At university, Rena had heard variations on this theme: how convenient it had been that the Emissary had come at the moment the Federation wished to display its good intentions. Not that there hadn’t been doubts in every level of society, but how long could doubts stand in the face of a living, breathing example of prophecy come true? And then, not quite a year ago, Kira Nerys had broadcast the Ohalu texts that had predicted the coming of the Avatar. Then, surprise! A few months later, the Emissary had returned and his second child had been born. For her purposes, Rena had accepted what had happened without attempting to assign motive or meaning to it. Knowing Jacob, though, she’d spent the past few days considering the Emissary, attempting to sort the facts from the fictions and gain more clarity on the matter. She’d even cracked open Topa’s copy of the Ohalu prophecies to read them for herself. She’d concluded that if the Emissary was anything like Jacob, he couldn’t be capable of the political machinations Kail and many others accused him of.
Without consciously deciding to speak, Rena said sharply, “Why don’t you just shut up, Kail?”
Shaking his head like a great shaggy sybawho suddenly realized someone had cut off his antlers, Kail said, “Wha…? What did you say?”
Releasing the emotion she’d repressed felt so, so…liberating. “You heard me,” Rena said, eyes blazing. “What do you know about about the Emissary? You haven’t cared about the prophecies since you were little. You hardly know anything.”
Kail’s mouth went slack, and his brow dropped down like a hood over his eyes. The muscles in his thick upper arms clenched as he gripped his empty mug. “You’re not exactly the portrait of piety, Rena,” he said leeringly, glancing from Halar’s prim tunic to Rena’s bare shoulders and the skirt belted low on her hips, exposing her midriff.
She crossed an arm across her chest, resting it on her collarbone. Kail had always complimented her when she wore this outfit. The tone he’d used just now made her feel cheap. Gritting her teeth, she leaned toward Kail, prepared to lambaste him…
But Kail wasn’t finished. “Faking sick to get out of shrine services so you could meet me at the docks so we could have—”
“We’re done, Kail,” Rena said, shoving back her chair. “I thought this could work. I wanted this to work for Topa’s sake. But I can’t do this—not even for my grandfather.”
Halar’s mouth fell open. “Rena! Listen to yourself!”
Parsh stared at the floor.
“You going to go find yourself a Federation boy now, Rena? Us Myleans not good enough for you?” Wobbly-legged, Kail stood. In the hand opposite Rena, he held the nearly empty ale mug. A thin stream of liquid dribbled out onto the floor as Kail lifted the mug higher. Rena risked taking her eyes off Kail for a split second to see if Parsh was seeing what she was seeing and, obviously, yes, he was, but was paralyzed by indecision. This is all happening so quickly….
Rena scanned the room, searching for an escape route for herself and Halar. How did I get myself into this stupid situation?
“I’m leaving now, Kail. Don’t bother following me. Don’t come to the bakery tomorrow with your apologies.”
Kail snarled, and stepped into her path, and his arm began to swing.
Hovath
“Wait!”Hovath screamed.
The Nausicaan’s hand was poised over a switch. The underling looked at his master, who said, “Stop. Is there something you wish to say, Hovath?”
Shaking, Hovath stared down at the table, clutching at his hair with both hands. “Please don’t kill her. Please!I’ll tell you whatever you want to know, I’ll tell you anything.Just don’t kill my wife.”
“Then we have an understanding?” his captor asked.
Hovath nodded.
“Begin, then. Tell me your thoughts about the wormhole.”
Hovath pulled his trembling hands away from his head and placed them atop the table. “The Temple does not behave like an ordinary wormhole,” he began slowly, trying to keep his hands from shaking. “Its stability alone is proof of that, but it also has an interior.It is a continuum unto itself, outside normal space-time.”
“Bajoran and Starfleet scientists have known these things for years,” his captor said impatiently.
“They study the wormhole as it appears to them,” Hovath said. “Their minds do not venture beyond what their instruments can measure. I began with a simple question: Why does the wormhole open to the Gamma Quadrant? Answering that requires an understanding of the thoughts behind the Temple’s makers, the Prophets, who exist within it, outside the linear continuum.”
“You attempted to reconcile the theology surrounding the Temple with scientific inquiry into the wormhole.”
Hovath shrugged. “I learned early in my life that I have an aptitude for both, and I have tried to keep a balanced perspective.” He recalled his private arguments with the old sirahon that very aspect of Hovath’s personality. Sitting here now, he wished he had listened more, seen the wisdom of focus and selfless obligation that his mentor had tried to impart.
“Bajoran theology is usually consistent with the physical universe,” he went on. “The question for me became whether that meant it could offer any new clues about why the Temple behaves as it does, and whether the science of the wormhole could lead to new insights into our faith.” Hovath looked up for a moment, once again trying to discern something more about the silhouette facing him. The heat and glare of the light forced his gaze back down to the table. “Bajorans do not question why the Temple opens above our skies. We merely accept it, and see it as validation of our connection to the Prophets. After all, it is upon us that their Tears have fallen, and it is for us that the Emissary was sent.”
He paused, remembering the controversy during that first year. “But to learn that the Temple opened in two directions puzzled us,” he said. “At that time, there was no discernible reason, from a theological perspective, for why it also opened in the Gamma Quadrant. It left us to wonder if Bajor was as unique as we had believed.
“I considered what was known and observable about the wormhole. We know it is stable, but it is not fixed in space; though its distance to B’hava’el is constant, the wormhole’s Alpha terminus moves through the galaxy withBajor’s star. The Gamma terminus, we have since learned, is somehow anchored to the star Idran in much the same way.
“I asked new questions. What if the Alpha and Gamma termini of the wormhole were not the only points in this continuum on which the wormhole opened? What if they were merely the firsttwo? What if the Prophets’ interest in our universe was not confined to Bajor, but extended to other worlds as well? The return of the Eav-oq to this continuum at the wormhole’s Gamma terminus is at least consistent with that assumption. But what if it does not end there? What if the Temple has not two endpoints, but many?”
“Howmany?”
Hovath shook his head. “Who can say? Perhaps an infinite number.”
“Meaning that the wormhole could, under that assumption, open anywhere in the universe.”
Hovath stared down at the table. “Yes.”
“How can that be? The termini we know about are triggered at an event horizon. If the wormhole had an infinite number of endpoints—”
Hovath shook his head. “The Alpha and Gamma openings are unlocked. My speculation is that while the Temple may have an infinite number of doors, most of those are locked from the inside.”