Kira reached the bridge, now attired in her uniform.

“Anything?” she called before she was two steps in.

The negative responses left her feeling deflated and frustrated. Reaching the captain’s chair, she hesitated, standing there with one hand on the arm. It was her ship, now, but this was still his chair, and always would be, in her mind.

Or, at least, the Defiant was her ship as long as Starfleet left it at Deep Space Nine.

She wasn’t going to follow that line of thought. Let their respective leaders make those decisions. If they asked her opinion, she’d give it, most definitely, but otherwise.... With a bit of a sigh, she took her seat.

“Colonel,” Ensign Kuhlman reported from the communications console. “We’re picking up signals.”

“The Xhosa?” she asked eagerly, bolting from the chair and nearly dashing across the bridge to stare over his shoulder.

“No, sir....” He tuned in the signal. “It’s the Trelmanin, a Bajoran Nellit-class ship. Their captain is requesting permission to join the search for the Xhosa.”

“How did they get word so fast?” Kira wondered aloud.

The young officer raised his shoulders fractionally, shaking his head.

“I know.” She patted his shoulder once to show the question had been rhetorical. “I remember the captain of the Trelmanin. Tell them they’re welcome to join us. Give them everything we know, have them take a parallel course at the edge of our scanner range, we’ll overlap just enough to make sure we don’t miss anything.”

“Yes, sir.” Kuhlman complied.

Trying not to sigh too loudly, Kira forced herself back to the commanding officer’s chair.

All she could do was wait until they were close enough to start searching. That was hard. Waiting was hard. It was against her nature. She’d learned to control her impatient spirit, most of the time, but that didn’t mean it was easy. She preferred to be active, to be doing something, to be striking out or making things happen. Lupaza had lectured her on that, taught her the need for patience, during her years in the resistance. She tried to hear her old friend’s voice in her head, to remember the words and give herself something else to focus on. It didn’t help much.

They were almost at the asteroid belt.

Her thoughts jumped ahead. What if they were already too late?

She remembered when the Defiant had been damaged by a Jem’Hadar attack during the Karemma negotiations, and Captain Sisko had suffered a life-threatening concussion. She tried to remember if she’d thought what she’d tell Jake if they’d come back without his father, or what she’d have told her people.

Considering it judiciously, she probably hadn’t looked for words at all. She’d been too frantic for what his death would mean to her, personally, as a Bajoran and as his executive officer — and probably well aware that if he died, it was more than likely that none of them would have gotten home alive.

But Benjamin had been the Emissary. The Prophets had smiled upon him, chosen him, protected him, intervened when he asked them to, and finally taken him to themselves.

The Prophets had been against his marriage to Kasidy. Maybe they were against Kira finding the Xhosa. Maybe whatever was happening was their will—

Of course it was their will. Anything that happened to Bajor or Bajorans was with their consent. Even if Bajor and the Bajorans didn’t understand it.

Somberly, Kira wondered what it would mean to her people if the Emissary’s wife and child were gone. She suspected some would be thrilled, while many would be devastated. Those who most questioned the rightness of the Emissary’s marriage might be relieved that there was no longer any question, that the Prophets themselves had spoken. Depending on who was responsible, Kasidy’s loss could also be seen as cause for a holy war or sorts, to some of her people, especially those who still didn’t accept the end of the war with Cardassia.

For her, it would be the loss of a friend.

And it would mean she had let down the Emissary.

Her thoughts came back to how she would tell Jake, the Emissary’s son.

“A slip of latinum for your thoughts.”

She turned her head to meet Dax’s gaze. The Trill had moved to stand beside her.

“Worried about Kasidy, if she’s alive,” she admitted frankly. “And what I’d tell Jake if she’s not. And whether I’ve let down Captain Sisko if I don’t find her and bring her home safely.”

“Wow. I think those thoughts are worth more than a slip.” A heartbeat. “But aren’t they a little ... premature? I mean, we don’t know she’s dead.”

