by K. W. Jeter
Sisko knew that his security chief was right. He turned toward Chief Engineer O’Brien. “What about it, then? Any progress on establishing communications with Bashir or Kira?”
“Negative, sir.” O’Brien shook his head. He nodded toward the chief science officer standing next to him. “Dax and I both have been working flat out on that one. There’s just no way—”
Dax spoke up. “We’re running into some hard physical realities, Commander. The intermittent bending effect we’ve detected before in the subspatial matrix actually seems to have been heightened by the wormhole’s change to a unipolar condition; as long as that persists, communications with the Gamma Quadrant are considerably accelerated. The problem is that the mission’s only subspace equipment is on the cargo shuttle with Bashir. The wormhole is still nonexistent for us here; until its entrance reappears, there’s no one to whom we can even send a subspace transmission.”
“There is one possibility—” O’Brien’s words were accompanied by a doubting grimace. “We thought of it but . . . I don’t know . . . it might not be something you’d want to consider.”
“By now, I’m willing to consider anything.” Sisko leaned forward across the desk. “What is it?”
“Well, technically speaking, the substation is not completely alone out there. There is someone else approaching that sector of the Gamma Quadrant. And that’s Gul Tahgla.” O’Brien shrugged. “And the Cardassian vessel does have subspace transmission and reception gear aboard.”
Sisko gazed at his chief engineer in astonishment. His initial reaction had been to tell O’Brien that he was out of his mind.
“You see,” said Dax, “it would be possible for us to make a request of Gul Tahgla, that he relay an encoded message to the substation. There are precedents for such actions, between parties that are not officially in a state of war with each other. Maintaining reciprocal confidentiality has been an element of diplomatic relations for centuries.”
“I’m not sure Gul Tahgla would see this matter in such an enlightened way.” Sisko rubbed the corner of his brow. “In fact, I’m sure of it. If he’s aware of our substation being in that sector, he’s bound to have figured out that we sent it there to frustrate the Cardassian empire’s claim of sovereignty over the wormhole’s exit. Why should he cooperate in the process of defeating himself? Especially, when he would know that he didn’t have to—by asking him to relay a message, we’d be as much as telling him that the mission had gone wrong somehow, that the substation might as well be disabled.”
“That was exactly our analysis, Commander.” The calm tone of Dax’s voice remained steady. “However, we cannot be sure of how Gul Tahgla would analyze the situation. He might assume that our claim of sovereignty had already been established and, after the subterfuge he committed to get his vessel through the wormhole, that it would be prudent for him to reestablish a cordial relationship with us. Also, he could be reminded that he and his crew now have no way of returning from the Gamma Quadrant, unless we here at DS Nine find a means of opening up the wormhole again.”
“If Cardassians were reasonable creatures, Gul Tahgla might assume those things.” Sisko tapped a finger against the desktop. “The reasonableness of Cardassians, however, has rarely been demonstrated.”
“True. I would not estimate our chances of success along these lines as very high. But—given our lack of other options and what’s at stake—it might be worth a try.”
Beside Dax, O’Brien’s scowl deepened. “I just have an aversion to asking Cardassians to do anything except kiss my posterior.”
“As do we all. However . . .” Sisko drew in a deep breath. “Let’s give it a shot. Have the communications officer initiate contact with Gul Tahgla’s vessel.” He turned to his security chief. “Prepare a synopsis of everything you’ve gotten out of the Redemptorists—anything that Kira might be able to use.”
Outside the private office, he took his seat in Ops. “Screen.” His officers stood behind.
The Cardassian’s image wavered before him. At this distance, with the signal shuttled through a string of relay beacons, visual static crawled erratically across Gul Tahgla’s face. A delay factor of several seconds had to be dealt with; a moment passed before the image nodded with a self-satisfied smile.
“Ah, Commander Sisko. Always a pleasure. I wouldn’t have thought we would be communicating again . . . so soon.”
Sisko pressed his palms against the seat’s arms. “I wouldn’t have troubled you if it weren’t a matter of some urgency.” The overly polite diplomatic language stuck in his throat like a sharp-edged stone. “I know that your own mission demands your full attention. But I have a request to make of you. Your assistance will be greatly appreciated by all of Starfleet, and by me in particular.”
“Indeed.” A higher level of interest appeared in Gul Tahgla’s eyes. “Then proceed, Commander Sisko. Consider me to be . . . at your service.”
“We’re having difficulties communicating with a unit of ours that is currently in the Gamma Quadrant, just outside the wormhole’s exit. It should be within normal comm range for your vessel, however. We’d like you to relay an encoded message to the unit.”
“Encoded?” The Cardassian feigned surprise. “What is the necessity for that?”
“Come, Gul Tahgla.” He held his palms spread out before him. “It indicates no degree of distrust between us. It’s simply a matter of . . . standard operating procedure. Surely it would be the same for communications between vessels of your fleet.”
“I see.” Gul Tahgla leaned forward, his image growing larger on the screen. His smile vanished, as though it had been part of a mask now discarded. “Let me say, Commander, that you display a remarkable degree of presumption. To ask this of me . . .” The Cardassian’s gaze grew harder. “Perhaps you would like me to thrust a dagger into my own heart as well?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.” But he did know.
