Beyond Gloomy Chaos 3/7 (DS9/TNG)
Title: Beyond Gloomy Chaos
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Following Sisko's entry into the Celestial Temple in "What You Leave Behind," the Q find themselves facing a dilemma that could result in interplanetary catastrophe. Can Picard, Kira and Data retrieve the mysterious Book of the Resurrection before all hell breaks loose on Cardassia?
DISCLAIMER: Paramount owns the Star Trek universe and everything it encompasses. This story is not intended to infringe on any copyrights, and the only profit I gain by it is emotional satisfaction.
PART TWO
CHAPTER SIX
Kira had no idea how far the Cardassian had led her through the seemingly endless tunnel, but she suspected they had long since passed beyond the limits of the capital city and well into the next day. Picard and Data were far behind, their progress no doubt delayed by their incessant chatter about ancient civilizations. For all she cared, they could have been carried off by a pack of rabid voles, she was so glad to be free of their typically Human superiority. As far as she was concerned, she felt as if she had been running from unseen specters for hours on end, only adrenaline pushing her onward. She had to stop and rest, and as much as she resented their presence, she needed to give Picard and Data a chance to find them and catch up.
"Wait," she called out to her escort, clutching his arm in an effort to slow him down. "I can't go on any further. Let's stop here and rest a while."
The Cardassian gave her a blank look, his lips pursed in a distorted simulation of deep concentration. "Stop?" he asked. "No go?"
"No go," she agreed, nodding vigorously. Her chest burned as she sucked in great draughts of air. Shadows danced before her eyes, making her dizzy. "Food," she said. "I need to eat. I need water." I need to pee, she thought, but kept that request to herself. "Stop, please, just for a little while. Rest."
Comprehension dawned in his disfigured face. "Stop. Rest," he said excitedly. "Know rest," he continued, once again taking her hand.
"No, please, no more," she begged, trying to pull free. "I can't go on any further."
"Is okay," he insisted. "Rest. Not far." Then, tugging her gently, he led her into an alcove neatly secreted off the corridor. Judging from the blackened pile of stones in the center of the floor and the rags scattered around it, the alcove had been used as a shelter fairly recently, and fairly often.
"Is this your home?" Kira asked, wondering why the Cardassian would choose such a remote and distant place to call home.
"Home, yes," he said, guiding her to the largest pile of rags and indicating she was to make herself comfortable.
To appease him, Kira made a show of stretching out and pretending to make herself at home. Once he seemed satisfied she would not abandon him, he settled himself in the opposite corner without a word.
Kira knew the stranger continued to watch her warily from his dark corner, waiting for her implicit approval of his meager hospitality. She was restless, though, and the aroma from her 'bedding' was almost too much to bear. Easing to a seated position, she pulled her field pack to her and rummaged through it. From within she retrieved a canteen, two field ration packets, and a shirt, which she tore into strips.
She attended to her most immediate need first and guzzled noisily from the canteen until water dribbled down her chin. Once her thirst had been slaked, she attended to her hunger pangs with a tasteless but filling ration square. Next she held one of the cloth strips to the canteen's mouth and gently tipped it forward, soaking the cloth. Then, moving slowly lest she startle the stranger, she crept across the floor. The Cardassian remained as motionless as a statue, the light from her wristlamp reflecting in his unscarred eye as it followed her movements the only sign of vitality.
Kira knelt before him and studied him in silence, wondering yet again why he seemed so familiar to her. After a few moments she opened a ration pack, tearing at the wrapper with her teeth and removing the chewy, tasteless square inside before handing it to her host. Then she waited to see what he would do.
His response made her smile. First he studied his 'meal,' turning it over and over to examine it from all angles. Next he sniffed at it, wrinkling his nose in apparent distaste. Then his tongue poked out of his mouth and grazed the surface, before disappearing behind his lips and teeth. Finally, having determined the ration square to be non-toxic, if a bit unpalatable, he opened his mouth and crammed the entire thing in.
What followed was a litany of loud chewing as his teeth tried without much success to grind the square into a size and consistency suitable for swallowing. While he was otherwise occupied, Kira took the damp rag, wrung out the excess water, and scooted closer. Then, moving with utmost caution, she leaned forward and stroked the rag across his cheek.
He froze, but to her relief he did not jerk away. She reached up again and repeated the gesture, aware of his flinch as she brushed against a bruise he must have acquired in the attack in the bar. On the other hand, she could already see the results of her efforts to remove the accumulated dirt and grime. Pleased with her success so far, Kira remoistened the rag, grimacing at the sight of the blackened water running free as she wrung the cloth, then set herself to her task with utmost dedication.
For an indeterminate length of time Kira worked diligently, scrubbing at the man's face and neck, replacing the strips as necessary until her canteen was empty. When her task was complete, she took out her phaser, adjusted the setting as high as it would go, and ignited a pile of rocks in the makeshift hearth, suffusing the alcove with light and warmth. When she turned, she found herself facing a completely new man -- a man she recognized, but could not name. Most likely they had crossed paths during the Occupation, or perhaps he had been on Dukat's staff during the Dominion War, but she still found his familiarity unsettling. Who was he?
Kira gave him a nod of approval and tossed the filthy rags into a pile, then sat down beside him. He tensed for a moment, still unsure of himself, then acquiesced and shuffled closer, sitting stiffly erect and looking straight ahead.
She studied him in silence for a long time, trying to think of the best way to question him. Finally, she asked, "Was Ziyal a friend of yours?"
His overlarge head pivoted on his stalklike neck with such speed Kira feared he might topple over. Instead, he exclaimed, pointing to himself with exaggerated emphasis, "Ziyal. Friend. My friend."
Kira sighed and shook her head sadly. Pointing to herself, she said, "My name is Kira. Kira Nerys."
That seemed to puzzle him; he looked away, licked his lips, and repeated her name several times. After several moments he looked back at her and asked, "Not Ziyal?"
"No," she said. "Not Ziyal. Ziyal was my friend."
"Not Ziyal," he repeated. The realization that he had been mistaken seemed to distress him. Then, tentatively, he asked, "Kira friend?"
She tried to reassure him with a smile. "Yes, I am your friend. I promise to help you."
A broad, childlike smile creased his un-childlike face as he asked, "Ziyal help?"
Kira sighed again. "No, no, not Ziyal. Kira." A wave of sadness engulfed her as she said, "Ziyal is dead."
At first, he did not respond, and Kira wondered if he misunderstood, or if his simple mind lacked the ability to grasp the concept of death. The melancholy she felt in Ziyal's absence fueled her growing compassion for this anonymous, shattered man, and she slid closer to rest her hand over his where it rested atop his thigh. Unsure if she should repeat herself, Kira held her breath, concentrating all her energy on observing his reaction.
The first sign he had heard, and, indeed, understood, was a single tear that escaped his eye, paused as it reached the valley of his eye ridge, then navigated an erratic course through the scales, scars and creases giving character to his face to drip off his chin and land on her hand. Then he swallowed rapidly, removed his hand from her gentle clasp, and leaned his elbows on his knees, folding his hands before him. Still he said nothing.
Still Kira waited, determined to see this through to the end.
* * * * *
He curled up on his side, facing the warm, glowing rocks, and watched her as she slept. She was exhausted, he knew; so was he, but his mind had endured so much stimulation in the past several hours he could not free himself from the maelstrom of thoughts and emotions and achieve the peace he sought. So, instead of forcing sleep to come, he tried to concentrate his thoughts on a single object.
Whoever she was, she was not Ziyal -- whoever Ziyal was. She knew who Ziyal was, however, which must mean they may have even known each other in his distant, unrecoverable past. Who was Kira Nerys? He had to find out. He needed to remember.
Frustrated by the lack of answers and his own limitations, he rolled on to his back with a loud sigh. He ached all over, both from the beating he took in the bar and from the limits he had pushed his mind and body to ever since she entered his narrow world. Perhaps, he hoped, after they had both rested they could try again. He closed his eyes and closed his mind to all thoughts and feelings.
* * * * *
Consciousness returned with a jolt, as if he had been thrown from a cliff into a pool of ice-cold water. With a sharp cry he jerked awake, convinced he would open his eyes to find his limbs scattered to the four winds. Instead he found everything exactly as it had been before, with the fading orange glow of the hearth and Kira's bright eyes staring at him through the darkness the only evidence of the passage of time.
Your name is Damar...
"Are you all right?" she asked, worry tingeing her voice. "You kept crying out in your sleep."
"Damar..." he murmured.
She sat bolt upright with a gasp. "What did you say?"
"Damar..." he repeated. The name felt strangely familiar to his tongue. "My name is Damar."
You were the leader of Cardassia...
"Nonsense," Kira said. "Damar is dead. Stop talking such nonsense."
"I was the leader of Cardassia..."
"Stop it!" she snapped. "Go back to sleep." She lay back down, but even in the dim light he could see the tension emanating from her.
You killed Ziyal...
He could not understand why he felt compelled to repeat everything the strange voice in his head told him. Nonetheless, he found himself saying aloud, "I killed Ziyal..."
There was a blur of movement on the other side of the alcove. By the time he blinked, Kira had drawn her phaser and aimed it directly at him. "What did you say?" she ground out through clenched teeth.
"I-I --" He took a deep breath, trying to make sense of the jumble of images and voices jostling for supremacy in his mind. "My name is Damar, Legate Damar. I was the leader of Cardassia, before... before..." He struggled to grasp the elusive memory. "...before the Jem'Hadar slaughtered 800 million of my people. I was an adjutant to Gul Dukat, before his disappearance during the withdrawal from Terok Nor. I killed his daughter because she was a traitor. I --" he paused in his litany, feeling the sting of tears in his eye "-- I killed Ziyal."
