Ideally, this story should be read immediately after watching "Starship Down", as a direct sequel to the episode's last scene. However, anyone who has seen a good amount of Deep Space Nine's first to third seasons has enough information to walk with their own legs. No spoilers ahead.

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The Prophets Themselves

by Jo�o Paulo Cursino P. Santos
jpcursino(at)yahoo.com
July 2004

Captain Benjamin Sisko sat in the audience of a holographic baseball court. Wearing the cap that Kasidy had given him, eyes shaded from the ray-traced Sun, he stared ahead and he thought.

"How can I get through to her?"

Of course, this was not the first time he found himself drifting into that uncharted territory --- how to express what he felt about being the Emissary. If he was to, anyway. After all, the question remained unanswered: was he allowed to dismantle these people's beliefs? And what if Kira was somehow right? What if he was some sort of an Emissary?

No. There was no way he was going into that again. No conflict there; he was just plain old Benjamin L. Sisko, Starfleet Captain. A father and a widower. A leader in a community, that might be, and a reasonable cook, that was for certain. But certainly not the Emissary.

Yet who was he to say he was not? That was not his option. The people of Bajor would elect to believe in whatever they would, and if they said he was the Emissary, in their own views he was, no matter how much he would decline from it.

This should eliminate the guilt, shouldn't it? That he was to be revealed one day for all that he was. After all, he never cheated anyone. He was sent here to do a job, and that is what he was doing to the best of his abilities. That is exactly what he told Captain Picard on the first day of his arrival on the station. That is what he said, even when he did not believe in the mission himself.

A lot of things had changed since then. After three years, he felt as if he had found a new meaning to his life; that much he would grant the Bajorans. He felt home. The court before him was proof of that. It was his own environment as it had been before, it felt natural, everything fit. No longer lingering on the past, he had even become able to love again, and he woke up to find that he cared for these people, and that he would even if he had not been welcome among them.

Of course, he was more than welcome; they took him as the next thing to a god. On that account, life on the station provided something of a shield: if he were to live on the surface, people might come asking for all sorts of petty favours, neglecting to pursue their goals by their own efforts. What would be his part on that? He could not deny his responsibility. He would be going against the very reasons that had brought him to these little known parts of the Galaxy: to help the Bajorans become a proud people again, able and willing and vigorous in their culture. Which was, by the way, the exact shock at work here.

On top of it, the isolation did not come without a very clear, disturbing flip side: the station had become their Mount Olympus. There he was, secluded, oblivious to their mundane little disputes, ready to listen and, sometimes, to do justice. An ironic stereotype.

But Kira? She should know better. They were colleagues. They were even (to the extent that she would allow him) friends. Surely she would not fall in line in this Emissary dogma?

It would seem that he was tied up. He could argue with some Bajorans, and he could make them see his point. Still they would not budge, they would merely sympathize, almost pitying him and loving him the more. Kind feelings were always appreciated, being as they were at a premium in rough times, but this is not exactly the kind of love he would have plunged into as a choice in life. He had always seen people as very equal in that sense. A relationship with a superior being would not exist without a measure of fear, and that precludes true love, however shaped.

Speaking of which, that brought a curious new tinge to it. Did Kira fear him? The freedom fighter, the warrior, would she harbour any deeper, hidden notions, of this twisted sort of respect?

As the synthetic Sun rose in a computer-rendered sky, the baseball court grew greener. Disparaging from such a homely scenery, Captain Sisko's frown had every reason to knot up a few notches. Now, now, that was being ridiculous. Or was it? Those were deep dark ponds of a conflict the existence of which he would not revel in. Besides, she would never tell. Everyone has their limits. She would only disclose so far, though she had not been known to lie, especially to him. Especially to her Emissary. Kira was candid in every respect, and she was never one to hide her beliefs, her true emotions, or to show any hesitation.

Well... not one to show them. Perhaps she could conceal some?

Certainly not. The woman would just as soon burst out. Laughing, darting, pointing. And she damn well knew how not to hide whatever she felt.

In fact, given the strength of the Bajorans' beliefs, he might as well give in. If Sisko just played along and surrendered to their praise, maybe he was in for his share of fun in this life. Maybe he would start believing he was the Emissary after all.

Ah, but then what. One day he would wake up and realize he was just an older man, and a fool, lying to himself. And that he had not yet done, nor was he willing to. Which was why he could not quite come to terms with all the praying in the first place.

Worse still, one day someone would point it out that he was not the true Emissary, and he would be doomed. His con act would be unmasked at the blink of an eye, and he would lose himself on the breeze, not to mention everything that would have been stripped off along the way. His Starfleet comission. His friends. Major Kira. Dax. Even Jake. That is why he could never allow himself to play Emissary, despite every opinion to the contrary. But no one needed remind him of that.

What if he just opened up? That would be an elegant solution. Cards on the table, he might take his time in this holoafternoon and pour all his contradictions upon his dear friend the Major.

Then again, that would not be fair to her, would it? Instead of one, two persons would be confused. But who was to be so sure? Kira had never been one to hold back from personal revelation. In fact, time and again, she had been the first to acknowledge and embrace what she perceived as true without looking back. After all had been said and done, that was exactly what he prized her the most for. No need to be afraid of shattering her foundations.

It was decided. He would just come and talk her out of her own shell. No moral dilemma could resist their dialogue. Their clear, true-to-the-heart understanding of each other. That is what was more precious about their friendship.

"Sorry, Captain. Am I late?"

"Hmmm?"

A beaming smile of anticipation. Her head was blocking the Sun. No, not quite. She outshone it. Why did she have to be so earnestly full of energy?

Damn.

"Oh. No. Sit down, Major, you're right on time. The game's just about to begin. Now, this is how it works..."

Not wavering from his resolve, the great Captain had decided. He would talk to her at a more appropriate time.

Really. He would.


In early 2004, I had watched all of DS9's first three seasons and then I saw "Starship Down". I was very stimulated to think of this Emissary point and how Sisko should feel about it. The way Kira puts it in the episode, I strongly identified with what thoughts the writers probably assigned to him.

Hence this story. At first, I thought of it as a dialogue between Sisko and Kira. Then I realized Kira had little if anything to say; it was really Sisko's monologue. A further bit of inspiration came from a very short Voyager story I once read in the ASC archives, where we catch a glimpse of Janeway's feelings of abandon and despair when she is alone at night. At the end of the story, our favourite female Captain strolls onto her bridge with psychological shields back up just as any business day. This is my tip of the hat to the inspiring author, whom I duly thank.


This story is filed at the National Library Foundation's Copyright Office under number 320.480, book 586, leaf 140; it is protected by Law no 9.610, of 19 February 1998, and was originally published at http://www.geocities.com/jpcursino/prophets.htm in July 2004. Reproduction is only permitted to those who obtain express, specific permission from me, under my terms. I used to allow reproduction of my material, until I found my article Uma cronologia de Jornada nas Estrelas at the webpage of an organization which I had never had contact with. My text had been corrupted, with the omission of authorship and my name merely listed in the "bibliography". Under my insistence, they have agreed to take my work offline, not without insinuating that I could not prove being the author. Therefore now everything is filed at the proper copyright authority.

Disclaimers where disclaimers apply. Paramount owns it all, but we fans are the soul and the life of it.

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