Tsirrku guided her thoughts backwards, trying to remember the last time she'd been among familiar faces. Stretching, she tried in vain to find a comfortable position in a chair built for beings much shorter and more compact than she could ever be. At just under two meters, she was never going to fit the standard shape for which her copilot's chair was designed. And after three cycles in the service of the Founders, home was just a distant memory. Both pursuits were futile.
Lante growled in her direction, and Tsirrku nodded in agreement. The Wirrum pilot could make more out of nonverbal communication than any race she had ever encountered. Lante knew what he was not talking about. She shifted again, knowing she was of little use until they made contact with the Banderii government. Her title of copilot was given more out of respect for her diplomatic position than from any real skill; Lante was in control the minute they left a planet's orbit.
She smiled at the Wirrum beside her, carefully keeping the gesture discreet. Despite his ever-present and immensely comforting scowl, Lante had become her chief source of nourishment. Small capacity diplomatic vessels were not built for luxury; if Tsirrku could not have physical comfort, his emotions became even more important to her. Her body could live for quite some time without the small nourishment it required. But without the nourishment of sentient thoughts and feelings, even the strongest Alezai would quickly perish.
Even the Founders have to understand that, she thought with a trace of bitterness which surprised her. You're tired, she scolded inwardly. It was the discomfort fouling her mood. She had abandoned all hope of comfort until she was blissfully planetside once more, and Lante was paying the price. At this point, nothing short of soil between her toes would serve to lighten her black mood.
Lante grunted in agreement, although she had said nothing aloud. Tsirrku graced the thick-necked Wirrum with a bird-like nod of her head as she placed one hand on his arm. He seemed a benevolent boulder at her side, as short and round as she was tall and slender, his gray skin the texture of winter leaves. Tsirrku almost allowed herself to wonder what it would be like to love this strange man, to join with him in the regeneration cycles at first frost. She halted the errant thought, borne of boredom, before she could even fully recognize its existence. Lante possessed an intuition which could at times put her own formidable empathic powers to shame. There was no sense testing that intuition on impossible sexual fantasies; to Lante, she was about as sexually enticing as a stack of blank compu-disks.
She had to take leave. If she had been reduced to fantasizing about a Wirrum, she was beyond tired. Perhaps the Changelings would grant her a few subcycles to renew, a trip to her homeworld after so long....
"Planet." Lante's voice was the sound of crunching ice, of sleeping gravel disturbed by a cart's wheel. He spoke so rarely, Tsirrku had almost forgotten how to respond.
"Thank you," she said softly. Her lips wrapped around the unwieldy Wirrum syllables with the linguistic dexterity that had made her people the "Voice of the Dominion." She did not ask Lante to establish orbit, or to transmit the standard greetings. He knew his job, and to make such a request would insult his abilities.
So she waited. Waited for the hum of the communications signal from the Council of Banderii, a planet just like all the other life-sustaining planets she had visited in the past. The Voice of the Dominion. Diplomatic envoy, precursor of trade, the first wave in that giant tsunami which was the Dominion.
It bored her. She had not been raised for diplomacy; none of her people had been. The Alezai were healers, artists, sculptors of the mind and soul. Diplomacy was an honor bestowed on them by the Changelings, all because of a simple ability to read thoughts and feelings and the Alezai's almost instantaneous comprehension of languages and customs.
Tsirrku did not feel honored. She felt used; she felt tired. She felt like seeking out the Changelings themselves and telling them what they could do with their diplomacy. But her lofty thoughts of political independence were interrupted by a signal from the communications console. Lante pressed a button on the panel, and a Banderii of indeterminate age and gender appeared on the screen.
The Banderii was a bulbous creature, dressed richly in a shimmering white robe. Its sensor mist hovered just before its face, a forest green cloud indicating the Banderii's current emotions. Tsirrku damned the inadequacies of computer images, wishing she could conduct these contacts in person where her empathic abilities would help her. As it was, she searched her memory of the preliminary reports. What did forest green signify?
Then she remembered. Terror.
"I am Tsirrku of Dominion, who begs from the Banderii people the honor of your time." The Banderii's mist turned a startled aqua, and Tsirrku almost smiled. It had not expected her to know the correct verbal protocol. But as the mist settled back to green, her momentary satisfaction darkened as well. "I bring news of peace and trade. Will you grant me an audience?"
The Banderii's voice was slow and precise. "I am Minister T'Oquil of Banderii. We do not want you here." The Banderii shuffled slightly in his ornate chair. "We are not an aggressive people, but we shall fight if you attempt to conquer us."
