STAR TREK: DEEP SPACE NINE ®

by Andrew J. Robinson

  “Hebitians,” Palandine murmured.

  “Celebrating the cycles,” the Guide added.

  “I want to get up there and join them,” Palandine said. “But we’re a little late, aren’t we?” Sadness passed like a cloud over her radiant face.

  “For them, yes,” the Guide laughed. “But not for us. Look at the way the frieze spirals up as it moves around the room. Because it ends at the top only means that their cycle has ended. What you can’t see is that another cycle begins at a higher spiral appropriate for the next age. Our age.” Palandine and I looked at the place where the visible spiral ended, and we tried to imagine the next.

  “You seem less careful this time,” she suddenly said to me. She did remember. Somehow I wasn’t surprised. The threat I had felt years before in this woman’s presence—the fear—had evaporated.

  “What’s your name?” Palandine asked.

  “Astraea,” she replied.

  “Elim says that you’re a guide.”

  “Sometimes.”

  “My name is Palandine. Can you help me?”

  “It would be my pleasure, Palandine.”

  “What do I do?” Palandine was unashamedly childlike in her openness.

  “Come back. Both of you,” she simply replied. Palandine nodded agreement, and something was sealed between them. Just like that. Now the sadness passed to me. I wanted to cry, and my throat began to constrict.

  “It’s all right, Elim. When you can. Everyone moves along the cycle according to his or her fateline.” Astraea looked at each of us. “Both of you have work to finish.” There was a long moment that felt like a lifetime, as we sat in the room, thinking about our work. The frieze now began to move in the upward direction. I was too amazed to ask if this was truly happening. People would disappear at the top while more would enter from below. Certain faces were recognizable, but I didn’t know why. Something was also rising within me, an energy moving up my spine to my head, and I began to feel dizzy. Two of the figures could have been Palandine and me, but I couldn’t be sure. I was almost nauseous with the energy surging within me. The figures completed the cycle and disappeared at the top. The frieze stopped moving.

  “Thank you for coming.” The dizziness and nausea passed. My head was lighter, and I felt cleansed. I looked at Palandine, and she now radiated with such light that I turned away, inexplicably embarrassed as if I had seen something I shouldn’t. Astraea led the way back up the stairs and ushered us out.

  “Come back,” she said with the same warmth. “You’re always welcome.”

  As we took the long walk back to the Coranum Sector, neither of us spoke. When we had left Astraea at the door, Palandine was as serene as I had ever seen her; but when she stopped not far from the Tarlak Grounds and looked at me, her face was troubled. The evening had been like a dream that contained an important message I struggled to remember.

  “I care for you, Elim—deeply. But even with her help . . . how can we undo the choices?” Such a simple question, and everything inside me began to shrink. She held her hand up and I attached my palm to hers. We held for a long moment. She nodded and walked off into the night, leaving me undefended against questions I couldn’t answer and feelings I couldn’t control.

  “Tonight?!”

  Prang looked at me. He immediately knew I was not in full possession of myself. This was not the way an operative embarked upon a vital mission. His face reflected a concern I had never seen before. I summoned every resource within me to gather my scattered emotions. After Palandine had left, I had spent the rest of the night sitting in the Grounds near the children’s area. When Prang informed me that I was leaving for the Morfan Province on Cardassia II on an assignment whose termination was “yet to be determined,” I couldn’t control my reaction.

  “You knew this was imminent,” Prang said.

  “Yes, of course,” I replied. I took a deep breath, and my disparate parts began to snap back. “I was up most of the night. Perhaps something I ate,” I shrugged.

  “You look like you’re not eating anything,” Prang observed. If Tain was the father of the Obsidian Order, Prang was its mother.

  “I’m fine, Limor. Please excuse me.” I was now in full possession, and relieved that the demands of work would now push everything else to the side. Prang watched me for another moment to make sure.

  “You’re going to the Ba’aten Peninsula in Morfan, where you’ll meet your contact. All the information is on your chip.” The Ba’aten was the last remaining rain forest in the Union, which made it a much-desired vacation area for Cardassians. How the Peninsula had resisted the great climatic change was still a scientific mystery.

  “There is one procedure we need to complete today. Come with me.” Prang led me out of his bare office and took me to the research department, where all the new technologies are developed and tested. Mindur Timot, the cheerful and ancient head of research, was waiting for us. He thumped a raised pallet with one hand while working a computer panel with the other.

  “Ah, Elim. We have something special for you today. Lie down here, if you will. Head close to me.” I complied, as Timot now thumped me on the shoulder.

  “I’ve just about calibrated the connective adjustment. . . .” Timot mumbled, as he continued to work the panel. His other hand was now probing my skull behind the right ear. The man’s ambidexterity was impressive.

  “Yes. That’s your molecular structure. Otherwise the brain would never accept the little coil.” Timot held up a small wire device with four or five coils that began with a tight one and widened out. “And that wouldn’t be very good, would it, Elim?”

