Star Trek: Deep Space Nine: Ascendance

by David R. George III

  “We know only some of what you ask,” Taran’atar said. “The isolytic subspace weapon, the biomimetic yield placed inside it, learning of our new nature and how to alter our form from Odo. The rest is the will of the True.”

  “The True?” Ro still had difficulty believing that Taran’atar wanted to replace the Founders with another set of gods.

  “The True,” Taran’atar said. “The Prophets. The Siblings.”

  It surprised Ro to hear the Jem’Hadar use the Eav’oq name for the inhabitants of the wormhole. He could have learned that during his time on the original Deep Space 9, or he could have gotten it from the scans of Defiant and DS9’s memory banks. And the Ascendants probably knew, Ro realized.

  “Have you spoken with the . . . the Prophets?” Ro asked, opting for her people’s own name for the denizens of the wormhole.

  “No,” Taran’atar said. “But we feel their presence, and their will is clear to us. Or, at least, as clear as is possible.”

  “And this is what you want?” Ro asked, genuinely concerned for her friend, no matter his form.

  “Yes,” Taran’atar said. “And it is what the Ascendants want.”

  “Very well,” Ro said. “Will I see you again? Will anybody?”

  “You speak of the future,” Taran’atar said. “That is no longer a distinct concept to us, at least not in the way you mean. The future is the present, the present is the past, the past is yet to be, and all of it has always been.”

  “That makes no sense to me,” Ro said. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Nor need you,” Taran’atar said. “We are here. We have been here. We will be here. And if the True . . . if the Prophets . . . will it, then others may come here, too. But . . .”

  “But?” Ro asked when the Jem’Hadar did not finish his statement.

  “I do not know,” Taran’atar said. “I believe that we are here for a purpose, but I do not expect that we will see many others.”

  Ro nodded, though she had trouble parsing Taran’atar’s meaning. It definitely put her in mind of the way in which Captain Sisko—the Emissary—portrayed the Prophets, as beings who existed nonlinearly in time. As implausible as it all seemed, it nevertheless sounded right to Ro. More and more, she felt compelled to reconsider her long-held beliefs that the Prophets were members of an advanced alien species, but not gods. What more proof of divinity do I need?

  The captain asked Taran’atar, “Will I be able to leave here?” Until that moment, the possibility that she would be trapped there had not occurred to her.

  “Yes,” Taran’atar said. “But it is likely that you will be unable to return.”

  Ro sighed. She did not wish to say good-bye to Taran’atar again, but at least she would not have to mourn him. “I wish you a fulfilling existence,” she told him.

  “I have a new purpose,” Taran’atar said. “I am fulfilled.”

  Ro didn’t know how much the Jem’Hadar’s “new” purpose differed from his old: to serve his gods. But my opinion doesn’t matter, she told herself. As long as he’s happy—or as close to happy as a Jem’Hadar can get.

  “I wish you your own fulfillment, Ro Laren.”

  “Thank you,” the captain said. “I have my purpose, and it does fulfill me.” Some days when she thought about the satisfaction that command brought her, she could not believe how far she had come from a childhood best left in the past. “Good-bye.”

  Taran’atar bowed his head. Ro turned and walked back to the runabout. Once aboard, she turned to the open hatch as she reached for its controls. The beautiful setting still lay before her, but Taran’atar had gone. “Good-bye,” she said again. Then she closed the hatch and lifted off, on her way back to Deep Space 9.

  Epilogue

  Return

  January 2386

  Doctor Girani Semna walked into the isolation ward as she studied Odo’s latest readings on a padd. She had been at Newton Outpost for five weeks. While she found the work rewarding, she also missed Aroya back on Bajor. Girani hadn’t been permitted to contact her directly from the facility, but only to send her brief messages channeled through Deep Space 9. The two had been seeing each other for nearly a year, and their relationship had grown serious. Girani hated to be away for so long.

