All The Prophets Will Bestow
by OdoGoddess and Cameron Burnell

Published: 02 Feb 1996

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DISCLAIMER: Not intended to infringe on copyrights of Viacom, Paramount, nor any other legal holders of Star Trek copyright.

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All The Prophets Will Bestow
by OdoGoddess
and Cameron Burnell


The events in this story take place in the weeks before DS9's third-season opener, "The Search"...

Jake Sisko fidgeted in his seat. The Bajoran Death Chant was just over two hours long and only ten minutes of it had passed. He was quite certain he would not be able to sit through the entire ceremony, if only because he already had the overpowering desire to use the lavatory facilities. The nearest facilities to Deep Space Nine's Bajoran temple were at Quark's...and Nog had wanted to see him about something.

"Dad?" he whispered to Benjamin Sisko who sat at ramrod attention beside him. The elder Sisko levelled a dead-pan look at this unseemly interruption, despite the fact no one else in the temple had noticed his inquiry. Jake smiled nervously, shrugged apologetically.

"I really have to use the head," he murmured.

Captain Sisko considered this and sighed. He nodded at his son, although the look he gave him clearly conveyed his disappointment at Jake's adolescent impatience. Jake slipped out of the temple with a minimum of disturbance, cautiously skirting the small crowd of station personnel, both Starfleet and Bajoran.

Once outside, he released a deep sigh of relief. He hated funerals. The only funeral he had wanted to attend, but been unable to was his own mother's. He had watched the system-wide remembrance ceremony for Wolf 3-5-9 alongside his father from a biobed in Starbase Central's medical infirmary. This current ceremony was not quite so momentous, but no less heartfelt because of it.

The Bajorans had lost three thousand of their citizens on their first established colony in the Gamma Quadrant. A newly discovered enemy, the Jem'Haddar, had attacked and destroyed the colony on New Bajor, because they considered the placement of the colony as encroachment to Dominion territory. The Dominion was an as-yet undetermined alliance of planets in the Gamma Quadrant on the other side of the wormhole.

Starfleet had met some of them, the Vorta and the Karemma, but they were no threat. The Jem'Haddar were, and they were lethal, acting as the watch-dogs of the Dominion. Jake did not understand all the political ramifications of the Jem'Haddar destroying the colony on New Bajor, but he did understand the Bajorans need to honor their dead by performing the death chant. He was stricken with a momentary pang of guilt for not staying, but then Jake was sixteen. His thoughts revolved mostly around women and games.

Currently his thoughts revolved around one woman in particular, Marta, and impressing her with his dom-jot playing skills. She rk had been devoted to. It was for this reason the constable knew Kira would not only understand, but recognize his intent in presenting her a thisk'a gift.

A traumatic event of great spiritual significance had occurred; the destruction of the first Bajoran colony in the Gamma Quadrant. The Vedek Assembly were touting the event as an omen of great import. When such an event happened it was said that the Prophets had touched the lives of those who survived, honored them by gracing them with continued life, the ability to reflect on the message they'd given, to use the gift of life to honor them. The thisk'a gift was a personal memento given as a symbol of closure, representing the time of healing and an abiding remembrance of veneration by the Prophets. Coming from family, it was a simple recommittment to their shared faith. Another Bajoran, so long as they were a close friend, could also tender a thisk'a gift, indicating a deeply felt sense of kinship.

Odo wanted Kira to know he understood Bajoran customs, despite the fact that he was not humanoid, but a shapeshifter. He was, however, a Bajoran citizen, having been counted in their census for thirty-four years. This technically provided him the right to present her with a thisk'a gift. He did not stop now to consider why it was so important to him that the Major think well of him.

The constable was a logical, reasoning person; many years of close association had led to a strong working relationship and a meaningful friendship. It was also true he valued Kira's friendship and he felt that she, in turn, valued his. Of course, she had never told him this, but Odo was an observant person and he felt comfortable in his opinion of her feelings toward him.

Of late, however, he also experienced a burgeoning sense of confusion when he thought of Kira. It was a peculiar sensation for him, one he was unaccustomed to. Inordinately pleased when he was required to spend time with her, singularly content to be in her presence even if she was grousing about her duties or Cardassians or even if she said nothing and just sat across from him in his office reading the criminal activity report, he had come to realize that he cared for her, perhaps rather more than a mere thisk'a gift could convey...to his chagrin, Odo suddenly realized he had stopped entering data into his PADD.

Lost time...he chided himself, then shook his head. He put forth a greater effort and managed to focus his attention on the dry, uninspiring facts he was entering into the PADD. This suddenly made him frown; when had his job become dry and uninspired?

He considered now what his duties were, then shrugged. His job was somewhat dry and uninspired, but it was still important. He kept order, enforced the rules and regulations on the station and detained those who did not see fit to follow said rules and regulations. That was the nature of a job in law enforcement.

I am more than a security officer, though, I am the Chief of Security, he reminded himself, unconsciously sitting straighter at this thought. Mora thought I would never achieve anything greater than Mine Inspector for the Cardassians, but...

At the thought of the man who had seen to his upbringing on Bajor, Odo unconsciously squirmed in his office chair, for a moment looking very like Jake Sisko had earlier in the Bajoran temple. Well, if no one else appreciates my efforts, Kira does, he sighed at this thought, filled with a sensation of contentment as he mused, she is not like the others, she is...a special woman.

This thought made him frown. It wasn't the first time the thought had occurred to him, but just when was it he had started thinking of her in this way? Odo was a highly observant man and it troubled him to realize he could not recall when such unusual reflections had begun. This was quite unlike him; his memory was not like most humanoids. His recall was of a crystalline clarity that was incomprehensible to a typical humanoid. In fact, Odo could readily remember every aspect of his first sight of Kira Nerys, how she had looked to him.

She had appeared a typical Bajoran female, somewhat slight in stature, but with a wiry strength, lithe and intelligent, with large, dark brown eyes and thick auburn hair that had been longer then, but still alluring now, highly appealing...especially to the eyes of someone starved of beauty for a very long time. She remains an incredibly beautiful woman...

Odo blinked, stunned. This thought had no rational reason for manifesting, whether it was accurate or not. It would indicate feelings that would doubtless be disturbing to the Major, who thought of him as a good friend, nothing more, nothing less. For some reason, this thought also gave him pause.

Odo set down the PADD and its dry, boring, statistical data and sighed, suddenly experiencing another unusual sensation. Was it despondency? What reason would he have to feel despondent? He had been confined, but now had his freedom. He had a job, he was well-paid, in fact, there were many reasons why someone would find him a suitable partner. Odo frowned now; a partner? When did these thoughts begin? It was not inconceivable, of course, but he ought to keep his mind on his work, not on fanciful improbabilities.

He picked up his PADD again and tried to focus on the facts before him, reminding himself with his typical remorseless logic; besides you don't even have a proper name. His expression grew troubled as he recalled anew just what Odo stood for and how he had learned what it meant...

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He had spent the evening in the research center's chemical laboratory, as was his wont, since it was the only place in the center with windows that the chemists could vent to dispel unpleasant odors. Having no sense of smell, the place did not bother the young Odo. He found it called to him, this place lit from without by a light even brighter than the center's invasive spotlights, but which somehow wasn't so harsh and merciless. From the chemlab he had learned of the changing of the seasons and of such phenomena as rain and snow and the ever-progressing constellations in the night sky...and the meaning of his name.

...

The young Odo had been watching the progress of a tiny spider making a web near the open window, entranced, when he heard the sound of approaching voices and being unsure if the overseers had dropped by for an unannounced inspection, he had rapidly slipped down from his customary window perch. The Cardassians did not like the thought of anyone walking about freely, much less a still largely mysterious, metamorphic life form.

When the overseers showed up Odo had learned it was best for everyone if he was found in Mora's main science lab. With some judicious maneuvering through the ventilation system, he could get there from almost any part of the center in less than a minute. If he had to, he could shed his shape (and his clothing), and make it even faster, but he had absorbed the meaning of modesty and decorum from the reserved Bajorans he had developed amidst. So he had made his way into the vent, closing the grill silently behind him, but had stopped at the sound of Soll Torek's voice. He was one of the chemists, not a Cardassian; Mora Pol had decided to speak with him after a late day. Relieved, Odo had relaxed, s and listened more intently.

"You know, I hope to obtain permission to study Odo in a vacuum environment. With his cellular structure, I believe he could withstand vacuum for up to an hour, maybe two."



"You'd sooner get permission to free the detainees at Gallitep, Mora," Soll had chided, not unkindly; the old chemist was a good friend.

"Perhaps, but we will never learn all Odo is capable of in here!"

"True. But the Prophets have decreed this fate for us and for him."



"Prophets! I'm a man of science, not a religious follower."



"You are of Bajor, Pol."



"Well, that might be true, but Odo is not."



"You shorten his name all the time. Why is that?"

"Well, odo'ital isn't exactly a name either, Torek. Although it is the only name he responds to now, since we've been calling him that for so long. Quite frankly, I couldn't think of anything else to call him. Splitting it into Odo Ital almost seems disrespectful to proper Bajoran lineage, though."



"As you pointed out, he is not Bajoran. He isn't even a true male, simply a metamorphic creature you've taught to take this shape."



"But he is, Torek! He's used to it. When I asked him why when he changed into other life forms they were always male, he looked at me as if I'd grown another head. His chromosomal patterns indicate an almost classically male archetype, which was why I urged his development toward a male shape."



"Yes, well, he is still odo'ital to the Cardassians. You were fortunate they did not find him a danger."



"That is the other reason I kept the name. It is subtle, but psychological. Think of it, Torek, think of what it comes to mean if you call someone 'nothing' all the time, and odo'ital literally means 'nothing of value'. Even shortening it to Odo it still means 'nothing'. Hearing that, the Cardassians look down on him and I, for one, would prefer they look down on him, still alive, than fire their disruptors and destroy him. He is far too valuable a specimen."



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Odo had not heard anymore, although it might have been of interest to him. He had been crushed to finally discover the meaning of his name, and that he was considered a freakish creature by the scientists he had come to regard almost as family members.

He had rushed further down the duct, scuttling into a dark and shadowed corner where he had curled in on himself, trembling with indignation and shame and a horrified sense of outrage. The wellspring of pain and anger in him was deep and it frightened him since he could dimly sense some of his feelings were already present, some form of racial memory perhaps, as Mora would have called it, some sense of resentment against these unchanging creatures that called themselves humanoids and labeled him 'different'...and therefore somehow less because of it.

His mobile face scowled in the dark at the thought of the scientist, but his thoughts and feelings quickly came under control. After calming himself, he had continued on to his quarters; he'd always found solace in reading, or listening to the well-worn music disk one of the chemists had thrown away which he had saved from destruction in order to examine it.

The constable realized now that this early incident had been his first encounter with shame, that bitter sensation of humiliation and pain which he had come to know only too well. Prior to that moment, he had suffered awkwardness, discomfort, embarrassment even, but the sense of mortification he had felt at hearing Soll Torek speaking in that manner about him...Doctor Soll who had always smiled at him whenever he'd entered the chemlab and politely asked (as he always had) if he could sit by the window. Doctor Soll who had first given him permission to watch him work, to study him under the glare of bright lights instead of being studied himself, and who had died several years later at the hands of a Cardassian glinn who had not been happy with his answer regarding a compound he had been mixing...under their orders.

Odo cleared his throat now, recalled instead the enjoyment he had found in reading, in the discovery of new information, in the sheer joy at hearing the sounds on that music disk. It had been his first taste of Human culture, that disk full of the music Humans called Jazz. From it, he'd discovered that he enjoyed this thing called music. He also came to learn the Bajoran form of it which was similar, but much more sedate, more controlled and for some reason, even more sublime.

While he preferred Bajoran music, Odo still found the sound of music even remotely similar to that on the disk filled him with an odd sense of excitement, yet also a sense of contentment. This was a feeling Humans would have called 'a taste of home'. Odo did not know this, he had no place he called home, but he knew he liked it. And, oh, the sound of Bajoran music...!

The sound of the flute, the lilting call of the st'riiel, the haunting response from the than'el, every note held in check, the melody reined in and somehow throbbing with unexpressed force, piercing the air to lift the spirit with it.

One thing that Odo had never questioned then or now, was whether he had a spirit to be lifted. Much as his metamorphic ability, it was simply there...and if he had no need to feed his body, he nonetheless strove to feed the spirit it housed. If the anguished young shapeshifter in the ductwork had waited a moment longer he would have heard something which might have gone a long way toward soothing his too-often wounded spirit.

...

"He's much too valuable, Torek!"

"Be honest, Pol. You care for him, for Odo. He is like your own child."



"Is it that obvious?"

"You've given a great deal of your time to his founding, his education. It is only natural you care."



"And natural to fear the Cardassians taking him...taking him and..."



