Name: Creek Johnson & Nance Hurt
Series: DS9
Period: A year and a half after the episode What You Leave Behind
Archive: Ask.
Disclaimer: Paramount owns what it owns. We own what we own. No infringement intended - hopefully, none taken.
The room was dark, but after all this time the darkness no longer mattered. The shape and curve of every item that ordered the room was as familiar to her as her own thoughts. Strange and silent sentinels to her constant vigil. She fully recognized that, in a way, it was a form of madness to keep coming here to think or to meditate. A form of madness to keep these quarters exactly as they were. But it was the same madness that prevented her from moving into the quarters due her by virtue of her position. No, those quarters would remain as they were also. The former occupants were not gone, just simply not there.
She sank to the floor. Legs crossed and hands raised in the time honored manner of supplication. She quietly began to chant, but her mind refused to focus. She had thought that by coming here she could find some peace, but peace eluded her. Her thoughts, like questing fingers, returned to the former occupant of the room. Had he found peace at last? Or, had he discovered, as she had, the solitude of soul in an all too overcrowded world?
It has taken months for the power to be finally restored to the major cities on the planet and yet he was still surprised by the darkness. Funny, as his people had never cared much for the light. Ironic, he thought, as the work he had been hired to do was best done in the dark and here he was pining like a lover for a clean well lighted place.
He hated his life now. Hated what war had done to him and to his planet. He crossed the street to avoid a work detail working into the night clearing rubble from a building that had been flattened. Jem'Hadar, sent to undo the damage they had caused. That was ironic as well. Irony and surprise were his constant companions these days, quietly jostling him throughout his working hours, helping to keep him in the light. Hate was there too. However hate has become his mistress, calling to him in the dark, fanning his desire to see his home finally freed from the last vestiges of the war. Free of the Jem'Hadar and the Vorta. That they were there to help rebuild was of no importance to him. That they existed and that they existed here was all that mattered.
So, when he had been quietly commissioned by a Founder to work on a project that, if successful, had the potential to either rid Cardassia of them once and for all, or destroy Cardassia completely, he had accepted. The irony of the situation appealed to him and hate engulfed him like a lovers embrace.
He stopped. He knew the Obsidian Order was well and truly dead, but old habits die hard and the sound of someone behind him, even faint and far away, made him cautious. Was that his name being called? He turned. Approaching him from the end of the street was a figure. Tall, thin, dressed in what looked as though it has once been a Bajoran uniform, now dyed black, blonde hair framing a featureless face and eyes the color of ice.
It was him. It was the Founder who had hired him. What did he think he was doing? He called the name again, louder this time.
"Levet! Wait."
Even the work detail had heard him. The Jem'Hadar halted work and looked first at the Founder and then to Levet. He tried to sink into the shadows but it was too late. The Vorta overseeing the work detail bowed slightly, arms open in supplication, and said something too faint for him to hear. The Founder replied but did not break his stride. Only the Cardassian engineer assigned to the detail appeared to be disinterested in what was transpiring before him.
"Levet, I thought that was you," said the Founder as he approached.
"What do you think you are doing? I thought this was to be kept secret."
"Did they teach you nothing? Private business is sometimes best conducted in public places. Now, is the package ready?"
"Yes."
"Will it work?" asked the Founder.
"Yes."
"Good. Method of transmission?"
"Topical or ingestion, just as you requested," Levet assured him.
"Excellent. My ship leaves tomorrow. A Vorta will be waiting at the airlock for you at 08:00."
"Payment?"
"Transferred to your account on departure as agreed."
"Good."
"Now, as the street has eyes," replied the Founder. "Take my hand and we will part as friends."
Levett did as requested and watched as the Founder turned and to his horror, rather than going back the way he had come, crossed the street and spoke a word or two to the Cardassian engineer. Carrin Levet did not wait to see what transpired next. He sank into the darkness and was gone.
"Two synthales on Captain Fellow's account," said Quark, placing the drinks on the table. "You know, Captain if you and I were to set up a pool…."
"Forget it Quark," replied Kira. "I told you no more pools where I'm concerned and besides that I don't lose at springball."
"She's right," agreed Ezri "She doesn't lose. Sorry Captain."
"Nothing to be sorry about," said Captain Jack Fellows, with a grin. "Running freight back and forth from Vulcan to the Federation Embassy to the Dominion doesn't give me a lot of time to practice, that's all."
Quark turned to Julian Bashir. "Did you ask him?" he demanded.
"Ask me what?" asked Fellows.
"Quark, don't be ridiculous," observed Kira.
"Ask me what?"
