Star Trek: Deep Space Nine: Ascendance

by David R. George III

  “Aye, sir.”

  “To what end, sir?” Candlewood asked.

  “It’s possible that, if we can go to warp, the shape-shifter might not be able to maintain its position on the hull,” Stinson said.

  “And if it can,” Slaine said, “we could travel to the nearest star.”

  “Maybe we can boil the shape-shifter from our hull,” Stinson said. He moved back to the command chair and sat down again. “Are there any other suggestions?” he asked. “If not, we need to prioritize what we’ve come up with, based on the chances for success.”

  “Sir,” Slaine said, the single word carrying both excitement and surprise. “The shape-shifter has left the hull.”

  “What?” Stinson said. He looked at the main screen, and once more saw the stars. In the center of the viewer, the shape-shifter poured through space like a shimmering, free-flowing river. “What’s its heading?”

  Before Slaine could respond, the shape-shifter altered its form. It spread left and right, up and down, its rounded textures hardening into sharp lines and edges. In just seconds, it twisted itself from an amorphous mass of fluid into a solid shape—a recognizable shape.

  “What the—?” Stinson said. He saw a compact structure on the main viewscreen, with a snub-nosed bow and warp nacelles hugging tight to the main body of the hull. Out in space, drawn in reflective silver, floated the image of Defiant.

  “Sensors are reading a Starfleet vessel,” Slaine said. “Defiant-class.”

  “Not just Defiant-class,” Stinson said. “That’s a copy of the Defiant itself.”

  “Is it attempting to communicate with us?” Viss asked.

  “Sir, that’s not just an empty shell,” Slaine said. “I’m detecting fully functioning systems: impulse engines, warp drive, shields—”

  On the viewscreen, the silver ship began to shimmer. At first, Stinson thought the shape-shifter might be altering its form, but he did not see the faux Defiant changing. Rather, the image of it rippled, as though Stinson saw it through moving water.

  A moment later, the ship was gone.

  “It cloaked,” Slaine said. After first contact with the Jem’Hadar, in an effort to prepare for the obvious threat posed by the Dominion, Starfleet had fitted Defiant—and later, during the war, its successor—with a Romulan cloaking device. Starfleet had negotiated its continued use after the war, with the prohibition that it not be utilized in either the Alpha or Beta Quadrants.

  “Sensors,” Stinson said at once, remembering what Captain Sisko had once told him. “Search for subspace variances.” Cloaked vessels traveling at warp velocities radiated such variances.

  “Scanning,” Slaine said.

  Stinson waited. He also knew what he would have to do if they could locate the shape-shifter. He hadn’t known the capabilities of the entity, but he knew well what Defiant could do. And if the shape-shifter had mimicked the ship well enough to cloak, then could it generate phaser beams and possibly even quantum torpedoes? Stinson didn’t think that Changelings could do such things, but then he hadn’t believed that they could emulate the function of a cloaking device either. Unwilling to risk the lives of the crew to find out, he decided that if they could find the shape-shifter, they would have to fire on it.

  But a complete scan of surrounding space turned up nothing. That might mean that the faux Defiant had not gone to warp and therefore remained in the area, but they couldn’t know for sure. They had lost the shape-shifter.

  * * *

  Jefferson Blackmer peered across the Hub from an unfamiliar perch. If he’d sat down in the first officer’s chair, he certainly would’ve felt out of place. Seated in the captain’s position, though, he almost expected members of his own security team to show up and clap him in irons for impersonating a commanding officer.

  The security chief had not been surprised when Cenn Desca had resigned his commission in the Militia and had decided to leave not only Deep Space 9, but the Bajoran system. In the more than three years that Blackmer had served under Captain Ro, he had come to know the importance that the colonel placed on his religious beliefs. Down on Endalla, and then almost a week later, outside Quark’s, the security chief witnessed firsthand the impact that the Ohalavaru discovery had on Cenn. The exec seemed not just hurt or angry, but shaken.

