Pain of Memory
A story by
Gabrielle Lawson
With the generous help of Jo Burgess
Back to previous file | Disclaimer applies
Part Six
Bashir didn't answer right away. He just sighed and looked away toward the replicator. "It's easy, isn't it?" he said.
"The replicator?" Jake decided not to answer in the affirmative. Bashir had apparently become unable to use the thing. Best not make him feel worse about it. "I can fix you something," he offered. "We have time."
Bashir slumped into one of the chairs at the table. "Jake," was all he managed to say.
Jake's smile faded. He didn't know what to say. "What's it like?" he asked quietly and then regretted it.
He hadn't really expected an answer, but Bashir's words came out in a rush. "I woke up this morning and I couldn't do things that I could do yesterday. And I know it. What do you think it would be like," he said, not sounding angry, "to wake up and find you couldn't read? You write stories. What if you couldn't spell the words anymore?"
Jake tried humor, smiling as he sat down. "My dad swears I can't spell now." To his surprise, it worked. Bashir actually smiled and chuckled just a little. Jake decided he needed a sincere answer though. "I think I'd be depressed," he said.
Bashir nodded. "I'm hungry, but I don't want to eat. So, no, you don't have to fix me anything. Let's just go."
"Okay." Jake stood up. "I have an idea," he said, a little unsure of whether it was a good idea or not. "I could stay here."
Bashir looked at him suspiciously. "Why?"
Well, he'd already jumped in, so why not with both feet? "You don't want to ask for help," he said, looking Bashir right in the eye. "If I stay here, you won't have to. I'll be here and you won't have to ask anyone else. I can make sure you get where you need to go. I can make sure you have something to eat. I can even cook it. We Sisko's are good at that, you know."
Bashir appeared to be considering it. The suspicion was gone. "I don't know, Jake, you're--"
"Messy," Jake finished for him. "I won't be. I promise. It'll only be temporary anyway. Then you'll be fine and I'll go back to my own quarters. I could sleep on the couch."
"You're too big for the couch," Bashir argued half-heartedly.
"Okay, then a cot. We'll stick it in a corner. I'll bring some PADDs for my writing. Just one little corner." Jake held his hands out in front of him, almost pleading. To tell the truth, he wasn't sure why. Maybe he subconsciously still felt guilty about Ajilon Prime. He'd run off after Bashir went down in an artillery attack. He'd left him. Maybe he felt he needed to make up for it. Maybe.
Bashir bit his lip again, thinking. "What's for lunch?" he asked.
Jake smiled. "I'll surprise you," he said.
Bashir wasn't smiling. "Good. I'd probably just forget anyway."
Colonel Kira rolled the baseball over in her hands. She was relieved to have it back again. It had been back for a while, but it was a relief just the same. It meant Sisko--the Emissary--was coming back. She hadn't been so relieved a couple months ago. It was good to have him back, though she couldn't help but feel there was a difference now. Jadzia was gone, Sisko was different, and Bashir was. . . . She didn't know.
She felt helpless though. She didn't know what was wrong or what to say. So she hadn't said anything, and, because of that, she felt guilty.
A call came and she put the ball aside. It was the First Minister. "This is Kira," she answered, "put him through."
Jake had insisted on lunch before the inspection of his quarters. Julian still wasn't sure about the new arrangements. But it appeared Jake's writing was beginning to give him more insight into people. He'd pegged Julian right on that morning. He didn't want to ask for help in things that were supposed to be easy. Things like working the replicator. But Jake had made a point as well. He'd already asked Jake for help. He could limit his dependency to one person. One willing person, from the looks of it. And the food was delicious. "Are you going to cook every meal like this?" he asked, smiling slightly. Slight smiles were all he could manage anymore.
"Well," Jake said, "maybe not every meal." He stood up and started to clean off the table. "See, not messy." He grinned.
Bashir let out a chuckle at that. "I can help," he said. He was a little confused--which he hated--but he just watched what Jake did and followed suit. He was almost surprised when the dishes disappeared in the replicator after Jake touched one of the controls. He tried not to show it though. He was sure he knew about that yesterday.
It was a big lunch and it took a few minutes to clear everything away. "What were you trying to read the other day?" Jake asked as he put the last of the dishes away.
"A report," Bashir answered. "But before that it was that book over by Kukalaka."