"Banquo's Ghost," replied Julian with an ominous tone to his voice.
"I'm sorry, you've lost me," admitted Fellows.
"Well, since your companions won't," said Quark. "I will. Captain, do you actually see Odo when you make your deliveries?"
"Sometimes. Why?"
"Quark believes he's seen Odo lurking around the station late at night," replied Julian.
"I tell you I have seen him," insisted Quark. "I saw him again just last week standing right up there in the shadows of the upper level. Three times I've seen him, always after the bar closes and always in the same place."
"Have you actually spoken to him?" asked Ezri.
"I've tried, but he's always gone by the time I get up there."
"Guilty conscience," pronounced Bashir.
"Starfleet," scoffed Quark and headed back to the bar.
"Well," said Fellows, emptying his glass. "It's been fun, but I have a schedule to keep."
"I'll walk you to the airlock," volunteered a now rather subdued Kira.
They made their good-byes and crossed the Promenade.
"You know, Colonel, I'm sorry if Quark upset you," said Fellows.
"No, it's not that," she assured him. "It's just that - there have been times that I swear I've seen him too. Not that I have. I guess that's something you never really get over - looking for faces in the crowd."
"No, I suppose not."
"So, how are things in the Gamma Quadrant? Latest reports indicate an increase in Jem'Hadar patrols in the area around the wormhole."
"There's a storm brewing over that proposed science station Starfleet wants to build on the other side of the wormhole. And just between you and me, I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if we don't come to blows over it."
"Surely not. What's to be gained?"
"Look," said Fellows. "I've been running freight for Starfleet off and on these last twenty years and I can tell you this - we may have won the war on this side of the wormhole, but not a lot's changed on the other side. Increased traffic, sure, lots of Alpha Quadrant freighters and an increase in Starfleet science vessels, but the Dominion still calls the shots in the Gamma Quadrant."
"I was afraid you'd say that. Still, they have allowed a diplomatic mission to be built on their home world."
"Smoke and mirrors, Colonel. Listen, no one ever asks me anything, so I'm offering this because DS Nine's been on the front lines before. That diplomatic mission was agreed upon only to make a certain changeling happy. The Dominion doesn't care and certainly doesn't intend to be too cooperative. If it does come to blows, you can be sure those diplomats will make a nice set of hostages. And so will Odo."
"One thing's for certain, whoever wins, I'm going to lose," said Kira softly.
"Beg pardon, Colonel. You lost me?"
"Never mind."
"Well, on that jolly note, here we are," said Fellows as they reached the air lock. "Any messages?"
"Just the one."
"Colonel, I've been making this run for eight months and for eight months I've asked if you have any messages and you always send the same one. In those eight months there has never been a reply."
"Captain, the day you bring me a reply, I'll be delivering the next message in person."
"I thought as much. Just do me a favor. When that day comes, I hope you will let me deliver the messenger. The City of Indianapolis may be one of the rustiest buckets in the fleet, but she can move pretty fast when she has to."
"You have yourself a deal."
A lone figure stood for a moment outside the door to the science facility and savored the moment. It had really been all too simple. All he had to do was present himself to them and they accepted him without question. The solids had a phrase, what was it? Ah yes, face value. They had accepted him at face value. All he was required to do was form the correct height, build, face, and clothing. What fools these solids were.
Of course, caution was advised. He hadn't come all this way to be thwarted. He had waited until the medical staff were asleep before attempting to enter the facility. The night guards were not as familiar with the Traitor and that had made it easier. He had encountered no one on his way to the laboratory. The beaker of amber substance sat on a table clearly labeled. He must remember to thank them for their thoughtfulness before he had them killed.
In an instant he had opened the vial and emptied its contents. No one had even bothered to search him or even run a scan. Of course not, it would never occur to them to protect him from himself now would it? In a matter of seconds he had reabsorbed the vial and formed a padd. Strolling back to the door, he waived the padd at the guards and thanked them for allowing him access. He was back out the door in seconds. And no one was the wiser.
In the shadow of the Federation Diplomatic Mission to the Dominion, a lone figure sat on the banks of the Link and pondered his fate. He stared at his newly formed naked feet and marveled at what incredibly odd appendages they were. He had needed them once, a long time ago, when they had made him human. To a human a well formed pair of feet were essential. To a changeling on his home world they were useless.
With a sigh, he closed his eyes and remembered what it had been to walk with real feet. The feel of balance in motion. The heel striking the floor first, the gentle roll of the foot as the balance of the body shifted forward on to the ball of the foot, the gentle push of the toes. The rhythm of footsteps down an empty hall. The smell of shoe leather. With a slight sense of panic he realized he had forgotten the smell of leather. Smell was another thing that was useless to a changeling.
