“I helped Doctor Bashir resolve Vic’s problem and set the program back to its normal operating mode.”
Felix folded his arms across his chest and leaned back in his chair. Behind him, through a small, round port in the bulkhead of R’Novia, stars streaked past. “The thing that’s interesting to me about this is that I wrote the program to be expansive,” he said. “That means that the code is able to incorporate era-specific social and environmental details as needed. Under normal circumstances, especially if the program has been running with no user participation, I’d hypothesize that it might have been influenced by the historical record of nineteen-sixties Earth, a period of considerable upheaval. But since it’s been executing in a stand-alone simulation tester, that’s not possible; without a connection to a larger database, there would necessarily be a limitation to the number of outside details that the program could bring in.”
“What about the change in the entry point?” Nog asked.
“That’s probably just a function of the program’s main character relocating,” Felix said.
“When I first uploaded the program to a holosuite from the tester, the entry point was still in the casino,” Nog said. “That must mean that Vic relocated recently.”
“Not necessarily,” Felix said. “You told me that when you first reloaded the program, you saw only a small swath of the holographic setting. That means that the code could have been executing in a testing or safety mode. It might not reflect the current state of the program at that time.”
Nog had considered that possibility himself. “But why hasn’t the entry point changed again?” he asked.
“You told me that Vic was abducted,” Felix said. “That obviously wouldn’t count as voluntary relocation, and so it wouldn’t have any effect on the program’s entry point.”
That made sense to Nog, but it did not answer a more significant question. “Could any of that have to do with why I can’t restart the program?”
“Oh, no, not at all,” Felix said. “In your account of what happened your last time in the program, the people who kidnapped Vic fired weapons at you. It’s likely that, as far as the code is concerned, you were flagged as fatalities. It’s probably not that the program can no longer be run in a holosuite; it’s that you personally can’t reenter it.”
“What?” Nog said, though he understood precisely what Felix had just told him. The operations chief stepped forward and leaned heavily on the front of his companel. “I can’t ever enter the program again?” He dreaded the answer. It meant that he couldn’t help save Vic from his current troubles, and also that, even if the lounge singer managed to resolve the situation on his own and resume his normal existence, Nog wouldn’t be able to interact with him.
“I wrote the code as a real-world emulation,” Felix explained. “You can’t include genuine physical jeopardy for users in holoprograms—at least not legally or ethically—but I wanted to give Julian a piece of code that had some weight to it . . . where his actions would have consequences.”
“Is there any way . . .” Nog began, but a terrible sense of despair washed over him. He stopped, then started again. “Can I modify the code?”
“You can try, but I doubt you’ll have much success,” Felix told him. “I programmed it in such a way that any attempts to alter it causes its immediate deletion.”
“Isn’t there anything I can do?” Nog heard the desperation in his voice.
“You can always just reinitialize the program and start all over again,” Felix said.
“It’s not the program that’s important,” Nog said. “It’s Vic. Resetting the code would mean erasing his memories . . . effectively ending his life. Even if I could be his friend again, it wouldn’t be the same—he wouldn’t be the same.”
“No, he wouldn’t,” Felix said, “and not just because his memories would be deleted. Everything about him would be gone: his physical parameters, the composition of his mental and emotional processing. When the program started the first time, it created Vic’s character from several specified constants—his age, his profession, his talent—as well as a random selection of attributes.”
With every word, the news worsened. In theory, Nog could request some of his crewmates to help Vic, but even if they succeeded in doing so, it would have no impact on Nog’s inability to reenter the singer’s Las Vegas habitat. He didn’t even know whom he could reasonably ask, since so many of those who’d been closest to Vic did not live on the new Deep Space 9: Doctor Bashir and Lieutenant Commander Douglas, Vedek Kira, Captain Sisko and Kasidy Yates, Captain Dax, Odo. Chief O’Brien resided on the starbase, but his wife and children had only recently joined him from Bajor, filling most of his off-duty hours with family.
Nog pulled out the chair in front of the companel and slumped into it. “Isn’t there anything I can do to reenter the program?” he asked.
“Not in the usual manner, no,” Felix said. “But . . . there is a back door.”
“A back door?” Nog asked, his voice rising along with a sudden sense of hope.
“I always leave myself a way back into my work in case of emergency,” Felix said. “I can give you a set of commands that will allow you to bypass the program’s regular checks. That would allow you to go back in, but it will only work once, so if you use it, you’ll have to remain in the program until you reestablish your identity.”
“How can I do that?”
“Actually, the main character can do it,” Felix said. “Vic probably doesn’t even know he has that capability, but as soon as he sees you alive, that should trigger the procedure.”
“That’s great,” Nog said. Yes, he would have to rescue Vic from the thugs who had abducted him, but he was going to have to do that anyway. “That’s what I’ll do.”
“There’s one other thing,” Felix said. “Once you utilize the back door, you’ll have exactly one week to reestablish your identity.”
Nog didn’t think it would take that long to determine Vic’s situation and deal with it accordingly, but he also needed to know the strictures under which he would be operating. “What happens if I can’t find Vic and reestablish my identity in a week?”