Kira found a smile at what had to be forced optimism. “I guess you’re right.”

“And besides,” Dax continued, her voice a little less bubbly, “if you think I’d let you tell Jake something like that alone, you’re very mistaken.”

“I’m the commanding officer, it’s my—“

“I’m been your friend for years. I was Benjamin’s mentor and friend for most of his career. I’ve been Jake’s friend and almost-uncle all his life. Well, me in various incarnations. If we have to, we will tell him together.” Dax took a deep breath, trying to look reassuring. “But I don’t think she’s dead. I don’t think Benjamin would let her be. And if he’s with the Prophets, he’s got some say in it, don’t you think?”

Something tightly wound up inside her eased up just a little. If they hadn’t been on the bridge, Kira thought she would have hugged the other woman. Nodding, she settled for a quick, tight handclasp.

Alden’s voice interrupted. “We’ve reached the edge of the asteroid belt.”

“Trelmanin confirms,” Kuhlman added. “They’re ready to move on our signal.”

“Scanners at maximum gain,” Kaoron reported.

“Take us in, Commander,” Kira instructed with false calm.

“Going in.”

Quark glanced around from the door of his bar, his spirits as low as his coffers were going to be, tonight. Though the Promenade was full, his bar was not.

The station ranjen stood at the entrance to the Bajoran shrine. With slow, measured movements, he continued to strike the large gong. It echoed sonorously through the multi-level space.

Someone brushed by him.

“Hey!” he sputtered in annoyance, as two of his provocatively-clad dabo girls headed toward the shrine. “Where do you think you’re going? You’re on the clock!”

One of the women paused for a second. “It’s for the Emissary’s wife,” she explained briefly, then quickened her pace to catch up with the other woman again.

“Well.... Well, I’m docking your pay!” he called.

Neither looked back.

Quark turned around and scanned his establishment. The place was all but empty. During the Peldor Festival. No Bajorans at all. His waiters were making a deliberate attempt to look busy, moving among the tables as if expecting to find a drunken customer underneath, or busily polishing clean glasses at the bar. M’Pella spun one of the gaming wheels desultorily, but there was no one to tease into playing. Even the Starfleet personnel had left when they found out about the Xhosa, out of respect for the Bajorans and their concern for Kasidy, to take over the station positions of the now-absent Defiant crew, or out of friendship for Captain Yates herself.

Not, he reminded himself, that Kasidy wasn’t a friend of his, too. After all — he couldn’t help glancing up at the holosuite hall — she allowed him the use of her own and Captain Sisko’s baseball holoprograms, which the Bajorans couldn’t seem to get enough of. And she came here on occasion to eat — though not to drink, these days — which always translated into more business. Yes, she was a very useful friend, he thought.

A valuable customer. As rare as latinum.

He ought to do something to show he was concerned. Something that, maybe, his Bajoran customers would remember later, if the worst happened. Something that would show his solidarity with them in this perilous time.

“Lumon!” he barked at the nearest of the waiters.

The unctuous server scurried over. “Uhm, yes, Quark?”

“I’m closing the bar.”

The other Ferengi’s eyes opened so wide Quark thought they were going to disappear into his eyebrow ridges. “You’re ... what?”

“For now. For Captain Yates. Put a sign up, saying we’re closed while the Xhosa is missing. Then you and the others clean up the place. Then you can go.”

“Uh, yes, Quark—“

“Make sure you check out so I know how long you worked. I’m not paying you for a full day’s work when I’m only getting half.”

Lumon visibly deflated. “Yes, Quark....”

“Wait!” Quark had a second thought.

“Yes?” the waiter brightened eagerly.

“Just close the bar and the gambling. They’re not appropriate at a time like this. But we’ll continue to serve food — and we’ll keep the baseball holosuite open. People will still want to eat. And they’ll want to see a game, especially now. In Kasidy’s memory. She’d want it that way,” he finished virtuously. “Make sure our customers know that the holosuites and the food replicators are open.”

