Star Trek: Deep Space Nine: Ascendance

by David R. George III

  “Why wouldn’t you want to hear it?” Altek asked gently.

  “I think because I didn’t want to have to differentiate among Cardassians,” Ro said. “It was easier just to hate them all.”

  Altek leaned forward and took one of Ro’s hands in his own. “I can’t imagine what it must have been like living under the Occupation,” he said, his voice full of emotion. His touch felt warm—almost hot. “I watched a segment of my society forced into servitude . . . treated not only as inferior, but as something less than people.” When Altek had first come aboard, he had been questioned by Lieutenant Commander Blackmer, and he’d eventually spoken about the enslavement of the Bajora by the Aleira.

  “You fought that,” Ro said. “You fought against your own people.”

  “How could I do anything but fight against it?” Altek asked. “Nothing really separated the Aleira from the Bajora other than our religious beliefs. Some did claim a genetic difference, a physical purity of the Aleira over the Bajora—which was preposterous; we were all Bajorans—but even if that had been true, so what? The Bajora were still people. There can be no justification for slavery—or for mistreating people at all.”

  “Of course not,” Ro agreed.

  “It seems like you’re rebuking yourself for jumping to a conclusion about a novel written by a Cardassian,” Altek said. “And because you used to generalize about all Cardassians. But you also stopped yourself from doing that.”

  “Because I no longer paint all Cardassians with one brush,” Ro said. She thought in particular about Akellen Macet, a gul in the Guard and cousin to the evil Skrain Dukat, but a man who had fought against the Dominion and his own people at the end of the war. When she’d commanded Deep Space 9, Captain Kira had worked on a number of occasions with Macet, and since then, so too had Ro. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t come here to talk about the Occupation or slavery or prejudice, and certainly not to question your choice of reading materials.”

  “It’s all right,” Altek said. “I don’t mind talking about those things. In fact, I like it. Those values—not just tolerance, but acceptance—are just about the most important things to me. They’re worth discussing.”

  “So is chocolate.”

  “Ah, right,” Altek said. He leaned back in his chair, letting go of Ro’s hand as he did so. Her body took keen notice of the loss of that physical connection. “So what can I get you? A jumja stick? Tuwaly pie? Or were you serious about the chocolate? I saw a listing the other day for something called a Ktarian puff that’s supposed to have something like fifteen different types of chocolate in it.”

  Ro thought about what sort of dessert she wanted. She’d been telling Altek the truth when she’d spoken of her desire to have something sweet. “I think . . .” she started, but then she looked into his eyes, which were rich and deep and dark. Almost the color of chocolate, she thought, and the idea pleased her. “I think I want something even sweeter than that,” she finally said, and she leaned forward, parted her lips, and kissed Altek deeply.

  When she pulled back, Ro saw that he had closed his eyes. When he opened them, she said, “Dessert can wait.” She stood up, took him by the hand, and led him into the bedroom.

  * * *

  Doctor Girani Semna stood in the isolation ward, outside the sealed chamber containing Odo—or what had once been Odo; she could not tell from his state whether or not he was alive. She had just arrived at Newton Outpost with Ensign Edward Baiers, who had conveyed her there from Defiant aboard one of the ship’s shuttlecraft, Sagan. When they’d departed three days earlier, the crew had been engaged in a laborious search for the mysterious shape-shifter, which had apparently learned how to cloak itself. The uncertainty of how long a search would take, combined with reports of Odo’s grave condition, had motivated Girani to accept Lieutenant Commander Stinson’s offer to convey her there as quickly as practicable.

  “We did everything you suggested to us, Doctor,” said Mennil Farran. A strikingly tall man, the research biochemist had been assigned with half a dozen other scientists to study the massive shape-shifter that the crew of U.S.S. Nova had discovered on an asteroid. Since the team’s leader, Doctor Norsa, continued to recuperate from the effects of a concussion, Farran filled in for her.