Jake walked over to look. He smiled when he saw it. "A Tale of Two Cities," he read. "Good choice. I could read it to you."
Bashir thought about that. "I doubt I could make heads or tails of most of it." He picked the book up and held it in his hands. "Well, maybe the last two pages."
"Deal," Jake said enthusiastically.
"You're stalling," Bashir said, and Jake looked like he was caught off guard. "Where's the cot?"
Jake made a play of looking guilty. He stared at his feet and gestured into the next room. "Bedroom." Bashir took a deep breath and then headed inside. Jake was just behind him and they stopped just inside the door. "Just one corner, like we agreed. You won't even notice I'm there."
Julian surveyed the damage. There really wasn't any. The cot did take up one corner near his closet, but that was all. There was a small shelf under the cot, with clothes and PADDs on it. Jake was going to keep himself compact, it seemed. And Bashir did need him.
"Alright," Bashir said. "But the first time I find clothes on the floor. . . ." He let it trail off. He wasn't sure what kind of threat he could make. Jake was doing this as a favor, not as an obligation.
"You won't," he promised, still smiling. They went back into the living room and Jake picked up the book.
Kira was at dinner when the call came. The Defiant wouldn't be returning as expected. They were docked at Starbase 137 until further notice. There was a problem with security was all Admiral Ross would say. Kira had asked to speak to Sisko, but she'd been denied. She couldn't speak to anyone in the crew either. She didn't like it, but she hadn't had any reason yet not to trust Admiral Ross. He assured her that it was only a temporary delay and that Sisko would call as soon as he was free to do so.
Strangely, he'd also asked for an update on Bashir's condition. She wasn't sure why he'd ask, but he made her go through the strictest security precautions before sending Girani's latest information.
>Their first night as roommates had gone smoothly enough. That is, until around two in the morning. That's when Jake discovered that Doctor Bashir had nightmares. He wasn't sure exactly what it was that woke him up. Bashir hadn't said anything in his sleep. He'd made no sound at all. And besides twitching slightly, he hadn't moved from his original sleeping position, which was odd in itself. He slept on his right side with one arm tucked near his head and on top of the other arm, almost as if he were cradling it. But the twitching had become more erratic and more violent, which is what caused Jake to try and wake him.
He rolled himself off his cot--which was more uncomfortable than he had supposed, but not so bad that he'd complain--and walked over to Bashir's side. He reached a hand out to gently touch Bashir's arm, planning to rock him slightly. At the same time, he whispered, "Doctor?"
Bashir's eyes snapped open instantly. He bolted upright in the bed, but not until one strong hand clamped down hard on Jake's wrist. It startled Jake enough that he jumped back himself, but Bashir's grip was strong enough that Jake couldn't pull himself free. His feet slipped out from under him instead and he fell to the floor.
Bashir, luckily, came to full awareness rather quickly, and released Jake's wrist. "Jake," he said, with a tone that implied surprise, anger, and relief all at the same time. He slumped back down on the bed. He was breathing heavy.
"Good reflexes," Jake muttered, sitting up. He rubbed at his wrist and started to feel the blood rushing back into his fingers. "You were having a nightmare."
Bashir sighed and threw himself back down on the pillow. "Is that all?" he asked. "I've learned to sleep through nightmares. If I didn't, I'd never get any sleep."
Jake stood, feeling the crisis was now over. "You mean you have nightmares all the time?"
Bashir nodded. "Don't worry about it," he said, still sounding a bit angry. "And don't wake me up like that anymore."
"Okay," Jake agreed, choosing not to pursue it. He padded back to his cot and sat down. "What do you dream about?" he asked anyway, giving in to his curiosity.
"I remember things," Bashir answered. "Let's leave it at that for now, shall we?" He was more brusque that time.
Jake took it as a sign he really didn't want to talk about it. This time, he wisely kept his mouth shut. "Okay," he said again. "See you in the morning." He shut his eyes and prepared to fall back asleep.
The Defiant had been locked down as soon as she docked at Starbase 137. Sisko had requested only that DS Nine be informed of the delay in her return. His request was granted, and Admiral Ross had relayed the message. After that, each of the crewmembers were escorted by the starbase's security officers to individual, sound-proof holding cells or stripped crew quarters. They were given no explanation, no time to gather their things. Many of them complained. Only Sisko, O'Brien, and Nog went quietly. By Sisko's orders, Security Chief Vndara questioned each of the forty-one crewmembers individually. Starfleet officers from the starbase kept a constant watch over the Defiant's crew, relieving each other every three hours. One at a time, the crew, starting with Captain Sisko and the senior staff, were brought to the Infirmary and subjected to three hours worth of tests designed to prove--or disprove-- their species.