  Even so, she believed that her efforts had been worth it, and she felt sure that Aroya would have thought so, too. Girani had worked nonstop since arriving, regularly putting in twelve- to sixteen-hour days. The last few weeks had not been quite as hectic as the first few, since Doctor Norsa, the facility’s chief of staff, had returned to her duties after recovering from concussion-related symptoms. Though not as well-versed in Changeling physiology as Girani, Norsa offered significant contributions to Odo’s care.

  Girani’s notion that the shape-shifter that had injured Odo might have taken something from him had initially not panned out. A careful reexamination of all his biological readings revealed nothing that the Newton Outpost staff had overlooked. Scans for tetryon and other forms of radiation likewise turned up negative.

  The day after Girani had arrived at the facility, she’d received a message from the chief medical officer on Deep Space 9. Doctor Boudreaux informed her that the biomimetic substance of a shape-shifter had been caught in the isolytic subspace detonation that had taken place over Bajor eight years prior. According to Boudreaux, that explosion resulted in a Jem’Hadar soldier and a number of Ascendants assimilating the morphogenic matrix of that shape-shifter and forming an unprecedented link. It had been that newly amalgamated life-form that had been brought to Newton Outpost, and with which Odo had joined.

  Girani had spent considerable time after that searching for some trace of biological material corresponding to the Jem’Hadar or the Ascendants. Starfleet had a good deal of information about the former, but very little about the latter. Just a single Ascendant had ever undergone medical examination, and only rudimentary data had been collected. When the Jem’Hadar line of inquiry failed to produce any results, Girani contemplated contacting her colleagues on Bajor and having them request that Raiq consent to in-depth testing.

  Before she had done that, though, she’d thought about something else. So far as she knew, nobody had ever survived within the immediate vicinity of an isolytic subspace detonation. She wondered what impact that could have on a living being, and so Girani enlisted the aid of some of the scientists at Newton Outpost to examine Odo from that perspective. They detected nothing biologically wrong with him—their tests had not been designed to do so—but they did identify a subspace variance within many of his cells. Though nobody could know for sure, it seemed reasonable to assume that Odo’s contact with the Jem’Hadar-Ascendant link had effected those changes in him.

  Over the next few weeks, Girani had worked with the scientists to realign the subspace signature of Odo’s impacted cells. It was a painstaking, round-the-clock process. Before undergoing the treatment, Odo had begun physically deteriorating further, his biomimetic material growing darker and less flexible by the hour. Once the subspace therapy began, his condition plateaued.

  Girani had hoped that once the treatment had been completed, Odo would start to convalesce. That hadn’t happened. He didn’t get worse, but neither did he get better.

  Girani had then reviewed all the records of Odo’s care during the time he’d served on DS9, which she had ordered from Starfleet Medical before she’d left Bajor. She performed a statistical analysis on all of the treatments he’d received, however minor, and determined several adjustments she could make to his environment in the isolation ward. She switched out the cylindrical glass container in which he had been placed for one she designed and replicated herself. The new vessel had a cubic shape and a softer interior coating, with intricate patterns etched into its base and sides. She adjusted the lighting and temperature centered upon Odo’s compromised state.

  Nothing had worked. Desperate, Girani requested Norsa’s permission to enter Odo’s isolation chamber. The chief of staff i
nitially denied the request, citing Odo’s own determination to link with the specimen that had ultimately put him in critical condition. Girani argued her case, showing Norsa the records of an incident where a “solid” had, through personal attention and hands-on care, helped improve the medical condition of a shape-shifter. Girani hadn’t bothered to mention that the “solid” had been Odo himself, at a time when the Founders had stripped him of his ability to alter his form, and that the unformed Changeling had eventually perished from tetryon poisoning. With no other prospects for Odo’s recovery, Norsa had relented.

  Using Odo’s own notes from his care for the unformed Changeling, as well as Doctor Mora Pol’s more comprehensive records from his observations at the time, Girani had begun to care for Odo directly, inside his isolation chamber. Since Odo’s cells had been repaired of their subspace variance, she believed that he should be able to change his form, but he showed no indications of even attempting to do so. Girani reasoned that if the Founders could physically divest a shape-shifter of its transformative ability, perhaps severe trauma could result in a comparative mental or psychological condition. She just hoped that his memory and cognitive function had not been impacted.

