by David Mack
He arrived at his quarters, and the door sighed open. As he stepped over the threshold, Keiko rushed forward and wrapped him in her loving embrace. There were tears of joy in her eyes as she kissed him.
“We made it,” she said. “All the way to the end.”
He kissed her, then smiled. “No, this is just the beginning.… Marry me.”
PART III
Post Tenebras Lux
January 2379
36
Pax Omega
TRANSCRIPT START
OBSIDIAN ORDER SIGNAL INTERCEPT 4891–19-Orutal
SUBSPACE FREQUENCY: 3.247 KT
SOURCE: UNKNOWN
WOMAN’S VOICE (VOICEPRINT PROFILE 561-Nexot-979183)
Attention, all worlds within range of this signal. The following is a warning from Memory Omega. We serve as the advisers and defenders of the new independent state formed by the Terran Rebellion. For nearly a century we have labored in secret, developing new technologies, and we shall continue to do so. However, our new goal is to guide this burgeoning civilization in a peaceful and logically sustainable direction.
We assure you all that the new political entity we have nurtured into being will not behave aggressively toward you or the worlds over which you reign. It will, however, welcome into its ranks any planets or species that wish to defect from yours—and you are going to permit this. You also will suffer this new government’s need to explore in peace beyond its borders and expand its territory to include new worlds and new civilizations.
Many of your nations have signed treaties with this new government. It is our hope that these pacts will be honored in good faith. Unfortunately, history is our guide, and it teaches us that it can be difficult for nation-states to resist the temptation to act treacherously when doing so is to their advantage. We have found that the only effective means of discouraging such opportunistic behavior by large-scale political actors is to make sure that the cost of such action outweighs any potential benefits.
To that end, we have prepared a demonstration. Your long-range sensor stations will be able to confirm what we are about to show you.
[VID SIGNAL ACTIVATED ON SAME FREQUENCY: Image from high orbit of a Type Nine planet.]
This is the planet Rhenvara V, a Class G world in an unpopulated star system that lies just beyond the Terran Neutral Zone, inside sovereign Terran space. It has no natural resources worth exploiting, and its lack of indigenous life-forms is well documented.
[A bright object streaks toward the planet.]
This is the Genesis Device, a technology we mastered nearly a century ago.
[The object makes impact and detonates. A fiery shock wave expands from the blast point, spreads at hypersonic velocity, and engulfs the entire surface of the planet. The planet’s equatorial region becomes a verdant rain forest.]
Genesis is capable of transforming lifeless worlds like Rhenvara V into lush, Class M worlds capable of supporting humanoid life—not over the course of years or even months, but in a matter of hours. Check your sensor readings of Rhenvara V, and you will discover that what we have told you is true.
Know this: If a Genesis Device is deployed on a world where life-forms already exist, it will destroy such life in favor of its new matrix. And remember that our mastery of wormhole propulsion means we can deploy these devices at any time against any world in the galaxy.
The rest of this galaxy is yours to explore in peace—but do not interfere with the worlds under our protection. This will be your only warning. We strongly recommend you do not test our resolve.
TRANSMISSION TERMINATED
TRANSCRIPT END
ADDENDUM
LONG-RANGE SENSOR REPORT: RHENVARA V
OBSIDIAN ORDER OBSERVATION STATION KELGOT
GUL LEOBEN, COMMANDING OFFICER
As requested on 23 Hamarak 4891, this station conducted a thorough examination of the planet Rhenvara V, located at coordinates 15.02.076.12. Consistent with the data provided by the Signals Intelligence Unit (SIU), the planet, which had been documented as a Type Nine world with no atmosphere or indigenous life-forms, now registers as a Type Five habitable planet with an oxygen-nitrogen atmosphere. With permission from Gul Trokal, we requested that O.S. Osskol conduct an independent survey of the planet. O.S. Osskol has confirmed our readings.
