Far Beyond the Stars

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  An Original Publication of POCKET BOOKS

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  ISBN: 0-7434-2084-5

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  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Author's Note

  About the Author

  Look for STAR TREK fiction from Pocket Books

  CHAPTER 1

  FROM THIS FAR PERSPECTIVE, the planet Bajor was a misty, radiant opal, beautiful as a star, peaceful as the long-lost memories of the womb. Alone in her shuttle pod, Major Kira soared high above the surface of her home world, aching with the irony of that apparent quietude. Once, Bajor might have known only harmony—but not in Kira's time, nor her parents', nor her grandparents'. War had torn the planet apart for far too many bloody years. But the planet of her birth, a gentle haze of oceans even now receding to a glittering demistar, was still the most beautiful place that Kira could ever dream of.

  The shuttle's engines hummed beneath her. Escape from Bajor's gravity was the only tricky part of the entire journey: she could begin to relax and slip into one of the vexing contemplations that often plagued her at this point. This time, her mind took a particularly troublesome turn: What small shifts in circumstance might have given Bajor a greater chance at peace?

  Bajor was too close to the Cardassian border, a tempting prize, too wealthy by far, whether wealth was measured in material or spiritual values. That last, perhaps, was what had proved her undoing. To have nothing and be unprepared for the predators in the world, was one thing. But to be rich and still unable to defend oneself seemed to motivate not merely greed, but anger.

  Her reflection gleamed faintly in the shuttle's windows. She watched her hands play across the controls. Major Kira was still attractive, and she would be for many years to come. She had dedicated her life to service, a decision it was too late to change, or turn back from. Like too many, she had both the gift and the curse of knowing her place in the world. A gift because it removes uncertainty. A curse because it sometimes eliminates wonder.

  She was not the only one possessing this barbed gift. Another, she knew, understood his place in the world. And although they had experienced difficulties and differences, of all of the people who worked and lived in the place called Deep Space Nine, Benjamin Sisko was perhaps closest to a brother. He knew what it was to find his place in the world. He grasped both the positive and negative aspects of that understanding, the way in which it was both gift and curse.

  Benjamin Sisko. The man to whom she would have to relay her data, information too precious to be trusted to any transmitted message, no matter how secure. Information which would add to his already massive load of stress.

  The shuttle trip between Bajor and DS9 lasts approximately three hours. Originally, DS9 was a Cardassian mining station built in orbit above the planet Bajor during the Cardassian occupation. Constructed in 2351, initially called Terok Nor, DS9 was intended to exploit Bajor's rich uridium deposits. The Cardassians retained control of the station until 2369, when they relinquished their claim on Bajor and retreated from the region. Now administered by the Federation, the station fell under the jurisdiction of the Bajoran government and was subject to its laws.

  During much of the travel time between Bajor and the station, Major Kira allowed herself to fall into a state very close to a trance. If she could just quiet her mind, this portion of the trip could be quite soothing. There were so many incredible sights, so much for her eyes to feast on—even more so since the discovery of the wormhole. The Bajoran wormhole was an invisible bridge between worlds, inhabited by creatures which her people referred to as the Prophets. The Prophets, who had supplied spiritual governance to the Bajorans over the years, now linked the Bajor system to the distant Gamma Quadrant.

  This remarkable place, in which ordinary rules of consciousness were sometimes nullified, was the spot to which Deep Space Nine had been towed. As Kira drew nearer the station, she felt herself shifting from one way of being to another, one mode of operation to another. From contemplative wanderer to first officer.

  Home to about three hundred permanent staff, DS9's immense docking ring was the most remarkable aspect of the structure. When approached from the side its docking pylons resembled nothing so much as a glittering pair of parentheses linked by a central docking ring. With the ease of long practice, she glided her shuttle into the docking port. There was no need for her to rely on one of the upper or lower docking pylons, the large, skeletal-looking arms which extended vertically from the horizontal docking ring.

  The actions that followed she performed on pure autopilot. There was no sense of challenge in this, only an overwhelming concern for the man that she called friend, and the knowledge that she bore not one, but two pieces of evil news. It was more than any man should be forced to bear. It might be … what was the Earth expression? "The straw that broke the camel's back"?

  CHAPTER 2

  BENJAMIN SISKO'S OFFICE was spare and functional, as uncomplicated as he could make it, a place for thought and consideration, not feeling. It had a magnificent view, the majesty of an infinite starscape, occasionally overshadowed by the blossoming of the Bajoran wormhole. There were times when he could appreciate its beauty, and others when he thought only of the beings deep within it, the mysterious Prophets who had shown him so much, had brought him so close to both madness and some total, ineffable understanding. He couldn't help the fact that his emotions toward the wormhole and its residents vacillated. Was it a spiritual font, from which had blossomed a religion of depth and grace? Or was it merely a trade route, bringing resources and sorely needed industry to a beleaguered people? Was it a thing of beauty? An anomaly created by beings beyond human understanding?

