by S. D. Perry
Then Ro took up the tale of what had happened since she and Taran’atar had beamed off the runabout. Bashir was beginning to feel like too much time was slipping away, but he was soon caught up in her tale. “By the time we got within fifty meters of their main emplacement,” Ro recounted, “at least half the Ingavi had either been shot or forced to retreat. Then the firing let up. Nobody dared to move until one of our snipers picked off a Jem’Hadar at the gate. When we got to the gate, we discovered he was the only one there. It didn’t make any sense, but we weren’t going to pass up the opportunity, so we kept moving. All we found was dead Jem’Hadar, all of them obviously shot by other Jem’Hadar.” She looked at Dax with a curious combination of respect and apprehension. “What did you do to them?”
“More than I intended, obviously,” Dax said. “I just wanted to knock them out….”
“You couldn’t have known,” Bashir said. “Ketracel-white is a tricky bit of chemistry, one of the reasons it’s impossible to replicate. Any impurity will eventually lead to aberrant behavior, eventually escalating into uncontrolled violence. If I can access Locken’s records, I should be able to—”
Suddenly, Bashir became aware that Taran’atar was standing directly behind him. How long has he been there?
“I do not think you will have time to perform tests,” he said. “We must leave here soon or we will very likely die along with the Khan.”
“Leave? What do you mean?” Bashir asked. “We have to download records, find evidence…”
From the lab, there came a deep, snarling yell, then the crash of something large and delicate crashing to the ground. Bashir saw the First’s back in the narrow gap, then his face when he turned around. “Close this door,” he ordered Taran’atar. “Now.” Taran’atar rushed, gripped its edge and began to push in concert with the First. Before they could budge it more than a centimeter, Bashir heard a disruptor discharge and the First had to turn around. “Jem’Hadar!” he shouted. “Stand at attention!” The noise within died. Jem’Hadar conditioning died hard. The First turned back to the door and spoke quietly to Taran’atar. “The need grows strong in them…in all of us.”
“But we can fix the white,” Bashir said.
“No,” the First said. “It’s too late for that…” A tremor ran through his body.
Taran’atar grabbed his shoulder through the narrow space. Already, the Jem’Hadar inside were beginning to stir again. “Give them a good death,” Taran’atar said.
The First nodded. Gripping the stock of his disruptor, he shook himself as if to turn away from the door. Without another word, Taran’atar finished shoving the door shut.
Moments later, from within the lab came sounds of death.
Chapter Nineteen
Taran’atar turned to the others. “We must go.”
“The runabout is only about a half hour from here on foot,” Ro said.
Ezri stared at her in surprise. “It survived the crash?” she asked.
Ro nodded. “She’s tough. If we can get off planet, she’ll get us home.”
“No,” Bashir said suddenly. They all looked at him. “We’re not finished. We have to get his data. It’s the evidence we need to expose Thirty-One. And the only place left now is his quarters.” Bashir broke into a run.
Taran’atar and Ro looked at Ezri as if she were responsible for explaining Julian’s behavior. “We have to stay with him,” she said. “He’s not armed.”
“He’s not thinking,” Ro added.
“No,” Ezri corrected her. “He’s thinking too much. He almost can’t help it.” Something large and metallic crashed against the lab door and the floor vibrated underfoot. “Let’s go.”
In Locken’s quarters, Bashir had already beaten the encryption codes on Locken’s log files, but now he was furiously yanking open cabinets and cupboards and tossing their contents out onto the floor.
“Dammit!” he yelled. “Nothing!”
“What are you looking for?”
“A tricorder. A memory solid. Something I can record this data on!”
Ro opened her pack and pulled out a tricorder. “Here,” she said, tossing it to Bashir.
Once Bashir found the correct frequency, he quickly developed a search strategy that discarded extraneous material while flagging files with key words and terms. An expert searcher would have required two hours to complete such a task, but Julian was finished in minutes, after which he was downloading the relevant data as quickly as the tricorder would allow.
