The War of the Prophets

  has researched the matter in precise detail."

  The Ferengi pressed on, even though the flood of de­tails was beginning to sweep

  over Jake like a thought-smothering wave, and he knew the overload had to be

  affecting the other survivors of his time the same way.

  "We know," Nog continued, "that the first structures of the city known as B'hala

  were built approximately twenty-five thousand years ago. Approximately twenty

  thousand years ago, general knowledge of the city's lo­cation was lost for about

  five thousand years. Then, about fifteen thousand years ago, the last temple was

  built on the site, and it was swallowed by landslides. Until," Nog nodded at

  Jake, "Captain Sisko rediscov­ered it less than thirty years ago.

  "According to our latest intelligence estimates, less than one-third of the city

  has been excavated under the Ascendancy, which means whoever goes back to the

  city's beginning will know exactly where to hide the deep-time charges in the

  remaining two-thirds to ensure that they will not be discovered over the

  millennia to come."

  A question broke through the fog of disorientation in Jake. "Nog, why

  twenty-five thousand years? Why not go back ten years? Or a hundred?"

  "A fair question," Nog said. "First of all, the Phoenix would have to go back at

  least a thousand years, to be sure that no early Bajoran space travelers or

  as­tronomers detected the ship arriving at warp speed or orbiting the planet for

  the three weeks it will take for the deployment of the deep-time charges."

  "Okay, then go back fifteen hundred years," Jake said.

  "And you wouldn't need a large starship for that kind of trip," Jadzia added.

  Nog shook his head at the both of them. "No. The point is not merely to go back

  in time and deploy the charges. It's to go back and deploy them without

  intro­ducing any changes in the timeline. That means B'hala must remain a lost

  city until Captain Sisko finds it hi 2373.

  "Remember—a team of Starfleet engineers will be working in the Ir'Abehr Shield

  for three weeks, and they have to be able to do so without attracting any

  at­tention. Admiral Picard has told us that the only way to be sure that our

  activities won't inadvertently lead to the early discovery of B'hala is to go

  back to a time be-fore B'hala."

  At that, Captain T'len stepped forward as if she were impatient. "The targeted

  time period is most logical."

  "And what about the choice of crew?" Worf asked sternly. "Is that also logical?"

  Jake saw something in Worf's eyes that made him think there was more to the

  question than there ap­peared to be. Captain T'len's hesitation in answering

  confirmed his suspicions.

  "That argument can be made," she said at last.

  Then Bashir again articulated what Worf must al­ready have guessed. "It's a

  one-way trip, isn't it."

  Nog drew himself up, a gesture at once like and un­like the Nog familiar to

  Jake. "Most likely," the Ferengi said stiffly—but proudly too, Jake thought.

  "Yes."

  "Most likely?" Bashir repeated incredulously.

  Nog's voice took on a more determined tone. "The Phoenix, Doctor Bashir, is the

  largest starship ever con­structed. It will survive a twenty-five-thousand-year

  temporal slingshot. But all our simulations show that neither her spaceframe nor

  her warp engines will sur­vive the stresses of a return trip."

  That was when Jake saw the logic of it for himself. He and the others from the

  Defiant were already mis­placed hi time. So what would it matter if they were

  misplaced somewhere—sometime—else?

  And he wasn't the only one to reach that realization.

  "So we're expendable," Vash said angrily. "That's it, isn't it? We're a danger

  to you in this time, so you want to send us off on some high-risk wild norp

  chase and get rid of us." She leaned forward to jab her finger against Nog's

  chest. "Well, you can tell your Starfleet admirals that I'm not going."

  With a forcefulness Jake knew the Ferengi would

  never have attempted in Jake's time, four days ago on DS9, Nog grabbed the

  anthropologist's hand and pushed it aside. His answer to her was almost a growl.

  "It is a volunteer mission."

  "Captain," Jadzia said quickly, diplomatically defus­ing the sudden increase in

  tension in the room and re­turning their attention to what must be faced, "there

  still has to be more to the mission than what you've de­scribed. Once the

  charges are deployed, what are we... what is the crew of this new supership—the

  Phoenix—supposed to do? They certainly can't interact with any culture in the

  past."

  "Absolutely not," Nog agreed, with a grateful glance at the Trill officer. "But

  Admiral Picard did suggest a course of action that might allow you, or perhaps

  your children or grandchildren, to return to the present." He looked over at

  Bashir. "As I said, Doctor, it is likely that the mis­sion of the Phoenix will

  be one way. But it is not certain."

  Then Jake, together with the others, listened intently as Nog described Picard's

  plan as confirmed, he said, by extensive studies conducted by the Federation's

  leading surviving experts in archaeology, biology, and ancient astronomy.

  The essence of it, Jake realized, was that almost fif­teen hundred years ago—and

  7,000 light-years from Earth—a main-sequence star had gone supernova. The

  expanding gas cloud from that awesome burst of en­ergy became known to Earth

  astronomers as the Crab Nebula, But to the astronomers of Erelyn IV, that same

  cosmic explosion was the last thing they or their fellow beings ever saw.

