In Sunshine or In Shadow - Part 7
Creek Johnson & Nance Hurt
Disclaimer: Paramount owns what it owns. We own what we own. No infringement intended - hopefully, none taken.
Flato Rey stepped out onto the Promenade and smiled as the door to the Security office slid shut behind her. Not a particularly religious person, she none the less, drew a deep breath and breathed a silent thanks to the Prophets, that the day was finally over.
In all her years, Flato had seen her fair share of rough customers come through the doors of Security, but today had been a day to try even the hardest of officers. She shivered at the thought of standing alone in the holding cell area, faced with the dark cell, and the sure and certain knowledge that it's occupant sat there, his unseen eyes boring holes in her. Again she offered silent thanks to Whoever was responsible for the presence of the two Finneans in the cell nearest the door. Without their useless, but none the less reassuring presence, she was not at all sure she would have been able to finish out her shift.
With a shake of her head, Flato turned and began her way home. She wondered briefly if the night shift would remember to release the Finneans , but dismissed the thought. She was off duty and the Finneans were no longer her concern.
John Marshall stood in the doorway of the Infirmary and removed his phaser from it's holster. He had all ready completed his evening check of the security arrangements on the Defiant. It would be at least another half hour before the next shift change. He had more than enough time to be alone with the prisoner.
Whistling softly to himself, Marshall crossed the room to the corner where the Changeling sat, propped up against the loose deck plates. As Marshall approached, he noted the Changeling's eyes were open, but remained unfocused.
It wasn't until Marshall powered up his weapon and leveled it at the Changeling, did the eyes slide towards him. Good, thought Marshall, we're making some progress.
"Now then, Mr. Odo," he said sitting on the floor opposite the Changeling. "It's time we had a little talk." Marshall placed the charged weapon on the floor between them. "Who are you really and what kind of game are you playing?"
He was walking down a corridor when she spotted him. She called his name but he obviously did not hear her because he did not stop. She started to run to catch up with him, but no matter how fast she ran the distance between them stayed the same.
He had reached the end of the corridor. He paused for a moment and turned towards her. She was suddenly irrationally happy. He had heard her after all and would wait for her. She was close enough now to see the smile on his face, his right arm raised, his hand extended towards her. Then in a blinding flash of light, he was gone.
Filled with despair, she raced to the end of the corridor and stepped in to…
Ops.
She was standing outside her office. He was standing across from her, near the lift. The same smile, his hand extended towards her. She ached to go to him, but her feet would not move. She glanced down at her feet and when she glanced up again he was gone. No, not gone. In the blink of an eye he was at every station in Ops. She started to call to him, but before she could utter a word every incarnation of him looked up at her at the same time. Her eyes moved from face to face - all exactly the same. Eventually she realized they were not looking at her, but at something behind her. She turned to see what they were looking at. There was someone moving around inside the office.
The door to the office slid open. She entered. Standing behind the desk was Sisko. He smiled. She glanced back through the door, but Ops was gone. She turned back to the man who was both her friend and spiritual leader. Still unable to find her voice she spread her hands in the universal gesture of questioning. Sisko simply drew a deep breath and sighed. She shook her head unable to understand. He tilted his head to one side and again drew a deep breath and sighed.
Kira woke with a start, sitting straight up in bed. Her scattered wits attempting to grasp the significance of the dream. The answer was somewhere in the dream she knew it. So close, she almost had it that time. She covered her face with her hands and sank back onto the pillows. With a sigh, she attempted to go back to sleep.
Lieutenant Layvon Bek lamented the fact that he was stuck working the graveyard shift in Security. Nothing ever happened on the graveyard shift. Well, he took that back, sometimes things happened, but when they did it was always with a hand selected team of officers from the day shift. A hand selected team that never included him.
He checked the roster again. No, nothing exciting. An item at the end of the list caught his attention. The Finneans were due for release. Another thankless task the day shift had forgotten to take care of. Well, at least it was something.
With an air of weary resignation, he approached the cell occupied by the Finneans. He released the force field and took a step back.
"All right, you two," he said. "Time's up. You can go."
The two figures remained on their bunks, apparently fast asleep.
"Time's up, gentlemen." Layvon said pounding his fist against the side of the doorway. "You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here."
Neither of the Finneans stirred.