  Girani had used antigravs to manipulate the container holding Odo. She moved him around, in a way that she viewed as similar to helping exercise a humanoid patient’s impaired motor control and atrophied muscles. Girani also spoke to Odo as she proceeded.

  Eventually, Odo had shown the first signs of moving on his own. He did little more than shift the top of his mass, causing a motion that looked like a wave in a fish tank. A day after that, Odo copied the designs incised in his container. Each day brought improvement, not only in his shape-shifting abilities, but also in his appearance. The gray shading suffusing his substance faded, replaced by his natural orange-gold tones.

  Girani looked up from her padd and through the observation port in the isolation ward. Odo’s container was empty. Girani dropped the padd and pressed her face against the port, peering around in search of her patient. She saw a patch of color near the inner corner of the chamber, but she could not make out any detail.

  Fighting the urge to storm inside, Girani worked the bio-sensors on the panel below the port. They registered Odo’s biomimetic substance as alive and showing vital signs that registered on the low end of healthy for a Changeling, but better than they had since he’d been attacked.

  Girani strode to the chamber door and worked the control panel there to open it. She stepped inside, then took the time to close the door behind her. Once she had, she looked down to the inner corner where she had seen a patch of color.

  Odo lay there—not in his amorphous, unformed state, and not even as some geometric figure or pattern. He had resumed the roughly Bajoran shape in which Girani had seen him on DS9. The simulated clothing appeared different to her, but then, Odo had not served in the Militia for a long time. He lay on the deck in the corner, his back propped up against the bulkhead, his eyes closed.

  “Odo.” She spoke softly, striving not to startle him.

  “Doctor Girani,” he said without opening his eyes. Perhaps he had recognized her voice, or even her footsteps, but she thought it more likely that Odo had been perceiving her for days or weeks, even without taking on his humanoid form. “I’m . . . surprised to see you.”

  Girani approached him and squatted down beside him. “I’ve been here for a while,” she said.

  “I know,” Odo told her. “I meant that I didn’t expect you here, at Newton Outpost.”

  It delighted Girani to hear that Odo knew her, and that he knew where he was. It suggested that his memory had survived his ordeal. “After you were hurt, the acting chief of staff contacted me directly to request my assistance with your care. I came immediately.”

  Odo nodded. His movements seemed sluggish. Girani hoped she could attribute that to fatigue. “Thank you,” Odo said.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “As though a massive shape-shifter shocked my system and splattered me against a bulkhead,” Odo said.

  “You remember what happened,” Girani said, more state­­ment than question.

  “Yes,” Odo said. “I lost consciousness sometime soon after that. The next thing I remember is being maneuvered around in a container and you talking to me.” He looked into her eyes with a steady gaze. “What you did helped,” he said. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, Odo,” Girani said. “How are you feeling? Have you completely regained your biomimetic abilities? Do you have any injuries?”

  “I’m fatigued,” Odo said. “It took a lot of energy to take on my humanoid form. I’ll need to revert to my amorphous state soon to regenerate. Other than that, I feel . . . normal.”

  “I’m so glad,” Girani said. “If it’s all right with you, I’d like to take some readings, make sure that everything looks good.”

  “There’s nothing I enjoy more than being poked and prodded by humanoid physicians,” Odo said, but his words carried no bite. Still, it pleased Girani that Odo’s personality—­curmudgeonly though it might be—appeared intact.

  “Can I help you up?”

  “Thank you,” Odo said again as he started to stand. A little shaky on his feet, he allowed Girani to take his arm as he moved over to the bio-bed. “Tell me, Doctor, what happened to the shape-shifter? I don’t know how, but it contained within it a Jem’Hadar and a large number of Ascendants.” He lifted himself onto the bio-bed, where he sat beside the container there. He paused, as though trying to recall some other detail, and then he said, “Not just any Jem’Hadar—Taran’atar.”

