Star Trek - DS9 - Warped

by Неизвестный

  "What does that stand for?"

  "'Cortical induction,'" replied Dax. "It's not anything new; it was developed shortly after the original holosuite programming modalities were devised. Actually, the relative ease with which these units were spliced into the data stream indicates that CI was originally part of the overall holosuite design, and was removed once the negative effects of CI had been discovered. The CI technology was then suppressed by the Federation authorities; the clearances necessary to do any research into the subject are almost impossible to obtain—if you even knew what to inquire about."

  "But you know about it." Sisko gestured at the disassem­bled components. "You were able to almost immediately recognize this thing for what it was."

  She smiled. "There are advantages to having several centu­ries' worth of memory. There had been some initial distri­bution of holosuite data; I can remember when those files were ordered back and placed under security."

  Her explanation brought a raised eyebrow. "That's not done very often. The Federation scientists must have found something fairly alarming."

  "A powerful technology always evokes precautions, Benja­min. One that's both powerful and uncontrollable . . ." Dax shook her head. "The Federation did the right thing in attempting to suppress CI. The murders we've had aboard the station prove that." Her hand moved slowly above the bench, as though her fingertips could read the message encoded in the carefully separated pieces. "You know how an unmodified holosuite works, Benjamin; essentially, it creates an illusory experience by presenting sensory data to the user's normal percept system, including tactile sensations through by means of low-level tractor beams, or by replicating objects that can actually be touched and held."

  "I'm familiar enough with the process." He had felt in his own hands the fine-grained hide, the rows of tight stitches curving around a spheroid surface, an artifact from the ancient sport of baseball, perfectly re-created by a replicator component within a holosuite.

  "What makes the CI technology so powerful—and so much more dangerous—is that it bypasses the sense organs entirely; it operates by inducing the desired current flow and synaptic discharges in the neurofibers of the user's brain. The resulting experience is much more commanding in the intensity of the illusion created; if undergone often enough, it can begin to override the user's perception of reality itself. This is a threat that's qualitatively different from the essentially benign ef­fects of the regulation, unaltered holosuites. In addition, holosuites normally have built-in safeguards to prevent users from programming any experiences with extremely negative psychological consequences, such as deliberately injuring oneself, sadistic and self-reinforcing acts of violence against others, and the like. Even the holosuites that Quark operates on the Promenade, while admittedly being oriented toward erotic fantasy material, function within those safeguards. These other holosuites, the ones that Odo found have been tampered with—" Dax pointed to the bench. "These cognitive-induction modules essentially remove all such bar­riers. The consequences, as we've seen, can be severe."

  Her voice had been calm and level, the words measured as those in a scientific lecture—which in effect it had been, albeit at a simplified level. Sisko knew that if necessary, Dax could have given him a complete technical breakdown of the CI technology and its malign influences on the humanoid nervous system. Anything other than that reflected her assessment of what he needed to know to begin making the decisions that would insure the station's survival. His own thought processes would have to match Dax's in cold rationality, to sort through this situation's elements and determine the one proper course of action.

  "And are you quite sure," he said, "that there's a definite connection between these CI modules and the outbreak of murders on board DS9? It is possible after all, that these phenomena are merely coincidental. We could wind up wasting valuable time and resources by acting on this theory when the underlying cause might be something entirely different."

  Dax gave an acknowledging nod of her head. "You're quite right to be cautious, Benjamin. My investigation into the matter is still at a preliminary stage; a great deal will be determined by the correlation I find between the CI program­ming and the analysis of what I've been recording from the subject Ahrmant Wyoss. And of course, Odo is following up on a number of other leads."

  "Very well. Keep me apprised—immediately—of any new developments." His gaze moved again across the sparkling and mute pieces laid out on the bench's surface. The coded words that they might spell out were still not legible. He turned away from them and strode toward the laboratory door.

  CHAPTER 5

  She caught him as he headed for Ops deck. Sisko felt his arm snared; his stride was broken for only a moment as Major Kira matched speed with him.

  "Commander—" She had gotten some rest and regained her usual sharp edge, since the last time he had seen her. "I've received some transmissions from our contacts on Bajor, updating the political situation. There've been some develop­ments, just in the time that I've been back here at the station."

  "Oh? And what are they?" It required a mental effort to bring his thoughts around to Bajor and its seemingly endless power struggles. DS9's murder epidemic had absorbed all his mention for the last shift.

  "Unfortunately, it's all in line with what I've previously reported. The Severalty Front has made some significant advances; they've acquired a highly effective spokesman, a General Aur."

  "I seem to have heard the name before." His brow furrowed in concentration. "Who is he?"

  Kira shrugged. "A hero of the Bajoran resistance . . . that's where the military title comes from, at least. Since the Cardassian occupation ended, though, he's been a constant thorn in the side of the provisional government. Certain amount of charisma, but not much of an ideologue. My own assessment would be that he can shift his positions to whatever will bring him the most power. So he can be pretty dangerous."

  "Major, I have yet to meet a Bajoran that I wouldn't consider dangerous." They had arrived at the entrance to Ops; Sisko turned and gave her a mollifying smile. "Yourself included, of course." He rubbed the corner of his brow, as if pushing back the concerns accumulating behind the bone. "Keep me posted; if anything happens with this General Aur, we'll make containing the effects a top priority."

