Star Trek: Deep Space Nine

Pain of Memory

By Gabrielle Lawson

with the generous help of Jo Burgess

Part Seven

Sisko faced him. Lieutenant Jordan. He stood stiffly, at attention. But as soon as Vndara and the others left the two of them alone, his shoulders dropped and his gray eyes locked with Sisko's. "Captain," he pleaded. "Please tell me what's going on."

Sisko didn't let his shoulders drop, and he didn't let it show that Jordan's words--spoken in Jordan's voice--had pulled at him. This is not Jordan, he told himself. "When were you created?" he asked, keeping his voice flat, formal.

Jordan's eyebrows dropped as soon as the last word was out. He took a step closer to the force-field that held him back. "What?!"

Sisko repeated the question. "When were you created?"

"Created?" Jordan played the part well: a man faced with the absurd. "I was born twenty-nine years ago."

Sisko's head shook. It was very slight, and once he noticed it, he stopped immediately. He sighed. There was really no way to continue without letting the clone know. "Lieutenant Jordan was born twenty-nine years ago. You were not. We know who you are."

He took another step. Another inch and the force-field would shimmer. Another inch and he'd be thrown back a meter or more. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said, speaking slowly. "I am Lieutenant Jordan." His hands shook. His face flushed red. "What is going on?" he yelled.

"Your DNA test showed a characteristic genetic drift," Sisko explained. "You are a clone of Lieutenant Jordan. You are not him."

"Captain, please." Jordan almost put his hands out, but pulled them back just before they hit the field. "I don't know why the test would say that. I'm me. I know I'm me. Ask me anything. I'll prove it."

Sisko shook his head again. "I'm sure they could engineer that."

"They who?" Jordan asked, pleading again. "The Dominion? It has to be the Dominion or you wouldn't keep me locked up in here." He looked up at the ceiling and turned away, scanning the three walls that held him and the empty space that held the force-field. He sunk down onto the bench that served as a bed in the small cell. His hands covered his face. His breathing was audible and not rhythmic.

"You're a clone," Sisko repeated, feeling cold inside. Jordan's shoulders were shaking.

"But I remember my parents," he said without turning. "Margaret and Joe Jordan. They live in Topeka. I was born there. Our house was only a few kilometers from the Keeper of the Plains. Mom is an architect. Dad's a sculptor. They have a dog named Nalami that they got off Katemma Prime. It was a stray."

He believed, Sisko realized. The Dominion had given him Jordan's memories. He didn't think it beyond their capabilities. The changeling that had replaced Bashir for over a month had inherited Bashir's medical skills and memories. "Those aren't your memories," Sisko told him. "Things will go easier for you if you just accept that and tell us what we need to know."

Jordan didn't hear. "I joined Starfleet to be a pilot. The Defiant was my third post. My first was on the Repulse."

"Those aren't your memories," Sisko repeated, raising his voice just a little higher. "We know you're a clone, and we know you sabotaged Doctor Bashir's quarters on the Defiant."

Jordan stopped babbling and turned to look at Sisko. "Doctor Bashir? Sabotage? Why would I do that?"

"That's what I'd like to know," Sisko told him.

Jordan stood again, again coming too close to the force-field. "I risked my life for him. I worked all day with a broken arm to find him. Why would I sabotage his quarters?"

Sisko took a deep breath and started the sentence again. "Those are not your--"

"Memories," Jordan finished for him. "Yeah, I remember the refrain." He shook his head and retreated back to the bed. "I didn't do what you say I did. If I'm a clone, where is the real me?"

"I asked you first."

"I don't know!" Jordan placed his elbows on his knees and let his head fall into his hands. "I don't know. Can't you get that? I don't remember anything but the memories that you say aren't mine."

Sisko stepped out of attention, taking a step toward the cell. "Either you're lying," he said, "in which case, you'll be handed over to Starfleet Intelligence and moved to a Federation prison for the duration of the war, or you really believe that, in which case you'll spend the war in a Federation mental facility. The end result is largely the same either way. The war, for you, is over. You'll never see Joe and Margaret Jordan again or the Keeper of the Plains. And they'll never know what happened to their son."

