Worlds of Star Trek Deep Space Nine® Volume Three Read online

  218. Always know what you’re buying. (The Ferengi Rules of Acquisition)

  239. Never be afraid to mislabel a product. (“Body Parts” [DS9])

  280. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. (Worlds of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine Volume Three—Ferenginar: Satisfaction Is Not Guaranteed)

  285. No good deed ever goes unpunished. (“The Collaborator” [DS9], “The Sound of Her Voice” [DS9])

  The Dominion

  Olympus Descending

  David R. George III

  About the Author

  David R. George III has returned to the ongoing Deep Space Nine saga with Olympus Descending. He previously visited DS9 in the novels The 34th Rule, set during the timeframe of the series, and Twilight, set after the finale. His other Star Trek contributions include a first-season Voyager episode, “Prime Factors,” and one of the Lost Era books, Serpents Among the Ruins, featuring Captain John Harriman and his executive officer, Commander Demora Sulu. David will revisit the latter character in a story to be published in the upcoming Tales from the Captain’s Table anthology. And 2006 will see the release of an original series trilogy he will pen as part of the celebration of the fortieth anniversary of Star Trek.

  In his almost-nonexistent spare time, David enjoys trying his hand at new experiences, from skydiving to auditioning—with his lovely wife Karen—for The New Newlywed Game, from hiking a glacier in Alaska to belly dancing in Tunisia, from ocean kayaking in Mexico to having dinner at an actual captain’s table somewhere in the Pacific Ocean. Recently, he performed his first wedding ceremony—which he and Karen also wrote—marrying their friends Jennifer Rasmussen and Ryan Van Riper. David believes that the world is a wide, wondrous place, with exciting adventures waiting around just about every corner.

  He remains free on his own recognizance.

  To

  David R. George

  and

  John M. Walenista

  Two men, both larger than life,

  who taught me in ways they knew

  and in ways they didn’t,

  and who brought me joys

  that will remain with me always

  Acknowledgments

  My thanks must begin with Marco Palmieri. Not only did he invite me to the dance, but he invited me back. Working with him ranks for me as a privilege, both because of the passion and creativity he brings to the table, and because of the professionalism and artistry with which he edits. I am grateful to him for reasons too numerous to detail, not the least of which is that he always improves my writing. Readers of the novels upon which Marco works—myself among those readers—are well served by his efforts.

  I wish to acknowledge and thank Elizabeth Knezo Ragan, who after nearly a century, still left us too soon. In my mind, she will forever remain a strong, vibrant woman, the undisputed matriarch of her family. I can never adequately convey how much the love and support she lavished on Karen meant to me. Baba’s caring and influence can easily be seen in succeeding generations, and will doubtless continue for generations to come.

  Thanks as well to Barry J. Berman, who also left the field of play too soon. With the organization of the first Bakersfield baseball tournament, and of all the events that followed from there, Barry impacted my life in amazing ways that neither of us ever could have anticipated. Later, he welcomed me to town with unparalleled magnanimity. On the diamond, his range might never have exceeded his reach, but off the field, among his friends and fellow ballplayers, his reach exceeded everybody’s expectations. I will always remember Barry, as well as the strength and caring of Barry’s love, Kay Lewis.

  I also want to thank Steven H. Pilchik, who always believed. Ever since he read a pair of hastily written one-act plays back in the day, his enthusiasm and support have continually encouraged me. I’ve always felt us kindred spirits, from those very first days in the basement of Hood Hall (wildebeests along the way and all), and I treasure his friendship. I am fortunate indeed to know Steve, his lovely wife Cheryl, and their boys Brian and Joshua.

  Thanks too to Jason and Lia Costello for their love and encouragement. Their wonderful friendship shines like a beacon in the darkness to me, and their own loving relationship is a delight to behold. Resolute and supportive, they are also big-hearted and fun, and I always enjoy the time I spend with them.

