by S. D. Perry
Cole had ceased pacing and was studying Bashir’s face carefully, a small, wistful smile playing on his lips. “Thank you, Doctor. Quite excellent. I believe I’ve learned something important here tonight.”
Bashir couldn’t resist the urge to ask. “And that would be?”
“You’re still a romantic,” Cole replied. “We had thought the Dominion War might have burned that out of you, but I see it’s still there. That was a marvelously romantic interpretation of the Borg situation, but, I think, essentially correct. They are the greatest threat to the security of the Federation, the one we are least able to counter right now. If the Borg attacked now, we would be destroyed, even if the Klingons, Romulans, and Breen came to our aid. Computer models don’t lie. Oh, and here’s another interesting fact that Admiral Ross might not have shared with you: Even if the Dominion were to fight alongside us, we would probably lose. Ironically, the prewar Dominion might have stood a chance against them. If we had allied ourselves with them, but, well…never mind that option.”
Bashir flexed the muscles in his forearms and calves. Yes, definitely some control was returning.
“So,” Cole continued, now with a full head of steam, “the question should not be ‘How could we contemplate using the despicable methods of our enemy?’ but ‘What could we learn from our former foes that we might turn to our advantage?’ If we continue on our present path, we will not be counting our dead in the millions next time, Doctor, but the billions.” He stopped pacing and leaned in close to Bashir. “Have you ever seen what the Borg do to a human body? I have. Children, pregnant women, the elderly: it doesn’t matter; all just grist for the mill. All just parts. Don’t you think, as a humanitarian, that if there’s something we can do to prevent that suffering then we should do it?”
Bashir stared at the man, aware of a creeping horror sliding up his spine. How many newly made orphans and bereaved parents had he talked to, tried to comfort, ending up feeling utterly ineffectual? Listening to Cole, Bashir felt his head begin to nod, against his will…Almost.
“How much more sensible,” Cole continued, “how much more equitable and humane it would be if the Federation could mass-produce its own army, genetically engineered soldiers who would be happy to sacrifice their lives for their leaders. The citizenry would be liberated from the barbaric practice of war, allowed to enjoy happy, peaceful, long-lasting lives with their loved ones. With the ability to produce unlimited numbers of professional soldiers, we would never again need fear the Borg, the Romulans, or the Klingons. Who could ever pose a threat to the Federation again?”
“Let me remind you of something I think you know all too well, but seem to have conveniently forgotten,” Bashir replied. “The history of the Federation is steeped in examples of peoples who were able to successfully battle larger, better-equipped, and more advanced aggressors because the citizen-soldier is always going to be more creative and resourceful, better able to adapt to changing conditions on a battlefield. It was an army that fought for a love of freedom, not a love of slaughter, that defeated the Dominion’s genetically engineered legions, Mr. Cole.”
Cole stared thoughtfully at Bashir and then, for the first time, a troubled expression passed over his features. “You know, Doctor,” he finally said, “I wish we’d had this conversation before we sent Locken on his mission. As I implied earlier, things didn’t go quite according to plan.”
“What happened?”
“He left for Sindorin about ten weeks ago, accompanied by a team of specialists. For the first few weeks, he kept in regular contact with us and indicated good progress. Confirmation from his associates showed that Locken was doing exactly what we asked him to do.”
“His associates?” Bashir asked. “You mean a spy.”
Cole shrugged. “We had to try to protect our investment.”
“And then the messages became irregular,” Bashir said.
“That’s right,” Cole said. “And then we stopped hearing from…his associates.”
“Then they’re dead, all of them. Your spies were probably the first to be killed. If Locken is everything you say he is, he probably arranged to have them kill each other.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because if I were Locken, it’s what I would have done.”
“I recruited some of the agents who went with him,” Cole said. “I knew some of them well. They weren’t the sort who could be easily deceived.”
Bashir shrugged. “Believe whatever you want. It won’t bring them back to life. What do you theorize has happened since?”
“We know that he succeeded in bringing some of the incubators back online and began to grow Jem’Hadar. We can only assume Locken was successful in reprogramming the genetic matrix, and that they’re loyal to him.”
“Have you done any estimates?”
“We had very little data to work with,” Cole said, “but our best guess is between two hundred and a thousand. Worst-case scenario is fifteen hundred. He can’t get them all off the planet right now, because he only had one ship, but we think he’s found other things for them to do.”
“Such as?”
“You’ve heard about the rumored Breen presence in the Badlands?”
“Yes,” Bashir said. “The Enterprise investigated and found nothing.”
“That’s correct. But they couldn’t completely rule out that something was out there. And since then, a number of ships have gone missing, and at least two former Cardassian holdings have suffered hits by an unidentified attacker…”
“They’re not ‘former Cardassian holdings,’” Bashir said firmly. “They’re protectorates. The Federation, the Klingons, and the Romulans set them up to safeguard Cardassian Union territories. They’ll be returned when Cardassia is able to resume control of them.”
