Chapter Text
“Here you go,” Quark said, handing Odo the holorod over the bar counter.
Was Odo imagining the devious glint in his eye?
Then Kira sidled up next to him, touching his lower back, and all such thoughts fled his mind.
He turned for the stairs.
“Odo,” Quark called.
He turned back.
“Have a good time.”
That looked like…an almost genuine smile on his face.
With a curt nod, Odo headed for the stairs once more, Kira’s gift in one hand and the holorod in the other, Kira herself at his side.
As they ascended to the holosuites, anxiety twisted his matrix.
Could this be enough?
Enough to keep Kira’s mind off of what he couldn’t give her?
Enough to keep them both focused on the present, enjoying what they had right now, before their relationship inevitably disintegrated?
Kira pressed a gentle hand to Odo’s back. “You alright?”
“I…yes.”
He sucked in a deliberate breath, trying to loosen his cells. Kira’s brows pinched briefly, but she didn’t question him.
Odo pressed the control panel by the holosuite doors, and they slid open—revealing a rectangular pool that glittered beneath a sky dotted with puffs of cloud. An ornate bridge stretched across the pool to the program’s centerpiece: a tall, domed building, its exterior wall lined with columns, warm musical tones swelling from within.
At his side, Kira gasped. He turned, alarmed to see tears in her eyes.
Her hands clapped over her mouth. Her gaze darted briefly to his, and he saw her jaw work as she tried several times to speak.
“Odo,” she murmured.
His breath hitched. “Did I—?”
“The Jalanda Forum?” she asked.
He nodded. “I just thought…”
“Odo.” She cut him off with a squeeze of his hand, blinking back her tears. “It’s perfect.”
*
“I don’t believe it,” Quark muttered.
“Neither do I,” said Jake.
“I’m gonna win this one, Jake,” Quark whispered. “You know what the best part is? I beat Odo.”
Jake chuckled.
“I finally beat him,” Quark said. “Jake, I did it! I’ve beat him!”
Unbeknownst to either of them, T’Sorra watched from behind a support pillar, her chin tilted.
*
Odo spent the next four hours basking in Kira’s light. Her bright smile, the tears in her eyes as the music of Bajor’s best composers swelled through the air, the way she leaned into his side and wrapped her arms around him and set her chin against his shoulder…it was nothing short of paradise, and he never wanted it to end.
In fact, he enjoyed this in a way no humanoid could. He wondered if Kira realized that when she tucked herself against him, he could feel her touch in every atom of his being. Though he “wore” a traditional Bajoran robe, it was as much a part of him as his uniform. She wasn’t touching his clothes—she was touching him.
As the soft tones of a particularly reverent song began to fill the forum, Odo slipped the gift box from the folds of his facsimile robe.
Kira noticed his movement. She straightened, pulling back to look at him.
“Nerys,” he said softly, “I love you. More than you know.”
With trembling hands, he opened the box.
Kira gasped.
He’d chosen a small ruby pendant. Not quite as laden with meaning as a promise charm, but special nonetheless.
“It’s beautiful,” Kira whispered.
“It was handcrafted by artisans in Tozhat,” Odo said. “They're working to reclaim Bajor's artistic heritage. I toured the area during my leave, after the occupation.”
“You bought this then?”
“Ah…no,” Odo said. “But fortunately, this station’s civilian inhabitants can get to Bajor more easily than I can. A promenade shopkeeper sold it to me.”
“Ah.” Kira lifted the pendant from the box. Turning, she flashed him a smile over shoulder. “Put it on me?”
“Of course.”
He could feel Kira’s warmth against his substance as he draped the pendant over her front and fastened the clasp behind her neck, brushing a kiss to her skin.
As the music swelled around them, Kira turned to face him once more. She leaned into him and rested her head against the crook of his neck, swaying with him gently.
Odo’s eyes slipped shut.
He wanted to remember this, to hold on to this. To revel in being able to make her happy.
*
When Odo descended the staircase, Kira at his side, his senses prickled. Something—no, someone—was out of place.
Scanning the immediate vicinity, his gaze landed on the Starfleet security officer—a Bolian man—stationed a discreet distance from the stairs.
Well. Discreet to anyone but him.
The officer’s eyes flicked briefly in his direction—but not briefly enough—before he tapped his combadge. Odo could barely make out his voice over the din of Quark’s late-night crowd.
“Vademm to T’Sorra.”
Odo’s eyes narrowed.
Kira frowned. “Something wrong?”