With each word he uttered, with each memory he recalled, a strange warmth suffused him, as if admitting his responsibility for Ziyal's death freed him from a lifelong imprisonment. "Ziyal was my friend, and I killed her, just as I killed my family and my people." A chaos of images exploded in his mind with stunning brilliance then, but somehow he managed to locate the one specific image he required. In his mind's eye, he saw himself holding the phaser, saw Ziyal embrace her father, saw her turn for one final farewell, saw the beam of light snake from the muzzle of his weapon to the center of her chest. He saw Dukat's anguish, saw his own remorse and self-doubt, saw Ziyal die. Then he knew.
Kira stared at him as if he had suddenly sprouted a second head. For a long time, an eternity it seemed, she stared at him in shocked silence. He chose to say nothing more, to let her be the first to speak. He had already said enough. Now was the time for silence.
He remembered. What a glorious sensation, to have the dam that had been holding his memories at bay suddenly wash away, and a flood of awareness and knowledge fill the places where, for the past three years, only emptiness had been. With each passing moment, he recovered more and more of his memory.
He remembered his first assignment, on board the Groumall, and his early, ill-fated infatuation with Ziyal. He remembered Dukat's foolhardy alliance with the Dominion, and his own arrogant belief that he could hold Weyoun at bay until the war with the Federation had weakened the Dominion forces and Cardassia could reclaim her mastery over her own worlds. He remembered his shameful love affair with kanar. He remembered his defection and rebellion, and Rusot's stupidity, and the arrival of Kira, Garak and Odo. He remembered the murders of his family. He remembered all he hated about Kira, and all he admired about her. He remembered why she hated him, and why she agreed to fight for his cause. He remembered the phaser beams striking him, burning his clothes, scorching through layers of flesh until he felt as if his very intestines were ablaze. He remembered losing consciousness, and awakening beneath layers of debris, bereft of companions and identity. He remembered everything.
Through the dim glow from the hearth he saw movement. Kira had placed her phaser beside her, within easy reach, and was now rummaging through her pack. When she pulled her hand free, he saw it held a dermal regenerator.
"There's only one way to find out if you really are who you say you are, or if you're just crazy," she said, inching toward him. "Will you let me?"
He knew if he refused he lost any chance of gaining her confidence, and so he nodded, keeping his movements as slow and deliberate as possible, lest he give her cause to use her weapon on him. He had already regained too much to risk losing it all.
She, too, moved with extreme caution, but soon enough she was kneeling before him and taking his chin in her hand. "This may take a while," she said. "I'm no medic, and the scarring is pretty extensive."
"Take all the time you need. I'm not going anywhere."
She smiled grimly. "No, you're not. Not until I have some answers."
He sat still as a Breen glacier while she administered to him, although his heart pounded so fiercely with anticipation he wondered if she could feel his pulse racing beneath the gentle grip of her fingers. If she did, she said nothing, her concentration focused entirely on excavating his true identity.
The only time he moved was when the regenerator's beam broke through the lowest layers of scar tissue. The sudden, blinding brightness of the laser was the first light to touch his damaged eye in three years. The pain was excruciating, and despite his best efforts to control his response he recoiled with a cry of protest.
"I'm sorry," she said. She set the regenerator on the ground beside her, then turned back to him. "Hold still and let me get a close look at you."
He obeyed, although when she directed the beam of her wristlamp toward his face he was forced to turn away, his newly-opened eye was still so exquisitely sensitive to the harsh light. Undiscouraged, she pressed her palms on either side of his face, taking care not to press too firmly against the tender flesh, and stared at him. After a moment or two of rapid blinking, he willed his gaze to return her scrutiny.
She released him with a sharp intake of breath. "By the word of the Prophets," she murmured. "You are Damar!"
* * * * *
Q could not help admiring his beloved mate's fourteen slender, hairy legs as she used them to maneuver across the alcove's ceiling toward him, her bulbous body with its triple pairs of multifaceted eyes balanced precariously on top. "My dear," he said, his own arachnid form quivering in delight, "I never would have guessed how much the shape of a Cardassian barking spider compliments your already stunning beauty!" He woofed a couple of times for effect, and because he could not help himself.
She waved a couple of forelegs at him in reproof. "Darling, your silk is showing."
"Oh my." He blushed -- as only spiders can blush -- and retracted the deceptively thin filament he had inadvertently released. Once he had collected himself, he asked, "What brings you here, my love?"
"The Continuum."
Q growled, and not just because of the physical form he had assumed. He had expected this. In fact, he was surprised they had given him so much leeway. They must be desperate for his success, otherwise they would have put their collective -- and rhetorical, since the Q had no use for feet when in their natural state -- foot down long ago. He would have to remember that; it might prove useful, especially when manipulating uncooperative Humans like Picard. "They think I'm interfering, don't they?"
Since all but four of her limbs were actively engaged in fashioning a web, Q simply nodded. "They were willing to overlook the Dukat-Winn charade, since I was there to keep you in line, but restoring Damar's memories was too much."
Q scoffed. "Pah! What do they know? He would have regained his memory eventually. All I did was shorten the process a little."
"Which you shouldn't have done, inevitability or not." She put down her knitting to creep closer. "You weren't even supposed to arrange that oh-so-coincidental 'meeting' in the bar!"
"Now wait just a minute!" Q blustered, his body bobbing up and down in agitation. "I had nothing to do with that!" At her unblinking, iridescent stare, he continued, "I'm telling you, that wasn't me!"
"Mmm-hmm," she murmured, obviously not believing a word he said. "Fine, believe that if you want to. The point remains the same: stop interfering before the Continuum censures you."
"Yes, ma'am!" he saluted smartly, using half of his legs to execute the maneuver. Q just shook her head in silence, then disappeared.
Q skittered across the ceiling. When he stood above the two one-time adversaries, he anchored himself to the ceiling with a wad of silk, then carefully lowered until he dangled a few centimeters from Kira's head. "At least," he whispered to his unsuspecting audience, "they haven't caught on that I'm the one who spared Damar's life three years ago."
CHAPTER SEVEN
According to Data's quick reconnaissance, the cramped passageway opened up into a large corridor, high enough for them both to stand erect, a few meters beyond the secret entrance. Picard closed the trap door behind him, just in case the owner of that equipment happened to be following, then crept behind Data into the main corridor.
"Look, Captain," Data said, pointing to one of a series of objects affixed to the wall.
Picard shone his wristlamp on the object. "A lantern?" he asked, neither expecting nor needing an answer. "Do you have your phaser handy?"
Data dutifully adjusted the setting on his weapon, then aimed it at the lantern and fired. The wick sputtered and smoked at first, then began to glow bright orange before bursting into a bright, white light, filling the corridor with illumination. Picard was about to thank Data when, as if on cue, one by one each subsequent lamp flashed to life. "Well, then, I guess we won't be needing these," he said as he de-activated his wristlamp and put it in his pack.
"There appears to be a fuel line connecting the lanterns on each side," Data said.
"I figured as much. It must mean these passageways were used often."
"They are recent additions," Data said, lifting his tricorder to scan one of the lanterns. "This fuel is only a few years old."
Picard turned around in place and studied his surroundings. "I wonder if this underground city might have been used as a bunker by some of the higher-ranking officers in the Cardassian government," he mused. "I suspect that if civilians used this place, there'd be more evidence of their presence."
"Perhaps the Obsidian Order used it as a base of operations. There may even still be agents in hiding down here."
Despite his best efforts, Picard could not control his shudder. One run-in with the Obsidian Order was more than enough to last a lifetime. He did not relish the thought of meeting up with one of Gul Madred's former colleagues. He would do whatever was necessary -- even violate his own high moral standards -- to prevent any such occurrence. "Are you sure?" he asked, nonetheless glancing around suspiciously. "If the Obsidian Order survivors had taken refuge down here, I doubt they'd have left their gear out in the open like that. I also doubt we'd have made it this far unscathed."
"Perhaps," Data conceded. "However, there is little reason to suspect that any Central Command officer would have been equally careless. Furthermore, I do not think our location qualifies as 'out in the open'."
"Point taken, Mister Data. Obviously this place is a very well-kept secret, and whoever uses it would not expect to find us down here. That makes our situation all the more precarious. Keep an eye out."
"Yes, Captain."
Picard knew he could rely on Data to protect him at all costs, but he was reluctant to encourage the android to take any unnecessary risks. He found some solace in the bright illumination provided by the lanterns -- anyone hiding down here had probably been alerted to their presence, but the limited confines of the passageway would hamper any attempt at an ambush. Even while he kept his senses on high alert, Picard also allowed the explorer in him to emerge and take note of their surroundings.
The walls were clearly man-made, although he saw no evidence of the origins of the tunnel itself. Had it been carved out of the bedrock by ancient miners, or was it a product of nature?
A series of intaglia had been arranged on the walls in a precise and orderly pattern, columns of three stacked floor to ceiling interspersed with a single, centered plaque, each approximately two meters apart. They were uniform in size and shape, but the similarities ended there. Each bore unique and distinctive images, no two exactly alike, although many motifs appeared again and again. Some of the images and motif clusters looked vaguely familiar, whereas others Picard remembered having seen decorating the temple.
Unable to suppress his archaeological instincts, he stopped before one of the clusters of intaglia. "Data," he said, "What does your tricorder say about these plaques?"
Eager for the answer, Picard hovered close by while Data scanned the relief. The precise arrangement along the walls, coupled with the ornate embellishments distinguishing one from another, raised several questions in his mind that, he hoped, a tricorder reading could answer.
"At least one of these hieroglyphs appears to be Cardassian," Data finally said after studying the readout. Before Picard could prompt him for more details, he pointed to a lotus-like symbol in the center of the plaque. "This is almost identical to the Cardassian state emblem."