  Girani had been in continual contact with the scientists at Newton Outpost ever since they’d reached her on Bajor with the news of Odo’s injury and his unresponsive condition. During her time on Deep Space 9, the doctor had gotten along well with the Changeling; they appreciated each other’s directness and lack of sentimentality. Regardless of her opinion of Odo, Girani would have agreed to assist in treating him, considering that, other than Doctor Bashir, she had more hands-on medical experience with Changelings than anybody else in the Federation.

  Girani gazed through the observation port into the isolation chamber. “That’s Odo?” she asked, pointing to the lone bio-bed, atop which sat a large transparent container perhaps two-thirds full. Inside, a leaden material barely moved. It looked more solid than liquid.

  “Yes, that’s Odo,” Farran said. “Since we collected his substance and placed him in the isolation chamber, his density has decreased and his mass has increased. We’re not sure whether that’s an indicator of his health improving or failing, but we do see more movement on the exposed surface of his biomimetic material.”

  “What sort of movement?” Girani asked. “Has Odo made any attempt to shape-shift at all?”

  “Not that we can tell,” Farran said. “But we are continuously scanning him, so it’s possible that you can make that determination better than we can.”

  “Yes, I’d like to take a look at those readings,” Girani said. She hoped that she had enough familiarity with Odo and the way he moved, the way he changed his structure and appearance, that she could recognize his will at work, even in failing to successfully shape-shift. “So if you don’t believe he’s tried to alter his form, then what kind of movement are you talking about?”

  “When we initially placed Odo in the isolation chamber,” Farran said, “his biomimetic material had an extremely high viscosity. The flow of air across his exposed surface would not even result in ripples. As you can see—” He pointed through the observation port. “—that has changed. We now see undulations in his surface layer.”

  Girani watched until she saw what Farran had pointed out. She noted that the diagnostic panel above the bio-bed registered almost no activity on any scale, not unusual for a Changeling in his amorphous state. She backed up a step and gazed down at the control panel just below the observation port. “You’ve adjusted the environmental factors and maintained them as I advised,” she said.

  “Yes, we have, Doctor,” Farran said. “The atmospheric composition in the chamber, the temperature, the pressure, and the humidity have all been set as you prescribed. We’ve also modified the intensity and color of the light according to your specifications.”

  Girani nodded slowly. “Odo could alter his form in almost any environment,” she said, “but different sets of conditions impacted the ease with which he did so. Obviously, given the trauma he’s suffered, we should make it as easy as possible for him to shape-shift, and the way you’ve configured the isolation chamber will do that. Depending on what has caused Odo to revert to his amorphous state, it may be that he will be able to heal himself if he’s able to start changing his form again.”

  “Do you mean that he will be able to shape-shift away his injuries?” Farran asked, clearly astounded by the concept.

  “Possibly,” Girani said. “If, for example, only some of his cells have been damaged, he may be able to employ his other cells to re-form them. It will be contingent upon the nature of Odo’s wounds.” Girani peered again through the port. “I’ve never seen Odo take on this color in his unvariegated state.” She could hear the concern in her voice. “His biomimetic material usually shines with a golden hue, tinged with orange. It also shines reflectively.”

  “What about when
he was infected with the morphogenic virus?” Farran asked.

  “I never saw Odo when he had the virus,” Girani said, “but I studied the readings and images that Doctor Bashir made of him at the time. Nothing corresponds to what we’re seeing here.”

  “Our theory is that Odo is either suffering from the physical attack he endured, which caused his biomimetic material to spatter,” Farran said, “or that when Odo linked with the other shape-shifter, he became infected with some sort of pathogen.”

  “From the available evidence, nothing else seems to make sense,” Girani agreed.

  “When the Nova crew found the specimen, they could not determine if it was alive, or even if it ever had been,” Farran said. “We did no better with our analysis once the specimen was brought here. It is obvious now that the shape-shifter was alive, but does the state it was found in suggest that it was suffering from a disease that it then passed on to Odo?”

