“It’s okay, Chief,” Sarina said. “Obviously, I didn’t recognize you either.”
“Well, who ever remembers a mug like this one?” O’Brien said.
“I don’t want to sound like I’m not happy to see you,” Bashir said, “but what are you doing here? What’ll you be doing, since we don’t have a space station anymore? I can’t imagine that the control center’s going to keep you all that busy.”
“Probably not,” O’Brien said, “but somebody’s got to build you a new station.”
“Of course,” Bashir said.
“How’s your family?” Sarina asked. “Julian told me that Keiko’s been working on the agricultural renewal of Cardassia.”
“That’s right,” O’Brien said. “She’s—”
A Starfleet security officer stepped between Bashir and Sarina, while another walked up behind her. “Sarina Douglas?” said one of them, a human woman called Patrycja, but whose surname Bashir could not remember. He recognized the male Andorian officer as Deskel ch’Larn.
“Yes?” Sarina said.
“Is there a problem?” Bashir asked, trying to push his way between ch’Larn and Sarina.
“Doctor, please step back,” ch’Larn said, opening the flat of his palm in front of Bashir.
“Tell us what’s going on here,” Bashir insisted.
“Sarina Douglas,” said Patrycja, “we are taking you into custody.”
“Wait, what?” Bashir said. He tried again to get past ch’Larn, but the security officer took hold of his arm, pushed him back, and did not let go.
Patrycja held up a set of hand restraints. “Please raise your forearms out in front of you.”
“Wait! Don’t—” Bashir said, and he felt O’Brien behind him, reaching to hold him back, telling him he shouldn’t interfere.
The security officer clamped the restraints onto Sarina’s wrists. Bashir couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “You have to stop this,” he said. “There’s clearly been a mistake.”
“There’s no mistake, Doctor,” ch’Larn said quietly.
“What are you charging her with?” Bashir demanded.
Patrycja glanced over at ch’Larn, as if trying to decide whether she should answer the question. But then Sarina said, “Tell me. What am I charged with?”
“You’re not charged with anything,” Patrycja said. “You’re wanted for questioning about the destruction of Deep Space Nine.”
“What?!” Bashir said. He couldn’t believe what he’d heard. It seemed like a living nightmare. “That’s absurd. You have to know she had nothing to do with—”
“Julian,” Sarina said. “It’s all right.” He looked at her, and as he had earlier, he saw something wrong, something troubling in her expression, though he could not say precisely what.
“No,” he told her. “It’s not all right.”
They looked at each other for a long moment, and then Sarina turned away. “Let’s go,” she told Patrycja.
The two security officers each took one of Sarina’s arms and guided her through the closest set of double doors and out into the evening. Bashir watched them go, and then his knees suddenly felt weak. He wobbled. O’Brien steadied him, then helped him onto a barstool.
“Quark,” O’Brien called out, “I need a glass of water over here.”
He said other things after that, but the words came to Bashir as though from a distance. The doctor looked down at the floor, but didn’t see it. He could see only the woman he loved being led away in restraints, facing interrogation about the destruction of DS9 and the deaths of more than a thousand people . . . civilians . . . children. It made no sense. Sarina could never have put the lives of almost seven thousand people—including her own and his own—at risk. She could never kill a thousand people. She could never kill one person. That’s not who she was. None of it made sense.
And then another number rose in Bashir’s mind, a number beyond one, beyond one thousand, beyond seven thousand . . . a number that he suddenly thought would plague him for the rest of his life: 31.
15
Sisko awoke with his head throbbing and his back aching. His eyelids blinked open, and for a moment he could make no sense of what he saw: a flat surface, boots, chair bases. But then it all came back to him, and he pushed himself up to a sitting position on the Sagan deck, leaning against the aft bulkhead. He saw Lieutenant Tenmei sitting at the shuttle’s main console. Between them stood the three Jem’Hadar. One of them held his polaron rifle aimed at Sisko, the other at Tenmei, while the third stood at ease—or whatever passed for ease in a creature created and bred to live his life as a ferocious soldier.
