by David Mack
“So at the moment when Doctor Bashir aimed and fired his weapon, your back was to Overseer Odo—wasn’t it?”
Cenn blinked as if he had been struck. He was slow to answer. “I . . . yes. It was.”
“Nothing further,” Eris said.
Her balcony light dimmed again, returning the illumination and focus to Weyoun. He folded his hands in front of him. “With your indulgence, Founder, I should like to enter into evidence a composite holographic re-creation of the death of Odo, compiled from numerous recordings made by Terok Nor’s own security system and recovered from the Central Data Archive on Bajor. The master archivist herself has vouched for the accuracy of this record.”
“You may proceed.”
Suspended in the darkness before Bashir was a scene from his memory, resurrected in three dimensions and living color. He could almost smell the acrid tang of toxic fumes, feel the heat of the smelting furnaces and the smoke that had stung his eyes, and taste the bitter metallic dust that had coated every surface inside Terok Nor’s grimy refinery level. Spectres in filthy rags slouched from one backbreaking bit of tedium to the next. The hiss of old hydraulics and the steady rumbling of heavy machinery filled his ears.
In the forefront of this shadowy tableau, Bashir’s past came to life. He saw the image of his younger self, clean-shaven but smeared with filth, sitting hunched and facedown over an ore bin. Overseer Odo kicked the bone-weary, half-conscious younger Bashir in the back, a rude awakening. The Changeling’s words were slow and heavy with contempt. “You’re not accustomed to this workload, are you, Doctor? You have much to learn. It’s a shame this is going to be your last night on the job.”
A blast lit up the smoky darkness behind Odo, who tapped his combadge. “Engineering! We have a thorium leak down here!” He pointed toward the exits. “Release the security locks!”
Workers fled toward the exit, and Bashir’s younger self seized the opportunity to retreat with them, making a run for cover and for freedom. He struck a few fast surprise blows to a Bajoran guard who blocked his path and plucked the disruptor from the man’s hip holster. Weapon in hand, the bruised and beaten-down physician backpedaled toward the exit.
Odo pivoted and saw the doctor on the verge of escape. Wide-eyed, the Changeling aimed his already drawn sidearm at Bashir, who fired off a reflexive snap shot that struck Odo in the chest—and blasted him to pieces.
The playback froze, suspending Odo’s explosively ejected viscera in midseparation.
Weyoun spread his arms, like an old-time preacher delivering a sermon. “Could it be any clearer, Founder? A cowardly sneak attack upon a guard, and a single lethal shot delivered so expertly that its victim never had the chance to respond.”
Indignation creased Eris’s fair brow. “Did we just watch the same security vid? Because if we did, Weyoun, I think you must have had your eyes closed. Reset to time reference thirty-four thirteen point two, please.” The hologram reverted to an earlier moment in the recording. Eris crossed her arms. “Pay close attention, please. Resume playback.”
Odo sneered at young Bashir. “It’s a shame this is going to be your last night on the job.”
“Freeze playback,” Eris snapped. “Here we have a clear threat by Odo. There is nothing in the record to indicate that Bashir was being considered for release from custody. The most reasonable inference from Odo’s statement is that he intended to kill Bashir imminently.” She nodded at the hologram. “Reset to time reference thirty-four forty-seven point five.”
Younger Bashir was crouched and backing toward the exit with his stolen disruptor in hand. On the other side of the refinery level, Odo pivoted and saw him—and aimed his own weapon at Bashir.
“Freeze,” Eris said. “Note the relative positions of Odo, Doctor Bashir, Mister Lorom, and Deputy Cenn. Odo has aimed his weapon at Bashir but appears to have been momentarily blinded by smoke. Lorom and Cenn are both facing Bashir and have their backs to Odo. Neither can see that Odo has already trained his deadly armament upon Doctor Bashir. Note also that the doctor’s weapon is not aimed at anyone in particular.” She shot a meaningful look at Weyoun. “Odo was the first to act with deadly intention, after having threatened Bashir’s life. I contend that Doctor Bashir acted justifiably, in self-defense.”