Useless, well that about summed him up. How had he become so useless so quickly? He buried his face in his hands. Prophets! He had never wanted to scream in frustration so badly in his life. But what would be the point? The only response would be for a few Jem'Hadar to appear at the railing of the facility near by and stare at him. The medical staff he was assigned to assist would just look at him blankly and politely ask for another sample. Those he wanted to shout at would only turn a deaf ear. Useless. It was all so, useless.
He had started out with such promise. This was his chance. His opportunity to return to the Link on his own terms. To restore them to health, to take his place within the Link - to teach them all he had learned about life among the solids. He had expected resistance. Change was difficult for all life forms, why would his people be any different? He hadn't bargained on his having to be the one who changed. He hadn't bargained on becoming one of them.
He remembered that dark moment when he had realized exactly what had occurred. The moment of clarity when he could see what he had become, hear what he was saying. The overwhelming sense of self revulsion and loathing. That was the first time he had left. He had to. Not that there was anywhere to go in those days. No Diplomatic Mission. No Doctors. Only a few rocky outcroppings and a small base for the Jem'Hadar and the Vorta.
It had taken all his strength to tear himself free. He could still hear their voices.
"Where are you going?"
"Away. Nowhere. Anywhere. I just have to leave."
"You can't leave you are one of us."
"That's why I have to leave."
"We don't understand."
"Sadly that is the problem. You don't, can't understand."
He had sat on that rock for days. Struggling with himself, with this failure. Eventually through the maelstrom of self incrimination he had allowed his thoughts to turn to the one person who would understand, who understood him. It was through the sure and certain realization of her love that he had found the peace of mind he sought and the courage to continue.
And so he had returned to the link and a pattern had been established. Whenever he had felt his resolve weaken or when the pressure to conform came too much for him, he would leave again to sit and collect his thoughts, or brood, or simply think of her. It wasn't an all together happy compromise, but it would have to do.
His absences from the link, however, did not go unnoticed. He had been aware for sometime that there was concern for his mental well being. No changeling had ever behaved as he did. None, once joined, had ever felt a desire to leave. They were not entirely sure what to do with him. Compromises had been made to keep him happy. He was considered the expert on solids and was required to be present at negotiations with Federation delegations. Reluctantly they had agreed to the diplomatic mission to be built on their once sacred home world and he was expected to be their liaison. He was not sure which he felt to be more galling - the implication that, like a child, they felt he had to be appeased - or that knowing his history they chose him for the role of guinea pig.
So engrossed was he in his ruminations, he failed to hear the footfalls behind him.
"Odo, just the man I want," said Jack Fellows. "Mind if I have a seat?"
He at first did not recognize the voice and sat staring at the human with a puzzled expression.
Jack lowered himself to the ground, choosing to ignore the puzzled look on the face of his friend. After a few moments, recognition slowly dawned on the changeling.
"Which Odo do you require today, Captain? The handy human expert or perhaps you require a sample of my DNA."
"That bad is it?"
He simply snorted by way of reply.
Fellows nodded in understanding. In the eight months he had been making supply runs back and forth from one quadrant to the next he had come to know this rather surprising changeling and had been impressed with what he had seen. The almost featureless face and placid exterior belied the keen intelligence and passion that lay beneath. But lately, Fellows had noted the light in the ice blue eyes had begun to dim a bit and the changeling had begun to suffer small lapses in memory. Fellows had simply put it down to exhaustion, but now he was not so sure.
"Yeah, well," he volunteered, gently nudging Odo with his elbow, "life stinks sometimes doesn't it?"
"Captain, as flattering as it seems, I'm sure you didn't come all this way just to tell me that life stinks."
"Now, there's the Odo the Alpha Quadrant knows and loves. Was that actually a laugh?"
"No."
"I thought not. So, what's eating you this time? Let me guess…" he gustured to the Link, spread out before them. "Them?"
"What else?"
"Well, families are funny things. Can't live with them - can't live without them. Why don't you just tell them you've had it and you're taking off?"
"I wish it were that simple."
"Well, you're a better judge of the situation than I am. But I can't help but think it all boils down to a matter of what you want. So, Odo, what do you want?"
"That's the big question isn't it?" asked Odo.
"It's what she wants to know."
"How is she?"
"Thin. Worried about you."
"She still beat you at…?" He made a vague gesture.
"Springball?" ventured Jack. "Yes, she whipped me but good."
"One day I'll tell you the secret to beating her."