Picard almost groaned aloud at his own blindness. He had seen several varieties of that particular image on many of the tablets. No wonder he had fixated on it -- no wonder it had looked so familiar to him. "The Cardassian government must have chosen this symbol to represent the state after finding it in those Hebitian tombs they uncovered. The symbol would have implied a direct line of succession between the ancient civilization and the modern one."
"I do not think that is the correct conclusion, Captain," Data said, guiding his tricorder's scanning beacon around the edges of the tablet. "If these readings are correct, this tablet is not just a plaque, but a cenotaph. I am detecting evidence of humanoid remains behind it."
"What?" Picard asked, ecstatic. "Are you saying we stumbled into Hebitian catacombs?"
"Yes, Captain," he said, unruffled as usual, "except they may not be Hebitian. Although the age of this crypt is synonymous with that of the temple, these bioreadings indicate the remains are analogous to those of the Cardassian genotype."
Without a second thought, Picard removed his field pack and rummaged through it until he found the tools he needed: a stone mason's hammer and chisel. Twenty-fourth century archaeologists had much more modern tools to work with, but Professor Galen had always encouraged his protégés to use hand-held instruments. "An archaeologist without dirty hands and scraped knees is a treasure hunter, not a scientist," was one of Galen's favorite adages. As Galen's star pupil, Picard had taken his mentor's advice to heart, and never went on any expedition without his hammer, chisel and whisk broom.
"Give me a hand here, Data," he said, wedging his chisel between the plaque and the wall. Data retrieved his own chisel from his pack and mimicked Picard's movements, placing his tool several centimeters above Picard's. Once both chisels were in place, Data drove them further in with a few good blows from the hammer. Then, each man gripping the handle of his chisel, they pulled as one.
At first, the plaque refused to budge. They pulled again. Still nothing. And again, but this time Picard thought he felt something give. He planted his feet firmly against the ground. "Pull!" he commanded, clenching his teeth and pulling with all his strength.
With a growl of protest and the hiss of an ancient broken vacuum, the tablet gave way with such force it threw Picard to the ground and sent Data staggering. An object tumbled free of the crypt and landed with a hollow thud in Picard's lap.
For an instant, Picard was too stunned to do much more than shake his head to clear his vision. As soon as the fog lifted, however, he looked down at the unfamiliar weight in his lap.
It was a Cardassian skull. The cranial ridges were less pronounced than in modern Cardassians, but there was no questioning the species of humanoid this skull came from.
Picard picked up the skull and stared into the empty eye sockets. "Alas, poor Yorick," he murmured. Then, "Mister Data, do you realize what this means?"
Data knelt beside Picard to examine the skull. "No, Captain. What does it mean?" he asked guilelessly.
Picard smiled in grim triumph. "It means we've been wrong all along. The Hebitians weren't replaced by the Cardassians -- they were the Cardassians' direct ancestors!" His gaze returned to the skull. "But why would the Cardassians want to conceal that?"
CHAPTER EIGHT
Kira could not believe her eyes, but the truth was undeniable: Damar, whom she had seen fall under a hail of disruptor fire three years ago, was alive. She had uncovered him herself, buried beneath years of dirt, scar tissue and fractured memories, but she still did not believe it. "I can't believe it," she said, shaking her head as if to clear her vision of a troublesome hallucination.
Damar gave her a lopsided grin; the newly-regenerated flesh on his face was obviously still quite tender. Hallucination or not, Kira wished she had something to treat his discomfort. "What can't you believe?" he asked. "That I'm not dead?"
She laughed humorlessly. "That's a start. Pick something, anything. I can't believe you're not dead. I saw you die! I can't believe that out of all the people on this planet to run into, I ran into you. I can't believe half of what I've seen or heard tonight. I-I --" she raised her arms, palms up and looked around her "-- I can't believe we're down here... wherever here is."
The grin that had creased his face slowly faded as he, too, looked around. "Yes..." he murmured. "I'm surprised we're here myself. I guess instinct helped me remember."
"What is this place?" she asked. "Why did you bring us here? Have you known about it all along? Why didn't you bring us here during the war -- do you realize how much more effective we could've been if we'd known about this place then? We could've --"
His upraised hand halted her barrage of questions. "Slow down" he said. He took a deep breath. "I don't know why I brought you down here tonight. All I know is that something was driving me here -- instinct, subconscious memory, alien possession, I don't know. If I knew..." he sighed again. "I wish I knew why."
Leaning forward to rest her hand on his knee, Kira asked, "Do you know where we are?"
He nodded. "Oh, yes, I definitely know where we are."
Kira waited. When nothing else was forthcoming, she asked, "Do you intend to fill me in, or am I just going to have to guess?"
Damar slowly stood and crossed to the narrow fissure leading to the main tunnel. He folded his arms over his chest. Kira remained where she was, waiting impatiently for his answer. After a long, tense moment, he finally said, "The reason why I never brought you and Garak and Odo down here is that, many years ago, I took an oath -- a blood oath -- promising to protect the people who live here with my life. I gave them my word of honor, Colonel -- I swore to them that I would never bring them harm, even at the cost of my own life. Had I revealed this place, even to my own men... it would've meant the end of them. That was a sacrifice I wasn't willing to make."
He turned back to her then, but kept his gaze focused on the ground, his lower lip sandwiched between his teeth. "I can't even begin to imagine why I felt compelled to bring you here now. I --"
This time, Kira silenced him with an upraised hand. "Wait. Stop," she said. "Hold that thought. What people are you protecting?"
He flinched as though stung. Still refusing to look directly at her, he returned to her side, picked up her phaser where it sat, forgotten, by her knee, and aimed an intense beam of energy at the pile of rocks in the center of the floor. Then, squatting before the fire with her weapon dangling idly in his hands, he said, "The Kerdish."
"The who?"
"The Kerdish. They're... tribesmen, nomads. They are... they're the descendants of who we once were."
"You mean they're Cardassians?"
He nodded. "Yes. No. Both, and neither."
Kira groaned in frustration. She had thought she was finally beginning to understand, but Damar's equivocating caused her head to hurt. "Are they Cardassians or not?"
He pursed his lips in thought. "They are to the casual observer," he said, fluttering his hands about his face. "They look like Cardassians -- scales, ridges, third eye, the usual characteristics. But the similarities end there. The Kerdish distinguish themselves by living in accordance with the old ways -- the way my people lived thousands of years ago."
"When the Hebitians were in power?" She was beginning to wish she had listened more carefully to Picard's nattering about archaeology.
"Even longer," he said.
"And you felt obligated to protect them? Why? From what?"
"Central Command. The Obsidian Order." He gave a slight shrug. "The official policy against the Kerdish was one of extermination. The old ways -- the ways of the Kerdish -- are an embarrassment to most Cardassians, especially those in the military and government. They are a reminder of how primitive and unsophisticated we were once."
Kira would have laughed, had his rationale not been so familiar to what her people had endured at the hands of his people. "Why you, then? You were in the military -- you were the leader of Cardassia! Why did they trust you?"
He looked at her then, with an expression so full of melancholy it almost broke her heart. "My wife was Kerdish," he said.
"Sweet Prophets," Kira murmured. "No wonder you were so determined to protect them -- they were your family."
"Exactly." He leaned back and sat down, crossing his legs before him. "I just wish I knew why I felt I had to bring you down here now."
Kira sat beside him, and together they both stared into the fire's red-orange depths. "Maybe it has something to do with why I'm here," she said after a while.
He turned his head to study her. "Why are you here? I'd have thought you'd have retired to Bajor long ago."
She snorted. "Sometimes I wish I had, but someone has to keep Starfleet from over-running the station."
"You mean Tero -- I mean Deep Space Nine? You're still there?" She nodded. "And Bajor never joined the Federation?" She shook her head. "You still haven't told me why you're here."
"I'll tell you as soon as I've figured it out for myself. Never mind that," she said when he gave her a quizzical look. "Captain Picard and Commander Data are here trying to find some sort of ancient relic -- a book of some sort. I'm here to make sure they fail."
He gave her a long, hard stare, his eyes never blinking until she squirmed and looked away. "I find that hard to believe. You're as eager to find that book as they are." He paused for a moment, then continued, "Why? What's so important about this book it'd bring a Human -- much less you -- all the way to Cardassia?"
Although her cheeks were warm, Kira's hands felt cold, and she held them out toward the fire, spreading the fingers to expose more of her skin to the heat. Even so, she shivered at the memory of the two pagh-wraiths' 'visit.' She took a deep breath to calm her nerves, then asked, "Do you know anything about Bajoran religion?" His sneer was answer enough. "Dumb question. Okay... well, apart from the Prophets, there are these creatures known as pagh-wraiths. Their 'leader' is known as Kosst Amojin: the Evil One."
"Kosst Amojin," Damar murmured. "I know that name."
Kira nodded excitedly, intuitively knowing what stirred his memory. "Dukat..."
He shuddered violently. "Yes, Dukat!" He ran his hands over his face, taking care around the newer surfaces. "Dukat, he..."
"He became a devotee of Kosst Amojin."
"You mean he became a devil worshipper." Oddly, his voice carried no sense of sarcasm or condescension.
"You could say that." She hugged her knees to her chest, feeling another chill pass through her despite the heat emanating from the rocks. "Some say it was a case of like meeting like."
He scoffed. "I can't imagine who on Bajor -- or on DS9 -- would say that." This time, the sarcasm was all too evident. "But I still don't see what this has to do with why you're here."
One of the rocks splintered beneath the intense heat, sending several small stones tumbling toward them. Kira kicked one away with the toe of her boot, leaving a black streak along the well-worn leather. "There was a book, called the Book of the Kosst Amojin, that supposedly had the power to unleash great evil on Bajor."
She felt, rather than saw, Damar turn to look at her with incredulity and scorn. "You don't actually believe any of that nonsense, do you?" He shook his head. "I thought you, at least, were above all that."