37
Severed Bonds
Just as O’Brien had expected, Worf was on his feet and facing him as he arrived outside the former regent’s cell. Thanks to the mine’s natural deposits of fistrium and some active sensor camouflage installed by the rebellion, the Alliance had not found the underground prison during their scouring of the Badlands for O’Brien and his people after the destruction of Terok Nor. And so Worf had languished here, beneath a filled-in mineshaft, with only a small detachment of guards and a larder full of stolen Alliance military rations to sustain him.
The Klingon folded his hands behind his back. “O’Brien.”
“Worf.” O’Brien took a control device from his jacket pocket, and with the press of a button, unlocked and opened the gate of Worf’s cell.
All at once, Worf tensed, and his thick brows knit together. He let his arms fall loosely at his sides, and he stared at O’Brien with a murderous glare tempered by the obvious suspicion that he was being goaded into a trap. “What is this?”
“The war’s over,” O’Brien said.
Apparently still leery of a ruse, Worf remained still. “I do not believe you. Klag would never surrender. He is too stubborn.”
“Klag’s dead. Duras is the new regent.”
Worf bellowed, “Duras? That petaQ?”
O’Brien nodded once. “Afraid so. He and Damar signed a treaty with the rebellion, giving us control of everything within twenty light-years of Earth.”
Heaving a deep sigh, Worf closed his eyes and bowed his head. Several seconds passed while he let O’Brien’s news sink in. Then he looked up, his expression grave. “What is to be done with me?”
O’Brien reached under his jacket and pulled out Worf’s long-confiscated d’k tahg. He offered the dagger hilt-first to Worf. “You’re free to go.”
Worf reluctantly took the blade and stared at it. He turned it over as he studied it, seized its grip with both hands, and plunged it into his own chest. A thick gurgling rattled deep inside him as he collapsed to his knees, his massive hands suddenly coated in his own fuchsia blood. The light was fading from his eyes as he looked up at O’Brien and weakly rasped, “Thank you.”
“Least I could do,” O’Brien said. He stayed and watched over Worf until the man stopped breathing, and then he walked away. With his final obligations to both the rebellion and the Klingon’s tarnished honor satisfied, he turned his thoughts, at long last, toward the world he had finally earned the right to call home.
Ezri Tigan debarked from the Defiant and crossed the gangway to Erebus Station. This was her first visit to the station since the ship’s last refit, months earlier, and the vast facility’s quiet passageways seemed even emptier than before. That came as no surprise to her; every place had seemed desolate to her since Leeta’s death, and the Defiant had become even more so following O’Brien’s resignation, which had resulted in her being promoted to captain at the tender age of twenty-four.
Who in their right mind could possibly think this was a good idea? she wondered. The daily rigors of starship command, especially in the uncertain postwar era, when no one had any idea what they were supposed to be doing or to whom they were supposed to answer, was taking a terrible toll on the young Trill. Most nights she barely slept. Just that morning, after she’d showered and dressed, she had looked at her reflection in the mirror and been astonished to count her first few gray hairs, just above her left ear.
She stepped off the gangway to find Director Saavik waiting for her, just as the invitation had specified. The Vulcan woman held up her hand, fingers spread in the V-shaped Vulcan salute. “Welcome, Captain. I trust your rendezvous with the Odyssey was free of inciden
t.”
“Yes,” Ezri said. “Your jaunt ship was right on time, as always.”
“Good.” She beckoned Ezri with a subtle nod as she started walking. They strolled for nearly a minute down the massive passageway before Saavik asked, “How are you adapting to your new role as Defiant’s commanding officer?”
Ezri hadn’t been prepared to face such a direct inquiry, and she suddenly became paranoid that members of her crew might have gone over her head. Masking her anxiety with a smile, she said, “I’m doing fine, thank you.”
“Welcome news.” Saavik glanced Ezri’s way. “O’Brien was right about you. He assured me that you were a dynamic individual of great potential.”