"I would be forever in your debt. So, no message in reply?"
"No."
"I thought not. " He stared at his companion with some concern. It was clear something wasn't right with him, but what, was hard to determine.
"What?" asked Odo eventually.
"I'm sorry?"
"You were staring at me."
"Oh, nothing. You look….tired, that's all."
"It's nothing," Odo assured him. "The other day one of my Vulcan tormentors returned a sample they had been testing. Whatever they did to it has disagreed with me a little. It will pass."
"Maybe you ought to speak to them about it."
"And be submitted to further poking and prying? No, thank you."
"Well…." He was interrupted by the chirping of this communicator. "That will be my signal the cargo is unloaded and I'm cleared for departure. I've downloaded your mail, you can pick it up in your office. Sure you don't want to come along for the ride?"
"No. But keep asking anyway."
"Will do. Odo?"
"Yes?"
"Are you familiar with the works of a late 19th century Earth poet by the name of Poe?"
"Oh course," said Odo with a measure of indignation in his voice. He had known the name at one time, but could no longer remember in what context.
"Nothing, you just remind me of one of his poems. Well, I'm off."
"Bon Voyage, Captain."
"Ride, Boldly Ride, Constable."
"I don't understand."
"Poe, Edgar Allen. You figure it out. See you in a few weeks."
"Right," said Julian Bashir, "I'll have all the medical supplies ready for the next transport." He contemplated the image of his friend on the screen before him. "Rebuilding Cardassia seems to agree with you Garak."
"Thank you, Doctor. Still, I do miss having the occasional lunch date."
"As do I."
"Really, Julian. I'm surprised. I would have thought the enchanting Lieutenant Dax would provide enough amusement for a lifetime of lunches."
"I'll be sure to pass that along."
"Please do. Julian, there is one other thing. Is Odo still on the station?"
"Odo? No," replied Bashir clearly puzzled. "Why do you ask?"
"You seemed surprised."
"I am. Odo hasn't been here since the last round of talks with the Federation. That's at least nine months ago."
"Oh dear."
"Garak? Why do you ask?"
"There's a small matter of a murder here. A rather unsavory character by the name of Levet."
"I don't think Odo's in the murder business anymore. Perhaps you should take this up with Marshall."
"Lieutenant Commander Marshall. Mark my words, Julian, there's a fascinating story behind that one, if you would only care to do a little digging."
"Garak, you're stalling."
"How well you know me. Anyway, it's not the Constables investigative skills I'm interested in. It seems, our Odo was one of the last people to have seen Levet alive."
"Surely you are mistaken."
"I wish I were. On the night before Levet disappeared he was seen talking to Odo, or someone who looked remarkably like him, on his way to his home. They parted company and the next morning Levet delivered a package to Odos transport. That same afternoon a large sum of money was transferred to Levet from someone named Nigel Dunlap."
"Nigel Dunlap?"
"The name seems familiar to you, Julian?"
"No, it's nothing. I'm sorry, you were saying?"
Well, two days later Levets body was found at a construction site. He had been murdered. Now, if it were anyone but the Constable, we would naturally assume we had our murderer. As it is, we were hoping Odo would be able to provide some information regarding his interest in Levet in order to aid the investigation."
"Most assuredly. Well, if I do see him, I'll be sure to let him know."
"Thank you Julian. Perhaps one of these days, I will come for a visit. It would be interesting to see DS Nine again."
"Yes," said Julian, clearly distracted. "Do that. Bashir out."
Julian sat at his desk lost in thought. There was something odd going on, but what, he had no idea. He, knew he should go straight to Ops and talk to Kira. Unfortunately, with Admiral Ross on the station, she would be in meetings throughout the day. Besides, it could turn out to be nothing at all, and he would have disturbed her without cause.
That someone who looked like Odo would be spotted on Cardassia could be easily explained away. Everyone knew Jem'Hadar were being used to help rebuild the devastated planet. And it would not be unusual for a Founder to be there as well. Further, unless a Founder were imitating a certain race or species they tended to all look all alike. Nigel Dunlap, now that was a horse of a different color. It was possible that someone with the same name as one of his holoprogram characters was involved in rather dangerous dealings on Cardassia, but somehow he doubted it. No, something was going on. Something wasn't right. He tapped his combadge.
"Bashir to Marshall."
"Doctor?"
"I need to speak to you about something. Are you free?"
"Most certainly. I am currently at Quarks. Would you like to meet here?"
"No. Your office, I think."
"On my way. Marshall out."
