Текст книги "Cathedral "

Автор книги: Andy Mangels

Соавторы: Michael Martin
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“Progressive Neurological Degeneration,” Bashir Said.

It felt strangely liberating to voice aloud the thought he’d tried so hard to avoid for the past two days. “At the rate I’m declining, by tomorrow I’ll probably no longer be able to function as the ship’s chief medical officer.”

“You don’t know that,” Ezri said.

“I can feelit, Ezri.” He decided that now wasn’t an occasion that called for a stiff upper lip. “I believe I’m… reverting.Regressing to what I was before Adigeon Prime.”

Her eyes widened with sudden understanding. “Before you were genetically enhanced.”

“I can’t begin to explain it,” he said, nodding. “But somehow our encounter with the alien artifact has begun… undoingmy genetic resequencing.”

She seemed to mull that over for a moment before responding. “It sounds crazy, but it fits. Nog and I are reverting, too, if you think about it. He’s become the two-legged Ferengi he used to be. I’ve been turned into the unjoined Trill I was before the Destinybrought me together with Dax. And you’re becoming…” She trailed off.

Slow, plodding, uncoordinated,dumb Jules Bashir.

Jules. He had repudiated that name during his childhood, after his parents had, in effect, repudiated him—when they’d had his DNA illegally rewritten when he was only six years old. Whatever Jules might eventually have accomplished left to his own devices had been rendered moot from that point on, forever after consigned to the shadow-world of roads not taken. Inaccessible mirror universes.

He vividly recalled the day, three short years ago, when he had taken his parents to task over this. Facing the very real possibility of dismissal from Starfleet because of his illegal genetic alterations, he had wished that Richard and Amsha Bashir had never taken him to Adigeon Prime, that they’d instead simply allowed nature to take its course with young Jules, for better or for worse.

That errant wish now appeared to be coming true—and the brutal reality of it horrified him. He realized now that it meant the loss of abilities and talents which he had come to take for granted over the better part of three decades. The loss of what he sometimes feared were the only things that gave him value as a human being.

The loss of self.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

An OriginalPublication of POCKET BOOKS

POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

Copyright © 2002 by Paramount Pictures. All Rights Reserved.

STAR TREK is a Registered Trademark of Paramount Pictures.

This book is published by Pocket Books, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc., under exclusive license from Paramount Pictures.

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

ISBN: 0-7434-4565-1

POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

Cover art by Cliff Nielsen

Visit us on the World Wide Web:

http://www.SimonSays.com/st

http://www.startrek.com

To my wife, Jennifer Dottery, whose patience approaches the asymptotic infinite

—M.A.M.

For Tim Tuohy, our past editor on the

Star Trek: Deep Space Nine comics at

Marvel. Thanks for giving us an assignment with Starfleet!

—A.M.

Acknowledgments

The authors wish to acknowledge that the poem quoted in Chapter 23 comprises the closing lines of Through the Looking-Glass And What Alice Found Thereby Lewis Carroll—a book much beloved by young Jules Bashir, as well as by many previous generations of youthful adventurers.

We also owe a debt of gratitude to our editor, Marco Palmieri, whose patient efforts made this a much better book than it otherwise would have been.

I am a part of all that I have met;

Yet all experience is an arch wherethrough

Gleams that untraveled world, whose margin fades

For ever and for ever when I move…

—ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON,

“ULYSSES”

CATHEDRAL

1

“Are we certain it was suicide?”

Lieutenant Ro Laren turned to Sergeant Shul as they stalked down the corridor, with Dr. Simon Tarses following close behind. “I’m not certain of anything yet, Shul,” Ro replied. “At this point, what I know is that Councillor zh’Thane says that Thriss committed suicide in Shar’s quarters.”

Tarses spoke up, his brow furrowed. “Thriss seemed to be beyond the worst of her depression when she was working her last shift at the infirmary. And Counselor Matthias was optimistic about her improvement. I find it hard to believe that Thriss would have taken her own life.”