Feeling unworthy of the praise, Ezri avoided looking Saavik in the eye. “I do the best I can, Director.” She buried the truth as deeply as she could. Her days were filled with loneliness. Losing her wife had been a shattering blow, but then to also bid farewell to O’Brien, who had been more like a father to her than anyone else she’d ever known, had left her feeling directionless… lost.
Saavik led her through a tall set of doors, which slid apart as they drew near. On the other side was a cavernous, silolike space filled with glossy consoles that ringed a large elevated platform. White-jacketed technicians of several species manned the various consoles, and one of them, a dignified-looking graybeard of a Tellarite, smiled when he saw Saavik. “Good evening, Director.”
“Good evening, Doctor Treg.” Saavik stepped onto the platform and moved to stand near its center. “Omega Prime, please.”
“Right away, Ma’am.”
Ezri hesitated at the circular dais’s edge. “What is this?”
“A subspace transporter. It will send us to Memory Omega’s headquarters.”
Taking half a step back, Ezri said, “I thought this was your headquarters.”
“This is merely a staging ground,” Saavik said. “Come.”
Uncertainty quickened Ezri’s pulse, and a rush of adrenaline made her shake like a leaf on the verge of quitting its branch as she stepped onto the dais.
The director nodded at the technicians. “Energize.” To Ezri she added softly, “Brace yourself. Subspace transport can be jarring.”
Ezri had just enough time to draw a deep breath before the confinement beam crushed it out of her. A hideous flash of white light erased her very essence from existence for a fraction of a moment, then she returned from oblivion into an excruciating spasm as the viselike grip of the transporter beam abated. Free to move, she dropped to one knee and gasped for air. Once she’d regained her bearings, she looked up to find herself in a room identical to the one she’d left. All that seemed to have changed was the technicians manning the consoles.
An Andorian thaan nodded at Saavik. “Welcome back, Director.”
“Thank you, Arrithar,” Saavik said, leaving the platform. She gestured for Ezri to follow her. “Quickly, please. There isn’t much time.”
Spurred by the sudden urgency in Saavik’s tone, Ezri composed herself and hurried off the dais. Saavik led her out of the transporter chamber and down a long passageway that closely resembled the ones on Erebus Station. Then they turned a corner and stepped out into something completely different.
It was a tropical paradise inside a cave. Ezri and Saavik stood on a cliff high above a basin valley packed with a lush rain forest. Beside them, a plume of white water fell hundreds of meters and vanished in a great cloud of mist. Overhead, a golden sun burned at the apex of a cloudless blue sky. Humid air teased Ezri’s nose with floral scents and the rich fragrance of untamed wildlife.
Mastering her surprise, she asked, “Where are we?”
“Inside a large asteroid in the Zeta Serpentis system.”
It took Ezri several seconds to process the implications of Saavik’s answer. “All of this is artificial?”
“Yes. It was created with a more primitive version of the Genesis technology we demonstrated last month for the benefit of our galactic neighbors.” She stepped aboard a parked hovercraft and motioned for Ezri to join her. “Please, Captain.”
Ezri did as Saavik bade her, and she continued to marvel at the self-contained ecosystem during the brief ride from the cliff to a cluster of buildings hidden deep beneath the rain forest’s canopy. As soon as the hovercraft touched down, Saavik led her away from it and inside a building whose cool, antiseptic-smelling interior immediately identified it as an infirmary.
The windows all were shaded, and the beds in the main ward were empty. Though she and Saavik were alone, something about the setting made Ezri whisper as she inquired, “Why did you bring me here?”
“You will see in a moment.”
The two women passed through a pair of doors and a sterilizing field before entering the operating room. A team of blue-smocked medical personnel stood gathered around one table, on which a patient lay covered by a teal blanket. Another bed lay empty beside them.
Saavik announced to the medical team, “She is here.”
The team pivoted to face Ezri and Saavik. As they turned and stepped slightly apart, Ezri saw the face of the man lying on the operating table. He was an elderly Trill, his eyes milky with age, his skin so mottled and brown that she couldn’t tell where his spots ended and his melanomas began. His breath came in labored wheezes, and when he lifted one wrinkled hand, it trembled.