No one spoke for a handful of seconds that felt to Bashir like a lifetime.
Then the Founder rendered her verdict.
“The evidence supports the defense’s argument that Doctor Julian Subatoi Bashir acted in self-defense. Consequently, this court finds him not guilty of criminal culpability in the death of Odo. Doctor Bashir . . . you are free to go.”
Twenty-seven
Even after hearing the verdict, Bashir found it difficult to believe. He had spent so long convincing himself that he would find no justice under the auspices of the Dominion that it struck him as nothing short of surreal now that he finally had.
The catwalk he had crossed to the circular platform reappeared, as did the door at its far end. He crossed the narrow bridge, and the door slid aside as he drew near. The cramped passageway on the other side now was brightly lit, and the door at the other end also was open. He emerged into a regular corridor inside the Dominion command ship and found Taran’atar waiting for him. The Jem’Hadar removed Bashir’s manacles. “Follow me.”
Bashir trailed him down the corridor to a nearby turbolift. As soon as they both were inside, the doors closed and the lift hurtled into motion, suggesting that their destination had been decided in advance. Half a minute later the doors opened, and Taran’atar led Bashir out of the lift, down another long corridor, and finally to a door that stood open. “In here.”
He stepped past the Jem’Hadar and through the doorway to find an empty compartment. Standing in the center of the antiseptically bare space was the Founder. A faint smile gave a small measure of humanity to her unnaturally smooth face. She looked over Bashir’s shoulder at the Jem’Hadar, her demeanor one of absolute calm. “Leave us.”
Taran’atar withdrew. The door closed, leaving Bashir and the Founder to speak in privacy. She folded her hands in front of her waist. “You seemed surprised to be acquitted. Did you doubt your own innocence?”
“Not at all. I doubted it would matter.”
His criticism amused her. “You know nothing of us, but you hold us in low esteem.”
“I’ve had a great many unpleasant dealings with your counterparts in my universe.”
“Some would have said the same about your alter ego in this one. When we first investigated Odo’s death, we mistakenly attributed your actions to this universe’s Bashir. He was despicable, simple, and violent.” She cocked her head and regarded Bashir with deep curiosity. “I’ve been pleased to learn just how little you and he have in common.”
He held up a hand. “Wait. What evidence led you to investigate him?”
“The archived security recordings.”
His mind reeled, and his temper flared. “You’d seen it before?”
“Naturally.”
“So you knew all along that I’d acted in self-defense.”
“That was our impression.”
His hands curled into fists. “Then what was the point of all this? Why make me take part in this bloody sideshow attraction if you already knew the truth?”
“To my people, the law is not some mere code. It is a way of life. Order must be preserved. So we investigate and adjudicate all offenses, even when we think the verdict will be benign, and we follow our protocols without fear or favor. No one is above the law in the Dominion, not even a Founder. Because our laws are fair, and our enforcement uniform, we are able to keep the peace among all the worlds and peoples who live beneath our banner.”
Bashir began to understand. To an outsider, the Dominion in the alternate universe might seem as severe in its customs and manners as the one he knew at home, but there was a crucial difference between the two entities. “Forgive me,” he said. “I should have known better than to judge you
based on your counterpart. Your similarities are outweighed by your differences.”
“I presume the Dominion you knew lacked our reverence for the law.”
He let slip a short, mirthless chortle. “That would be an understatement. They shared your commitment to order and discipline, but their means of preserving those qualities were often tyrannical and quite brutal. What led them into conflict with my people was the fact that what they desired more than anything was control—over their own people, and over others.”
The Founder’s smooth forehead betrayed a crease of concern, and the corners of her mouth turned downward in disapproval. “They sound like a culture driven by fear.”
“Very much so. Their early interactions with ‘solids’ went badly. They were met with fear and distrust. So they retaliated in kind. And it defined them from that moment forward.”