Tsirrku turned to her pilot, whose skin paled slightly in confusion. Returning her gaze to the minister, she said, "We are here merely as emissaries to set up peaceful trade between the Dominion and--"
T'Oquil's mist turned almost black. "We have seen examples of the Dominion's peaceful trade, and we want none of it."
"How can this be? There has been no contact between our people until now."
The Banderii emitted a cloud of sky blue mist. "I've read the communique," he said, as if that was all that needed saying.
Tsirrku breathed heavily, the delicate feathers at her temple rustling in frustration. "What communique?"
The blue mist darkened in confusion. "Is this a deception?"
She raised a long, four-fingered hand. "I have been out of direct communication with the Dominion for quite some time. I know of no communique."
The Banderii paused, considering her words. "We do not wish to fight you, only to be left in peace. Leave our space and do not return." As he spoke, three Banderii warships appeared within scanner range.
Lante grunted softly as he acknowledged the warships. The Banderii were peaceful, but they weren't fools.
Tsirrku sighed, unsure whether she was angrier about the failure of the mission or the secrecy of the Founders. Either way, she was not going to risk her life for a forgettable planet in the middle of nowhere. "As you wish, Minister. We, too, have no desire to fight. The Dominion is a peaceful organization." She studied his expression of disbelief, clouded in a pale orange mist. What communique? "Minister, would you be so kind as to transfer a copy of this message to me?" I'd like to know what is going on, she added silently.
"Of course," T'Oquil said fervently. "I will transmit it through this link. Just leave." He cut the transmission from his end without another word.
Tsirrku stared at Lante for a long moment. "What was that all about?"
Again, a lightening of the skin, accompanied by a genuine shrug. Lante nodded towards the three sleek warships hovering between them and the planet's surface. "Ships," he said.
Tsirrku nodded. There would be time for conjecture later, once they were out of sight of the nervous, well-armed locals. Without another word, Lante pressed a series of commands into the control panel, taking them out of Banderii space.
Once safely into Dominion space, she called up the communique. The screen immediately filled with the face of an alien whose race she had never seen before. Tsirrku felt a jolt of recognition. She was looking into the face of death.
"We are the Jem'Hadar. We are the hand of the Dominion, and we shall not be opposed. Let this serve as warning to all who would resist us." The screen blinked to a shot of a forested planet. There, amidst the lush greenery and delicate architecture, Jem'Hadar soldiers, hundreds of them, thousands, were slaughtering the locals, willowy creatures who held up their hands in peaceful resignation, not even attempting to fight.
Tsirrku watched in horror as the Jem'Hadar, the Hand of the Dominion, committed genocide. And slowly it dawned on her, as the blaze of phaser fire ignited the dense forest into a raging inferno, that the planet being destroyed, the race being annihilated under the auspices of the Changelings, were her own people.
Ship's Log: USS Defiant
The Defiant has been dispatched to the Zeta Maxima system to observe the Biggs-Lanier comet's effect on planetary atmospheres. Meanwhile, Chief O'Brien and I have received a request from an old friend.
"I don't like it, Commander," O'Brien muttered as he strode through the tight corridors of the Defiant. "Why would Alixus ask for us?"
"We're the only people she knows out here, Chief." Sisko shrugged. Only a little over a year before, he and O'Brien had stumbled onto Alixus's colony of castaways. The colony had survived ten years on a primitive planet without advanced technology. The proud band of survivors never knew it was their own leader who had caused the systems failure aboard their colony ship, that she and her son had orchestrated the entire thing to reinvigorate the human spirit.
The intrusion of Sisko and O'Brien had threatened Alixus's little fantasy of naturally-occurring duonetic dampening fields and equipment failure. While she led with great efficiency and true love for her colonists, Alixus's dislike of modern culture had led to a battle of wills between her and Sisko. In the short time he had spent in her company, he had been lied to, shot at, held against his will, and locked in a metal box for hours without food and water. He didn't relish the idea of getting reacquainted with her any more than O'Brien did.
"She captured us, tortured you," O'Brien went on. "She lied to her own people, just for the sake of her ideals."
Sisko said nothing. His mind was flooded with memories he'd thought forgotten, of being trapped, of being suffocated, of spending hours, years in a box the size of his desk, all because he refused to remove his uniform. All because he refused to bend to one woman's will. Sisko shut out the memory. The weight of Alixus's stare fell heavily on his mind.