"The book exists, Damar." She turned to him, her eyes wide with the fear and uncertainty that had haunted her ever since that day they found Kai Winn's remains in the fire caves. "Dukat, with the help of... of..." she paused, willing herself to ease the storm brewing in her imagination and focus on the moment at hand "...of our most venerated religious leader, found it."
"Maybe so," he shrugged, "but obviously it doesn't have this 'evil power,' or else you wouldn't be here talking to me."
"There's more," she said. "There's a missing chapter."
Silence fell upon them, dark and suffocating. Even the fire seemed to wane a little. After a long, tense moment, Damar said, "That's why you're here. That's what you're looking for." She knew he saw her nod, even in the dim light. He licked his lips and swallowed noisily. "This 'great evil' you mentioned... do you know exactly what that means?"
Despite her own anxiety, she could not help teasing him. "Don't tell me you believe any of this nonsense. I though you, at least, were above all that."
His laughter rang loudly and falsely throughout the alcove, eventually escaping through the fissure to reverberate in the corridor beyond. Her own accompanying laugh sounded hollow in her ears, and she cut her mirth short. "I have no intention of falling victim to any of your superstitions," he said, leaning his head back to look up at the ceiling. "But..."
"But?"
"But the Kerdish have a legend that is disturbingly similar."
"Really?" Kira asked, interested in spite of herself. Then, lest she appear overeager, she continued, "I've heard that similar legends can be found all across the quadrant. Did you know than ancient Humans even believed in their own version of the Emissary?" At Damar's upraised brow ridge she almost went on, then thought better of it. "I'm sure it's just a coincidence."
"Oh, I have no doubt you're right," he said, leaning back and then shuffling himself around until he was stretched out on his side, catlike, before the fire, his head propped on one hand. "However, the Kerdish also have a legend about their ancestors having been evicted from Paradise thousands of years ago. These ancient people were forced to wander from world to world, searching for a place to call home. Apart from their personal belongings, all they carried with them to remind them of where they had come from was a sacred book. According to the legend, a day would come when someone chosen by the Kerdish gods would open the book, thus revealing the secret that would restore them to Paradise."
As Damar recounted his tale, Kira had leaned her weight back on her hands and closed her eyes, letting her imagination summon up a vision of broken-spirited Cardassians in search of their lost Paradise. Despite her long-cherished antipathy toward Cardassians, the vision was too similar to present reality to bring her much pleasure.
When he finished, she opened her eyes to see him looking up at her with a strange expression that seemed to encompass both longing and compassion at the same time. She shifted, uncomfortable beneath the intensity of his gaze. "Is that it?" she asked when he turned his face back toward the fire.
"No, that's not it," he said quietly.
"Then what?"
He looked back up at her, but this time the raw emotions had been replaced by apprehension. "In the legend, Paradise is known as Ha-Bajra."
* * * * *
After returning the skull to its final resting place and carefully resealing the crypt with a low-res beam from a phaser, Picard and Data continued on. The string of lanterns -- and the catacombs -- came to an end after several hundred meters, leaving them once again with nothing but their wristlamps and Data's hyperacute vision to guide them through the darkness. Picard's unease returned as thoughts of a possible ambush invaded his thoughts, but he forced his fears to the back of his mind.
His first priority, at the moment, was to find Colonel Kira. Once he had accomplished that task, he would have to sit down with the data they had collected and saved to Data's tricorder and analyze it. He hoped to return here soon and conduct a full-scale excavation; in light of the current political situation on the surface, he doubted the Cardassian government would be in any position to object. The Bajorans, on the other hand, might cause problems. He would have to ensure the colonel's support and tacit approval before submitting his proposal.
He was so deeply involved with his aspirations that he failed to notice that Data had come to a stop. Consequently, Picard walked right into him.
"Such grace," came the sardonic comment.
Picard sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, which stung from the collision. "I suppose I should have expected to run into you at least once," he said.
Q chuckled at Picard's unintended pun. "Touché, mon ami." Then, with a snap of his fingers, a soft, warm glow bathed the chamber. Picard looked around, but saw no visible light source. He looked at Q questioningly. "Call it 'divine radiance'," Q said with a twinkle in his eye.
Picard scowled. "All right, then, perhaps you'd care to shed a little light on where we are and why we're here?"
His hands pressed to his sides, Q roared with laughter. "Ho, ho, ho, my pet has gone and found himself a sense of humor! What is the world coming to?"
"I do not see the humor in all this," Data said without reproach. "We have lost our guide and Colonel Kira. Furthermore, we do not know where we are nor how to return to the surface without retracing our steps."
Picard recognized the expression on Q's face as he listened to Data. He had seen it once before, when Q had been reduced to mortal limitations and Data had risked his own precious life to save Q's. For all the pomposity and arrogance Q might exhibit toward Picard and other mortals, he reserved genuine respect and admiration for Data. It was perhaps the only truly honest emotion the insufferable entity ever felt.
"A genuine concern, to be sure," Q said to Data, "but not a cause for worry. You are, as you have always been, on the right track. And, soon, I promise you, you will be reunited with Legate Damar and Colonel Kira and return to the surface for the final leg of your journey."
A thousand questions sprang to mind. Picard could not possibly prioritize them all, so he leaped to the most obvious one. "Legate Damar? Who's Legate Damar?" He secretly hoped Legate Damar had not been a colleague of Madred's; the name was familiar enough for it to be possible.
Q gestured vaguely in the direction they were heading. "Oh, just that flea-ridden spoonhead you picked up."
"Do you mean the same Legate Damar who led the Cardassian revolt against the Dominion?" Picard breathed a sigh of relief, now that Data had reminded him why the name seemed familiar.
"The one and the same." Q beamed at Data.
"But Starfleet reported that he had died hours before the cease-fire."
Q shrugged. "Death is a state of mind."
Data opened his mouth, then reconsidered and snapped his mouth shut. In the opening he left, Picard spoke up. "You mentioned the final leg of our journey. Are you saying we're close to finding the Book of the Resurrection?
Q gave a slight nod. "Close, yes, but you still have a long way to go."
Picard turned to Data. "Sounds familiar."
Q sputtered in exasperation. "What would you have me do, Jean-Luc? Give you a map leading you directly to the book, complete with a giant red X indicating where you're supposed to dig?"
"That would be nice."
"Maybe in your limited understanding of reality," Q scoffed, "but I can't. I've given you enough help as it is. Too much, in fact -- not only is the Continuum screaming bloody murder, but the Prophets are on to you now."
Picard's upraised hand brought a halt to Q's hurried, breathless rationalization. "Excuse me -- the Prophets? You don't mean the aliens that live in the Bajoran wormhole, do you? The aliens the Bajorans think of as their gods?"
Q rolled his eyes in obvious disdain. "Yes, Jean-Luc, those Prophets. Certainly not those crazy men with long beards and unkempt hair scampering about the desert in your pitiful history."
Ignoring the puerile attempt to anger him, Picard pressed, "What do the Bajoran Prophets have to do with any of this?" A fragment of a memory flickered in the back of his mind like a warning light.
His arms crossed over his chest, Q looked down his long, thin nose at Picard. He was already several centimeters taller -- no doubt by design -- but this stance only made him seem to grow even taller. Picard refused to feel inferior, however, and glared back at him. "Well, Q, are you going to answer me or not?"
Q furrowed his brow until a crease appeared just above the bridge of his nose. Looking all too much the part of a strict schoolmaster, he finally said, "I'm tempted to say no, just to spite you. But I'm above that sort of childish behavior." At Picard's derisive snort he paused only for a second, then continued, "The 'wormhole aliens,' as you high-minded Starfleet types are so fond of calling them, are at the very heart of this crisis. They are the ones who infected the Continuum -- and they are the reason why I need you to find the Book of the Resurrection."
The warning light flashing at the back of Picard's mind suddenly became a full-fledged red alert. The fragment of a memory, a line item in a border patrol report he had read years ago, leaped, fully-formed, from his subconscious into stark reality. "I remember..." he began, trying to put the memory into words. "The Bajorans... they believed Benjamin Sisko was a religious figure...a messiah of some sort." The gleam in Q's eyes prodded him onward. "He disappeared right at the end of the Dominion War.... I recall something about a trip to Bajor, then he was never heard from again." Picard almost gagged on the realization. "He's the one! He's the Human you brought into the Continuum!"
Q shook his head, his expressive mouth turned downwards. "You were so close, Jean-Luc, you could almost taste it. But you missed by a mile. Sisko is the source of the infection, but no Q is responsible."
"No Q--?" Picard thought aloud. Then it hit him. "The Bajoran Prophets are part of the Continuum! They're Q!"
"Actually, they're P, but close enough." Q clapped a hand on Picard's shoulder. "You realize what that means, don't you?"
"They have the same abilities as the Q," Data answered on Picard's behalf.
"Very perceptive, my gilt friend." He turned his attention back to Picard. "The only advantage you have is their limited understanding of linear time. Unlike the Q, they haven't grasped the awareness that the cosmos advances outward in infinite directions from a single point. To them, time and space are wholly relative. With Sisko there to instruct them, however...." He let the implied threat hover unspoken. "If they choose to send Sisko to stop you, then you have no advantage at all."
"But you --"
"No." Q shook his head firmly, but his expression was mournful. "I cannot help you. You'll have to rely on your own resources to stop whatever the P send after you." He gave Picard a weak grin. "Why do you think I turned to you? If anyone can succeed -- if anyone has a fighting chance -- it's you." Then he disappeared in a flash of white light.
Picard turned to Data. "Well, that answers that question." He sighed. "What do we do now? Keep walking?"
"Actually, Captain," he said, pointing in the direction of a ladder that, until then, Picard had not realized was there, "I think we can return to the surface that way."