“If she didn’t, then we’re looking at a murder investigation, Doctor,” Shul said. “And I don’t mean to be crass, but with everything else happening on this station, we don’t need thatto contend with, as well.”

Ro grunted in agreement, then, before they got much farther down the hall, spoke in a low voice. After all, Andorian antennae were very sensitive, and she had no clue who might be listening two junctions down the corridor. “Whatever the situation, please remember that Andorian customs are different from ours. I haven’t been able to brief you before now on certain…aspects of their relationships, but I suspect you may have already picked up clues along the way. This will be very delicate, especially with Councillor zh’Thane involved.”

Both men nodded, and they continued toward Shar’s quarters. No one was there to meet them outside the door, so Ro touched the wall panel that activated the door chime. “Councillor, it’s Lieutenant Ro. I have Doctor Tarses with me.”

The door slid open, and it took Ro’s eyes a moment to adjust to the dim light within the room. Just inside the door was zh’Thane, her usually immaculate hair slightly disheveled. From her garments, Ro guessed that she had been asleep when she had gotten the call about the tragedy.

As Ro moved to enter the room, zh’Thane held up a pale blue hand as if to stop her. “Who is this other man?”

“This is Sergeant Shul Torem,” said Ro, gesturing toward her deputy. “He’s well versed in Starfleet protocol pertaining to forensic investigations. And he can be trusted to be discreet.”

Tarses spoke up. “Councillor, there may be a chance to save Thriss’s life if you’ll allow me to attend to her.”

Zh’Thane swept her arm toward the interior of the room, where two figures crouched in the darkness, their arms around their legs and their heads bowed. The body of Thriss lay on the bed, perfectly still. “She seems quite beyond help, Doctor. If you can do something, please do, but do notviolate the integrity of the body. The skin must not be broken.”

Tarses nodded, then moved into the room with his tricorder in one hand and his medkit slung over a shoulder. As zh’Thane moved back a step, Ro and Shul stepped into the room, though they did not spread out.

“Can you tell me what happened, Councillor?” Ro asked.

“Dizhei came to Shar’s quarters, concerned that Thriss’s depression might be more consuming than she had revealed to us. She found her on the bed, already dead. She called Anichent and me to the room, and I, in turn, called you.”

Shul spoke up, his voice cool and low. “Was there any sign of struggle?”

“No, Deputy,” zh’Thane said. “Dizhei had tried to move her, to get her to respond. But there did not appear to be any struggle, and certainly nothing dangerous was found. Other than this.” She produced a small hypospray from the folds of her robe. “She was clutching this in her hand.”

His hands gloved, Shul gingerly took the device from zh’Thane and placed it into a small plastic bag he had pulled from a belt pouch. “Has anyone else touched this?” he asked as he handed the bag to Dr. Tarses, who had already opened his tricorder.

“Not to my knowledge. I pulled it from Thriss’s grasp myself.”

Ro looked the councillor directly in the eyes, steeling herself. Zh’Thane was already intimidating enough, and the situation was fraught with potential for giving offense. “Councillor, you have made it very clear to me that Andorian customs are not something to be shared with outside parties. However, I am unsure what the correct customs arein this situation. Because this happened aboard Deep Space 9, I am…obliged to investigate further. But I don’t wish to make the situation any more painful, either for you or for Thriss’s bondmates.”

“I appreciate your discretion, Lieutenant,” zh’Thane replied. “This is indeed a very private matter, and while I am cognizant of your need for answers, I must insist that this room—and the body of my son’s bondmate—be considered off-limits to any Starfleet or station staff for the foreseeable future.”

Shul began to object, but zh’Thane cut him off. “I will grant you a few minutes to gather whatever information you require, but I can assure you that this unfortunate situation is a—” Her voice caught in her throat for a moment, and she looked to the ceiling before continuing. “Faced with what she felt was an untenable situation, Thriss took her ownlife. There is no mystery to be solved. Nor has a crime been committed, other than the crime of selfishness on the part of my son, who tore apart his bond. And on the part of Thriss, who made certain that none of her bondmates could have a future together.”