At the same time, the ship was undergoing a thorough search by starbase Security and Engineering teams. Every chip, every relay, every wire and console was stripped out and searched by the engineers, with phaser-wielding Security standing ready. Sisko watched the ship from the window in his new quarters. It was really the only place worthy of staring and he was glad that it looked out on his ship. The room itself was bare. It contained only a bed. Every other amenity had been taken out to deny any opportunity for sabotage or escape to the infiltrator who had tampered with Bashir's--Hensing's--light fixture.
He threw that last fraction of a thought away. It was Bashir's quarters when the light fixture was altered. Hensing had only been an accidental victim. For Bashir, it had been deliberate. But why? What was Bashir to the outside world? To Sisko, to the station's crew, he was something--he was starting to realize that now. He was their heart, their conscience. He was the voice of compassion, a reminder of what was right. But to everyone else? Bashir was arrogant, surely. They didn't know him. He was intelligent, yes. Because of his enhancements, of course--ill-gotten intelligence, unfair advantage perhaps. He was a doctor. A lonely doctor at the far reaches of Federation territory, a doctor who volunteered for a post no one else wanted. Most of them probably didn't even know his name. So what made him so special to someone to sabotage his quarters?
The door chime sounded. Sisko straightened up and faced the door at attention. Two Security guards entered, one carrying a tray of food. There were no utensils. It was all finger food. Sisko nodded, satisfied. He knew he wasn't the saboteur, but he knew if he was getting such stark--and yet not unfair or cruel--treatment, then his crew was too. And perhaps the saboteur was among them. If he was, then he'd be found.
Dinner was over and Jake was putting the dishes away. Julian Bashir watched him for a few minutes trying to remember how the replicator made the dishes disappear. He could only remember that they did disappear though. How they did was unexplainable. He turned away and leaned forward against the back of the sofa. The big Cardassian windows framed hundreds of tiny shining stars. A ship flew by, maneuvering to dock. Klingon, Bashir remembered, and he wondered if it was Martok's ship. Where had it come from? Which one of those stars had it visited?
The stars were very far away. He knew that. He remembered his teacher telling him that. His first teacher just before he went away. Mr. Descher. He was always trying to find ways to help Julian understand things. And he never got angry when he didn't or couldn't. He just tried again. Julian smiled at the memory and at the stars so far away. What was it that Descher had said? The light he was seeing had stopped shining long before. Something like that.
"What?" Jake asked. Julian hadn't even realized he was sitting on the sofa, too. He was looking out the window, turning his head to try and see what had made Bashir smile.
Julian watched him, but Jake didn't find it. He couldn't. He knew too much. He understood too much. For the first time since he felt his mind slipping away, Julian felt glad for it, for just this one thing. His smile broadened just a bit. "The stars."
Jake turned back to the window and stared hard. "What about them?"
"They're far away," Julian told him, knowing that Jake wouldn't quite understand.
"Yes, they are," Jake replied.
"Do you remember when you were little?" Julian began, wanting Jake to understand now, like he did. "When you looked out at the stars?"
"I remember my mom telling me that's where my dad was."
"Did you try to see him?"
Jake smiled, too, remembering. "Yeah, but the stars were too far away."
"The light was old," Julian told him.
It took Jake a minute to translate that. "Um, yeah, the light from the stars was old light."
"It's magic," Julian said, letting go of his smile. "I remember being in school and learning about the stars, about light traveling. It took the magic away. That's why you couldn't see it. I don't understand it anymore. I can see the magic again."
On the second day, a baryon beam swept the Defiant from stem to stern. Any changeling who might be able to hold its shape for more than forty-eight hours would not have been able to withstand the baryon sweep. Sisko knew it was happening, but all he could see from his window was the blackness of space. The ship had had to be moved for such a sweep. There were no facilities for such at her previous docking port.
The stars called to him. Like friends, old friends. He'd seen them so many times, from his bedroom window as a child, from the stoop outside the restaurant, from his porch on the house he'd shared with Jennifer, from his first shuttle ride to the moon, from his first tour of duty on his first training ship, from the first time he looked out the large, oval windows on Deep Space Nine. Those windows held more than the others. They held the wormhole, too, and the Prophets within it. They held his destiny, full of joys and dangers, sadness and glory. All of it.