Worried now that there might be something wrong with the two, Layvon took a caution step into the cell. It would be just his luck to have them die while on his watch. He'd never get back on the day shift with unexplained deaths on his record.
"Right then," he said almost shouting at them. "Time to go."
He cursed softly to himself as neither figure moved. He knew he should call for backup, but it was not as though either of the Finneans were considered dangerous. They were only being detained on charges of drunk and disorderly. A fine and time served as all the penalty required of them. He reached a cautious hand to touch the Finnean closest to him. He was only vaguely aware of movement behind him. He reached for his phaser only to find it gone. He took a quick step away from the still apparently comatose Finnean and straight into the fist of his companion. Layvon hit the desk and knew nothing else.
"Took you long enough," said Zit, sitting up to find Grgor standing over Layvon's body.
"I thought for a minute, he was just going to let us stay here overnight," said Grgor.
"That would have been inconsiderate of him."
"Especially as we have a schedule to keep."
Grgor took cautious step out of the cell. There were no other guards in sight. He motioned for Zit to follow. They crossed to the Security desk in the center of the room. A quick check showed them no alarms had been tripped. Adjusting the camera, they detected only one other guard on duty in the front of the Security Office. Grgor gave Zit a quick nod.
Zit crossed to the dark cell in front of them. Grgor quickly brought the lights in the cell up to standard level and then crossed to join Zit in front of the cell. The occupant sat blinking in the bright light and with a short laugh, stepped up to the force field.
"I told you not to contact me," he said looking at the two. "But for once I am grateful you did not follow orders."
"Did you get that?" asked Zit. "He thinks we work for him."
"Yeah," said Grgor as he fiddled with the settings on the phaser. "You know, I've never killed a shifter before, which would you prefer: vaporizing or a full disruption blast?"
"If I were you," said Zit leaning toward the force field, 'I'd go with being vaporized. Not nearly as messy as being disrupted."
"Fools!"
"Wrong answer," said Zit, releasing the force field.
"But I am Nigel Dunlap," insisted the Changeling.
"Like we would believe that," said Grgor as he fired the phaser point blank at the Changeling.
He blinked for the thousandth time and yet he still did not know what the man sitting across from him expected him to do.
He had no sense of time other than a vague awareness of it's passing. So, he had no idea how long they had been sitting there with the object on the floor between them. All he was aware of was that the man never looked at the object, he just sat with those eyes locked on his face.
He had looked at the object. It was vaguely familiar to him. He had a vague memory of others having objects much like this one, but he could not remember possessing one himself. He wondered if it was an offering so some kind. He wondered if he was supposed to take it and having done so, what was he supposed to do with it?
At one point he had decided to touch the object, but when he began to move forward, the man had stiffened slightly, and so he had stopped.
Eventually, he had decided the man was nothing more than another part of the dream. Although why he would people his dreams with someone like this, he did not know. He closed his eyes and wished the man away. He opened his eyes again when he heard a beeping noise.
The man was still sitting across from him, but now he was talking to someone. He glanced around, but saw no one else in the room. He could not make out the words, but there was an urgency about the mans actions that drew his attention.
The man suddenly took back the object and quickly stood. The man turned back to him and spoke quickly, then left the room without a backward glance. It occurred to him the man expected him to do something.
Vaguely worried he was letting the man down somehow, he rose and attempted to follow. He got as far as the door to the room, when he was aware of a crackling sound as he walked into something solid. He was aware of pain as he was thrown back off the force field onto the floor.
"It appears," said Marshall. "That our Sergeant Layvon fell for what is decidedly one of the oldest tricks in the book."
Kira stood just inside the doorway to Security and surveyed the damage done to the controls. Phaser burns scarred the walls and displays, sparks glowed gently from the desk display. Marshall was the closest she had ever seen to expressing an emotion other than weary resignation or mild amusement. Anger fairly bubbled under his otherwise calm demeanor. "So," she said. "Layvon entered a cell without backup. What happened next?"
"Our two Finnean friends rendered him unconscious, sparing him the indignity of being shot with his own weapon I might add, and then proceeded to attempt the assassination of Mr. Odo. However, they failed to take into consideration our Mr. Odo's abilities as a Changeling. He avoided injury by changing into a bat and escaping onto the Promenade, the two Finneans in hot pursuit."
"Which explains the erratic phaser fire."
"Indeed."
"We are assuming of course it is Odo," said Kira after a pause.