“Lieutenant, are you all right?” Sisko asked.
Tenmei jumped, obviously startled. “Yes, sir,” she said, turning in her chair to look at the captain. “How are you?”
Sisko pushed off the deck and got his feet under him. “Stiff,” he said, “but otherwise all right. Did you sleep?”
“I dozed,” Tenmei said. “I put my head down on the panel.”
“How long has it been?”
Tenmei checked her console. “Twenty-seven hours, thirteen minutes,” she said.
Sisko propped himself against the bulkhead, exhausted. His slumber had not been restful. He wondered if the Jem’Hadar had slept and doubted it. He also wondered when the soldiers would require their next dose of ketracel-white, the drug they required to live, but which the Founders had engineered their bodies to be unable to produce. “No word from the Defiant or Vannis, I take it?”
“No, sir.”
Sisko shook his head. The delay frustrated him, but he also took it as a positive sign. It could mean that Vannis had indeed contacted Odo—or at least some Founder. If whoever the Vorta communicated with had been on the other side of the Dominion, it could take him some time to reach the former world of the Founders.
Sisko gazed out the forward ports, where he could see an arc of the dirt-brown planet below. It really did look lifeless, and while he’d thought a day earlier that had always been the case, he suddenly remembered that, when the Founders had been there, the surface took on a slightly shimmering effect from space. He’d seen no indication of that the day before, and he did not see it at that moment. It troubled him that the Founders might have needed a reason to relocate again, but he thought it even more disturbing that they might have been eradicated either in an attack or by the morphogenic virus. He wanted to question the Jem’Hadar, ask them when they had actually last seen one of their gods in person, ask them if—
The sound of a transporter rose in the cabin. Sisko saw recognition in the eyes of the Jem’Hadar, and he thought that the two aiming their weapons might fire, but they didn’t. The captain had just enough time to wonder if Lieutenant Commander Stinson had taken the initiative to attempt a peaceful resolution to the situation, but then he saw the multiple hues of a Dominion transporter beam. The Jem’Hadar soldiers disappeared within the glimmer of the variegated light.
Sisko moved forward to join Tenmei at the main console. “Lieutenant,” he said, intending to have her scan for the Jem’Hadar vessels while he contacted Defiant—if Stinson hadn’t taken the ship back to the Federation—but then the hum of the transporter returned. Sisko turned to look aft, where he saw two sets of beams. When they at last faded, they left behind Vannis and a Changeling. Odo looked to Sisko as he always had, wearing—or pretending to wear—his old Bajoran constable’s uniform.
“Odo,” Sisko said. It pleased him simply on a personal basis to see his old friend alive and seemingly well, but the captain also hoped that the Changeling’s presence would allow him to complete his mission.
“Captain,” Odo said, his voice sounding as gruff and stern as it always had. Sisko motioned toward Tenmei and introduced her. “We’ve met,” Odo said, “although at the time, I believe she held the rank of ensign.”
Sisko suddenly thought of a potentially troubling possibility, and he voiced it. “Is that really you, Odo?” Though the Changeli
ng recognized the captain, and even Tenmei, Sisko knew that such knowledge could have passed from Odo to other Founders via the Great Link.
“It’s me, Captain,” the Changeling said. “But is that really you? The last I knew, you’d left Starfleet.”
Sisko smiled, amused by Odo’s dry wit, and thinking that a sense of humor might be as good a way as any to confirm somebody’s identity. “I did step away for a while,” the captain said. He spread his arms, showing off his uniform. “But I’m back.” With no foolproof way of knowing whether the real Odo actually stood before him, or if some other Founder had assumed his form, Sisko decided to proceed as though he fully accepted the Changeling’s claim. It would not alter what the captain needed to say or what he needed to find out.
“You may be back in Starfleet,” Odo said, “but you’re also back in Dominion territory.” The Changeling stepped forward until he stood directly in front of Sisko. “It’s not that I’m not pleased to see you, Captain, but I thought you understood that the Dominion has, at least for the present, closed its borders to outsiders. I’m afraid that includes Federation vessels and citizens.”