This window only held distance. The stars were too small, too far away. They didn't twinkle with life the way the others did. This wasn't home.
He sat down on the bed, and then laid down. It had been several hours since his last meal and his last news of the universe beyond his stark quarters. His tried to force his mind into thinking about something. So many times, he'd wished for more time, time to think things through, to ponder the big problems, to work out the little ones. But there had never been enough. Now, in a room by himself with no distractions besides the empty window, he had all the time in the world. And nothing to occupy his mind.
Bashir didn't sleep. The light was off, the bed was comfortable, and Jake was already sleeping. But Bashir couldn't. Thoughts ran through his mind, most of them unbidden. They were memories more than thoughts, images more than anything else. Snapshots of his life. His childhood, the hospital on Adigeon Prime, the girl dying on Invernia II while lightning flashed outside, his first day at the Academy, his graduation from Starfleet Medical, every life he'd saved, every patient he'd lost, his first look at Deep Space Nine, his first time seeing the wormhole from the inside, the first time he saw the Defiant, the last time he'd worn his uniform. It was only days ago, but it felt like he'd lost his own skin.
It was hanging in his closet. It was there every day for him to see as he picked out something else. Each day he understood less all the responsibilities behind it, and each day he missed it more.
The ceiling was interesting. He'd not paid much attention to it before, but now he did. It wasn't flat like his ceiling at home when he was a boy, in his room in the Academy, or in his quarters on the Defiant. This one had shapes, curves, and corners--more corners than the others. The color was different, too, even though it was dark. The other ceilings were always white. This one was dark and gray. It was like that in the Infirmary, too.
On the third day, Security and Engineering teams repeated their search and the Defiant was declared clean. Also on the third day, the crew was declared clean. There had not been a changeling onboard. But that still left a saboteur. Sisko ordered more questioning. It was Hensing who suggested more tests. A full DNA test, he told Vndara, had not been performed. Vndara had asked him if he knew the reasons for the tests. He said he didn't, but suspected there was foul play involved because of the incident with his quarters. Pressed for details of the incident, he was unable to give them. He'd been unconscious that night and didn't remember anything beyond the lightning dream, which had not recurred once aboard the starbase.
All this was reported back to Sisko, who sat patiently in his holding cell. He agreed to the DNA tests and volunteered to be first. Once the last of the crew was tested, he was again removed from his cell and taken to the Infirmary. Doctor Barton greeted him warmly. "You're Joe Sisko's son, aren't you?" He held out his hand.
Sisko sensed progress in the investigation. Barton had been cold before, professional but unfeeling, not opening up and allowing no conversation. Just as Sisko had ordered. "Yes," he answered, taking the man's hand. "You know him?"
"Love the restaurant," Barton told him, leading Sisko to his office. The security guards stayed outside. "No one makes jambalaya like Joe. That is, of course, unless he passed the recipe on to you."
Sisko laughed and took the seat that Barton indicated. "That he did."
"Well, maybe you'd oblige a few of us with a meal before you head back to DS Nine." Barton handed a PADD across his desk to Sisko. "I think we've found your little problem."
Sisko looked at the PADD. It contained results from the DNA test of Lieutenant Jordan, a helm officer. "The first set of patterns is from his records upon admission to Starfleet Academy," Barton explained. "We thought it best to compare back as far as possible. The second set is from the test we ran here."
Sisko studied the two sets of patterns, reconfiguring the PADD to show them side by side. The patterns seemed to match perfectly. "I don't see anything," Sisko stated, placing the PADD back on the desk. "And to be honest, my Chief of Operations did the same thing to me when he discovered the sabotage. I'd prefer you just tell me what you see in the results."
Barton smiled and nodded. "Some people like the satisfaction of solving it for themselves," he said. "Didn't want to deprive you of the opportunity. Look at line 4G. The patterns are not quite the same. They're very close. Very close. But there's a slight genetic drift."
"A clone?" Sisko asked, picking up the PADD again. Bashir had said once that all clones showed a genetic drift. "Jordan is a clone? Since when?"