Julian arrived at the Security Office just before Marshall. While he stood at the door, he contemplated the figure strolling towards him. That the current Chief of Security bore a physical resemblance to the former Chief was undeniable. Both men were tall, slim built, and of fair complexion, however, there the resemblance ended. On one hand Marshall possessed a easy charm, combined with a easy wit. On the other, there was a hardness about the eyes that belied a controlled violence that lay just beneath the exterior polish.
"Afternoon Doctor," said Marshall with a slight Southern drawl. "I take it this meeting is not of a social nature."
" Not entirely, no. What have you heard of a recent murder on Cardassia Prime?"
"Ah, you have been conversing with Mr. Garak, I believe."
"Yes."
"Well, take a chair then and I'll tell you what little I know. Carrin Levet was, before the war, a scientist of some repute. Although never a traceable member of the Obsidian Order, he had been known to do some freelance work for them. Poisons being his specialty. After the war, he was assigned to work on agricultural detoxification projects. No real friends or family to speak of, he lived alone."
"According to the reports, he leaves for home one day after work, is seen talking to a stranger, they part on apparently friendly terms. The next morning he is seen delivering a package to a transport ship. A large sum of money is transferred to his account later that same day and he, for all intents and purposes, disappears. Two days later, his badly battered body is found in the basement of a building. Needless to say, the extent of his injuries were not consistent with a fall. A rather unsavory end for a unsavory character. A friend of yours?"
"No," said Julian. "There are just some details regarding the incidents leading up to the murder that disturb me."
"Details? Let me guess, Doctor, one detail goes by the name of Odo and the other would be….Nigel Dunlap?
"Yes, but how?"
"Odo was an easy one. Mr. Dunlap was just a guess. Now, as far as Mr. Odo is concerned, the witnesses to the meeting on the street were a work detail of Jem'Hadar and one Vorta supervisor. Needless to say they were not forthcoming regarding the identification of the man seen talking to Levet. The only witness who ventured a positive identification was the Cardassian engineer heading up the detail. He claims to have spent some time on Terok Nor during the Occupation and would have recognized Odo anywhere.
The elusive Mr. Dunlap is a bit of a dilemma. Whereas, there are apparently more Nigel Dunlap's than, one would think was necessary, there are no records of one being anywhere near Cardassian space, much less having any association prior to this with anyone on Cardassia. The account was established via subspace link and funds were transferred in the same manner. Never from the same source or location. What can you tell me about this Mr. Dunlap?"
"Nothing other than it's the name of a character in one of my holoprograms. A character, I might add, I had asked Odo to play."
"I see." Marshall paused for a moment clearly gathering his thoughts. "It appears," he said eventually. "There exists the possibility that either Odo, or someone who knows a great deal about him, could indeed be involved in some way."
"Marshall, you can't seriously think that…. I know Odo and I can tell you…"
"I'm sure you would personally vouch for his character, Doctor, that's very noble of you. However, if you tie this information in with Quark claiming to have seen Odo on the station within the time frame of Mr. Levet's unfortunate demise, it does put a different complexion on things, don't you agree?"
"Yes, well. What can be done?"
"Done, Doctor? Absolutely nothing I'm afraid."
"Nothing!"
"Really, Doctor, you fail to see the difficulty of my position. Until our friends down on Bajor see fit to appoint a suitable replacement for Station Security, I, as Chief of Starfleet Security am, in the unenviable position of having to serve two masters. Cardassia, not being a member of the Federation, has to actually request assistance in this matter before I have any jurisdiction. Now if they were to actually issue a warrant I could, of course, then operate in a limited capacity within the extradition laws. However, through official channels, all they are requesting is Mr. Odos assistance with an open investigation. Assistance, which I may add, he is under no obligation to supply."
"Bajor on the other hand, seeing as how our former Chief of Station Security holds not only Bajoran citizenship, but is still a commissioned officer in her Militia currently on extended leave, has requested that, should I be in contact with Odo, I pass on their desire that he cooperate with the Cardassian investigation, in the interests of continued good relations between the two governments."
"Then there is the trifiling matter of a complaint lodged against Odo by our own Quark for allegedly lurking on his premises after closing hours. So, you see Doctor, as a law enforcement officer, if Mr. Odo were to appear in this office at this very moment, all I could legally do would be to inform him that he was wanted for questioning and advise him to stay away from Quark's. Rest assured, Doctor, I will continue to monitor this situation with due diligence, but until warrants are issued or laws actually broken, there's nothing I can do."
"I see," said Julian. "What does the Colonel think of all this?"
"I have no idea. However, I plan on bringing her up to date at our meeting tomorrow morning."