Текст книги "Cathedral "

Автор книги: Andy Mangels

Соавторы: Michael Martin
сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

17

Chief medical officer’s personal log, stardate 53579.0

I probably shouldn’t be thinking of any of these recordings as “medical logs” anymore, since I can’t call myself a doctor any longer. Not really. But I know that people trust doctors. They place a lot of faith in them, and faith can help people do whatever they have to get done. So if it will help Ezri and Nog and everybody else aboard this ship to get through whatever hell is coming, I’m willing to try to swallow this fear that makes me quake whenever I think about it. I’m willing to play along, and let everyone pretend I’m the wise, competent doctor, even though I might as well be little Jules stitching up poor Kukalaka’s leg with sewing thread. I’m willing to keep at it, until the fear finally consumes me. Or whatever’s left of me.

In the meantime, I’ll be thankful that Sacagawea doesn’t really need a doctor anymore. And I’ll hope to God that nobody gets sick or injured and ends up really needing one.

After Nog had laid out the bare bones of his plan, then left the medical bay to prepare his detailed briefing for the senior staff, Ezri decided that she couldn’t wait any longer to tell Commander Vaughn exactly what was on her mind. She began by asking to speak to him privately in his ready room. He nodded his assent, but his impassive face betrayed no emotion. Leaving Krissten to keep Julian occupied with another “examination” of their D’Naali guest, Ezri and Vaughn walked down the corridor in silence.

Once the ready room door had closed behind them, he turned to her, his face hard and determined.

“No,” Vaughn said.

Surprised, Ezri took a quick step back. “Don’t you want to hear what I have to say first?”

“It’s not hard to guess what’s on your mind. And before you make your request, I want you to know that the answer will be a firm ‘no.’I will notrelieve you of duty.”

“Even though lifetimes of expertise have literally leaked right out of me.”

“I need you as my first officer. Now more than ever, you’ve got to be my steady right hand.”

Frustration and despair constricted Ezri’s temples. It felt as though her spots were on too tight. “Sir, without Dax I’m no good to you. I can’t contribute anything to the mission. I might even put it in danger.”

Vaughn sat on the desk and stared up into a corner. His eyes seemed focused on something light-years away. As the silence stretched, she expected him to blow up at her, the way Benjamin Sisko had when she had tried to transfer from DS9 after her apparent failure to help Mr. Garak cope with his claustrophobia during the war. She’d been wrong then. But the circumstances had been very different.

That day, she’d still had Dax.

When Vaughn finally spoke, his voice was incongruously gentle. “You couldn’t be more wrong, Lieutenant.”

“But I can’t help Nog and Shar get around the blockade,” she said, taken aback by his softened demeanor.

He made a dismissive gesture, waving her protests away. “That matters a lot less than you’d think.”

She scowled. “With all due respect, sir, we’re not going to get past those Nyazen ships with kind wishes.”

“Not entirely,” he said with a chuckle. “Kind wishes and a duranium truncheon usually work better than kind wishes do all by themselves. But that’s not what we’re really talking about here.”

“What arewe talking about?”

“Your experiences. Not Dax’s. Yours.The ones that you, Ezri Tigan, have had while wearing that command uniform. The expertise you’ve gathered over the last few months belongs to you at least as much as it does to Dax. And Dax didn’t play any role at all in your Starfleet Academy training, or your career up until the end of your stint aboard the Destiny.”

Ezri paused to consider his words. “I’ll grant you that. But so much of what Ezri Dax was came from the other hosts, and theirexperiences.”

“Which you found valuable, right?”

She was starting to think he was deliberately trying to goad her. “Of courseI did. Joined Trills always integrate the personalities of the previous hosts into their symbioses. At least the healthy ones do. And they come to depend on them.”

He folded his arms. “And why do you suppose that is, Lieutenant?”

“Because…” she stopped, finally understanding where this was leading. “Because each host brings something unique to the symbiosis.”

He offered a paternal smile. “Eachhost. Not just Lela, or Audrid, or Curzon, or Jadzia. That list of unique worthies includes Ezri, too. The way I see it, the most critical part of a Trill joining isn’t the slug in your belly—it’s the walking, talking person who joins with it, nurtures it, and gives it the means to interact with the rest of the universe.”