  No matter how he chose to consider it, there were
aspects which eluded him. Ultimately, he was left with his own feelings and perceptions, as were all men. Ultimately, he was left with himself. He fought to collect his thoughts, to center his emotions. For months now, negotiations had raged between the Federation and the Bajorans. There were a dozen different volatile issues at stake, and most of them had been resolved. There were too many lives at stake, too much that could go wrong, too many different factions that wanted to pull the votes this way or that.

  Too many lives in the balance. He needed all of his strength focused on one duty, one concern at a time, and unfortunately, that vital attention had been split by the current emergency.

  Benjamin Sisko was a tall, dark man, shaven-headed, with a sparse goatee and mustache that framed a face of unusual intelligence. His ancestors had come from both Africa and Europe, those bloodlines meeting in America, on Earth, centuries before. That was many light-years away in other, simpler times. None of his ancestors had held such responsibility in their hands. Few men or women ever bear that curse, or receive that gift.

  He had slept poorly that night, as he had for the previous week. He could trace his insomnia to a central event: mining negotiations reaching a critical phase. He looked forward to his meeting with Major Kira more than he let himself consciously admit. Others under his command, friends, comrades, and subordinates, had noticed that his nerves were running a little raw. Even his beloved son, Jake, had noticed that their weekly gravball match hadn't been as much fun as usual. Usually, if the boy upped his skill or competitive drive a notch, his father exalted in it. This time, Jake's exceptional play triggered something in Benjamin Sisko just too damned close to anger, a flash of resentment that had to be more fatigue than real jealousy.

  But things were almost at a close now: soon, the ore would start to flow, and with it the exchange of arts and commerce. Things would not just be back to normal—they might well be more stable than at any time since he had taken control of the station, five long years before.

  At the most critical junction, another, more personal blow had struck. But perhaps, just perhaps, Major Kira bore good tidings . . .

  With a barely audible shush, the door to his office opened, and she appeared. Sisko rose from his desk smiling. "Major," he began. "I heard that your shuttle had docked. I can't tell you how happy I am that—," something in her face told him that his celebration was premature.

  She handed him the flat wedge of a Personal Access Display Device. He knew that it would be in an encoded, single-use mode, designed for highly confidential information between high-security personnel. This was not good.

  "Kira?"

  "I don't feel comfortable, sir—I don't want any words or thoughts to be misinterpreted because of my own inability to communicate. Please. Just activate the padd."

  Sisko weighed the device thoughtfully, and then spoke to it. "Captain Benjamin Sisko," he said finally. He pressed his palm against its surface. It glowed briefly, reading a dozen different factors from his body chemistry, voice, and physiognomy. It unlocked.

  One at a time, the row of three red lights along the top of the black wedge winked on. A rectangular screen cleared and the recorded image of a silver-robed Bajoran appeared.

  "Shakaar," Sisko said soberly.

  "Captain Sisko," Shakaar said, seeming to actually respond to his presence. "We have considered the proposals brought before us, and wish to make decisions which are considerate of all sides of this matter, so as to avoid conflict. While most components of the proposed treaty are agreed to, we must, for the time being, consider the fourth codicil unsatisfactory. We hope that you will be able to communicate our wish for fair treatment of all involved in this most delicate matter."

  There it was, the blow that he had feared, and darkly expected. There it was, hidden behind the polite Bajoran diplomatic speech, the oblique phrasing. All was well, save for the "fourth codicil."

  Benjamin Sisko rose from behind his desk, something like a red-tinged cloud of black ink raging behind his eyes. His fingers gripped the padd as if he wanted to crush it.

  Were they mad? Didn't they understand what was at stake here? "How can the First Minister refuse to allow Federation mining operations on Bajor?"

  Damn! It was back to first base now—months of effort and wheedling, months of careful concessions and discreet exchanges, all blown to hell by that damned phrase.

  Kira's voice came to him as if from a distance, the voice of reason in the midst of his storm. "Shakaar didn't make this decision alone," she said reasonably. "The entire Council voted it down."

  "Is that supposed to make me feel better?" he asked bitterly. The Federation had spent resources, time and precious lives protecting the Bajorans, and reciprocity was supposedly the soul of politics. The pressure on him, from the Federation and from the Dominion, was an almost palpable thing. Sometimes he felt as if the air itself were slowly turning into soup. He fought to calm his voice. You're Benjamin Sisko, he said to himself. Be who you are. "Your planet has many, many things which we hold precious, but chief among them is the fact that Bajor is rich in uridium ore. The Federation needs that ore to rebuild its fleet."