  “Perhaps,” Girani allowed, “but that would mean that the shape-shifter not only infected Odo with the disease, but spontaneously cured itself. I’m not sure that’s possible, but . . .” Something else occurred to Girani, an event that took place on the original Deep Space 9, at a time when Odo had been rendered an unchanging “solid” by the Founders. She described the incident to Farran, telling him about how a dying, unformed Changeling had integrated itself into Odo’s morphogenic matrix, thereby restoring his shape-shifting abilities. “Perhaps something like that happened here, but in reverse. If the specimen had some sort of condition—not a disease, but a physical handicap—could it somehow have made itself whole by taking something from Odo?” She didn’t expect an answer—even a speculative one—from Farran, and he didn’t provide one.

  “I’ll need to take a look at all of the readings you’ve taken of Odo since he’s been in this condition,” Girani said. She recalled how exposure to massive amounts of tetryon radiation had doomed the unformed Changeling that had given Odo back his shape-shifting abilities. Girani and Doctor Bashir had both worked to save the dying Changeling, but they hadn’t been able to do so. She wondered if that experience could help her, first in diagnosing Odo, and then in determining a treatment that would return him to health.

  “I can get you every reading we’ve taken,” Farran said.

  “I also need to know every test you’ve run on Odo,” Girani said. An idea had begun to form in her mind, but if Odo suffered in any way like the unformed Changeling had, she would have to work fast. She hoped that it was not too late.

  * * *

  As Blackmer spoke with Lieutenant Aleco at the tactical station, he noticed Ensign Zhang look up from the communications console and across the diameter of the Hub at him. “Commander,” she said, “we have an incoming transmission from the Sacagawea.”

  “Put it on-screen, Ensign.”

  On the ring of displays above the situation table, the bridge of Sacagawea replaced the view of local space. The ship’s captain, John Augustine Swaddock, sat in the command chair. “Commander Blackmer,” he said.

  “Captain Swaddock, it’s good to see you.” Three days prior, when the shape-shifter that attacked and then imitated Defiant had cloaked, Blackmer had contacted the two Starfleet vessels nearest to the Bajoran system. The Nebula-class New York could not divert from its time-sensitive mission of mercy to the Cassiterides, a mineral-rich Federation colony in the midst of a botanical plague, but the Niagara-class Sacagawea, on routine patrols in the sector, set course immediately for Bajor. Captain Ro concurred with Blackmer’s plan to request another starship to guard the planet until either the shape-shifter could be located or Defiant returned. “What can I do for you?”

  The lean Swaddock had a long, youthful face, but the gray hair at his temples hinted at more advanced years. “I was hoping you could provide an ETA for the Defiant. Starfleet has a mission for us, but it’s predicated on when we can depart Bajor.”

  “Let me get that information for you, Captain,” Blackmer said. He nodded to Zhang, who muted the transmission. “Ensign Wat, when does Commander Stinson expect the Defiant to reach Deep Space Nine?”

  “Checking, sir.” Denor Wat, a Bolian who served as the operations officer on gamma shift, worked his console. Blackmer knew that the Defiant crew had spent more than half a day searching unsuccessfully for the cloaked shape-shifter. Afterward, with Doctor Girani already on her way to the research facility aboard a shuttlecraft, Captain Ro had ordered the ship back to base. “The Defiant is expected to arrive just under thirteen hours from now.”

  “Thank you,” Blackmer said, and again he nodded at Zhang, who unmuted the transmission. “Captain, the Defiant is due back within thirteen hours. Will you be able to remain in the system until then?”

  “That shouldn’t be a problem,” Swaddock said, “but I think Starfleet will have us departing shortly after that.”

  “I’ll inform Captain Ro.”

  “Thank you, Commander. Sacagawea out.” The display reverted to its view of the space surrounding the starbase. Blackmer saw a number of ships arriving as others headed away from DS9.