Jordan rubbed his eyes and then leaned back against the wall. His eyes searched the ceiling for a better alternative. "I'm not lying," he said softly. "Tell them that."

"You're not their son."

"How could this happen?"

"Jordan has been running maneuvers in the runabouts," Sisko suggested. "It's possible he was abducted then."

Jordan shook his head. "I was never alone then. There was always a co-pilot."

"Earth."

"When?" Jordan turned his head. "I haven't been there since I broke that arm."

"But Jordan stayed behind with the Defiant. He was, in effect, on leave, for several days."

Jordan appeared to study his shoes. He nodded in short, subtle movements. "It's possible. I don't remember. Why not a changeling?"

Sisko pulled a chair out and sat down himself. "Maybe they felt it too risky with all the blood screenings."

The nod became more pronounced, more confident. "A clone would come out human. But I don't--didn't--know I was a clone. How can I be any good to them?"

"You don't remember sabotaging the ship?" Sisko let himself feel that Jordan was being honest. Perhaps it was a dangerous step, but he put his faith in the force-field between them. When Jordan shook his head, he said, "You could have compartmentalized it." That's what Bashir had said Sloan and Section 31 had tried to convince him of.

"Compartmentalized?" Jordan got up and moved to the front of the cell again where he sat on the floor. "What's that?"

"You can compartmentalize your thoughts, your memories, so that you don't even know what you've done," Sisko explained, knowing he was oversimplifying it. Now was not the time for a detailed analysis of the ability. "Maybe we can help you remember."

Jordan stood and backed away. His wide eyes locked onto Sisko's. "Help me how? You won't let them hurt me?"

Sisko stood. "The Federation does not torture its prisoners," he stated, hoping he was telling the truth. The fact that there was a Section 31--and had been for a very long time--gave him reason to doubt. "I was thinking more along the lines of hypnosis."

Jordan let out a long breath and moved forward cautiously. "Supposing it worked," he posed, "and I did remember being a clone. After you get what you want, what happens to me?"

"I'll do my best to see you're treated well," Sisko told him honestly. "You won't be able to go free, of course. You're a security risk."

Jordan's focus seemed to waver for a moment. He bit his lips and rubbed his hands together. "No," he said, finally, refocussing on Sisko.

"You don't have a whole lot of choice," Sisko tried to explain.

"The Federation doesn't torture its prisoners, remember," Jordan stated. "I won't submit to hypnosis or any other procedure. Except on one condition."

Sisko didn't like Jordan's new-found assertiveness. It made him doubt the sincerety he'd finally been convinced of. But then, Jordan had been hard-headed about putting himself at risk to find Bashir. "No conditions."

"You haven't even heard it," Jordan threw back. "You might at least hear me out. I want you to tell my parents. Tell them the truth, that I--" He let out a breath at the mistake. "That their son," he corrected, "was cloned by the Dominion. If we found out what happened to him, you can tell them that, too, but tell them about me."

"What good will that do?" Sisko asked.

Jordan's shoulders softened. "Probably none, but it's really all I have left, isn't it?"

Sisko turned away, thinking. Would he want to know, if it was Jake? He couldn't face even the thought. Finally, he nodded. "I'll have Doctor Barton here in the morning."

Jordan shook his head. "Look at this from my perspective, Captain," he said. "Would you want to wait and stew about it? Or would you want to know? This is for me as much as it is for you. Have him come now."

"It's late," Sisko said.

"Please!" Jordan begged.

Sisko didn't nod or shake his head. He just walked away.

Jake woke up, satisfied with his life as a writer. He could sleep in. He sat up and looked across the room. Doctor Bashir was still sleeping. Kukalaka had only the day before given up his place on the table in the living room. Bashir slept with the bear now. He had it now, clutched to his chest, as he twitched with whatever nightmare was tormenting him this time. The camp, the Dominion, Section 31--that Jake wasn't supposed to know about--or maybe just remembering the days before he started losing his mind. Those were the worst, Jake decided, since Bashir had never acted so depressed by the other experiences as he was by this one.