The smile returned, but as a much crueler thing than before. “What is that old Earth word that I’ve heard our mutual friend Quark use on occasion? Chutzpah—that’s it. For sheer nerve, you carry away the baked goods, as I believe the Ferengi would also say.”
Sisko stiffened in the chair. “You seem to display some unusual linguistic interests.”
“I’m making a study of exotic languages, Commander. I expect they will come in handy very soon . . . when I’m overseeing the passage of all the developed worlds’ ships out of the wormhole and into the Gamma Quadrant. I have time for these studies, as well; my crew and I are having quite a leisurely voyage back to the sector surrounding the wormhole’s exit. Where nothing—not all your little schemes, Commander—will prevent us from establishing sovereignty over that sector for the Cardassian empire.”
“Gul Tahgla . . . this isn’t what you—”
“Don’t indulge in these pretenses with me, Sisko.” The smile twisted into a sneer. “I’m well aware of your reasons for positioning that unit right where it is. My only regret is that you were able to figure out my intentions in time to make this abortive attempt at frustrating them. But your own haste has foiled you. And now, you expect me to help you repair whatever has gone wrong? Really, Commander.”
“You have my assurances—”
“Ah. Assurances from a Federation officer.” Gul Tahgla’s image wavered through another burst of static, then formed again. “I leave it to you to imagine what those assurances mean to us. Especially after having trusted your previous guarantees that the privacy of my vessel would be observed while in the DS Nine drydock. Obviously, those assurances meant nothing, or you would never have discerned what mission I had been sent upon.”
Sisko felt a twinge of revulsion in his gut, both at the gul’s self-indicting logic and at the awareness that in his own dealings with the Cardassians, his words and actions had begun to mirror theirs.
He made one more attempt. “There are lives at risk aboard that unit.”
“I har
dly think so, Commander. You see, we have already been trying to communicate with it—and we have received no response to our signals. Please accept my sincerest condolences regarding whatever members of your crew were lost in your foolhardy attempt to circumvent the legitimate aims of the Cardassian empire. These are the hazards of command, are they not?” Gul Tahgla’s expression mocked sympathy. “When we reach the sector, we will make some attempt to retrieve whatever bodies may be aboard the unit, so they can be sent back to you for whatever religious observances you may consider to be appropriate—of course, only if we can do so safely. You have made many public comments about the shoddy materials and construction of the station you took over from the Cardassians; I doubt if anyone will blame us if we find ourselves compelled to . . . eliminate in as forthright a manner as possible this piece of DS Nine you sent out here. It is, after all, adrift right in the middle of what will be the traffic conduit into and out of the Gamma Quadrant. We would be performing a service to the developed worlds by disposing of this menace to navigation.”
Sisko perceived an opening. “Then, since you acknowledge that the unit presents no threat to you or your plans, you would naturally have no objection to relaying—or at least attempting to—our encoded message to it?”
“That would need to be determined, Commander. Feel free to send us the encoded message, and once my cryptographic analysis officers have broken it, read it, and made sure that its contents cannot compromise Cardassian interests—we might send it on.”
“Gul Tahgla—you’re aware of the degrees of Starfleet message security. It would take your computers years to decode the message.”
“Well, then.” The Cardassian shrugged. “Simplify matters for all of us—send the message unencoded.”
“That’s absolutely not possible.”
“I expected as much. For the sake of your crew members—if any of them are still alive—I hope the message you wished to get to them was nothing too urgent. Request denied. End of transmission.”
Sisko gazed up at the blanked screen. “Well,” he said. “That could have gone better.”
She looked at the face before her. The knife blade had been drawn back a few centimeters, the edge still cold against her throat, but allowing her to breathe. Kira worked at keeping her pulse steady, her muscles tensed for the smallest opportunity that might be presented to her.
“How many years, Kira?” Over the gleam of light on the weapon, Hören regarded her. “Since we were in each other’s presence . . . not that many, really. Not when you think about it. It’s just that . . . so much has happened since we were together.”
Her hands braced flat against the deck. “What do you want?”
“Why do you waste the little time you have left? Asking stupid questions—” His fist remained locked tight around the knife’s handle. “Surely I’ve made my desires—the desires of many people—clear to you by now. But then . . . you feel you have the luxury of time, don’t you?” Hören tilted his head, peering into the eyes of his captured prey. “And you do—much more than the ones you murdered had. Those brethren’s deaths were in fire and pain, though mercifully brief. They also died in the righteousness of their faith. That is a comfort I’m afraid will be denied to you.”
She felt the blade scrape across her throat as she arched her neck. “You know—I’m not really used to discussing theological issues when I’m flat on my back, with a knife drawn on me. Maybe we could go on talking under some slightly different conditions?”