“Then the program will automatically reestablish your identity for you,” Felix said. “And to do that, it will completely reinitialize itself.”
Nog slipped back down into his chair. “And that means . . .”
“It means that if you can’t recover Vic in that time,” Felix said, “he will cease to exist.”
v
* * *
In the living area of her quarters, Ro lifted a platter of sliced hasperat from the replicator and carried it over to the dining table. She set it down between the two place settings laid out there, alongside a bowl containing braised lorpa beans and another with decapus salad. The food looked and smelled delicious—a consequence not just of the traditional Bajoran dishes she’d chosen from the replicator, but from her renewed appetite. Over the past month or so—really from about the time she had left the Ascendant link living peaceably inside the wormhole—life had mostly settled down for the captain aboard Deep Space 9. She still spent multiple shifts each day fulfilling her responsibilities as the commanding officer of the busy, highly populated starbase, but she had begun to find a rhythm in it. She had actually shortened her workdays a bit and she’d started to give more attention to her off-duty hours.
“This all looks wonderful,” Altek Dans said of the food—although as he glanced across the table at Ro with a warm smile and a gleam in his eyes, she thought that he might be referring to more than just their dinner. She sat down across from him and reached for a bottle of Andorian red wine she’d found at Celestial Spirits on the Plaza. She poured out two glasses.
Ro lifted her wine to sip from it, but she stopped when Dans raised his glass toward her. “To Ro Laren,” he said.
“And why are you toasting me?�
��
“There could be many reasons,” Dans said. “Your beauty, your strength, your intelligence, your honesty—”
“All right, all right,” Ro said, interrupting him. “You’re clearly not appealing to my sense of humility.”
“I said those could be the reasons, but they’re not,” he told her playfully. “I’m saluting you for everything you’ve done on my behalf since my arrival.”
“I’m just doing my duty,” Ro said, more out of reflex than anything else. Although she had never cared for the considerable criticism she’d endured on many fronts throughout her life, she had also never been comfortable accepting approbation.
“You’re being modest, and that’s fine,” Dans said, “but I want you to know that I appreciate all you’ve done for me—particularly in trying to get the Bajoran government to allow me to go home.”
“If they ever do.”
“That’s what I’m saluting,” Dans said, and he eased his glass forward to tap it against Ro’s. The contact produced a melodic ring. “The minister of state’s office contacted me today.”
“Congratulations,” Ro said. She sipped from her wineglass, and Dans followed suit. Although she felt conflicted about the news, it did please her for his sake. More than two months prior, Dans had indicated his desire to return to Bajor, and the captain had set about trying to make that happen. She had run into resistance, initially because of the political turmoil following the assassination of President Bacco, and later owing to the complicated unrest fomented by the discovery of the Endalla falsework and the Ohalavaru claims about it. Ro eventually met in person with Kai Pralon and helped convince her that she should actively support Dans’s request. Just the previous day, the kai’s office alerted the captain that First Minister Asarem finally agreed to direct her government to issue identity and travel documents to Dans. “What did the minister’s office tell you?”
“Nothing definitive,” Dans said, “but Minister Gandal wanted me to know that his people are working toward drafting the necessary documents to allow me to head to Bajor.”
Ro couldn’t be sure, but it sounded like another delaying tactic. She served herself a helping of hasperat as she considered what to say. She didn’t want to spoil Dans’s optimism. “Did they give you a timeframe?”
“Not a precise one.” Dans scooped some lorpa beans onto his plate, then used a pair of serving spoons to add some salad. “They told me that it should happen within a week, perhaps as soon as three or four days from now.”
“That at least sounds more convincing than what we’ve heard before.” Ro passed the platter of hasperat to Dans, who took two helpings, then served herself the beans and salad.
“I’m hopeful, anyway,” Dans said.
They lapsed into comfortable silence for a few minutes as they started eating. Ro contemplated how quickly she had become accustomed to having Dans in her life, and how much she enjoyed his company. Although he didn’t seem especially backward, as one might expect of a man who had lived hundreds—perhaps even thousands—of years in the past, Ro could not quite picture him living in modern society—at least not without her nearby presence and counsel. “What are your plans once you reach Bajor?” she eventually asked, and another question rose in her mind. “Where do you even plan on going?”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” Dans said between a bite of hasperat and a forkful of beans. “You know that I’ve been reading a lot about contemporary Bajor. I was looking at first for familiar place names, but I didn’t have any luck. There were occasional similarities here and there, but nothing that truly matched up with locations from my time. So if I really want to learn about Bajor and its people today, I thought I might best be served by starting out in the capital.”
“That sounds like a good idea,” Ro said. “You’ll be able to immerse yourself in Bajoran culture—much more so than here. Deep Space Nine may be in the Bajoran system and largely inhabited by its citizens, but this is still a Starfleet facility. I think you’ll have an entirely different experience in Ashalla than you’ve had here.”