"Thanks, I think," Picard grumbled to himself as he followed Data.
PART FOUR
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Following Sisko's entry into the Celestial Temple in "What You Leave Behind," the Q find themselves facing a dilemma that could result in interplanetary catastrophe. Can Picard, Kira and Data retrieve the mysterious Book of the Resurrection before all hell breaks loose on Cardassia?
DISCLAIMER: Paramount owns the Star Trek universe and everything it encompasses. This story is not intended to infringe on any copyrights, and the only profit I gain by it is emotional satisfaction.
PART TWO
CHAPTER SIX
Kira had no idea how far the Cardassian had led her through the seemingly endless tunnel, but she suspected they had long since passed beyond the limits of the capital city and well into the next day. Picard and Data were far behind, their progress no doubt delayed by their incessant chatter about ancient civilizations. For all she cared, they could have been carried off by a pack of rabid voles, she was so glad to be free of their typically Human superiority. As far as she was concerned, she felt as if she had been running from unseen specters for hours on end, only adrenaline pushing her onward. She had to stop and rest, and as much as she resented their presence, she needed to give Picard and Data a chance to find them and catch up.
"Wait," she called out to her escort, clutching his arm in an effort to slow him down. "I can't go on any further. Let's stop here and rest a while."
The Cardassian gave her a blank look, his lips pursed in a distorted simulation of deep concentration. "Stop?" he asked. "No go?"
"No go," she agreed, nodding vigorously. Her chest burned as she sucked in great draughts of air. Shadows danced before her eyes, making her dizzy. "Food," she said. "I need to eat. I need water." I need to pee, she thought, but kept that request to herself. "Stop, please, just for a little while. Rest."
Comprehension dawned in his disfigured face. "Stop. Rest," he said excitedly. "Know rest," he continued, once again taking her hand.
"No, please, no more," she begged, trying to pull free. "I can't go on any further."
"Is okay," he insisted. "Rest. Not far." Then, tugging her gently, he led her into an alcove neatly secreted off the corridor. Judging from the blackened pile of stones in the center of the floor and the rags scattered around it, the alcove had been used as a shelter fairly recently, and fairly often.
"Is this your home?" Kira asked, wondering why the Cardassian would choose such a remote and distant place to call home.
"Home, yes," he said, guiding her to the largest pile of rags and indicating she was to make herself comfortable.
To appease him, Kira made a show of stretching out and pretending to make herself at home. Once he seemed satisfied she would not abandon him, he settled himself in the opposite corner without a word.
Kira knew the stranger continued to watch her warily from his dark corner, waiting for her implicit approval of his meager hospitality. She was restless, though, and the aroma from her 'bedding' was almost too much to bear. Easing to a seated position, she pulled her field pack to her and rummaged through it. From within she retrieved a canteen, two field ration packets, and a shirt, which she tore into strips.
She attended to her most immediate need first and guzzled noisily from the canteen until water dribbled down her chin. Once her thirst had been slaked, she attended to her hunger pangs with a tasteless but filling ration square. Next she held one of the cloth strips to the canteen's mouth and gently tipped it forward, soaking the cloth. Then, moving slowly lest she startle the stranger, she crept across the floor. The Cardassian remained as motionless as a statue, the light from her wristlamp reflecting in his unscarred eye as it followed her movements the only sign of vitality.
Kira knelt before him and studied him in silence, wondering yet again why he seemed so familiar to her. After a few moments she opened a ration pack, tearing at the wrapper with her teeth and removing the chewy, tasteless square inside before handing it to her host. Then she waited to see what he would do.
His response made her smile. First he studied his 'meal,' turning it over and over to examine it from all angles. Next he sniffed at it, wrinkling his nose in apparent distaste. Then his tongue poked out of his mouth and grazed the surface, before disappearing behind his lips and teeth. Finally, having determined the ration square to be non-toxic, if a bit unpalatable, he opened his mouth and crammed the entire thing in.
What followed was a litany of loud chewing as his teeth tried without much success to grind the square into a size and consistency suitable for swallowing. While he was otherwise occupied, Kira took the damp rag, wrung out the excess water, and scooted closer. Then, moving with utmost caution, she leaned forward and stroked the rag across his cheek.
He froze, but to her relief he did not jerk away. She reached up again and repeated the gesture, aware of his flinch as she brushed against a bruise he must have acquired in the attack in the bar. On the other hand, she could already see the results of her efforts to remove the accumulated dirt and grime. Pleased with her success so far, Kira remoistened the rag, grimacing at the sight of the blackened water running free as she wrung the cloth, then set herself to her task with utmost dedication.
For an indeterminate length of time Kira worked diligently, scrubbing at the man's face and neck, replacing the strips as necessary until her canteen was empty. When her task was complete, she took out her phaser, adjusted the setting as high as it would go, and ignited a pile of rocks in the makeshift hearth, suffusing the alcove with light and warmth. When she turned, she found herself facing a completely new man -- a man she recognized, but could not name. Most likely they had crossed paths during the Occupation, or perhaps he had been on Dukat's staff during the Dominion War, but she still found his familiarity unsettling. Who was he?
Kira gave him a nod of approval and tossed the filthy rags into a pile, then sat down beside him. He tensed for a moment, still unsure of himself, then acquiesced and shuffled closer, sitting stiffly erect and looking straight ahead.
She studied him in silence for a long time, trying to think of the best way to question him. Finally, she asked, "Was Ziyal a friend of yours?"
His overlarge head pivoted on his stalklike neck with such speed Kira feared he might topple over. Instead, he exclaimed, pointing to himself with exaggerated emphasis, "Ziyal. Friend. My friend."
Kira sighed and shook her head sadly. Pointing to herself, she said, "My name is Kira. Kira Nerys."
That seemed to puzzle him; he looked away, licked his lips, and repeated her name several times. After several moments he looked back at her and asked, "Not Ziyal?"
"No," she said. "Not Ziyal. Ziyal was my friend."
"Not Ziyal," he repeated. The realization that he had been mistaken seemed to distress him. Then, tentatively, he asked, "Kira friend?"
She tried to reassure him with a smile. "Yes, I am your friend. I promise to help you."
A broad, childlike smile creased his un-childlike face as he asked, "Ziyal help?"
Kira sighed again. "No, no, not Ziyal. Kira." A wave of sadness engulfed her as she said, "Ziyal is dead."
At first, he did not respond, and Kira wondered if he misunderstood, or if his simple mind lacked the ability to grasp the concept of death. The melancholy she felt in Ziyal's absence fueled her growing compassion for this anonymous, shattered man, and she slid closer to rest her hand over his where it rested atop his thigh. Unsure if she should repeat herself, Kira held her breath, concentrating all her energy on observing his reaction.
The first sign he had heard, and, indeed, understood, was a single tear that escaped his eye, paused as it reached the valley of his eye ridge, then navigated an erratic course through the scales, scars and creases giving character to his face to drip off his chin and land on her hand. Then he swallowed rapidly, removed his hand from her gentle clasp, and leaned his elbows on his knees, folding his hands before him. Still he said nothing.
Still Kira waited, determined to see this through to the end.
* * * * *
He curled up on his side, facing the warm, glowing rocks, and watched her as she slept. She was exhausted, he knew; so was he, but his mind had endured so much stimulation in the past several hours he could not free himself from the maelstrom of thoughts and emotions and achieve the peace he sought. So, instead of forcing sleep to come, he tried to concentrate his thoughts on a single object.
Whoever she was, she was not Ziyal -- whoever Ziyal was. She knew who Ziyal was, however, which must mean they may have even known each other in his distant, unrecoverable past. Who was Kira Nerys? He had to find out. He needed to remember.
Frustrated by the lack of answers and his own limitations, he rolled on to his back with a loud sigh. He ached all over, both from the beating he took in the bar and from the limits he had pushed his mind and body to ever since she entered his narrow world. Perhaps, he hoped, after they had both rested they could try again. He closed his eyes and closed his mind to all thoughts and feelings.
* * * * *
Consciousness returned with a jolt, as if he had been thrown from a cliff into a pool of ice-cold water. With a sharp cry he jerked awake, convinced he would open his eyes to find his limbs scattered to the four winds. Instead he found everything exactly as it had been before, with the fading orange glow of the hearth and Kira's bright eyes staring at him through the darkness the only evidence of the passage of time.
Your name is Damar...
"Are you all right?" she asked, worry tingeing her voice. "You kept crying out in your sleep."
"Damar..." he murmured.
She sat bolt upright with a gasp. "What did you say?"
"Damar..." he repeated. The name felt strangely familiar to his tongue. "My name is Damar."
You were the leader of Cardassia...
"Nonsense," Kira said. "Damar is dead. Stop talking such nonsense."
"I was the leader of Cardassia..."
"Stop it!" she snapped. "Go back to sleep." She lay back down, but even in the dim light he could see the tension emanating from her.
You killed Ziyal...
He could not understand why he felt compelled to repeat everything the strange voice in his head told him. Nonetheless, he found himself saying aloud, "I killed Ziyal..."
There was a blur of movement on the other side of the alcove. By the time he blinked, Kira had drawn her phaser and aimed it directly at him. "What did you say?" she ground out through clenched teeth.
"I-I --" He took a deep breath, trying to make sense of the jumble of images and voices jostling for supremacy in his mind. "My name is Damar, Legate Damar. I was the leader of Cardassia, before... before..." He struggled to grasp the elusive memory. "...before the Jem'Hadar slaughtered 800 million of my people. I was an adjutant to Gul Dukat, before his disappearance during the withdrawal from Terok Nor. I killed his daughter because she was a traitor. I --" he paused in his litany, feeling the sting of tears in his eye "-- I killed Ziyal."