Cole smiled. “Fine, Doctor. Phrase it any way you want. The point is that Locken could make all of this political theorizing moot if he isn’t stopped. Perhaps he’s planning to use hit-and-run attacks to train his warriors and try to collect usable ships. Perhaps he wants to destabilize the truce between the three powers. Perhaps he’s only tweaking them so that they’ll discover a genetically engineered human has set himself up as the new Khan…. It doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is that you stop him as quickly and quietly as possible.”
“That I stop him?” Bashir asked.
“Of course, Doctor. Who better? Our psych profile indicates that Locken can rationalize his actions because he feels so isolated. Certainly, the trauma of his losses on New Beijing can account for much of this, but our specialists are certain that his psychosis has its roots in his belief that he is fundamentally different from everyone around him, better than everyone. In his mind, it doesn’t matter what he does to anyone else because, ultimately, it’s for their own good. He’s a doctor to all humanity.”
“To what end?” Bashir asked.
“We don’t know,” Cole said. “If I had to guess, he’s decided that he wants to make the quadrant safe for children and other small things by any means necessary. If you really want to know, ask him. We want you to go to Sindorin, establish some sort of rapport, use those forensic skills you just demonstrated, and convince him to turn the hatchery over to us…”
“Like hell,” Bashir began.
“Or whatever you think is best,” Cole continued. “Our goals are the same in this instance. We do not want a superhuman launching a jihad with an army of genetically engineered killing machines at his back.”
“Especially not a superhuman who knows everything about you,” Bashir added.
A tight smile flickered across Cole’s lips. “Nobody knows everything about us, Doctor.”
“And if I’m not able to persuade him?” Bashir asked.
Cole shrugged. “I very much doubt,” he said, “that anyone who could outthink Sloan would have much trouble with a tyro like Locken. He may be…enhanced, but he’s still quite naive, I think. Almost as naive as you used to be.”
Bashir shook his head in disgust. “How could you believe for a second that I would buy into this hideous charade? You’ve managed to mire yourself in a morass of backstabbing and double-dealing and you’re expecting me to liberate you? Give me one good reason why I should.”
“Besides the obvious, you mean?” Cole asked. “Besides the fact that the Federation could be torn to pieces if the Romulans and the Klingons discover what’s happened?”
Bashir wanted desperately to be able to say, “There are ways around that,” but he knew Cole was right. As they had been talking, he had been running simulations and the numbers weren’t encouraging. And that’s what it comes down to, he realized. Not right and wrong, moral or immoral, but numbers—counting the quick and the dead. He didn’t want to say any of those things because if he did, Cole would know he had prevailed, so, instead, he said, “There are others who can do what you’re asking, most of them better than me.”
Cole smiled. “Doctor, you underestimate yourself. In fact, there isn’t anyone better suited. While there are many more enhanced persons out there than the Federation is willing to acknowledge, very few of them are as—how shall we say it?—well socialized as you are. Most of them, in fact, would consider your friend Jack to be a social butterfly. And, speaking of Jack, what do you think would happen to him and his friends if it became known that a genetically enhanced person was responsible for starting a war? How long do you think it would be before Starfleet would disavow them, cast them to the wolves? A week? A day?”
“Starfleet would never do that.”
“You don’t think so? I won’t presume to speak for you, Doctor, but one of the things I learned during the Dominion War is that under the worst circumstances, even among the best and the brightest, morality can sometimes become a pliable thing. If the conditions are right…well, I’ve heard stories even about the late, sainted Captain Sisko.”
Bashir glared at Cole from under lowered brows, thinking, feeling, like a caged animal inside his own skull.
“Damn you to hell,” he said at last, resigned to whatever awaited him on Sindorin. He expected Cole to grin triumphantly, but was surprised to see only a very tired man, a gaunt and bitter man, a man weary unto death.
“Thank you, Doctor,” Cole said softly. “When can you leave?”
Bashir shook himself, then said, “I don’t know. I have to make some arrangements.”
“Of course,” Cole said, heading for the door. When he passed Bashir, he dropped the padd he had been holding into the doctor’s hands. “Please extend my apologies to Lieutenant Dax for making her miss her vacation. Just out of curiosity—did you really want her to go back to Earth with you and visit the old homestead?”
“Yes, I did,” Bashir said. “Very much.”
“Really?” Cole said, pausing in front of the open door. “Well, then, it must be love.” And then he was gone.
When he was certain Cole wasn’t coming back, Bashir stood and walked stiffly across the room to where his med kit rested and opened it. He wanted to get a blood sample before the psychoactive was completely dissipated. As he worked, he took a second to try his combadge. “Bashir to Kira.”
“Go ahead,” the colonel’s voice answered.
“Nerys…we need to talk.”
Chapter Four
Kira felt a headache building behind her eyes and began to massage the ridges of her nose. “Do we have anything on internal scanners…?”
“Nothing,” Vaughn said.
“No surprise there, I guess. I’d have been more shocked if we had picked up something.”
“So would I,” Vaughn agreed. “And then we’d have to worry about why he let us know he was here. No, I think it’s better this way. He’s gone and we can accept his request at face value.”
“It sounded more like a threat than a request,” Kira noted. “Or a trap.” She looked around the wardroom table and attempted to take everyone’s measure.