“I’m not sure,” Odo said, on guard. He gave her shoulder a passing squeeze as he approached Vademm, then stared the officer down. “Report.”
“Commander T’Sorra is on her way,” Vademm replied.
“Why?”
“To speak to you,” Vademm said. “I was ordered to wait and let her know when you left the holosuite.” He paused, suddenly nervous. “Sir.”
Kira stepped up behind him, fixing her own sharp gaze on Vademm. “Is there a problem, Lieutenant?”
“Yes,” T’Sorra answered as she marched in. “There is.”
Odo kept his eyes narrowed, shifting his focus to her. “Commander, what’s going on?”
“Sir, I wish to speak with you in Security,” T’Sorra replied. “Immediately.”
Odo exchanged a glance with Kira—and the bold authority in her eyes told him in no uncertain terms that she would be joining them.
He wouldn’t have it any other way.
*
As his office doors slid shut behind them, Odo rounded his desk and took his seat, fixing T’Sorra with a glare. “Report.”
In lieu of a reply, T’Sorra set a PADD on his desk.
Odo picked it up. Read the first few lines.
His eyes narrowed further.
“What is it?” Kira asked.
“Quark was caught in Cargo Bay Three,” Odo growled. “Smuggling Denevan crystals….with Jake Sisko.”
Kira blinked. “Jake?”
“I’m satisfied that his involvement is peripheral.” T’Sorra clasped her hands behind her back. “However, upon his arrest, Quark made a full confession. He admits to purposely distracting you with…romantic matters, so that his activities would escape your notice.”
“Hmph,” Odo muttered. “So he was planning something.”
He’d thought he’d observed a devious glint in Quark’s eye.
T’Sorra cocked her head. “You knew?”
Odo frowned up at her.
“You suspected Quark’s criminal intent,” T’Sorra said, “and yet you took no action?”
Odo’s substance clenched.
“Now, wait a minute,” Kira said. “Odo was off duty, spending time with me. This isn’t his fault. Besides, you caught them, didn’t you, Commander?”
“I did,” T’Sorra said. “But I question Odo’s focus on his job.”
“Commander—”
“No,” Odo said quietly. “She’s right.”
Kira turned to him, aghast.
“I noticed Quark’s behavior,” Odo said. “I shouldn’t have dismissed it.”
For a long moment, Kira stared at him, wordless. Then she swung back to face T’Sorra. “Commander, you’re dismissed.”
“Sir,” T’Sorra nodded.
She spun on her heel and exited the office.
Kira turned, planting her palms on Odo’s desk. “Odo, you can’t seriously believe this is your fault.”
Odo shook his head. “Nerys…over two years ago, I promised Captain Sisko I would never let my personal life interfere with my duty. It seems I just did.”
Kira’s jaw dropped. “Don’t tell me you regret the night we just had.”
“No,” Odo said softly, his eyes widening. “Not in the least.”
“Then…?”
“Nerys, I should have at least called in a deputy myself,” Odo said. “I could have assigned security to watch Quark and then focused on you. But I ignored his behavior entirely.” He lowered his eyes. “I failed in my duty.”
He’d been so caught up in his anxieties, his need to give Kira the perfect night, that he’d neglected his responsibilities.
He could not let this happen again.
“Odo, no,” Kira said. “You didn’t fail. Everyone errs now and then!”
“I don’t,” Odo said. “Not in my work. That’s why Captain Sisko keeps me in charge, instead of a Starfleet officer.”
Instead of T’Sorra.
Kira sighed, shaking her head. “Will you at least let the night shift relieve you? You’re supposed to be off duty right now.”
Odo managed a small smile. “If you insist.”
“I do,” Kira said, smiling.
She rounded his desk and took his hands in hers, then pressed a kiss to his fingers. Odo’s eyes slipped shut.
“Then I will,” he said softly.
“Good.”
Stardate: 51955.7
Odo hadn’t seen Kira all day—ever since he’d arrested Vedek Solis.
It wasn’t unheard of for them to go a day or two without seeing much of each other. The war kept Kira busy in Ops, and him busy on the promenade. But today, Deep Space Nine had hosted the Gratitude Festival, and he still hadn’t seen her.
Finally, he sought her out in the Bajoran shrine—a place he rarely entered without cause.
She was smiling.
Watching as a group of children ran to join their parents.
The captain passed him on his way out; Odo nodded briefly in greeting, even as he made a beeline for Kira.
Her eyes met his, sharp.