  He walked away from her, knowing full well that there was more that she had wanted to tell him, and more that needed to be taken care of. There was always more.

  Odo was waiting for him in his private office. The door slid shut, and the security chief's gaze followed Sisko as he sat down behind the desk. "How's the investigation going?" "We've made considerable progress," said Odo. "I've been able to extract a record from each of the holosuites that had been tampered with, establishing all of the recent users—"

  "I'll consider that as being off the record, of course." He had never officially disapproved of Odo's skating just the other side of DS9's regulations. Such procedures were necessary and excusable, as long as they were carried out with discretion.

  "Of course." Odo gave a quick nod. "My initial suspicions were borne out: all of the murderers and Ahrmant Wyoss were frequent users of the altered holosuites. The pattern of usage for each individual shows an escalating trend ranging over a period of months, from a few scattered visits separated by intervals of several shifts at the beginning, to several visits per shift lasting for hours at a time immediately preceding the violent episodes. At this time, I think it would be a justifiable assumption that there's a causal connection between the holosuites and what we've experienced on board the station."

  "Looks that way. Let's go with that until we can prove otherwise. Anything else?"

  "I believe Lieutenant Dax is continuing with her analysis of the modules that were found in the holosuites. She uploaded an initial report to me, concerning this so-called CI technology; I should be meeting with her later this shift or next. In the meantime, I have some leads to follow up on how the modules might have been smuggled aboard. If I can
trace that down, we might be able to determine who's behind all this."

  "Fine, Constable." Sisko reached out and switched on the computer panel; the first screenful of what he knew would be a dismayingly long procession came up on the screen. "Do it and get back to me." He looked up a few seconds later, when he realized that Odo was still sitting across the desk from him. "Is there something else?"

  "Yes . . ." An odd hesitancy tinged Odo's voice. "There was something else I wanted to bring to your attention."

  "Does it have to do with our epidemic?"

  "Perhaps not; I can't be sure." Odo slowly shook his head. "It's a personal matter, I think. To do with you."

  "Then I'm afraid I don't have time for it." He had a good lea what it might be; there was a continuous circuit of worry among the station's other officers about what his work pace was doing to his health. "Right now, I don't have a personal life."

  "I believe it's important, Commander."

  He sighed. "Everything's important. That's what I've learned since I took on this post. Sometimes . . . I think I've lost the ability to tell what's important and what's not." Sisko glanced at the computer panel, a brief surge of tiredness blurring the words in his sight. "Whatever it is, I promise you my full attention about it—just as soon as I can. In the meantime, we both have jobs to do."

  "Very well, Commander." Odo rose from the chair. "Perhaps I'll have more facts at my disposal, when we speak again."

  Someone else slipped into the office as Odo left. He was aware of the other's presence without even looking up. "Yes. what is it?" He could hear the impatience in his own words.

  "An explanation, sir, if not exactly an apology . . ."

  His gaze swung up to Dr. Bashir's face. "Is either one necessary?"

  "I just wanted to reiterate, Commander, that the objections I made to the ongoing investigation were . . . well, based on principle."

  "I never doubted that."

  Bashir appeared even more uncomfortable. "And I wanted to assure you there'd be no interference coming from me in that regard."

  "Oh? Have your principles changed, Doctor?"

  "No—" Bashir quickly shook his head. "Of course not. But let's just say that my sense of diplomacy has."

  Sisko leaned back in his chair, regarding the young officer standing on the other side of the desk. "No interference, you say? That is, of course, an improvement. And what if I were to order you to assist Science Officer Dax in her work related to the investigation?"

  Bashir managed a weak smile. "I think my principles could accommodate that as well, sir."

  "Fine. Explanation, or whatever you wish to call it, accepted, Doctor." He swivelled his chair to face the computer panel. "Those are your orders, then. I imagine Dax might welcome the help."

  He heard the door slide open, then shut again. The office's silence, now that he was alone, was almost soothing to him.

  There were things he needed to tell the commander—things about the altered holosuites, and what he had found there—but they would have to wait. Other jobs had to be done first.

  Odo leaned across the table. "Are you ready to talk to me now?"

  Across from him, a thick-necked freight handler sat with a sullen expression, arms folded across sweat-darkened cover­alls. The man's jowls bristled with coarse stubble. "I got nothin' to talk to you about."

  Through the windows of the unused manifest office that Odo had taken over, he could watch the ponderous activities on the main pylon's cargo ramp. Cantilevered gantries swung over the bay of a Proximian freighter, the articulated crane arms lifting out the battered transport containers, each dwarf­ing the small humanoid figures below. From farther in the dock's recesses, sparks from plasma torches sizzled through the flooring's open grates, as meter-wide chain links were cut apart. Odo turned his gaze away from the familiar sights, and back to the individual he had collared for questioning.

  "Let's not play these games with each other. You have information I require, and eventually you will tell it to me. Why waste your time and mine by pretending to be obtuse?"