Bashir was angry, of course. He didn’t like being backed into a corner, but then, who did? There was something else going on, but Kira couldn’t quite piece it together, not yet. Partly this was because when Julian wanted to conceal something, it stayed concealed. It wasn’t so long ago when she had considered the doctor an open book, a man who was all too eager to reveal everything about himself. But now Kira understood that this had been a ruse, a persona created to conceal the “real” Julian Bashir.
Ezri, typically, was wrestling with several emotions simultaneously. Kira read fear (primarily for Julian), anger (mostly at Cole, but with a little reserved for Julian), and an edge of excitement. A quirky smile kept forming at the corners of Ezri’s mouth, but she managed to keep it under control. Kira recognized it as the skeleton of the smile Jadzia used to wear when she was undertaking some new challenge or digging into a new mystery. Seeing it made Kira feel at once comforted and disconcerted. Jadzia is in there somewhere, she thought. Listening intently to everything I’m saying. She knew that wasn’t exactly how it worked, but Kira had a hard time shaking the feeling that the ghost of her friend was hovering in the room. She found herself wondering if Benjamin had felt the same way after Jadzia had succeeded Curzon.
Vaughn was harder to read, drinking that damned tea, absorbing everything that was being said, and processing it through his eighty years of Starfleet training. Still, Kira sensed something going on beneath the detached calm, something that felt a great deal like anger, though she was having trouble imagining Vaughn being angry about anything.
But where Vaughn was impenetrable, Ro seemed preoccupied. Maybe it was just the shock of learning about the existence of Section 31. Kira and Sisko had both felt that shock, after Julian had told them about his first encounter with Sloan. Ro, however, seemed to be trying to work through something.
“You have something to contribute, Lieutenant?” Kira asked.
Ro met Kira’s gaze, and seemed to reach a decision. “Sindorin,” she said. “I know the planet. There was a time when the Maquis considered using it for a base. This was almost three years ago, just before everything fell apart. It would have been a good place to retreat to if we’d had the chance.” She indicated the planetological file currently displayed on the wardroom screen.
“It’s mostly tropical with about two-thirds of the land surface covered with dense rain forest.” Pointing at a subcontinent in the southern hemisphere, Ro continued, “This area was particularly interesting to us because some recent volcanic activity has deposited a rare mineral throughout the water table. The trees draw it up into the canopy and it plays hell with sensors. Anything but the most intense scan bounces right off. The forests are teeming with life, but you wouldn’t know it from orbit.”
Ro touched the table controls and the holographic image of Sindorin receded. “And here’s the other reason we liked the place,” Ro said. Red and yellow plasma storms erupted just beyond the edge of the solar system. “It’s unusual to find an M-class planet this deep in the Badlands, but, well, not impossible. And, let me tell you, it makes for some pretty amazing aurora effects.”
“So why didn’t you relocate there?” Dax asked.
“Two reasons,” Ro said. “The first was the storms. The shielding on most Maquis ships was never that great. We might not have lost one the first or second time we passed in or out of the system, but, sooner or later, something would have gone disastrously wrong. And, second, like I said, we only found the place a few weeks before the Cardassians joined the Dominion. When that happened, we had bigger problems….”
“Apparently, the Dominion didn’t feel the same way,” Kira said.
Ro shrugged. “Their ships had better shields.”
Kira caused the image to zoom back in on the planet. “So, based on what you’ve told us, this southern continent is the most likely candidate for a base. Any thoughts on how to narrow that down?”
“It depends. What’s needed for a Jem’Hadar hatchery?”
“Genetic material, which the Vorta would have brought w
ith them when they set up the place,” Bashir contributed. “They must have abandoned it in quite a hurry to leave some of it behind, perhaps during the final offensive against Cardassia. But they’d have needed water, too. Preferably fresh water.”
“It’s all rain forest,” Ro said, “so there’s not a lot of open water. It’s all invested in the vegetation. During the rainy season, it rained twice a day, early morning and early evening, so regularly you could set your chrono by it. Would that be sufficient?”
Bashir shook his head. “Probably not. Too dispersed.”
Kira watched them talk and noticed how they quickly fell into the easy give-and-take of Starfleet-trained information exchange. It was a skill she had always admired in Sisko, Jadzia, O’Brien, and Julian, but hadn’t imagined it extended to all Starfleet officers, even former ones like Ro. Klingons don’t do this, she mused. Or the Romulans or the Cardassians. They have their own methods, their own martial cultures, but nothing that can compete with this.
Ro pointed at a large blue splotch near the southern tip of the subcontinent they had been discussing. “Here, then. This lake. We didn’t give it a name. Just called it ‘the Big Lake.’ It’s the only large open body of fresh water on this part of the planet.”
Julian leaned in to study the map. “It must be a couple thousand klicks around. Big area to check.”
“We’ll be able to pick up something once we get in close,” Ro said.
“But not too close,” Julian replied, staring intently at the lake, obviously memorizing the shape of the shoreline.
“Well, that’s the trick of it, isn’t it?”