"Assuming it is," agreed Marshall. "Of course, you realize the assassination attempt does appear to confirm his story of persecution and …."
"I know," she replied.
"But?" prompted Marshall.
"But, is it just me, or does this appear all a little too convenient?"
Marshall considered her comment for a moment. "On the surface, I would agree with you Colonel. Unfortunately, it appears our two Finneans have a rather checkered past and are suspected to be members of the Orion Syndicate…"
"What!"
Marshall had the good grace to look shamefaced. "I accept full responsibility, Colonel," he assured her. "In Mr. Layvon's defense, the two were arrested on drunk and disorderly charges, and could hardly be considered dangerous. It was not until the attempt on Mr. Odo's life, did anyone think to check on their backgrounds. A task I should have undertaken, but failed to do so."
"Find them first, Mr. Marshall, and then we will discuss who's at fault."
Marshall nodded in reply.
"Are we assuming," asked Kira. "That these two Finneans are professionals then?"
"Professional assassins?" ventured Marshall. "No. Bully boys by profession, I would guess. Although, we cannot rule out the possibility that they have murdered in the past."
"Is there a difference?"
"Most certainly. Professional assassins would have been better prepared. They would have struck and we would not have been any the wiser as to their identity. This, on the other hand, has the earmarks of a pair of professional muscle who wish to move up in the organization. They call attention to themselves, even going so far as to getting themselves arrested. They gamble on the guard being so naïve as to place himself in a position to be taken unawares. They apparently knew nothing of Changelings…"
"Point taken," Kira indicated the damage done to the office. "Most of this looks pretty deliberate."
"Agreed. Make no mistake, Colonel, our two would be assassins are not stupid, merely inexperienced with a job of this complexity."
"Have your teams reported anything yet?"
"I am afraid not. Sensors are still off-line, fortunately for us, so are transporters. With the Station locked down, and no ships allowed to depart, we are currently concentrating our efforts on the docking ring. As soon as Mr. Landis has the remaining personnel organized, we will be able to expand our search to the rest of the station. However, even then, there are thousands of places on a station of this size…"
"Agreed," said Kira. "Which is why I have Vonda and her team on standby up in Ops. As each section is searched, they will be prepared to drop force fields to prevent anyone from reentering. It's the only way to flush them out."
"And Mr. Odo?"
Kira rubbed her forehead. "Right now," she said. "As far as anyone is concerned we are only interested in apprehending the two Finneans. If Odo is found, and mind you, he won't be unless he wants to be found, orders are to place him in protective custody."
"Assuming of course," said Marshall. "That our Mr. Odo does not take this opportunity to mount any type of offensive. If he is in league with the mysterious Mr. Dunlap, or is indeed Mr. Dunlap in the flesh, he may take this opportunity to cause whatever mayhem he desires."
"The thought had occurred to me as well," said Kira reluctantly. "If, and only if, that does prove to be the case, then do whatever you have to do to take him out."
He felt the slightly greasy pulse of energy beneath his fingers and was faintly astonished at the feel of it. He was even more astonished that he recognized the force field for what it was. But then, he thought, why shouldn't he? Wasn't this a world of his own making? If he were dreaming, and now that his mind was suddenly able to focus more sharply, he was convinced of it, then why shouldn't he be able to shape things as he saw fit?
He leaned his head gently against the force field and thrilled as he felt the energy pulsate through his body. Dreams. He remembered dreaming, once a long time ago, when he was no longer what he was. He could not remember the circumstances, not that it bothered him much. He remembered this room, he could even give it a name. It was an infirmary. There should be a doctor, he thought. Although the thought of a doctor made him uneasy.
Eventually, his thoughts came round to the man who had been in the room with him. Had that man been a doctor? He didn't think so. He leaned closer into the force field, delighting in the feel of resistance as the energy charge crackled against his skin. His thoughts drifted over the events of the last few days. The man's name was Marshall, he thought, or at least that was what Dr. Bashir had called him. He laughed softly at the thought of Marshall sitting on the floor across from him and wondered how long he would have sat there if he had not been called away.
Marshall. The thought struck him with enough force that he momentarily lost his concentration and was thrown off the force field and onto the floor of the infirmary. He picked himself up off the floor, feeling cold as the energy surge that had been tingling through his body subsided. Marshall, his mind latched on to the thought as though his life depended upon it. Marshall had left due to some emergency. An emergency that involved some danger. Danger that involved who?
