Star Trek: Deep Space Nine: The Soul Key

by Olivia Woods

  She reached for her cane and struggled to get out of her chair. How quickly things seemed to change. Had it really been less than a year since she had begun a semblance of friendship with a Jem’Hadar soldier? Ro had always been slow to warm up to people, and those she counted among her friends were few. One of that small number, DS9’s former science officer, Shar, had recently gone back to visit his homeworld of Andor and had never returned. And now Taran’atar—

  Theirs was an unlikely friendship to be sure, if one could even call it that. They’d first bonded during a harrowing mission to Sindorin, each one learning unexpected things about the other. Later he had helped Ro expose and capture the assassin of Bajoran First Minister Shakaar Edon. It still made her laugh when she recalled the tense moment when Taran’atar had admitted to being unable to provide Shakaar with reliable intel, and he suggested that she, Ro Laren, make a leap of faith.

  People think he has no sense of humor, she thought. I know him better than that.

  She looked down at the jointed metal struts that covered her uniform from the waist down.

  Or at least I thought I did.

  She pressed her cane down upon the deck, and with slow, difficult steps, she made her way toward the door and out into the corridor.

  5

  Prynn Tenmei flung her padd onto the table and grabbed two handfuls of her spiky black hair, groaning in frustration at the insurmountability of the puzzle she’d been tasked with solving.

  “I’m guessing that sound doesn’t signify a breakthrough,” Julian Bashir said gently.

  Tenmei glared at the doctor from across the table, noting as she did that a number of the staff and patrons at the bar had turned their heads to see what was the matter. Embarrassed and thoroughly demoralized, she buried her face in her hands.

  She wondered if Quark had a holosuite program that featured a deep hole she could drop into, with a very large rock to roll in on top of her.

  “Steady, Ensign,” Bashir said. “You aren’t the first person to feel defeated by a mystery involving the wormhole aliens. I can recall more than one occasion when Lieutenant Dax’s immediate predecessor wanted to smash the Orb of Prophecy and Change for defying her attempts to analyze it. Consider yourself in good company.”

  “That’s all very well and good, Doctor, but respectfully, it doesn’t actually help me solve my problem.”

  Bashir smiled and set down the tricorder with which he’d been running diagnostics on a modified combadge. The doctor had been collaborating with the station’s engineering staff to upgrade the neuropulse device he and Lieutenant Nog had developed to reverse Taran’atar’s brainwashing. From what Prynn could tell, they had made excellent progress so far.

  That makes one of us, she thought glumly.

  Bashir placed his elbows on the table and leaned toward her. “You really need to relax, Prynn. You’re never going to figure out how the Rio Grande wound up in the alternate universe in your present state of mind. That means the first thing you need to do is seek out a little perspective—get comfortable with the fact that the answer you’re looking for won’t be found by conventional Starfleet methods of investigation. You need to think outside the box.”

  Tenmei threw her head back and stared at Quark’s ceiling. “Outside the box. Terrific.”

  Ezri Dax’s upside-down face suddenly entered her field of vision. “How’s your work progressing, Ensign?”

  Tenmei nearly jumped out of her chair as she quickly straightened her posture. “Sorry, Lieutenant. I’m afraid that every simulation I run gives me the same results: there’s just no reason why an improperly collapsing warp field or a leaky plasma injector should open up a passage into the alternate universe.”

  “Prynn, listen to me,” Dax said as she pulled a chair up to the table. “I know how hard you’ve been working on this. I knew it wasn’t going to be an easy assignment, but I also knew that if anybody was going to explain what happened to the Rio Grande, it was going to be you. I still believe that. But Doctor Bashir is right: the waters of conventional wisdom tend to get muddy in and around the wormhole. Get used to it.”

  Tenmei nodded, but she was spared having to make what she felt certain would have been a half-hearted verbal reply when Quark arrived with their food.

