docking clamps and began

  to slip back from the station, moving out of the optical sen­sor's field of

  vision.

  It was just about now, Garak realized, that he had been unexpectedly beamed from

  Ops into the confu­sion of the Defiant, men roughly pushed out the door and

  toward the mess hall. And he could see that the timing of his rescue had been

  perfect.

  Because now on the viewscreen, the red glow had in­fected a full quadrant of the

  Promenade module. Silent explosions ran along a docking pylon. And then, the

  habitat ring began to bend like a wheel warping out of true, as if an immense

  gravitational well had formed in Quark's.

  As it had.

  Garak continued to watch events unfold without dis­playing the slightest