Lumon nodded, looking somehow confused, then shuffled off to instruct the others.

Feeling cheered, Quark resumed watching the Promenade.

The bridge of the Xhosa had fallen quiet. Were they safe now? No one could tell. The only light was from a handful of emergency mechanical torches set out on several consoles; weird shadows crept around with the crew’s movements. Life support was still functioning. The scanners were reporting operational, although Sindelar and Vinj both had their doubts about their accuracy. The door was still jammed, meaning no one could get out, or in. They still had no communications, no way to reach anyone else in the ship, no way to find out how much damage might have been done or who might be injured, or worse.

And one of their compartments had been ruptured. Somewhere.

“It’s getting cold,” Pokel murmured.

Cartier put his arm around her in a fatherly fashion, rubbing her shoulder and arm. She shivered a bit, but leaned against him.

Her gaze, however, remained on Kasidy, wordlessly beseeching reassurance.

Kasidy wished she had it to give.

“Do you think it was engineering?” Sindelar pondered aloud.

“No,” Vinj replied firmly, his dark features all but disappearing where he stood, still trying to work at one of the panels. “We’re still getting power readings. Engineering’s up.”

“Engineering could still be operational, but Rosha might be gone,” the small man said softly.

“Pressure loss would have wreaked havoc in engineering. We wouldn’t have power,” Cartier interjected flatly. “Rosha’s fine. Now stop expecting the worst and scaring people.” He glanced significantly at the wide-eyed girl huddled against him.

“I’m not scared,” Pokel interjected firmly. “Captain Kasidy is with us. The Prophets will protect us.”

Kasidy leaned back against her chair and closed her eyes. For some reason, most of them were now sitting on the floor in the shadows. Maybe a fatalistic expectation that, this way, at least they wouldn’t fall down if anything else happened.

The Prophets again. The Prophets would protect them. Because of her. The Emissary’s wife.

If we get out of this, she thought wearily, I’m leaving. I’m not a deity. I’m tired of being treated like I’m something other than a human being. I can’t take this any more.

A single thought crystallized. Leaving. She was leaving.

Something inside protested. Leave her ship? Her crew? Her friends? The home she and Jake had made, out of Benjamin’s dream? How could she leave that behind?

How could she not? How could she ever have thought she could stay?

Feeling exhausted, she tried to contemplate what kind of life she would really have on Bajor. The adoration of her crew, multiplied by half a planet — half a planet that considered her unborn daughter a gift of their deities who belonged to the entire population. Meanwhile, the other half of the planet hated and feared her and considered her to be an enemy of the Prophets who had seduced their Emissary, and her little girl to be some kind of hellspawn.

The child stirred, kicking her way around inside. Kasidy stroked her swollen abdomen. This girl deserved a life, a real life. She deserved a chance to become what she wanted to be.

Kasidy knew she had to leave—

Silence.

Suddenly, all the sounds of the bridge and her people were gone.

Startled, Kasidy opened her eyes—

“The Trelmanin’s picking up an ion trail!” Kuhlman’s voice rang out across the bridge of the Defiant.

“Is it the Xhosa?” Kira demanded, gripping the arms of her chair in eagerness and nerves.

“They can’t tell — I’m routing the signal to Lieutenant Kaoron for comparison.”

“Kaoron?”

The half-Vulcan officer paused for a judicious moment, studying the signal. “Negative,” he reported.

“What kind of ship is it? Maybe they’ve seen—“

He straightened, blinking, then half-turned. “Unknown, Colonel. The ion signature doesn’t match anything I’m familiar with.”

“Send it here too. Let me check. We saw a lot of odd signatures during the war.” Alden glanced at one of the conn monitors, frowning intently.

“Can we tell what course the stranger was traveling?” Kira followed up, now out of her seat and starting to pace.

“It appears to have been traveling through the asteroid belt, elliptical orbit—“

“I recognize that signature,” Alden interrupted.