  He hoped that he wouldn't need to raise his voice. The threat of war, after so many years of peace, was a very real thing once again. As a young man he had longed for active service. But raising a son changed so many things. What was glorious adventure for a single man was … well, it was a menace to the harmony and safety of a home. Home. That was, after all, what DS9 meant to him now, and he hated to see anything threaten that. The possibility of Bajor closing its doors did just that.

  War looms on the horizon, and if the Federation became desperate enough, they would take what they need. I will be the instrument of that, and all of the time spent developing delicate relationships with your culture will be gone in an instant.

  "The Emissary told Bajor to stay out of the war," Kira said. "They're only doing what you told them to do."

  By invoking the honorific bestowed upon Sisko by the Prophets, Kira was attempting to enlist DS9's commander as Bajor's ally in the negotiation. And that he couldn't allow her to do. "I know," he said, "but now the Emissary is telling them to allow the Federation to move forward with this mining operation."

  Kira could not be so easily dissuaded. Her logic was severe. "No," she said. "This request isn't coming from the Emissary—it's coming from a Starfleet Captain."

  He groaned. It was hair-splitting, expertly accomplished, and he was hoist on his own petard. "And Bajor would rather listen to the Emissary."

  There it was again. What was real? What was right? He could look at himself in the mirror and see so many different Benjamin Siskos. Father, Captain, diplomat and … visionary?

  She might have read his mind. "Can you blame them?" Kira's voice was not unkind. "The Emissary speaks for the Prophets."

  And there, certainly, was truth. The immortal Prophets were timeless beings of staggering power. They lived in, and had created the Bajoran wormhole. They had gifted the Bajorans with the sacred Orbs, which were the basis for all of their religion and much of their culture. When the Prophets chose Benjamin Sisko as the Emissary, it elevated him from a mere Starfleet Captain to a voice of wisdom and experience. But when he spoke in his role as … well, Federation mouthpiece, the Bajorans had no such obligation to listen.

  It was tearing him apart. What was right for the Federation? What was right for the Bajorans?

  And what was right for Benjamin Sisko?

  Sisko sank back into his chair, fingers massaging his temples. That headache, the steady throbbing, was back again. There now seemed no place to hide from it.

  "All I know is that if the Federation can't count on Bajor …" he momentarily lost the thread of his words. He closed his eyes, relieved to be left in darkness. The last thing that he saw before he closed them was the face of Major Kira, filled with concern. Darkness. What to do? Who was he at this moment? Diplomat? Federation officer? Emissary? Father to his son?

  Or ju
st Benjamin Sisko, a man feeling weary and too damned pressured. "Sometimes …" he said, and for the moment he was speaking more to himself than to Kira. "It all seems so … overwhelming. No matter what I do, no matter how many fires I put out, another one erupts somewhere else." He paused. "Tell me, Nerys, when did everything get so grim?" He turned to Major Kira, a scintilla of hope still alive within him. "On the other matter. Is there any word …?"

  She sighed heavily. "I'm sorry to bear ill tidings twice, sir. The Defiant searched the quadrant for almost six hours, but found no sign of survivors."

  "I don't believe this," he finally managed to say. "It just isn't right." He paused, collecting himself. "The Cortez was a fine ship."

  "You knew Captain Swofford a long time," Kira said sympathetically.

  Too long. Benjamin Sisko was not a man who made friends easily. The loss of one felt like a small, personal death. "I introduced him to his wife," he said, more to himself than Kira.

  "Patrolling the Cardassian border is getting more and more hazardous," she said. "You never know when you're going to run into a squadron of Jem'Hadar fighters."

  He shook his head in disgust. "Well. I guess we popped the champagne corks too soon."

  "Sir?"

  "Everyone thought the war was over when we retook the station and pushed the Dominion back into Cardassian space."

  "I never believed that." Kira kept her voice carefully neutral. "And neither did you."

  "A lot of good that did the four hundred people on the Cortez." He could imagine the Cortez too clearly, hulls shredding beneath the terrible energy assault, the silent screams of a crew trapped between fire and vacuum. An infinite moment of mind-freezing pain and horror . . .

  And then peace.

  God help him, at this moment, he envied them.

  Major Kira watched her friend and commander, his knuckles whitening as he ground them against his desk. She felt helpless, wished that she could reach out and comfort him, but knew that the gesture would be improper, and worse than useless. Instead, she excused herself, and left the room.