Ezri turned her back on him and grabbed Saavik’s sleeve. “I don’t understand.”
“His name is Curzon,” Saavik said. “For more than a century, he has lived among us as both a prisoner and a living embodiment of history. He also bears within him the last member of a species that once lived in harmony with yours—a symbiont.” Lowering her voice, she added, “He’s dying, Ezri.”
“That’s not my problem.”
“No, it’s not. It’s your chance to become something greater than yourself.” Saavik looked at the old man. “It’s also my way of making amends for my crime against your people.” Ezri caught a flicker of sadness in the Vulcan’s eyes as she continued. “Ninety years ago, in the waning days of the Terran Empire, I was the captain of the Enterprise. Emperor Spock sent me to your homeworld to gather intelligence about the symbionts. When I discovered that they had been infested by a hostile alien parasite, I ordered their extermination for the safety of not just the Empire but the entire galaxy. Emperor Spock carried the measure a step further: He ordered the genocide of every Trill symbiont. All save one.” She gently guided Ezri through a slow turn to face Curzon. “He was an ambassador, one of the Empire’s senior diplomats. Spock spared him by imperial decree, and he has resided since then in Memory Omega’s custody as a living memory of the truth, a fair witness to history. We have extended his life far beyond its likely natural end, but it is time for us to let him go. When that happens, his symbiont will need a new host—and I think it should be you, Ezri.”
The suggestion filled Ezri with horror and revulsion. “Me? Are you crazy? I don’t want that… that… worm inside me, using me like a puppet!”
From his deathbed, Curzon gasped, “It’s not like that.” His feeble, whispered interjection captured Ezri’s attention. He beckoned her, and she felt compelled to answer his summons. She drifted to his bedside and leaned down to listen to him. “It’s a union. A… partnership. You… will still be you. But you’ll be… more.” His sightless eyes stared past her as he flailed weakly for her hand. She clasped his bony fingers to spare him the indignity of pawing at empty air. At her touch, he smiled. “Lifetimes… become yours. Centuries of knowledge.” Mustering what felt to Ezri as if it must be the last of his strength, Curzon squeezed her hand. His palm felt brittle and desiccated, like onion skin. “Some part of me will live on… in the symbiont. Bond with it… and part of you can live on… after you leave this world.”
His hand went slack, and his head rolled away from her as he lost consciousness. The medics swooped in, chattering their jargon and wielding their subtle instruments, and shouldered Ezri out of their way. She
backed away from the table, uncertain what to do. She’d grown up hearing horror stories about the evil parasites, but she’d also heard of benignly “joined” Trill in the alternate universe. That’s a whole different universe, she reminded herself. Curzon had seemed lucid enough—but what if he had been lying? Wasn’t that exactly what a parasite would say if it wanted to possess a new host?
Saavik stopped Ezri’s retreat with a gentle hand against her back. “It’s time. They need to remove the symbiont from Curzon now, and they have only a short time in which to join it to a new host. You need to decide.”
Aware of precious seconds bleeding away as the surgeons cut open Curzon’s abdomen, Ezri asked Saavik, “If I join with it, can I change my mind later?”
“No. Once the bond is made, it cannot be prematurely terminated without killing the host.” One of the surgeons turned and shot a questioning look at Saavik, who gestured for the doctor to be patient. Then she said to Ezri, “Choose.”
“I’ll be someone different after it’s done… won’t I?”
“Yes,” Saavik said. “But you will also never be alone again.”
Those words struck a chord in Ezri’s grieving soul, and she purged herself of fear. “All right. I’m ready.” She walked to the second table and climbed atop it. One of the surgical assistants lifted Ezri’s shirt to expose her belly and applied a quick wipe of antiseptic mixed with a local anesthetic. As her abdomen went numb, she asked, “Aren’t you going to put me under?”
“No,” said the technician. “General anesthesia interferes with the neural bonding process. You need to be conscious when the link is formed.”
