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

  “I’m Lieutenant Commander Matheson,” the woman said from beside the inner door, which had closed behind her, “and this is Lieutenant Jenek.” She pointed with her empty hand toward the Orion. “We are now going to walk with you to the Founder’s cell. At seven junctures along the way, either Lieutenant Jenek or I will ask you to stop. Please do so at once, and remain stationary until I ask you to proceed again.”

  “I understand,” Taran’atar said, wanting nothing more at this point than to be on his way to the Founder.

  “Good,” Matheson said. “Please take a position between Lieutenant Jenek and me.” Taran’atar did as directed. “Thank you,” she said. “We’ll now proceed.”

  As though Matheson had willed it, the inner door glided open. She walked from the room and into a corridor that ran to the left and right. She turned to the right, and Taran’atar followed. Out of Jenek’s line of sight for just a moment, he quickly peered back the other way down the corridor, and saw a second door—closed—standing beside the first, doubtless leading to the control room crewed by the Vulcan commander and the other security officers.

  Taran’atar looked forward again. Behind him, he heard Jenek exit the room, his footsteps falling heavily on the decking. Ahead, beyond Matheson, Taran’atar saw the corridor curving into the distance, its end lost from sight. Brightly lighted by panels in the center of the overhead, the enclosed space offered no adornments, the stark, gray bulkheads uninterrupted by anything but the ubiquitous surveillance, sensor, and weapons ports mounted high on their surfaces.

  Just a few paces away, another corridor intersected the first, perpendicular to it and leading off to the left. Matheson turned into it, and Taran’atar did the same. The metronomic thumping of Jenek’s boots clocking along the deck followed behind.

  Up ahead, perhaps thirty meters away, a door reached across the corridor, impeding the way. As she reached it, Matheson turned and said, “Stop.” Taran’atar complied immediately, and he heard Jenek do the same, the sounds of everybody’s heels echoing for a few seconds before fading away.

  Matheson faced the side bulkhead, holstered her phaser, and took hold of the pouch at her hip. She opened it and spilled its contents into her hand. She selected one of the long, thin, clear items she held, which looked like isolinear optical chips, though each had a serrated edge. After returning the others to the pouch and then the pouch to her hip, she reached forward and inserted the chip she’d chosen into a slot.

  A physical key, Taran’atar realized. An added means of security, he reasoned, one which worked in concert with other measures, but would by itself allow access and egress through these passages should the facility’s power systems fail.

  Matheson turned the key, which produced an audible click, then placed her hand against a plate inset into the bulkhead. “Identify: Matheson, Lieutenant Commander Jacqueline,” she recited. “Requesting access.”

  A light beside the plate shifted from red to amber, not unlike how the external-atmosphere indicator aboard Rio Grande had done earlier. As seconds passed in silence, Taran’atar detected movement, a vibration he perceived through the deck. Beyond the closed door, he was sure, something moved—something big.

  Finally, the light blinked from amber to green, and the door lumbered aside slowly, the panel at least ten centimeters through. Matheson spun the chip, withdrew it from the slot, and replaced it in the pouch, then drew her phaser once more. “Let’s continue,” she said, and strode through the doorway. Taran’atar started after her, and he heard Jenek follow behind him.

  As Taran’atar crossed the threshold, the lighting levels seemed to decrease, and he detected a change in the texture of the decking, from metallic to something less rigid. The sound of his steps grew muffled, as did those of Matheson and Jenek. He saw two narrow lines of blue running along the walkway, along either edge. Forcefields obviously surrounded the deck here.

  Still, the claustrophobic feel of the corridor gave way to an unexpected openness here. Taran’atar looked to both sides and saw a cavernous area, extending outward, up and down, left and right. The modified deck bridged the space, running to another doorway fifty meters ahead. At a remove from the walking surface, on either side, what appeared to be emitters of some sort—large, silver cones—lined the distant bulkheads.