"What? Destroying him?"

"No, that would be kind, Torek. I just don't want them to come to think he can be made into a weapon...a weapon for their cause. I'd hate for that gentle creature to become a pawn of our enemies."



...

What Odo did recall now was how he had returned to his well-monitored room where his pail was, and studied the texts on Bajoran customs, in particular naming customs. He had learned that names were dictated by d'jarras, the caste-system Bajor had relied on for centuries, whose use had fallen since the Occupation. He had learned that after marriage, Bajoran religious custom still dictated that the party of lesser stature take the d'jarrasof the partner with greater status, taking on their name as well and wearing the earring of that caste.

But I have no 'd'jarras', he thought now with a sigh, so what is there for me in this regard? And when I asked this of Mora..._

"The Prophets obviously intend other for someone such as you, Odo. Be glad, because you have many gifts...many, many gifts," the scientist had said with enthusiasm. Odo had not entirely believed this point of view, but had said nothing.

What had Mora been implying, he wondered now. That no woman would accept someone like me as a potential mate anyway? That no woman would choose to be with someone like me with a shapeshifter a creature who doesn't even have his own quarters?

Of course, that wasn't an entirely accurate assessment he knew. Commander Sisko and the Major had long railed at him to accept quarters on the Habitat Ring, to stop utilizing the storage closet in Security, but he had never cared for this idea. He disliked being away from the office and did not stop to analyze why, although it was easy to fathom; the security office was the first place he could call his own.

He had built it up from a dark and abandoned Cardassian concession into the clean and well-lit, smoothly-running central locus where all station activity could be monitored. He was quite proud of his office; he was proud to be able to say it was his office. It was for this reason that he resisted Starfleet efforts to install their own head of security aboard the station; then he would be forced to share this space and he did not want to. He had made that abundantly clear to George Primmin, Lieutenant late of DS9, who had requested transfer to a starship after Odo had ordered him to go against Starfleet regulations.

But if I feel this way about this impersonal office, how can I ever share more with someone else? The constable sat back, station and PADD utterly forgotten as he admitted to himself now that this thought was not so foreign as once it might have been. He had not realized it, though, until four months ago...on the day Kira Nerys had sat with her back to him atop his desk and guilelessly told him that she loved Bareil. It had been one of the most painful moments in his life, an astonishing claim considering the manner of his life until now, and still it disturbed him deeply.

It is her right to be with the man of her choosing, Odo argued with himself, even as he fought the irrational sense of resentment that filled him against the gentle Bajoran vedek. It was not at the fact the man had gained Kira's heart, but at the fact that he was humanoid, a Bajoran with a d'jarrasand a name, a man who knew his family and was able to provide all the things that he could not and never would be able to.

Odo sighed now, an emulation he had mastered with a disparagingly abundant amount of practice and told himself firmly, count yourself lucky she considers herself to be your friend...but would Kira ever think of him as more? Would any woman? Why did it matter?

Surely any logical person could see how unlikely, how laughable it was to imagine someone like him, a non-humanoid, a shapeshifting life form, finding anything more than friendship with someone like the Major. In fact, any humanoid woman would probably find the mere thought of such a thing quite disturbing. He had nothing to offer - no name, no family he could not even tell anyone what race it was he belonged to. No, all he could hope for was friendship and that he knew he had already with Kira.

She was a very good friend and she trusted him. Friendship was a valuable thing besides, not to be trifled, and he valued deeply what he had with Kira. He knew she also found value in her friendship with him. This thought heartened him and he turned back to his previous task, checking the figures on his PADD. They remained the same, endless and methodical, much as his manner of living. Odo scowled and set it aside.

It could wait. The death chant would be over soon and he needed to obtain a thisk'a gift. He already knew exactly what he wanted to get her. He hoped he would be able to obtain it. He hoped it would be appropriate. He hoped Kira would like it.

He swallowed somewhat nervously, unaware, as he checked the monitors once more, assuring himself of station status, then shut down his desk console, preparatory to closing his office before leaving to attend to his self-appointed task.

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2B cont'd

[PG-13] All the Prophets Will Bestow, 2 of 13

DISCLAIMER: Not intended to infringe on copyrights of Viacom, Paramount, nor any other legal holders of Star Trek copyright.

All The Prophets Will Bestow, pt. 2
a novella written by OdoGoddess and Cameron Burnell


The station's Ferengi bar owner scowled when the young, dark-skinned 'hew-mon' entered his establishment. While Quark typically put on his best face in order to ingratiate clients, in this case, the boy could not help him. The bar had been quiet for days, ever since the fate of the colony on New Bajor had been discovered. The station's occupants were mostly Bajoran and with this tragedy occurring, none had attended his bar, entering a state of mourning.

Worse, with the new threat from the Jem'Hadar, the declaration of hostilities had sent traffic away from DS9, hence away from his bar. Only his regular customers, like Morn, were in attendance and his profits had dropped from the uninspiring to the dismal.

So Jake Sisko's presence in his bar now did not fill Quark with joy despite being a possible customer. The boy could not legally drink or gamble and would not use the holosuites for anything more expensive than the family-style game and sporting entertainment which he provided for station personnel and their children at discount. Worse, the boy had taken to bothering his best dabo girl, Marta, frequenting her table and making the girl ignore her regular customers. In all, Quark was having a miserable day.

"Rom, go home."



His brother looked up at this, having been carefully wiping already clean glasses at the end of the bar.

"I'm scheduled to work all night, brother," Rom reminded him.

"If you expect me to pay you for standing around doing nothing, think again!" Quark scowled, now in a fiercesome mood. Rom could not argue with this and did not want to despite the fact that this would severely impact his take-home pay for the week. He could use the time to lecture Nog; the boy had been frittering his time recently.

The small Ferengi removed his apron and made his way out of the bar, smiling at Jake who waved at him as he passed by. Now Jake was a boy a Ferengi would be proud to have for a son; he dawdled in school, hung around the bar seeking opportunities with the dabo women, he had even made a little profit the other evening at dom-jot. Nog, on the other hand, had taken to squandering his small salary on model starships of late, spending hours studying engineering schematics and even constructing a holo-model of a warp engine. What sort of profit was in that, Rom wondered.

His son worried him a little, truth be told. He was nearing the age of attainment and had yet to discuss who he intended on apprenticing himself with. Rom hoped Nog would seek to enter apprenticeship with the Nagus or perhaps Krax, the Nagus' son, or even cousin Gaila, who owned a moon and would surely find a good spot for Nog in a privately owned concession. He hoped most of all, that the boy would not seek the expeditious way out and apprentice himself to Quark.

While Rom loved his brother, in fact he loved all his family dearly, he also knew there was more to life than running a bar on DS9. While he had never attained a loftier position than helping his brother, he knew Nog still had his entire life ahead of him. Most of all, he wanted the biggest, the best, the finest and most profitable of ventures for his only son. Nog deserved no less.

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Aside from the constable, the Starfleet skeleton crew at Ops, and Quark's employees, the only other person on the station who was not attending the Bajoran remembrance ceremony was the one who had the most in common with Chief Constable Odo.

Garak was the only one of his kind on the station. Of course, he did know who his people were, where they were and he was fully aware of his origins and what had brought him to the Bajoran system and hence to DS9. Unfortunately, unlike the constable who still harbored the chance to someday be united with his people and live among them, Garak harbored no such hope. Like Odo, he counted himself fortunate to have a job, albeit a dull and uninspiring one, and he felt more than reasonably secure in his work skills.

Having grown up working in his uncle's textile shop, he had developed a grasp of the fundamentals in the profession of garment-making. Like Odo, he found himself pondering the day-to-day of his life on the station of late. Unlike Odo, he allowed himself the occasional indulgence, be it wine, women or wrong; wrong in the sense that his covert activities had already led to difficulties for the station personnel, difficulties they had yet to pinpoint to him. One had even led to a very serious incident, what had been termed accidental, what Sisko and the station personnel had taken to calling the 'mirror-universe' incursion.

They had never figured out what caused that warp nacelle to malfunction and they probably never would, Garak thought now and smiled in his shop. Such trivial exercises had done much for his morale. Prior to his withdrawal from the addictive effects of a pleasure-center activating device, he might not have taken such childish joy in such simple subterfuge, but now...Garak sighed.

The station's young Human doctor, Julian Bashir, had successfully overseen his withdrawal, provided him companionable camaraderie and bracing lunchtime conversations. In his turn, Garak had become something of a changed man. Not outwardly, where he maintained his affable, somewhat odious charm, but inwardly, where he maintained his razor-sharp and calculating mind at it's keenest edge, on the ready to take advantage of any situation which presented itself.

He knew that someday he would return to Cardassia, ringed in glory...or at least, no longer in disgrace. Only a patient man could consider himself doing so after what Garak had been charged and convicted with. He counted himself quite fortunate that his official record had been expunged and that he'd maintained enough friends in lofty positions to list his most heinous crime as tax evasion. While a serious crime, it would not bar his return, once he made good on reparation, that is.

Of course, he really was guilty of tax evasion, but he had never known an Obsidian Order operative who wasn't. They rarely had time to perform the tedious, time-consuming task, much less could they even begin to itemize their job-related expenses. Now, he could easily itemize his job-expenses, but now he did not pay tribute to the Cardassian empire. He paid his concession fees, his import duties, his annual residency dues and the yearly renewal fee for his station visa. After these expenses were taken care of, it left whatever he made from his semi-popular shop free and clear and he had steady customers...usually.

With recent events, however, none of his steady customers had been in evidence of late and, worse, his visa expired the next month. In fact, he was considering closing down his shop and going to his quarters early to consider his options, when his commpanel buzzed. He frowned; a chime indicated a call from somewhere within the station, probably a customer checking on an order, but the buzz indicated a subspace call and he rarely received those in his shop.

"Computer, scramble incoming message and encode to Garak engram twelve."



"Working."



Within moments, the message began to play in scrambled, slip-shod Cardassian of a dialect he doubted even Enabran Tain could decipher. It was a dialect he had only ever heard in the fruit orchards of Kessik, a tiny village where his uncle came from. Nestled amid the fruit orchards had been the fields of flax which had made his uncle a wealthy textile merchant.

Unskilled labor such as picking reaping was performed on Cardassia by those whose mental skills were insufficient to anything else. The Cardassians, as a race, were ruthlessly efficient and rational people. Why waste any useful citizen? Those people had their own thick and gutteral dialect which Garak heard often as a child and grown to understand, but few others without need to ever had.

He had come to utilize it during his time as an operative for the Obsidian Order and no one had yet to decipher it. Garak found a delightful irony in using the speech patterns of the mentally deficient to foil those who were supposed to be brilliant tacticians.

What the message said was this:

Ion storm, L-8P, F-2/approach. Danger. FOP down, evac-o evac-w.

Loosely translated, this meant a large ion storm was approaching the station, that the station personnel had yet to be notified because Starfleet was downplaying the serious nature of the storm, but that an evacuation was sure to take place. Garak now had the time to either prepare or to figure out where to go if he decided to leave. He did not have many boltholes open to him, but he could leave.

I will stay, he thought, but pondered if he shouldn't try saying something to the station personnel, thereby providing them more time to prepare, to evacuate. Who would he tell, he wondered, Bashir?

The young doctor was a good friend and had proved quite circumspect, but was also overly curious. He would want to know where Garak got his information. No, he needed to tell someone who would expect him to have such information, but also expect him to not divulge where he got it from. He knew just the person...to his surprise, this very person suddenly walked into his establishment.

To the tailor's observant eye, Odo looked somewhat ill at ease. Then again, Garak thought, the shapeshifter doesn't really wear any clothing. His shop was not a place that the constable would ever enter unless he had business to attend to, like the investigation of an unusual transmission, perhaps?

"What can I do for you, constable?" he inquired pleasantly. "While you don't have any real need to frequent my establishment, I have often thought to myself how a new look would definitely suit you. For instance, have you thought of adding a collar to your uniform? It would add a certain panache to your look, an air of authority."



Odo eyed him as if he had grown another head. Without preamble, the constable merely said, "I came to ask you something."



"Of course."



"Do you have any Garadiian silk?"

Garak blinked. This was the last question he had expected to come from Odo. For one thing, he had only just learned of Garadiian silk himself, obtained a very pricy sample bolt of it via a passing Pakled by way of trading some judicial information for it. For another, he would never dream of the constable having any need whatsoever for Garadiian silk. That particular fabric was exceedingly rare, touted now in Federation circles as being the softest, most exquisite material in the known universe. Simply put, Garadiian silk was so soft and incredibly luxuriant as to make a Klingon weep. What the decidedly conservative and seemingly-indifferent constable of DS9 would want with some was quite beyond Garak's comprehension.