With each word he uttered, with each memory he recalled, a strange warmth suffused him, as if admitting his responsibility for Ziyal's death freed him from a lifelong imprisonment. "Ziyal was my friend, and I killed her, just as I killed my family and my people." A chaos of images exploded in his mind with stunning brilliance then, but somehow he managed to locate the one specific image he required. In his mind's eye, he saw himself holding the phaser, saw Ziyal embrace her father, saw her turn for one final farewell, saw the beam of light snake from the muzzle of his weapon to the center of her chest. He saw Dukat's anguish, saw his own remorse and self-doubt, saw Ziyal die. Then he knew.
Kira stared at him as if he had suddenly sprouted a second head. For a long time, an eternity it seemed, she stared at him in shocked silence. He chose to say nothing more, to let her be the first to speak. He had already said enough. Now was the time for silence.
He remembered. What a glorious sensation, to have the dam that had been holding his memories at bay suddenly wash away, and a flood of awareness and knowledge fill the places where, for the past three years, only emptiness had been. With each passing moment, he recovered more and more of his memory.
He remembered his first assignment, on board the Groumall, and his early, ill-fated infatuation with Ziyal. He remembered Dukat's foolhardy alliance with the Dominion, and his own arrogant belief that he could hold Weyoun at bay until the war with the Federation had weakened the Dominion forces and Cardassia could reclaim her mastery over her own worlds. He remembered his shameful love affair with kanar. He remembered his defection and rebellion, and Rusot's stupidity, and the arrival of Kira, Garak and Odo. He remembered the murders of his family. He remembered all he hated about Kira, and all he admired about her. He remembered why she hated him, and why she agreed to fight for his cause. He remembered the phaser beams striking him, burning his clothes, scorching through layers of flesh until he felt as if his very intestines were ablaze. He remembered losing consciousness, and awakening beneath layers of debris, bereft of companions and identity. He remembered everything.
Through the dim glow from the hearth he saw movement. Kira had placed her phaser beside her, within easy reach, and was now rummaging through her pack. When she pulled her hand free, he saw it held a dermal regenerator.
"There's only one way to find out if you really are who you say you are, or if you're just crazy," she said, inching toward him. "Will you let me?"
He knew if he refused he lost any chance of gaining her confidence, and so he nodded, keeping his movements as slow and deliberate as possible, lest he give her cause to use her weapon on him. He had already regained too much to risk losing it all.
She, too, moved with extreme caution, but soon enough she was kneeling before him and taking his chin in her hand. "This may take a while," she said. "I'm no medic, and the scarring is pretty extensive."
"Take all the time you need. I'm not going anywhere."
She smiled grimly. "No, you're not. Not until I have some answers."
He sat still as a Breen glacier while she administered to him, although his heart pounded so fiercely with anticipation he wondered if she could feel his pulse racing beneath the gentle grip of her fingers. If she did, she said nothing, her concentration focused entirely on excavating his true identity.
The only time he moved was when the regenerator's beam broke through the lowest layers of scar tissue. The sudden, blinding brightness of the laser was the first light to touch his damaged eye in three years. The pain was excruciating, and despite his best efforts to control his response he recoiled with a cry of protest.
"I'm sorry," she said. She set the regenerator on the ground beside her, then turned back to him. "Hold still and let me get a close look at you."
He obeyed, although when she directed the beam of her wristlamp toward his face he was forced to turn away, his newly-opened eye was still so exquisitely sensitive to the harsh light. Undiscouraged, she pressed her palms on either side of his face, taking care not to press too firmly against the tender flesh, and stared at him. After a moment or two of rapid blinking, he willed his gaze to return her scrutiny.
She released him with a sharp intake of breath. "By the word of the Prophets," she murmured. "You are Damar!"
* * * * *
Q could not help admiring his beloved mate's fourteen slender, hairy legs as she used them to maneuver across the alcove's ceiling toward him, her bulbous body with its triple pairs of multifaceted eyes balanced precariously on top. "My dear," he said, his own arachnid form quivering in delight, "I never would have guessed how much the shape of a Cardassian barking spider compliments your already stunning beauty!" He woofed a couple of times for effect, and because he could not help himself.
She waved a couple of forelegs at him in reproof. "Darling, your silk is showing."
"Oh my." He blushed -- as only spiders can blush -- and retracted the deceptively thin filament he had inadvertently released. Once he had collected himself, he asked, "What brings you here, my love?"
"The Continuum."
Q growled, and not just because of the physical form he had assumed. He had expected this. In fact, he was surprised they had given him so much leeway. They must be desperate for his success, otherwise they would have put their collective -- and rhetorical, since the Q had no use for feet when in their natural state -- foot down long ago. He would have to remember that; it might prove useful, especially when manipulating uncooperative Humans like Picard. "They think I'm interfering, don't they?"
Since all but four of her limbs were actively engaged in fashioning a web, Q simply nodded. "They were willing to overlook the Dukat-Winn charade, since I was there to keep you in line, but restoring Damar's memories was too much."
Q scoffed. "Pah! What do they know? He would have regained his memory eventually. All I did was shorten the process a little."
"Which you shouldn't have done, inevitability or not." She put down her knitting to creep closer. "You weren't even supposed to arrange that oh-so-coincidental 'meeting' in the bar!"
"Now wait just a minute!" Q blustered, his body bobbing up and down in agitation. "I had nothing to do with that!" At her unblinking, iridescent stare, he continued, "I'm telling you, that wasn't me!"
"Mmm-hmm," she murmured, obviously not believing a word he said. "Fine, believe that if you want to. The point remains the same: stop interfering before the Continuum censures you."
"Yes, ma'am!" he saluted smartly, using half of his legs to execute the maneuver. Q just shook her head in silence, then disappeared.
Q skittered across the ceiling. When he stood above the two one-time adversaries, he anchored himself to the ceiling with a wad of silk, then carefully lowered until he dangled a few centimeters from Kira's head. "At least," he whispered to his unsuspecting audience, "they haven't caught on that I'm the one who spared Damar's life three years ago."
CHAPTER SEVEN
According to Data's quick reconnaissance, the cramped passageway opened up into a large corridor, high enough for them both to stand erect, a few meters beyond the secret entrance. Picard closed the trap door behind him, just in case the owner of that equipment happened to be following, then crept behind Data into the main corridor.
"Look, Captain," Data said, pointing to one of a series of objects affixed to the wall.
Picard shone his wristlamp on the object. "A lantern?" he asked, neither expecting nor needing an answer. "Do you have your phaser handy?"
Data dutifully adjusted the setting on his weapon, then aimed it at the lantern and fired. The wick sputtered and smoked at first, then began to glow bright orange before bursting into a bright, white light, filling the corridor with illumination. Picard was about to thank Data when, as if on cue, one by one each subsequent lamp flashed to life. "Well, then, I guess we won't be needing these," he said as he de-activated his wristlamp and put it in his pack.
"There appears to be a fuel line connecting the lanterns on each side," Data said.
"I figured as much. It must mean these passageways were used often."
"They are recent additions," Data said, lifting his tricorder to scan one of the lanterns. "This fuel is only a few years old."
Picard turned around in place and studied his surroundings. "I wonder if this underground city might have been used as a bunker by some of the higher-ranking officers in the Cardassian government," he mused. "I suspect that if civilians used this place, there'd be more evidence of their presence."
"Perhaps the Obsidian Order used it as a base of operations. There may even still be agents in hiding down here."
Despite his best efforts, Picard could not control his shudder. One run-in with the Obsidian Order was more than enough to last a lifetime. He did not relish the thought of meeting up with one of Gul Madred's former colleagues. He would do whatever was necessary -- even violate his own high moral standards -- to prevent any such occurrence. "Are you sure?" he asked, nonetheless glancing around suspiciously. "If the Obsidian Order survivors had taken refuge down here, I doubt they'd have left their gear out in the open like that. I also doubt we'd have made it this far unscathed."
"Perhaps," Data conceded. "However, there is little reason to suspect that any Central Command officer would have been equally careless. Furthermore, I do not think our location qualifies as 'out in the open'."
"Point taken, Mister Data. Obviously this place is a very well-kept secret, and whoever uses it would not expect to find us down here. That makes our situation all the more precarious. Keep an eye out."
"Yes, Captain."
Picard knew he could rely on Data to protect him at all costs, but he was reluctant to encourage the android to take any unnecessary risks. He found some solace in the bright illumination provided by the lanterns -- anyone hiding down here had probably been alerted to their presence, but the limited confines of the passageway would hamper any attempt at an ambush. Even while he kept his senses on high alert, Picard also allowed the explorer in him to emerge and take note of their surroundings.
The walls were clearly man-made, although he saw no evidence of the origins of the tunnel itself. Had it been carved out of the bedrock by ancient miners, or was it a product of nature?
A series of intaglia had been arranged on the walls in a precise and orderly pattern, columns of three stacked floor to ceiling interspersed with a single, centered plaque, each approximately two meters apart. They were uniform in size and shape, but the similarities ended there. Each bore unique and distinctive images, no two exactly alike, although many motifs appeared again and again. Some of the images and motif clusters looked vaguely familiar, whereas others Picard remembered having seen decorating the temple.
Unable to suppress his archaeological instincts, he stopped before one of the clusters of intaglia. "Data," he said, "What does your tricorder say about these plaques?"
Eager for the answer, Picard hovered close by while Data scanned the relief. The precise arrangement along the walls, coupled with the ornate embellishments distinguishing one from another, raised several questions in his mind that, he hoped, a tricorder reading could answer.
"At least one of these hieroglyphs appears to be Cardassian," Data finally said after studying the readout. Before Picard could prompt him for more details, he pointed to a lotus-like symbol in the center of the plaque. "This is almost identical to the Cardassian state emblem."
