But how?
As he entered the four-story, stackstone-fronted building that housed his offices, Yevir saw many of the lower-level staff members preparing to leave for the evening. He greeted each of them by name, wishing them all an uplifting temple service. Yevir’s assistant stood up from behind a desk as he rounded the corner toward his office.
“Vedek Yevir. How blessed to see you,” Harana Flin said, and he knew she meant it. Harana indicated a young woman who sat in a corner chair. “She’s been waiting to see you for some time now. I told her I wasn’t sure when you would return this evening, but she insisted on staying.”
“It’s all right, Flin,” Yevir said, using the woman’s familiar name. He placed a hand on her shoulder and smiled gently at her. “I will be happy to see her. Thank you for your diligence. Now you’d best hurry or you’ll miss first bells.”
Harana gathered a wrap around her shoulders and let herself out as Yevir turned toward the waiting woman. She was very pretty, with high cheekbones and delicately oval eyes. Her hair was braided, encircling the top of her head in the helep style he knew was popular among the university crowd in Musilla Province these days. She was dressed in light blue robes that flattered her pale skin, and she held a young child whom she was clearly suckling beneath the robes.
“Hello, child,” Yevir said, smiling. “Won’t you come into my office?” He stepped ahead of her, opening the door. He expected her to be shy, in the manner of most supplicants who came calling. But she walked confidently, her head held high.
He entered the office after her, and as she sat on a chaise nearby, he set his shoulder bag on the desktop. He pulled out several books, placing them on top of a pile of documents that he kept neatly stacked in his work area. Next, he withdrew the small gold-and-amber jevonite figurine that Kasidy Yates, the wife of the Emissary, had given him more than two weeks earlier. He set the translucent statue at the top of the stack before turning his attention back to his visitor.
“You seem familiar, child. Have we met before?”
The young woman stared at him for a moment, though he could glean nothing of her thoughts from her eyes. She smiled slightly as she spoke, expressing neither shyness nor shame. “No, Vedek Yevir, we have not met. At least not officially. But you may know my face from the files that the Vedek Assembly very likely keeps on people like me.”
What an odd thing to say. Yevir’s curiosity was piqued. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“My name is Mika. Cerin Mika. I was once a member of the Pah-wraith cult.”
Yevir nodded, at last recognizing her more fully. “Yes, I remember you now.” Cerin Mika—or simply Mika, as she had told interviewers she preferred to be addressed—had been one of the few dozen cultists who had resided briefly on Empok Nor, during Gul Dukat’s tenure as their leader. Dukat had impregnated her, and after she had given birth to his child, had nearly succeeded in murdering her. If not for the intervention of Kira Nerys, Mika’s child would never have known its mother.
In the year and a half since that time, Mika had become a minor celebrity, as well as a figure of some controversy. The Bajoran people had been quick to forgive the woman, blaming Dukat for victimizing yet another innocent, spiritually minded Bajoran. Despite Dukat’s betrayal—or perhaps because her babe was half Bajoran and half Cardassian—Mika and her husband, Benyan, had become vocal advocates for peace between Bajor and Cardassia. They spoke publicly, and recently had begun lobbying certain ministers on a fairly regular basis.
“What can I do for you?” Yevir asked, though he was already fairly certain he knew what was on her mind.
“I will come straight to the point,” she said, reaching within her robes to detach the child from her breast. “I am the niece of Vedek Solis Tendren.”
Yevir’s brow furrowed as he realized that she had reasons other than a common doctrinal outlook to support Yevir’s chief rival for the kaiship. Vedek Solis had made it clear that he sought Bajor’s top religious leadership position—and that he did so at the behest of a newly formed sect which taught that Ohalu’s heresies were the True Way of the Prophets.
As intrigued as he was suspicious, Yevir said, “I must confess that I’m at something of a loss as to what I can do for you.”
Her smile persisted. “It may well be that I can do something for you, Vedek Yevir. I trust you’re aware of the details of my past association with the Pah-wraith sect. It wasn’t the first time I’d explored alternative religions.”
“And I trust that your experiences with Gul Dukat have taught you the error of your ways.”
She laughed at that, a pleasant, crystalline sound. “I have never been completely…satisfied with the orthodox teachings of Bajor, despite my uncle’s best efforts to put me ‘back on the right path.’ My sojourn with Dukat hasn’t changed that.”
Yevir shook his head slowly. “Forgive me, child. But I can’t help but think that Dukat’s attempt on your life couldn’t have been a clearer sign from the Prophets that it was a mistake for you to stray from Their wisdom. Unless, of course, you no longer believe in it.”
It was Mika’s turn to shake her head. “I have faith, Vedek Yevir. Faith in something beyond me and my life. Faith that there’s something larger out there. But I’ve become less certain than ever that this something has anything to do with the so-called Prophets.”
Mika’s sudden irreverence grated on Yevir, though he’d certainly heard such talk many