He smiled, however as he replied, "In fact, I just obtained a sample bolt, not much more than a few meters I'm afraid. Did you want to see it?"

As he asked this, Garak suddenly realized what Odo probably wanted with the silk; doubtless, there was a stolen lot of impounded fabric in one of the cargo bays, or perhaps a swatch of unfamiliar fabric had been discovered on a murder victim and he needed to identify it. More confident now, Garak stepped to one of his locking cabinets and opened it. Garadiian silk was almost priceless; a swatch could sell for bars, not *strips*, of gold-press latinum; so if someone had been found murdered, he would be able to explain to the constable why someone had chosen to kill in order to obtain it.

He carefully removed the bolt of incredibly sheer and delicate iridescence from its lined locker and presented it to Odo. To his unending surprise, the constable stretched out a hand and actually carressed the fabric, then nodded to himself, almost as if deciding something. He then pulled his hand back, almost reluctantly, and inclined his head at the tailor.

"I want you to make me a scarf from some of that...say one and a half meters in length?" Garak blinked and Odo added, "I need it within the hour and I don't care about the cost."



(-|-) * * * (-|-) * * * (-|-)

While Odo calmly waited in Garak's shop, watching the Cardassian carefully fashion a scarf and listening to his suggested uniform revisions, Assistant Ops watch commander Denayla frowned at her status console. An odd glitch kept appearing and disappearing in sector Thirteen on the station, an area of the Docking Ring.

Being Bajoran, the superstitious number did not give Denayla pause, but the fleeting nature of the phenomenon disturbed her. It could be a structural breech. If so, she should inform the Chief Engineer so it could be repaired. It could also be a sensor glitch, in which case the Chief Engineer would get cross at responding to what might be a simple power fluctuation in her monitor. She would have to get in it's guts and perform a level-one diagnostic.

"Dolan," she called to the engineering assistant, another Bajoran, the only two on the station not attending the memorial service. Both had good reason, they had already performed the death chant with their families since both had lost kin on New Bajor.

"Sargeant?"

"Take the con, I'm going to perform a diagnostic on this *be-jzelld* piece of Cardassian junk," she replied succinctly, suiting word to action as she grabbed a scanner and opened the panel, sliding herself into the console at record speed, not even bothering to see if Dolan had acknowledged her order.

She didn't have to bother, it turned out; Dolan had already transferred the station status readouts to his console and logged in the change in watch status in the activity report before she could get her shoulders into the opening.

(-|-) * * * (-|-) * * * (-|-)

"The council won't take kindly to your not evacuating the station, Intendant." Garak sneered at Kira across her desk in her office on Terok Nor.

"I think they'd take less kindly to a drop in ore-production, Garak. Besides, this ion storm will take less time to pass by than it would to evacuate everyone. The shields should hold."



"I still think "

"It is my decision to make, Garak," Kira interrupted with finality. The Intendant was becoming irritated at the Cardassian. Of late, she had been quite irritated with everyone.

This irritation had started when her slave-lover Benjamin Sisko had shown his true colors and become the renegade Terran leader of their laughable rebellion. The only reason Garak did not grow angry at their actions was that the Intendant was the one who had provided the Terran with the means to enact his current mischief. He had made sure the Alliance council knew that!

"Just so. Tell me, Intendant was it your decision to provide the rebellion the shipping routes for our cargo ships? Or was that a lucky guess on the part of your old Terran lover?"

The Intendant leveled a deadly glare at her second-in-command, a nostril-widening sneer that barely kept her teeth covered. She was a very tolerant woman, but this Cardassian rankled her terribly. I'm definitely going to have to kill him...someday.

She turned from him for a moment, careful to keep his reflection on her office viewscreen in her line of vision. Garak had yet to stop trying to kill her and despite the fact she documented each of his attempts to the Alliance Council, he retained his office, which meant he had assistance from someone on the council.

Since they merely overlooked his murder attempts, she was constrained to keep a close eye on him. She had not complained about his last few months of attempts, no matter how close they had come. She wanted him to feel she was getting lax, but bided her time and worked out her method of killing him with private glee. Such thoughts filled her more stressful days with a decided sense of pleasure.

The only thing that kept her from killing him outright was the uncertainty of who the Alliance would put in his place. She well knew their manner of promotions and she could be partnered with someone worse, although she could barely imagine someone with more difficult attributes than Garak.

I wish Odo were still here, she thought to herself now, with a heartfelt sigh. Even though they had not remained lovers, he had remained a fairly loyal man to her cause. He had acted as a buffer between Garak and her until his untimely demise. Tears filled her eyes now as she recalled her erstwhile shapeshifting lover. He was so proud, so strong, so...loyal.

She cleared her throat now, refusing to allow Garak to see even momentary weakness. She turned back to him. "I want you to see to the station shields, Garak."



"Shields? I have no knowledge of engineering, Intendant."



"Then you'd better learn, hadn't you?" she smiled at him toothily. "As I understand it, there is a variation in Sector Thirteen. I'd hate for there to be a shield breech during the upcoming storm."



Her smile widened as he stormed out of her office, grumbling dire imprecations under his breath and she began laughing her throaty chuckle at the thought of her second-in-command floating free and suitless in the vacuum of space, a peaceful sight for several seconds, until the incredible influence of vacuum exerted its effects on his hapless body...and he exploded.

(-|-) * * * (-|-) * * * (-|-)

Benjamin Sisko inclined his head at Vedek Zil.

"Emissary," the elderly man intoned respectfully as he passed by. The commander of Deep Space Nine just avoided a sigh; he found this veneration for simply being present to be discomfitting, but he did not correct the elderly Bajoran. Instead he managed a smile and continued on out of the station temple.

Despite exiting the darkness and the sadness within the temple, the familiar environs of the Promenade did not hearten Sisko. The lengthy ceremony had given him time to think, to ponder the situation on the station and in the Gamma Quadrant.

Whoever or whatever the Dominion was, their indifferent attitude toward destroying an entire colony of peaceful people was a horrifying one. He had already made plans to attend the next Federation meeting regarding matters in the Gamma Quadrant, scheduled at Starfleet Command for four days hence. He had informed Admiral Boyle he would be leaving the station after the Bajoran ceremony honoring their dead; as their appointed Emissary, it would not do for him to avoid such a solemn occasion. As the ranking Starfleet officer and representative of the Federation in the region, he was required to follow whatever local customs and his own comfort level dictated.

While he hated funerals, the enormity of this loss and what it indicated mandated that he attend this service, so he had. Now he wondered if there was something else he should do to somehow provide reassurance to Bajor.

"Commander, a word with you please."



He turned around to find the long, lean figure of Odo approaching. To his surprise, the constable held a small, ornate wooden box, a Bajoran construct which he recognized as a memento-holder. The Bajorans used them for special occasions, days of birth, days of naming or to commemorate a specific day. He could not recall it being anyone's birthday, but Sisko opted not to ask; it was really none of his business. More interesting, though, was the addition of a collar to his uniform jacket. To Benjamin's fascinated interest, the collar added a certain touch of elan to the constable's otherwise colorless ensemble. It seemed even Odo felt the need for a dress uniform this day. Sisko gave him a small smile and nodded.

"What is it, constable?"

"I'm afraid I've come across a disturbing bit of news, possibly just a rumor, but it should be investigated," Odo began, shifting the small box under an arm to free his hands.

To the commander's fascinated interest, when the constable lifted his arm to point down the Promenade, the box was gone somehow secreted within his body a trick possible thanks to his security chief's metamorphic nature. Sisko swallowed and tried to ignore this minor bit of biological wizardry as Odo began to speak.

"Our Cardassian tailor just informed me a level eight ion storm may be approaching this system."



"What?"

"I figured you would want to know. A storm that size could wreak havoc throughout the entire system."



"Not to mention the station," Sisko mused with a sigh, then as more people began to file out of the temple, he took the constable aside and asked, "Do you believe Mr. Garak, Odo?"

"He has no reason to lie about this, Commander. Even if he's exaggerating, however, I felt it best to inform you. Our shields can certainly handle it, but it might be best to consider evacuating the station of all non-essential persons."



"Thank you, constable. I'll get to Ops immediately. In the interim, review evacuation protocol, but keep this to your self."



"Aye, sir." The shapeshifter nodded gravely and looked to the temple entrance momentarily as Sisko turned away to the turbolift.

The commander did not see Odo sigh regretfully, nor see his expressive gaze soften as the Major walked out of the temple and begin speaking with Zil. As he would have fully expected of the constable, Odo's moment of reflection was fleeting.

DS9's Chief of Security turned from the temple and headed back to his office, intent on following his orders as they were given, despite the fact it kept him from a pressing, personal duty.

(-|-) * * * (-|-) * * * (-|-)

"Have you spoken with Bareil?"

The elderly vedek shook his head, then he smiled gently at the young woman before him and reached out to grasp her ear. She inclined her head in proper Bajoran fashion, allowing him to 'read' her pagh, her life-force. She had little doubt her appearance troubled the old cleric; she had little emotional control in regards to Bajoran ceremonies, they tended to make her weep in heartfelt appreciation of the rhythmic harmony, the beauty of the music and her own private belief in and veneration of the Prophets.

"Funerals make me...a little emotional, vedek," she whispered.

"This is understandable. However, your pagh indicates a duality of purpose. Love and Duty are powerful forces; together they are marvelous allies, opposed they make turbulence in the soul. Your pagh is a stormy one, child."



She smiled at this old-fashioned appraisal. "I guess love and duty are opposed right now, vedek, but I'm not sure what to do about it. I can't leave my job, but "

"Bareil is on Bajor and cannot leave his job, either. I understand more than you realize and I cannot say I'm surprised. Bareil never could take the easy path. Now he chooses a woman whose work and pagh lead her away from Bajor, the planet he feels apprehensive over leaving. Yet neither of you feels whole without the other," Zil sighed. "Perhaps it would be best to not speak with me, but to speak with Bareil yourself, my child."



(-|-) * * * (-|-) * * * (-|-)

"You are still troubled, Bareil?"

The young vedek lifted his head at this, then inclined it again in ancient greeting to the Kai who had entered his chambers. It was not Winn he displayed deference to, but the office she held, which he knew was of more significance than the flesh, bones and blood of the one who attained it. She personified the wish of the Prophets as he had interpreted their vision to him four months before...the time of Winn's election to the office he had once believed ordained for him.

The Kai merely slanted a sidelong look at him, as if judging his true feelings, then without preamble, she grasped his ear and assessed his pagh. She released him with alacrity, to his relief, but her eyes narrowed yet more.

"You are guarded, Bareil. I'm quite certain this is not the manner of cooperation you speak of among the assembly when it gathers."



"No, your Eminence. I am merely troubled by personal matters."



"You must consider what I have advised, Bareil, and rid yourself of distractions to your office. What the Prophets ask is of far greater significance than matters of the flesh, is that not what we are taught?"

"Yes, Kai."



"Then your relationship with the Major has been severed?"

His eyes looked up at this, their expression best described as hard, but he was careful not to expose his resentment. It was not difficult; he had grown up in a Cardassian refugee camp during the Occupation, where one learned to hide feelings that could bring about punishment.

"I seek to follow the way of the Prophets, your Eminence," he replied non-committally. Winn noted this, but did not respond since his answer was vedek-correct.

"In that case, Vedek Bareil, I would ask how your negotiation went with the legate?" She was referring to the communication she'd asked him to begin on her behalf with the Cardassian government's legate, Turrel. It was such an unexpected honor to be accorded such duty by the Kai that the vedek had not been able to turn down this request, personally distasteful as being assigned to her staff of advisors and dealing with Winn on a constant basis might be.

"Communications were not functioning for some reason, your Eminence. I intend to re-try in the morning." He did not add that he had not been able to raise the station either, since this would merely serve to inform her that his relationship with Kira continued despite her objections to it.

"How odd. I haven't been informed of any unusual difficulty with our equipment or the subspace array," Winn mused. She tilted her head at the vedek. He did not lie, although he had learned how to couch his answers in prophecy, and he was not lying now, she knew.

"The Prophets would say for us to bide our time and wait, your Eminence. There is surely a reason for my difficulty."



The Kai considered this, then smiled. It was a warm and motherly smile, but the coldness behind it made Bareil swallow. "Indeed. Then I leave you to your contemplation, Vedek."



"Your Eminence?"

She turned back, an expectant expression on her face. Bareil got the distinct impression that she had also savored those words, not just from him, but hearing them from anyone. It was, after all, the lifelong ambition of many of the clerics to achieve such a lofty position. Covetousness is not of Bajor, he recalled now.

"I merely wish to ask you to reconsider your mandate against my consulting the Tear of the Prophet."



"I thought my position was clear, Bareil," she intoned carefully, her words well-considered, almost rehearsed. "You are entering a very difficult negotiation. Your interpretation of events can be clouded by the imagery the Prophets would present you."