The immediate task addressed, he began to browse through some of the other directories until he found a schematic of the entire complex. Ezri saw Julian’s brow wrinkle. Something was bothering him. Wiping her hands, she walked toward him and saw that he was studying a corner of the compound where power lines and plumbing were leading into a seemingly empty space.
“What could that be?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” Julian said. “But I have some ideas, and they all bother me.”
“Only one way to find out for sure,” she said. “Want me to come with you? I know where all the entrances to the ductwork are just in case we have to avoid pursuit.”
Julian smiled. “Wedged into a small, dark space with you? What more could I ask for?”
Ezri snorted. “You are feeling better, aren’t you? Well, believe me, it’s not nearly as interesting as all that. You can hear things moving around in those vents. Every once in a while, you surprise one—”
“Now you’re just trying to impress me,” Julian said. “Whatever we do, we have to do it quickly.” He called to Ro and said, “When this is finished, call me, then head for the runabout. There’s something we want to go check.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to separate now,” Ro protested. “Especially if the Jem’Hadar break loose.”
“Locken might have left something behind. Possibly more Jem’Hadar cloning tubes. If we don’t shut them down, there’s no telling what they’ll do after we’re gone. We wouldn’t want anything to happen to your native friends.”
Ro surrendered. “All right. We’ll leave when the download finishes. Take this with you,” she said, handing the doctor her phaser rifle. “Watch your back. I have a feeling this place has a few more surprises left.”
“You know,” Ezri said as they made their way back toward the main lab, “that was quite an act you put on back in the cell. You almost had me convinced.”
Bashir stopped and leaned against a wall and rubbed his eyes. “I had you convinced,” he said, sighing, “because I wasn’t lying. Not entirely. Don’t misunderstand—I would never have joined him, Ezri. But those sleepless nights—they do happen and they scare the hell out of me. I just don’t know how narrow the line is between what I am—” He glanced down the shadowy hall in the direction of Locken’s lab. “—and what he was.” They stood staring into the darkness and listening to the ominous silence. “What would it take, I wonder, for me to cross that line?”
Ezri reached up and touched his cheek. “Nothing that I can think of,” she said reassuringly. “You’re not him, Julian. You never will be.”
Bashir grasped her hand with his, then pulled her toward him for a gentle kiss on the lips. He smiled and said, “Let’s finish up this mission. I want to go home with you.”
“That is the best idea I’ve heard in days,” Ezri replied.
Bashir counted off a dozen paces and they found themselves facing a blank wall. “Nothing here,” he said. “Nothing obvious, anyway.” He laid his fingertips on the wall, then paced back and forth, feeling for some kind of bump or imperfection. He checked the seams to see if there was a raised area, then the joints between wall and floor. “Still nothing,” he said.
“Might be voice-activated,” Ezri said. “Or more likely, that control unit he carried everywhere.”
“Hmmm,” Bashir hummed. “Good point. Well, I’m not going into the lab to retrieve it, so it looks like we do this the hard way. Let’s go back around that corne
r,” he said, pointing back toward the intersection.
He set the weapon for moderate impact—he wanted to damage the wall without bringing the roof down on their heads—and fired. The wall cracked, but did not shatter. With the second shot, chunks of plasteel crumbled and fell onto the floor. The third shot blasted away large pieces. They coughed and waved their hands in front of their faces until the dust settled and they could see well enough to pick their way through the debris.
Three meters from the wall, Bashir said, “Stop,” and pointed down. Something in the dark sparked and writhed. “Power lines.”
Ezri pointed at the floor. “And some kind of liquid. You must have hit the plumbing. Not a good combination.”
Without a tricorder, it was impossible to check whether they could proceed without danger, so they stood together for several seconds considering options until Ezri slapped her forehead and yelled, “Computer! Lights!”
A trio of fixtures flickered on and they could dimly see what was inside the room.
“More cloning tubes,” Ezri said. “More Jem’Hadar.”