Shame wrestled with insecurity inside her. “I understand what you’re saying, sir. And I appreciate it. But what if I still can’t measure up without Dax? Let’s face it, solving my problem is going to be a little harder than handing me some gadget I no longer know how to use and kidding everyone that I’m still able to pull my own weight around here. That might work for Julian at the moment, but—”

Vaughn stepped down hard on her words. “Julian needs to keep occupied for the sake of his ownmorale. Youneed to keep occupied for the sake of everybody else’s.”

She shook her head in confusion. “I’m not following you.”

“We’re talking about esprit de corps, Lieutenant. Morale. Specifically, that of Nog, Shar, Tenmei, T’rb, Cassini, Permenter, Hunter, Candlewood, Leishman, VanBuskirk, and whoever the hell else it’ll take to finally get us inside that artifact. If you drop out of sight because of your own perceived shortcomings, how do you think that will affect theirwork?”

Ezri’s mouth fell open. She hadn’t considered that. And the fact that she hadn’t considered that seemed to her a good argument in favor of removing her name from the active duty roster.

But she also understood that he was right.

“So you’re staying put, Lieutenant,” he continued, his gaze and voice hardening back into tempered steel. “That’s a direct order. You arestill capable of following orders, aren’t you?”

Her despair began to abate as she came to a realization: Her ability to follow orders was perhaps the only thing about herself in which she still had any real confidence.

She offered him a small wry smile, sensing that Vaughn’s gift for saying precisely the right thing at exactly the right time rivaled even that of Benjamin Sisko. Perhaps such bluntly honest and uncompromising counseling skills were one of the chief prerequisites for a career in command.

“Request permission to return to my post, Captain. I need to get ready for the blockade briefing.”

Though Vaughn’s craggy face remained hard, Ezri saw the warmth in his piercing blue eyes. At the same time, she felt tears of gratitude beginning to well up in her own.

“Permission granted, Lieutenant,” he said. “Dismissed.”

Barely an hour after he had left the medical bay with the essence of his novel blockade-busting plan percolating in his thoughts, Nog began to feel confident that his scheme might actually work. He only hoped that Commander Vaughn would have as much faith in the idea as he did.

He also found that concentrating on that hope helped him avoid dwelling on the consequences of success—consequences of which he was reminded every time he put his weight squarely on his regenerated left leg.

Regardless, when Vaughn scheduled a technical briefing for the senior staff at 0800 the next morning, Nog felt that he was ready, his fears and misgivings notwithstanding.

Nog strode into the mess hall, where Vaughn, Ezri, and Shar were arranging themselves around the room’s largest table. Also present was Dr. Bashir, who sat with his hands folded in his lap, conspicuously silent amid the low conversational murmur that filled the room. Though he was shaved and his hair was combed, he still had a hollow, haunted look about him that made Nog shiver inwardly. The doctor glanced occasionally toward Ezri, who was seated at his right, and at Sacagawea, who occupied a specially constructed chair on his left. The towering, slender alien seemed intensely curious, swiveling its great head in every direction as though taking great care to miss nothing. As he took a seat almost directly across the table from Sacagawea, Nog wondered how much of the proceedings the alien would understand—and exactly what Commander Vaughn believed their D’Naali guide could contribute to the briefing.

Seated near Tenmei, Shar, and science specialist T’rb, Bowers stared with obvious unease across the table at Sacagawea. Turning toward the head of the table, he addressed Vaughn. “Captain, are you sure it’s appropriate for Sacagawea to attend this meeting?”

A look of sadness crossed Vaughn’s features, then vanished behind the façade of command. “I do, Lieutenant. Our guest requires Dr. Bashir’s constant attention.” Vaughn looked significantly in Bowers’s direction, and the tactical officer immediately seemed to grasp his meaning.

It’s really the other way around,Nog realized a moment later. Having the alien nearby must be keeping the doctor calm.Trying not to stare, he watched as Bashir placed a hand on the table. It was impossible not to notice the hand’s slight tremor. Or Ezri, as she placed her hand atop the doctor’s while offering him chatty reassurances that soon, very soon,everything would be all right. He wondered if she was trying to be strong for them both, or if she was leaning on the doctor for support.

Once again, Nog felt a sensation of intense guilt welling up inside him. Two of his closest friends had been torn to pieces, maimed by the alien artifact. Perhaps forever. I, on the other hand, get restored to perfect condition. At least until we get Sacagawea’s “worldlines” untangled.