"I merely wish to consider my current position, your Eminence. I seek answers in the present, not the future."



"I'm afraid I cannot justify your entering the Orb Chamber, Bareil. It is too dangerous for you to risk exposure to the Tear of the Prophet at this time. These negotiations you are conducting are not just for me, but for all of Bajor. Surely you can see how important it is to maintain your neutrality in this matter?"

"Yes, your Eminence," Bareil sighed, unable to keep the disappointed tone out of his voice. He wished she had not chosen him for her staff of advisors if she was not going to even consider any of his requests.

"Very well. I trust you in this matter. Perhaps it would do you good to meditate. Have you tried the vorhai chant?"

"No, your Eminence."



"I find it a very useful meditation in troubling times. I suggest you try it and see if doesn't provide you some peace of mind."



"Thank you, your Eminence."



"Not at all. You are one of the children of the Prophets and I am your leader as they have decreed. I do not like to see any of my order in distress. It speaks ill of my tutelage and of my temperament. It is my wish that all in my order be able to seek my comfort and guidance."



"You are kind, your Eminence."



Bareil's words were less recognition of her perspective than a softly spoken dismissal. Winn's eyes narrowed even more and she inclined her head once more and stepped out of his chambers.

(-|-) * * * (-|-) * * * (-|-)

2B cont'd

[PG-13] All the Prophets Will Bestow, 3 of 13

DISCLAIMER: Not intended to infringe on copyrights of Viacom, Paramount, nor any other legal holders of Star Trek copyright.

All The Prophets Will Bestow, pt. 3
a novella written by OdoGoddess and Cameron Burnell


Doctor Julian Bashir stepped out of the temple, having fallen into conversation with Prylar Zehr'ha at the conclusion of the ceremony. He had been fascinated by the ceremony and his genuine interest and questions had charmed the young monk. She inclined her head now at the symbol of Bajor which hung in the Promenade.

"That is the symbol of our faith. The Vedek Assembly was quite pleased the Ministers Council approved the uniform design for the Militia which incorporated the symbol. I feel, as do many clerics, that soldiers require the most guidance of all from the Prophets."



"Really?" Julian considered this, then asked, "What of doctors, such as myself?"

"Healers are held in high esteem by all. You must tend to the body which houses the pagh. You nurture, provide succor, heal and this takes compassion. You are exposed to the person at their most vulnerable and this requires great integrity."



Bashir blinked, rather taken aback at her obviously deeply felt sincerity. "Yes, well, I do try."



"You do more than try. Your presence at the ceremony was a great honor to Bajor, Doctor. You helped establish the colony, you came to venerate the dead. It is no small thing and believe me, it will not be forgotten," she assured him.

"Thank you. Really, I just felt I had to come."



"Your presence honored us."



She blinked up at him with dark, liquid black eyes that were filled with such genuine admiration he felt a sense of shame in having considered asking her if she wouldn't care to accompany him to dinner that evening...perhaps leading to more, but it would not be proper, he told himself.

"Yes, well, if you'll excuse me, I really need to return to my office."



Bashir headed for the Infirmary and the safety of his office. Zehr'ha watched as he walked down the Promenade, wishing that Humans weren't so stringently adherent to keeping their religion separate from their work and their environment. It made them see religion as separate from their life and it was not faith resided inside one how could one separate oneself? She sighed now, a bit crestfallen.

Zehr'ha had been hoping the handsome young doctor would notice her for over two months, but he seemed to consider her nothing more than a simple cleric first, a woman second. Perhaps in the future...she consoled herself now and then returned to the temple and her private contemplations.

(-|-) * * * (-|-) * * * (-|-)

Denayla carefully pulled herself from under the console just as Commander Sisko stepped onto Ops and she stepped right up to him. He forebore comment on her dusty, disheveled condition, as she stopped before him, scanner in hand.

"Report, Sargeant."



"Sir, my status console has been showing a momentary glitch in Sector Thirteen of the Docking Ring. I've finished conducting a level-one diagnostic on my console, but there doesn't seem to be anything wrong with it, so I don't think this is a power fluctuation or sensor glitch. I'm afraid we have some form of structural breech that the station shields are masking."



"Didn't the Chief say that the new Starfleet interface didn't 'cooperate' with the Cardassian equipment in his last engineering status report?"

"I believe he did, sir."



"So that interface could mask a problem. Thank you, Denayla."



She gave him a brief nod and stepped off of Ops into the turbolift, her shift over; Dolan was waiting for Dax to arrive. Sisko tapped the nearest touch plate now.

"Sisko to O'Brien."



"Aye, sir?"

"Chief, Sargeant Denayla has been monitoring what could be a structural integrity problem in the Docking Ring, Sector Thirteen. Would you please investigate? I'd hate the thought of even a minor station breech causing us trouble."



"I'm with you, sir. I'll get my motility spanner and report to you as soon as I've finished checking it out."



"Thank you, chief. Sisko out." He turned as Dax stepped onto Ops still in her dress uniform.

"What's the matter, Benjamin?" she asked, foregoing all protocol to address him as her symbiont had for nearly twenty years prior to her joining with it. However that had been in the body of Curzon, an old man who had been fond of Sisko and passed on that fully formed fondness to the new host.

"Check this out, old man," he replied without preamble, pointing to a console readout. She stepped up, accepting the moniker as it had been intended; a gesture of warm affection for the friendship Benjamin had enjoyed with the previous form of 'her' via the symbiont.

Trill relationships were exceedingly complicated for most non-symbiotic life forms to understand. Fortunately, matters were greatly simplified when the non-symbiotic life form simply accepted the new host as another form of the person they knew before, no matter what the other form or gender. In this case, Sisko found it easier to relate to the statuesque and lovely young woman by thinking of Curzon whenever he spoke to her. The momentary image of the elderly Trill staved off the uncustomary and inconvenient sexual desire which he automatically and naturally felt on sight of her, being a normal Human male.

Dax stepped up next to him, the oddly-familiar smell of Trill d'laani momentarily recalling to him more than a few bachelor exploits he had shared with Dax's previous host, Curzon, before he managed to shake off the reverie and ask, "Do you think this could be a large ionic pulse from some spatial phenomenon or an honest-to-goodness storm, Dax?"

She nodded at Dolan as she positioned herself in front of her console to study the readings in their entirety. The Bajoran man exited Ops as she tapped a few sequences into the science console before her, re-imaged the data, called forth another two-dimensional viewscreen image on an adjoining screen.

As she did this, she said teasingly, "What made you go from normal ionic distortion to deadly ion storm? That's a wide margin of consideration for a man of decidedly non-scientific bent, Benjamin."



"Is it or isn't it, old man?"

She considered his expectant expression and studied the results of the data. "It's a storm, Benjamin. At least level seven, maybe level eight, and it's headed right for this system. But you didn't answer me how did you know?"

He sighed. "Our friendly station tailor either has better equipment or better connections than we do, old man. One day I swear I'm going to find out which."



(-|-) * * * (-|-) * * * (-|-)

Before Kira could change out of her dress uniform or access her personal terminal in her quarters, her commbadge signalled. She tapped it with a sigh.

"Kira here, go ahead."



"Sorry to interrupt, Major, but I need to let you know that a high-level ion storm is approaching the system. Communications have been sketchy for a couple of hours. As soon as the chief finishes inspecting the Docking Ring, he and Benjamin will be taking the Orinoco to map its course and warn the Provisional government and the colonies along the outer system."



Dax sounded calm and untroubled, but Kira could sense the undertone of concern in her voice. Any ion storm could ravage the system, not to mention the station, which was still not entirely fortified against any kind of stress, despite Chief O'Brien's best efforts. Fortunately very few people were on the station...thanks to the Dominion.

Kira sighed. "Will you need me at Ops?"

"Yes, we could use help with evacuation protocol. I'm sorry, Major, I know this is a bad time."



"I understand. I'll be there as soon as I can. Kira out."



She looked longingly at the viewscreen, then shut off her thoughts from her lover and focused them on the duties which lay ahead.

(-|-) * * * (-|-) * * * (-|-)

On Terok Nor, Garak frowned at the readings on his scanner. The Intendant had not been wrong, but he wouldn't put it past her to have caused the trouble simply to get him into an airlock so she could blow him out without protective gear. He studiously avoided the airlock as he investigated the situation with care.

The integrity breech turned out to be a microscopic crack near an airlock in the toranium strut that attached pylon to docking ring. Apparently the stress of some overloaded cargo freighter had probably started it and it had grown as the airlock was used over the years. For now, though, it posed no threat so long as no ships docked at the airlock. He tried to secure the hatch, but for some reason, the device would not cycle down. Machines!

Garak hated this monstrous station with its constant repair problems. The fact that the Alliance allowed Terran technicians, such as the defected O'Brien who had taken what he'd learned to provide it to the rebellion, made him angrier yet. He could not wait to make his way onto the council where some things would be changed almost immediately. At this thought, he smiled and tapped his communicator.

"Garak to Intendant."



"Go on, Garak."



"This breech is microscopic, barely worthy of mention. However, I put it to you that we shouldn't have anyone dock at airlock 14 until it can be repaired. It will also need to be repaired before the ion storm strikes."



"Very well. Is that all?"

"Well, that and the fact that the airlock won't cycle down and lock, I believe so, Intendant. Then again, I'm ýÿÿÿ‚," he retorted, then before she could comeback, he curtailed their conversation by tapping his commbadge again.

(-|-) * * * (-|-) * * * (-|-)

Once initiated, the evacuation of DS9 was an orderly one, the shopkeepers having already shut down for the time of mourning. Only the temple monks caused trouble, that being their refusal to leave without logging a protest with the Emissary himself.

The Emissary's Chief of Security managed to personally escort Vedek Zil and Prylar Zehr'ha to the last shuttle headed for Bajor. The elderly vedek had cited wishing to remain in the temple, while Zehr'ha had asked to remain to provide comfort to any that might be injured in the storm, an interesting approach which Odo noted for future reference. He was well aware of the young monk's intense interest in Doctor Bahir, wondered if Bashir was aware of it, but that was really none of his business.

He duly recorded both their complaints for Sisko's later perusal as well as explained to them that while the approaching storm would create havoc with weather patterns on the planet surface, it would still be infinitely safer for them to be evacuated to Bajor than remaining on a station whose shields were not certain to weather a storm the size of the one approaching. He informed them that, per evacuation protocol, the only people staying were the senior staff. And the foolhardy...

Odo knew precisely which group to count Garak and Quark among, but he wisely did not tell the vedeks of this, although he did intend to tell the tailor and bartender as soon as he had seen the vedeks safely onto the shuttle.

Then he recalled that he still held Kira's thisk'a gift within him. He did not have the time to present it to her and with events progressing on the station, this was not the time. He would have to leave it somewhere safe in the interim.

(-|-) * * * (-|-) * * * (-|-)

"You should really evacuate."



"As I told you, constable, I intend on remaining. Besides, I don't think the Bajoran authorities would take too kindly to a Cardassian, any Cardassian, seeking shelter in one of their underground warrens," Garak sighed, taking another sip of kanar.

"And I'm not leaving!" Quark insisted. "Running scared is not my style. Rom and Nog can go if they wish they did! That's loyalty for you, though. I've half a mind to dock their entire week of pay for it. This bar is all we have and I won't leave! Besides, I don't trust anyone with its safekeeping, even you."



Odo snorted at this and Garak lifted a brow, wondering what private response the shapeshifter longed to give. Then he shrugged, his tone bemused, "Look at it this way, constable. If Mr. Quark is immolated in his bar, that's one less thing for you to concern yourself with."



"Yeah, that's right hey!"

"A reassuring thought, Garak, I'll keep it in mind," Odo quipped as the Ferengi scowled at the two of them. "However, in all fairness, I must point out that if Quark's bar is immolated, then so would the Promenade, including your shop and you, since the atmosphere on the station would, no doubt, be lost to the vacuum of space."



"Yes, but thanks to your shapeshifting nature, you would remain snug as a bug in a rug as the good doctor said the other day."



"I beg your pardon?"

"Just a Human expression."



"Hew-mons! Always hiding their feelings in metaphors and expressions."



"And what about your 285 Rules Of Acquisition, you don't find that similarity between Ferengi and Humans disturbing, Quark?"

"Hardly, the Rules of Acquisition are rules to live life by, not to hide our feelings. Ferengi don't hide our feelings. We're greedy to the core and we're the first to admit it."



"The only thing you would admit to," grumbled the constable. Before the bartender could ripost, Odo tilted his head at the tailor and said, "After you finish that kanar, get to your store, Garak, unless you want to stay in the emergency shelter with the stand-by staff."



Garak set down his glass. "Worry not, constable, I'm heading for my shop."