  Erelyn IV itself was a Class-M world, home to a race of humanoids that was one

  of the first to develop inter-

  stellar travel—though not warp drive—in the present epoch of the Alpha Quadrant.

  But—and Nog empha­sized this point—the planet was only twelve light-years from

  the Crab supernova, and the radiation released by that star's explosion had been

  lethal to all life-bearing planets within fifty light-years.

  Jake remembered learning about Erelyn IV in school. His instructors had referred

  to the lifeless, crumbling cities and vast transportation networks of that

  planet to stress the importance of exploration and discovery. Because the

  radiation had sterilized Erelyn IV without destroying the buildings, libraries,

  and tech­nology of its people, the Vulcan archaeologists who had studied the

  planet for generations had been able to reconstruct Erelynian history in

  unprecedented detail.

  Sadly, the Vulcans also learned that at the time of the supernova, the

  Erelynians had a prototype warp engine under construction in orbit of their

  world. Had the funding battles their scientists fought against their world's

  shortsighted politicians been successful only a few years earlier,

  faster-than-light probes to the Crab star would have revealed the existence of

  the supernova before the radiation had reached their world, giving them time to

  construct underground radiation shelters. Had Erelyn IV's politicians permitted

  warp research to proceed a mere fifteen years earlier, that would have been

  enough time for the Erelynians to establish colonies on planets outside the


  sphere of lethality and to build shelters.

  Fifteen lost years. The lesson had been taught to all children in the

  Federation: that such a short period of time could be all that might stand

  between planetary extinction and survival. The moral had been clear: Be-

  tween thinking about one's next term in office and thinking about the next

  generation was a difference in attitude that could save an entire world—or

  condemn it.

  The people of Erelyn IV had paid the ultimate price for their leaders' lack of

  vision. But they had left a poignant treasure trove of almost ten thousand years

  of their history—including, Nog explained, a complete map of the Crab star's

  solar system as it had existed before the supernova, as charted by sublight

  robotic probes.

  "The Crab star had seven major planets," Nog now explained. "The second from the

  star was Class-M. The Erelynians' long-range scans showed a standard Gaia-class

  oxygen atmosphere, indicating a biosphere. But the scans they made also showed

  no signs of industrial pollutants; nor did they record any electromagnetic or

  subspace communications."

  "So that's where you want us to go," Bashir said. He wasn't asking a question,

  and Nog didn't bother to do more than nod in response.

  It was clear to all present that Nog was coming to the final part of the plan.

  "The Phoenix will be able to make the voyage be­tween Bajor and the Crab star in

  under two years. The ship is stocked with industrial replicators,

  nanocon-structors, and complete plans for building a duplicate vessel to bring

  you home."

  "How long?" Worf asked bluntly. "For the nanocon-structors to build a ship

  without a shipyard and Starfleet work crews."

  Jake saw an almost invisible wince twist Nog's fea­tures. "Our best estimate is

  ... forty-eight years."

  Now Jake understood why Nog had said their chil­dren or their grandchildren

  might make it back.

  "A great many things can go wrong in forty-eight years," Worf said.

  "Which, obviously, is why they picked that world," Bashir said lightly. "If

  something goes wrong and we can't travel back to this present, then even if our

  de­scendants spread out across the world, in the year 1054 A.C.E. everything

  turns to superheated plasma in any case when the sun explodes. As long as we

  stay on that world, we will have no interaction with the march of history

  throughout the rest of the galaxy."

  "Exactly," Nog said. He turned to Captain T'len, as if he had said all that was

  necessary for now.

  But Worf had another question. "You have not thought of every eventuality. What

  if we fail to build a second Phoenix, and our descendants first revert to more

  primitive ways, then develop a spacefaring civi­lization of their own. Twenty

  thousand years is more than enough time for that to happen, and for our

  descen­dants to travel to Qo'noS or Earth and change history."

  "Commander Worf," Nog said with what Jake thought was an odd formality, "I

  assure you that we have thought of every eventuality. And what you de­scribe

  cannot happen."

  Jake didn't understand, but it seemed Bashir felt he did. "There's another bomb

  in the Phoenix," the doctor said. "Set to go off... a century ... ?"

  Startled, Jake looked from Bashir to Nog. His friend's face was sad but

  resigned. Bashir's guess was true.

  "... After we leave," the doctor said slowly as he spoke his thoughts aloud.

  "Probably something that would set up an energy cascade in the atmosphere of the

  second planet, killing all higher animal life-forms in that world, but leaving

  the bulk of the ecosystem unharmed."

  But now Jake was thoroughly confused. "But... why would we leave the Phoenix

  anywhere near the planet if we knew it could kill us? Or our descendants?" he

  added.

  "Because," Captain T'len said with a stem glance at Nog, "everyone who takes

  part in this mission will un­derstand and accept the importance of not changing

  the timeline. As Commander Worf stated, many things can go wrong in forty-eight

  years. Thus the crew of the Phoenix will leave their ship in close orbit of the

  planet as a fail-safe backup, to ensure that none of their de­scendants survive

  to form their own civilization."