  Radiation, Taran’atar thought. A line of defense. He guessed that the security officers kept this zone constantly irradiated, protecting against unauthorized passage to and from the cell encased in the heart of the prison. Even if hostile forces penetrated the facility, or the Founder broke from her cell, even if closed doors could be forced open, the radiation would provide a barrier difficult to cross without ultimately sacrificing the lives of those who did—including that of the Founder.

  They continued along the walkway to the far door. Shortly after Matheson did, Taran’atar passed through the second doorway and back into a corridor. They continued forward until Lieutenant Jenek spoke up behind them. “Stop,” he said simply, just as Matheson had a few minutes ago. The lieutenant commander turned around to watch her colleague, and Taran’atar did the same. At the second doorway, Jenek performed the same series of tasks as Matheson had at the first—setting aside his phaser, retrieving a chip from his pouch, inserting the key into a slot, flattening his hand against a plate—but rather than requesting access, he asked for closure.

  After the door had sealed behind them, Taran’atar continued on with the two security officers. Now, though, they encountered numerous intersections, and various corridors of differing lengths crossing each other at oblique angles. Matheson made several turns, seemingly at random. As they walked, Taran’atar saw a minuscule gap between the walls and the deck. He wondered at first if they might be part of a defensive system that could deliver debilitating gaseous agents into the corridors, but in light of the many junctions, turns, and odd angles behind them, he concluded that the bulkheads here moved. Walls would shift, new corridors would be created, old ones eliminated, with dead ends abounding and no obvious course through the maze. If Taran’atar ever returned to Ananke Alpha, he suspected that he would find gone the path that he followed this time to reach the Founder. He found it a clumsy but probably effective countermeasure to any escape attempts begun either inside or outside the prison.

  Along the route, Matheson led the way through two more lines of defense, neither of them configured precisely as the radiation barrier had been. Taran’atar believed one of the zones to be kept heated beyond the endurance of most life-forms, and the other to be filled with a constant barrage of phaser fire. To be sure, the variegated fortifications would pose difficulties for anybody plotting to break into or out of the facility.

  Which is why, he thought, I would avoid altogether any attempt to breach the barriers.

  After Matheson had taken them through the third defensive zone, they traveled once more through a single corridor, the maze apparently behind them. At a T-shaped intersection, Matheson halted and addressed Taran’atar again. “Stop,” she said, and he did so. “At the end of this corridor,” she said, pointing to the right, “is the Founder’s cell.” She explained in detail the procedures for Taran’atar’s entry into and exit from the cell, and then moved into the corridor off to the left. Taran’atar paced forward until he reached the junction, then turned right. Ten meters away stood a set of parallel doors, the first of the two transparent. As he approached the doors, he heard Jenek enter the corridor behind him.

  Taran’atar looked over his shoulder and waited as Matheson used another of her keys and her handprint to request access to the Founder’s cell. When the transparent door glided open, he entered the small antechamber. A moment later, that door closed behind him, and the inner one opened. He stepped forward into a long room, fifteen meters long and half as wide. A collection of seemingly unrelated items filled the space: a few plants of varying dimension and color, several regular and irregular geometric forms constructed of diverse materials, a tank of clear liquid, a box of sand, what ap
peared to be a crumpled piece of paper. He saw surveillance, sensor, and weapons ports here as well.

  He did not see the Founder. At least not that he could identify.

  “I am Taran’atar,” he said as the inner door closed behind him, sealing him inside. “I am a Jem’Hadar first.” He waited, but received no response. “I humbly seek to visit with you, Founder, to speak with you.”

  Still nothing.

  Taran’atar waited, keenly aware from the moment he had first considered coming here that the Founder might not wish to see him. Merely a servant to her kind, he had little to offer her, and knew that, even if Admiral Ross had consented to this meeting, it remained to be seen whether the Founder would deign to speak with him.

  “If you do not wish my visit, Founder,” he said at last, “then I shall leave. It is of course your choice.” He waited ten seconds, then ten more. When a full minute had passed, it became clear that the Founder did not want to see him.

  Taran’atar began to turn, but as he did so, he saw movement in the room. Directly in front of him, the overhead seemed to slump down, as though melting, until the mass began to shimmer. It elongated until it touched the floor, spilled downward, then reached up into a humanoid figure. Color and texture appeared as though from nowhere, transforming the shining golden shape into a woman of medium height and build, her features smooth, like Odo’s when he took Bajoran form.