"As for you, Quark, close this place and get to the shelter or else find a secure place to stay in until the storm blows over...like your vault."



"Gee, I didn't know you cared."



"I mean it, Quark," Odo murmured in irritation, then stalked out of the bar. He heard the Ferengi's muttered comments behind him, thick with sarcasm, but chose to ignore them since he had just recalled another duty he had intended on seeing to.

"Garak?"

The Cardassian stopped his stride down the Promenade, surprised to hear Odo call to him. "How can I help you, constable?"

"Would you please hold onto this for me?" Odo retrieved Kira's thisk'a gift and held it out for Garak to take. The tailor did, frowning.

"Don't you "

"The storage locker in security is full," Odo explained. "Unfortunately, it is the only place I have in which to put it that is secure, where it won't get damaged."



Garak considered this, recalling anew that the constable did not have his own quarters, wondered again why he did not want his own room when he was such an intensely private person and would surely benefit from it, but did not question. He simply nodded.

"Of course, I'd be glad to secure this in my storage room for you, constable. No charge."



Oddly, Odo felt extremely reluctant to let go of the box, despite the inordinate amount of relief he felt over Garak's acquiescence. This sensation went far beyond what he should feel for the small favor he was asking, but he merely inclined his head.

"Thank you."



(-|-) * * * (-|-) * * * (-|-)

The chief engineer of DS9 finished his scan of Section Thirteen, blissfully unaware of the station evacuation orders. It had taken him time to find the breech, a microscopic crack in the connection point of the toranium strut attached to the docking pylon. It was barely detectable and he privately lauded Denayla's attempt to assure the problem wasn't simply a computer glitch.

Miles assessed that the crack had worsened due to the current strain caused by the ship docked at the nearby airlock. The situation should resolve if the ship was moved to another airlock, then he could put it from his mind until his next inspection. He tapped his commbadge.

"O'Brien to Ops."



"Go ahead, chief."



"Dax, could you let the Commander know that the problem should resolve if the ship at Airlock fourteen is moved. The stress on the hull will be nominal once the ship isn't stressing the strut. The station shields should hold this area without any trouble until I can fix her up."



"Aye, chief, glad to hear it. Benjamin wants you to report to Runabout Pad C when you're done. You and he are going to take the Orinoco to map an oncoming ion storm."



"Say again?"

Sisko's voice answered him, "I'm sorry, chief, I know it's sudden, but you need to "

"No, sir, it's not that, but you didn't tell me an ion storm was coming. That could wreak havoc with our shields and there's a possibility it could make this microfracture wider. Someone has to patch it before the storm arrives."



"I gave the evacuation order for all non-essential personnel chief, it's just the senior staff and a few stragglers."



"Damn! I need to go out in an exo-suit to patch this up before then. Can the mapping wait, sir?"

"No, chief, the storm is level eight. Communications have been fluctuating and are now out except for low frequency proximity transmissions. We need to get word to the Provisional Government, warn the colonies in the outer belt and send word to the governments of Klaestron, Lapolis and Cardassia."



"Cardassia?"

"Is there a problem, chief?"

O'Brien swallowed his sudden mouthful of angry bile and the equally angry words behind it. It had only been two months since he had endured the indignity of a Cardassian tribunal.

He had never been particularly partial to Cardassians, having witnessed their atrocities first hand and his recent experience had served only to confirm his opinions. Memories of being injected with sedatives, stripped of his clothing, interrogated and having a swatch of his hair torn out at the roots and a back molar wrenched free of his jaw filtered into his mind now.

If an ion storm is coming, then the Cardies can scan it for their bloody selves, he thought with ire.

"Chief?"

Serve them all right to be swept off their ugly world. This universe wouldn't miss those bleeding, lizard-faced...

"Chief, please respond!"

"Sorry, sir, I was just...checking my calculations."



"I know how you must feel, chief, but we have a treaty and therefore, a duty we can't shirk, no matter how we feel. I want you with me on that runabout, too, in case ionic interference from the storm affects ship systems."



"Aye, sir." O'Brien took a deep breath, sighed. Then he said, "This repair, though, sir? It needs to be done before the storm hits and no one can go out during an ion storm."



"Understood, chief. I'm trusting the station to Major Kira and Lieutenant Dax. I'm sure they'll take good care of it."



(-|-) * * * (-|-) * * * (-|-)

Once the ships had cleared the station, including the Orinoco, Kira turned her attention to the station. The constable had arrived at Ops declaring the station evacuation was complete, a level-one security sweep of all docking pylons had indicated they were clear, per station protocols. Lastly, he notified her of the complaints from the vedeks. She could now consider the problem of the structural tear. She looked at Dax.

"Are you any good with a bipolar torch, Lieutenant?"

"Sorry, Major."



"I guess I'll have to suit up, then," Kira murmured thoughtfully.

"I can do it, Major." Both women turned to Odo, eyes wide with surprise.

"You can handle a bipolar torch, constable?"

"I wasn't always on the station, Major," he informed her quietly. "Prior to being called to duty by Gul Dukat, I worked in the mines."



"But the only mine workers that handled bipolar torches were the mine inspectors and they never lived very " Kira's voice faded as she realized what her friend was saying.

Dax frowned. "What is it, Kira?"

"I was a Mine Inspector for a while," Odo calmly related, then turned to the curious Trill and shrugged. "It wasn't a very popular job and as the Major was about to point out, the Bajorans assigned to do it didn't survive very long. The inspectors went ahead and checked the structural integrity of new mine shafts, ensured the emplacement of the support struts before the heavy equipment and the miners were permitted to go through."



"The Cardassians probably picked you for that because of your shapeshifting nature," Dax mused.

"Actually, I volunteered."



"What?!"

"Is it so strange, Major? Two dozen Bajorans died every month as mine inspectors for the Cardassians. I may not have been at it very long, but I was glad to have saved ninety-six lives that might have otherwise succumbed in my four months on the job."



Kira swallowed at the tone of injured pride in her friend's voice. She nodded at him. "Of course, constable. I didn't mean to disparage your work. We all had to do difficult things during the Occupation."



He merely nodded and turned to Dax. "I take it we have a structural patch?"

"I'll go with you to the engineering storage locker, constable." They both turned and as they stepped onto the turbolift, she smiled at him. "By the way, constable, I've been wanting to say that I love your new collar. It's very elegant."



(-|-) * * * (-|-) * * * (-|-)

2B cont'd

[PG-13] All the Prophets Will Bestow, 4 of 13

DISCLAIMER: Not intended to infringe on copyrights of Viacom, Paramount, nor any other legal holders of Star Trek copyright.

All The Prophets Will Bestow, pt. 4
a novella written by OdoGoddess and Cameron Burnell


"Are you sure they can't detect us, Smiley?"

"Not a chance, Ben. That storm will blind them just as much as us, except they won't have the benefit of the variant shields I worked out."



"Will the shields work though? The Badlands is one thing, ion storm is different."



"I adjusted them for the ionic resonance pattern. It's not so different after all than warding off plasma disruptions. Just a different form of energy, Ben."



"You're a genius, Smiley. I'm so glad you agreed to go with us, instead of that other universe."



Smiley nodded, accepting his Captain's compliment without comment. He considered instead, their nearing destination Terok Nor. The station was a tiny blip on his monitor, but his stomach tightened nonetheless. He had spent eight years of his life there, tinkering and puttering with the equipment, a priveleged theta-class Terran slave for the Alliance, assigned under the watchful eye of the sadistic shapeshifting Supervisor of Ore-Processing.

He still found it difficult to believe that he was no longer a theta-class slave, but a free man. Free from the oppressive station, free to work on a ship among other Terrans, free to do just about anything he wished, be it to eat or sleep or make love to a willing woman among the rebels...and there were more than a few of them. Not that he indulged himself very often, he still considered sexual proclivity a Bajoran trait and Miles "Smiley" O'Brien despised Bajorans. What he was currently helping Sisko to accomplish gave him great satisfaction.

They were using the edge of an ion storm to approach Terok Nor. Once they were close enough, they were going to attach at an airlock, kidnap the Intendant, plant some surprises for Garak a bit of revenge then return to the Badlands, all under cover of the storm. They planned to hold Kira for ransom to the Alliance. They weren't even asking for a lot, simply a repay of all the tribute Sisko's band had collected for her over the last four years. Of course, the last few months did not count, since they'd been fugitives. He and Sisko had worked out this plan together. Between his engineering skill and Sisko's knowledge, Smiley thought there was little they could not do.

Aside from his brothers, whom he could barely remember now and who had migrated from Terran central and were probably slaves to the Alliance, else dead somewhere, he had never loved someone as he loved the Captain. Ben Sisko had given him a chance, given him a place where he felt useful but not exploited. He hoped he would not let Ben down.

(-|-) * * * (-|-) * * * (-|-)

"Odo?"

"You heard me, chief. He's experienced with a bipolar torch and he volunteered. He's getting set up right now," Kira informed them. She was the sole officer at Ops, standing before the station status console and she smiled at the two men on the viewscreen before her. Static was rapidly eating the image.

"Well, make sure he wears an *crackle*o-suit."



"An exo-suit? I'll suggest it, chief, but have you ever tried getting Odo to do anything he doesn't care to?"

"I see your point."



"Major, please convey my thanks to the constable *crackle*ell him I ordered him to take all extra precau*crackle*ns."



"Understood, Commander. You're message is starting to break up."



"Noted. We've informed the Provisional *crackle*ment and the Vedek Assembly. *crackle* heading for Bajor Eight, but we *crackle* to let you know that current estimates *crackle* lead*crackle* edge of the storm *crackle* be hitting the station in fifty minu*crackle* or so."



"I thought we had a few hours?"

"It's picked *crackle* speed. It's now a level-*crackle* storm."



"Please repeat the last, sir."



"Le*crackle* ten storm, Major."



"Prophets save us..."



"*crackle* from your mouth to *pop*eir ears, Major."



(-|-) * * * (-|-) * * * (-|-)

On Terok Nor, Garak fumed with outrage. As punishment for irritating her, the Intendant had ordered him to see to the repair of the breech himself, so he was actually required to put on a support suit and go out of the station to weld the strut before the storm hit! It was an insufferable situation and he fully intended to complain to the council with great fervor once he was done. If he survived that was...he frowned and rescanned his suit once more, checking every seam and joint. As he had believed before and thought more and more likely, he would not put this entire situation past that Bajoran bitch's sneaky mind.

It would be just like her to create the breech, damage my suit, and just wait for a situation that would make me go outside. His scan showed clear, but he began another methodical survey of it nonetheless. As the saying aboard the station went in the Alliance, it payed to be cautious, on Terok Nor, it paid to be paranoid!

(-|-) * * * (-|-) * * * (-|-)

Odo waved an arm at Jadzia, indicating he was all right. He could not talk outside the station and he had chosen not to wear an exo-suit, despite the warnings of all and sundry. He explained to Dax that he doubted he could manipulate the torch properly with his fingers stuffed into the bulky gloves. Since they had both been informed of the new time estimate, speed was of the essence. Since he could work much faster without it, she'd reluctantly concurred.

She smiled at him now and waved back, then pointed up, indicating she intended on heading back to Ops. To her reassurance, he nodded at this and headed off toward the breech. Jadzia smiled as she watched the constable, miraculously suitless, float toward the hull breach with the bipolar torch in one hand and the patching kit in the other. He never ceased to amaze her, with her scientific curiousity in others customs and manner of existing.

While he could not suffer vacuum indefinitely, he had assured her he could readily be outside the station for up to an hour. He had, he informed her mysteriously, done so before. Dax had wisely opted not to inquire. She took one more look at Odo through the airlock, then smiled at the sight of her glittering Starfleet communicator on his chest, next to his customary Bajoran one.

She had insisted he wear it so they could keep a sensor lock on him. The sensors could more easily scan for the stronger signal from it; the Bajoran commbadge did not have as powerful a range. He had grumbled a little, but conceded. Now she stepped out of the airlock onto the Docking Ring. She did not cycle it closed, since Odo would be returning through it.

For some odd reason, Jadzia suffered a sudden, irrational sensation like she should return to the airlock and look to Odo, because she would not be seeing him again. This made her frown and she did not act on this impression, feeling as if it would make it reality. Instead, she swallowed, turned and continued down the corridor, private thoughts growing somber.

Like the chief likes to say, constable; Godspeed you on your way...and return you safe from your journey.

(-|-) * * * (-|-) * * * (-|-)

Garak watched outside Terok Nor as the familiar ship loomed beside him while he worked on the strut. The Terran rebels had returned, obviously intending trouble! This was fine, since he fully intended to thwart them in whatever way he could. The storm was already swirling about, but Cardassian support suits could withstand much greater stress than the pitiful exo-suits the Klingons and Bajorans favored for their ease of movement. Cardassians weren't concerned with ease, they were concerned with survival. Their suits came equipped with shields.