  On the other hand, Captain Ro’s decision to appoint Blackmer as the starbase’s first officer—even temporarily—had surprised him. As Ro’s second officer for the last few years, Lieutenant Commander Stinson appeared the logical choice to succeed Cenn. When the captain announced the security chief’s ad hoc appointment as exec, she hadn’t offered an explanation, nor had she done so once Stinson had departed aboard Defiant. Afterward, though, she did suggest that Blackmer could use additional command experience. To that end, she assigned him to take the Hub as the acting CO during gamma shift, and to remain available during delta shift. The two met at the beginning of alpha shift to review critical issues, with respect to the starbase and to his performance.

  Back at Starfleet Academy, Blackmer had actually begun his training in the command track. He initially qualified, but during his first year, he did not distinguish himself. He wanted to stick it out, to improve in the areas where he most needed it, but his advisor strongly suggested otherwise. Blackmer didn’t know whether he could have or should have fought to stay as a command trainee, but he accepted reclassification to security. Among his fellow gendarmerie, he graduated the Academy near the top of his class.

  Blackmer’s Starfleet career, two decades long, had proceeded without many twists or turns. He served in perhaps a few more places than most—Deep Space 9 marked his eighth posting—but through all of those transfers, he continued to progress through the ranks—not quickly, but not slowly either. It gratified him when he made chief of security aboard Perseverance, and then when Starfleet accepted his request for transfer to assume the same position on DS9, since he preferred duty on a space station rather than aboard a starship.

  By the time Ro named him as acting first officer two days prior, Blackmer hadn’t thought about command in years. When he first got routed into security at the Academy, he still retained a desire to make the switch back. He initially thought that would happen in his second or third year of studies, and then out in the field once he received his first posting, to Starbase 189, but he didn’t think the idea had crossed his mind since.

  Across the Hub, doors parted and a crewman stepped out of a turbolift. Blackmer recognized him from the starbase’s personnel files, a young Dedderac named Verlon, who had been posted there a few months earlier, when DS9 had first become fully operational. The crewman walked along the perimeter of the Hub, past the communications and dockmaster stations and over to the command chair.

  “Sir, I have the mid-gamma operations status report,” Verlon said, holding out a padd.

  Blackmer took the device and scanned its display, which listed various operational systems throughout the starbase, such as communications, sensors, life support, and power generation. The security chief—and acting first officer—verified the green status of all but one category: under recreation, which had been listed as yellow, one red mark appeared, beside the antigrav envelopes that allowed visitors to soar above Nanietta Bacco Park. “What’s going on with the flying zone in the park?” Blackmer asked.

  “A power-transfer relay failed for the antigrav that covers the space above one of the landing zones,” the Dedderac said. Typical of his species, he had striped, black-and-white skin. “It just happened an hour ago. Lieutenant Thorne thought it wisest to shut the entire system down until the unit could be replaced.” Leslie Thorne, Blackmer knew, worked on Chief O’Brien’s engineering staff. “She estimates a twenty-six-hour turnaround.”

  “All right,” Blackmer said. He tapped at an upper corner of the padd, along its edge, to release the stylus stored there. He could have affixed his signature to the report using the tip of his finger, but he always felt silly doing that—it always reminded him o
f a child in kindergarten painting with his hands. After signing the report on the display, he reinserted the stylus and handed the padd back to Verlon.

  “Thank you, sir,” the young crewman said.

  “Carry on, Mister Verlon,” Blackmer said. “Dismissed.”

  As Verlon headed for the nearest turbolift—just behind Blackmer and to his left—Ensign Zhang spoke up from the communications console. “Commander, we’re receiving a transmission from the Defiant.”

  “Put it on-screen,” Blackmer said. A ring of four curved displays depended from the overhead above the ­situation table at the center of the Hub. Blackmer watched as the image of Wheeler Stinson appeared. “Go ahead, Commander.”

  “Commander Blackmer,” Stinson said, “we have located the shape-shifter and had an encounter with it.” The second officer detailed finding an entity traveling at warp through space, attempting first to communicate with it and then to snare it in a tractor beam. He described how the shape-shifter traveled back along the beam and enveloped Defiant, then replicated both the ship’s form and function, to the point of cloaking. The crew subsequently lost sensor contact with it.

