by Mel Gilden
“How is that possible?” Sisko said, allowing a little of his anger to show. “You said Keithorpheum was harmless, inert.”
“That’s what the book says, Benjamin. I’m sorry.”
Dax’s apology caused Sisko to cool down a little. He knew that Dax and O’Brien were doing their best. His whole team was. He could not help being angry, but acting on his anger was not doing anybody any good. “No need to be sorry,” he said. “But I think we must write a new book.” He handed Odo’s tricorder to O’Brien. “Take a look at these recordings. The Trulgovians can filter out their Keithorpheum. Why can’t we?”
“I’ll find out,” O’Brien said as he took the tricorder and began to download its memory into the station’s computer.
“And, O’Brien?” Sisko said.
“Sir?”
“The decon team was able to clean Odo and me up pretty quickly with their nanites. Why can’t we just let nanites of that design loose in the station?”
“We could do that, sir, and under ordinary circumstances I would have already suggested it. But if we can’t beam the stuff away, I doubt if the nanites would have more luck no matter how fast they ate.”
“Understood,” Sisko said. “Please carry on.”
“He’d better hurry,” Major Kira said as she continued to ponder the information on her situation table. “Power output is down another fifteen percent.”
As if to emphasize Kira’s announcement, gravity fluctuated, and for a moment Sisko felt as if he were on an oceangoing vessel in rough seas. He wished Jake were here where he could keep an eye on him.
“Computer,” Sisko called out, “where is Jake Sisko?”
“Jake Sisko is not on Deep Space Nine,” the computer said after a moment.
“Please confirm.”
“Jake Sisko is not on Deep Space Nine.”
“Not possible, Commander,” Kira said. “No ships have come in or gone out since yesterday.”
“Then something must have happened to his commbadge.”
“Possible. I’ll get Odo on it.”
“Can he spare the officers?”
“I’m sure he can.” Kira smiled. “sometimes you worry too much, Commander.”
“Thanks, Major.”
Where is that boy?
CHAPTER 6
Terrified, Jake put up his hands to protect himself while Nog keened in distress, a noise that made thinking difficult. The Moops crawled all over Jake, touching him, patting him, lightly scratching him. They pulled his hair and plucked at his clothing, but they did not actually hurt him. They seemed more curious than anything else.
Then one of the Moops ripped off his commbadge and flapped into the air with it. Jake cried out and leaped at the Moop, but it always hovered just out of reach. Nog broke off his keening and tried to help, but had no more luck than Jake.
“Give that back,” Jake shouted angrily.
Instead of giving it back, the Moop bit into the commbadge as if to test if it was real. Something inside cracked, and Jake felt a wrenching sickness.
“Now we’re really cut off,” Jake said, then saw that Nog had troubles of his own.
“Hey,” Nog cried as the first Moop grabbed the toy statue and ran to the far corner of the room with it in his hands. While chattering happily to himself, he touched the screen again and again, making more Moops.
The already dim light grew dimmer. The laboring of the air recirculators did little to improve the air quality. The air was also noticeably cooler than normal, and Jake shivered.
Soon the room was filled with Moops, hundreds of them. None of them paid more than passing attention to Jake and Nog.
“Let’s warp,” Jake whispered, his breath making a plume of mist. He and Nog ran out of the store, and back up the corridor to the turbolift. Jake punched the call button, but the light didn’t go on.
Nog set one of his big ears against the closed turbolift door and listened. “I don’t think it’s working,” he said.
The patter of hundreds of feet and the gabble of Moop voices made them look with distress back the way they’d come.
“We can’t stay here,” Nog cried.
“Come on,” Jake said, and ran off, hoping he remembered correctly. He led Nog away from the Moops.
Jake was relieved when he found what he was looking for. He began to undog the hatch cover.
“What is it?” Nog asked.
“Maintenance hatch. Chief O’Brien says they’re on every level.”
“I guess he was right. Hurry! Hurry!”
