Текст книги "Night of the Wolves "

Автор книги: Stephani Danelle Perry

Соавторы: Britta Dennison
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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 27 страниц)

“How would they—?”

“We’ve been shunting balon to the surface at a point near where the mining facility was abandoned—just a stone’s throw from here, in a skimmer. If the Cardies were to find our laboratory, the place where we fuel our raiders—they probably wouldn’t continue to underestimate our abilities so much.”

Holem frowned. He could see the logic well enough, but he couldn’t bear to simply ignore the warp vessel here, just waiting to be fully excavated and repaired. With a warp ship, they could finally regain access to Prophet’s Landing, or Valo II, or any of the other pre-occupation Bajoran settlements. They could conduct a serious assault on occupying forces if they could network with other Bajorans outside the system. Maybe they could even organize an offworld attack.

That would surely make waves among the spoonheads,Lenaris thought, with a helpless grin. He avoided the persistent voice that told him he just wanted to have a crack at flying a warp vessel. This was for the resistance. For his people, his world.

“She’s been here this long without being detected,” Lenaris said. “I say the benefits outweigh the risks. Let’s just have a look inside. If the damage isn’t too bad, maybe we won’t even need Tiven Cohr. I know a couple of things about simple flyer repair—if we just put our heads together…”

Lac didn’t need any persuading, but Taryl lingered behind for another minute before she finally succumbed to what she really wanted to do, anyway, and followed them inside the ship.

Vedek Opaka had set about on this day to tidy and sweep the dust from her stone cottage. Fasil had offered to help, but she sent him off to be with his friends, to enjoy the weather. Summer had finally come to the valley, which meant both good news and bad for the Bajorans who called it home. More and more people went without proper food and shelter with each passing year, and summer was a time for respite from the elements and the inevitably lean colder months. But the hot weather also meant more Cardassian activity on the surface. Opaka knew that many of the local resistance fighters chose to spend the summertime in hiding, plotting their next moves for the winter, when the Cardassian troops would again be at their weakest.

She’d learned as much from some of the people she’d been meeting. Opaka had taken the warming weather as her cue to begin meeting with the scattered groups of people in the valley who did not attend services: the elderly who could not travel far from their camps, the more cynical and despondent Bajorans who believed the Prophets had abandoned them, and of course the restless young people who had begun to live like nomads—many of whom fought in the resistance. These were the people, Opaka had decided, who most needed to hear the message. She’d begun to travel regularly to the camps on the outskirts of the village on days when her duties were light, speaking to whoever would listen. She didn’t preach so much as try to make connections, to remind people that the Prophets were real and that Bajor had a future, and she had been pleased with the mostly positive reception.

She had changed the bedding, dusted and swept the result out the cottage’s front door. She propped the door open and went to wrangle the wood-and-glass panel that covered the tall window near the roof, to air the cottage out. As she turned from the window, she started a bit when she saw the silhouette of a man standing in the doorway, backlit by the afternoon sun.

“Kai Arin,” she said, bowing deeply. “You honor me with your presence. Welcome to my home.”

“Thank you, Vedek Opaka.”

“Please, sit.” Sulan gestured to one of the turned-leg chairs at the wooden table in the center of the room.

Kai Arin sat and immediately began to make small talk, something Opaka had come to expect from the kai when he wished to calm himself. Obviously, he had something to tell her.

“You know…did I ever tell you…this house, many centuries ago…Kai Dava used to live in it. Did you know that?”

Opaka shook her head. “No, I didn’t, Your Eminence. I suppose I knew that someone lived here…I mean, someone besides the porlifowl.”

“It’s true, or at least, so I’m told. In fact, it is rumored that before the old shrine was built, he kept the relics here, in this very house.”

“You mean, a Tear was kept here?”

The kai looked away. “It’s only a rumor, of course.”

Kai Arin’s faraway look spoke volumes. Eighteen years ago, he had tried to save the Orb of Truth, when the Kendra Shrine was destroyed. He had tried to save it, but he had almost died doing so. He had never spoken of it, but Opaka knew he carried guilt, remorse for choosing to save his own life over making every attempt to save the Orb. The Orbs—the Tears of the Prophets—represented a fundamental aspect of Bajoran spiritual life, the ability to connect directly with the Prophets. No one judged Arin for what he had done—no one but Arin himself. He was a spiritual man, and felt keenly the responsibilities of his service.