"I've requested all his DNA scan results from Starfleet Medical and DS Nine." Barton pressed a few controls on his desk and swiveled a monitor around so that Sisko could see. "He was the original thing when tested for typhus. That was the closest we could pinpoint it."
"That was months ago," Sisko said, sitting back. His stomach was beginning to hurt. Jordan was a good officer. He had put himself on the line and at considerable risk during that particular mission. Sisko had made sure he got a commendation for it. "Makes me wonder where the real Jordan is."
Barton leaned forward against his desk. His smile was gone. "There's a war on. I think we can assume he's been killed."
Sisko noted a shadow falling over the top of the desk. "He's your officer." Sisko turned to see who had spoken. "Sort of. I'm willing to turn the investigation over to you at this point," Vndara continued. "He'll have to remain here, in custody, but you're welcome to question him."
Sisko rubbed his hands over his eyes, feeling suddenly quite fatigued. He'd lost two good officers now in the span of only a few weeks. Three, if he counted back farther. And he hadn't lost them in battle. "Did you manage to get anything out of him?" he asked.
"He claims to know nothing of the sabotage," Vndara reported. "He isn't aware that we're on to him."
Sisko nodded and stood. Barton stood with him, and Sisko offered his hand. "Thank you for all your help." He turned back to Vndara. "I take it the rest of the crew can be released back to the Defiant."
"Of course," the Security officer replied. "I'll order it immediately."
Julian watched Jake go and wished that he had stayed. Garak was watching him from across the table. He could feel it. And he didn't think it felt good. He had hardly left his quarters the last few days, except to go to the Infirmary or to talk to Ezri Dax. Garak was different altogether. Julian could deal with the other two as a patient. Garak was his friend.
Garak smiled. "I'm glad you came, Doctor."
Julian shook his head. He realized he was biting his lip and stopped. "You shouldn't call me that."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm not a doctor anymore," Julian answered. He felt it was obvious. But then, Jake hadn't stopped calling him by that title either.
"Yes you are," Garak corrected. "Just merely not a practicing one." He nodded his head toward Bashir's plate and utensils, neither of which had been touched. "Are you going to eat?"
"I--I'm not really hungry," Julian stammered.
"Are you intimidated by me, Doctor?" Garak was still smiling, but Julian wasn't sure if was teasing or being sincere.
"I can't talk to you," Bashir admitted. "Not like before."
"That's alright," Garak reassured him. "We don't have to. We're just two friends having lunch. We don't have to debate anything."
"Debate?" Julian couldn't place the word. It sounded intimidating.
"Friendly arguing," Garak explained patiently. "We don't have to do that. We can talk about other things."
"Like what?" Julian asked. Garak was being so nice about it, he was starting to feel less nervous.
"Like how you are doing," Garak replied. "You've been to the Infirmary a lot. I hope that means progress. Has Doctor Girani been able to help you?"
Julian frowned and looked down at this food. "Does it look like I've been helped?" he shot back. Then he sighed. "I'm sorry. It's not your fault. It's not her fault either. I just don't want to be like this. I remember our lunches, Garak. I remember de--arguing with you. I miss that. But I can't do it now. You're too clever and I'm not smart enough. You should have lunch with someone else."
"I don't have lunch with you just to debate," Garak told him, reaching across the table to touch his hand. Bashir tried to pull his back, but Garak had a stronger grip. "I have lunch with you because you're my friend," he continued. "My only true friend. And I will return that friendship even if we sit here and never say a word."
"Put him through on a secured channel," Kira said. She turned the viewer on the desk around so that it faced her and switched it on. The blackness there was immediately replaced by Captain Sisko's face. From Sisko's expression, she didn't expect good news. "Good to see you, Captain," she offered, keeping her side of the conversation neutral for now. She had her own bad news to deliver.
"You, too, Colonel," Sisko replied. "I hope things are going well on the station."
"As well as can be expected," she replied, nodding. "There's been no new activity around here since before you left. The rest of the convoy escorts arrived back yesterday without incident."
"Glad to hear it," Sisko said, though he didn't look particularly glad. "We have a problem, Colonel."
Yes, we do, she thought. Yours first. She waited for him to continue.
"This is a secured channel?" he asked. She nodded. "Fine. It appears the Dominion has found a new way to infiltrate our crew." Kira sat up straighter, not having expected the news to be that bad. Sisko dipped his head in a slight nod, acknowledging her surprise. "You should have Doctor Girani run DNA scans on the entire crew at her convenience. They're using clones."