The two men stepped into the transporter room where Dax awaited them. The Trill smiled at their glum expressions--she'd listened to their tales of the Evil Alixus over many a synthale, and she didn't need a Betazoid's intuition to figure out what was going through their minds. "Gentleman, we've just entered Starbase 93's communications range. Dr. Breel'anso has authorized your beam-down for thirty-six hours."
"I wish we could trade places, Old Man. I'd much prefer to spend the next three days observing the B-L than stuck on a maximum security mental institution."
"Oh, Benjamin, cheer up." She gave him a conspiratorial look as he and O'Brien stepped onto the transporter padds. "You wouldn't believe the interesting things one can learn in a mental institution."
"Are you speaking from experience, Lieutenant?" O'Brien asked.
Dax obviously preferred to leave it to their imaginations. "Once the comet has passed through the Zeta Maxima system, we can launch a data-relay satellite and return to pick you up." At Sisko's nod, she pushed the communications control. "Defiant to Starbase 93; two to beam down."
"Defiant, please await security scan." There was a moment's wait, then, "Two cleared for beam down."
"Three days, gentlemen," Dax said as she energized the beam. She didn't hear O'Brien's tart response as he dissolved out of view.
Dr. Avil Breel'anso had the harried look of one who had seen too much. The Andorian female took up a finite space, but her weariness had a life of its own. She stared at the Terrans who entered her office, antennae bobbing slightly as she nodded in their direction. "Commander Benjamin Sisko. Chief Miles O'Brien."
"Doctor." Sisko sat in the chair opposite her; O'Brien sat in the chair next to him. The desk which separated the Terrans from the Andorian was an anachronistic mess of pencil-scratched paper note pads, holo-puzzles, coffee cups, and the like. Behind the facility's director, a grid of security screens flickered like a giant insect eye, forming an odd backdrop for the tiny woman.
Breel'anso dismissed any further formalities, pushing aside a tray of half-eaten food to grab a compu-disk from the desk top. As she inserted it into the computer, the grid behind her flickered into a larger-than-life image of Alixus as she had appeared at her trial. Her face fairly glowed with serene self-righteousness; she gave no indication of remorse or even awareness that her actions had been in anyway improper. A noticeable silence filled the room as Sisko and O'Brien studied the image.
Either oblivious to or ignoring their subdued response, the Andorian began, "Alixus Merrill, Terran. Transferred from the minimum security facility on Darius Three two weeks ago."
O'Brien lifted his eyebrows slightly. "She's not a person easily forgotten, Doctor."
The doctor afforded O'Brien a quick glance, then continued without comment. "She and her son, Vinod, were confined to Darius for five years on several charges, up to and including abducting a Starfleet officer." She stared pointedly at Sisko.
Sisko felt uncomfortable, as if he and O'Brien were somehow being tested. "I'm aware of her record, Doctor. Why is she here?"
"She tried to kill herself. Used her own hair as a noose, and almost succeeded." The psychiatrist studied his response closely, then continued. "For six months, Alixus and Vinod were model convicts, hardworking and punctual. They kept to themselves and didn't ask for special treatment." Breel'anso hit a button on her desk, and the image flickered back to the security monitors. "Three weeks ago, they attempted to escape by stowing away on a supply vessel. They were apprehended and returned to the penitentiary. Two days later, Vinod was found dead in his cell. He shredded his uniform and hanged himself."
Sisko felt the skin crawl on his arms at the Andorian's matter-of-fact telling of this otherwise horrible news. "Doctor, I know Alixus. She is many things--proud, determined--"
"Downright pig-headed," O'Brien added under his breath.
"One thing she is not is suicidal."
"Nonetheless, she attempted to end her own life. There was no note, but all evidence points to a suicide pact. The guards found Alixus before she could finish the job, but they were too late to save Vinod. Once Alixus was strong enough to be transported, the authorities transferred her here." She drew in a deep breath. "She said nothing for twelve days, then demanded to see you."
"Do you have any idea why they did it?" Sisko asked quietly.
"Darius likes to keep its inmates busy. Because of their agricultural backgrounds, Alixus and Vinod were assigned to the gardens. For a while, they were reasonably content. The Merrills spent most of their time in the gardens or in their cells. They stayed away from the recreation area and common hall--anywhere they would have to come into contact with technology--as much as possible."
"That sounds right," O'Brien said.
"A week before the escape attempt, Alixus was assigned to cover dining area duty for an inmate who was ill. The dining hall has a wall-sized video screen which constantly projects calming images, music, and news and entertainment features for the convicts."