She quickly changed the subject. “There was a fire here, I was told, long ago…”

Arin spoke quickly. “Yes, it burned the roof off, and the dwelling sat vacant for some time. It was later converted into a springhouse, or something of that nature. It was a toolshed when I first came here, and then, as you say, it was a coop for the fowl, with a batospen on the other side. Funny, nobody seems to keep batosaround here anymore.”

“I suppose nobody can afford to feed them,” Opaka said.

“Things are certainly different now.”

Opaka nodded, recognizing that he was coming to his point.

“Vedek Opaka, I’m told you have begun to preach outside the sanctuary.”

She breathed deeply, nodded.

“I commend you for wanting to bring your message to those who cannot or will not attend services, although that’s usually left to monks in other orders besides yours.”

“Yes, I understand, Your Eminence. I…was only following my heart. I believe this is what the Prophets wish of me.”

“Perhaps you are meant to preach outside of the sanctuary, Opaka, but I don’t believe that you are meant to spread dangerous ideas to people already impressionable in their unhappiness.”

Opaka had nothing to say. She had known that it would eventually come to this, but not so quickly. She had not yet prepared a response.

“Vedek Opaka, it is our obligation to spread the words of the Prophets. And those words include the message of Bajoran tradition. It is not our place to reinterpret the Prophets’ words to serve our own personal beliefs.”

“But…” Opaka protested, “the D’jarras have been reinterpreted many times, Your Eminence. The drivers eventually became pilots. The ceremonial healers became modern doctors. The—”

“What you are speaking of has been a gradual evolution of the roles within the D’jarras, not a reassignment of responsibilities for people who were born to perform specific tasks. I understand that many people have been forced to become idle under the current circumstances, but what I see is that those who reject their birthrights reject other teachings of the Prophets as well. They eventually begin to take up arms against the Cardassians. The Prophets do not condone violence. They never will. And neither will I.”

“Yes, Your Eminence,” Opaka murmured.

“I’m glad you understand,” the kai told her, and stood to leave. Opaka stood with him, gripping the back of a chair as they both stepped toward the door. But she could not let him go. She could not merely concede to him and pretend that she agreed, when she did not, and would not.

“Your Eminence, I do not condone the acts of the resistance, either,” she blurted out. “But I believe that this is a time for Bajoran unity. Instead, what I see are angry and fearful people who have too much time on their hands and continue to mistrust each other because of age-old rules that no longer apply to the world we are living in. This has made us ripe for Cardassian exploitation. Can’t you see? Before we are D’jarra,we are Bajoran, and we are all Their children. We must come together, must decide together what we wish for ourselves, for our ownchildren.”

Arin did not speak, only shook his head.

“Kai Arin, I confess I did not realize that you truly believed there was still wisdom in clinging to the D’jarras. I thought that perhaps you were using this as a means to distract our people from the misery they see all around them, to try and hold fast to some remnant of our original way of life. But now I see that you and I will have to agree to disagree.”

The kai’s expression was unhappy. “No. If you will not renounce your message, then I am afraid I cannot let you remain at the sanctuary. If you continue to preach it, your status as a vedek will be revoked. If you spread these words, Opaka Sulan, I will have no choice but to issue an Attainder.”

Opaka tightened her hands around the back of the chair. The thought of being sent away from the sanctuary stung her; the thought of leaving this house, this comfortable existence, and being forced to live like those in the camps frightened her terribly. Fasil had friends here, they both did. And to be Attainted, expelled from the community of faith…

“‘And by following D’jarra,the land shall know peace,’” he quoted, and gave her an encouraging smile. “I sincerely hope that you’ll stay with us, Vedek. Your presence would be sorely missed.”

The kai left her. She sat down again, her heart heavy with the fearful understanding that things were about to change. The kai was not an evil man, but he was mistaken. She could only be thankful that the cold weather was past, at least for now. If they had to travel, it would be in the summertime.