"Clones?" Kira repeated. As far as she knew, they were already using clones. Vorta were cloned and Jem'Hadar were genetically engineered. But as yet, neither species had tried to infiltrate the Federation. Only changelings had done that.
Sisko seemed to know what she was thinking. "Human clones. I can't say much more for security reasons. I'll fill you in when I return. For now, just keep a tight lid on everything."
Kira nodded, unsure if she should even bother the captain with her news. It only involved one man anyway, even if he was someone they cared about.
"How is Julian?" Sisko asked, apparently putting aside the security problems.
"Doctor Girani has been running tests every day," she told him. "It's not encouraging. Julian's IQ is dropping by at least ten points every day. Jake has offered to stay with him."
"Has the doctor found anything physically wrong with him?"
Kira shook her head. "No, can't find a thing. We don't have any explanation for it."
"I may," he said. "I'll fill you in when I get back. Sisko out."
Kira watched the screen change to the Federation's symbol and then switched it off. She wondered what it was that Sisko wasn't telling her just yet. She understood about security, but it wasn't helping Julian any to keep it a secret.
"I'll be okay," Julian told him. A girl was waiting outside the door. Jake hadn't let her in. Julian was thankful for that. Not many people got through his door anymore. He didn't want them to come. Girani had sent him home that afternoon. No more tests. There were no more tests.
"I'll be back before dinner," Jake told him. "I promise. You can call me if you get hungry."
"Go." Julian sat down on the couch and pretended to be comfortable. He even smiled. "Just go."
Jake didn't look completely convinced. "Okay." He smiled, too,and opened the door. The girl,--he recognized her though he couldn't place her name--still outside, waved and nodded a smile to Julian before she and Jake disappeared.
Julian waited for the door to close and then sighed. He was alone. It felt good. It wasn't that he didn't like Jake or didn't appreciate him. Without Jake, he probably would have starved. But. But what? He didn't really know. Maybe O'Brien was more right than he thought. Julian was used to keeping things to himself. He didn't share his misfortunes and fears with others. He kept them locked inside. Not the smartest thing to do. But it was one of his oldest habits. Older than the enhancements. Keep quiet. You can't be wrong if you don't say anything. If no one was around, there was no one to say anything to. It was easy logic, something he'd understood as a child and something he could still understand.
But now what? He'd finished recording logs yesterday like he'd finished with taking tests today. There was nothing else to say. Nothing he could work out anyway. He felt like he'd missed so much. So much was lost and would stay lost now. Like the Blight. He was the only one working on a cure. Who would work on it now? Who would even think to read his notes and continue his work? Who would even think of it? Who would know about Trevean and Ekoria and all the others who died or were dying of the Blight every day?
No one. No one would remember them. No one would think of them. No one could get to them anyway. He wasn't sure why though. Not anymore. He remembered knowing before, like a shadow in his mind. But his mind was full of such shadows. They got in the way of the answers he wanted. But not of the memories. Those he still had. So he remembered Ekoria. He remembered the faith she had in him. He remembered her smile, her hair, her simple assurance. She trusted him. Her trust was misplaced. He had saved her son and the other new babies, but all the others would die. He had let them down.
The girl had come by to invite Jake to play dom-jot. Sometimes Jake played it by himself on one of the PADDs he always seemed to be carrying. He found one of them sitting on the coffee table. It was either a story, in which case he wouldn't be able to read it, or it was the game. He picked it up, and pressed one of its controls. It lit up obediently and there were no letters. But the game was no more accessible. He remembered playing it, but he didn't understand the rules.
He set the PADD back on the table and leaned back in the couch. "Computer," he said, hoping that was enough to make it listen. "Play some Mozart, please."
"Specify piece," the computer intoned.
"Specify?" he asked, feeling the word to be unfamiliar and complicated. "Piece of what?"
"Unable to comply."
Bashir folded over and rested his head in his hands. Unable to comply. What did that mean? There was no music playing. So he reasoned it meant the computer wouldn't play Mozart. He rubbed his face, and tried to convince himself that this wasn't so bad. There were worse things. He had bad memories, too. There was a time when he had wanted to be unable to think, when he had wanted to be mindless, when he would have preferred it to the conscious awareness of the horrors and pain all around him. But it didn't help. His mind may have been going away, but his memories remained. He kept none of the advantages.
