Cathedral Michael Mangels (free ebook reader for pc .TXT) 📖

would have been inclined to dismiss its mystical ramifications out of hand.

Now he wasn’t quite so certain.

Tenmei finally transferred her attention from her console and spoke to the room. “I’m hearing the word ‘cathedral’ bandied about so often here that I’m beginning to think some of you have developed genuine…religious feelings toward this artifact.”

“Would that be such a terrible thing?” Vaughn said, a vaguely paternal smile playing on his lips.

“Not necessarily. Look, I don’t mean to criticize anybody’s private beliefs, but isn’t it just possible that everyone’s subjective experiences inside that thing were just…manifestations of the subconscious, like dreams?”

“I certainly hope so,” Ezri said almost inaudibly. Bashir wanted to ask her what she meant, but the bridge seemed the wrong place to pry into the matter.

“What little we know about the away team’s experiences does bear some resemblance,” Shar said, “to the neurologically created ‘ghosts’ that some people report seeing during so-called near-death experiences. These ‘cathedral experiences,’ so to speak, may merely have been subconscious surrogates for whatever objective process severed each person’s ties to the other alternate quantum dimensions.”

Bashir was surprised at how ambivalent he felt about that. Ezri said nothing, but looked doubtful.

Vaughn resumed staring directly into the infinite, as rendered on the viewer. “Perhaps we’ll never understand the extent of the object’s capabilities. Rather like the riddle of existence itself.”

Hence the need for faith, Bashir thought, mildly surprised to find himself so sanguine about the notion. At least on certain occasions.

Aloud, he said, “There was a time when my inquiries into imponderables like this would have been limited solely to the cold equations of science. But ever since the cathedral brought me face to face with…my self, I have to wonder whether those equations, by themselves, can ever be sufficient again.”

“Maybe there’s more to the universe than that,” Vaughn said, nodding. “More than we can see or measure.”

The entire bridge crew subsided into a thoughtful silence, with the exception of Shar, who was wordlessly keying something into a padd.

Bashir smiled as he watched the science officer work. No mystical experience, it seemed, could ever entirely displace those comforting, cold equations. But it was nice to have more than one thing to believe in.

From his seat at the bridge’s main science station, Shar watched and listened, semidetached from his friends and colleagues as they debated the purpose behind the alien artifact—as though its having a purpose were some immutable, foreordained law of nature.

Why is it that most humans can’t simply accept the universe as the cold, uncaring place that it really is?

Still, he thought he was finally beginning to understand the human religious impulse, at least on a certain visceral, reflexive level. How tempting it must be to believe that the artifact is some sort of divinely created holy object. Based on what the away team had reported so far, it might even conceivably provide a gateway into some parallel universe in which Thriss still lived. A place in which he and his bondmates would all survive, ameliorating Andor’s bleak future by contributing that most precious of all gifts—a child.

A child who will now never come to be.

Eager for the solace of work, Shar reached for a padd, keying in commands with fingers stained indigo with blood not his own.

28

“Everything’s going smoothly,” Ro said under her breath.

“So far,” Kira responded. “Let’s hope we’ve already seen the last of today’s surprises.”

Ro nodded and scanned the crowds once again. The grand meeting hall adjacent to the Promenade had been transformed into a sumptuous gallery of Bajoran art and culture, including facsimiles of beautifully calligraphed musical scores drafted two centuries ago by the Bold-aric Masters, as well as those of the incomparable modern composer Tor Jolan; reproductions of the paintings and tapestries of Vedek Topeka, along with some of the graphic artworks of the late Tora Ziyal; and even a live flute-recorder performance by the renowned Bajoran musician Varani.

All the attendees were dressed in their finest regalia. Treir stood chatting with a middle-level male federation diplomat, who was clearly trying to negotiate something; sipping daintily at an outsize glass of something bubbly, the statuesque Orion woman managed to look beautiful as well as completely in charge of the encounter. With the addition of Taran’atar, who was keeping a low profile in a corner, the room even had its Gamma Quadrant delegate. Ro wondered briefly if Vaughn and the crew of the Defiant had made enough allies during their exploration mission so that future diplomatic events aboard the station would see even more Gamma Quadrant species represented.

As Kira moved to speak with Councillor zh’Thane, Ro saw General Lenaris standing nearby with Cerin Mika, the Ohalavaru woman who had been the de facto leader at last night’s demonstration. Ro stepped over toward them, a gentle smile on her lips. “General. Mika. Are you enjoying the event so far?”

“A little too much pomp for an old warhorse like me, Ro, but I suppose I can stand it for one day,” Lenaris said.

“I’m grateful you and your staff released us in time to attend the festivities,” Mika said.

Ro cocked an eyebrow and said, “I’m sure our decision won’t sit well with certain vedeks. It would probably be best if you steered clear of the most unhappy-looking ones today.” She hesitated a moment, and decided that diplomacy needed to take a backseat to safety. “As we discussed before, I trust there won’t be any…interruptions of today’s ceremonies?”

“Certainly not,” Mika said. “We made our point last night, and we will continue to press the Vedek Assembly in the future. But today is not a day to air religious differences or questions of faith.”

“Glad to hear it,” Ro said, patting Mika on the shoulder. She saw a familiar face grinning at her from across the room. Hiziki Gard. Excusing herself, Ro crossed over to him.

“You look…quite dashing,” Ro said. She meant it. Gard was wearing tight trousers with piping down the sides, and a wrapped shirt with