  The freight handler had eyes that looked like razor nicks drawn in unbaked dough. "Haven't a clue, what you're goin' at me for."

  Odo had brought a small drawstring bag with him. He reached down beside him and set the bag on the table. From inside it he took the empty black casing for the CI module that he and Chief of Operations O'Brien had pulled from the holosuite. "You know what this is, don't you?"

  The other's eyes opened wide enough that watery blue pupils could be discerned. A few seconds ticked by before he managed to shake his head. "Never saw it before in my life."

  The little hesitation told Odo that he had hit the target with his first try. If he hadn't got the response he wanted here, he had a short list of other miscreants to move on to.

  "I don't appreciate being lied to, either." Odo set a fingertip on the gleaming black surface. "Given the record you have in my files, I might have hoped that you would have learned the value of honesty by now."

  A new layer of sweat seeped into the folds of the man's neck. "Hey . . . I haven't done anything like that in a long time. I'm clean—"

  "I'm the one who makes that determination." He pushed the casing a few centimeters closer to the freight handler, then drew it back, like a chess move he was considering. "Now, it would certainly be . . . unethical to plant items in an individual's file. But what I've found useful in the past is to not remove quite everything from a particular individual's file—an individual such as yourself—but to leave a few . . . interesting items in there. Little improprieties, shall we say? Simple matters, of just stepping over the line of DS9's regulations now and then—incidents that someone might not even be aware that I know about." Odo smiled. "It's remark­able how well such information can insure an individual's cooperation when needed."

  The other's eyes narrowed again. "You're lying."

  "Am I? Perhaps we should go down to the security office and find out. But I promise you—" Odo leaned across the table, his voice dropping a notch. "If I'm not lying, then you'll leave the security office in wrist restraints. And your next stop will be a Federation criminal court."

  "All right, all right." The freight handler's face now looked as if it had been boiled in sweat. "Look, I don't even know what that thing is—and I don't wanna know, either. I didn't even like doing a job for that guy. Gave me the creeps."

  "But you apparently didn't mind getting paid by that person. Because you did the job, after all. Though I'm still wondering how you managed to get these devices aboard the station. I've been keeping a close watch on what comes in from these loading docks."

  An expression of smug self-satisfaction lifted a corner of the freight handler's mouth. "There's ways."

  "If I had the time," said Odo, his voice level, "we'd talk about that a little more. But right now, all I require is a name. Who paid you to smuggle these into the station?"

  "I dunno . . ." Smugness changed to fear. "It ain't worth it to me to squawk."

  "Perhaps you should reconsider whether you're more afraid of this other party than you are of me. Whoever he is, he's not around, and there's no need for him to find out whatever you might tell me. Whereas I'm sitting right in front of you, and I can guarantee you some unpleasant consequences if you maintain your silence." Odo looked at his own hand as he raised and held it above the empty module casing. "All I need is a name."

  Small yellowed teeth bit into the freight handler's lower lip. Then two syllables blurted out. "McHogue."

  Odo drew a blank; he had no recollection of ever having heard the name before. But he carefully maintained his facade, to keep the other from realizing.

  "I see. . . ." He nodded slowly. "McHogue, is it?" He picked up the casing and deposited it back in the drawstring "Why don't you run along now and go about your business? Just as if you hadn't had this conversation with me. Just be sure to stay where I can find you."

  With a look of relief, the freight handler scuttled out of
the manifest office.

  Odo sat still for a few moments longer, both to give the freight handler time to disappear, and to draw his own ruminations together.

  A name unknown to him . . . that made it even more interesting. And, as was always the case with unknown elements, perhaps more dangerous.

  He pushed the chair back from the table and stood up. Once outside the manifest office, he headed for the nearest turbolift.

  The voice spoke inside his head. He had wanted to hear for himself; now he regretted that decision.

  . . . it hurts does it but that's good it hurts and it bleeds I hurt and bleed good that's good. Red on blade—don't—it's too bright redbright hurtgood—I won't I promise I'm sorry—I'm sorry—red is here red and bright and hurt—I'm sorry bright my hand red and bright and you hurt—red and dark . . .

  Chief Medical Officer Bashir pulled the headphones from his ears and handed the apparatus back to Jadzia Dax. "Well. That was . . . interesting. To say the least." He shook his head, as though the voice—murmuring, growling, even crying out beneath the weight of the drug—had left some tangible residue inside.

  "I told you," said Dax. She stowed the rarely used head­phones in one of the laboratory's equipment drawers. From the bench beside her, she picked up her data padd. "It's all been transcribed." She smiled. "You would have been much better off reading it instead."

  She was right so often—in the calmly stated fashion all Trills had—that he had long ago ceased feeling any sparks resentment on such occasions. Bashir took the data padd as she held it out to him. On its screen, the outpouring of words that he had just listened to now scrolled upward, line by line. Even in that reduced form, they were disturbing.

  "How much of this do you have?" He tapped his finger against the data padd. "In terms of actual time, that is."

  "Six point four hours." Answers like that always came from Dax with mathematical precision. "From my monitoring of the subject's vital indicators, I determined that some fatigue factors were beginning to be apparent. I thought it best to discontinue the drug flow and let him get some rest."