Part Seven
Sisko faced him. Lieutenant Jordan. He stood stiffly, at attention. But as soon as Vndara and the others left the two of them alone, his shoulders dropped and his gray eyes locked with Sisko's. "Captain," he pleaded. "Please tell me what's going on."
Sisko didn't let his shoulders drop, and he didn't let it show that Jordan's words--spoken in Jordan's voice--had pulled at him. This is not Jordan, he told himself. "When were you created?" he asked, keeping his voice flat, formal.
Jordan's eyebrows dropped as soon as the last word was out. He took a step closer to the force-field that held him back. "What?!"
Sisko repeated the question. "When were you created?"
"Created?" Jordan played the part well: a man faced with the absurd. "I was born twenty-nine years ago."
Sisko's head shook. It was very slight, and once he noticed it, he stopped immediately. He sighed. There was really no way to continue without letting the clone know. "Lieutenant Jordan was born twenty-nine years ago. You were not. We know who you are."
He took another step. Another inch and the force-field would shimmer. Another inch and he'd be thrown back a meter or more. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said, speaking slowly. "I am Lieutenant Jordan." His hands shook. His face flushed red. "What is going on?" he yelled.
"Your DNA test showed a characteristic genetic drift," Sisko explained. "You are a clone of Lieutenant Jordan. You are not him."
"Captain, please." Jordan almost put his hands out, but pulled them back just before they hit the field. "I don't know why the test would say that. I'm me. I know I'm me. Ask me anything. I'll prove it."
Sisko shook his head again. "I'm sure they could engineer that."
"They who?" Jordan asked, pleading again. "The Dominion? It has to be the Dominion or you wouldn't keep me locked up in here." He looked up at the ceiling and turned away, scanning the three walls that held him and the empty space that held the force-field. He sunk down onto the bench that served as a bed in the small cell. His hands covered his face. His breathing was audible and not rhythmic.
"You're a clone," Sisko repeated, feeling cold inside. Jordan's shoulders were shaking.
"But I remember my parents," he said without turning. "Margaret and Joe Jordan. They live in Topeka. I was born there. Our house was only a few kilometers from the Keeper of the Plains. Mom is an architect. Dad's a sculptor. They have a dog named Nalami that they got off Katemma Prime. It was a stray."
He believed, Sisko realized. The Dominion had given him Jordan's memories. He didn't think it beyond their capabilities. The changeling that had replaced Bashir for over a month had inherited Bashir's medical skills and memories. "Those aren't your memories," Sisko told him. "Things will go easier for you if you just accept that and tell us what we need to know."
Jordan didn't hear. "I joined Starfleet to be a pilot. The Defiant was my third post. My first was on the Repulse."
"Those aren't your memories," Sisko repeated, raising his voice just a little higher. "We know you're a clone, and we know you sabotaged Doctor Bashir's quarters on the Defiant."
Jordan stopped babbling and turned to look at Sisko. "Doctor Bashir? Sabotage? Why would I do that?"
"That's what I'd like to know," Sisko told him.
Jordan stood again, again coming too close to the force-field. "I risked my life for him. I worked all day with a broken arm to find him. Why would I sabotage his quarters?"
Sisko took a deep breath and started the sentence again. "Those are not your--"
"Memories," Jordan finished for him. "Yeah, I remember the refrain." He shook his head and retreated back to the bed. "I didn't do what you say I did. If I'm a clone, where is the real me?"
"I asked you first."
"I don't know!" Jordan placed his elbows on his knees and let his head fall into his hands. "I don't know. Can't you get that? I don't remember anything but the memories that you say aren't mine."
Sisko stepped out of attention, taking a step toward the cell. "Either you're lying," he said, "in which case, you'll be handed over to Starfleet Intelligence and moved to a Federation prison for the duration of the war, or you really believe that, in which case you'll spend the war in a Federation mental facility. The end result is largely the same either way. The war, for you, is over. You'll never see Joe and Margaret Jordan again or the Keeper of the Plains. And they'll never know what happened to their son."
Jordan rubbed his eyes and then leaned back against the wall. His eyes searched the ceiling for a better alternative. "I'm not lying," he said softly. "Tell them that."
"You're not their son."
"How could this happen?"
"Jordan has been running maneuvers in the runabouts," Sisko suggested. "It's possible he was abducted then."