Jake checked the time. 10:30. Late enough. Doctor Bashir needed breakfast. Jake's own stomach growled and he amended the thought. They both needed breakfast. "Doctor," he called, careful to keep his voice gentle. Bashir did not wake well to shouts. "Time to get up."

Bashir stirred but didn't wake. That was unusual. Bashir was usually a very light sleeper. "Doctor?" Jake tried again, slipping off the bed. He hated to touch him. The doctor didn't wake well to that either. It was worse than shouting, because of those dreams he had. Still, he had to wake up. Everyone would really worry if he didn't, especially Jake. Jake tiptoed to Bashir's bed and slowly reached out a hand. Then he thought better of it. Touching him when he was asleep was really bad. Better to try speaking again. He squatted down and leaned closer to the doctor. "Doctor Bashir," he began.

Bashir's eyes flew open and he jumped backwards so quickly that he fell off the other side of the bed. Jake cringed. Bad. Bashir recovered quickly though, which was the silver lining on this particular cloud. He sat up and leaned back against the bed. Jake stood up. Bashir still wasn't facing him, but he was rubbing his hands over his face. Things would go easier now. "Sorry about that," Jake told him, "but you weren't waking up. Bad dreams again?"

Bashir spun around and stared at Jake as if he had just sprouted wings. "What?" he asked.

Maybe not so easy, Jake thought. "Are you okay?" he asked, expecting Bashir's usual negative answer.

But that look, that shocked, confused, I'm-staring-at-a-freak look never left Bashir's face. Finally he moved, putting up a hand to stop Jake from saying anything else. "Kira," he said.

This was a completely new reaction. "You want me to get Kira?"

Bashir stood, apparently still scared. "Kira!" he repeated.

"Okay," Jake nodded, backing away, "okay. I'll get Kira." He was starting to be afraid himself. Jake had been living with Bashir for a several days now, and things seemed to be holding steady with the doctor's intellectual state. But it was apparent, to Bashir and to himself, that something had happened. Things had gotten worse for Bashir. Jake felt bad. Things were bad enough.

Kira was in Ops when the call came. "What's wrong, Jake?" Dax looked over at her, but she didn't say anything.

"I don't know," Jake said, over the comm line, "something's changed. I don't know what, and Doctor Bashir can't tell me. He asked for you. It's all he would say."

Kira nodded. Ops could manage without her for a little while. "I'll be right down."

Thoughts ran through her mind as the turbolift carried her to the Habitat Ring. Something had changed, Jake had said. Kira tried to think, to anticipate what it could be. She thought about calling Dr. Girani, but didn't know that that would do any good, especially when she didn't know the situation. Besides she had done little good so far, not that it was her fault. Every test they ran still showed up normal. Bashir was anything but normal, but there were no more tests to run.

She didn't bother with the door chime since Jake knew she was coming. Jake was setting breakfast on the table when she entered. Julian was sitting on the couch. But he got up and met her at the door. He reached out and took her arms, looking into her eyes with intense urgency. "Say something," he said.

"What should I say?" she asked in return, looking to Jake. Jake shook his head. Julian's shoulders dropped and he released his hold on her. He turned away and leaned his head against the wall. Something had happened. "Julian, what is it? What's wrong? Jake?"

Julian turned, a little of the intensity had returned. His eyes showed hope. "Maybe slower," he suggested.

Slower? Kira thought. And then the realization hit. She remembered Bashir's expression from before. Doctor Surmak Ren had looked at her like that when she had contracted the aphasia virus and started speaking gibberish instead of words. "Julian," she said, slowing her words as he had requested, "if you can understand me, nod your head right now."

He stared blankly back at her. He sighed and looked away, to the table where Jake was watching them both. He bit his bottom lip and shook his head slowly.

Now Kira took his arms in hers. "We'll figure it out, Julian," she told him, knowing he didn't understand. "I promise." His eyes met hers and she saw the same hurt there, the hopelessness that he had started carrying around the last week. "I promise."

He took another deep breath and then said, "I'm going to eat breakfast. You can talk to Jake now."

Kira let him go. He sat with his back to her, allowing her to talk to Jake in what amounted now to privacy. Jake came over to her. "But he can still talk," he whispered.