  Taran’atar had seen Founders shapeshift throughout his twenty-two-year lifespan, but it never ceased to produce in him a sense of awe. He stood motionless, waiting for the Founder to speak. He felt anticipation, pleased that he had managed this opportunity for himself.

  The Founder took one stride forward and peered up into Taran’atar’s eyes. Her lips formed a thin, straight line, almost hidden within the doughy flesh of her face. At last, she spoke:

  “Why are you here?”

  The two Founders waited behind him, their presence in his quarters a palpable, weighty thing, like a dense fog pushing in, unstoppable, suffocating. The bass drone of the ship’s engines contributed to the onerous atmosphere. Weyoun attempted to concentrate on the readouts before him, on operating his companel, but could not prevent himself from stealing a look backward from time to time, hoping to verify that neither of his guests had yet lost their patience. Although Odo continued to pace anxiously back and forth across the room, the attitude of the other, motionless Founder—Laas—concerned Weyoun more. Like many changelings, Laas did not conceal his scorn for Vorta and other lower life-forms, but more than that, the intensity of his disgust appeared to cross the line into hatred. Weyoun doubted that any service he provided right now, no matter how helpful or beneficial to the Great Link, would gain him Laas’s approbation.

  At the same time, Odo represented a different challenge. Weyoun’s memories, extending not only through his own brief existence, but through the lives of his predecessors, composed complex, often inconsistent portraits of the Founder. Odo had seemed to despise several of the Weyoun clones, but on an individual basis, and not because he judged Vorta to be intrinsically inferior to changelings—although of course they were. But after initially distrusting the motives of the sixth Weyoun—the defective Weyoun—Odo had come to show him sympathy, even tenderness. More difficult to fathom, the current relationship between Founder and Vorta had been marked by Odo’s frequent attention. Although he still often displayed a stern manner, he regularly sought contact with Weyoun—as well as with the Jem’Hadar seventh—transporting up to the ship and engaging in lengthy conversations about a multitude of subjects. Such personal interaction delighted Weyoun, but it also disconcerted him a bit. Accustomed to striving constantly to serve the Founders to the best of his abilities and at all costs, he did not really know how to conduct himself with them in an alternate role.

  “Weyoun,” Odo said sharply from across the room, though he sounded more anxious than angry. “Are you making any progress?”

  “I am,” Weyoun responded, turning to face the Founder. Odo had stopped pacing and now stood beside the closed door that led out into the corridor. He had his arms folded across his chest. Laas leaned against the bulkhead in an adjacent corner. “I’m making significant progress,” Weyoun said. As he peered from one Founder to the other, he became acutely aware of his many projects lying scattered about the room, spilling over just about every flat surface, including the deck. Vorta had no sense of aesthetics, but they did possess an intense curiosity. Many, including Weyoun, found satisfaction in studying and learning about almost anything, no matter how trivial or uninteresting such things might seem to others. He continually collected items from various places, bringing them here for later examination. Between his position at the companel and Odo, he saw shoes, coasters, bits of string, broken bottles, power cells, picture frames, and a chair leg. Knowing the changeling penchant for order, Weyoun felt embarrassed by the ragtag assortment of objects. Had he had any warning that Odo and Laas would visit him here, he would have packed away his academic olio.

  “If you’re making progress,” Laas snapped, “then what’s the delay?”

  “My apologies, Founder,” Weyoun said, folding his hands together and bowing his head. “I’m afraid that the information you’re seeking is stored in numerous files, in different locations,” he explained. “They’re also encrypted in a variety of ways.”

  “But you do have the necessary clearances to access and decode the files?” Odo asked.

  “Yes, I do, thanks to your foresight,” Weyoun said. Prior to embarking on the task the two Founders had given him, Odo had increased Weyoun’s already-high security authorization. “I’ve collected all of the files you asked for, and decoded most of them. I’m just waiting for the last few files to go through decryption, and then for the final collation of data.”

