The Last Temptation of Odo – Chapter 6
By
Creek Johnson and Nance Hurt
Disclaimer: We are but fleas on the elephants' posterior that is Paramount.
No infringement on their rights is intended. We hope none is taken.
From her position high in the trees iSamu sat and watched as her rather odd companion sank into the tall grass. The light of the full moon caught a faint movement and she could just catch a faint glint of amber before a bird rose up from the exact spot where Odo had disappeared and flew off into the night.
She exclaimed softly to herself and wondered what form of trickery had she just witnessed.
Quark looked from the wooden sword, to the horse and back to his companion. His ears must have been playing tricks on him for he could not have heard correctly.
"You want me to what?" he asked.
"Train with me," said Ty-ni as though it were the most reasonable request in the world.
"But…"
"Do not tell me you have never held a jutuba before!"
"I have not," exclaimed Quark. "A bat'leth once, but that was different."
"Bat'leth?" asked Ty-ni. "Is it a sword?"
"Of sorts. But…"
"Then you have nothing to worry about," exclaimed his companion. "Just do what I do."
Quark silently appealed to the horse. The beast snorted and shook its head. "Fat lot of help you are," murmured Quark.
"Do you really think we should be doing this," he asked stalling for time. "After such a large breakfast?"
"What better time?" replied Ty-ni. "I have an appointment tomorrow and I must be in prime condition. Now!" He raised the sword in a position Quark realized was similar to the batting stance popular in the human game of baseball. "Prepare to fight!"
The things I do for latinum, thought Quark as he raised his sword in imitation of Ty-ni's stance. "Like this?" he asked.
Ty-ni nodded in reply. After holding the position for a moment, he raised his left foot and balancing on his right foot, he slowly moved the sword so it was held in front of him.
As they moved through the opening moments of the match, Quark found himself starting to enjoy what seemed to him to be a slightly ridiculous form of exercise. Not that he exercised, he though it a silly past time, but this was far superior to shooting at people with phasers or hacking away at people with bat'leths.
After a good half hour Ty-ni stopped to wipe the sweat from his forehead. "Very good," he said taking a drink of water. "Now, we will engage in a mock battle, eh?"
"Battle?" Quark did not like the sound of that at all.
"I will not hurt you."
"I've heard that before," replied Quark attempting to return the sword to his companion. "I've had enough, thank you."
"Just one pass," coaxed Ty-ni. "How can I entrust my fortune to a man who does not know the taste of battle?"
"Now just hold on a minute. I've tasted battle more times than I care to remember," insisted Quark. "And mock battle or not, I've had enough."
"Very well." But Ty-ni made no attempt to accept the sword. Instead, with a cry, he lunged at Quark.
Before Quark had time to think. Before he had time to scream. Before he even realized what was happening, he brought his sword up and in one swift movement brought the dull blade down on Ty-ni's head.
Julian was not sure what exactly had caused him to wake. He lay still and listened. Voices whispered close by. Opening his eyes, he was alarmed to find five faces very close to his, their heads tilted at impossible angles to their bodies. Before he could cry out, a hand closed over his mouth. He struggled only to find his arms held down by countless hands.
"Aya!" said a voice in his ear. "It is I, Doctor. Bekko."
Julian quit struggling and was relieved as the hands released him.
"Bekko?" he demanded. "What the hell are you thinking…?"
"Shhhh," whispered a second voice. "Do not wake the others."
Julian struggled into a sitting position, waiving away the hands that reached out to aide him. As his eyes adjusted to the dark he could make out their faces. He recognized them all as the worst fighters of the group. He treated each of them almost daily for injuries.
"Will someone tell me what this is all about?" he asked.
All but Bekko hung their heads and remained silent.
"My associates were wondering," said Bekko in a tone of voice that was almost a confession. "If you would be so gracious as to train them as well."
"Is that all?" asked Julian. He had been afraid this would happen. But as much as he deplored the idea that by helping them to stop hurting themselves they may, one day, use what he taught them to hurt others, he didn't see that he had much choice. At the rate these men were going, without his help they may not survive.