  “What is it,” I asked.

  “Well, I don’t have a name for it yet,” he realized with a laugh. “For the time being we’ll just call it the wire. Simply, I’m going to attach the small coil to the cranial nerve cluster that transmits feelings of pleasure and pain.” He held the wire in front of me and demonstrated. “The wider end will be placed just beneath the cranial subcortex, where the Cardassian brain—in its infinite wisdom—” he laughed again as he pressed the actual point, “decides what to do with this pleasure or pain. With the wire, Elim, your pain, at a certain point, mind you, my boy, we can’t take away all your pain—that would be monstrous—at a certain point, before that critical moment when the pain would induce you to do or say anything to relieve it, at that point, Elim, the wire is calibrated vibratorily to stimulate enough of an endorphin flow to actually convert the pain into a pleasurable feeling, which would enable you to endure the most vigorous interrogation and, dare I say, torture.” The old man’s enthusiasm raced like a hound to his triumphant conclusion. I was less enthusiastic, however. I looked at Prang. I knew why I was being fitted with this “wire.”

  “It’s because of my threshold rating on the enhancer, isn’t it?” I stated more than asked.

  “Eventually every field operative will be fitted with the device,” he replied.

  “You mustn’t take this personally, Elim,” Timot cautioned kindly. “Your pain threshold, contrary to certain received wisdom, is something that can neither be considered a sign of character strength or weakness nor ‘improved’ by practice. It’s given to you along with your height, weight, and fateline, my boy. When I tell you that this wire will give you no trouble, as long as you don’t meddle with it, you can believe me. You know that, don’t you, Elim?”

  “Yes, I do, Mindur.” The man had never given me anything but superb technology and sound advice. “Please continue,” I submitted.

  “Good boy.” Timor thumped my shoulder again.

  As I stood on the Promontory, which overlooks the southern end of the Peninsula and the Morfan Sea, I understood that nothing could have prepared me for this sight. Surrounded on three sides by the aquamarine waters, the lushness and green vibrancy of the vegetation formed a dense canopy containing a teeming variety of life underneath. It was fed and nurtured by an abundance of rain that fell nowhere else. Above the canopy, complex pa
tterns traced by innumerable species of avian flight made me dizzy. At one time these forests and the life they sustained had covered much of the surface of our planets. I remembered the Hebitian frieze and its lush background. Of course we were different people: it was a different world. The more the forests receded, it seems, the more we covered ourselves. Their world didn’t need an agent of the Obsidian Order to investigate a group of prominent Cardassians who “happened” to be spending their vacation together. It didn’t have Enabran Tain targeting one of his bitterest enemies, Procal Dukat, a powerful member of the Central Command. And I’m certain it didn’t have fathers who refused to acknowledge their sons. If we lived on the next spiral of the cycle of life, how did we know it wasn’t going downward?

  “It’s a beautiful sight, isn’t it?” the familiar voice asked from behind. The stealth as well as the familiarity startled me. I was waiting for my contact, and not to hear him approach was embarrassing. I turned . . . and there he was.

  “Pythas Lok.” His slight frame and the shadow of a mocking smile stood surprisingly near.

  “But you can’t afford to get too lost in the scenery,” he said. “Otherwise people can creep up on you.”

  “Or ghosts from the past.”

  “Did you think I was dead, Elim?” he asked.

  “I didn’t know what to think. I kept track of you until Orias and then every trace of your existence was erased. It was like you never existed.”

  “True, but I was never a ghost.”

  “Whenever I made an inquiry it was blocked. And then I heard a rumor that the Order had organized an ‘invisible’ cadre. I couldn’t confirm it, but I always had my suspicions.” Pythas didn’t answer—and I didn’t expect him to. “It’s good to see you, Pythas.”

  “It was just a matter of time, Elim. Come inside. I think I have some information that can get us started.” His grace was even more refined as he moved to the small house that was our assigned base of operations. If anything could have taken my mind off downward spirals it was the appearance of Pythas. As I followed his light and soundless tread, I felt invigorated for the task at hand.

  * * *

  “Draban Lokar?” I repeated.

  Pythas nodded. “He and Dukat are the primary motivators of the Brotherhood.”

  “Are the sons, Barkan Lokar and Skrain Dukat, also involved with this business?”

  Pythas nodded, again. “I’ve had the opportunity to watch them both in action,” he said.

  “On Bajor?”

  “And on Empok Nor. They’re definitely members of the Brotherhood, but they’re not part of this gathering at the compound,” Pythas assured me. The “compound” was a vacation resort privately owned by the Brotherhood for the benefit of its members.

  “Did you also observe Gul Toran on Bajor?” I asked.

  Pythas looked at me with a thin smile. “I would have been surprised if you hadn’t heard.”

  “And shortly after the Competition Tain recruited you,” I said.

  “What was good for you, Elim, was usually agreeable to me as well,” he wryly observed.

  “Do you suppose Tain recruited other people who were betrayed by Lokar?” I asked.