  The security chief and acting first officer continued his conversation with Aleco. They had been discussing the new relay that Captain Ro had proposed for deployment in the Gamma Quadrant, and the lieutenant finished filling him in on the particulars. Unlike previous relays, which allowed only for communications from the Gamma Quadrant back to DS9, the new unit would also contain a long-range sensor array. Two and a half years previously, when the Federation and its Khitomer Accords allies had agreed to allow Typhon Pact vessels to transit the wormhole, Starfleet had seeded sensor buoys along mandated travel routes in the Gamma Quadrant. During the two years that the wormhole had been closed, those buoys had disappeared, either stolen or destroyed. With the Bajoran system accessible from the Gamma Quadrant again, Ro wanted to know as early as possible whenever ships headed toward the wormhole.

  When he had concluded his discussion with Aleco, Blackmer returned to the command chair. He tapped at his console to check the current status of various starbase functions. He reviewed the vessels presently docked at Deep Space 9—seventeen freighters, four transports, and two prospectors—as well as the arrival and departure schedules for the rest of gamma shift. He had just begun reading the security report from the Plaza—which typically received most of its entries as the time approached zero hundred—when the red alert klaxon sounded. Blackmer looked up from his console in time to see a three-dimensional holographic image wink into existence above the situation table.

  “Commander,” Aleco said from the tactical console, “the tachyon grid has detected the passage of a cloaked vessel.” Blackmer had previously heard similar alerts called out, but only during drills. During construction of the new DS9, a tachyon grid had been installed around the starbase specifically to prevent cloaked vessels from approaching unobserved. Located at a far enough remove from Deep Space 9, the detectors gave the crew time to react to the arrival of a cloaked starship. “Shields raised automatically,” Aleco said. “Phaser banks are online and energized, quantum torpedoes are loading. Thoron shield generators in standby mode.”

  Blackmer quickly stood up from the command chair, stepped to his left, and descended the stairs down into the Well, the inner deck of the Hub. He studied the holographic display above the sit table. It showed a representation of DS9 at its center, surrounded at a distance by a light-blue, many-sided polygon, the vertices of which marked the positions of tachyon detectors, and the edges, the complex network they defined. A bright-red dot marked the encroaching ship, which flew in the general direction of the starbase. “Bearing: from one-hundred-thirteen degrees, mark forty-one. Projected course: the wormhole. Distance: one-point-seven-five million kilo­meters. Velocity: one-half impulse.”

  “Blackmer to Captain Ro,” said the acting first officer, knowing that the comm system would pick up his command and route it appropriately. “Please report to the Hub immediately.” While the automatic triggering of the re
d alert should already have caused the computer to notify the captain of the emergency situation, Blackmer believed in taking no chances.

  “Hub, I’m on my way,” came Ro’s immediate reply.

  “I need an identification on that ship,” Blackmer said.

  “The detection grid is working to scan through the cloak,” Aleco said. “Picking up characteristics now. Reading dual warp nacelles, configured directly on the main hull. Mass: three hundred fifty thousand metric tons. Length—” Blackmer knew what Aleco would say before he uttered the words. “Commander, it’s the Defiant.”

  “No, it’s not,” Blackmer said. “Ensign Zhang, hailing frequencies.”

  “Hailing frequencies open.”

  “Deep Space Nine to approaching shape-shifter,” Blackmer said. He didn’t know whether or not the entity possessed the capability of receiving transmissions, but he reasoned that if it could emulate such complex functions as cloaking, it could also produce a working copy of Defiant’s communications equipment. “Please decloak and reduce your speed. If you wish to travel through the wormhole, we are amenable to that, but we wish to speak with you first.” The captain had discussed with the crew the possibility that the shape-shifter might be a Changeling, or even a link of Changelings, and therefore might seek to return to the Dominion. Even some other form of shape-shifter might have learned of the Founders and wanted to visit them. Captain Ro had no issue with allowing passage to the Gamma Quadrant in such circumstances, but she also wanted to ensure as best she could that the entity had no inimical designs either on the wormhole or on the Eav’oq.