"It is too much," said Bekko avoiding Julians gaze. "I thought as much. Please forgive…"
"I'll do it. I just wished you had asked in the morning and not in the middle..."
"We will disturb you no longer…"
"Yes?" asked one of the others. Julian thought he recognized the voice as belonging to the one called Chaho.
"Yes," confirmed Julian. "Only you must do me one favor."
"Anything," cried Bekko and was immediately drawn to silence by his companion's hands covering his mouth. "Anything," he said again, his voice muffled.
"We will discuss it in the morning. May I go back to sleep now?"
"Of course," said Chaho, motioning for the group to scatter back to their beds. "Thank you, Doctor."
The rest of the men bowed to him before disappearing into the dark. Julian just shook his head and tried to settle himself more comfortably. What have I gotten myself into, he thought as sleep retook him.
"Weapons!" shouted the Founder slamming his fist on the table hard enough to make the crockery dance. "It must have weapons. What kind of ship has no weapons?"
The Jem'Hadar merely burped in reply but said nothing.
The Vorta quickly mopped up the spilled wine and sat his cup back upright on the table. "Perhaps," he ventured. "This ship has none."
"Don't be ridiculous," replied the Founder sitting back in his chair. "Of course it does."
"Perhaps," the Vorta continued not looking at his companions. "Perhaps, they were on a peaceful mission...or just lost. Perhaps…"
"Perhaps," said the Founder mockingly. "Perhaps nothing!"
"There is some sort of war going on out there," the Jem'Hadar reminded them. "We've monitored all sorts of warships come this way."
"But not in two years," replied the Vorta quickly. "There have been no ships in the area for some time."
"That means nothing, other than the fighting has moved to another part of space."
"It means," said the Founder. "That we must protect ourselves against any who would venture to take what is ours."
The argument was an old one. The Vorta folded his napkin and rose slowly from the table. "It's just…" he stopped, not sure how to begin to explain.
"It's just nothing," said the Founder. "Where do you think you are going?"
"I…ah…I thought I would go take another look at the ship."
His statement was met with nods of approval. He slowly made his way to the door.
"While you are at it," called the Founder after him. "See if you can find the weapons systems!"
"What are we doing here?" asked Odo looking at the small ornate building before him. Although he could not smell, he could tell the thin smoke that wafted out of the doors had the same consistency as the incense used by the Prylars in the Bajoran temple on the Station.
"We are here to meet a friend," replied iSamu. Rather than enter the building, she sat on a small stone bench and seemed prepared to wait.
Odo remained standing. He had spent the better part of the night searching for any sign of the others and although he had seen hundreds of camps, he had found so sign of his lost companions. Feeling even more discouraged than he had before, he returned to their small camp shortly before dawn and settled himself in the tall grass to regenerate before the day began.
If iSamu had noticed his absence, she said nothing, seemingly content to go about her routine in silence. Having packed her meager belongings, she shouldered her pack and motioning for him to follow, they set off across the fields at a trot.
They had traveled the better part of the day without stopping before finally reaching this place. He glanced at his surroundings. The building sat alone on a small path that branched off of a paved road. The building was clearly hand made of wood, the walls narrow, the ceiling high; the floor raised a good half-meter off the ground. Inside there was a small foyer decorated in a script he could not read and in the back was some sort of alter upon which there were offerings similar to those he had seen in the garden outside Sanshoku. To the right of the alter a bowl of incense burned slowly.
Now that he had a better look at it, he realized the building before him was an exact life sized replica of the small house he had seen in the garden. He was about to ask its purpose, when his attention was caught by a blur of black. A large black bird swooped past them, landing on one of the beams of the building. It eyed Odo with blatant curiosity.
Just then, he heard the sound of footsteps on the gravel path. Looking up, he saw an old man approach. The stranger was of the same build as iSamu and the people of North. Despite his advanced years, there was something about the eyes that spoke of a much younger person within.
He approached Odo with the same scrutiny evidenced by the bird.
"I have heard," he said of no one in particular. "There is talk among the caravans of a man who fights without weapons. Is this him?" he asked. "Could this be the poDosai?"
