Tarsem Johal slowly turned his combadge over in his right hand, letting the light from the Corotican sun catch it as he repeated the gesture. The sacrifices his crew had undergone since the Dominion War began—Moseley on the Ogun, for example—had largely been unrelated to their work here on Coroticus. They were scientists, archaeologists and historians, and like everyone in the Federation they’d become accustomed to pursuing their research in peace, undeterred by an angry universe. Well, barring the occasional discovery of a primitive supercomputer or the sudden appearance of an angry and omnipotent godling.

Where had he heard that before? Johal smiled softly and glanced down at the shining combadge again. Saed Squire, imparting his wisdom to the unwary scientists under his protection. He seemed to know every obscure story of Federation archaeology gone awry, and have at least three plans prepared to deal with each and every eventuality. Just as he’d had a plan for protecting Coroticus as best he could while ensuring his crew escaped safely.

Johal hadn’t realized, until Corsi and her team caught the renegade Vorta, just how much he’d been dreading the possibility that the madman was Squire. To know that the man’s last actions were uncomplicated by a subsequent period of murder and insanity meant that this small story had a decent ending; it was part of a much larger story of sacrifice and despair, and eventual triumph, but Squire had gone out as he’d have wanted.

The commander had briefly considered returning to active duty, delaying his retirement to finish the job here on Coroticus and replace the memories of those last frantic, tragic moments with something better. He looked back at the S.C.E. crew, shaking hands with the personnel who’d be left behind to finish the rebuilding of the observation post.

Seeing a Starfleet crew giving their all in the service of science rather than war, knowing that every effort had been made to correct the damage done to Coroticus not because they had to or because it was their fault, but because it was a sacred duty…Tarsem Johal knew that those better memories had already been made.

He was looking forward to fresh strawberries.

Dyrvelkada rubbed his chin thoughtfully, glancing up at the sky with both wonder and fear. “A war in heaven?”

Walking beside him in the funeral grounds, Carol nodded. Jarolleka, recovering from his injuries, walked at a discreet distance behind the Sibling and his female companion. “Heaven has been torn by the strife of gods. Ushpallar came to you to protect you, to protect all who walk and think upon the green world, but now he has returned to defend his own kind.”

The priest looked back over his shoulder at Jarolleka. “He Who Blesses and Condemns told us that he had destroyed Ajjem-kuyr for its disbelief. Now you are telling me that this was not true. Can a god lie?”

“You heard the rumors of shape-shifters?” The Sibling nodded. “These are the enemies of the gods, as you well know. They have been active among you. Sometimes, Ushpallar was your friend. Sometimes, he was your foe.” Well, it had a certain kind of truth to it, thought Carol with a grimace.

“Our legends knew the shape-shifters of old, the Henjiqi who hunted our kind before we knew language or tools.” Again, he glanced at Jarolleka. “Please, my son, walk with us. If you believe what Carolabrama says is true, we have no reason to be enemies.”

“I’m not your son,” said Jarolleka with the faintest of snarls, but at a warning glance from Carol, he consented to walk beside the priest.

“Far from enmity,” Carol ventured, “your causes are more alike than you know. You both seek truth, each in your own way. The Henjiqi shape-shifters knew that Ajjem-kuyr could discover the truth through observation of the stars. And so they decided that Ajjem-kuyr would be destroyed.”

Jarolleka did not meet her gaze. Although they had not spoken of the Vorta or the events at the Jem’Hadar base, Carol knew that the Corotican was deeply troubled by what he had seen and felt. He seemed even more uncomfortable with Carol’s explanation of their recent history, but with no greater explanation of his own, he seemed willing to nurse his doubts privately.

Dyrvelkada was less willing to gloss over the inconsistencies. His demeanor was troubled, and he paused to glance again at the blue Corotican skies. “A war in heaven.” He looked back at Carol. “And how is it that your people know this?”

When Carol had come up with her plan for the containment of the cultural contamination, she had desperately tried to find a satisfactory answer to that question, which she knew would be asked. Now that the question had come, Carol surprised herself by having a sudden answer to hand, as though it had been lurking in her mind for months. She looked directly into Dyrvelkada’s eyes. “We know because the dark gods came to us, and tried to rule us as Ushpallar ruled you.”

The Sibling gazed at her thoughtfully for a long moment, before nodding once, and turning away to return to the safety of Baldakor’s temple. Carol knew, somehow, that her story was about to enter the region’s spiritual lore.

“That was the first thing you said to him that I believed,” said Jarolleka softly.

“Why that?”

He smiled faintly. “Because you said it with a sadness that cannot be false.” He came forward to embrace her, and she returned the hug. “I have much to do. I think that Dyrvelkada will support my application to rebuild the Academy, and help to raise the necessary funds. Your tale has seen to that. It is as though a balance needs to be restored.”

Carol nodded. “It seems that way to me, yes.”

Jarolleka shook his head ruefully and gave a hesitant grin. “It will be like starting over from the beginning, making the people see what we have to offer. We’ll have to go through the same persecutions, the same censorships. But it will be worth it.”

“Where will you seek to rebuild?”

This time, his smile was real. “In the field where I saw Ushpallar brought down by a mortal with a strange manner of speaking. It is time I began.” With a nod, he turned and followed Dyrvelkada’s path back to Baldakor.

She heard faint footsteps approaching from behind her. Was everyone on this planet addicted to sneaking up on her? She turned to see T’Mandra, who paused long enough to tell her that the da Vinci was to arrive within twenty minutes.

“Thank you, T’Mandra.” The Vulcan woman nodded curtly and marched off to find other errant personnel.

Carol smiled. She had indeed restored the balance between tradition and innovation on Coroticus, but she didn’t think anyone could blame her if she was pleased that innovation might have received just a little extra help on the way.