  I always seem to be thanking Armin Shimerman for something, and in this case, it’s not only for his friendship and support (and that of his fabulous wife, Kitty Swink), but for the loan of a laptop computer in desperate and difficult circumstances. Armin and Kitty possess a generosity of spirit that constantly warms my heart. The quality of their many talents is surpassed only by the kindness of their souls.

  No matter how many times I do it, I can never thank Anita Smith enough. Always there, always supportive, she is a kind and loving person like no other. I admire her courage, strength, and determination, and her presence in my life is a gift.

  I can also never thank Jennifer George enough, or laud her enough. A fine woman, filled with bravery and heart, intelligence and wit, and with talents aplenty, she continually impresses me. I could not be more proud of her. Her love and support lift me up.

  I also don’t have enough words for Patricia Walenista. She remains the source of all things good in me. Friend, confidante, role model, and more, she provides clarity, wisdom, a moral compass, support, and above all, love. And she’s pretty fun to be around too.

  Finally, as always, I want to thank Karen Ann Ragan-George for all that she does and for all that she is. My constant light, my delicate flower, wellspring of belly laughs and of the very best kinds of tears, she is everything to me. Like poetry, Karen is complex, beautiful in form and content, filled with vivid meaning and hidden depths, and on occasion, she even rhymes. Not only would I not want to do any of this without her, but I could not do it without her. I have always loved her, and I always will.

  Historian’s Note

  This story is set primarily in December, 2376 (Old Calendar), ending approximately thirteen weeks after the conclusion of the Star Trek: Deep Space Nine novel Unity.

  Have you not heard of that madman who lit a lantern in the bright morning hours, ran to the market place and cried incessantly: “I seek God! I seek God!”

  —FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE, “THE MADMAN,” APHORISM 125, Book III, The Gay Science

  Shall we grow old, you and I, and all,

  In a universe bereft of light?

  —ILOJA OF PRIM, STANZA 1137, FOLIO FIVE, “THOUGHTS ON A HOSTILE COSMOS”

  Preamble

  The sky had changed.

  Odo peered at the irregular burst of light looming unexpectedly above the nameless world of the Founders. Thoughts of Nerys—reminiscences of the past weeks with her, contemplations of their future together—fled as anxiety rose within him, along with the certainty that in his absence some awful event had befallen his people. He stood on the bridge that sat at the core of the Jem’Hadar attack vessel, the monocular headset he wore providing him with a view of surrounding space. As the ship approached the planet, the relentless beat of the impulse drive fell heavily within the compact control center, saturating it without surcease. The voices and movements of the small crew joined the tableau like hasty postscripts, thrown in at the last, to little effect. Odo’s body hummed with the rhythms of the engines, his ever-malleable cells in constant agitation as they reflexively sought to adjust—to quiesce—in response to the proximate activity.

  On his headset monitor—a few centimeters wide and half as tall, with two corners on one side of the otherwise rectangular flat “sliced off”—the brilliant addition to the starscape dominated the scene. Surmising—and hoping—that what he saw might simply be a display error, Odo swung his head left. The image on his viewer slewed to port, roving across another section of the firmament, but when he looked back again at the Founders’ world, the luminous patch remained. To the left and above the planet from this vantage, the glowing, blurry-edged circle drew his gaze to it, sh
ining as it did more brightly than any other celestial object in sight…and because it hadn’t been there when last he had been immersed in the Great Link.

  “Weyoun,” Odo called, focusing past the translucent eyepiece and across the bridge, to where the Vorta stood amid several Jem’Hadar, most of them operating various stations. Weyoun turned at once from Seventh Rotan’talag, to whom he’d been speaking, and paced quickly over. As he did so, he reached up and flipped his own flickering monitor away from his eye.

  “Yes, Founder,” he said, bowing his head for a moment, his hands parting in a patent gesture of subservience. He wore auburn pants, and a darker, patterned jacket atop a sulfur-colored shirt. “How may I be of service to you?”

  “I want to know if my people are all right,” Odo said, with more force than he’d intended. His disquiet felt surprisingly strong, and seemed to spring more from intuition than observation.