  Blackmer considered how Stinson should proceed. It occurred to him that he could, or perhaps even should, contact the captain to allow her to make the call. But that’s not why she put me in command, even if it is gamma shift, Blackmer thought. To Stinson, he said, “Implement a search grid for the shape-shifter. Treat it as a cloaked vessel unless there’s a reason to think it’s altered its form again. Scan for an echo of the Defiant’s power signature, and also use gravimetric sensors and tachyon beams if necessary.” The latter two methods could be utilized to detect cloaked vessels.

  “What if it’s already somehow slipped past us?” Stinson asked. “It could already be on its way to Bajor again. Shouldn’t the Defiant return to defend the system?”

  “If it’s already back on course for Bajor, you won’t be able to catch up to it,” Blackmer said. “Not if the shape-shifter has taken on the form and capabilities of the Defiant.”

  “But that will leave Bajor undefended.” Blackmer wondered if Captain Ro’s passing Stinson over for first officer, at least in the near term, contributed to Wheeler’s ­arguments—perhaps to demonstrate that he could fulfill the role better than the security chief.

  Blackmer tapped at the console in front of the command chair and quickly accessed a chart of Starfleet vessels. He saw two, New York and Sacagawea, within two days’ travel of Bajor. “There are a pair of starships closer than the Defiant,” he said. “We’ll contact them to provide defense.”

  “How long should we conduct the search?” Stinson asked.

  “Until you’re sure that the shape-shifter is no longer in the area,” Blackmer said. “What about Doctor Girani? Where is she with respect to providing assistance for Odo’s medical care?”

  “She’s been in contact with the scientists at the research facility throughout our journey,” Stinson said. “I haven’t spoken with her since our encounter with the shape-shifter.”

  “Find out how urgent she thinks it is for her to reach the research facility,” Blackmer said. “If she believes it vital, assign a pilot to take her there on one of the Defiant’s shuttlecraft.”

  “Aye, sir,” Stinson said.

  “Is there anything more?” Blackmer asked.

  “No, sir.”

  “Keep us apprised of your progress,” Blackmer said. “Deep Space Nine out.” The security chief looked to the communications console. Ensign Zhang ended the transmission. “Open a channel to the New York,” he told her.

  As he waited for Zhang to raise the Nebula-class starship, Blackmer realized that he was enjoying the reactiveness of command. Security certainly provided such opportunities, but typically in a less cerebral, more physical vein. As Deep Space 9’s security chief, he spent far more time planning ahead and providing visible, but often otherwise unused, support. He didn’t know how long he would get to act as the starbase’s first officer, but he resolved to make the most of it while he did.

  “Commander,” Ensign Zhang said, “I have Captain Wright from the New York for you.”

  “Put him on-screen.”

  * * *

  When the door opened to reveal Altek Dans standing beyond it, a tremulous sensation wiggled in Ro’s belly, even though she had made the choice to visit him in his quarters. It wasn’t a bad feeling, but it wasn’t a good feeling either. Well, Ro thought, maybe it’s a little good.

  “Captain,” Altek said. His face quivered through a rapid range of emotions, from shock to confusion, and then on to trepidation, and finally—thankfully—to delight. “I’m surprised to see you, especially so late.”

  “Not too late, I hope,” Ro said. “I know that you often read late into the night, so I thought you’d still be awake.” More than halfway through gamma shift, she had debated about whether or not to call on Altek—not just because of the hour, but because of what had happened the last time she had come to his quarters. Four nights previously, after attending evening services at the temple with the kai, she had walked with Altek back to his cabin and then gone inside with him to continue talking. Their conversation had ended in a kiss.

  Not just one kiss, Ro thought. They’d spent several minutes locked in a clinch on his sofa, and it easily could have gone past that. She could tell that Altek wanted it to go further, and the moment tempted her as well. More than sex enticed her; though that certainly held its appeal, a night of romance promised even greater fulfillment.

  But Ro had excused herself before the kiss—the kisses—could progress to something more. Her reason—more duties to perform—did not sound better to her for being true. She heard in her parting words an undercurrent of fear, which she did not completely understand. She wondered if Altek heard it, too.

  “No, it’s not too late,” Altek said. “Please come in.” He stepped back to allow her to enter, and the door closed behind her. “What can I do for you, Captain?”