  “Well, good afternoon, Lieutenant,” Quark said, addressing Dax as he set down Bashir’s mug of Tarkalean tea and Tenmei’s bowl of Andorian vithi bulbs. “Any more funeral processions you’d like to recruit me for? Just say the word; I’m sure I can find an opening in my schedule—”

  “All right, Quark, enough already,” Dax said. “Let’s move on, shall we?”

  “Move on, you say?” Quark held up a finger and reached for an empty chair, evidently having decided to join their table. “You know, that reminds me,” he continued in a quiet voice. “There’s a nasty rumor going around that you’re thinking of moving on—as in, transferring off the station. There wouldn’t be any truth to that ugly bit of gossip, would there?”

  Instead of making a face, as Dax was wont to do when confronted by something she thought was preposterous, the lieutenant merely blinked in surprise, which Tenmei immediately took as a bad sign. And she apparently wasn’t the only one to think so.

  “Ezri,” Bashir said slowly. “Is that true?”

  Dax sighed. “I haven’t put in for a transfer, all right?”

  Bashir’s eyes narrowed. “But you are thinking about it.”

  Dax threw both hands into the air. “Yes, all right, I’ve been thinking about it. From time to time. As in, not very often. Can we change the subject, please?”

  “Change the subject?” Quark asked. “What’s wrong with the subject? Doctor, do you have a problem with the subject?”

  Bashir folded his arms as he regarded Dax. “No, actually I’m quite interested in the subject.”

  “Ensign?”

  “Please don’t get me involved in this, Doctor. She outranks me.”

  “There, you see?” Quark said to Dax. “A clear table majority has no objection to the subject. Democracy in action, which I know you Federation types love to see.”

  Dax bowed her head. “Why are you doing this to me?”

  Bashir fumbled over his next comment. “It just seems rather…”

  “Sudden,” Quark put in.

  “Yes,” Bashir agreed. “Sudden. It seems rather sudden.”

  “Oh, please,” Dax said. “Neither of you has the slightest idea how long I’ve been thinking about this—and I want to stress again, I’m only thinking about it—so don’t try to draw me into some sick passive-aggressive wordplay. Remember who you’re talking to.”

  “You know, Ezri,” Quark said, lacing his fingers in front of him as he leaned into the table. “It’s widely accepted on Ferenginar that there are certain places in the universe that function as the nexuses of interesting activity—focal points, you might say, for commerce, love, adventure, discovery, you name it.” He tapped his finger on the table. “This happens to be one of them.”

  “The table?” Ezri asked.

  “The station,” Quark snapped. “Why do you think I’ve stayed here as long as I have?”

  “Lack of better prospects?” Bashir asked.

  “Your bill just went up.” To Dax, Quark said, “Remember Rule of Acquisition Number One-Ninety-Nine: Location, location, location.”

  Tenmei blinked.

  “I think we’re done,” Dax said, starting to rise.

  “Location,” Tenmei repeated. “That’s it. That’s the answer.”

  “What’s the answer?” asked Bashir.

  Tenmei pointed at Quark. “Nexuses of interesting activity.” She pointed at Bashir. “Outside the box.” She pointed at Dax. “Change the subject.”

  Quark stared at her and spoke to Bashir out of the corner of his mouth. “Does anybody have any idea what she’s going on about?”

  Dax settled back into her seat. “Prynn, what are you getting at? Does this have something to do with the Rio Grande?
”

  Tenmei laughed. “That’s just it, Lieutenant…. I don’t think it was ever about the Rio Grande. It was about the wormhole. Don’t you get it? It was about the wormhole all along!”

  “Explain it to me,” Dax said.

  Tenmei sighed and held up her useless padd. “I’ve been running simulations trying to recreate the Rio Grande’s voyage into the alternate universe, but none of them have worked. Why? Not because there’s anything wrong with my data on the workings of the ship, but because I can’t duplicate the exact conditions inside the wormhole.”

  “Why not?” Dax asked.