Then she turned and began unpinning a satin decoration from one wall of the shrine.
“Nerys, I’ve been looking for you,” he said.
“Yeah, well, I really don’t feel like talking to you right now.”
Her words pierced him like shards of ice.
“Nerys,” he tried, “it’s my duty to maintain order on the promenade.”
She turned, glared. “You arrested a vedek!”
“Because he broke the law!” Odo said, following her as she crossed the shrine to unpin another decoration. “Fundraising on the promenade without a license is strictly forbidden. Station Regulation 1526, paragraph 7—”
“Vedek Solis was raising funds for Bajoran flood victims!”
She crossed the shrine again, to the tall candlesticks burning near the altar.
“A very worthy cause!” Odo agreed. “Nevertheless, station regulations are quite clear—”
Kira rounded on him. “I don’t care about station regulations!”
She extinguished the candles, perfunctory, tension radiating from every movement.
Odo’s matrix tightened.
Maybe this wasn’t an argument he could win.
Seeking out something, anything, to change the subject, his gaze fell upon the orb on the altar. “Is-is-is that the Orb of Contemplation?”
Kira spun back around and looked him dead in the eye. “Goodbye, Odo.”
She stormed past him.
Odo watched her go, his substance churning—but the sensation was muted, distant.
Her love was a miracle. He’d known it couldn’t last.
He just hadn’t expected his duty to be their breaking point.
*
Dominion Headquarters | Cardassia
“Legate Damar,” said the Glinn, “excuse the interruption, but—”
Before the glinn could finish speaking, the Founder once known as Dr. Cox entered, followed closely by the Vorta Rivun and two Jem’Hadar guards—and Dukat.
Immediately, Weyoun lowered his eyes and spread his hands in deference. “Founder. You honor us with your presence.”
The Founder ignored him.
“Dukat,” Damar said.
Dukat glared from beneath his brow ridges. His teeth were gritted, the muscles in his neck straining, as flecks of flame sparked in his eyes.
Weyoun squinted. “What’s happened to him?”
Damar, however, shifted on his feet. “About what happened to your daughter—”
The Founder raised a hand. “Enough.”
Damar opened his mouth to protest, but Weyoun rounded on him, pinning him with a glare.
The tiniest of smiles graced the Founder’s face.
“Rivun,” the Founder said, “explain to them.”
Rivun bowed slightly. “Yes, Founder.”
Curiosity—of a calculating sort, befitting his breeding as a diplomat, but curiosity nonetheless—glinted in Weyoun’s eyes as Rivun, bred for science, stepped forward.
“Weyoun,” Rivun said, ignoring Damar, “you are of course aware of how Captain Benjamin Sisko orchestrated his victory over our occupational forces nearly a year ago?”
“Of course,” Weyoun said. “Our fleet was wiped out by those…wormhole aliens.”
“They’re not just wormhole aliens,” Rivun said. “Not to the Bajorans, anyway.”
Damar huffed. “What does it matter what the Bajorans believe?”
Rivun’s gaze flashed to Weyoun. “Is he always so shortsighted?”
“Oh, he has his uses,” Weyoun chuckled, ignoring Damar’s scowl. “Now, I believe you were about to tell me something about the wormhole aliens?”
“You know they’re standing between us and bringing in reinforcements from the Gamma Quadrant,” Rivun said. “And, conveniently, they support the moral fabric of Bajoran society. What’s more, the Federation only occupies this sector on Bajor’s invitation.”
A smile teased at Weyoun’s face. “Go on.”
“If Bajor loses its gods,” Rivun said, “travel through the wormhole will reopen…and the Federation will struggle to guard it.” He paused. “We must destroy the Prophets.”
“How?” Weyoun asked.
Rivun smiled. “Founder…if I may?”
“Proceed.”
Weyoun watched with interest as Rivun withdrew a PADD from the folds of his vest and tapped at the screen. Suddenly, Dukat gasped and doubled over—and the sparks of flame in his pupils eclipsed his eyes entirely, even as every muscle in his body tensed and he drew in harsh pants through gritted teeth.
Damar started forward. “Dukat!”
Weyoun thrust out an arm, holding him back, even as his eyes narrowed. “What have you done to him?”
“We have weaponized him,” Rivun said.
“Weyoun,” the Founder spoke.
Weyoun lowered his eyes. “Yes, Founder.”
“This operation is in its final stages,” the Founder said. “Soon, you will be summoned to witness this vessel’s potential.”