A chill crawled down his spine. “No,” he said. “Not Jem’Hadar.” No longer thinking about the possibility of electrocution, he stepped lightly through the rubble, then climbed through the hole in the wall. Moments later, he heard Ezri climb in behind him, then a gasp, then a Klingon curse that would have made old Martok blush.
“When did he have time to do this?” she asked. “We’ve only been here two days!”
There were four cloning chambers, all of them full. The tube closest to the hole in the wall was cracked, obviously the source of the fluid on the floor. The body was slumped against the inside of the tube, the front of the head pressed flat against the glass. It was a young face, unlined by care or worry, but there was no question who it was.
It was him—Bashir.
He was immobilized, transfixed with shame and a sick kind of wonder. Ezri seemed compelled to peer into each tube. Stepping carefully, almost reverently around the cracked tube, she stared into the somehow unformed faces of the other three clones, each younger than the last, the smallest obviously no more than three years old.
“Oh, no—” she groaned.
Bashir seemed to snap out of the trance he was in and turned toward her. “What—what is it?”
“Julian—He must have been—Locken did some genetic manipulation—this one—is a female.”
Bashir almost doubled over, staggered by the almost physical power of his revulsion. He leaned against the wall and felt his legs go numb.
“But, why?” Ezri asked. “What was he thinking?” But she already knew, Bashir thought. It was obvious. Cloning was a reliable technique, but nothing worked better than nature.
“Breeding stock,” Bashir whispered. “For the new, better Federation.” As he said the words, he felt the disgust well up inside his gut, threatening to detonate inside him, to destroy him. There was only one thing he could do. He said, “Get away from there, Ezri.”
“What?”
“Get away.” He hefted the phaser rifle.
“But, Julian—this is evidence. We can use this.”
“It’s not evidence, Ezri,” Bashir said. “It’s atrocity.”
And she must have seen something in his eyes—something bitter and unwavering—because she didn’t say another word, but crept back out over the rubble and stood beside him. When he pressed the trigger, he thought he heard a scream and some distant part of his mind wondered if it could be one of the clones. Was that even possible? He thought he heard the same noise every time he fired, as each phaser bolt cut through plastic and metal, plumbing and electrical conduit, as the tubes exploded, as flesh burned, and fluid boiled away.
It was only much later—when he realized how raw his throat was—that he realized it had been him.
When they stumbled back out into the hall, Bashir and Ezri were surprised to find a Jem’Hadar waiting for them, disruptor drawn, but not raised. Bashir hefted his own weapon, but he knew that if the soldier were to attack, they were as good as dead.
“Why are you still here?” the Jem’Hadar asked, and then Bashir and Ezri simultaneously exhaled. They recognized the voice; it was the First.
“We were taking care of some last-minute business,” Bashir said coolly. “What about you? Were you successful? Did you complete your mission?”
“I have done my duty,” the First said, glancing back at the lab. “But I have had communication from another squad, one that was on patrol and was not affected by the tainted white. There is something happening outside and I must go to them.”
Bashir’s mind raced. What could be happening now? Could it be the natives Ro had brought? No, that didn’t seem likely. They were obviously not interested in confronting Jem’Hadar if it wasn’t necessary. He quickly considered all the other possibilities and realized there was only one likely candidate. “Come with me,” he said to the First. “I think I know what’s going on.”
When they reached Locken’s quarters and the doors parted before them, Ro was struggling with the computer console.
“Doctor!” Ro called. “Get over here! Something’s wrong.” She was frantically working the controls. With a quick glance, Bashir saw that something was happening to the data stored in Locken’s computer. The tricorder indicated that they were disintegrating at a precipitous rate.
“A virus?” he asked. “Did we set off a defense mechanism?”
“That’s what I thought at first and I spent five minutes running virus-protection routines. I thought it was going after backups first and I had time, but that was just a mask. Meanwhile, most of the primary files were being slagged while it ran these phony displays.” She punched in a series of commands. “It looks like a virus, but it’s really a targeted EM pulse weapon. Someone outside, close, or the damned thing wouldn’t work.”