"He is not the poDosai," replied iSamu. "But he requires your help nonetheless."
Weapons, thought the Vorta settling himself into the pilots chair. It's always weapons.
His hands touched the controls and he pulled up the personal logs stored there. The face of Julian Bashir appeared on the screen. "Doctor's personal log," intoned the voice of the Doctor.
"But not with you," said the Vorta, settling back in his chair. He whispered the names of the rest of the crew, rolling each over his tongue. "How long do you think," he wondered out loud. "How long before someone notices your absence? How long before this ezRi comes to look for you?"
He stared at the image before him. "And can you stay alive long enough for them to get here?"
He stretched, sliding his hands across the surface of the controls. He nearly jumped out of his seat as a control to his right suddenly beeped to life. He leaned forward and eyed it carefully.
Against his better judgment, he slowly reached out and touched the control. The sound of static filled the cabin.
Looking around to make sure he was alone, he leaned toward the controls.
"Hello?" he said cautiously.
"What's going on?" asked Vivian as the caravan stopped, its members moving quickly to the side of the road.
"I do not know," answered Jubei. She took a step forward and glanced down the road behind them. "Someone must be coming."
A faint whisper moved through the crowd. "It's the Jem'Hadar Guard," said Jubei. "They must be on urgent business for the Founder."
Great, thought Vivian, taking step back. Just what I do not need right now - to be captured by the Jem'Hadar.
"What is the matter?" asked Jubei noticing Vivians change in position. "Do you not wish to see?"
"No." replied Vivian quickly taking the hand of one of the children and pushing them forward. "It's not that. I just thought the children might like to see."
"How thoughtful."
It seemed to be a lifetime before she could hear the sound of boots marching in time. She held her breath, her heart beating in time to their footsteps. In an instant they approached. She blinked.
There on the road were about thirty young men jogging in pairs of two. She looked more closely and realized they wore a gray uniform, black boots and caps, and had some type of weapon strapped across their backs. She wasn't exactly sure what she had expected to see, but the group that passed looked exactly like the Higoshi. Clearly not Jem'Hadar, they were the same pale slightly stooped shouldered people she had all around her. The only thing that even slightly resembled the Jem'Hadar of her acquaintance were their uniforms.
She took a step closer and at that moment her comm. badge chirped to life. She stepped back, but not before the sound had drawn the attention of one of the Guards. He stared hard at her for a moment and much to her relief he did not stop, but continued on his way.
She quickly ducked behind one of the wagons and touched her comm. in time to hear a thin reedy voice.
"Hello?" said the voice.
"Who is this?" asked Vivian. There followed a pregnant pause.
"Are you the Doctor?" asked the voice on the other end of the comm..
"No. Who are you?"
"Sorry," came the hurried reply before the link went dead.
That was odd, thought Vivian. Jem'Hadar guards that are not Jem'Hadar. Someone tinkering around with the runabout. She realized she would need to try to re-establish contact with the runabout when she could find some time alone. However, now was not the right time, for as much as she was enjoying her traveling companions, she did not know that she could entirely trust them.
"Is there a problem?" asked Jubei as Vivian returned to the group.
"No," Vivian assured her. "So, tell me about the these Jem'Hadar."
Odo remained seated in the cramped room and watched the old man busy himself with an assortment of pots and containers that crowded the small workbench. "I do not understand," he complained. "You just can't give someone a soul as though you were giving them a birthday present."
The old man laughed. "I am not offering you a soul," he replied lifting a large box from off a shelf. "Souls must be found, or lost, depending on the circumstances. All I will give you is a touchstone. The rest is up to you." He made a small sound as he removed an ornately carved box from within the larger container.
"Found your box of souls have you?" muttered Odo not finding the situation the least bit amusing. It was his disbelief in his own spark of immortality that had prevented him all these years from embracing any religious belief. That coupled with the fact that his own people had genetically engineered two subservient races for the express purpose of having someone to manipulate for their own ends, had soured him on the whole notion of gods and worship. That and his experience in the law had taught him that even the most devout could be capable of the worst of crimes all done in the name of religion.
"Now," interrupted the old man. "The selection of the stone is most important. When were you born?"