“We could go on talking forever, Kira. But we won’t. Time is not infinite for us, though the consequences of our actions outlive our days. Your betrayal of your fellow Bajorans—not just the ones who died at the temple, but all of your race—that was but the blink of an eye, a moment come and gone. No doubt you little expected how long others’ memories would be, how that moment would eventually come full circle.” Hören leaned forward, closer above her. The knife blade pressed down, almost breaking the skin. “This is where the circle closes, Kira.” His gaze narrowed, as though the eyes were glittering steel within slits of thin flesh. “And time ends—for you.”
There had been no chance of him letting her up, dragging her up against the bulkhead with the knife still readied underneath her jaw—she had known that. Whatever depths Hören’s insanity had reached, he remained smart enough not to let the situation go on too much longer. An egotist who wanted to savor his triumph and the sound of his own words, but not a fool. Or at least not a total one.
She closed her eyes and gasped, as though fear had gripped her breath. “I . . . I can’t hear you . . . ” The whisper barely emerged on her lips.
His face came closer to hers, his words almost a kiss touching her ear. “You don’t need to—”
That was what she needed, a trick to take him off balance. Literally; his weight had shifted forward, poised awkwardly for a second. But that was enough—the sudden thrust of her bent legs against the deck, and her doubled fists striking beneath his ribs, toppled him over her. Just as quickly, she twisted her head to one side, feeling the knife graze a centimeter away from the corner of her brow.
She heard Hören’s weight hit the bulkhead, as she followed through on her own shoulder-first roll. Scrambling to her feet, she dived forward, hands outstretched. Her vaulting arc was broken when she felt her ankle snared from behind. She managed to contort enough to land braced against her forearm, protecting her ribs from the jarring impact.
Hören’s grasp tightened. He grunted with the effort of tugging her back toward him, his torso rearing up from where he knelt. The knife sparked in his raised hand.
Kira didn’t resist, but pushed instead against the deck, doubling the force of Hören’s pull. The heel of one boot struck him in the chest; his eyes widened from the unexpected blow. A split second later, as her fingertips clawed into the deck and twisted her onto her other shoulder, a scissors kick caught him on the angle of his jaw. His head snapped back, and the knife flew from his hand, disappearing into the darkness behind him.
He recovered faster than she expected. Panting for breath, Kira saw him grabbing for the knife, his hand falling instinctively upon its handle. His gaze broke from her, long enough for her to pull herself upright.
She turned and ran, shoulder colliding with an angle of the bulkhead as she pushed through a hatchway into one of the branching corridors.
She didn’t hear running footsteps at her back. But laughter.
“Is that what you wish to do?”
He heard the voice behind him. Turning his head, he looked over his shoulder and saw the image standing there. He had already opened the access hatch leading down to the engine compartment; he sat at its rim, legs reaching down to the rungs.
“I don’t know,” said Bashir. “But I knew you were watching me—all of you. I couldn’t think of any other way to make you show yourselves.”
A different voice, the angry one, came from the Kira image. “You see?” The image tilted its head back, the star-filled gaze directed toward an invisible audience. “So lightly this one threatens us! Our existence means nothing to such a creature!”
“That’s not true. I would never have come here among you if . . . if I didn’t think you mattered a great deal. Like all living creatures.” He craned his neck, trying to peer into the blackness of the image’s eyes, as if he might see all the wormhole’s inhabitants mingled in that small universe. “I wanted to understand you; that’s all. Curiosity is in the nature of my kind.”
“That comes from being in time.” The softer voice spoke once again. “You are blind things, attempting to see. If you were outside time, you would know.”
Bashir shook his head, sensing the gulf opening up between him and these bodiless entities. He could wander in that space for ages, trying to make himself understood by them in turn. “That may be. But we don’t have a choice about it.”
“That is not truth. There is one of your kind who exists both in time and not in time.”
The s
tatement puzzled him. “Do you mean Sisko?”
“Not that one. He is still of the same nature as you. But there is another—do you not know?”
The riddles had started to make his head spin. “I don’t know . . . and I guess right now I don’t care, either. You can talk metaphysics all you want, but you’ll have to do it without me. I’ve still got to figure out what to do about Kira.”
Looking down at itself, the image studied the human form it had taken. “This one—” It laid a hand upon its breast. “That exists in your mind—that part you call memory—but not here.”
“Yes. She exists somewhere else, though. Outside the wormhole.” He gestured toward the bulkhead and the space beyond the cargo shuttle. “Outside where you exist.”
“The fate of this one concerns you. You are troubled that this one might cease to exist in time. Would this one still not exist in memory?”
He took a deep breath. “Yes . . . she would. But it’s not the same thing. Memory isn’t alive . . . not the way I am, and she is. Memory is like your kind. It doesn’t change.”
“Perhaps then it is a better way to exist. Changeless and eternal.”
His shoulders slumped. “I’m not going to argue with you about that. Maybe our kind is wrong, and you’re right. But it’s just in our nature. To prefer the living, and the changing, to what we think of as being dead.” The irony of the situation weighed upon him: before he had left DS9, this would have been the making real of dreams beyond his most grandiose ambitions. To have not only established contact with the wormhole’s inhabitants, but to go even further than Sisko had in understanding their nature. . . .