"Alixus must have hated it," O'Brien murmured.
Breel'anso nodded her head. "The viewing matter is carefully screened; unfortunately, this passed by. It was a short humanitarian piece from the Intergalactic Red Cross." She pressed the controls, and an image filled the grid behind her. The video showed volunteers bringing medical supplies to a group of colonists, a young boy walking on a robotic prosthetic leg, children happily playing with computer games given to them by smiling off-worlders. It was Alixus's planet. "The escape attempt occurred shortly after this was aired."
"I can see why," Sisko said quietly. He knew exactly how Alixus and her son would react to such a sight--outrage, horror, and a renewed determination to save their beloved colony from the evils of technology. He breathed out heavily. "Alixus did everything for the sake of her community; it was her life and her passion."
"They were up for parole in one year. With the escape attempt, they faced the possibility of another two years incarceration."
"Seven years for technology to destroy her community," Sisko muttered. Suddenly, the suicide pact made sense. Without their colony--their colony as they had planned it--the universe would seem a very cold and empty place for the Merrills. "But why does she want to see us?"
"That, Commander, remains to be seen. She is not responding to conventional treatment; her request was the first encouraging sign since the suicide attempts."
Sisko turned to O'Brien, who looked decidedly pale. Steeling himself for whatever Alixus might have in store for him, he said, "Well, then, I suppose it's time to pay our respects to Alixus."
Science Officer's Log: Stardate 25338.46
We have arrived at Zeta Maxima Prime slightly ahead of schedule. The Biggs-Lanier comet will impact with the planet in under 72 hours. Since ZM Prime is uninhabited and just marginally capable of supporting life, it should prove an interesting study in the affects of extraplanetary activities on planetary conditions.
Jadzia Dax sat in the command chair of the Defiant with a surprising sense of ease. She'd noticed Benjamin's stature in this same place--tense, taut, the reality of this ship's destructive capability weighing heavily on his shoulders. Then again, Dax thought, everything weighed heavily on Sisko's shoulders. In two lifetimes of trying, she still had not been able to give him a sense of perspective. The rational part of her knew that, given the relatively short life-span of the average Terran, Sisko would never have the perspective she had; however, it didn't stop her from trying to lighten him up.
"We have established orbit around ZM Prime, Lieutenant," the ensign at the helm said.
Dax tried to remember his name, but couldn't. Only three hundred thirty years old, and you're already getting senile, she scolded herself. "Thank you, Ensign. Begin standard scans." She turned to Julian Bashir, who was manning the science station. "Well, Doctor, we have a couple of hours before anything interesting happens. I'm going to take a quick supper break." She smiled devilishly. "Have you ever had dinner by comet light?"
Bashir grinned. "Sorry, Dax. As much as I'd love to take you up on your offer, I just had dinner." He winked at her look of mock disappointment. "Besides, my superior officer has--" His attempts at light humor were interrupted by a beep from his console. "What on earth?"
Dax was at his side, looking over his shoulders.
"This is interesting," Bashir murmured as he adjusted his sensors. "I'm getting a life reading."
"Julian, this planet is uninhabited. It's only technically capable of supporting life."
"Whatever is down there obviously didn't read the science reports. I'm reading metals and stellar residue, perhaps from a crashed ship." He turned his dark eyes to the Trill next to him. "Jadzia," he said softly. "When that comet hits, nothing will be able to survive on ZM Prime."
Dax drew in a deep breath, staring at the readings. It was unmistakably a living being. "Come on. We haven't got much time." Bashir retrieved a medikit from the emergency supply cabinet, then joined her. She sighed. "So much for supper. Two to beam down."
Zeta Maxima Prime was quite possibly the least impressive planet Bashir had ever visited. Everywhere he looked, he saw the same unimpressive sight--dirt, brush, rocks, more dirt, more rocks, and a little more dirt. "Obviously the garden spot of the Zeta Maxima system," he murmured as Dax took one step away from the beam-down point, her tricorder poised in front of her, and began a slow pivot.
"Three hundred meters," she said, pausing for a moment. She stared at the readout, her lower lip lodged between her teeth, before nodding to an outcrop of rocks in the general southwest direction. "That way."
Bashir grunted, noticing for the first time that the dirt, brush, and more dirt which separated them from their goal was actually tough terrain. "Lead the way." And with that, he fell in behind her as they made their way toward the reading.