“We’ve respected that for seven years,” Sisko said. “And we’ll continue to respect it going forward. But something has happened that concerns us greatly, and it involves the Founders. I only came here so that I could talk to them.”
“You can talk to me, Captain,” Odo said. “But I believe I know what it is you’re going to say.”
That gave Sisko pause. “Then I’ll just come right out and tell you,” he said. “We are worried about the possibility that the Dominion has allied with the Typhon Pact.”
“The Typhon Pact?” If Odo did not actually stand in front of Sisko, if another Founder only imitated his identity, he did an excellent job. The Changeling’s not recognizing the name of the Typhon Pact also came off as convincing.
“It’s an alliance among six of the Federation’s—” Sisko chose not to use the first word that came to him to describe the members of the Pact: enemies. “—neighbors. It includes the Breen, the Romulans, and the Tzenkethi.” The captain specifically named those powers because they had been the ones involved in the attack on Deep Space 9.
Odo nodded slowly, then paced away. He brought one arm horizontally up to his waist and rested his opposite elbow atop it. As he moved slowly through the shuttle’s small cabin, he touched a hand to his chin. Sisko recognized the gesture as one he’d seen Odo make on numerous occasions. “Yes,” Odo said. “That makes more sense now.”
“What does?” Sisko asked.
“That a Breen freighter and a Romulan warbird ended up traveling together inside Dominion space.”
Sisko stood up straighter. “When did this happen?”
“I’m not entirely sure,” said Odo. “But weeks ago, at least. I only just learned about it.”
“You didn’t know?” Sisko said. That could be troubling. If the Founders had negotiated with the Pact, but Odo didn’t know about it . . . “Did any of the Founders know?”
Odo simulated a sigh in his convincing humanoid imitation. Sisko wondered if he even knew anymore that he did it. Though the Changeling had often had difficulties mimicking so-called solids, he had perfectly effected the look and feel of one particular emotion: exasperation. “One Founder knew,” he said. “Laas.”
“Laas?” Sisko said. “The Changeling who visited you on the station before you went back to the Great Link.”
“Yes,” Odo said.
“Do you know . . . did he talk with them?” Sisko recalled that Laas did not like solids, believing them inferior to Changelings, and a threat. The captain could imagine more than one scenario in which Laas’s dealing with members of the Typhon Pact would not end well for the Federation.
“Laas always talks,” Odo said. “Not always with a humanoid mouth, but in or out of the Link, he’s always communicating something. But yes, he did speak with the crews of those ships.”
A jolt ran through Sisko’s body. He lowered his head and shook it, feeling defeated. How can we be heading into another war? He had grown so tired, not just of putting himself in situations where others tried to kill him, but of trying to kill others himself. Whatever happened to Starfleet’s mission to explore the galaxy, its quest for knowledge? Though he dreaded the answer, he asked the question anyway. “Did the Pact seek an alliance? Do they want to join forces with the Dominion to attack the Federation and its allies—which, by the way, now include the Cardassians and the Ferengi?” He’d mentioned the addition of the latest signatories to the Khitomer Accords in the desperate hope that doing so might somehow deter the Founders from teaming with the Typhon Pact.
“The Cardassians and the Ferengi?” Odo said. He grunted in what Sisko knew to be his approximation of a laugh. “I’m not sure which of those is more of a surprise.”
Despite the seriousness of the situation—or perhaps even because of it—Sisko actually laughed. “I’m not sure either,” he said. “But, Odo, that’s the only reason I’ve come. I need to know if the Federation is facing another war. The Typhon Pact is powerful, but they’re not all belligerent, and there even seems to be some belief on some of their worlds that maintaining peace with the Federation is preferable to the alternative. But if the Pact can gain a lopsided advantage, such as allying with the Dominion, then the war hawks could win out.”
“War,” Odo said with disdain. “Why should I be surprised? Humanoid history is filled with it.”
“I agree,” Sisko said. “And I’m sick of it. Which is why I’m here trying to avoid war.”
“And how are you doing that, Captain?” Odo asked. “By violating our borders?”