He activated his now and the roar outside him muffled to a dull pitting sound. He made his way to the docking connection, torch in hand since it would make a useful weapon, and waited. His diboridium power pack held enough charge for fourteen hours. He doubted the rebels intended a stay that long. He intended to be there when they tried to depart. He'd give them a surprise when he opened a hole at the airlock as they tried to reboard...

(-|-) * * * (-|-) * * * (-|-)

"Almost there, Ben."



"Looks good, Smiley, take us in nice and quiet."



Smiley nodded at the Captain and manuevered the ship with great care as it approached the station. He had thought they would make it to the station in just under an hour, but the storm ripped through the system at incredible speeds, forcing them to stay with it since they were using it for cover.

On his viewscreen, the open airlock to the station was visible just ahead. He thought he could see some movement, as well, just outside the airlock, but the particles the storm had gathered lashed visibility to a staticky image at best. He tried to clarify the image but it did not work. Finally, he chose to ignore the movement and made his way to the airlock. With a sure and gentle hand, Smiley set the marauder ship down at Terok Nor.

"Our 'little surprises' are ready for transport, Ben."



"Go on, you know where they're going. I'm initiating the scan, I want to bring her on board myself. Call it a...courtesy." Sisko flashed a wicked grin as he pinpointed the location of a very specific amount of pure platinum. It did not take long. His console began to beep and he nodded at Smiley. "Activate the transporter, Smiley, when you're done with your placements."



"Just about. All right, now I'll haul her in. Okay, Ben, she's on board."



"Activate the cargo bay shields."



"Done."



"Did you send the signal to Reg?"

"First thing. Lewis and him are in place."



Sisko smiled wickedly and turned to his partner. "Then shall we go welcome our guest on board, Mister O'Brien?"

"Right behind you, Mister Sisko."



(-|-) * * * (-|-) * * * (-|-)

Upon exiting the airlock, Odo had found the silent majesty of space to be quite refreshing. It was incredibly beautiful and he had taken a moment to observe the constellations before assessing where to begin his patching job. As he did, he reflected that he had not often seen such beauty in his life.

Thereupon he had set to with admirable discipline and it had taken him a mere twenty minutes to attach the patch. When he was almost done, the station had suddenly moved beneath him, a gentle roll of motion. He frowned, looked around, but saw nothing.

Unfortunately, he had not chosen to wear the exo-suit. He had no need for one, after all, except in order to communicate, but he foresaw no need to do that. He intended on welding, returning to the airlock and reporting from there, but if he'd chosen to wear a suit, he would have heard from the Major or Dax about the increased speed of the storm which was now hitting from the opposing side of the station...

(-|-) * * * (-|-) * * * (-|-)

On DS9, Kira turned worried eyes to the tired, young engineering tech who had returned to Ops to help out as an engineer in lieu of O'Brien. She noted his weary fatigue, but there was little she could do about it; she needed every spare hand available.

"The leading edge of the storm is here. Did the constable get back in?"

"Negative, Major."



"Dolan, get the transporter on-line," Kira ordered now, with a frown. Dolan did so, wishing he had not worked a double shift and been so weary that he had not heard the evacuation order. He had come in response to the Major's summons for all hands to report to duty stations and tiredly tried now to focus on his console.

Dax turned to Kira now, hesitant. "Major, we can't transport during an ion storm. Protocol states "

"That's Odo out there, Jadzia. I don't give a Cardassian fig for protocol, we use what we need to use."



"Major, there's leakage from the airlock. We'll need to cycle it down."



"But Odo won't be able to get back in," Dax argued. Kira frowned at this new problem.

"Dolan, get a transporter lock on him," she decided.

"I'm not getting accurate readings, Major. There's either a sensor echo or he's got two communicators."



"Damn! I didn't tell him to shut off his regular signal," Dax fumed, angry at herself. Then she brightened. "Dolan lock onto my commbadge signal!"

The young Bajoran did not question this, merely did as ordered. "That's helping, the signal is clearer, but I still can't get a pattern lock on him, sir, he appears to be, uh, changing..."



(-|-) * * * (-|-) * * * (-|-)

The constable turned back, heading for the airlock and the safety of the station when an odd force suddenly moved one of his legs. He glanced down and noted a swirling particle stream, then looked behind him and was buffeted by an unseen and powerful wind that made him lose his grip on the welding kit. He frowned, as yet unconcerned, since he still was within easy reach of the station.

Lengthening himself until he could grab the kit, he nearly got his fingers on it, but as he watched, it twinkled in a display of transporter energy and disappeared.

(-|-) * * * (-|-) * * * (-|-)

"...confirmed, Major. I think the storm is causing Odo to morph."



"Don't focus on the damn pattern, just lock onto his signal and get him out of there!"

Dax ignored this barrage of anger, aware of Kira's frustrated fear and feeling it herself. Her earlier sensation of ugly premonition had returned with it and made her fingers fly faster. A sudden, violent shudder nearly made her lose contact with the board, but she fought the storms impact and pressed the controls.

"Energizing."



There was a hopeful communal breath held in Ops, which was quickly released as the welding kit materialized onto the transporter vestibule. The three looked at each other in stunned implication.

(-|-) * * * (-|-) * * * (-|-)

"What is the meaning of this?!"

The Intendant had been in her office, studying a status report when the unmistakable swirl of transporter energy had deposited her in an unfamiliar cargo bay. Tapping her communicator did not help, something was jamming her transmission.

Then the doors slid open and Smiley stepped in, holding a phazer at ready against her. Sisko followed, a wicked smile on his dark face. He looked as handsome as ever.

"I need to thank you, Intendant," he said now, tapping her customary platinum circlet with his index finger. "This vanity band of yours was very easy to scan for and somehow, I just knew you'd still be wearing it, even after all this time. Can't give up those little indicators that tell all and sundry you're the queen of Terok Nor, can you?"

Kira ignored this sarcasm. "You'll be executed, Ben. You know that, don't you? No matter what scheme you have in mind, once you're caught, even if you kill me, you will be executed."



"Oh, I don't think so. No one even knows we're here. Or that you're here, for that matter. No, all they'll know is the storm came and went and seemingly took their Intendant with it. Maybe they'll think the Prophets saw fit to drag you to their celestial temple." Sisko and Smiley laughed at this, while Kira scowled.

"Where are we?"

"Don't you recognize the ship you gave me, Intendant? I really must thank you, she's served me well. Smiley keeps her ship-shape."

"You'll be executed too, Tinkerer," she said now to O'Brien. He merely smiled a tight-lipped smile.

"Maybe, but I'll have known the joy of taking you with me."

Her eyes narrowed and she turned back to Sisko. "What do you intend with me?"

"That's up to Mister Garak, Intendant."

(-|-) * * * (-|-) * * * (-|-)

The Major broke through her paralysis first, even as the station shuddered again and again as the shields fought off the storms impact.

"I hope he hasn't moved far from those coordinates. Keep the lock on his communicator as long as you can, Dolan."

"Trying, sir. He's in a storm eddy right now, his readings are starting to fluctuate."

"Try harder. Dax, get him out of there."

The Trill nodded and held her breath as she nodded at Dolan beside her and together they pressed the transporter levers. This time nothing at all appeared on the transporter buffer.

(-|-) * * * (-|-) * * * (-|-)

The airlock was still available, Odo thought, nodding to himself, pleased at his calm despite the gravity of his situation. It would not do to panic. It would not help matters or get him back onto DS9. This thought in mind, he began to stretch in the direction of the airlock as the odd buffets of the storm began to push him.

They actually helped his motion and he was at the airlock faster than he'd expected, rapidly refashioning his normal body in order to manipulate the hatch, but when he tried to access it, he found it had been cycled down. This meant a static seal was in place which even his metamorphic nature could not foil; he was stuck out here.

Frowning, he turned back and looked behind him again. Particles of indistinct matter swirled around him in a deadly energy display. They glanced and bounced off the station shields, making distracting sparks of incredible beauty. They were growing in intensity even as he watched and considered his options. They must surely be attempting to obtain a pattern lock on me...but the use of the transporter is prohibited during an ion storm...I wonder why?

A large metallic particle glanced very close by. The airlock inertial shields surged and repulsed the particle and Odo away from the station, sending both into the charged region of ionic energy that propelled this unusual spatial phenomenon through space. Odo had time to hope that the Ops crew would see fit to ignore standing orders, to try and beam him out of his alarming situation. Then the unprotected shapeshifter began to be buffetted by incredible jolts of intense ionic energy that began to tear through him like a knife through paper.

The storm was here...

(-|-) * * * (-|-) * * * (-|-)

While events unfolded outside DS9, Julian Bashir was assessing a nasty-looking hand encased in a sterilite field on an Infirmary biobed with a grimace of distaste.

"However did you manage to burn your hand so badly, Garak?"

The Cardassian sighed. A sudden tremor made the station rock gently beneath Bashir's feet. Garak almost tilted off the biobed. He arched his eyebrows expressively. The odd jolts had begun a few minutes back, indicating better than anything else, the magnitude of the storm outside.

"I had just completed clipping a measure of Rigellian canvas in order to complete an order for some pants for Mister Morn and I decided I'd best store my work, since the tremors were making my seams extremely unsteady, but when I opened my storage locker, a static charge caused a rather untimely spark which surged into the sensor-lock. The fabric caught fire. Have you ever seen Rigellian canvas? It turns out to burn almost as fast as hair."

"I see." Bashir primly proceeded to cautiously protoplase the wound as the station moved yet again, and added, "That still doesn't tell me why you were wielding clippers at a time like this. I'd hardly consider it appropriate. Rather more costly, I'd think. Especially when one considers the fabric is almost certainly ruined, if not by any blood stains from accidentally cutting yourself, then by the crooked seams you made."

"Doctor, normally my seams are as straight as a phaser beam and I'll have you know that if I'd cut myself, I'd have immediately placed my other hand beneath it to keep any blood from spotting the fabric."

"That sounds like you, Garak, always thinking."

"Why, doctor, I think you've just come up with a suitable epitaph for me!"

"I was being sarcastic, Garak. I can't believe you'd be so concerned with a pair of trousers for Morn that you'd be more concerned with getting your blood on them than with the reason your blood was pouring forth in the first place."

"Why, doctor, this is only a small burn, a mere flesh wound. I've had far worse, I assure you."

Bashir arched a brow at this, decided to say nothing. The burn eschar was exceedingly deep, having burned through not only skin, but two tendons and exposing a nerve cluster which he knew was a particularly painful region of Cardassian physiognomy. Despite this, the biobed display showed only a minor elevation of heart rate and blood pressure.

This worried Bashir a little, since the Cardassian had only recently recovered from his lengthy addiction to a pleasure-inducing device embedded in his brain. It was entirely possible that he had turned to some other form of illicit stimulant.

For his part, Garak sat and watched the doctor work on his hand and thought furiously. What he had told the doctor was true. What he had not told the doctor was that the minor fire he had put out with his own hands had completely immolated the box Odo had given him to take care of.

He could readily get another. He had just enough Garadiian silk to fashion another scarf, but it meant he would have to swallow the cost, which was exorbitant by most standards. Then again, he had realized while making the scarf for the constable in the first place that Odo had no other use for his pay; he did not have quarters, did not eat, did not buy clothing. He had years of accumulated pay from which the latinum he had transferred to Garak's shop account was probably a mere pittance, but it was enough to pay the renewal fee for his station visa; he had needed that money!

He sighed now and decided he would simply tell the constable. While he did not like the thought of Odo's displeasure, or worse, his disappointment, the damage to his storeroom was still evident and maybe he would see that it had all been an unfortunate mishap and be willing to purchase another with his deepest apologies...?

The doctor noted this tired sigh and the Cardassian's distracted appearance and frowned. He could be taking lexivin...he thought, recalling the longtime Cardassian recreational drug of choice. It suppressed the nervous system and instilled pleasant feelings, but it also caused a nervous fatigue. That could explain his working so late despite the storm and his current tired, troubled appearance.

Bashir made a decision, turned to retrieve a thermal kit. While he did, he surreptitiously activated the biobed toxicology scanners, telling himself it was his prerogative as the station's physician to snoop, then turned to the task of sealing the synthskin over the excavated eschar.

"I'm still the one that has to fix you up, Garak," he intoned then in his usual manner to offset any suspicion. "I don't particularly care to see another vicious and avoidable burn like this on you again, so once I've cleared you, no more tailoring. Understood?"

The Cardassian blinked and Bashir had the impression he had not heard a word he had said. He wondered anew what was troubling him and hoped it did not have anything to do with illicit drugs. While it certainly would not be the first time a patient had turned to illegal means to mitigate pain, Garak was not just his patient; he was also his friend.