“I said we’re ready whenever you are, Lieutenant,” Vaughn was saying, his impatient tone bringing Nog out of his reverie like a sudden Ferenginar cloudburst.

Nog felt like a cadet who’d turned up for inspection late and out of uniform. It took him a moment to gather his thoughts. “Yes, sir. I wanted to start by saying that Ensign ch’Thane has double-checked my figures, as have specialists T’rb, Hunter, and other members of the science and engineering teams involved.” Nog was gratified to see that Shar and T’rb were both nodding. A wide smile bisected T’rb’s cyan-hued Bolian features.

“And I’ll give it an official thumbs-up from a tactical perspective,” Bowers said. “At least, that’s how it looks on the padd.”

“Sounds chancy to me,” Tenmei said, laying aside a padd that displayed some of Nog’s numbers. “What you’re essentially proposing is that we use a series of large Oort cloud bodies as relays for the Defiant’s transporter.”

“Actually,” Nog said, “those frozen rocks will act as platforms for a series of self-replicating transporter relays, which we’ll send out ahead of our away team. We’ll beam the first one out to the nearest cometary body, and it will beam another relay out to the next body, and so on.”

“It sounds too easy,” Tenmei said. “There’s got to be a huge power cost associated with doing something like this.”

Shar nodded. “You’re correct. The drain on the Defiant’s replicator systems will be enormous. Setting up the transporter relay system will burn out the central replicator waveguides.”

“Meaning we’ll be without replicator technology for the rest of the voyage,” Nog said.

Vaughn appeared to take the news in stride. “It’s a small price to pay if it means restoring our friends. Besides, the cargo bays are adequately stocked with field rations and spare parts. If the plan works, I’m sure that we’re all prepared to ‘rough it’ until we’re back home.” He looked around the room, apparently looking for objections. There were none.

“The whole idea reminds me,” Bowers said, “of the self-replicating mines Starfleet set up outside the wormhole during the war to discourage the Dominion from bringing reinforcements into the Alpha Quadrant.”

Nog swelled with familial pride. Those mines had been conceived by his father, Rom, the year before he became the grand nagus of the Ferengi Alliance.

“That’s partly where I got the idea,” Nog said. “It’s also a natural extension of something I was already researching when we took the Saganinto the Oort cloud in the first place. Originally, I thought that the crystal lattice structures of the cloud’s comet fragments might be used as natural high-bandwidth enhancers for extending the range of our sensor beams. But when we almost collided with the alien artifact, we discovered that those crystalline bodies have another interesting property: Their subspace resonance patterns function like natural cloaking devices. Which is why we were almost right on top of the artifact before we even saw it.”

Shar set aside the padd he’d been studying, his eyebrows and antennae raised in evident admiration of Nog’s plan. “So this cloaking effect should prevent the Nyazen from detecting our away team’s transporter beam as it moves from relay to relay through the Oort cloud.”

“Possibly,” Nog said. “It’s a natural effect, so we can’t count on it working perfectly. But it should cover our tracks well enough to let us slip our away team onto the artifact from extreme range. If we’re lucky, the blockade ships will never even suspect what we’re up to. And we only need to be within transporter range of the first relay station to do it. The other relay stations in the series will take care of the rest of the transport.”

Tenmei looked skeptical. “As long as your figures aren’t off. You’ve got to take into account all of the mutual motions and gravitational interactions of all the comets and planetesimals in that part of the Oort cloud.”

“That was the hardest part,” Nog said, nodding. “But everyone seems to agree that my numbers check out.”

“I hope you’re right,” she said. “But we’re not going to know for sure until a real live away team steps into harm’s way.”

“So the first big question is, Who gets to join this away team?” Bowers said.

“The original Sagancrew, of course,” Vaughn said. “Ezri, the Dax symbiont, Nog, and Dr. Bashir.”

Bowers frowned. “I have to point out that we have no idea what’s inside that artifact. I’d feel more comfortable if some security or tactical personnel were going along. I’m volunteering, by the way.”

“I appreciate that, but no,” Vaughn said in a tone that did not invite debate. “Only the shuttle crew will beam over. I’m not going to put more people at risk.” Bowers subsided, though he still looked unhappy. Nog was mildly surprised to note that Vaughn had apparently taken to heart Sacagawea’s warning that only the original Sagancrew should venture onto the artifact.

On the other hand, what choice does he have but to believe? What choice doesany of us have?