  The question struck Ro as an indictment. Not only had she hastily left Altek’s quarters after they’d kissed, but she’d then stayed away for four days, only contacting him a couple of times by comm to inform him of the political and religious upheaval instigated by the Ohalavaru discovery, and that she had yet to hear from the kai about his request to return to Bajor. Ro understood that Altek had not intended his simple question as an accusation; her own mind had furnished that interpretation because of the guilt she felt for fleeing from him.

  “I suddenly had a taste for something sweet,” the captain said, “and I was wondering if you might consider having a late-night dessert with me.”

  Altek smiled. “I’d like that,” he said. “I’m not sure if Bella’s Confections is open now, but we could go to the Replimat, or to Quark’s.”

  Quark. Ro’s thoughts had turned to the barkeep after her brief dalliance with Altek. For a decade, she and Quark had spent a great deal of time together. Long periods occasionally passed during which they saw little of each other, mostly because one of them—usually Ro—would get busy, but they always seemed to find each other again. Ro liked Quark. More than that, she loved him—but as a friend. A good friend. Yes, they sometimes shared more than friends typically did, but despite its longevity, their relationship never progressed. The two of them had much in common, which had brought them together in the first place. They each provided the other with a strong shoulder to lean on and a sympathetic ear to listen. And if you claim a Ferengi has a sympathetic ear, that’s saying something, Ro thought, and she knew that Quark would see the humor there, too.

  “I don’t really feel like going out,” Ro said. Right or wrong, she did not want to run into Quark while in Altek’s company. “If it’s all right with you, maybe we could just order something from the replicator.”

  “Of course,” Altek said. He took her elbow for a moment to guide her toward the dining table on the far side of the room, and Ro felt something like an electric charge at his touc
h. “By the way, you were right about my reading.” He pointed to the low table in the sitting area, on which lay a padd, lines of Bajoran text visible on its display. “I’m in the middle of a novel.”

  “Anything I’d be familiar with?”

  “Perhaps,” Altek said. “It’s called Meditations on a Crimson Shadow, by Eleta Preloc.” Ro stopped in her tracks. Altek walked past her a few steps before turning back around. “What?” he asked.

  “You’re reading a Cardassian novel?”

  Altek’s right shoulder rose in a half-shrug. “Yes,” he said. “I thought it was considered a masterpiece of modern ­literature.”

  “The Cardassians may think so, but . . . isn’t it about the Union essentially running roughshod over the Alpha Quadrant . . . obliterating the Klingons, destroying the Federation . . . Bajor, utterly defeated and in servitude?”

  “I haven’t finished the book,” Altek said, “so I can’t speak to all of that, but yes, some of the elements you mention are in there. I take it that you haven’t read it.”

  “No,” she said. “Why would I? I spent my childhood under the bootheels of the Cardassians. Why would I want to read about the twisted hope that they might someday subjugate the entire quadrant?”

  “If that were the point of it, I don’t know that you would,” Altek said. “But that’s not how I’ve been reading it. It seems to me a lot less like wish fulfillment and a lot more like a cautionary tale. I get the feeling that the writer was not proposing the dream of Cardassian conquest, but the inevitability of such a dream’s failure. Throughout the novel, at least as far as I’ve read, there is a vein of principled opposition that continues on even as its adherents die.” Altek paused, and Ro saw that he no longer looked at her; rather, his eyes focused on the middle distance as he looked inward. “It’s actually inspiring to read such a subversive message cloaked in the trappings of bellicose patriotism and the glory of an authoritarian state.”

  “I have never heard the book described that way,” Ro said. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of any piece of Cardassian writing described that way.” As she made the assertion, though, some vague memory told her otherwise—that she had years earlier heard not just about subversive elements on Cardassia, working in secret to overthrow the stratocracy, but seditious groups—such as the Oralian Way—­speaking out and acting to end the military’s rule of the Union. “I don’t know. Maybe I have heard that,” she admitted. Ro walked the rest of the way to the dining table and sat down. Altek followed, took a seat, and turned it to face her. “Maybe I have heard that, but maybe I just didn’t want to hear it.”