Natima followed a short distance behind Veja and her betrothed, deeply regretting her decision to accompany her friend to the new space station. Corat Damar was a typical Cardassian male, arrogant and self-important, and could not have made it more clear that he resented her presence here; she silently cursed Veja for not having the foresight to tell her beloved that she’d planned on bringing a friend along. She looked dejectedly around the station as he gave them their tour, finding it to be dark and rather imposing with its broad and heavy classical architecture. It was impressive, to be sure, but not really Natima’s style.

Hundreds of Bajorans had already been brought in to work in the ore processors, and Natima was curious to see what went on inside the units, though Damar was reluctant to bring the women anywhere near the Bajoran section of the station. “It could be dangerous,” he insisted.

“Veja and I are in dangerous situations all the time when we report on what happens on the surface,” Natima informed him.

Gil Damar appeared disturbed. “The Information Service should know better than to send two young, unescorted women into places of danger.”

“Oh, our superiors argue with me from time to time, but Veja and I can take care of ourselves.”

Veja nodded. “It’s true, Corat. You don’t need to worry about us.”

Damar looked sideways at Natima. “I’m not worried about her,” he replied.

Natima shot him a look of loathing, but he had already turned his back to her and was guiding Veja toward the operations center, apparently not interested in whether Natima was coming or not. Unsure where else she might go, she elected to follow them.

“So, why does Dukat allow these Bajoran merchants to sell their wares on the station?” Natima wanted to know. “Doesn’t that interfere with Cardassian attempts at commerce?”

Damar did not look at her when he spoke. “The prefect wants to make the Bajorans more self-sufficient.”

“Well,” Natima snorted, “he isn’t going to do it by allowing them to continue following their silly religion. I noticed there’s a religious shrine on the Bajoran side of the promenade. I can’t believe Dukat permits that sort of thing in a military installation.”

“He has his reasons for everything he does,” Damar told her.

“What do you know of his reasons?” Natima struggled to keep her tone even. Damar struck her as an ignorant toady, her very least favorite sort of person.

“I don’t need to know them. Gul Dukat is a brilliant leader, and people like us can’t be expected to understand the complexities of his plans.”

Natima found his response laughable, but she kept her amusement to herself for Veja’s sake. Her friend had already begun to look a little uncomfortable.

“So, what can we get to eat around here?” Natima asked brightly, changing the subject.

Damar shrugged. “There are replicators,” he said.

“What this place needs is a restaurant of some kind.”

Damar finally turned to face her, a look of distaste on his blandly handsome features.

“I’ll be sure to pass your suggestion on to the prefect,” he said, and turned away again, slipping his arm around Veja’s waist. Natima decided that she might wait out the rest of the tour by herself, and fell behind to watch the two lovers as they continued down the Promenade. She approached a Bajoran merchant’s shop to examine his strange wares, and wondered how badly the replicators here would foul up a cup of red leaf tea.

Miras had begun to wonder, in the last few weeks, if she shouldn’t reconsider her final project. The images she had received from Natima Lang had provided her with only a few ideas. There were many, many captures of Bajoran farmland, some of it in active production, some barren and dry, and some entirely overgrown with weeds. Miras was fascinated by the obvious fertility of the world, but the lack of accessible hard data was making her quest for further information an exercise in frustration.

Kalisi had been more successful in her pursuits, having found a cache of declassified military files regarding weapon efficacy, and had decided to continue her original idea to study the weaponry used on Bajor. But Miras still wasn’t sure if she should continue with her investigation into agriculture, for it had recently occurred to her that she would need at least one physical soil sample in order to make her project worthy of high mark. She wasn’t sure if she could acquire such a sample at this late date, for the topic deadline was beginning to loom, and she didn’t want to settle on a theme until she was certain she could gather all the necessary items.

Miras had been studying in her dormitory for most of an afternoon when she received a call from Professor Mendar. It surprised her not a little when she switched on the companel and discovered the image of her instructor staring back at her; it was unusual for a teacher to contact a student through a personal channel.

“Miss Vara, I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time.”

“Not at all, Professor. I’m delighted to hear from you.”

“Miss Vara, I think you will be further delighted when you hear what I have to tell you. I know you’ve been hoping to acquire a soil sample from Bajor, and I’ve thought of a means by which you might be able to do that without having to wait for a transport to bring one back from the planet.”

“Really?” Miras was instantly hopeful.