  “As I understand it, that’s correct,” Girani said. “I’m not completely clear on what happened. Deep Space Nine’s chief medical officer gave me the information he thought I would need to aid in your treatment. I understand that once the shape-shifter fled Newton Outpost, it traveled to Bajor.”

  “Not to attack?” he said, concern evident in his voice.

  “No,” Girani said. “I’m told that there has been a peaceful resolution. I suggest you contact Captain Ro for details.”

  “I will, Doctor,” Odo said. “I think I need to regenerate now.”

  “Of course,” Girani said. “Is this container sufficient for your needs?”

  Odo regarded the open cube. “For now, it is,” he said, “but I would prefer an opaque version.”

  “I’ll have one replicated for you,” Girani said. “In the meantime, I’ll black out the observation port to give you privacy. There’s a comlink active in here, so once you’ve rested, please contact me.”

  “Yes, Doctor.” Somehow, Odo managed to fit a paragraph’s worth of annoyance into just the two words. For what it said about the state of Odo’s personality, Girani loved it.

  She headed for the door and worked the controls to open it. Girani would have to speak with Doctor Norsa, and probably with Lieutenant Commander Selten as well, about moving Odo out of the isolation ward and into the main infirmary. They would both want to make sure that he sustained no continuing effects of his joining with the Jem’Hadar-Ascendant link, but she didn’t think that would be a problem.

  Before leaving, Girani looked back at Odo. “It’s so good to see you,” she said. Odo nodded his head once, sharply, in a gesture she had seen him make uncounted times back on the original DS9. On her way out of the isolation ward, thinking of that nod made her smile.

  * * *

  Odo waited until the observation port had darkened, and then he gazed inward. As he always did, he visualized circular motion, wheels within wheels—

  The effort exhausted him. He kept at it, struggling to maintain his concentration. Eventually, he envisioned the change he would make, and then he became that change. His body morphed from its humanoid shape into a rush of biomimetic potential. With his last measure of energy, he drew himself up against gravity, over the lip of the container, and down into the comfort and tranquility of its enclosed form.

  As Odo drifted d
own into his regenerative state, he felt a burst of gratitude for Doctor Girani. Under other circumstances, he would have expected Doctor Bashir to make the journey to Newton Outpost. At the time Odo had traveled there, though, Bashir had been confined by Starfleet and made to stand court-martial. The doctor’s crimes had been reported, but so too had his reasons for committing them, including solving the Andorians’ reproductive crisis, which in turn spurred them to rejoin the Federation. It never ceased to amaze Odo what counted for justice in the minds of most beings—including Changelings.

  Changelings. It had been a long time since Odo had been back among his own kind. Even though his joining with the hybrid shape-shifter had injured him, he still experienced a moment at the start of that encounter that reminded him of the joy of linking.

  Maybe it’s time, Odo thought. Maybe it’s time for me to go back to the Dominion. He guessed that Laas would still be there, as well as the few Changelings who had come back after the mass exodus that had sent the Founders scattering all over the galaxy. He hoped to find that more of them had returned since he’d been gone.

  And what about Weyoun and Rotan’talag? he asked himself. From the moment Odo had arrived in the Dominion and taken his place in the Great Link, he had worked to lift up the Vorta and the Jem’Hadar. He sought to demonstrate to them that they could live their own lives, free of the worship of the Founders that had been bred into them. Odo had seen some progress, but he had also watched them regress. He had no notion of what he would find when he went back, but he bore responsibility for whatever had transpired, even in his absence.

  Why did I stay away so long? It was a foolish question because he knew the answer—an answer just as foolish: Nerys. He still loved her, and he missed her, but he must give up his ludicrous hope that she had not been killed in the collapse of the wormhole, and that she would one day return. When the wormhole reopened two years after she had been lost, Odo still thought that she might suddenly reappear. But that never happened.