  “Is there no one who can do this faster?” Laas asked Odo.

  Before Odo could respond, the companel emitted two quick tones, signaling the completion of the deciphering of the last files. Weyoun looked back to the readouts and verified the results. He told the Founders, then worked the console again for a few minutes, this time to bring the newly decoded data into the collection of the other files he’d already assembled. He touched one final control, which hummed at his touch, and then he turned back to Odo and Laas.

  “Done,” he announced, the smile on his face a gauge of the pleasure he felt in accomplishing a service for not one, but two of his gods.

  “Then leave us,” Laas said brusquely, pushing off of the bulkhead and standing up straight.

  Weyoun felt his smile evaporate, sorry to be dismissed instead of being permitted to continue providing assistance. He hesitated for only an instant, though, before forcing a smile back onto his face, but Odo must have sensed his disappointment.

  “If you don’t mind,” the Founder said. “It’s just that Laas and I would like to discuss the contents of the files in private.”

  “Of course,” Weyoun said. “I understand completely, and I’m more than happy to volunteer my home for you to work in.” He padded across the room, sidestepping a large, green pyramidal object that he couldn’t quite identify, although he recalled that the fifth Weyoun had retrieved it several years ago from Innerol V, during the repression of an insurgency against the Dominion. The door opened at his approach, and he passed Odo and started out into the corridor. Then he stopped and looked back at the two Founders. “As always, it is a pleasure to serve you.”

  “Thank you, Weyoun,” Odo said. “Good work.”

  Weyoun could not prevent his smile from growing wider. “Thank you, Odo,” he said, then he continued out into the corridor, the door closing behind him. As he headed for the bridge, he hoped that he had supplied Odo and Laas with what they needed. He felt privileged to have such close contact with Founders.

  Most Vorta, Weyoun knew, were not so fortunate.

  The cliffs rose high above a barren, meteorite-pocked plain. The dawning sun peeked over the arc of the horizon, throwing roughly cur
ved shadows into the many craters strewn across the lunar surface. Still cool from the night, the air blew in a steady breeze here, occasionally gusting stronger. Above, a smattering of clouds scudded across the sky.

  Vannis peered down from atop the cliffs and surveyed the unfriendly surroundings. She observed the steepness of the precipice, then turned toward the rocky hills rising just twenty-five meters away. “Are you certain this is the location?” she asked.

  The middle of her three Jem’Hadar escorts stepped forward. “It is,” First Rekan’ganar said. “Residual traces of a propulsion trail are scattered through the area, and ship’s sensors detected small amounts of refined metals spread along this flat as well.”

  Vannis nodded. She looked behind her again, out over the cliff’s edge, and considered the narrow strip of land upon which they stood, situated between the high, steep drop on one side and the hills on the other. “It must have been a crash or an emergency landing then,” she said. No pilot would have intentionally chosen this place to put down, except in the case of a crisis. Such a conclusion supported the little information that the Founder had provided her—namely, that a former inhabitant of this moon reported that an Ascendant’s ship had crashed here. “Find whatever you can learn,” Vannis ordered the Jem’Hadar, quoting the Founder’s instructions to her.

  With a nod from Rekan’ganar, the Jem’Hadar fanned out immediately along the edge of the cliff, each operating a portable scanner. Vannis remained in her current location, and activated her own scanner. After a few minutes of scrutiny, she could find nothing of significance around her. She quickly looked about the area, then paced toward the hillside.

  From the ship, sensors had identified a web of satellites in orbit about the planet. They appeared to encircle the moon, though they had all been deactivated. Their orbits had begun to decay, but the pattern they described seemed to indicate three satellites missing from the network. Scans substantiated that conclusion by revealing small pieces of irradiated metal near those locations, the remnant energy of weapons fire still detectable on them. Vannis had deduced a battle between the Ascendants’ craft and the network, with both achieving measures of victory. She speculated that the trio of absent satellites had been destroyed by the Ascendant, and the remainder of the net ultimately deactivated, but not before it had forced the Ascendant’s ship down.