He staggered against the cold that wracked his body, his mind lost in a whirl of light and shadow, torn between thought and action. He reached out to touch the force field, seized by the an overwhelming desire to be on the other side of the energy barrier and consumed with the idea he had to find someone.
He would never have admitted it. The very suggestion was unthinkable. Founders did not have second thoughts about anything. And yet, he had to grudgingly admit that nothing had turned out exactly as they had planned.
As he moved cautiously down the corridors of the station, he was forced to admit they had not only severely underestimated Odos attachment to the Solids, but they had underestimated the Solids attachment to Odo. To become a thing is to understand a thing. For the first time in his long life, he envied Odo, for Odo had, at one time, become solid and as such understood them more than any Founder ever could hope. It was really such a pity.
He thought back to the end of the war with the Alpha Quadrant and Odos return to the Link. The sudden release from their devastating illness had left the Link dazed and at first grateful to the Solids for curing Odo, so he in return could cure them. However, once it became known that the Solids had been the engineers of the plague that so devastated their numbers, thoughts of peace with the Alpha Quadrant became unthinkable.
It was then, as they planned the slow and painful destruction of the Federation, that they first became aware of just how ill Odo had become. Exactly how much of his sanity he had sacrificed in order to deliver them from destruction. Against all logic, he remained firmly on the side of the Solids and there was nothing they could do to persuade him otherwise. Just as they became convinced he was suffering a mild from of mental illness, he confirmed their suspicions by actually leaving the Link of his own accord.
Throughout the history of the Link, there had been occasions when members had gone mad. When a Founder would suffer from obsessive thought processes centered around a single incident or memory. No, forms of madness were not unusual, and the only humane, he laughed at the word, treatment was to completely remove the offending memory from the mind of the afflicted. Of course, in this case, the illness was a lot more severe than an obsession centered on a single thought. No, in this case, the patient would have to have most of his memories wiped clean. Treatment had gone as planned and all would have been well, it were not for the interference of the Vulcans.
Aware of footsteps growing closer, he pressed against the wall and in an instant became the wall. Strange were the ways of destiny, he thought. If only the Solids would realize how their attempts to help others caused more damage and suffering than if they were to simply leave those they wished to help alone. If it had not been for the interference of the Vulcans, Odo would have gently slipped into the happy oblivion offered by the Link, and he would have been kept safe by those who understood him best. If it had not been for the interference of the Vulcans, Odo would not have suffered as he suffers now. Of course, the Link was well aware of the Vulcan's plan to steal Odo away from them. In the grand scheme of things, it was necessary that they should do so. Just as it was necessary that Odo eventually become a martyr to their cause.
The footsteps drew closer and he was at last able to see his pursuers. He recognized the ungainly form of the Finneans immediately. He had felt the need for their involvement in the matter to be unfortunate. The involvement of any Solid in the matter was unfortunate, but could not be helped. It was both a blessing and a curse that they were a rather stupid race of creatures. He allowed them to pass him and waited until they were a safe distance away before taking a human form and calling out to them.
Ensign Thomas Bracewell stood nervously at his post. He knew in his bones that something was going on, but he could not for the life of him figure out what. It had been only a short while since he had taken up his position inside the airlock of the Defiant and though he had seen no one, he could hear all manner of noise and movement in the area of the Station that lay just beyond his sight.
That he could raise no one with his communicator only helped feed his feelings of suspense. The whole Station could be on the verge of collapse and there he would be alone and ineffective. It did not help that Bracewell had the type of personality that at the first sign of trouble preferred to be in the thick of things rather than a safe distance away. Each muffled shout from the corridors outside the airlock sent him pacing nervously a few feet in that direction, only to be held in check by the knowledge that his present duty demanded he remain where he was until relieved.
He was too caught up in the drama outside the Defiant to have paid any attention to what was going on behind him and so he was taken quite by surprise when he backed nervously away from the airlock and straight into his superior officer.
"I'm sorry," stammered Bracewell. "Sir."
Marshall merely stared at a spot on the deck that still smoldered slightly from Bracewell's accidental phaser fire.
"Sorry," said Bracewell, hoping against all hope that Marshall wouldn't hold it against him. "It's just, there's this ruckus going on on the Station and no one's told me anything." He pointed nervously toward the airlock. "You wouldn't know anything about that would you, Sir?"
