Cathedral by Michael Mangels (ebook reader color screen txt) 📕

“Lead ship’s range is three hundred thousand kilometers,” Bowers said. “Closing fast.”

“Hail them, Mr. Bowers.”

The ships continued their inexorable approach. “One hundred and fifty thousand,” Bowers reported.

Vaughn rose. “Any response?”

“Negative.”

“Keep trying,” Vaughn said. “And ready phasers.”

Bowers: “Sixty thousand and closing.”

“Aren’t you going to raise shields, Captain?” Tenmei said. Vaughn heard the subtle Are you nuts? timbre that colored the phrase.

“Not yet. Be ready to fire on my command, Mr. Bowers. A shot across the lead ship’s bow.”

“Aye, Captain,” Bowers said, showing no sign of apprehension.

Then, to Vaughn’s immense surprise, the aggressor flotilla broke formation, with most of the ships tumbling rapidly away from the Defiant.

“They must have picked up our weapons signature,” Tenmei said. “Maybe we scared them off.”

“I wouldn’t count on that, Ensign,” Vaughn said.

Bowers consulted his console and quickly confirmed Vaughn’s suspicions. “They’ve slipped around and behind the artifact. Now they’re coming around toward our side of it and are taking up new positions between us and the object.”

“Confirmed,” Shar said.

Vaughn fumed silently. Damn! Suckered me. They weren’t planning to attack. They were trying to set up a blockade.

Aloud, Vaughn said, “Hail them again, Shar.”

Shar’s antennae lofted in surprise. “Sir, they are hailing us.”

“Put them on.” And let’s hope the translator that’s good for the goose is also good for the gander.

The viewer image shifted again, this time revealing a dimly lit ship interior. A squat being that reminded Vaughn of nothing so much as a blotchy snowman draped in seaweed regarded him with an inhuman, unknowable expression.

This could only be a member of the species that Shar’s enhanced translator had tentatively identified as Nyazen.

The translator spoke in a voice that evoked something halfway between wind chimes and highland pipes: “Cathedral/anathema never you to be sullied/defiled by seekers-of-curiosity, such as we believe/intuit to be your motive/purpose/goal.”

He doesn’t want us near the artifact. Either because it’s holy, or because it’s dangerous.

Vaughn spread his hands in what he hoped the Nyazen would take as a benign gesture, though he wasn’t at all certain that the creature even had hands as such. “I understand that you don’t wish to let strangers approach this…object. But it has brought harm to members of my crew. We believe that it also holds the key to undoing that harm.”

“Believe you, we cannot. Your vessel, a D’Naali contains/shelters. Blood-foe/ancient-vow-to-destroy D’Naali represent/are/shall ever be. Trust with you not achievable/ advisable, therefore.” The Nyazen abruptly vanished from the screen, replaced by the artifact, slowly tumbling through the yawning interdimensional gulfs.

It took Vaughn only a moment to gather the Nyazen’s meaning. His sensors have picked up Sacagawea’s presence aboard the Defiant.

Bowers spoke quickly, his voice half an octave higher than usual. “Energy readings spiking aboard all thirteen ships’ weapons tubes.”

“They’re opening fire,” Tenmei said.

It was no longer possible to read any ambiguity into the Nyazen fleet’s motives. “Shields up, Mr. Bowers!” Vaughn said. “Lock and load.”

11

“Well, you’re certainly not one of my regular customers,” Vic said, appearing mildly surprised. “What brings you to my establishment this fine afternoon?”

Taran’atar regarded the holographic human simulacrum stonily for a long moment before replying. Because his senses were attuned to energy fluctuations—such as those made by shrouded Jem’Hadar—he remained keenly aware of the twenty or so luminal demihumans who milled about the restaurant and dance floor of Vic Fontaine’s lounge. Only one of these beings, a gray-haired humanoid who sat drinking alone at a small corner table, appeared to have any discernible substance. Taran’atar decided that he would do well to keep an eye on that one.

“I walked,” Taran’atar said, turning his attention back to Vic. The tuxedoed human bared his teeth in what all humans and Vorta seemed to regard as a nonthreatening gesture. Taran’atar had never enjoyed looking at teeth, whether human or Vorta.

“And I thought Frank and Dean were the greatest straight men who ever played Vegas. They’re not gonna be happy to hear about the competition, pallie.”

Taran’atar wasn’t at all certain what to make of the holo-human’s remarks. “Are you saying I’m not welcome in this establishment?”

“I’ll confess to preferring to see you in a tux,” Vic said, indicating his own smart black-and-white ensemble before looking the Jem’Hadar’s dark, featureless coverall up and down. “Or even a sportcoat. On the other hand, at least the getup you’re wearing is black.”

It had been many weeks since Taran’atar had given any thought to his apparel. “Colonel Kira ordered me to wear something other than my Dominion uniform. And it’s the will of the Founder you call Odo that I obey the colonel’s every order.”

Vic’s smile slanted very slightly to the side. “I had a feeling when you walked in here that you’d be the life of the party. So what can I do for you?”

Taran’atar suddenly realized that he wasn’t certain exactly how to verbalize what was on his mind. At length, he said, “Many of the station’s residents have come to value your advice.”

Vic made a self-deprecating gesture with his shoulders. “I only tell them what I see. But it isn’t always what they want to hear.”

Taran’atar nodded. “Perhaps that’s why so many of the humanoids have exhibited so much…faith in you.”

“Whoa there. Faith is a concept I leave to the earring crowd, capisce? I’m only an entertainer.”

“I’ve been told that your intervention prevented Nog’s death.”

Vic’s eyebrows shot up and he seemed to be at an uncharacteristic loss for words, at least for the moment. After a pause he said, “Nog was pretty deep down in the dumps last year after losing his leg. He spent a lot of time here while he was recovering.”

Taran’atar had not forgotten that it was Jem’Hadar who had been responsible for Nog’s injuries. And shortly before his departure for the Gamma Quadrant, Nog had made it abundantly clear that he had not forgotten that fact either.

“I take that to mean that he was emotionally distressed after losing his limb in battle,” Taran’atar said.

Vic nodded. “And how.”

“Quark told me that