The question took Odo by surprise. "I don't know."
"Approximately then."
"I don't know. About sixty years ago I think."
"Your parents? When were they born?"
"I…I don't have parents."
"Ah," replied the old man. "A foundling then."
"Yes." Odo shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
"For you the universe is made up of more questions than answers, yes? The fear of abandonment runs deep does it not?"
"Yes." Odo found himself choking on the word. The cramped room had suddenly grown smaller leaving him surrounded by a feeling of suffocation.
"Emotion is not to be trusted is that so?" continued the old man. "Especially in what one desires the most? Love, understanding, a place to call home?"
Odo abruptly stood not wishing to continue the conversation. He had encountered many a charlatan in his career, most trained to read the willing victim like an open padd. He was not about to allow his own troubles to lead him down that path. "I'm sorry," he said. "But I fail to see what…"
"Here," replied the old man holding up a small green stone. "This is the one." He busied himself for a moment picking through the items on the table. Satisfied he had all he needed, he motioned for Odo to follow as he left the room and entered a small garden to the back.
Odo caught his breath. It was the most beautiful garden he had ever seen. Every plant, every rock, even the sunlight conspired to present a world built not of raw material but of the essence of harmony. In one corner sat iSamu, her eyes closed, the sun bathing her face. The old man sat on a bench near the door and beckoned Odo to join him.
"Beautiful is it not?" he asked.
Odo agreed, but kept wary eye on his companion. The old man placed the bits and pieces he brought with him in his lap and began to work with his fingers.
Odo watched as he took a pit of wire and fashioned a loop around the bit of stone, then ran a length of leather rough the loop tying the ends of the leather into a knot. When finished, he handed Odo the finished product. "Here," he said. "Wear this around your neck."
"Why?"
"Until you find your soul, this will be its avatar."
Odo looked at the bit of stone with skepticism. "And," he asked cautiously. "How exactly will I find my soul?"
"Consider iSamu," The old man replied. "What is she doing?"
"I don't know."
"Consider."
"She's sitting in the sun," replied Odo.
"Yes. But what else?"
"She's thinking, and breathing, and getting sunburned, and…and just being."
"Exactly," said the old man with approval. "She is simply being iSamu. That is how you will find your soul – by just being Odo."
Odo laughed. "And people pay you for this type of advise?" he asked.
"No," replied the old man. "They pay me for trinkets. The advice is beyond price."
"Well if all you tell them is to be. No wonder."
The old man fell silent and after a moment he slapped Odo on the knee and laughed. "I like you," he said. "Skepticism suits you. But," he became serious. "I will tell you one thing more. To find your true center, your true ChauLi, you must concentrate on the moment when you first truly understood the universe and your place in it. Only then will you know peace."
Odo's attention was draw away by the sharp cry of a bird. He looked up to find the black bird had moved to perch on a nearby tree limb. When he turned to ask the old man what he had meant he found himself alone on the bench.
The old man had disappeared.
"Heart attack," muttered Quark. "Who would have thought he would have suffered a heart attack?"
He walked along the track little caring where they went.
"Fine one minute," he said to his companion. "Then I give him a little tap on the head and…dead…heart attack."
"I did not kill him," he insisted. "Tricorders do not lie. Well, they lie when you program them to, but I didn't mess with it. Heart attack it said."
"Why me?" he demanded. "Why me? Here I was all set to make a fortune and it has to die of a heart attack."
"I'll tell you one thing. If that stupid, lump of…lumps…wasn't all ready dead, I'd kill him."
"Wait!" Quark stopped in the middle of the track. "Maybe he isn't dead after all. Maybe the tricorder was wrong! We have to go back!"
The horse stood its ground, refusing to budge; it shook its head sadly. Quark looked at it in silence, the horror of his situation dawning on him.
"I guess you are right," he said eventually, his shoulders slumped in defeat. "What do we do now?"
The horse nibbled gently at his lapel before nudging him with its muzzle.
"This way?"
In reply, the horse nudged him in the back and took a step forward.
"This way." Quark continued slowly down the path. "Heart attack, who would have thought…"