“How tragic,” the Founder said. “My people were also met with suspicion when we first encountered solids. Some of them tried to kill us. But we never desired retribution or control. Our only interest—then and now—was justice, coupled with order and tempered with reason.”
Bashir smiled. “Actually, that sounds a lot like the Odo I know back home.”
“Is he still alive in your universe?”
“As far as I know. After the war against our Dominion, he returned to the Great Link to shape a new order based on peace and justice. As of last year, he was leading the Dominion.”
“Tell me about him. What kind of a person is he?”
“He’s the most fair-minded being I’ve ever met, and the most passionate defender of the law I’ve ever known. And he sees all sentient beings as equals.” Hearing his own words made Bashir realize how much he had missed Odo during his prolonged absence. “He’s a great man.”
The Founder’s mood took a wistful turn. “One almost has to wonder whether our universes might have traded Odos at some point.”
“It wouldn’t surprise me,” Bashir said without irony. “Not one bit.”
Twenty-eight
No matter how many times Sakonna put on another person’s face, she never got used to seeing a stranger’s reflection looking back at her.
She walked the corridors of the jaunt ship Enterprise. In nearly every section, an interactive companel dominated one bulkhead. Between the panels’ ever-changing details, she caught fleeting glimpses of herself in their pristine black surfaces. Her disguise was impeccable. Her head and her hands were encased in full prosthetics, and Webb had programmed one of the ship’s replicators to produce a perfect duplicate of the attire the real Saavik had worn that day. Fitted to her as a second skin, her stolen visage mirrored even her most subtle microexpressions.
A few Enterprise personnel passed her. Enlisted crew and noncoms avoided eye contact with her. The one officer who strolled by, a young male Tellarite with a honey-colored mane, managed nothing more than a low utterance of “Director” before quickening his pace to get away. To an introvert like Sakonna, it was a welcome state of affairs.
Once again, proof that rank has its privileges.
By design, there was no evidence of her three companions, but she had no doubt they were close behind her. Sakonna had found it easier than she had expected to telepathically compel security officer Burton to procure the stealth suits for her friends. Now, thanks to the human woman’s unwitting assistance, Webb, Kitsom, and Cole had the advantage of being invisible while they followed Sakonna through the jaunt ship’s passageways en route to the first stop on their perilous and improbable journey: the ship’s subspace transporter.
Sakonna had found the restricted compartment while using one of the ship’s companels to find the locations of the nearest five transporters, in case she or the others were forced to alter their route for any reason. Although Saavik had beamed down to the planet and used a subspace transporter on the surface for the trip to Omega Prime, finding the same technology aboard the jaunt ship had made it possible for Sakonna and her teammates to cut one step off their itinerary.
The subspace transporter compartment was slightly farther away than the nearest regular transporter room, but Cole had assured Sakonna and the others that it would be worth it to make the most of this shortcut. Now that Sakonna was approaching the door, she saw the logic in her superior’s decision. Despite a minor increase in the risk of their absence being detected while they were still aboard the Enterprise, they now would be able to head straight to their target—and from there they could proceed home without delay.
Eager to stave off unwelcome inquiries, she put on a stern mien as the door opened ahead of her. She paused in the doorway to make sure her team had time to follow her through before the portal closed—its sensors would be unable to detect them while they were hidden in the full-body stealth suits, and she couldn’t risk them being stranded on the other side.
While she stood in the doorway, the half dozen white-jacketed technicians who worked in the vast compartment looked up at her with alarm and deference. One of them, a spry sixtyish Trill woman with silver hair and beige spots on her pale skin, stepped away from the master console to greet her. “Director. We weren’t expecting you.”
A light tap on Sakonna’s lower back told her that her team was ready to follow her inside. She stepped past the threshold and moved to her left, on a direct line toward the Trill woman. “I need to return to Omega Prime at once.”
“Omega Prime?” The Trill traded worried looks with her colleagues. “That’ll take a lot of power. The relay station on Bajor would be better suited to—”
“Time is a factor. I need to go now. Please set the coordinates.” Without waiting for the Trill to demur, Sakonna played her part as the one in charge and climbed the short steps onto the central dais. She stood proudly while the techs in their white coats raced to set the coordinates and siphon the requisite power from the ship.