"Don't whisper, Jake," she told him. "He can probably still get tone of voice. Whispering sounds conspiratorial. We need to sound reassuring." A sharp pain was building in her throat.

Jake nodded. He looked back at Bashir. "Maybe he was right, then."

"About what?"

Jake shrugged. "He said something about coming undone. His enhancements. Maybe they are coming undone."

Kira shook her head. She was watching Bashir, too. "I thought about that. I called his mother. She dug up his records from before the enhancements. I might have agreed before this. But he could speak then."

"And if he learned to speak," Jake concluded, "he'd have to understand what was spoken to him."

"At least to a point." Kira turned away so she couldn't see Julian, and more importantly, so he couldn't see her. "I don't know what to do," she whispered, ignoring her own orders. "He's slipping away."

"What's worse," Jake added, dropping his own voice, "he knows it. I'd rather lose it all at once and never know what hit me. He knows."

Kira nodded, unable to speak without upsetting Bashir even more. She took a few deep breaths and touched Jake on the arm. "Thank you for staying with him, Jake," she said finally.

Jake shrugged, but he blushed a little. "He would do it for me," he said. "For any of us."

Kira smiled at that, though it didn't make her feel any better. "Yes," she agreed, "he would."

A chair had been placed inside the cell. Jordan--the clone--sat down slowly and placed his hands flat on the arms of the chair. He stared forward to where Doctor Barton sat, just outside the cell. Captain Sisko stood with Chief Vndara and Admiral Ross in the next room. Sisko shifted his weight as he watched the viewscreen. He wanted to be in the room. Whatever was left of Jordan was in that clone. If the hypnosis was successfull, that last remnant of a good officer, a good man, might be lost.

The viewscreen provided no sound at this point. Sisko could only watch. Doctor Barton's back was to him, so he couldn't see the process by which the doctor hypnotized the young man. But he could see Jordan's eyes close and his head fall forward. And he could see that head snap up again, with eyes wide and dangerous. Vndara touched a control and there was sound.

"What is your name?" Barton asked.

"Jordan, Joseph Jr.," the clone replied, his tone angry.

"Rank?"

"Lieutenant JG." The expression on the face never changed. He just looked dangerous. He sat still, stared forward.

"Where were you created?" Barton hadn't wasted time on the neutral questions.

"Cardassia IV." And Jordan didn't waste time on neutral answers.

"Is that where the original Joseph Jordan, Jr. is being held?"

"The original was terminated. He was no longer necessary."

If the questions bothered him, Barton didn't show it. His voice was steady when he asked, "Who killed him?"

"I was ordered to terminate him."

"Ordered by whom?"

"Pedron."

"Is Pedron a Vorta?"

"Yes."

"How long have you been aboard the Defiant in the original's place?"

"Two months, three weeks, four days, five hours--"

"That is sufficient," Barton cut him off. "Are there others like you?"

"No. I am the first."

"First," Barton repeated. "Will there be others?"

"If I am successful."

"You are a prototype," Barton concluded. "What was your mission? What would prove you successful?"

"Bashir."

Sisko stepped closer to the viewscreen. Why Bashir?

"Why Bashir?" Barton asked, as if reading Sisko's mind.

"He is a risk."

Barton shook his head. Sisko knew why. They were only getting terse answers, not complete ones. "Why is he a risk?"

"He is intelligent, more than other solids."

"There are others like him. Why just Bashir?"

"He is in Starfleet. He is assigned to Deep Space Nine and the Defiant."

"You have opportunity then, because your original is in Starfleet and is assigned to Deep Space Nine and the Defiant." Barton jotted a few notes on the PADD he had beside him. "Bashir is only test. A test of your success?"

"Yes."

"Why not sabotage the whole ship? Why not kill Bashir?"

"Discovery. Success could be proven but I would be discovered. There could be no more."

"You were not a success," Barton told him. "You were discovered anyway."

"But I was successful. Bashir has been neutralized."

Barton was silent for a few moments. Sisko understood. Barton was thinking, just as he was. It was easy to glance over that last statement, to take it as an argument only. But the clone was hypnotized and cooperative. He had not argued once. He was stating a fact. Bashir was neutralized. Discovered or not, the clone had been successful. There might still be others.