Weyoun bowed his head. “I await your command, Founder.”
*
Deep Space Nine
Jake had barely left Sisko’s quarters—having insisted upon joining him on the Defiant when the task force left for Chin’toka, as a reporter—when that familiar, eerie dreamlike quality overtook Sisko’s surroundings.
He was in Ops—or, what looked like Ops—facing Worf across the situation table.
“The Sisko,” the Worf-Prophet said, “is of Bajor.”
Martok spoke, behind Sisko. “It is where he belongs.”
Then, Sisko was in his office—facing the wall. Admiral Ross’s voice spoke from behind him.
“It is where he is meant to be.”
Sisko turned, found the Ross-Prophet seated at the desk. “Are you telling me not to go to Cardassia?”
He was back at the situation table.
“The Sisko is of Bajor,” Ross said.
“It is dangerous to walk a different path,” said Martok.
“Dangerous?” Sisko asked. “In what way?”
Ross approached. “The false vessel will rise.”
“The false vessel?” Sisko repeated. He frowned. “That’s what you said during the Reckoning.”
Worf spoke. “The Sisko must not falter.”
Sisko’s brows pinched.
That was familiar, too.
“What false vessel?” Sisko demanded. “Tell me what you need me to do!”
Senator Letant spoke. “The Reckoning was aborted.”
“That’s right,” Sisko said. “By Kai Winn.”
“Kosst Amojan will rise,” said Martok.
“The Sisko,” Ross said, “must not leave the chosen path.”
Light flashed, and Sisko found himself alone in his quarters again.
*
“The Cardassians call them orbital weapon platforms,” Admiral Ross said, indicating the tactical display.
Sisko was barely listening.
He was gathered with Ross, Martok, and Senator Letant in the wardroom for a briefing on what they were up against in the Chin’toka system.
“Intelligence reports indicate,” Ross continued, “the Dominion has placed hundreds of them throughout the Chin’toka system.”
“Are they operational?” Sisko asked.
“No,” Ross said. “Not yet.”
Martok spoke up. “How much time do we have before they are?”
“Two, maybe three days.”
“So,” Letant said, “it would appear that your weak spot is about to become much stronger.”
Martok scoffed, chuckling. “Leave it to a Romulan to run at the first sign of trouble!”
“And leave it to a Klingon to leap to the wrong conclusion,” Letant said. “The Romulan Empire has agreed to join the invasion of Cardassia, and we live up to our agreements. The only question is: Can the invasion be launched before the defensive grid is activated?”
“We’ll have to leave first thing in the morning,” Martok said.
“Then it’s settled,” Ross said. “Good luck, gentlemen. Good luck to all of us.”
Letant’s brow twitched up. “Romulans don’t believe in luck.”
He headed for the door.
“All the better!” Martok called after him. After the door hummed shut behind the senator, he favored Sisko and Ross with a predatory grin. “It leaves more for the rest of us.”
Then Martok made his own exit.
Sisko stared at the tactical display, only half studying it. The rest of his mind was occupied with the Prophets’ words.
“Are you telling me not to go to Cardassia?”
…the false vessel will rise…
…the Sisko must not falter…
“You’ve been, uh, quiet, Ben,” Ross said. “Those weapon platforms have you worried?”
If only.
If this were a simple matter of tactical strategy, Sisko would know what to do—or, at least, would be confident about making a decision and facing the consequences.
But his duty as the Emissary had never been so straightforward.
“It’s not about that, sir,” he murmured.
For a long beat, he was silent.
This wasn’t a subject Ross was likely to understand. But if the Prophets were urging him not to go to Chin’toka…
“It’s about the Prophets.” He paced away, then winced, correcting himself. “Ah—the wormhole aliens. They spoke to me last night.”
He heard the tension in Ross’s voice. “I hope they gave the mission their blessing.”
“They told me not to go to Cardassia,” Sisko said. “That I should stay here.”
“Did they give you a reason?”
“Nothing concrete.” Sisko’s brows pinched. “They spoke of a ‘false vessel.’ Of Kosst Amojan. I think this has to do with the Reckoning.”
“When you made the call to abandon Deep Space Nine,” Ross said.
Sisko winced. “Admiral—”
“What is it you’re telling me, Ben?” Ross asked. “You want permission to stay behind?”
“It’s not about what I want,” Sisko said. “It’s about what the Prophets want.”
“That’s not a good enough answer,” Ross said. “Not from a Starfleet captain.”
Sisko faced him.