“The next big question is,” Ezri said, “Will it work?” Nog thought she sounded remarkably self-possessed. Still, his sensitive lobes detected a trace of well-concealed distress in her voice. He couldn’t help but admire her toughness.

“I am confident that this is going to work,” Nog said, his eyes locked with Ezri’s. “And we can be ready to deploy the first self-replicating transporter relay after Shar and I finish programming the prototype. It’ll take maybe three hours, tops.”

“The procedure is actually somewhat simpler than the mathematics would make it appear,” T’rb said.

“Unless you happen to be one of the people standing on the transporter pad,” Ezri parried gently. “Nog’s plan calls for the transporter relays to be beamed ahead of the away team by just a second or two. That’s pretty slim timing.”

“If we don’t beam the relays out at essentially the same time as we send the away team,” Shar pointed out, “the Nyazen ships are much likelier to discover what we’re trying to do and launch an attack before we can carry off the mission.”

“But it’s risky,” Ezri said. “The only test of the transporter relay series will be in actual use.”

Shar nodded, conceding her point. “I admit that there is a…nonzero possibility that one of the relays might fail during operation, or that the transporter beam carrying either a relay or the away team might be diffracted or scattered by the internal crystalline structure of one of the Oort cloud bodies. Either of those eventualities, of course, would immediately kill the away team. Also, if any of our coordinate lock calculations contain errors—”

“Just how much of a ‘nonzero possibility’are we talking about here?” Tenmei wanted to know.

Shar’s antennae were nearly flat against his head. Nog knew he hated to be pinned down like that, with so many chaotic variables at play.

“If I were a betting man,” Nog said, answering first, “I’d lay odds of seventeen or eighteen in twenty in favor of our surviving the process.” The riskier the road, the greater the profit.

“I agree,” Shar said.

Vaughn sat in silence, mulling it all over. He didn’t look happy with the odds, as good as they were. For a moment, Nog feared that he was about to be sent back to the drawing board again. Vaughn appeared to be about to speak—

–when Nog realized all at once that he was elsewhere.He was outside, standing on a city street, a warm rain running down his face. He looked up into the darkening sky and saw the Tower of Commerce looming above him.

“Come along, Nog!” the scowling woman in front of him said. She was middle-aged, and nude in the old-guard fashion of Ferengi females. He recognized her with a start.

Prinadora!

He looked down at his clothing, and saw that drab green Ferengi street clothes had replaced his Starfleet uniform.

Starfleet. He laughed at himself for even entertaining such a foolish hew-mon notion. Ever since his father’s death at the hands of the Cardassians had forced him to leave Terok Nor, he had been so busy cleaning up his mother’s financial messes that—

The Defiant’s mess hall suddenly returned, and almost everyone’s face was a study in incredulity. Tenmei was opening up a tricorder.

“It wasn’t a bad place at all,” Bashir said, looking disoriented. “Not the way I expected.”

“I was back on the Destiny,”Ezri said, owl-eyed.

“What just happened?” Nog said, his voice a harsh whisper.

“The three of you,” Bowers said, almost stammering, “you, Lieutenant, ah, Tigan, and Dr. Bashir—you all just… vanished.”

Tenmei stood, carefully scanning the room with her tricorder. “For almost one second,” she said, “your quantum signatures synced up with some other nearby parallel universes. It’s another sign of your increasing quantum fluctuations. Fortunately you all snapped back to this reality as part of the oscillation. But there’s no guarantee you’ll be so lucky next time.”

“Well,” Vaughn said quietly. “We couldn’t have asked for a better demonstration of the consequences of doing nothing.”

“I don’t know about anybody else here,” Ezri said, “but I think I’d prefer the risk of scrambling my molecules to ending up in some random parallel universe. Or to the way I’m living right now, for that matter. I say we get on with it.”

Nog couldn’t see any better alternative either. “I have to agree.”

Tenmei didn’t look convinced. “And once you’re aboard the artifact—what then?”

That question seemed to bring Ezri up short, at least for a moment. Nog realized then that he hadn’t thought that far ahead himself. He looked across the table at the inscrutable alien, as though the answer might reveal itself in the creature’s large, oil-black eyes.

“You will realign your worldlines,” Sacagawea said with surprising clarity. “Restore yourselves, you will. Or in the attempt, perish/disperse.”

No one spoke for almost another minute, and it was Commander Vaughn who finally broke the silence.