  Pythas shrugged. “What better way to motivate your agents than to give them the opportunity to settle old scores?”

  “All right, my friend, let’s see if we can’t settle some of our own,” I said as I rubbed my hands together.

  Pythas had spent enough time in the Peninsula to become habituated to the mysteries of the rain forest. It was an assignment ideally suited to his temperament. Over the years, his modest demeanor and quiet ways had turned him into more of a solitary person than I ever was. I had learned to withdraw my presence as a tool, but I was always aware of my need for contact, and that my value as an operative lay in my ability to engage others in a nonthreatening manner that drew them out. Pythas had learned to withdraw his presence as a way of life—and he moved through the world like a shadow. I was not surprised that Tain had recruited him for the “invisibles.” It took a special person to be able to operate in such unrelentingly anonymous circumstances—no family, no fixed base or identity—and there was no doubt in my mind that he was one of the most brilliant agents in the Order.

  Our relationship picked right up where it had left off at Bamarren. Other than Prang, I have never met anyone where so much was communicated with so few words. His eyes had a depth and eloquence that told me everything I wanted to know. How ironic that my lust for conversation was satisfied by someone who rarely spoke. When he was betrayed in his final Competition at Bamarren, he had considered taking his revenge on Four Lubak, but soon came to realize instead that Lubak and Barkan Lokar had done him a favor. Pythas not only admired Lokar’s ability to seduce others to his will, he recognized it as an indispensable trait of leadership that he didn’t possess. He’d been about to resign his One status when Tain entered his life. It was almost uncanny how Tain stayed so thoroughly informed of our Bamarren progress; I’ve often wondered if Calyx had been involved. With the invisibles, Pythas found his life work and seemed genuinely fulfilled. If he missed the intimate connection to a family, he never said.

  Our assignment was a simple one: we were to gather indisputable information that we could present to the Detapa Council and the Civilian Assembly to discredit both the Brotherhood and Tain’s enemy, Procal Dukat. To this end, Pythas used the cover of Tonarkin Bine, an experienced forest guide who’d been recommended to the Brotherhood as someone who would be invaluable in planning their recreational activities. Dukat was an avid outdoorsman, and he met with “Tonarkin” several times to arrange ambitious forest treks. Pythas won him over with his unassuming confidence and familiarity with the forest. This was no mean feat, for hidden within the beauty and endless variety of the flora and fauna that attracted people to the rain forest were innumerable dangers that posed serious threats to the uninitiated. It was planned that before the main trek, which would involve several members of the various Brotherhood families vacationing at the compound, Pythas and Dukat would take a shorter trek to explore some possible routes. This suited Dukat, who wanted to have a more authentic wilderness experience before the “women and the complainers” got involved.

  After they had settled in at the campsite, located near our base, Pythas would find a way to expose Dukat to a numbing drug that would enable us to abduct him and bring him back to the house. With the help of the enhancer I would have until the middle of the next morning to complete my interrogation and extract sufficient damning intelligence before I returned him to a specified area. During the interrogation, Pythas would return to the compound and organize a search team. It would be determined that the old man had gone to relieve himself away from the campsite after dark and been attacked by a poisonous plaktar. Delirious, he had wandered even farther away, until he’d passed out in the designated spot. When he would return to consciousness he would never remember what had happened to him.

  “As you can see, the plaktar has a flatter body and longer legs than the tortubial.” Pythas pointed out the differences on his own carefully detailed drawings. “It’s very easy to confuse the two . . . and potentially deadly if you do. One lick of the plaktar’s tongue, depending on the amount of toxin released. . . .” It was another late night, and the information was beginning to bounce off of my skull.

  “Please, Pythas, tell me it’s not necessary to know as much as you do,” I begged.

  “It is. This is not the Mekar, Elim. And it’s not Cardassia City. You have no idea what’s in that forest. Whether you trek for a week or carry an old man a short distance. . . .” Pythas was merciless. He was determined to teach me in days what it had taken months for him to assimilate about the forest and its denizens.

  On the eve of the celebration of Gul Minok’s victory over the Samurian invaders, which traditionally ushers in the beginning of the longest Cardassian holiday period, Pythas organized the equipment in preparation for the overnight trek with Dukat. He
handed me a small vial filled with greenish liquid.

  “I think it best if you kept this.” I nodded and took the vial.

  “If they do an analysis . . . ?” I started to ask.

  “It’s a synthetic that’ll match the plaktar’s toxin,” he answered as he tied off the last pack. “Anything else?” he asked.

  “No,” I assured him. I could see that he wasn’t altogether convinced.

  “It’s important that you cover all tracks between the base and where Dukat will be discovered. And make sure you arrive at the campsite before dark. . . .”

  “Pythas, we’ve been over this how many times? I’m no longer a probe.” Perhaps it was because he was accustomed to working by himself, but his incessant repetition of details led me to believe that he could never completely trust others. Either that or he was the most compulsive person I had ever known.