(-|-) * * * (-|-) * * * (-|-)

2B cont'd

[PG-13] All the Prophets Will Bestow, 5 of 13

DISCLAIMER: Not intended to infringe on the copyrights of Viacom, Paramount, nor those of any other legal holders of Star Trek copyright.

All The Prophets Will Bestow, pt. 5
a novella written by OdoGoddess and Cameron Burnell


"What in the ten hells!?"

"What is it, Smiley?" Sisko glanced over his engineer's shoulder.

"Looks like someone's by the airlock. Who'd be crazy enough to be out of the station during an ion storm?"

"Maybe someone like us an enterprising sort. Is he in danger?"

"Any creature is in danger in the middle of an ion storm, Ben."

"Good point. Let's try to get a transporter lock on them, see if we can pull them in, Smiley."

"I'll need to do it manually, Ben, at the main transporter console."

"Right behind you, Smiley."

(-|-) * * * (-|-) * * * (-|-)

Major Kira Nerys fought off panic and angry tears that threatened to blur her vision even as she issued terse commands through gritted teeth. "More power to the pattern buffers, Mister!"

The frustrated assistant engineer struggled to do what his superior officer wanted. Dolan wished that Chief O'Brien was here rather than manning a runabout with the station commander, observing and mapping the current ion storm in order to warn any colonies in its path. Perhaps O'Brien would have known how to perform a miracle. The young Bajoran only knew that it was impossible for him to do so and that because of it...his shaggy brown hair shook as he looked up at Kira with sorrow and trepidation. His voice was a whisper of sound.

"Major, we lost him."

Dolan hadn't even finished his declaration when Kira Nerys vaulted over her control board and onto the upper level of Ops and attacked the controls of the transporter herself. "Get that coordinate grid back up... now!"

Her fingers flew as she shut off the particle stabilizer, re-routed the power to the already straining field-expansion safeguards and requested the impossible of the machine to lock onto something that wasn't there and pull it in. Her voice was terse and flat.

"Wide beam, he may have floated away from those coordinates."

"Major..."

"Later," she quipped tersely, completely unaware and unmindful of whoever was speaking to her. They were a nuisance she could dismiss, keeping her all-inclusive attention focused on the most important task of her life. "We only have one more chance... just hang on, Constable, I'll get you out of there... NOW!"

Her calloused fingers pressed down so hard on the transporter panel control screen that one of her already short fingernails cracked with the pressure. Her eyes took in the hopeful swirl of energy at the transporter hub and she half-ordered, half-pleaded, "Re-route more power into the pattern buffers... come on, come on!"

The transporter obediently materialized what it had latched onto... a bipolar torch. It still sparked and spat static energy from the ion storm that raged outside, jerking about the transporter pad as if alive, but no constable had materialized with it.

A ragged exhalation issued from the Major, a breath of utter denial. She made no other sound and suddenly Ops was oppressively silent, the only sound the click of terminals controls being pressed and consoles making the occasional beep.

Jadzia Dax was the only one who moved and it was toward Kira, her eyes expressing what her voice did not. The sorrow they held was monumental, but before she could put a sympathetic arm around her friend's shoulders, Major Kira Nerys turned sharply on her booted heels and stepped firmly onto the turbolift and away from Ops without a single word.

(-|-) * * * (-|-) * * * (-|-)

Garak watched events as best he could through the storm and his flickering shields and considered his best course of action. Then a particularly strong energy surge swept him free of the airlock.

To his frustration, he lost his grip on the bipolar torch. To his horrified fascination, he watched it disappear in a peculiar swirl of transporter energy as the Terran ship pulled free of its moorings and began to back away from Terok Nor.

(-|-) * * * (-|-) * * * (-|-)

Odo didn't notice the characteristic tingling of a transporter beam; his world was pain. It felt like the ionic energy was literally scouring him to dust. Involuntary shudders assailed him and to his inner horror, part of the horrible howling maelstrom that screamed around him was his own voice. His cries of agony were shockingly loud in the small room and stopped him instantly, although an occasional tingle of residual energy along his sensitized body mass caused a moan to escape him despite himself.

"Well, well. Looks like we have ourselves a bonus."

The voice sounded very far away and he shuddered as his body cleared from the damaging effects of the ionic energy. After a moment, he realized his back was firmly supported by a cold, patterned metal surface. I must be at the Ops transporter vestibule.

He opened his eyes which focused on Sisko's face and he blinked with gratitude. Oh, I was beamed aboard the runabout. He blinked again, just glad to be alive, regardless of his locale.

To be fair, he acceded, he had volunteered to leave the station right before the ion storm hit in order to patch the outer hull. He had been the logical choice he thought now, looking up at Sisko.

I shall never volunteer for that type of duty ever again, Odo thought. His attempt to speak however, produced inarticulate sounds and gasps and his attempt to sit up was an equal failure, his shoulders merely spasmed and his arms flopped. Odo finally gave up and lay staring up at the Human's dark face. Why was Sisko looking at him so peculiarly? he wondered.

My features must be askew, he thought to himself, feeling the peculiar tingles of energy slowly receding and grateful that he would likely be able to fix that once he regained control of his body again.

To his astonishment, O'Brien suddenly shifted into his point of view. It wasn't the Operation Chief's face that shocked him, it was the look of utter hatred and contempt which filled it. His words were equally shocking and dripped with icy indifference.

"I heard he was dead." O'Brien's eyes turned to the commander, puzzled.

"Well, Smiley, looks like you might have heard wrong," Sisko responded with a broad smile. The Humans looked down at Odo. He noticed now that neither wore their uniform. He twisted his eyes around, since he could not look about in a conventional manner.

He noted that he was not on any runabout that he'd ever seen, or any ship for that matter. Nor was he somewhere on the station, Odo knew every crack and crevice of Deep Space Nine. This place was filthy, oil and grime seemed to cover what machinery he could see and even stained the two men's suits. They didn't seem to notice, staring at him intently. Now Sisko leaned in very close to him, a look of fascination on his face. Where is Bashir? Or the Lieutenant? I would appreciate a bit of medical attention.

"Well, Smiley, looks like the Supervisor will be learning a bit about our brand of discipline," the commander said, apparently talking to O'Brien, who simply scowled. The burly Human leaned very close to Odo now until he could feel his hot breath against his face as he spoke. His voice was a low snarl of sound, ugly with implication.

"Remember me, Supervisor?"

The question made Odo frown, or try to; his face merely contorted briefly and he gave up the attempt. Supervisor?

The Human's lip curled contemptuously. "Go ahead, try and deny it. I remember you. I think of you every time I pick up a spanner."

This said, O'Brien suddenly hefted a spanner and swung it at Odo, striking him on the torso. Odo's eyes widened and he felt a sudden, sharp and painful pressure, felt the laws of physics lift his limbs in sympathetic response, then flop down, but little else. He was utterly dumbfounded with the Human's attitude. What's going on here? Why isn't Sisko doing anything?

If anything, Sisko looked amused. He held up a hand and O'Brien scowled again, spat in Odo's general direction and stepped back. The dark Human knelt beside him and reached down now, an intent expression on his face, then Odo felt the fabric of his self-constructed shirt lifted, a pulling sensation along his sides and hips and wondered what Sisko intended.

Normally, his body responded to the separation of cloth from skin by dissolving his clothing and absorbing the thin material which was actually part of his body mass, reforming into the thin, rangy male Bajoran form he maintained beneath his 'uniform'. He had maintained a fairly passable body and dressed it for decades before being able to form his body with clothing, so it was a natural reversion. His body, however, was not currently functioning in its normal manner, thanks to the storm. As fate would have it, it was actually closer to humanoid in function than it ever had been; his shirt and pants simply peeled back like a humanoids would have. His 'body' was on display now for both Humans.

Sisko's eyebrows lifted and he whistled as if in sincere admiration. "I see what she see's in you, shapeshifter. Never could before, I must admit."

He let the fabric go with a snapping sound which Odo recognized as the waistband of his trousers. The shapeshifter was no longer concerned, worried or upset with the two men's behavior; he was indignant. O'Brien looked satisfied at the flash of anger he'd noted in Odo's face.

"Looks like the Supervisor is a bit put out."

"I suppose we'd best stick him in the hold before he can move again. That way we won't be having to keep an eye on them since it's just the two of us this time out."

"Suits me." The engineer shrugged. "I'll give ye a hand, Ben."

Ben? Odo frowned again, the expression coming easily now but he didn't notice in his current bewildered state. He'd never heard the Human engineer address anyone as anything other than sir, ma'am, or by rank. The two bent in close and he felt them as they hefted him up like an ungainly sack of grain. They began to lug him down a dark hallway he did not recognize.

"W..whrr... mmm I?" His voice was still muffled, but basically understandable. Instead of answering, however, the two Humans started to laugh.

"Always questions from you, Supervisor," Sisko grunted. "Well, this time we decide if we want to answer or not." He nodded at O'Brien who nodded back and they let him drop, jarring him and causing the start of a throbbing headache. He blinked to clear his head.

Sisko began to key an entryway, shielding the panel with his body. Odo wouldn't have noticed in his bewildered rage and offended sensibilities. He had always been a gentle man, but if he were able to move, he would

"My First rule of obedience is 'I'm the Captain here and the Captain is always right'," Sisko suddenly said, turning around to look down at him. He smiled wickedly at this and added, "My second rule is 'if you think I'm wrong, remember rule of obedience number one'. Got that, Supervisor?" His voice dripped scorn, and he looked at O'Brien. The two men laughed heartily.

"D...don...unn..stand," Odo mumbled as they lifted him again, wondering why the two were treating him in this unconscionable manner.

Sisko touched the entry mechanism with his elbow and the hatch opened. To his chagrin, the two men heaved him within as if he was that sack of grain he'd likened himself to. He heard the hatch shut, then lock behind him as he was still airborne.

With no bodily control, he fell heavily face down only partly supported by a crate, arms and legs akimbo against some other crates. He began to shake with rage and pain; not physical pain, but emotional distress. What had he done for them to treat him in this way? What was going on? Where was he?

"Odo!"

That voice was unmistakable. Odo would recognize that voice if he was struck blind and half-deaf; it was Kira Nerys and he did not fight the surge of joyful hope that filled him at the sound of it. She had always seemed to understand him, to take the time to explain things, to be on his side surely she would be as outraged at this situation as he was.

He tried to turn toward her, but his unwieldy body did not respond correctly and he fell heavily from the crate he'd collapsed on top of. Tumbling down helplessly, he landed at her feet, face up.

(-|-) * * * (-|-) * * * (-|-)

Outside Terok Nor, Garak had been fortuitously thrown clear in the wake of the Terran pirate ship, finding himself hurled against the outer hull of the station, within meters of another airlock.

He heard and felt various bones giving way under the stress, including several ribs, but fought to keep his grip on the hull despite the pain. He managed to by the sheer force of his anger; how dare those filthy Terrans renegades invade his station! He was not going to let the Intendant explain this situation away, she'd nearly gotten him killed!

Making his pained way to the airlock, he carefully clambored inside. Once the airlock was safely pressurized, he immediately alerted his security forces...before asking for medical assistance.

(-|-) * * * (-|-) * * * (-|-)

Odo blinked.

It appeared to be Major Kira Nerys kneeling beside him. To his surprise, she laid one hand against his cheek and began to stroke his hair with the other, eyes filled with tears. To his utter shock, she leaned in close and began to kiss him, gently but thoroughly, even venturing to slip her tongue partially in his mouth, sliding it along the inner surface of his upper lip in sensuous welcome. It was the kiss of a lover.

He blinked in helpless confusion as she smiled through her tears, then began to kiss him again, far more thoroughly and he began to wonder if he wasn't experiencing some strangely terrible and wonderful dream. Or maybe I'm dead, he thought dispassionately, wondering briefly if he ought not be grateful about the afterlife he found himself in if he was. She pulled back after a moment.

"Oh, Odo..." her voice was so passionately grateful, Odo began to regret questioning this reality he found himself in. Instead, he opened his mouth, then painfully began to form words. It reminded him vividly of when he had been with the Professor decades before, learning to shape sounds and string those sounds into words, into meaning. He shook off this mental image.

"W...whuh...h..hav..happ...un?" he managed to say, lifting his head up in his concentration. He fell back heavily and looked up at her helplessly again, blinking. The Major, he abruptly realized, was not wearing anything he'd ever seen her wear before.

She had on a dark grey outfit of leather and straps which was torn here and there, as if someone had removed her insignia and rank. The outfit did look like a uniform, he thought. It almost looked Cardassian in design, something Garak would create but with Bajoran styling. He frowned.

"Whuh...you weh...wearing?" he managed to ask, far more clearly than before. He could almost move his jaw normally now. It would seem the effects of the ionic energy dissipated with time, for which he was grateful.