“There are times when we have to take certain things on faith. Considering our other alternatives—which consist of either doing nothing and losing the Sagancrew forever, or starting a fight with the Nyazen that we can’t win—I’m forced to conclude that this is one of those times. Mr. Nog?”

“Sir?”

Vaughn stood up, signaling that the briefing was coming to an end. “I want you and Shar to see to whatever technical preparations remain to be made. Let’s get busy.”

Bashir startled everyone by choosing that moment to speak. His earnest brown eyes were trained on Sacagawea as he said, “Why would anyone worship a thing that can destroy entire worlds?”

That struck Nog as an excellent question, though he hadn’t given the matter much thought before now. Sacagawea merely sat impassively, showing no overt evidence of having even understood the question.

“Many ancient Earth religions were built around some rather fearsome, angry gods,” Vaughn said. He sat once again, keeping a weather eye on the doctor as he continued. “Maybe the D’Naali and the Nyazen have developed similar belief systems.”

Ezri nodded in agreement. “That fits with everything we’ve seen so far. And it might explain their confusion about whether that artifact out there is a ‘cathedral’ or an ‘anathema.’ My guess is that they have a sort of love-hate relationship with whatever gods they worship.”

Again, Sacagawea said nothing, though the creature was looking in Ezri’s direction. The D’Naali either did not understand the drift of the discussion, or it was keeping its thoughts to itself.

Shar was scowling. “How much faith are weprepared to place in this alien religion?”

“Do we really have any other choice?” Vaughn said. Everyone rose, most of them clearly anxious to see Nog’s calculations finally put to some practical use.

“So the Kukalakans worship monsters,” Bashir said to Ezri in a plaintive, almost singsong voice. She took his hand again. “I wonder if any of them will be waiting for us inside the cathedral.”

Ezri’s reply was quiet, but not quiet enough to elude Nog’s sensitive Ferengi hearing. “I’ll be right beside you, Julian. And there aren’t reallyany monsters.”

Images of Taran’atar, Kitana’klan, and the Jem’Hadar hordes who took his leg at AR-558 sprang without warning to Nog’s mind. He wasn’t at all certain he agreed with Ezri’s reassurances.

Bashir didn’t look completely convinced either. But Nog saw no sign of panic on the doctor’s face. Despite his obviously stressed, diminished state, Bashir still seemed prepared to face whatever terrors awaited them all within the alien structure.

As Vaughn adjourned the meeting and dispatched everyone to their various tasks, Nog resolved that he could do no less. With Shar at his side, he walked briskly toward transporter bay one.

And tried very hard with every step not to think about his left leg.

Chief medical officer’s personal log, stardate 53580.3

While we were sitting in the place where Ezri and I eat, and where the captain sometimes calls meetings, I went away. There was a flash of light, and I was…gone. Sam Bowers says it wasn’t just a dream this time. He says we were actually off the ship, someplace else, for a second or two.

Sam says that Ezri and Nog went away, too. But they didn’t seem very happy about wherever it was they went. Nobody seems to want to talk about it much, so I’m telling the computer about it instead of worrying my friends with this. They already seem to have plenty to worry about.

It seems like I spent years in the place I vanished into during those few moments Sam said I was gone. It was as though I’d stepped into a whole different life for myself. I was still Julian Bashir—maybe nothing that doesn’t outright kill me can take that away—but I wasn’t thesame Julian Bashir everybody here knows. I wasn’t a doctor, but I didn’t seem to mind that. My days were filled with plenty of interesting things to do and a great many wonderful people to speak with. I was living on Earth, where everything anyone needs pops out of replicators. Lack of professional credentials isn’t really a big issue in the heartland of the Federation the way it is in other places, after all. It was an alternate world, and I lived in it as an alternate Julian Bashir, although everybody there called me Jules, including my wife—who was also the mother of our two very happy, very healthy children, a boy of six and a girl of three.

It’s funny. I haven’t let anybody call me Jules since I first found out about my genetic enhancements as a teenager. That was when I started insisting that everyone call me Julian. From that time forward, I’d thought of Jules as dead, and never expected to hear from him again. But running into Jules again wasn’t the most unexpected thing about my little trip. The biggest surprise was discovering that Jules seemed to be a fairly happy man with a lot of friends and family who cared about him.

I can’t help but wonder which of us is better off, Jules or Julian. If I really am reverting into Jules, maybe I ought to stay this way.