Admiral Ross had understood, too. "We'll just have to run more DNA scans on a regular basis. We know what to look for now."

"You say that like there's no hope for Bashir," Sisko said, turning.

"Not now," Ross admonished. "We'll discuss this later." He turned his attention back to the monitor.

"When I clap my hands," Barton was saying, "you will waken, with no memory of this interview." He clapped.

Jordan blinked a few times and then gripped the chair hard. A slow snarl spread across his face. "Obedience is victory," he said. "Victory is life!" Then he threw himself into the forcefield that held him in the cell.

Barton instinctively backed away. The forcefield shimmered and strained, shocking Jordan as he again fell against it. Now he picked up the chair, swinging it against the field and against the walls. Sisko left the viewscreen and headed for the door that would take him into the brig. Vndara opened it for him, and the three of them went in. Just as they did, the chair thrashed again against the wall, and one of its legs came off with a jagged end. Jordan threw away the rest of the chair and grasped the broken leg. He held it up against himself, pressing the point into his chest.

"Sleep!" Barton shouted and clapped his hands together. Jordan went limp, falling like a puppet whose strings had been cut. The broken piece of chair landed a few feet from his hand, but he made no further move toward it. Jordan's eyes were closed. He was sleeping.

"What can we do?" Ross asked, turning away from Jordan. He motioned for Sisko to follow him back outside. "We can't have him reenhanced. It's illegal. There's no way to be sure it would work anyway. There's nothing we can do for him. I know you don't like that. I don't like it either. He was a good doctor. He's not anymore. He can't be. He's been relieved of duty." He took a breath and Sisko didn't think he'd like what he heard next. "And he's been ordered to the Institute. They'll do what they can for him there."

Sisko just couldn't let it go. "Then they'll win," he argued. "You heard what he said. Unless his mission failed, there would be more of them. He thinks his mission has succeeded. And it has! Bashir has been neutralized. He's no longer a threat. They'll send more."

"And we have the means of detecting them," Ross held. "Starfleet Command has made up its mind on this, Captain. And Starfleet Medical concurs."

Sisko heard something in those two sentences. He flushed with heat and anger. "They've been looking for this, haven't they?" he accused, stopping in the middle of the corridor. "He's given them nothing but loyal and valuable service for six years, and they can't wait to get rid of him because he's enhanced. Makes them look bad. But they just couldn't toss him out. His record was too good. They were hoping for something like this. How convenient for them!"

"That will be enough, Captain!" Ross ordered, turning to face him with eyes like thunder. "He is to be transported to the Institute before the week is out. Understood?"

Sisko glared back at him. "Understood," he spat. Turning on his heels, he left Ross and marched back to the docking area. Once aboard the Defiant, he nearly choked. The ship was in pieces. They had torn her apart.

"It is not as bad as it looks," a deep, rough voice spoke from behind him. He turned to see Worf with the rest of the crew flanked behind him all the way down the corridor.

"It's been worse," O'Brien agreed. "And we were able to fix it then."

"This time," Nog added, "there is a starbase nearby."

"We will work extra shifts," Worf stated. "Round the clock."

Barton pushed his way from the back, smiling. "Who needs sleep anyway?" He drew himself to attention. "Doctor Barton, reporting for duty."

"Hensing decided he liked the starbase better," O'Brien explained.

Sisko looked at them. His crew. His loyal crew. They were a family. Sisko felt like smiling, but didn't. "Then let's get to work."

It turned out that Jake was rather inventive. Or maybe he'd just learned it from Bashir and the few things he did tell about his time in the camp when no one spoke his language. Jake used his hands to make himself understood, at least about simple things. Time to eat, time to leave, that sort of thing. He even did something Bashir hadn't thought to do in the camps, even if he'd had the materials necessary. He drew pictures. They weren't great pictures. Just scribbles on a convenient PADD. But they got the idea across where his voice couldn't.