  “They are perfectly fine,” Weyoun said calmly, and Odo’s thoughts veered toward relief. “I scanned the surface of the planet myself as soon as we were within sensor range. The Great Link is as you left it.” The tight line of the Vorta’s lips widened and curled upward slightly at the ends, a familiar smile that readily conveyed a desire to serve, along with a fear of being unable to do so adequately. All of the Weyoun clones Odo had known had worn similar expressions at one time or another, save for perhaps one of them.

  “What is that bright object above the planet?” Odo asked, even as he recalled the exception among this Weyoun’s predecessors. The sixth clone to bear the name, who during the war had defected to the Federation, had speculated aloud about whether he’d been faulty, but never had he wavered from the apparent surety of his ability to attend Odo. His death by his own hand—an action taken to prevent Odo from being killed—had been heroic, but not more so than his decision to abscond from the Dominion in an attempt to rescue it from itself.

  “An observant question, Founder,” Weyoun said, obsequious as ever. Odo still felt uncomfortable being addressed as “Founder,” but he no longer reproached Weyoun or anybody else for doing so. How could he, when he’d left behind his life in the Alpha Quadrant more than ten months ago, and had come here to live with his people? He’d counted himself among their number ever since, even despite having been away from them for the past fifteen weeks.

  “I noticed the object myself,” Weyoun went on. “The seventh”—he never referred to any of the Jem’Hadar by name, at least not in Odo’s presence—“reports that it is likely a distant nova, and that it poses no threat to the Great Link.”

  “If Rotan’talag isn’t certain what it is,” Odo questioned, “then how can he conclude that it isn’t a threat?” For some reason, the unanticipated appearance of the intensely shining object stirred a depth of emotion in him that he could not readily identify, feelings that seemed more complicated than mere concern for his people.

  “Quite right,” Weyoun agreed without hesitation, as though he had been about to make the same point. “Which is why I’ve ordered the seventh to continue gathering and analyzing readings, so that he can make a complete and accurate report. I’m also going to contact my colleagues on other vessels and speak to them about their observations.” Numerous other ships regularly patrolled the region of space about the Founders’ planet, all crewed by Jem’Hadar soldiers and commanded by Vorta overseers.

  “Very good,” Odo said, nodding curtly as he glanced once more at the image on his personal viewer. The rough circle of light burned there like the malevolent eye of some massive spaceborne creature, lying in wait just beyond the planet. “Keep me informed.”

  “Of course,” Weyoun said, again bowing his head. He withdrew across the center of the bridge, taking a couple of steps backward before rounding on his heel and walking back over to Rotan’talag. The two conversed briefly, then turned to a nearby console.

  Odo watched them through his headset monitor, the duo visible through a glittering sweep of the planet where starlight touched the amorphous form of the Great Link. Both Weyoun and Rotan’talag had served him well these past months, he reflected, though neither had shown any indication yet of growing beyond the bounds established for their respective species by the Founders. He still believed that they could, though, especially given their unusual personal circumstances.

  Rotan’talag, during a systematic search of the Dominion ordered by Odo, had been discovered to be one of only four Jem’Hadar not dependent on ketracel-white. He’d been too young—three years old at the time, four now—and too inexperienced to send to the Alpha Quadrant on the mission that Taran’atar had instead taken on, but Odo had chosen to keep him close. Years ago, back on Deep Space 9, Odo had failed to guide a newborn Jem’Hadar away from the martial purpose for which he’d been bred, but that unnamed fighter had been reliant on the white. And while Taran’atar—like Rotan’talag, free of the chemical dependency—appeared to be fulfilling his assigned task of observing and living among the denizens of the Alpha Quadrant, his mindset about himself and his place in the universe hadn’t changed in any significant way. Odo hoped that it would one day be different for Taran’atar, but in the meantime, he would use another tack—frequent personal contact—to try to foster Rotan’talag’s development.