Picard almost groaned aloud at his own blindness. He had seen several varieties of that particular image on many of the tablets. No wonder he had fixated on it -- no wonder it had looked so familiar to him. "The Cardassian government must have chosen this symbol to represent the state after finding it in those Hebitian tombs they uncovered. The symbol would have implied a direct line of succession between the ancient civilization and the modern one."
"I do not think that is the correct conclusion, Captain," Data said, guiding his tricorder's scanning beacon around the edges of the tablet. "If these readings are correct, this tablet is not just a plaque, but a cenotaph. I am detecting evidence of humanoid remains behind it."
"What?" Picard asked, ecstatic. "Are you saying we stumbled into Hebitian catacombs?"
"Yes, Captain," he said, unruffled as usual, "except they may not be Hebitian. Although the age of this crypt is synonymous with that of the temple, these bioreadings indicate the remains are analogous to those of the Cardassian genotype."
Without a second thought, Picard removed his field pack and rummaged through it until he found the tools he needed: a stone mason's hammer and chisel. Twenty-fourth century archaeologists had much more modern tools to work with, but Professor Galen had always encouraged his protégés to use hand-held instruments. "An archaeologist without dirty hands and scraped knees is a treasure hunter, not a scientist," was one of Galen's favorite adages. As Galen's star pupil, Picard had taken his mentor's advice to heart, and never went on any expedition without his hammer, chisel and whisk broom.
"Give me a hand here, Data," he said, wedging his chisel between the plaque and the wall. Data retrieved his own chisel from his pack and mimicked Picard's movements, placing his tool several centimeters above Picard's. Once both chisels were in place, Data drove them further in with a few good blows from the hammer. Then, each man gripping the handle of his chisel, they pulled as one.
At first, the plaque refused to budge. They pulled again. Still nothing. And again, but this time Picard thought he felt something give. He planted his feet firmly against the ground. "Pull!" he commanded, clenching his teeth and pulling with all his strength.
With a growl of protest and the hiss of an ancient broken vacuum, the tablet gave way with such force it threw Picard to the ground and sent Data staggering. An object tumbled free of the crypt and landed with a hollow thud in Picard's lap.
For an instant, Picard was too stunned to do much more than shake his head to clear his vision. As soon as the fog lifted, however, he looked down at the unfamiliar weight in his lap.
It was a Cardassian skull. The cranial ridges were less pronounced than in modern Cardassians, but there was no questioning the species of humanoid this skull came from.
Picard picked up the skull and stared into the empty eye sockets. "Alas, poor Yorick," he murmured. Then, "Mister Data, do you realize what this means?"
Data knelt beside Picard to examine the skull. "No, Captain. What does it mean?" he asked guilelessly.
Picard smiled in grim triumph. "It means we've been wrong all along. The Hebitians weren't replaced by the Cardassians -- they were the Cardassians' direct ancestors!" His gaze returned to the skull. "But why would the Cardassians want to conceal that?"
CHAPTER EIGHT
Kira could not believe her eyes, but the truth was undeniable: Damar, whom she had seen fall under a hail of disruptor fire three years ago, was alive. She had uncovered him herself, buried beneath years of dirt, scar tissue and fractured memories, but she still did not believe it. "I can't believe it," she said, shaking her head as if to clear her vision of a troublesome hallucination.
Damar gave her a lopsided grin; the newly-regenerated flesh on his face was obviously still quite tender. Hallucination or not, Kira wished she had something to treat his discomfort. "What can't you believe?" he asked. "That I'm not dead?"
She laughed humorlessly. "That's a start. Pick something, anything. I can't believe you're not dead. I saw you die! I can't believe that out of all the people on this planet to run into, I ran into you. I can't believe half of what I've seen or heard tonight. I-I --" she raised her arms, palms up and looked around her "-- I can't believe we're down here... wherever here is."
The grin that had creased his face slowly faded as he, too, looked around. "Yes..." he murmured. "I'm surprised we're here myself. I guess instinct helped me remember."
"What is this place?" she asked. "Why did you bring us here? Have you known about it all along? Why didn't you bring us here during the war -- do you realize how much more effective we could've been if we'd known about this place then? We could've --"
His upraised hand halted her barrage of questions. "Slow down" he said. He took a deep breath. "I don't know why I brought you down here tonight. All I know is that something was driving me here -- instinct, subconscious memory, alien possession, I don't know. If I knew..." he sighed again. "I wish I knew why."
Leaning forward to rest her hand on his knee, Kira asked, "Do you know where we are?"
He nodded. "Oh, yes, I definitely know where we are."
Kira waited. When nothing else was forthcoming, she asked, "Do you intend to fill me in, or am I just going to have to guess?"
Damar slowly stood and crossed to the narrow fissure leading to the main tunnel. He folded his arms over his chest. Kira remained where she was, waiting impatiently for his answer. After a long, tense moment, he finally said, "The reason why I never brought you and Garak and Odo down here is that, many years ago, I took an oath -- a blood oath -- promising to protect the people who live here with my life. I gave them my word of honor, Colonel -- I swore to them that I would never bring them harm, even at the cost of my own life. Had I revealed this place, even to my own men... it would've meant the end of them. That was a sacrifice I wasn't willing to make."
He turned back to her then, but kept his gaze focused on the ground, his lower lip sandwiched between his teeth. "I can't even begin to imagine why I felt compelled to bring you here now. I --"
This time, Kira silenced him with an upraised hand. "Wait. Stop," she said. "Hold that thought. What people are you protecting?"
He flinched as though stung. Still refusing to look directly at her, he returned to her side, picked up her phaser where it sat, forgotten, by her knee, and aimed an intense beam of energy at the pile of rocks in the center of the floor. Then, squatting before the fire with her weapon dangling idly in his hands, he said, "The Kerdish."
"The who?"
"The Kerdish. They're... tribesmen, nomads. They are... they're the descendants of who we once were."
"You mean they're Cardassians?"
He nodded. "Yes. No. Both, and neither."
Kira groaned in frustration. She had thought she was finally beginning to understand, but Damar's equivocating caused her head to hurt. "Are they Cardassians or not?"
He pursed his lips in thought. "They are to the casual observer," he said, fluttering his hands about his face. "They look like Cardassians -- scales, ridges, third eye, the usual characteristics. But the similarities end there. The Kerdish distinguish themselves by living in accordance with the old ways -- the way my people lived thousands of years ago."
"When the Hebitians were in power?" She was beginning to wish she had listened more carefully to Picard's nattering about archaeology.
"Even longer," he said.
"And you felt obligated to protect them? Why? From what?"
"Central Command. The Obsidian Order." He gave a slight shrug. "The official policy against the Kerdish was one of extermination. The old ways -- the ways of the Kerdish -- are an embarrassment to most Cardassians, especially those in the military and government. They are a reminder of how primitive and unsophisticated we were once."
Kira would have laughed, had his rationale not been so familiar to what her people had endured at the hands of his people. "Why you, then? You were in the military -- you were the leader of Cardassia! Why did they trust you?"
He looked at her then, with an expression so full of melancholy it almost broke her heart. "My wife was Kerdish," he said.
"Sweet Prophets," Kira murmured. "No wonder you were so determined to protect them -- they were your family."
"Exactly." He leaned back and sat down, crossing his legs before him. "I just wish I knew why I felt I had to bring you down here now."
Kira sat beside him, and together they both stared into the fire's red-orange depths. "Maybe it has something to do with why I'm here," she said after a while.
He turned his head to study her. "Why are you here? I'd have thought you'd have retired to Bajor long ago."
She snorted. "Sometimes I wish I had, but someone has to keep Starfleet from over-running the station."
"You mean Tero -- I mean Deep Space Nine? You're still there?" She nodded. "And Bajor never joined the Federation?" She shook her head. "You still haven't told me why you're here."
"I'll tell you as soon as I've figured it out for myself. Never mind that," she said when he gave her a quizzical look. "Captain Picard and Commander Data are here trying to find some sort of ancient relic -- a book of some sort. I'm here to make sure they fail."
He gave her a long, hard stare, his eyes never blinking until she squirmed and looked away. "I find that hard to believe. You're as eager to find that book as they are." He paused for a moment, then continued, "Why? What's so important about this book it'd bring a Human -- much less you -- all the way to Cardassia?"
Although her cheeks were warm, Kira's hands felt cold, and she held them out toward the fire, spreading the fingers to expose more of her skin to the heat. Even so, she shivered at the memory of the two pagh-wraiths' 'visit.' She took a deep breath to calm her nerves, then asked, "Do you know anything about Bajoran religion?" His sneer was answer enough. "Dumb question. Okay... well, apart from the Prophets, there are these creatures known as pagh-wraiths. Their 'leader' is known as Kosst Amojin: the Evil One."
"Kosst Amojin," Damar murmured. "I know that name."
Kira nodded excitedly, intuitively knowing what stirred his memory. "Dukat..."
He shuddered violently. "Yes, Dukat!" He ran his hands over his face, taking care around the newer surfaces. "Dukat, he..."
"He became a devotee of Kosst Amojin."
"You mean he became a devil worshipper." Oddly, his voice carried no sense of sarcasm or condescension.
"You could say that." She hugged her knees to her chest, feeling another chill pass through her despite the heat emanating from the rocks. "Some say it was a case of like meeting like."
He scoffed. "I can't imagine who on Bajor -- or on DS9 -- would say that." This time, the sarcasm was all too evident. "But I still don't see what this has to do with why you're here."
One of the rocks splintered beneath the intense heat, sending several small stones tumbling toward them. Kira kicked one away with the toe of her boot, leaving a black streak along the well-worn leather. "There was a book, called the Book of the Kosst Amojin, that supposedly had the power to unleash great evil on Bajor."
She felt, rather than saw, Damar turn to look at her with incredulity and scorn. "You don't actually believe any of that nonsense, do you?" He shook his head. "I thought you, at least, were above all that."