And Bashir appreciated it, more than he could tell Jake. To him, it meant that he still had something. He could still understand things, at least on a visual level. Jake still spoke to him, even though he couldn't understand his words. On one level it was nice to hear another voice. On another level it frustrated him greatly that he couldn't comprehend what was being said.

He pushed the button Jake had showed him, ending the log he'd just tried to record. He hadn't said anything though. He had decided to take it up again, in a burst of desperation. But he found he had little to say. All he could do was complain about what he'd lost. It wasn't what he wanted to leave behind. He'd rather leave nothing at all.

The door opened without even a chime. It was Jake. Julian knew it before the door even opened. But Jake had something in his arms. Something familiar. And something alive. "I brought a surprise!," Jake said, smiling. His voice was bright and the smile was big. Bashir stood up to meet him at the door. He was about to drop the thing, because he had other things in his arms that weren't alive. The live thing wiggled and complained. It meowed. "Chester is going to stay with us for awhile."

"Chester," Bashir wasn't sure if he'd understood the word or if it was just a memory attached to the animal Jake was holding. He reached out and picked up the struggling cat, much to Jake's relief.

"Mrs. O'Brien doesn't really like him," Jake was saying. Bashir heard only useless syllables. Bashir turned away, setting the cat on the floor and watching it sniff its way around the unfamiliar room. Jake kept talking. "She didn't have any complaints about us borrowing him. Molly was a little sad though. I had to promise we'd give him back. I thought he'd be good for you. He doesn't speak exactly. You don't have to understand him."

Bashir was fascinated. He had never really paid much attention to Chester before when he'd visited Miles. But he found the cat enthralling now. He'd had nothing else to focus on lately. Nothing to occupy his mind. He'd slept most of the morning simply out of boredom. But now he had the cat. It moved about the room, cautiously stepping into every corner, sniffing every piece of furniture. It jumped up onto the couch and put its front paws on the window. Then it jumped down and padded into the bedroom. Julian let it go and turned back to Jake.

Jake was putting some of the other things on the table. There were a few balls which jingled when Julian picked them up. There was brush with very soft bristles. Julian reasoned that since they had come with the cat, they must belong to the cat. There was a stuffed mouse, too, which made him sure. It was attached to a string that was attached to a short stick. "Toys," Julian said. Jake nodded, smiling. He spoke a few more syllables, but Julian wasn't listening. Chester had come back from the bedroom and had found a place on the couch.

Admiral Ross, wishing the Defiant well on its way, had offered starbase engineers--the ones who'd taken the ship apart--to help put the Defiant back together. Sisko didn't know whether to be relieved or not. The sooner he was at the station, the less excuses he'd have for not delivering Bashir to the Institute. On the other hand, knowing what he knew about the clone and the experiment, he wanted to get Dr. Barton back to the station as soon as possible, so that maybe he could help Julian and there would be more grounds for argument on his former CMO's behalf.

It had been thirty-six hours already. The Shiloh had already arrived to take Jordan to a maximum security facility back on Earth. They'd be taking off before the end of the day. The Defiant, on the other hand, would still be docked. O'Brien estimated another two days before the ship could safely leave. Ross, through some act of compassion, had rescinded his deadline in the wake of the Defiant's condition. Bashir still had to go, but there was no way the Defiant could get him to the Institute by the end of the week. And Sisko had insisted that he would take Bashir himself. No other ship was to be diverted. He'd reemphasized his insistence with facts. The war effort required ships. None should be diverted to ferry a mentally-handicapped former doctor to what would amount to oblivion. Sisko would take a runabout, leaving the Defiant to continue to fight the war.

But that was still a few days away. For now, he plunged headlong down the Jefferies Tube into the bowels of the ship. Nog was waiting for him with a spanner and PADD detailing the work that needed to be done on the particular system O'Brien had assigned him to. "Thank you, Mr. Nog," Sisko said, taking the PADD and trying to sound cheerful. He looked over the extremely detailed instructions. "But you might remind the Chief that I designed this ship."

Nog grinned. "Yes, sir. I'll leave you to it then. I need to adjust the energy flow to propulsion. We've been getting some spikes."

Sisko watched him go, making much easier progress through the tubes than he had himself. Sometimes, he thought, it pays to be small.