  As the nova—or whatever it turned out to be—stared down on his eyepiece at the Founders’ world, Odo’s thoughts shifted to the Vorta who had effectively become his deputy. On Cardassia Prime at the end of the war, the eighth Weyoun had been shot dead by Garak, and the Founder leader had declared him the last in the line—probably because she hadn’t expected anybody to retrieve his transcorder implant so that his knowledge and memories could be downloaded into a subsequent clone. But Odo had recovered the device, aware of its existence and purpose from Dr. Bashir’s autopsy of the Weyoun defector. The implant the doctor had removed had self-destructed when Chief O’Brien had attempted to dump its data, but its function had been evident: it continuously recorded the thoughts and experiences of the clone into whom it had been embedded, automatically uploading it for more secure storage whenever in range of either the Dominion wide-area communications network or a sufficiently equipped vessel.

  Knowing that he would return to live with his people in the Gamma Quadrant, and foreseeing that he would strive to transform the bellicose nature of the Dominion, Odo had gone back and removed the transcorder from the corpse of Weyoun Eight. A new clone, he’d reasoned, might develop as the sixth had, with a yearning for peace and a willingness to act on that desire. And as would be the case with Rotan’talag, Odo had intended to do whatever he could to influence the personal growth of the next Weyoun.

  Across the bridge, a monitor set into the far bulkhead blinked to life, the face of a woman appearing on it. Odo recognized her as Vannis, one of the Vorta who assisted Weyoun and others in carrying out the will of the Founders. She possessed sharp, angular features, and long, dark locks framed her face. Her pallid complexion contrasted dramatically with both her hair and her vibrant indigo eyes. The jacket she wore matched her eye color, and covered an ivory blouse. As Odo looked on, she opened her mouth and spoke, and Weyoun responded, their voices low, their words indistinct, swallowed up by the cadences of the impulse engines. The Jem’Hadar seventh paid no apparent heed to the conversation, keeping his head down as he worked at an adjacent console.

  Odo had arranged for the assignments of Weyoun and Rotan’talag to this ship. Known simply as Jem’Hadar Attack Vessel 971, it was initially stationed in orbit about the Founders’ planet, one of those delegated to safeguard the Great Link. Not long after Odo first left the Alpha Quadrant and rejoined his people, he started spending brief periods away from them, on the tiny island where he’d said his good-byes to Nerys. He needed separation so that he could consider things in the manner to which he’d become accustomed, and also so that he could mark time, the experience of which felt very different within the Link.

  Shortly after that, Odo had begun transporting up to the ship, weekly at first, an
d then daily. Wanting to more fully understand the forces that defined and drove the Dominion, he studied the security reports continually compiled by the numerous Vorta acting as agents of the Founders. Once he posted Weyoun to the ship, and then Rotan’talag, the repeated visits also allowed him to maintain regular contact with them.

  Although no attempt had been made to stop him in those endeavors, a sense of disapproval permeated the Link. Odo’s ongoing interest in the minutiae of life among the solids was deemed an unhealthy fixation. The Founders, he quickly learned, did not concern themselves with everyday events beyond their world. The genetically programmed fealty of the Vorta and the Jem’Hadar had long ago obviated the need for the changelings to involve themselves directly in such matters. The Founders ruled by proxy, and unless they felt endangered, essentially isolated themselves from the rest of the galaxy. Consequently, they regarded Odo’s attention to security reports, his recurring contact with Vorta and Jem’Hadar, and his particular interest in Weyoun and Rotan’talag, as efforts to cling to the life he’d led in the Alpha Quadrant, among solids. Although he had abandoned that life and returned to the Link, they believed him unwilling to free himself completely from an existence that, in their collective judgment, defined his infancy.

  For Odo, such opinions betrayed the intransigence of his people. The irony did not escape him that a species so physically fluid could also be so mentally and emotionally inflexible. Back on Bajor and DS9, he had himself endured characterizations of his own rigidity, his own obduracy. Seeing the same traits reflected in the amber ocean of his own kind was sobering. He tried to help the Link see that their refusal to consider themselves connected to other, non-changeling life-forms, and their rejection of the possibilities afforded by amity rather than distrust, should be regarded as antithetical to a species that exulted in self-change. The Founders seemed capable of any transformation, he maintained, but in their own view of the universe.