  The room fell silent once more, and Jake knew that everyone in it was

  contemplating as he was the enor­mity of what was being proposed to them.

  After a few moments, Nog spoke again. "Admiral Pi-card set this all in place

  almost five years ago, and the plans have been continually refined and perfected

  ever since."

  Jake looked over at Bashir, but the doctor seemed not to have anything more to

  say. Everyone else from the Defiant, with the exception of Vash, was making

  silent eye contact with their fellow temporal refugees. Vash simply glared at

  Nog and T'len as if they were personally responsible for thwarting her.

  "Captain Nog, we would like time to consider your proposal," Worf said.

  "I understand," Nog agreed. "But I would ask that you make your decision within

  the next fifty hours, so we can arrange passage to Utopia Planitia and I can

  begin your training."

  Jake heard something odd in Nog's voice then. "Nog, are you going?"

  "So you think it's going to work."

  For the first time in the session, Nog smiled broadly. "I have absolute faith in

  Admiral Heard. I have re­viewed all the operational plans and contingencies. I

  have no doubt that the mission of the Phoenix will suc­ceed, and there will be

  no need to worry about the safe­guard time bombs. I am completely confident that

  someday I and the crew ... or our descendants ... will be able to return to the

  present and the universe we will have saved."

  Nog then said his good-byes, explained that he had meetings to attend, and hoped

  that he could meet everyone again at 1900 hours for a meal. Then, with the

  unsmiling Captain T'len at his side, he left.

  Instantly a buzz of responses filled with new hope swept through the room. But

  Jake didn't join in, al­though Nog's presence on the Phoenix did change the

  equation for him personally.

  Jake was in the midst of trying to comprehend the best thing to do.

  Because he had seen his Ferengi friend give that same assured smile at least a

  thousand times in the past. And it had always meant only one thing.

  Nog was lying.

  So the Phoenix was already doomed.

  And with her the universe.

  CHAPTER 12

  "captain sisko! You've been ignoring me!"

  Benjamin Sisko snapped out of Ms reverie and sighed. He was sitting at an

  uncomfortable Klingon work station in his uncomfortable Klingon quarters on

  board the uncomfortable Klingon vessel, the Boreth. Kasidy Yates was looking out

  at him from the work sta­tion's main display screen. Her image was a stern,

  un­smiling portrait; it was the one that had been attached to her merchant

  master's license.

  The annoyed voice haranguing him belonged to Quark. It came from the open

  doorway to Sisko's quar­ters.

  "This isn't the time, Quark," Sisko said quietly, and meant it. Nevertheless he

  heard the sound of Quark's brisk footsteps as the Ferengi crosse
d over his

  threshold.

  "In case you haven't noticed, time is what we're run­ning out of." The irate

  barkeep was now at his side,

  hands on hips, looking quite ridiculous in his Bajoran penitent's robes of brown

  and cream.

  "Everything will work out," Sisko said, still not rais­ing his voice, surprised

  at how little irritation he felt at Quark's ill-timed intrusion. Then again, he

  wondered, was it even possible that he would ever feel anything again?

  "How can you say that?!" Quark exclaimed. "The whole universe has been turned

  upside down! Did you know the entire Ferenginar system has been under an

  Ascendancy trade blockade for the past seven years? No one on this frinxing ship

  will even let me try to get a message through to anyone back home."

  Sisko bowed his head, took a breath so deep he knew it would strain his chest,

  but still felt nothing. "Quark, we are all struggling with similar

  difficulties."

  "Ha," Quark said. He pointed to the display. "At least you can access some sort

  of database to find out about..." Quark's verbal assault on Sisko suddenly

  ceased.

  Sisko glanced up at him and saw that the Ferengi was reading the screen.

  "I'm... sorry," the Ferengi said quietly, all bluster gone from him. "You know,

  I... I always liked Cap­tain Yates."

  Sisko nodded. "She was only one of many, Quark. So many people died when Earth

  was destroyed." He closed his eyes then, but Kasidy's face was still before him.

  At least, the old report said, she had gone out a hero, during her fifth run

  through Grigari lines to evac­uate survivors.

  "Captain... ?"

  Sisko opened his eyes, looked up. "Yes, Quark."

  The Ferengi mumbled a few words that were unintel­ligible before finally getting

  to the point in a sudden rush. "We need you."

  Sisko contemplated Quark, curious. He couldn't re­member ever having seen the

  Ferengi so uncertain, so obviously worried.

  "I appreciate the vote of confidence," he told the Fer­engi barkeep, "but if you

  listened to Odo's report about his run-in with Weyoun, I am the one person among

  us all who you definitely don't want."

  Quark rocked back as if surprised by the statement. "Are you saying you believe

  Weyoun about Starfleet wanting to kill you?"

  Sisko pushed his chair back from the workstation and stood up, leaving Kasidy's