She looked down at herself and then sat back. Her eyes held bewilderment and then realization and then...tears. To his distress, she began to cry silently, tears sliding down her cheek and onto her outfit, darkening the surface.

"You aren't Odo, are you? She pulled back as if from something that disgusted her, troubling him even more than her previous display of affection had, and sniffed, adding, "My Odo, I mean, the Supervisor of Terok Nor. You're from her side, my counterpart's universe."

The emphasis was unmistakable and Odo suddenly realized what she had said. The alternate universe...of course!

He had read Major Kira's report regarding the unexpected excursion she and Bashir had made into an alternate reality after their return from the colony on New Bajor in the Gamma Quadrant. A damaged warp nacelle and the wormhole had apparently shunted the two into an alternate reality which seemed for the most part to be a dark alternate universe inhabited with their mirror opposites.

Kira's report had only mentioned an ore-processing plant overseer who appeared to be him and she had not elaborated. Odo had not bothered to read Bashir's report, written as it was in the man's eloquent, long-winded style; Odo disliked wasting time, but now thought maybe he should have.

How did I get here, he mused now. No matter which universe he and Kira Nerys shared, they seemed to be of the same mind.

"How did you get here?" she asked him evenly now, wiping at her eyes and getting down to business in the familiar manner which Odo knew well.

"D..don't know."

He tried to sit up. His arms responded, slowly and unevenly, and then to his surprise, she immediately came to his side and helped him sit up, leaning him against the crates. She seemed oddly diffident now, at odds with her previous familiarity, then she suddenly shrugged, smiling at him with a wry expression.

"Silly to feel shy, since in any universe we're probably good friends, old lovers." At his look of surprise, she explained, "I was very close to the Supervisor... your counterpart over here, just as you're probably close to the Kira Nerys on your side."

She settled back on her haunches, now, close to him. When he continued to look at her in something akin to shock, she added, "How is she? My twin?"

Odo found he could not speak, not from any resultant damage from the ion storm, but due to the sudden dry sensation in his mouth. He considered his answer briefly, then said roughly, "Fine. The Major is fine."

"The 'Major', eh? Did you two have a falling out? Or are you as formal as ever, even in between the covers?" She smiled knowingly at him, then asked, "or did Sisko come between you two the way he almost with me and my Odo? Or was it Mora?"

At this, Odo fixed her with a hard look, which surprised her. He carefully digested all this information then opted to say nothing.

Kira merely sighed and noted, "I see the mention of Mora bothers you, even on your side. What is he like in your universe? Over here he is one of Bajor's foremost theoretical exobiologists. Personally, I found him a despicable bastard. That's why I protected Odo...my Odo, I mean, when he killed him."

Odo looked away as a flood of emotions began to vie for his attention and murmured, "I'd prefer discussing something else."

She considered this. "It's just that I can tell his name bothers you, even though you're not from this side. Still I can understand why. Mora's original name for Odo...my Odo, I mean, was degrading. And Odo despised him; it was a sure way of getting him angry. You... or rather, your counterpart used to talk about him sometimes... usually after we'd make love."

Odo found himself turning away from her knowing eyes as she finished with a shrug, "I suppose on your side it's a bit different."

He nodded, highly upset at what he was learning and about his chances for returning, since, he had no idea where he was any longer or how he had gotten there. I am well and truly lost. His eyes revealed his distress and confusion. Suddenly he felt her warm hand against his cheek. He turned.

She knelt beside him now. With slow deliberation, she stroked his cheek softly and he blinked. Her hand touching him so familiarly had a certain rightness.

He blinked again, found himself explaining, "Mora was the scientist who was assigned to me at the research center. I left the center during the Occupation, by the Cardassian empire. I went to work in the mines at first, then later on the mining station, Terok Nor, as an investigator for the Cardassians. I hadn't seen Mora until several months ago."

Kira absorbed this without comment, then smiled and shook her head. He looked at her in inquiry and she admitted, "I just realized, Odo might not even be your name. For all I know on your side you took some other name entirely." She stroked his cheek slowly.

Odo gently put his hand on hers, stilling the distracting fingers he could feel against his cheek. He took her hand in his own and placed it down between them.

"My name is Odo," he told her quietly.

The Intendant looked at his hand, then up at him and frowned with no small amount of amusement. "As in odo'ital?" Her Cardassian was Bajoran-accented, but perfectly inflected. Her eyes twinkled with amusement.

"That's correct."

His eyes were full of long-suppressed memories as yet unexpressed in any manner. He had never told anyone how he got his name, but this Kira Nerys seemed to know all too well about his past, his experiences. Then again this Kira Nerys had obviously been his counterpart's...lover, the thought filled him with a peculiar sensation. She and another form of me...lovers, so it makes perfect sense she would know things.

He forced his mind away from the sudden sense of epiphany he was experiencing. He did not want to stop and think things through, especially under these circumstances. Odo hoped now that she wouldn't ask more of him than he would be able to answer.

She withdrew her hand now and sat down beside him. Then she asked him, "So you kept it?" A too-discerning, gentle humor filled her voice.

He frowned and his tone dared her to comment on the obvious. "Why do you care?"

She leaned her head back against the crate and considered him briefly. Then ignoring his question, she merely said, "So, you chose to keep the name...I suppose you would. You're both the same type of men proud, stubborn, strong. And you don't really care what others think, do you?"

He looked down briefly, seeming almost ashamed, but he responded. "I had my reasons."

She looked at him, then touched his face again. He let her. "Just so long as you don't still think of yourself as 'nothing', Odo."

At his startled look, she leaned close and kissed him, a loving and sympathetic gesture that would have taken Odo's breath away had he been a humanoid. As it was, he felt a peculiar sensation ripple within his midsection. Before he could speak or protest, she pulled back. Her voice was quiet.

"His old name was one of the reasons my Odo killed Mora. He rarely talked about it, but it was a sure way to anger him. Some of the older Klingons used to call him Morpher, the way Mora did, whenever they got drunk, but more often they followed the Cardassians lead, thanks to my second-in-command. Garak was the one that started calling him odo'ital, even encouraged his men to do it until he became the Supervisor in ore-processing."

Odo considered this. It figured, he thought dourly. He'd tried to not give his name too much thought as time had softened its meaning to him, but it seemed that in either universe the Cardassians had found it just a joke at his expense.

"I think that it's a very nice name," she added now, softly, her hand insistently turning him to face her. His eyes were dark with resentment and she sighed, a bit sadly.

The Intendant leaned in then and gently kissed him. To both their surprise, though, he responded this time. This was partly due to his desire not to offend her, to communicate his sense of gratitude for her understanding, and partly from some unspoken, buried need within him which he did not question. To his surprise, she pulled back abruptly, a rueful expression on her face.

"Don't let it bother you so much, my friend." The Intendant sat back, carefully putting and keeping space between them, which he noted with interest.

Odo turned his attention to his legs now, carefully putting space between his thoughts and his actions, just as the Intendant had put space between them. He flexed his foot, ignoring the now familiar residual tingles, and it responded sluggishly, but it responded. He tried to bend a knee and it did, if stiffly. Satisfied, he sat back and sighed, knowing movement would eventually return.

"You've never been with that Kira, have you?" she suddenly asked in a matter-of-fact way, as if inquiring about the Kadderpod crop in Hedrikspool province or the weather in Upper Fhaari.

"Been with?" Odo hedged, well aware of exactly what this seemingly familiar Kira was speaking of.

"You and she. You aren't lovers." It wasn't a question and he did not answer it.

After a moment, she sighed and took his hand in hers again. Odo did not pull free of her. He looked at her hands, noting absently that they seemed a bit softer than the hands of the Kira Nerys he knew. How different had their lives been, he wondered.

"She's a bigger fool than I thought."

Odo looked up at her in astonishment. She smiled at him kindly, squeezed his hand reassuringly. Her tone seemed to indicate she was aware how self-conscious he felt.

"Doesn't she know how much, how deeply you care?"

His voice was dry as dust. "We've never discussed it."

Her own voice was quiet and unusually gentle. "You're very alike, except you're not as angry a man. That's remarkable. And very, very appealing..."

She leaned close to him again, then reached out and slowly stroked his cheek, running her fingers up along his angular face to stroke his hair. It was a disturbingly familiar sensation to her, one she thought never to feel again.

For his part, Odo could not pull away; her touch eased a pain so deeply entrenched within him he had thought it was part of him. He found he also did not want to pull away. The gentle caress of this Kira's fingers was order from chaos. It provided a connection to the beating heart of the universe which the proud and lonely shapeshifter had long ago decided excluded him since he had no heart of his own.

He turned now to look into her eyes. They were astonishingly familiar to him, dark and liquid brown, as well as large and sad and vulnerable. Odo found himself reaching up a hand to stroke her cheek, threading his fingers through the fine red hair he knew so well and had imagined touching so many times. Then he leaned in and gently kissed her.

It was chaste and fleeting, but the few seconds it lasted weren't much more than an eternity to Odo, who could feel the universe spin about him and around them. He pulled back, shaken.

Kira laughed breathlessly, delighted at the look in his eyes. He looked at her inquiringly and she impulsively ruffled his hair, laughing yet again, then said sincerely, "The Prophets have let me surprise you twice in one lifetime, my friend. I'm honored."

(-|-) * * * (-|-) * * * (-|-)

2B cont'd

[PG-13] All the Prophets Will Bestow, 6 of 13

DISCLAIMER: Not intended to infringe on the copyrights of Viacom, Paramount, nor those of any other legal holders of Star Trek copyright.

All The Prophets Will Bestow, pt. 6
a novella written by OdoGoddess and Cameron Burnell




Garak slid off the biobed in the Infirmary of Terok Nor, intent on getting to the office of the Intendant. He did not intend to report, he had already done so and, in fact, received report from the officer at Ops.

The ion storm had apparently passed over Terok Nor with only one major incident; the disappearance of Intendant Kira Nerys. Given what Garak witnessed, it was clear she had been taken by the Terran marauders during the cover of the storm. The residual energy readings were useless, as bad as trying to get readings in the Badlands, which was doubtlessly where they'd fled. Alliance Intelligence had reported the Terrans, led by the hateful Sisko, had several hideouts wit

hin the inhospitable region.

They had left no note, no clues as to their intent, only the empty office of the Intendant. This was what the Cardassian was hurrying to see to. In Kira's absence, the office was his. An office he would quickly situate himself in and give every appearance of filling in during the Intendant's untimely departure.

He would issue the needed orders and do absolutely nothing that deviated from proper procedure, not even keeping the ships and troops conducting the search for the Intendant down to a bare minimum, although he could. Garak was quite sure the Terrans would be issuing their demands soon.

He intended on making every appearance to be listening, to be attentive and concerned, but the Alliance would expect him to take a firm stand and not give in to Terran demands; it would set a bad example for the allied worlds. This was unfortunate in that it would mean the demise of Kira Nerys, but then, she was a member of the Alliance and well understood the politics of the situation, the Cardassian mused with satisfaction.

She had also long understood, Garak knew, that in the end he intended to be the one in charge of Terok Nor...no matter what.

(-|-) * * * (-|-) * * * (-|-)

The death chant for the Constable lasted two hours and Kira did not stop until it was completed, ignoring the occasional unnerving jolt caused by the ion storm which shook the station beneath her knees and the fact that she had completed a similar ceremony less than a day ago. However, that time she had not known any of the people she was singing for personally, nor had she been singing alone.

A Bajoran cleric, be they Prylar or Vedek, would normally have presided and sung the cyclic portions of the chant, allowing her occasions of rest, but there was no one but the same staff on board that had been there when the storm hit. The same ships that had evacuated had not yet returned to the station. There were no other Bajorans aboard, aside from Dolan whose presence was not desired by the Major currently, so there was only her to sing.

Normally a devout Bajoran wouldn't have extended such a gesture of honor to a non-Bajoran, no matter how close they had been, but there was no one to reprimand her for her actions, not that she would have listened. Kira had never considered herself to be devout; a believer, yes, but not zealous. Thoughts of her actions impropriety never entered her mind either. She did not think what she was doing was in any way improper.

The Cardassians had found the constable adrift in a damaged ship in the Denorios Belt and had brought him to Bajor. There a Bajoran had raised him, instructed him and he had both witnessed and suffered the horrors of the Cardassian Occupation firsthand. He had been counted in the Bajoran annual census; so for all accounts and purposes, he was a Bajoran citizen.

The Major had never considered how close she had been to the Chief of Security, either. She only knew she had to do this. It was entirely appropriate; the Constable not only deserved it, it was just, and there was no one else to do it for him so she would, no matter what it cost her.

Kira had yet to say or even think his name; she could not. Her voice was barely audible by the time she rasped out the last cyclic lines of the death chant. The silence in the temple was stunning to her, making a muffled, roaring sound in her ears. She swallowed in a dry and ravage