“The Prophets don’t see me as a Starfleet captain,” he said. “They see me as their Emissary.”
“That’s the problem, isn’t it?” Ross said. “For the past six years, you’ve tried to be both, and up to now, I’ve been patient. I’ve indulged you. I’ve gone out on a limb for you many times, but this is it. You’ve got to make a decision.”
Sisko’s gaze drifted away, troubled.
“You are either the Emissary or a Starfleet captain,” Ross said. “You can’t be both.”
Sisko took a deep breath.
Searched the room—as if he could find answers within these bulkheads, on the tactical display that faced him.
His duties as the Emissary and as a Starfleet officer had never been compatible…and were both equally impossible to shirk.
But when it came down to it…
If he had to make a choice…
“I’ll…”
He hesitated, then faced Ross.
“I’ll be on the Defiant bridge at 0500.”
*
Dominion Headquarters | Cardassia
“The combined fleet?” Damar asked. “At Deep Space Nine?”
“Composed of Federation, Klingon, and Romulan ships,” Weyoun told him.
Romulans.
Until three months ago, the nonaggression pact had held them well in check. Dominion intelligence didn’t know exactly who was responsible for Senator Vreenak’s death, but Weyoun had no doubt Sisko was involved.
Captain Benjamin Sisko was proving very…frustrating.
“You think they’ll head for the Chin’toka system?” Damar asked.
“I would.”
“Well, then.” Damar’s confident bluster was frustrating, too. “We have nothing to worry about. The weapon platforms will be operational in time to greet them.”
“That’s a very comforting thought,” Weyoun said. “If it’s accurate.”
“I’ll make sure that it is.”
Then the doors slid open. The Founder called his name.
“Founder.” He turned immediately, lowering his eyes and spreading his hands, Damar forgotten. “You honor us with your presence.”
“Come with me,” the Founder ordered.
Weyoun followed.
*
Dukat was slumped in the seat, head bowed against its back, his eyes closed.
He looked, for all intents and purposes, thoroughly neutralized.
Weyoun had known Dukat for too long—and had watched him nearly cost the Dominion the Alpha Quadrant—to make that assumption. But he put his faith in the Founders, and he was not here to offer advice. Not until it was asked of him.
Instead, he simply observed Dukat, his eyes narrowed.
The Founder nodded to the other Vorta, Rivun. “Activate him.”
Out the corner of Weyoun’s eye, Rivun tapped at his PADD.
Dukat’s body jerked.
His eyes opened.
They burned a deep, consuming red.
All the while, wisps of red energy leaped and swirled about his body like the flames of a fire, licking against his skin and clothes.
There was still cognizance in that face. Weyoun could see it in the tightness of the lines around Dukat’s mouth, in his clenched teeth, in the strain of his neck muscles. In the harsh, labored rise and fall of his chest.
What Dukat lacked, Weyoun could see, was free will.
He was fully aware. But he was aware of whatever had been done to him—and there was nothing he could do about it.
Which begged the question…
“I beg indulgence,” Weyoun murmured. “What has been done to him?”
The Founder smiled serenely. “It is no indulgence, Weyoun. As the Vorta overseeing this war, this falls under your purview.” He looked to the other Vorta. “Rivun, explain.”
Rivun stepped forward. “He is a vessel for a Pah-wraith.”
“A Pah-wraith?” Weyoun asked.
“An enemy of the Prophets,” Rivun said.
Weyoun turned. “And I take it this Pah-wraith can…destroy the Prophets?”
“That is its purpose,” Rivun said. “And we have ensured it.”
Weyoun narrowed his eyes.
“Since before Captain Sisko deployed the minefield,” Rivun said, “we have extracted Pah-wraiths from the Bajoran fire caves and worked to engineer them. And once we got access to Dukat—”
“Got access?” Weyoun repeated.
The Founder spoke. “I replaced the Federation doctor assigned to treat him.”
Weyoun smiled. “Oh, the Founder is wise.”
“For more than six months now,” Rivun said, “we have been administering doses of chroniton radiation and resequencing his cellular structure. We have made his body the perfect host.”
“Weyoun,” the Founder said.
“Yes, Founder.”
“I understand the enemy is poised to attack Chin’toka?”
“That’s correct,” Weyoun said.
“Let them,” said the Founder. “I want you to keep them occupied in that system. While you do, Rivun will lead a battalion to Deep Space Nine. We will unleash the Pah-wraith upon the wormhole.”
Weyoun bowed his head. “It will be done."