  “Because those conditions aren’t restricted to the ones we can measure. It’s as much a mindspace for the aliens living inside it as it is a subspace tunnel for ships to travel through. And when you take that into account, then maybe the Rio Grande didn’t cross over into the alternate universe because its malfunction made it possible after all. Maybe it crossed over because its malfunction was the precondition for the wormhole aliens to permit its passage.”

  “It sounds as if you’re saying the Prophets sent the Rio Grande to the alternate universe,” Bashir said.

  “That,” Prynn said, “is exactly what I’m saying!”

  “So all we need to do,” Dax mused, “is duplicate the original malfunction while we’re inside the wormhole, and we should be able to reach the Alliance’s continuum?”

  Tenmei laughed. She couldn’t help it; hearing someone actually say it out loud was the last straw. “Beats me. It still doesn’t make any sense, not really…until you factor in the will of the wormhole aliens, that is. They’re the ones calling the shots in there. But if the conditions they set are constant and not variable, then there’s every reason to think we can do it again.”

  Dax smiled. “I like it.”

  “You intend to put Ensign Tenmei’s hypothesis to the test?” Bashir asked.

  “You bet I do. Nog hasn’t been able to make a dent in the scattering field—or whatever it is—that’s blocking our ability to transport over there. This may be the only way to assist Captain Kira and Commander Vaughn. How’s your modified combadge coming along?”

  “I was just running the final diagnostics before authorizing Ensign Leishman to upload the specs into the replicator database.”

  “Good,” Dax said. “I want us to be ready to depart first thing tomorrow morning.” She rose from her chair. “I’m going to tell our interdimensional visitor the good news. Care to join me?”

  Bashir nodded and downed the last of his tea before he gathered up his things. Dax gave Prynn an approving nod as they left the table. “Well done, Prynn.”

  After they left, Quark said, “So let me get this straight. You solved this unsolvable problem after I recited the One-Hundred and Ninety-Ninth Rule of Acquisition. Is that about right?”

  “Well,” Prynn began, not quite sure how to answer. “I suppose that’s one way of—”

  A burst of applause rang out through Quark’s, throwing Tenmei off. She turned around and immediately saw the reason for the enthusiasm: Lieutenant Ro was slowly making her way into the bar, helped along by a cane and the bracelike exoframe fastened around her legs. She scowled at the applauders, but Tenmei could see her smiling behind it as she worked her way toward a table to join Nurses Etana and Richter.

  Quark was suddenly grinning from ear to enormous ear. He straightened his topcoat, breathed into his palm, and stood. “If you’ll excuse me, Ensign, duty calls,” he said, and headed straight for Ro’s table.

  Tenmei popped a vithi bulb into her mouth, thinking that perhaps the day had just taken a turn for the better, for everybody.

  6

  “You have the look of someone lost,” Shing-kur told her visitor.

  Ghemor stood with her arms folded outside the holding cell, staring at the Kressari, acutely aware of the nearby Bajoran guards who were watching them both. Major Cenn had been gracious enough to let her see Shing-kur, but he was wise enough not to leave Ghemor alone with her, even separated by a force field.

  “You must have me mistaken for someone else,” Ghemor said.

  Shing-kur’s eyes, conveying pleasure, resembled orbs of obsidian glass. She sat in repose on the bench against the back wall of her cell. “Oh, I think I read you well enough, Iliana. Is it all right if I call you that? She never let me use her old name.”

  “I don’t give a damn what you do.”

  “No? Then why are you here?”

  Good question. “I’m trying to understand why someone with your obvious intellect could be so self-destructively devoted to someone like her. What exactly is the hold she has on you?”

  “No hold, Iliana,” Shing-kur said.

  “What, then?”

  “She needed someone, and I was there for her.”

  “That’s it?”

  Shing-kur regarded her for a moment. “Haven’t you ever been needed?”

  Ghemor took a half step toward the force field. “Help me stop her.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Don’t you care about the all the harm she’s done? The harm she still plans to do?”

  “Ah, yes, all the harm she’s done.” Shing-kur’s eyes turned white. “You’re like everyone else. You spare no thought for the harm that’s been inflicted on her. For the betrayals she’s endured.”