“Yes. I just remembered, the Ministry of Science came into possession of a Bajoran artifact some years back. The artifact itself may not interest you much, but what I remember most about it is that when we opened the shipping crate, we were appalled at how filthy the container was. The artifact was caked with dirt. Of course, we cleaned it up when we made the initial inventory report, but I’m confident there is enough left in that container for you to get a viable soil sample.”

“Oh, Professor, what a good idea! Thank you so much!”

“Our window of time is quite short, however. I’ve arranged to have the artifact sent up to a laboratory for a few hours. Can you meet me on campus at the east facility within the hour?”

“Yes, Professor Mendar, I’ll be right there.” Miras switched the comm over to contact Kalisi, who was slow to answer, her eyes bleary.

“Wake up!” she teased her friend. “Professor Mendar found a way for me to get a soil sample. She’s sending a Bajoran artifact over to the lab right now, and I’m going to brush the soil off it for analysis.”

“What kind of artifact?”Kalisi, who had undoubtedly been dozing over a textbook, rubbed her eyes.

“I don’t know,” Miras told her. “But if you want to see it, you should come along.”

Kalisi shrugged. “I guess I could use a break,”she said. “I’ll meet you outside the transport in five minutes.”

Miras and Kalisi arrived at the east facility in time to see Professor Mendar speaking with someone who apparently worked in the ministry’s storage facility. She was affixing her thumbprint to an inventory padd when she saw the girls approaching, and her usually saturnine features turned to a pleasant smile. “Hello, Miss Vara, Miss Reyar. The container will be transported up to the main laboratory on floor two.” She offered the padd to Miras. “If you put your thumbscan here, you will be able to open the shipping container.” Miras did as she was told.

Kalisi was excited. “Where did it come from? How did the ministry come to have it?”

Professor Mendar bent forward as if she were telling a secret, an uncharacteristically girlish expression suddenly coming over her face. “I was told that the ministry acquired it at an auction of repossessed goods,” she confided, “but there was a rumor—and of course, it’s only a rumor—that the item was on loan from none other than the Obsidian Order.” She stood back and waited for the girls’ reaction.

“The Obsidian Order!” Kalisi exclaimed. “That can’t be. They don’t loan out their inventory.” She said these things with an authoritative air, and Miras wondered how her friend even came to have an opinion on the matter. Miras had an inkling that Kalisi’s father was involved in some confidential faction of the government, but so were a lot of people.

“As I said,” Professor Mendar replied, “it’s only a rumor. I had understood that the Order underwent some sort of political upheaval over a decade ago, and certain…priorities changed. The ministry acquired the object not long afterward.”

Kalisi said nothing more until the professor had excused herself, leaving them to find the laboratory on their own. “She’s talking about Enabran Tain,” she finally told Miras in confidential tones. “When he took over the Order, a lot of things changed.”

Miras could only nod, wondering if her friend really knew what she was talking about. It was interesting in the context of the object they were about to look at, but Miras had never been one to concern herself with the potboiler gossip that often surrounded the Order.

Miras and Kalisi took the lift to the upper level and found the main lab. The cylindrical shipping container, sitting atop a stainless metal work surface, was quite a bit larger than what Miras had expected. It was as wide as the breadth of a man’s shoulders, and half as tall as Miras herself. She put her thumbscan on the shipping container’s security panel, and peered inside as the side of the container flipped open. It was indeed full of dirt—reddish Bajoran soil that was as fine as ash. Miras quickly set about capturing several samples in a vial, and calibrated a handheld scanner to break down the soil’s composition.

“Let’s see the artifact,” Kalisi suggested as Miras tapped out the results. Absently, Miras stepped back so her friend could look inside the container.

“I can’t really see it,” Kalisi complained. “Let’s take it out and have a better look.”

Miras balked. “It’s enormous,” she pointed out, though it wasn’t so much big as cumbersome.

“Come on, aren’t you interested in history?”

“What does a Bajoran artifact have to do with history?”

Kalisi laughed. “We aren’t the only civilization in the universe, you know. Here, help me. I like looking at old things.”

Miras helped her friend heft the artifact from the container, and the two managed to remove a four-sided object with exotic designs incised on each section. There were numerous polished stones set into the panels, hidden beneath the dirt.