“By seeking out the Founders to talk with them,” Sisko said, the tone of his voice almost pleading. “To find out if you’ve allied with the Typhon Pact, and if you have, then by asking you to reconsider. And to tell you this: we do not want war, with the Dominion or anybody else.”
Odo gazed at Sisko for a moment in silence. Finally, he said, “No, the Dominion has not joined with the Typhon Pact, nor will we. But when the Breen and the Romulans were here, they did not seek any such alliance; they came to steal.”
“To steal?” Sisko asked, surprised. “Steal what?”
“I don’t know,” Odo said. “As I mentioned, I only just became aware of this incident. When I got word of your presence here, I was on my way to investigate. If you would like, you may come with me.”
“Yes, please,” Sisko said. Though it satisfied his orders to learn that the Typhon Pact had not successfully entreated the Founders to their cause, it seemed important to know just why the Breen and the Romulans had visited the Dominion. “The Defiant is here in orbit, cloaked,” he said, hoping that Lieutenant Commander Stinson hadn’t already headed the ship back to the Alpha Quadrant.
“Then let’s go aboard,” Odo said. “We can take the Defiant to the site of the theft, and from there, you can return to Deep Space Nine.”
“Odo,” Sisko said, “there is no more Deep Space Nine. The Typhon Pact destroyed it.”
“What?!” Odo appeared stunned. “Is . . . is Nerys—?”
“No, no,” Sisko hurried to say. “She’s fine. She’s actually no longer on the station, or even in Starfleet. She’s become a vedek.”
“A vedek?” Odo seemed almost as surprised about that as he had been about the destruction of DS9. “Vedek Kira,” he mused. “Is she happy?”
“I saw her on Bajor just before coming on this mission,” Sisko said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her more at peace, both with the universe at large and with herself.”
Something close to a smile pushed at Odo’s features. “I’m glad,” he said. “After everything she’s been through, she deserves peace.”
“We all deserve peace,” Sisko said. He turned and looked through the forward ports. “I don’t think I can convince my first officer to decloak the Defiant as long as there are Jem’Hadar fighters here.”
Odo looked at Vannis. �
�Dispatch them,” he told her. “Have them return to their patrol duties.”
“Yes, Founder, right away,” said Vannis. She padded to the aft bulkhead and spoke quietly into a device wrapped around her wrist.
Sisko glanced at Tenmei, and she immediately set to checking the shuttle’s sensors. Then the captain reached out and took Odo by the shoulders, something he couldn’t recall ever doing. “It really is good to see you,” he told the Changeling. “I hope that you’re doing well here, that your life back among your people has been satisfying.”
Odo said nothing at first. Sisko heard the taps of Tenmei’s fingers on her console and the tones that answered her movements. Aft, Vannis stood mutely waiting for the next orders from her god. At last, Odo said, “It’s been . . . an education.”
“I hope that’s a good thing,” Sisko told him.
“That remains to be seen.”
Sisko didn’t like the sound of that, but before he could say anything more, Tenmei looked up and said, “Captain, the Jem’Hadar ships are breaking orbit.”
Sisko reached up and tapped his combadge, which responded with a chirp. “Sisko to Defiant.” He received no reply but silence. “Sisko to Defiant.”
More silence. And then, finally: “Defiant. Stinson here, sir. We were just waiting for the Jem’Hadar to leave the area.”
“Noted,” Sisko said. “Commander, transmit your location and an entry path for the shuttle to Lieutenant Tenmei. Prepare to go to warp as soon as we’re aboard.”
“Yes, sir,” Stinson replied.
“Sisko out.” To Odo, he said, “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” Odo said. “I’m not sure what we’re going to find.”
Sisko stood with Odo in the massive building. The captain thought that Defiant would have fit inside it easily, perhaps several times over. The roof soared above them, the walls rose in the distance like great, imposing boundaries to a secret place. And that’s what this is, Sisko thought. One of the Founders’ secret places.
Star Trek: Typhon Pact: Raise the Dawn (Star Trek, the Next Generation) Page 25