  “Help me to understand, then.”

  Shing-kur sat up. “I was right about you. You truly do feel lost right now, don’t you? Something’s changed since we last spoke. It’s in your face.”

  “Nothing’s changed,” Ghemor said through her teeth. “She’s still out there, and you’re still in a cage.”

  “Then I daresay that makes two of us,” Shing-kur said, her eyes shifting back to deepest black.

  “Ghemor?”

  She turned. Dax and the doctor were standing near the exit. The Trill tilted her head toward the door.

  “A moment of your time, please.”

  Ghemor cast a final glance at the Kressari and followed the officers out. Dax led them into the interrogation room. Whatever she had to say, she obviously wanted to do it in private.

  The petite lieutenant folded her arms before her. “What were you doing in there?”

  Ghemor shrugged. “Taking care of some unfinished business.”

  Dax seemed to be considering whether or not to insist that Ghemor elaborate, then apparently decided to let the matter pass.

  “If I may say, Ms. Ghemor, you look at bit drawn,” Bashir said. “How are you feeling?”

  “Honest answer? Pretty useless. But thank you for asking.”

  “When was the last time you slept?” the doctor pressed.

  “Probably too long ago.”

  “Then I advise you to get some rest,” Dax said. “That’s why we came to see you. We have a new theory about the wormhole. We’re launching Defiant tomorrow so we can put it to the test. If we’re right, we could have you back in your universe before lunchtime…and maybe give your counterpart a little surprise as well.”

  Ghemor merely nodded, suddenly too drained to say anything out loud. She caught her reflection in the interrogation room’s two-way mirror. The doctor was right—she was a mess.

  The look of someone lost.

  She didn’t recognize herself anymore. Iliana thought she knew what she was doing, but ever since her conversation with Sisko, she’d felt adrift. Every choice she’d made up to now had been a disaster. She could only hope she still had enough time to set things right before the other Iliana became the new face of the Prophets.

  There’s a thought. A new face.

  With a burst of renewed energy, Ghemor turned to face her hosts. “I think I have an idea….”

  PART THREE

  THE ALTERNATE UNIVERSE

  7

  FIVE DAYS AGO

  “My patience is wearing thin, L’Haan,” Iliana said as she considered the view beyond the panoramic window of her suite aboard the Negh’Var, watching the elongated starlight str
eam past—an illusion of the warship’s superluminal velocity. She’d long since grown weary of the view. Her rendezvous with the Alliance battle fleet at Regulon was now only minutes away, and still the Vulcan handmaiden had not kept up her end of the bargain they had struck prior to Iliana’s arrival in this twisted universe. “You assured me you understood the mechanism’s function.”

  In the reflective transparency of the window, Iliana saw L’Haan bowing deeply, the scanty silken veils that passed for servants’ attire in this place once again billowing around her slender frame as she moved. Iliana’s predecessor had clearly been a creature of vulgar sensibilities.

  “With respect, Intendant,” L’Haan said, “the fault is not with my understanding, but with the mechanism itself.”

  Intendant.

  The title brought a faint smile to Iliana’s lips, which she admired in her reflection. She was a perfect match for the Kira Nerys of this universe, from the gaudy silver headpiece that crowned her red hair to the toes of the narrow boots that completed her clinging black bodysuit. Three days after the she’d claimed her new identity, the euphoria of slitting that other Kira’s throat lingered like the heady effect of an exquisite wine.

  But she knew that she owed some measure of her success thus far to L’Haan. Reaching out surreptitiously to Intendant Kira’s handmaiden had been a tricky but essential maneuver. As a personal slave, and a Vulcan, L’Haan was uniquely positioned to take note of Kira’s most closely guarded secrets, and to advise Iliana on how to carry off her masquerade. She needed only to be convinced to stay out of the way until the switch could be made during the Negh’Var’s detour to Harkoum. And despite her lowly station in the hierarchy of the Alliance, she was already proving that she was not without useful skills of her own.