"The book exists, Damar." She turned to him, her eyes wide with the fear and uncertainty that had haunted her ever since that day they found Kai Winn's remains in the fire caves. "Dukat, with the help of... of..." she paused, willing herself to ease the storm brewing in her imagination and focus on the moment at hand "...of our most venerated religious leader, found it."
"Maybe so," he shrugged, "but obviously it doesn't have this 'evil power,' or else you wouldn't be here talking to me."
"There's more," she said. "There's a missing chapter."
Silence fell upon them, dark and suffocating. Even the fire seemed to wane a little. After a long, tense moment, Damar said, "That's why you're here. That's what you're looking for." She knew he saw her nod, even in the dim light. He licked his lips and swallowed noisily. "This 'great evil' you mentioned... do you know exactly what that means?"
Despite her own anxiety, she could not help teasing him. "Don't tell me you believe any of this nonsense. I though you, at least, were above all that."
His laughter rang loudly and falsely throughout the alcove, eventually escaping through the fissure to reverberate in the corridor beyond. Her own accompanying laugh sounded hollow in her ears, and she cut her mirth short. "I have no intention of falling victim to any of your superstitions," he said, leaning his head back to look up at the ceiling. "But..."
"But?"
"But the Kerdish have a legend that is disturbingly similar."
"Really?" Kira asked, interested in spite of herself. Then, lest she appear overeager, she continued, "I've heard that similar legends can be found all across the quadrant. Did you know than ancient Humans even believed in their own version of the Emissary?" At Damar's upraised brow ridge she almost went on, then thought better of it. "I'm sure it's just a coincidence."
"Oh, I have no doubt you're right," he said, leaning back and then shuffling himself around until he was stretched out on his side, catlike, before the fire, his head propped on one hand. "However, the Kerdish also have a legend about their ancestors having been evicted from Paradise thousands of years ago. These ancient people were forced to wander from world to world, searching for a place to call home. Apart from their personal belongings, all they carried with them to remind them of where they had come from was a sacred book. According to the legend, a day would come when someone chosen by the Kerdish gods would open the book, thus revealing the secret that would restore them to Paradise."
As Damar recounted his tale, Kira had leaned her weight back on her hands and closed her eyes, letting her imagination summon up a vision of broken-spirited Cardassians in search of their lost Paradise. Despite her long-cherished antipathy toward Cardassians, the vision was too similar to present reality to bring her much pleasure.
When he finished, she opened her eyes to see him looking up at her with a strange expression that seemed to encompass both longing and compassion at the same time. She shifted, uncomfortable beneath the intensity of his gaze. "Is that it?" she asked when he turned his face back toward the fire.
"No, that's not it," he said quietly.
"Then what?"
He looked back up at her, but this time the raw emotions had been replaced by apprehension. "In the legend, Paradise is known as Ha-Bajra."
* * * * *
After returning the skull to its final resting place and carefully resealing the crypt with a low-res beam from a phaser, Picard and Data continued on. The string of lanterns -- and the catacombs -- came to an end after several hundred meters, leaving them once again with nothing but their wristlamps and Data's hyperacute vision to guide them through the darkness. Picard's unease returned as thoughts of a possible ambush invaded his thoughts, but he forced his fears to the back of his mind.
His first priority, at the moment, was to find Colonel Kira. Once he had accomplished that task, he would have to sit down with the data they had collected and saved to Data's tricorder and analyze it. He hoped to return here soon and conduct a full-scale excavation; in light of the current political situation on the surface, he doubted the Cardassian government would be in any position to object. The Bajorans, on the other hand, might cause problems. He would have to ensure the colonel's support and tacit approval before submitting his proposal.
He was so deeply involved with his aspirations that he failed to notice that Data had come to a stop. Consequently, Picard walked right into him.
"Such grace," came the sardonic comment.
Picard sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, which stung from the collision. "I suppose I should have expected to run into you at least once," he said.
Q chuckled at Picard's unintended pun. "Touché, mon ami." Then, with a snap of his fingers, a soft, warm glow bathed the chamber. Picard looked around, but saw no visible light source. He looked at Q questioningly. "Call it 'divine radiance'," Q said with a twinkle in his eye.
Picard scowled. "All right, then, perhaps you'd care to shed a little light on where we are and why we're here?"
His hands pressed to his sides, Q roared with laughter. "Ho, ho, ho, my pet has gone and found himself a sense of humor! What is the world coming to?"
"I do not see the humor in all this," Data said without reproach. "We have lost our guide and Colonel Kira. Furthermore, we do not know where we are nor how to return to the surface without retracing our steps."
Picard recognized the expression on Q's face as he listened to Data. He had seen it once before, when Q had been reduced to mortal limitations and Data had risked his own precious life to save Q's. For all the pomposity and arrogance Q might exhibit toward Picard and other mortals, he reserved genuine respect and admiration for Data. It was perhaps the only truly honest emotion the insufferable entity ever felt.
"A genuine concern, to be sure," Q said to Data, "but not a cause for worry. You are, as you have always been, on the right track. And, soon, I promise you, you will be reunited with Legate Damar and Colonel Kira and return to the surface for the final leg of your journey."
A thousand questions sprang to mind. Picard could not possibly prioritize them all, so he leaped to the most obvious one. "Legate Damar? Who's Legate Damar?" He secretly hoped Legate Damar had not been a colleague of Madred's; the name was familiar enough for it to be possible.
Q gestured vaguely in the direction they were heading. "Oh, just that flea-ridden spoonhead you picked up."
"Do you mean the same Legate Damar who led the Cardassian revolt against the Dominion?" Picard breathed a sigh of relief, now that Data had reminded him why the name seemed familiar.
"The one and the same." Q beamed at Data.
"But Starfleet reported that he had died hours before the cease-fire."
Q shrugged. "Death is a state of mind."
Data opened his mouth, then reconsidered and snapped his mouth shut. In the opening he left, Picard spoke up. "You mentioned the final leg of our journey. Are you saying we're close to finding the Book of the Resurrection?
Q gave a slight nod. "Close, yes, but you still have a long way to go."
Picard turned to Data. "Sounds familiar."
Q sputtered in exasperation. "What would you have me do, Jean-Luc? Give you a map leading you directly to the book, complete with a giant red X indicating where you're supposed to dig?"
"That would be nice."
"Maybe in your limited understanding of reality," Q scoffed, "but I can't. I've given you enough help as it is. Too much, in fact -- not only is the Continuum screaming bloody murder, but the Prophets are on to you now."
Picard's upraised hand brought a halt to Q's hurried, breathless rationalization. "Excuse me -- the Prophets? You don't mean the aliens that live in the Bajoran wormhole, do you? The aliens the Bajorans think of as their gods?"
Q rolled his eyes in obvious disdain. "Yes, Jean-Luc, those Prophets. Certainly not those crazy men with long beards and unkempt hair scampering about the desert in your pitiful history."
Ignoring the puerile attempt to anger him, Picard pressed, "What do the Bajoran Prophets have to do with any of this?" A fragment of a memory flickered in the back of his mind like a warning light.
His arms crossed over his chest, Q looked down his long, thin nose at Picard. He was already several centimeters taller -- no doubt by design -- but this stance only made him seem to grow even taller. Picard refused to feel inferior, however, and glared back at him. "Well, Q, are you going to answer me or not?"
Q furrowed his brow until a crease appeared just above the bridge of his nose. Looking all too much the part of a strict schoolmaster, he finally said, "I'm tempted to say no, just to spite you. But I'm above that sort of childish behavior." At Picard's derisive snort he paused only for a second, then continued, "The 'wormhole aliens,' as you high-minded Starfleet types are so fond of calling them, are at the very heart of this crisis. They are the ones who infected the Continuum -- and they are the reason why I need you to find the Book of the Resurrection."
The warning light flashing at the back of Picard's mind suddenly became a full-fledged red alert. The fragment of a memory, a line item in a border patrol report he had read years ago, leaped, fully-formed, from his subconscious into stark reality. "I remember..." he began, trying to put the memory into words. "The Bajorans... they believed Benjamin Sisko was a religious figure...a messiah of some sort." The gleam in Q's eyes prodded him onward. "He disappeared right at the end of the Dominion War.... I recall something about a trip to Bajor, then he was never heard from again." Picard almost gagged on the realization. "He's the one! He's the Human you brought into the Continuum!"
Q shook his head, his expressive mouth turned downwards. "You were so close, Jean-Luc, you could almost taste it. But you missed by a mile. Sisko is the source of the infection, but no Q is responsible."
"No Q--?" Picard thought aloud. Then it hit him. "The Bajoran Prophets are part of the Continuum! They're Q!"
"Actually, they're P, but close enough." Q clapped a hand on Picard's shoulder. "You realize what that means, don't you?"
"They have the same abilities as the Q," Data answered on Picard's behalf.
"Very perceptive, my gilt friend." He turned his attention back to Picard. "The only advantage you have is their limited understanding of linear time. Unlike the Q, they haven't grasped the awareness that the cosmos advances outward in infinite directions from a single point. To them, time and space are wholly relative. With Sisko there to instruct them, however...." He let the implied threat hover unspoken. "If they choose to send Sisko to stop you, then you have no advantage at all."
"But you --"
"No." Q shook his head firmly, but his expression was mournful. "I cannot help you. You'll have to rely on your own resources to stop whatever the P send after you." He gave Picard a weak grin. "Why do you think I turned to you? If anyone can succeed -- if anyone has a fighting chance -- it's you." Then he disappeared in a flash of white light.
Picard turned to Data. "Well, that answers that question." He sighed. "What do we do now? Keep walking?"
"Actually, Captain," he said, pointing in the direction of a ladder that, until then, Picard had not realized was there, "I think we can return to the surface that way."
"Thanks, I think," Picard grumbled to himself as he followed Data.
PART FOUR