Zh’Thane gestured for Ro and Shul to search the room, then told the computer to raise the light level. As Shul began inspecting the area, Ro looked at the kneeling forms of Dizhei and Anichent, both of whom appeared to be quietly meditating. Their antennae curled limply before them, like wilted flowers. Their faces downcast, they held themselves as still as statues. Indigo-tinged blood was still wet from gashes furrowed into their uncovered arms, and Ro could see the same blood crusted on their fingertips.

Ro moved to the bedside where Tarses was still scanning Thriss. In a low voice, he said, “I don’t think there’s any hope here, Ro. Whatever killed her stopped everything cold. There’s not even any residual neuro-electrical activity or muscular contractions.”

“We have the hypospray that zh’Thane found in her hand. Maybe that will tell us what killed her,” Ro said, sparing a glance in Tarses’ direction. The doctor was preoccupied with his tricorder’s display, apparently fine-tuning his scan for some particular substance.

Ro looked around the bed for any clues. There were not, as the councillor had said, any signs of struggle, other than those probably caused by the Andorians trying to rouse their partner. None of the vases and sculptures near the bed or on its headboard were broken or toppled. She lifted Thriss’s hands, checking under her nails. She didn’t see any dried blood; it hadn’t been Thriss who clawed at her bondmates. They must have injured themselves—or perhaps each other—in their grief.

A few moments later, Dr. Tarses cleared his throat, prompting both Ro and zh’Thane to look in his direction. “It certainly appears that the substance in the hypospray was the cause of death,” he said quietly. “Arithrazine.”

Ro frowned. “I thought arithrazine was for treating theta-radiation exposure. Like the Europani refugees.”

“It is,” the doctor nodded. “But it’s designed to work in concert with the radiation in the patient’s system. By itself—and in large enough doses—arithrazine can cause rapid neural depolarization. And it explains the arithrazine ampules I discovered missing from the infirmary about an hour ago.”

Ro was startled by a sudden motion from the kneeling mourners. She felt her body tense involuntarily, reminded of Thriss’s earlier outburst of violence at Quark’s bar. But neither Anichent nor Dizhei appeared to pose an imminent threat. They both appeared crushed, defeated.

“Then I trust that all your immediate questions have been answered, Lieutenant,” zh’Thane said, facing Ro. Ro noticed then that zh’Thane’s own hands were clasped behind her back, perhaps to conceal the visible trail her own grief had left upon her body.

Ro nodded to Shul and Tarses, and they began to gather themselves to depart. “Certainly, Councillor. I believe we have enough information for now. Is there anything I can do to help…to provide for funeral or memorial arrangements?”

“No. Again, these quarters are to be considered off-limits to all station personnel.” Zh’Thane gave Ro a sharp look, as if to warn her. “If I needto, I’ll discuss the matter with Colonel Kira to make certain this requirement is honored. I will contact you regarding other arrangements as we need them.”

Ro was uncomfortable with the councillor’s near-threatening tone, but knew that now was not the time to debate it. “I’ll make certain to discuss the matter with Colonel Kira myself, and advise my personnel of your…restrictions.”

“We will need a stasis chamber for Thriss’s body,” zh’Thane said, seeming not to notice that Ro had spoken. “Please have it delivered as soon as possible. Discreetly.”

“Certainly.” Ro eyed Tarses, who nodded almost imperceptibly as he moved toward the door with Shul.

As zh’Thane turned away from her, Ro began to make her way to the door as well. She stooped near Anichent and Dizhei, but carefully avoided coming into contact with them. They maintained their crouched positions, both of them seeming to be entirely inward-directed.

In a low voice, Ro said, “My sincere condolences on the loss of your bondm—”

Anichent lunged at her like a mad targ,his eyes wild, spittle flying from his mouth. The strangled growl he let out was unlike anything Ro had ever heard before, and she toppled backward, kicking out to try to get into a defensive posture.