Kalisi ran her fingers over the raised design on one panel, and then inspected the ruddy dust left behind on her pale fingertips. “The dirt isn’t really embedded in it. This must not have been buried. Maybe it was windy when they put it in the container.” She brushed her hands together. “Is there a database with ancient Bajoran characters in it?”

Miras shrugged. “I’m sure this thing has already been catalogued and examined,” she said. “If you look in the university database, they’re sure to have some information on it.”

Kalisi was already tapping away at her padd, connecting to the university mainframe. “I don’t see anything here,” she said. “Maybe they just inventoried it and then never scanned it. How long ago did Professor Mendar say it had come in?”

“Over a decade, I thought she said.”

Kalisi continued to run her fingers over the surfaces of the object. “Hmm. Look at this corner. It looks to me like it’s meant to open up. Maybe this is really just a case for something.” She knocked on it with a closed fist, and it answered with a dull clang. “I think it’s hollow!”

Miras was doubtful. “I don’t see how this thing could open,” she muttered, and slipped her finger along the edge. She was a bit surprised to find something like a seam there. The object was not comprised of a single piece of…whatever it was made of—wood, apparently, though there was no indication of how it was held together. Miras tried to insert her fingers in the crack, and Kalisi joined in, prying at the edges, but it would not budge.

“Maybe you’re right,” Kalisi said, and glanced up at the clock. “I don’t know about you, but I haven’t eaten all day. I’m going to find a replicator.”

“I’m not hungry,” Miras told her. “I think I’m going to scan this thing and see if I can’t find out anything about these characters.”

“So! You’re interested in history after all!” Kalisi walked away on a note of triumph.

Miras smiled after her. “Linguistics, actually,” she called, as Kalisi left the room. Miras used her own padd to record the object’s written characters. She flipped on a nearby viewscreen while she downloaded the scan to the computer’s database. The machine made a barely audible whirring sound as the processors worked to recognize the writing, but nothing came up. Miras turned once again to the artifact, touched the corner where Kalisi had been so sure that she felt a seam. She ran her fingers down the side. This time there was a clicking noise, and the crack on the corner of the object widened noticeably.

Miras was overcome with an unexplained sense of dread, but as she put her hand on the object, it gave way to an even more unprecedented feeling of calm. She found that she did not want to take her hands away from the object, which felt warm where she was certain that it had been cool before. It did not occur to her to be curious about the change, which was curious in itself, but she felt so tranquil, she did not mind. She sighed out loud, and then gently pushed open the edges of the object with her hands.

The artifact was indeed a case, as Kalisi had imagined, and inside was a very unusually shaped piece of stone, an oblong rock with a slender middle that widened at the top and bottom. The color was nothing like the Bajoran soil, which had been a reddish brown. This rock was a blue-gray color, a little more like common Cardassian rocks, but still alien in texture.

Excited at this new development, she quickly changed the sensor setting and scanned the piece of stone to add to the soil sample database. She punched in a code on the computer to compare the readouts to the dirt she had already examined. What she saw bemused her profoundly, for there was nothing even remotely like it in any of the other recorded data regarding Bajoran soil and geologic formations. The database showed this rock to be a complete anomaly.

Miras stared at the piece of stone for a moment, full of questions that she knew could not be answered. She put out her hand to touch it, and for a moment she seemed to drift away from where she stood, forgetting herself…but she was jolted from her temporary daze when a comm voice piped into the room. It was Professor Mendar.

“Miss Vara, are you there? We have to return the object to the storeroom now, or sign it out for an additional period. Is it ready for transport?”

Miras reluctantly closed the case. “In a moment, Professor.” She wished Kalisi were here to help her put it back in the container. She wondered if she was supposed to have removed the item at all. She couldn’t remember what the professor had said about it, and she struggled for a moment to hoist the object back into the cylindrical container. She clicked it closed and brushed the leftover dirt from her hands. Dirt that should serve to make her project a success, she remembered. She gathered up the vial with her soil sample, the reason she had come.

“It’s ready to go, Professor Mendar.”

Miras watched as the container was transported back into the cavernous storage facility, and as it shimmered into nothingness, she recalled that mysterious sense of calm she had experienced when she had touched the artifact. She wondered what, exactly, she had just been looking at.