“Who is it?” Kira demanded.

“I don’t know.”

“You just said—”

“Uh—“ Dax tried to interject, looking alarmed.

“I said I recognized it, Colonel, not that I knew it,” Alden interrupted impatiently. “We saw a signature like that a couple of times during the war — usually near Breen space. Never could track any of them down. One of our engineers postulated they must be cloaked, able to shut down or jam some level of our sensors.”

Kaoron raised an eyebrow. “I am surprised that information is not included in our databanks.”

Alden shrugged and shook his head; he had no explanation.

“The Breen have cloaks. That’s how they were able to reach Earth and attack, without being detected,” Nog contributed, looked concerned.

“Sometimes, we found debris in their path, that turned out to be small or unarmed vessels,” Alden finished ominously.

A chill swept the bridge.

Kira turned back to Kaoron. “Any debris among the asteroids?”

He resumed scanning. “There are several areas of debris within range of our scanners — what appear to be broken-up asteroids, reduced to rubble....”

“Naturally occurring?”

“Negative,” he answered flatly. “There are residual energy signatures that suggest weapons’-fire.”

The crew was silent for a moment.

Then Kira resumed her chair. “Kuhlman, pass along everything we know to the Trelmanin,” she ordered. “Commander, follow the signature.”

Utter silence. Everything was gone. The nothingness was white.

“What...?” Kasidy felt her heartbeat race in fear and anticipation; it was the only sound she could hear. Could it be—?

She felt hands on her shoulders, and caught her breath. Dark strong hands, his hands. She tried to turn, but the hands held her firmly.

“Ben?” She caught his hands with her own, feeling warmth radiate into her shoulders. “Oh, Ben, are you—?”

“Don’t leave me, Kasidy. Don’t leave us.”

“Ben!”

The hands were gone — she could turn — and she found herself facing Kira. Her friend’s eyes were deep with a sadness beyond words.

“Are you leaving us?”

“I....” She swallowed. “You’re one of the Prophets.”

“Yes.”

“And Ben, he was here....”

“Yes. The Sisko is here.”

“Where did he go? I need to see him, to talk to him—“ She turned around in the disorienting milkiness, searching.

“No. This is a decision you must make on your own. He has told you his wish. You must decide if you will honor it, or if you will make your life elsewhere.”

“That’s not fair!”

The image of Kira tilted her head. “Do not your people value your free will? The right to make your own decisions?”

“Yes—“ She shut up. Then, very deliberately, she asked the question that had haunted her since the moment Ben had told her the Prophets were opposed to their marriage. She knew the Prophet standing before her would understand what she meant. “Why?” she challenged.

“Why did the Sarah tell the Sisko not to join with you in ritual?”

“Yes!”

“She told him he must walk his path alone. And he does. He continues toward his destiny.”

That made no sense to her. “But why did you ... why did Sarah tell him not to marry me? Why did she tell him it would bring sorrow?” The baby moved; Kasidy touched her belly. “This is not sorrow — and I would have grieved for him equally if we had been married or not!”

“The child is not sorrow,” the Prophet Kira gravely agreed.

“Then what—“

“She would exist, whether you married or not.”

That sank in slowly. Kasidy didn’t know how to react.

“What ... do you mean?” she finally asked. “Did you ... want me to have this baby? For Ben and I to have a child, but not to be married? Did you make this baby? Is she ... one of you? Like Sarah was? Possessed?”

“She is not one of us. And she is not of our doing. But she is. We know that.”

“Then why—“

The Prophet Kira smiled sadly. “You see the division she causes, that you cause. By being joined to the Sisko, you have stepped into the fire of his destiny. You could have avoided it. But you did not. Now you and the child cannot escape it, whether you remain here or go elsewhere. The Sisko knows, now. He understands. The sorrow comes.”

Kasidy felt her face drain. “The sorrow comes.... What do you mean?”

“The Sarah also told the Sisko, all would be as it should be.”