Shul drew his phaser and leveled it at Anichent, but there was no need. Anichent froze where he stood, though his chest heaved and drool still came from his mouth. Ro backed away and stood, holding one hand up to calm Shul, and the other in front of her, palm outward, to placate Anichent.

“Please leave,” zh’Thane said, her back still toward them. “As you can surely see by now, Shar’s choice not to conform to his predestined bonding has destroyed not just Thriss’s life. My son has also ravaged the lives of Anichent and Dizhei.”

Ro and the others backed out of the room in silence. None of them spoke until they were back at the Promenade, where the bustle of life replaced the pall of death.

2

A gout of blue flame ripped through the long ship’s irregular hull as it sped through space, maneuvering from side to side in an effort to dodge further blasts from its pursuers. The disruptor weapons on the larger craft were mounted on gimbals, allowing them to track its smaller prey’s movements closely.

The smaller ship accelerated, the lambent internal fires of its propulsion system becoming preternaturally bright. Another salvo struck her laterally, slicing deep into the hull plating amidships. Undeterred, the small craft’s pilot continued to spin and weave, evading the next burst of energy. Moments later, another blast struck a glancing blow, shearing off an extrusive wing element. But the wounded vessel soldiered on, headed toward a somewhat less empty region of space, where fragments of cometary ice shimmered as they made their centuries-long procession around this system’s distant primary star.

And then, in front of the fleeing craft, yet another ship loomed. Exiting the system’s Oort cloud was a large, gray, nearly flat vessel flanked by blue-illuminated engine nacelles integrated into its hull. Across its nacelles and protruding dorsal surface the designation NX-74205 was visible, thanks to several running lights.

The damaged ship swooped to give the newcomer a wide berth, only to catch yet another disruptor blast on its port side. Molecular fires danced across the hull of the now all but wrecked vessel, and crystallizing atmospheric gases rushed out as she careened forward—now on a collision course with the newly arrived ship.

A short time earlier

Ensign Thirishar ch’Thane sat alone on the floor of the darkened quarters he shared with Nog. He listened intently to the quiet, taking solace in this solitary, lightless space. Since Nog was currently on a survey mission with Lieutenant Dax and Dr. Bashir, he would probably have the room to himself for the next several hours. At least until his next duty shift began.

The only light in the room came from the holo of a laughing Thriss, which blazed down at him from the room’s small desk. The image captured a few crystalline moments, endlessly replaying her soundless laugh, the carefree toss of her platinum hair. Looking at the image was sheer torture.

But he owed her a penance. Owed it to Dizhei and Anichent as well. Owed it to every Andorian who had ever dared hope for a better future.

He couldn’t bring himself to look away.

So far, Shar had shared the news of Thriss’s suicide only with Ezri, whom he knew he could trust not to tell anyone else. But how long would it be before Nog or others among this crew of forty began guessing at what was troubling him? Shar was already certain that his decision to sit out the shuttlecraft Sagan’s current survey mission had already given Nog cause to suspect that all was not right with him.

A yellow alert klaxon sounded, and a light began flashing rhythmically above the doorway.

Shar regarded the intrusive illumination contemplatively. After ordering the computer to extinguish its light and noise, he was only mildly surprised to note how little it concerned him.

And he wondered if he had finally begun to drink from the same cup of despair that had killed both Thriss and his future.

Commander Elias Vaughn sat forward in his seat, one hand absently stroking his salt-and-pepper beard. His eyes were intent on the Defiant’s main viewscreen, where he could see a large, bulbous ship pursuing and firing on a somewhat smaller, gracefully tapered vessel. The pitted, scarred hulls of both vessels bore mute testament to countless previous battles.

“Any luck hailing them?” Vaughn growled at Lieutenant Sam Bowers, who was running the tactical station.

“No, sir,” Bowers said with a shake of the head. “I’m hailing them on all frequencies, but nothing’s coming through.”