Suddenly, Ro’s tricorder alarm sounded and she turned away from the console. “Damn!” she shouted, and reached for the tricorder just as its power coupling blew out. She jerked her hand away, grunted in pain, then ran for the kitchen, where she began running water over her fingers. Bashir ran to follow her, but was stopped by the sight of the tricorder. It was a blob of molten metal and plastic swimming with bits of gleaming circuitry.
Before Bashir could inspect Ro’s injury, Taran’atar called, “Look here,” and pointed at the surveillance monitor. At first, Bashir couldn’t make sense of what he was seeing. His first thought was that he was looking at the rays of dawn, but then he caught sight of small animals and birds breaking cover. Through the heavy shadows and bright lights, he saw a sapling, then two larger trees, crash to the ground. Then came the men, most of them wearing camouflage or night suits, though a few of them were carrying phaser rifles with searchlights.
A cluster of Ingavi burst from cover and ran at the soldiers. The men with phasers turned toward them and began firing, cutting them down with almost casual ease. There was no sound, but Bashir could hear the little aliens screaming in his mind.
Bashir knew who the newcomers were. He’d done what they asked of him; now they were moving in to finish the job. And that meant wiping out any evidence that they’d ever been to Sindorin. And any witnesses.
Bashir sensed Ro and Kel come up behind him. The Ingavi cried aloud when he saw the images on the screen, then ran for the door. Ro called out to him, “Kel! Wait! We can help.”
“No,” Taran’atar said. “We can’t. It isn’t a battle we can win. This mission is over.”
“I’m not talking about winning,” Ro said. “I’m talking about keeping a promise.”
Kel had little patience for their debate, but Bashir sensed that he understood and sympathized with the conflict raging inside Ro. Fighting his desire to join his comrades, he stayed long enough to say, “You have already kept your promise, Ro. You have freed us from the Jem’Hadar. It was much more than we could have hoped for.” He pointed the muzzle of his rifle at the monitor. “Do not make the mistake of believi
ng it is your responsibility to resolve this. Not everything is your responsibility. The weight of so much guilt would crush you.”
And then he was gone.
Ro tried to grab her weapon from Bashir, but she was no match for him with her burned hand. “Doctor,” she said. “I’m begging you…”
Bashir shook his head. “No,” he said. “Taran’atar’s right. We have to go. If we stay…”
“If we stay,” Ro spat back, “we die. But if we go, the Ingavi will die. Maybe not all of them, maybe not immediately, but they can’t survive much longer if we don’t do something.” She lurched toward the door, but Taran’atar put his hand on her shoulder, not restraining her, only reminding her of his presence. Ro seemed to sag within herself.
“How,” he asked Bashir, “do we get out of here?”
Bashir mentally scanned the complex’s layout and had begun to plan an escape route when he was distracted by the flash of disruptor fire. But something was different. “Look here,” he said, calling to the First, pointing at the monitor. “This is disruptor fire, isn’t it?”
The First barely glanced at the images. “My soldiers,” he said. “They must be the ones who called me earlier. I’ve lost contact with them.” He checked the grid coordinates on the surveillance feed. “Who are they?” he asked, referring to the humans with phasers.
“They’re Locken’s accomplices,” said Dax, who had been silently watching the Jem’Hadar for the past several minutes. “They’re the ones responsible for all this.”
The First gritted his teeth. “Then,” he snarled, “I will gather my soldiers and we will greet our makers appropriately.” He glanced at Bashir, but then spoke to Taran’atar. “There is a transporter pad in the room at the other end of this corridor. You can use it to get to your ship. Go now.”
Taran’atar nodded once, but the First wasn’t even thinking about him anymore. As they ran down the corridor, Bashir heard the sounds of phaser fire slashing through walls and doors. The Section 31 operatives didn’t seem to be encountering any resistance, though he suspected that would change as soon as the First reached his men.