“I think so too,” Dans said. “Your crew have all treated me well in my time here, but I’m hoping that I can sort of get lost in the capital . . . not draw too much attention to myself.”
“I think that may depend on the first minister and the kai,” Ro said. “I suspect that they’re going to want to announce your arrival to Bajorans. I know you don’t think it’s significant, but your being sent through time by the Prophets will interest a lot of people.”
“I can understand that point of view,” Dans said, “but there just doesn’t seem to be any reason for me to be here. I’m more inclined to think that what’s happened is just a matter of chance. I might not understand how I came to be here, but there doesn’t seem to be any particular reason behind it.”
“Believers claim that the Prophets work in mysterious ways.”
“I’m one of those believers,” Dans said. “I just have a difficult time imagining that the Prophets have singled me out for some reason.”
“I’m not sure it will be hard for others to make that leap,” Ro said. “People will want to speak with you, listen to your views. With the rift regarding the falsework, both sides will want to recruit you to their way of thinking.”
“I’ll try to avoid anything like that.”
“I hope you can, for your sake,” Ro said. “Do you have any idea what you might want to do in the longer term?”
Dans took his glass and drank the last few sips of wine from it, then poured himself another. He held the bottle up to the captain’s nearly empty glass, but she stopped him with a gesture. Dans drank again before answering. “I guess I just want to get a feel for Bajor, for its people—and I want to find my place among them.”
“You want to go home.”
Dans nodded, but Ro detected a melancholy about him. “I know I can’t go home, not really, I know that,” he said. “But I’d like to approximate that as best I can, and I think there’s a way I can do so . . . by returning to the practice of medicine.”
“Do you think you can do that?” Ro assumed that Dans’s experiences as a doctor must have differed greatly from those of present-day Bajoran physicians.
“I do,” Dans said. “There have obviously been advances since my time, both technologically and in terms of knowledge, but I can learn all of that. I’ll go back to school.”
“That’s commendable,” Ro said.
Dans shrugged. “It’s selfish,” he said. “I want to belong. I want to feel useful. I’ve been a lot of things in my life—a son, a brother, a colleague, a friend, a lover. Of all those roles, the most important were a liberator of slaves and a physician. As far as I know, today’s Bajor has no slaves, but there will always be sick and injured people to care for.”
“The Bajoran people will be lucky to have you back.”
As they continued their meal, they talked more about Bajor. Ro shared with Dans some of her favorite places on the planet, including the Endestre Wilderness Preserve, Borvalo Falls, and the Tannatuk Colony, a small settlement of artists in Tozhat Province who focused both on their creative endeavors and on maintaining a way of life less dependent on technology. They spoke about various forms of entertainment, and Ro learned that Dans enjoyed attending the theater. He also talked about his younger days playing a ball-based team sport called renfor, which the captain had never heard of; when he tried to explain the rules, they left her thoroughly confused.
Dans wanted to know how Ro’s day had gone and what lay ahead for her in her command of DS9. After a while, as they moved on from their meal to dessert—they shared a slice of Terran apple pie—Ro became increasingly aware that they both danced around the kulloth in the room: what would become of their budding relationship?
It had been a long time since Ro had needed to deal with such matters. She had shared a close bond with Quar
k for years, first connecting with him over their mutual sense of being outsiders aboard the old DS9, and then finding in each other a romantic partner. Ro could not deny the love she felt for the barkeep, but as a close and special friend. She knew that Quark thought of their relationship as something more than that—and Ro knew she would have to address his feelings before too much more time had passed—but she considered them casual lovers. By contrast, she was falling in love with Altek Dans.
After dinner, as they sat on the sofa with cups of raktajino, Ro finally broached the subject. “I’m going to miss you,” she said.
“I’ll miss you too,” Dans said, “but not for long, I hope.” Ro felt her eyebrows lift in surprise at what sounded like something between an insult and a dismissal. “No, no,” Dans rushed to say, clearly reading her reaction. “What I mean is that I won’t miss you for long because we’ll be seeing each other—at least, I hope we will be.”
“I would like that,” Ro said. She felt earnest in her desire to continue spending time with Dans, but awkward in her declaration. It seemed ridiculous, but she—
The door chime sounded.
“Are you expecting a visitor?” Dans asked.
“No,” Ro said, but she immediately suspected that Quark had come to pay her a visit. A knot formed deep inside her. It’s my own fault, she thought. I’ve been meaning to talk to him for so long now. Ro glanced across the compartment at her companel, which displayed the time. She saw that gamma shift had begun a short time prior, which made her think that perhaps Quark hadn’t come to see her. At that time of the evening, he could almost always be found in his establishment on the Plaza.
“No, I’m not expecting anyone.” She stood up and headed toward the door. “Come in,” she called. The door panels split apart and withdrew into the bulkhead as she approached. Relief rose within her when she saw somebody other than Quark standing in the corridor. Taller than the barkeep, the figure wore an old-fashioned robe with its hood pulled up, obscuring the face within. As Ro watched, the person reached up and pulled the hood back, revealing a familiar face.
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