“Take us in closer, Ensign Lankford,” Vaughn said, nodding to the blond woman who sat at the conn. Vaughn then turned his head slightly, speaking over his shoulder toward the tactical station. “Keep all shields at the ready, Mr. Bowers. This is obviously a touchy situation, and until we can get some idea of what’s happening and why, we need to see to our own protection first.”

“Aye, sir,” Bowers said.

The turbolift doors whooshed open, and Vaughn saw his daughter, Ensign Prynn Tenmei, tug momentarily on her tunic as she stepped out onto the bridge. They locked eyes for an instant. “Sorry to cut your lunch short, Ensign,” Vaughn said, then mimed wiping his hand across his mouth.

Tenmei got the hint and subtly removed the remnants of red sauce from her lower lip as she took her post at the conn. Lankford moved aside for her, taking a secondary post at the back of the bridge.

“I wonder what this fight is about?” Vaughn said to no one in particular.

On the viewscreen, the heavily damaged alien ship flared with crackling electrical energy, then spun toward them at a dizzying speed.

“I think it’s about to land in our laps,” Tenmei said dryly.

“Evasive maneuvers!” Vaughn shouted. The Defiantlurched to the side, tossing the bridge crew along with it as the ship’s inertial dampers struggled to keep the artificial gravity field stable.

A split second later, something slammed into the Defiant,and Vaughn heard an unmistakable rending sound coming from the port side of the navigational deflector.

“Shields holding!” Bowers yelled. “We’ve taken a glancing hit from the pursuing vessel.”

Vaughn thought he would decide later whether or not the pursuing vessel’s attack on the Defianthad been deliberate. “Damage?” he barked.

“The pursuer’s weaponry didn’t do anything to us,” said Bowers.

Tenmei checked a conn display. “But that near collision cost us our portside targeting sensors.”

“What’s the status of the damaged alien ship?” Vaughn asked, turning toward the science station.

“It survived its brush with our shields and is now headed deeper into the Oort cloud, Captain,” said science specialist Kurt Hunter. The eager-looking young officer quickly consulted a readout before continuing. “But it’s losing power rapidly, no doubt because of all the damage its pursuer has inflicted on it. My scans show that both of these vessels have only rudimentary warp capabilities.”

“Well, I can’t just let the underdog die without any clue as to what this is all about,” Vaughn said. “Mr. Bowers, I need to talk to somebody out there. Fast.”

“Still hailing on all known Gamma Quadrant frequencies,” Bowers said, putting his hand up to his earpiece. “And on most of the Alpha Quadrant frequencies as well. They don’t seem to…Wait, I’m getting something.”

Abruptly, the viewscreen image transformed from the serenity of trackless space to a vision of utter chaos. Vaughn caught a few disjointed glimpses of what appeared to be a ship’s bridge manned by more than half a dozen slick-carapaced, insectile creatures. Most of them were apparently panicking, and several seemed to be yelling into the viewscreen simultaneously. Their narrow, chitin-covered heads were mounted on stick-thin bodies; the creatures scuttled about on tripod legs, some of them walking upside down on the ceilings.

“I’m trying to figure out what they’re saying, Captain,” Bowers said. “But the universal translator isn’t having an easy time of it. All I’m getting is gibberish.”

“Well, it’s clear enough that they’re pretty agitated,” Vaughn said, feeling a surge of sympathy for the hapless insectoids. During almost eight decades as a Starfleet officer he’d survived enough shipboard disasters to feel that he understood their plight on an extremely visceral level.

“Which of the ships is this transmission coming from?”

“The one that isn’tfiring on us, Captain!” Bowers punched several buttons and braced himself. The ship rocked to the side. “Shields still holding. The aggressor ship is using some kind of disruptor weapon. Not too much of an immediate threat to us, but the smaller ship isn’t so well shielded.”

Vaughn leaned forward in the chair again as Tenmei touched her console, splitting the viewscreen’s image into two. A smaller, inset image displayed the gibbering aliens on their manic bridge, while the rest of the screen showed the attacking ship and its prey.