Jake didn’t have to be prompted. While he fought to make his fingers work correctly on the cold metal, he glanced down the corridor and saw the Moops were already at the turbolift. They would be on them any second.
He got the cover off and dropped it. Secrecy was not necessary. He grabbed the edge of the duct and pulled himself inside. It was full of dust, dead insects, and tiny bits of machined metal. Three of the three-eyed creatures like the one Jake and Nog had saved from the sludge sat to one side staring at him as if with astonishment.
“Come on, come on,” Nog cried.
“All right. Just don’t get excited,” Jake said.
“Excited?” Nog asked irritably as Jake pulled him into the duct. “Why should I be—?” He stopped speaking when he saw the three creatures.
“Come on,” Jake cried. “The Moops’ll be here any second.”
Nog made a small groan of unhappiness as they passed the creatures, squeezing against the far wall as tightly as they could. The creatures turned their heads to watch the two boys, but made no other move.
“I told you they wouldn’t hurt us,” Jake said as they crawled like mad along the duct. He heard nothing but the mechanical banging of Nog crawling behind him on his hands and knees, and the quick hiss of his own breathing. They crawled for a long time, giving Jake the opportunity to wonder if he should report any of this to his dad, if Garak had known or guessed this would happen, and whether the Moops were following.
For all he knew, Garak’s intentions were as innocent as he pretended. Telling his dad seemed like a bad idea, but Jake knew that not telling him was probably worse, especially if the Moops overran the station.
Jake didn’t know whether the Moops were chasing them until he stopped at the bottom of a shaft where a couple more of the three-eyed creatures sat waiting.
“Just ignore them,” Jake advised as Nog crouched next to him in the tiny space.
A stack of rungs protruded from the wall, making a ladder that converged to a point far above him. The shaft reminded him of the Jeffries tubes-access ways aboard most big starships.
“Yow!” Nog cried.
The Moops were after them, and getting closer very fast.
“Come on,” Jake said, and began to climb.
Going hand over hand as quickly as he could, he passed hatchway after hatchway until he lost count; he knew that each hatchway meant he was one level closer to the Promenade. Every time he looked down, Nog was a little farther behind him. A clump of Moops were below Nog, but catching up.
“Come on, Nog!” he cried. Though he knew his life depended on climbing, Jake began to tire and slow down. He would have given anything for a rest. The rungs were so cold that his hands were becoming numb. He didn’t think he’d ever be warm again. Then suddenly, cold was forgotten and he was much hotter than he wanted to be. Only by pulling down the sleeves of his pullover to cover his hands was he able to continue climbing the burning rungs. He yelled advice down to Nog.
He grabbed the next rung. When he pulled himself up, he flew upward like a rocket! He automatically put out his hand to grab one of the rungs that rushed past, almost dislocating his arm when he stopped suddenly. A three-eyed creature swam past him, looking very comfortable. It didn’t even glance in Jake’s direction.
The temperature of the air here seemed fairly normal. But while he looked down, he floated away from the wall as if he were in a pool of water. Apparently, the Keithorpheum was affecting
the graviton generators as well as the air recirculators and the lights. Nog seemed far below, and it occurred to Jake that this lack of gravity gave them a chance they might not get again.
“Give yourself a good push,” Jake called down the shaft. “We can fly up!” The Moops could fly too, of course, but they would leave the zone of regular gravity some seconds behind him and Nog. Jake hoped that a few seconds was all he and Nog would need to get to the Promenade.
Nog shot past Jake, pumping the air with his hands and feet, yelling with delight and fear. Below, the Moops were still climbing hand over hand. Jake gripped a rung and flung himself upward. “Nog!” Jake cried when, a moment later, Nog went past him the wrong way! Jake grabbed him with one hand.
“What happened?” Jake asked. The Moops were shooting toward them.
