“I’m still not sure I understand where you’re going with this, Ro.”

“It seems to me that what the Ohalavaru are saying, in maybe too roundabout a way, is that youdeserve a choice as well. Attainted or not, you still choose to follow the Prophets. The church has cast you out. But your dissemination of Ohalu’s teachings wasn’t a reflection on your faith in the Prophets, or based on a desire to lead anybody astray. The Ohalavaru are telling all of Bajor that if you choose to follow the Prophets—if that’s where your paghtakes you—then you have every right to do just that.”

Kira sat in silence, staring at her. Ro was suddenly aware that she was still standing beside the desk, talking down to her commander almost as though she were a recalcitrant child. She sat down in a nearby chair and placed a finger on her nose ridge, massaging it for a moment.

“I’m sorry, Colonel. I didn’t mean to lecture you.”

“No, that’s all right,” Kira said, putting out a hand as if to deflect any further apologies. “I hadn’t considered that before.” She sighed heavily. “There’s just so much going on.”

Ro swallowed hard, bracing herself for what she had to say next. “I’m afraid I’ve got something else to tell you. I know this isn’t going to make you any happier, but there’s not likely to be a better moment, and time is running out.” Kira sighed again, and Ro continued, determined to unburden herself. “Shortly after the Federation ceremony, I’ll be leaving my post as Deep Space 9’s chief of security. I’ll also resign my commission in the Bajoran Militia.”

“What? Why?”Kira leaned forward, and Ro could see the shock blossoming on her face, as though she’d just been slapped.

“It’s something I’ve been afraid to consider fully until recently, but I just can’t put this off any longer. I’ve struggled with this decision, believe me. You know about my history with Starfleet. With Bajor joining the Federation, I…” She paused to compose herself, afraid that her voice might crack. “I’ll neverhave a place in the coming new order. I’d rather bow out now, gracefully, than put you or Commander Vaughn or anyone else out trying to justify my presence around here.”

Kira paused briefly before responding. “I can’t say I blame you, Laren. At the moment, I’m tempted to join you.” She smiled grimly. “What do you plan to do?”

Ro sighed. Now wasn’t the time to bring up the ventures she and Quark had been discussing. “I’ve started looking into some…other opportunities. It’s a big galaxy. There are lots of things to do in it.”

“I’m going to fight to get you to stay,” Kira said, a trace of forced mirth in her voice. “You know that, don’t you?”

“Won’t do any good,” Ro said, standing. “I’ll stay on board through the official changeover, to get my replacement ready. But after that, I’ll be moving on.”

Feeling her emotions beginning to surge, and her lip trembling, Ro turned and left the office without saying another word.

Alone in her office, Kira Nerys glanced down at the drawer into which she had consigned Benjamin Sisko’s baseball months earlier. Then she turned her gaze toward the bucket which she kept on one of the low shelves beside the desk. She was reminded forcefully of the two people in all the universe whose advice she could most use now.

A rage had been simmering within her ever since she had begun discussing the peace talks with Shakaar. Now the feeling moved within her like a tropical storm lashing at the Jo’kala coast. Still seated in her chair, she raised her legs until her boots made contact with the desk’s heavy wooden framework. Kicking out, she upended the desk, which made a very satisfying crash onto the floor. The force of her kick sent her chair flying backward into the bookcase. She rose to her feet, struggling to bring herself back under some semblance of control.

What have I done to Bajor?Kira thought, surveying the wreckage of her office. She looked out the window at the stars, sending a silent prayer toward the wormhole—the Celestial Temple of the Prophets. What have I done to the faith You have sustained me with?

Unbidden, a familiar line of ancient prophecy sprang into her mind: When the children have wept all, anew will shine the twilight of their destiny.

Stretching out a hand to touch the spaceward window, Kira suddenly began to weep. Convulsive sobs racked her body, and her tears spilled unheeded into the silent darkness.

21

The transporter beam chilled Ezri to the bone, as though the inky emptiness of space had reached through the matter stream to steal every calorie of heat from her body. But the sensation passed almost as quickly as it had begun.

Ezri stood in a chamber lit only by several small sconces, each of which stood about two meters off the ground and a few body-lengths apart. Rough-hewn granite walls trailed off into the stygian darkness. The air was warm and stale, though it moved in a steady breeze across her skin. Strange, discordant music reverberated in the distance, at the edge of audibility. Though it sounded vaguely familiar, she couldn’t quite place it.

Ezri realized then that her environmental suit was gone, as was her phaser. She found that she now wore a nondescript, lightweight jumpsuit. She carried a hard hat in her left hand. The gravel on the cavern floor crunched beneath her heavy boots. Work clothes,she thought as she paused momentarily to examine her new wardrobe. Running a hand through her hair, she noted that it was longer, and cut differently than before she had beamed over. Donning the hard hat, she made a complete turn, investigating what she could see of her surroundings in the dim illumination.

What is this place? And where are the others?

Noticing that she still had her wrist lamps, she raised and activated them. A ribbon of brilliance cleaved the darkness, revealing a craggy, gray-hued ceiling several meters overhead. The irregular passage and its chaotic tumbles of rocks and gravel seemed somehow familiar. It also struck her as odd to find such a place within the confines of the clean, deliberate geometries of the alien artifact.

Her wrist lamp held high, Ezri took a deep breath and began walking into the darkness. She called out, first to Julian and then to Nog, her voice reverberating to infinity and back, the aural equivalent of an endless series of funhouse mirrors.

There was no response. She was alone, with no company other than the thunder of her own pulse, the rhythmic crunch of her boot heels, and the distant peals of the weird almost-music.

She was startled by a voice that suddenly spoke from behind her. “Ezri.”

Ezri spun toward the sound, stepping quickly back to give herself some maneuvering room in case the owner of the voice intended to make trouble.

To her surprise, Ezri found herself facing her mother. Who wastrouble, she reflected, almost by definition.

“You can’tbe here,” Ezri said, realizing that she had unconsciously arranged her body into a combat-crouch straight out of one of her Starfleet Academy hand-to-hand training classes. Guess I don’t need Dax for everything.

“That’s really what this is about, isn’t it?” said Yanas Tigan, a smile stretching her skin taut. A condescending smile, Ezri thought. Typical.

“Excuse me?” Ezri said, scowling.

Yanas adopted the tone of a put-upon teacher addressing a willfully obtuse student. “About your relationship with Dax.”