“Hail the attacker again,” Vaughn said.

“No response, sir,” Bowers said after nearly another minute had elapsed. “I take that back—they’re firing again!”

Vaughn watched as the disruptor’s searing light pierced the darkness. From the positions of the multiple plasma blasts, it was clear that the aggressor had several hull-mounted weapons.

The screen flashed for a moment, and the ship rocked gently. “Shields down to ninety percent,” Bowers said.

So their hitting us before was no accident,Vaughn thought. They don’t seem to want us here. Why?

“Let’s give them some encouragement to back off. Mr. Bowers, Ensign Merimark, target onlytheir weapons systems. If I’m not mistaken, they’re mounted on several external armatures, three dorsal, two ventral.”

As the young ensign took her place behind Sam at a secondary tactical station, a grinning Bowers drew a bead on his targets. “Good eye, Captain. Targets locked.”

Vaughn’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Fire.”

A series of blasts from the pulse phaser cannons streaked toward the attacking vessel. Within seconds, all had found their mark, and five small, tightly targeted explosions detonated on the other ship’s hull. Other than those specific points, the alien vessel appeared to have suffered no damage.

“Good shooting,” Vaughn said, complimenting the two tactical officers behind him. His eyes still narrowed, he began a mental countdown. Five. Four. Three. Two. One.

“Captain, the attackers are veering off and reversing course,” Tenmei said. “Should I pursue?”

“No, Ensign. There’s a ship in distress, and that has to take precedence. Besides, we still have no idea what prompted either their attack on us or their pursuit of the damaged ship.”

Vaughn turned toward Bowers, who was working the controls with calm alacrity, one hand touching his ear-piece. His silent frown of concentration spoke volumes to Vaughn. “Anything intelligible coming from that damaged vessel, Mr. Bowers?”

“I’m getting a lot of audio-channel chatter, sir, some of it on some pretty unusual frequencies. But the UT doesn’t seem able to parse their language.”

Hunter spoke up then, punching a button on his console that restored the screen image solely to that of the noisy aliens. “Captain, it looks like some of the aliens are wounded. Whether we can understand them or not, I think they could use our help.”

Vaughn studied the viewscreen and could see that Hunter was indeed correct. In the background, some of the aliens were staggering, clutching appendages that were slickened with dark, viscous fluids that appeared to have leaked out of compromised exoskeletons. One hovered over a fallen comrade, clearly trying to tend to its injuries.

Vaughn punched a button on his armrest, opening a communication channel. “Nurse Richter, muster up whatever medical staff you can. You’re about to have company, and some of them appear to be in a bad way. Ensign Gordimer, please have an armed security detachment report to the medical bay. Chief Chao, prepare to beam wounded parties directly there on Lieutenant Bowers’s signal.”

Vaughn turned back to Bowers and nodded curtly. The tactical officer began recording transporter coordinates from the crippled alien vessel. On the screen, several of the wounded aliens began to shimmer out of existence, causing even greater consternation among their spindly fellows.

“Oh, for crying out loud.” Vaughn put his fingers to his forehead, wincing. “Mr. Bowers, patch a visual feed from the medical bay to the other ship so they know we’re trying to helptheir crewmen and aren’t just kidnapping them. And keep trying to find a way to communicate with them.”

“Yes, sir,” Bowers acknowledged and set immediately to work.

Vaughn turned back to the front of the bridge. “Prynn…Ensign Tenmei, please find out where the shuttlecraft Saganis and get her crew back here on the double. Dr. Bashir certainly picked a fine time to go out on a survey mission.”

Easing back into the captain’s chair, Vaughn sighed heavily. He studied the screen for a moment, watching the panicked, herky-jerky movements of the aliens. The image summoned an unbidden recollection of a comical children’s holovid he had seen during his youth.

“I can’t raise the Sagan,Captain,” Tenmei said, breaking his brief reverie. “In fact, I’m getting no signal from the shuttle at all.”

Comedy was suddenly the furthest thing from Vaughn’s mind.