“Gravity up there,” Nog said breathlessly. Once they entered a zone of gravity, he and Nog would be climbing while the Moops would be flying. Not a good deal. Jake hurriedly shot up to the nearest hatchway and got it open. Beyond was a duct much like the one they had entered far below on level forty-five. After some confusion, Jake got Nog to crawl into the duct first. Then Jake crawled in and dogged it tight behind them.
“That ought to slow them down,” Jake said, hoping it was true.
They crawled as fast as they could along the duct. Jake stopped now and then to listen, but he heard nothing but Nog and himself. It seemed too much to hope for that the Moops couldn’t figure out how the hatch worked, or had passed the hatch altogether.
After what seemed to be a long crawl, they reached the far end of the duct and Jake had to coach Nog in how to undog the hatch. When the job was done at last, Nog jumped out into the corridor. Jake was right behind him.
The corridor was empty and at least as cold as level forty-five. Lights flickered. Still, Jake recognized this as a residence level, and that made him feel more comfortable. He’d actually been here a few times—once for a birthday party for a little girl who’d gone through the wormhole with her parents the next day.
Jake closed and locked the hatch. He and Nog ran for the nearest turbolift. They ran through another zone of light gravity that allowed them to leap ahead like dancers.
They arrived at the turbolift and Jake stabbed the call button.
“I hear it coming,” Nog said, “but it’s very slow.”
“You want to try the ducts again?”
“If we have to. Let’s wait a minute for the turbolift.”
They waited impatiently. A moment later they heard a loud bang coming from around the curve of the corridor—certainly the hatch cover striking the floor. The noise was followed immediately by the patter of little feet and loud Moop conversation.
Jake was about to look for another hatch when the turbolift doors slowly opened. He and Nog leaped inside.
“Promenade,” Jake cried. He was horrified to see that instead of closing, the doors continued to open until they reached their limit. The boys shouted with alarm when hundreds of Moops boiled into the turbolift with them.
Jake and Nog immediately dashed out, but the Moops did not seem interested in following them. They jostled and climbed over each other as the turbolift doors closed.
When the Moops were gone, Jake and Nog fell on each other laughing with relief.
“Where do you think they’re going?” Jake asked.
“Who cares as long as they’re gone.”
“What if they’re going to the Promenade?”
“Their bad luck,” Nog said without concern. “They’ll have to deal with Odo.”
Jake knew that Odo could be tough, but there were an awful lot of Moops. “We’re responsible,” he said. “We ought to help if we can.”
“I guess if we’re going to the Promenade too, we don’t have a choice.”
“Right,” Jake said.
Because the Promenade was only a few levels above them, they decided to climb again instead of chancing a ride on the turbolift.
“At the rate that turbolift is moving, we might actually beat them to the Promenade,” Nog said.
Whereas the corridor was cold, the duct was surprisingly warm. Gravity in the shaft was higher than it should have been, causing Jake to feel as if he were made of latinum. As they climbed, they passed through a zone where gravity fluctuated so badly Jake felt sick to his stomach. He moved along as fast as he could and soon felt better.
They heard what was going on on the Promenade before they saw it. Angry shouts, the occasional surprised shriek, and Moop-talk echoed back to them along the duct. Cool blue emergency light showed in through the vents of the hatch cover.
“Should we go out there?” Nog asked worriedly.
“Either that or we spend the rest of our lives in this duct.”
The prospect seemed to please Nog no more than it pleased Jake. They started to crawl again.
They arrived at the Promenade at last and looked out of their duct into what seemed to be a brawling crowd. The various types of creatures who inhabited DS9 weren’t fighting each other—they were fighting the Moops.
The Moops were climbing over everybody and everything. They grabbed bags, sticks, jewelry, and pieces of equipment and played keep-away with it—throwing things from Moop to Moop over the heads of their victims. They flew through the air with the food and Bajoran ear cuffs they’d collected and peppered the crowd with them. The place was a mess.
“I’m willing to help,” Nog said. “Just give me a clue how.”
Nearby, a Moop pushed over a booth that usually sold Klingon fast food. The cooking utensils clattered to the floor of the Promenade among a pile of wriggling bloodworms.