Marshall slid his gaze from the charred bit of carpet, to the phaser Bracewell held in his hand, then slowly to Bracewell's face and said nothing.
"We can't just stand here and do nothing can we?" asked Bracewell only vaguely aware he was babbling, but he found his superiors silence to be deafening. "I didn't hear a state of emergency called, but then my communicator isn't…."
"Emergency?" asked Marshall as though it was the only word he understood.
"Yes, sir. I've heard shouting and some phaser fire, but no one's been by and with the communicators…Wait a minute…Sir?"
Marshall had pushed past Bracewell and was making his way out the airlock. At the sound of protest from the Ensign, he stopped and leveled his gaze at Bracewell.
"Sir. It's just that…ah…you don't have a weapon. Won't you need some backup? You know, just in case there's trouble?"
Marshall stared at him for an instant and then turned toward the airlock and disappeared into the Station. Bracewell stood his post for a second more. Marshall hadn't exactly said yes, but then he didn't exactly say no either. The faint sound of phaser fire echoed down the corridor. In a heartbeat he was out the airlock and pounding down the corridor after Marshall.
"Just what the hell are we supposed to do now?" asked Zit, readjusting the setting on his phaser. "He just pops out of nowhere and tells us to come here. I don't like this guy much. How about we collect our money and then just clock this guy for the fun of it?"
"Do you ever pay attention?" replied Grgor. "He said it clear as day. Make your way to docking bay 16 and he would drive the target to us. How difficult is that to understand?"
"I don't know, Grgor, doesn't it seem a bit odd to you? I mean, it looks to me like we're being set up. We go to point B and wait."
"It's a good defensible position. The corridor ends right here at the bay doors, the nearest junction is a couple of meters away. No one is passing through this part of the docking area without passing our guns. It's perfect. What's eating you?"
"What's eating me is this. What's to stop him from just calling Security and telling them where we are?"
"And why would he do that? He hired us. There would be no point in turning us in, not with that we know about him."
"And just what do we know?" asked Zit.
"We know that he hired us to kill a Changeling and, if necessary, to kill the Changelings girlfriend."
"Ah," said Zit. "There's the problem. How do we know that this guy is the guy who hired us, eh? The Changeling we were supposed to kill now knows we're after him."
"And?"
"And who's to say that it wasn't the Changeling who told us to come here and the next thing we know, we're surrounded by Security?"
Grgor thought this over for a moment.
"But, how would the Changeling know it was that Security fellow who hired us in the first place?" he asked.
"Wheels within wheels," replied Zit. "I'm telling you that there's more going on here than meets the eye."
"Wheels within wheels? Listen to yourself." He took up a defensive position at the end of the corridor.
"I'm serious," insisted Zit, settling himself in a position to provide cover in case of a crossfire. "Collect the money and then we clock him."
Thomas Bracewell was lost.
For what seemed like hours, they had been chasing noises and each time they would arrive where they thought the battle was raging, it was only to find they had arrived too late.
Now they were in parts of the Station he had never been to before. Lost. And if the truth be told, Thomas was getting more than a little scared. He was in the company of a madman.
Everything he had learned in combat training at Starfleet was suddenly thrown out the window in the presence of his superior officer. The man apparently had never heard about taking cover, or looking before charging around corners. At first Bracewell supposed that a flagrant disregard for the norm was one way of getting promoted, but eventually he began to believe that what he had supposed to be bravery was now a simple matter of being foolhardy.
Running to keep up with Marshall, Bracewell paid little attention to the sign announcing they were approaching docking bay 16. He was just about to call out for Marshall to be careful, when he heard phaser fire and glanced up just in time to see Marshall reel back from where the corridors crossed.
Swearing under his breath, he ran to the side of the fallen officer. He had never seen someone shot by phaser fire before, but he was sure their skin was not supposed to ripple in that manner.
Closing his eyes and breathing a silent prayer that he would not be sick, he knelt down and rolled Marshall on to his side. For an instant, the face of Marshall shifted and changed to another face before quickly changing back. Cursing openly, he dropped the body and picking up his phaser, he quickly stepped away.
Unfortunately for Thomas Bracewell, he did not step in the right direction.
He was well into the junction of the two corridors before he realized his mistake.
He never heard the phasers.