But the alien cathedral’s ever-changing shadow still moved very slowly across the backdrop of his thoughts.

5

Mirroring Yevir’s mood, the dusky sky was darkening, slowly eliding from lavender to a deep rose. The air crackled with the cool of late winter and the scent of nerakblossoms, a tantalizing hint of the coming spring. Ashalla’s city streetlights were already aglow, illuminating the paths of the many Bajorans who bustled to their shrines and homes.

An older woman stopped Vedek Yevir and began speaking to him. Her grandson was planning to marry next month, and she wanted to know if he would ask the Prophets to bless the union. Smiling, Yevir promised that he would do so at the main Ashalla temple on the following day. Shedding tears of gratitude, the woman thanked him and backed away.

Yevir noticed that other passersby on the concourse had in turn noticed him. Most of them nodded and smiled as they passed him, and he recognized most of their faces. He couldn’t help but wonder how many of them had read the accursed so-called prophecies of Ohalu—and how far the poison that Colonel Kira had released four months earlier had spread through the very heart of Bajor’s capital city. How many of these people hope that I will become kai? How many of them would prefer Vedek Solis instead?

His guts braiding themselves into knots of anxiety, Yevir continued walking, passing the bakery where he often bought pastries on his way to his office. The proprietor gave him a respectful wave. Yevir knew that the man would soon make his way to the evening temple services; he was exceedingly faithful. Still, it seemed odd that he hadn’t yet closed his shop for the evening, so close to the sounding of the first temple bells.

Ahead, Yevir saw several people gathered around the plaza’s public holovid kiosk. He stepped up to listen, in time to hear a newscaster discussing the day’s events with a political commentator.

“…the end of the second week since the peace talks stalled between Bajor’s representatives and Cardassia,”said the newscaster. “Do you see any progress in the initiative to resume the talks?”

Yevir recognized the commentator as Minister Belwan Ligin, an old-line conservative who had lost most of his family during the Occupation. Despite this, he had always struck Yevir as remarkably fair and evenhanded in his judgments about the Cardassians. “I don’t believe that any direct progress has been made, but certainly Minister Asarem and the others are going to begin feeling real pressure soon. With Bajor’s entry into the Federation imminent, it seems to me that a viable peace agreement would be in both peoples’ best interests. But Asarem has proven to be quite astute in the past when dealing with potential crises, so perhaps…”

Yevir walked away from the kiosk, shifting his bag over his shoulder. Perhaps he ought to schedule a meeting with Asarem, or even First Minister Shakaar Edon, to discuss how best to get the talks restarted. Either of them would probably welcome a fresh perspective on the matter. Surely they could be persuaded that reaching a mutually favorable denouement now—before the Federation relieved Bajor of all such responsibilities—was the only way to create a lasting peace with Cardassia. And it certainly wouldn’t hurt his chances of becoming the next kai if he were to help broker such a resolution.

But how?

As he entered the four-story, stackstone-fronted building that housed his offices, Yevir saw many of the lower-level staff members preparing to leave for the evening. He greeted each of them by name, wishing them all an uplifting temple service. Yevir’s assistant stood up from behind a desk as he rounded the corner toward his office.

“Vedek Yevir. How blessed to see you,” Harana Flin said, and he knew she meant it. Harana indicated a young woman who sat in a corner chair. “She’s been waiting to see you for some time now. I told her I wasn’t sure when you would return this evening, but she insisted on staying.”

“It’s all right, Flin,” Yevir said, using the woman’s familiar name. He placed a hand on her shoulder and smiled gently at her. “I will be happy to see her. Thank you for your diligence. Now you’d best hurry or you’ll miss first bells.”

Harana gathered a wrap around her shoulders and let herself out as Yevir turned toward the waiting woman. She was very pretty, with high cheekbones and delicately oval eyes. Her hair was braided, encircling the top of her head in the helepstyle he knew was popular among the university crowd in Musilla Province these days. She was dressed in light blue robes that flattered her pale skin, and she held a young child whom she was clearly suckling beneath the robes.

“Hello, child,” Yevir said, smiling. “Won’t you come into my office?” He stepped ahead of her, opening the door. He expected her to be shy, in the manner of most supplicants who came calling. But she walked confidently, her head held high.

He entered the office after her, and as she sat on a chaise nearby, he set his shoulder bag on the desktop. He pulled out several books, placing them on top of a pile of documents that he kept neatly stacked in his work area. Next, he withdrew the small gold-and-amber jevonite figurine that Kasidy Yates, the wife of the Emissary, had given him more than two weeks earlier. He set the translucent statue at the top of the stack before turning his attention back to his visitor.

“You seem familiar, child. Have we met before?”

The young woman stared at him for a moment, though he could glean nothing of her thoughts from her eyes. She smiled slightly as she spoke, expressing neither shyness nor shame. “No, Vedek Yevir, we have not met. At least not officially. But you may know my face from the files that the Vedek Assembly very likely keeps on people like me.”

What an odd thing to say.Yevir’s curiosity was piqued. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“My name is Mika. Cerin Mika. I was once a member of the Pah-wraith cult.”

Yevir nodded, at last recognizing her more fully. “Yes, I remember you now.” Cerin Mika—or simply Mika, as she had told interviewers she preferred to be addressed—had been one of the few dozen cultists who had resided briefly on Empok Nor, during Gul Dukat’s tenure as their leader. Dukat had impregnated her, and after she had given birth to his child, had nearly succeeded in murdering her. If not for the intervention of Kira Nerys, Mika’s child would never have known its mother.

In the year and a half since that time, Mika had become a minor celebrity, as well as a figure of some controversy. The Bajoran people had been quick to forgive the woman, blaming Dukat for victimizing yet another innocent, spiritually minded Bajoran. Despite Dukat’s betrayal—or perhaps because her babe was half Bajoran and half Cardassian—Mika and her husband, Benyan, had become vocal advocates for peace between Bajor and Cardassia. They spoke publicly, and recently had begun lobbying certain ministers on a fairly regular basis.

“What can I do for you?” Yevir asked, though he was already fairly certain he knew what was on her mind.

“I will come straight to the point,” she said, reaching within her robes to detach the child from her breast. “I am the niece of Vedek Solis Tendren.”

Yevir’s brow furrowed as he realized that she had reasons other than a common doctrinal outlook to support Yevir’s chief rival for the kaiship. Vedek Solis had made it clear that he sought Bajor’s top religious leadership position—and that he did so at the behest of a newly formed sect which taught that Ohalu’s heresies were the True Way of the Prophets.