One of them, an orange-haired young human, whispered something to the Bajoran woman on his right; she, in turn, leaned and whispered to the Trill woman in charge. Eyes wide, the older woman looked up at the visitor she thought was Saavik. “Director . . . can you confirm your authorization code, please?”
Sakonna had known it might not be so easy to escape the ship by impersonating such a well-known individual. Regardless, she remained calm as she asked, “Are the coordinates set?”
“Yes, but we’d like to confirm your command code, please.”
“Is there a problem?”
Furtive glances and worried frowns spread among the technicians. The Trill began to reach toward the corner of her master control console. Then she froze and her eyes opened wide.
Webb’s voice issued as if from thin air. “Everyone, step away from your consoles.” He deactivated the stealth function of his body suit and shimmered back into view—standing behind the Trill woman and holding a phaser to the back of her head. “Back away from your panels or she dies.” The technicians were slow to obey, so Webb shouted, “Now! Move it!” He put a hand on the older woman’s shoulder. “You too. Let’s back up, nice and slow.”
As she was guided away from the console, the Trill woman shot a frightened look at Sakonna. “Director . . . don’t move . . .”
Sakonna cocked her head at the Trill. “Why? Are you trying to warn me there are two persons standing on the dais with me?”
Kitsom and Cole switched off their stealth circuits and rippled back into the visible spectrum. Both men had their phasers drawn. Cole nodded at Webb. “Good work.”
Cole fired and stunned two of the technicians. Kitsom snapped off three perfect shots and felled the rest of the Trill woman’s team. Webb finished the job by knocking the Trill unconscious with a single stunning blast to her back.
“All right,” Cole said. “So far, so good. Webb, are you sure you can operate that thing?”
“No problem. It’s all set for you. Once it recharges, I’ll set it to send me home. Are you sure you guys can get back on your own?”
Cole dismissed the question w
ith a wave. “Child’s play. See you at the debriefing.” He and Kitsom reactivated their suits and disappeared like mirages swallowed by the fall of night. Then Cole said from his vantage unseen, “Energize.”
* * *
Cole watched Webb initiate the subspace transport sequence. A crushing sensation took hold of him. His world turned to white energy and a bright ringing like tinnitus—and then he, Sakonna, and Kitsom materialized inside the much larger subspace transporter room of Omega Prime.
He recognized the faces looking up at Sakonna. They were the same technicians who had been on duty when he had visited here hours earlier with Saavik. He saw by their various reactions of surprise that they had expected three persons to materialize on their dais, not just the one they now saw. Because nothing good would come of prolonging their confusion or letting them interrogate Sakonna, Cole made an executive decision to resolve the problem directly.
He fired his weapon while still in stealth mode. Kitsom did the same half a second later. Phaser pulses flashed in the dim light, and the screeching of the weapons filled the cavernous space with wild echoes. When the chaos ceased, the technicians all lay stunned on the floor.
“Let’s go,” Cole said.
Sakonna led them out of the subspace transporter facility and into the industrial-style environs of Omega Prime. Cole had to trust the Vulcan woman’s memory to guide them to their target. Though Cole had not been able to gain direct access to the secure lab during his earlier visit, one of the command screens recorded by his ocular implant had revealed a handful of level plans for the Omega Prime facility—and one of those had been marked in a way that led him to believe the prize they sought was there.
While he and Kitsom focused on moving silently, Sakonna strode with pride. The slight upward tilt of her chin and the way she shifted her gaze while she walked were nearly perfect imitations of the real Saavik’s mannerisms, despite the fact that Sakonna had seen the other Vulcan woman only a couple of times in brief passing. Her evocation of the Memory Omega leader was truly uncanny. Even as she passed other denizens of the hidden redoubt, people whom Cole expected knew the real Saavik quite well, no one so much as looked askance at her. There were no double takes or curious glances. Just polite nods and curt greetings.