Some time later, Dax pointed to a huge outcrop that loomed meters above them, several hills banded together around a broad, flat mesa. There, at the bottom of the rocks, was an opening. Bashir nudged at a few of the smaller rocks with his toe, then got down on one knee and began pulling away the larger ones. It was some time before he'd uncovered an opening big enough for an adult humanoid to crawl through. Whoever or whatever lived in here was not expecting company. He turned to Dax, who smiled. "I think we found our life reading," she said.
Dr. Breel'anso led the way to the Alixus's cell, her syrupy voice providing a steady narrative as the three threaded through nurses, orderlies, and security personnel. "For security reasons, we can only allow one of you in at a time." At Sisko's questioning look, she added, "There is no need to be concerned, Commander. All patients are monitored constantly."
"I'm not concerned," he replied. "I suppose...I don't know how prepared I am for this."
Breel'anso gave him a toothy grin as she punched her access code into the security panel. "No one is ever prepared for maximum security psych, Commander."
The doors opened before them, revealing an ante room and two rather burly security guards. They nodded when they saw the Andorian and stepped aside. At Breel'anso's command, O'Brien stepped aside, and Sisko and the doctor continued on. They walked down a long white corridor to a double-thick metal door. Sisko tried not to allow the skin on his neck to shiver as his eyes lighted on the security cameras surrounding them. It smelled antiseptic, not a breath of anything wild or natural. Alixus must hate it here, he thought to himself. Then he wondered just how aware she was of her surroundings, and how much she remembered.
"She has her good days and her not-so-good days," Breel'anso continued as she released the lock on the door. They stepped into a hallway lined with grey doors. Sisko felt immediately claustrophobic. "At times, she's completely lucid, although she's never what you'd call a conversationalist." A few meters down, and they stopped. The doctor punched a code into the monitor outside the door. "Computer, status on Patient 422?"
"Security check on Patient 422; normal status confirmed; patient is awake."
The Andorian turned to Sisko for a moment. "Commander, Alixus has never shown any signs of being a danger to others, only to herself. We have taken all precautions to keep her from injuring herself; precautions you might find...uncomfortable."
"I understand."
"Keep your voice low, and don't make any move that she might construe as threatening." At Sisko's nod, she punched in her access code, and the door to Alixus's cell opened.
Bashir pulled himself through the opening in the rocks. Despite the fact that Dax's tricorder read only themselves and the somnolent life form, he had the uncontrollable urge to check for snakes. Or bears. Or bogeymen.
He shone the hand-held torch on the far wall of the cave as Dax nudged in beside him, then adjusted the setting to illuminate the room. "Hello....welcome to the Ritz," Bashir whispered as he looked around the cave.
They had entered a huge cavern, with high ceilings. Whatever creature lived here was not only intelligent, but had a very good hand at interior decorating. The quarters were sparingly furnished, obviously from the wreckage of a ship. Great care had been taken to give the space a look as aesthetically pleasing as possible under the circumstances--twisted metal had been melted and reshaped into small objets d'art, huge flat portions of the ship's hull had been cleaned and painted with lush forest scapes. A nest of some sort had been prepared in the far corner of the room--the artist itself, Bashir assumed. He aimed his medical tricorder in its direction. "Whatever it is, I don't think we'll wake it up. The readings are too weak."
Dax nodded and stood, moving cautiously to the nest. "Julian, come here."
He was at her side immediately. Curled in a fetal position inside the nest was their host. The being, obviously humanoid, was wrapped tightly in a ball, which was surrounded by a sticky white, brittle substance.
"Some sort of larval stage," Dax ventured. "A cocoon?"
"More like an embryonic sack. The outer casing is made of epidermal material, and I believe the liquid surrounding the being is some form of nutrient." He shrugged noncommittally to the science officer. "It's hard to tell whether this is a natural state or some sort of survival technique. Once we get it back to Sickbay--"
"Julian..." Dax knew what he was suggesting. She knew what she'd suggest were she not in command. "We have no idea what this is, or how dangerous it may be once wakened."
"Once the B-L hits, who or what this is will be a moot point." He fixed her with a look that could mean only one thing. "Jadzia, I suggest we make a decision quickly, before the comet makes the decision for us."
Dax sighed, surveying her surroundings. Instinct told her that this creature, if unknown, was at least capable of intelligence. Instinct told her that it would be okay.
Instinct was what had always gotten Dax in trouble. "Okay," she said. "Gather up as much of its things as we can carry, and let's get out of here."