Men and women of Odo’s security crew dived into the fray, trying to stop the worst of the vandalism, but there were too many Moops, and of course, none of Odo’s people could fly. A few of the security team had phasers drawn, but hesitated to fire with so many innocent bystanders around.
“There’s Odo!” Nog cried and leaped from the duct into a nest of Moops who poked him and pulled his ears; he struggled against them, alternately laughing and calling out in pain.
Jake leaped down to help his friend, but found that he was just as much at the mercy of the Moops as everyone else. The gravity seemed lighter than normal—perhaps a result of their having been so heavy for so long. The air’s temperature was about right, even if it smelled terrible.
Odo was the only one on the Promenade who seemed to be giving the Moops any trouble. Because he could change his shape, the Moops had no target they could prod or pull. Whenever a Moop grabbed him, Odo just wasn’t there.
Jake and Nog fought their way free of the Moops and waded through the melee to where Odo shifted from form to form.
“Odo,” Nog cried, “we have to tell you—”
“Not now,” Odo said with a mouth he formed at the tip of a stalk. “Get to Ops where you’ll be reasonably safe. Jake, your father has been very worried.”
“Sorry, Odo. But listen—”
Before Jake had a chance to finish his sentence, three Moops got together and carried Odo away. Odo quickly melted between their fingers, took the form of a bird, and flew back to the floor. The Moops who’d grabbed him didn’t seem upset by this but dropped to the floor and began to climb Odo like a tree. He melted into the form of a smooth cone resting on its base. The Moops laughed as they attempted to shinny to the top.
“I have an idea,” Jake said, and pulled Nog along.
CHAPTER 7
Jake jogged along the Promenade, avoiding the worst of the Moops.
“Where are we going?” Nog cried as he hurried to catch up.
Jake didn’t answer, but continued until he arrived at Garak’s store. He and Nog stood in the doorway watching Moops try on hats, cloaks, and katabas in front of the mirrors. Piles of torn clothing and mashed hats were everywhere, and the displays—normally delicately and neatly arranged—were nothing but a shambles.
Garak ran up and back among the destruction, trying to stop the Mo
ops from doing more damage.
“Hopeless,” Nog said.
“You got that right,” Jake said. There were too many Moops and not enough Garak to go around.
When he saw the boys, he strode over to them, picking up pairs of pants and throwing them over his arm as he went. “Things like this didn’t happen when I was a child,” he complained mildly as he glanced back into his store and sighed.
“Things like what?” Nog asked. “Crazy Moops running rampant?”
“What’s a Moop?” Garak asked.
“Those things destroying your store,” Jake said.
“Those? Those are Nimijks. I used to own one myself.”
“You did?” Jake was confused. “When? Why?” He’d come here because Garak was the only Cardassian on DS9. Not only had Garak sent them to level forty-five, but Jake had assumed that a Cardassian would know more than anyone else on the station about an item found in a Cardassian store. However, with this talk of childhood the discussion had taken an unexpected turn.
“It’s quite simple, really,” Garak said. Something in his shop crashed, and Garak cringed. “The Nimijk is a Cardassian mythological beast of plenty. Many toy replicators are made in its shape. I had one myself when I was younger.” He smiled, remembering. “What I don’t understand is why these Nimijks are causing such a commotion. They never did when I was a child.” He shook his head.
“It’s all your fault,” Nog said.
“My fault? The fault of good, simple Garak? Impossible.”
“Very possible,” Jake said. He and Nog told Garak how they had found the Nimijk—if that’s what it was—on level forty-five, and how the first Nimijk had made more Nimijks, and how all the Nimijks had chased him and Nog back to the promenade. “And now here they are tearing up the place, and all because you suggested we look around down on level forty-five.”
“Suspicious to be sure,” Garak admitted. “But the truth is, the power of the Nimijks I owned as a child was severely limited. This sort of disaster would never have been possible.” He pursed his lips, thinking.