Jordan shook his head. "I was never alone then. There was always a co-pilot."
"Earth."
"When?" Jordan turned his head. "I haven't been there since I broke that arm."
"But Jordan stayed behind with the Defiant. He was, in effect, on leave, for several days."
Jordan appeared to study his shoes. He nodded in short, subtle movements. "It's possible. I don't remember. Why not a changeling?"
Sisko pulled a chair out and sat down himself. "Maybe they felt it too risky with all the blood screenings."
The nod became more pronounced, more confident. "A clone would come out human. But I don't--didn't--know I was a clone. How can I be any good to them?"
"You don't remember sabotaging the ship?" Sisko let himself feel that Jordan was being honest. Perhaps it was a dangerous step, but he put his faith in the force-field between them. When Jordan shook his head, he said, "You could have compartmentalized it." That's what Bashir had said Sloan and Section 31 had tried to convince him of.
"Compartmentalized?" Jordan got up and moved to the front of the cell again where he sat on the floor. "What's that?"
"You can compartmentalize your thoughts, your memories, so that you don't even know what you've done," Sisko explained, knowing he was oversimplifying it. Now was not the time for a detailed analysis of the ability. "Maybe we can help you remember."
Jordan stood and backed away. His wide eyes locked onto Sisko's. "Help me how? You won't let them hurt me?"
Sisko stood. "The Federation does not torture its prisoners," he stated, hoping he was telling the truth. The fact that there was a Section 31--and had been for a very long time--gave him reason to doubt. "I was thinking more along the lines of hypnosis."
Jordan let out a long breath and moved forward cautiously. "Supposing it worked," he posed, "and I did remember being a clone. After you get what you want, what happens to me?"
"I'll do my best to see you're treated well," Sisko told him honestly. "You won't be able to go free, of course. You're a security risk."
Jordan's focus seemed to waver for a moment. He bit his lips and rubbed his hands together. "No," he said, finally, refocusing on Sisko.
"You don't have a whole lot of choice," Sisko tried to explain.
"The Federation doesn't torture its prisoners, remember," Jordan stated. "I won't submit to hypnosis or any other procedure. Except on one condition."
Sisko didn't like Jordan's new-found assertiveness. It made him doubt the sincerity he'd finally been convinced of. But then, Jordan had been hard-headed about putting himself at risk to find Bashir. "No conditions."
"You haven't even heard it," Jordan threw back. "You might at least hear me out. I want you to tell my parents. Tell them the truth, that I--" He let out a breath at the mistake. "That their son," he corrected, "was cloned by the Dominion. If we found out what happened to him, you can tell them that, too, but tell them about me."
"What good will that do?" Sisko asked.
Jordan's shoulders softened. "Probably none, but it's really all I have left, isn't it?"
Sisko turned away, thinking. Would he want to know, if it were Jake? He couldn't face even the thought. Finally, he nodded. "I'll have Doctor Barton here in the morning."
Jordan shook his head. "Look at this from my perspective, Captain," he said. "Would you want to wait and stew about it? Or would you want to know? This is for me as much as it is for you. Have him come now."
"It's late," Sisko said.
"Please!" Jordan begged.
Sisko didn't nod or shake his head. He just walked away.
Jake woke up, satisfied with his life as a writer. He could sleep in. He sat up and looked across the room. Doctor Bashir was still sleeping. Kukalaka had, only the day before, given up his place on the table in the living room. Bashir slept with the bear now. He had it now, clutched to his chest, as he twitched with whatever nightmare was tormenting him this time. The camp, the Dominion, Section 31--that Jake wasn't supposed to know about--or maybe just remembering the days before he started losing his mind. Those were the worst, Jake decided, since Bashir had never acted so depressed by the other experiences as he was by this one.
Jake checked the time. 10:30. Late enough. Doctor Bashir needed breakfast. Jake's own stomach growled and he amended the thought. They both needed breakfast. "Doctor," he called, careful to keep his voice gentle. Bashir did not wake well to shouts. "Time to get up."
Bashir stirred but didn't wake. That was unusual. Bashir was usually a very light sleeper. "Doctor?" Jake tried again, slipping off the bed. He hated to touch him. The doctor didn't wake well to that either. It was worse than shouting, because of those dreams he had. Still, he had to wake up. Everyone would really worry if he didn't, especially Jake. Jake tiptoed to Bashir's bed and slowly reached out a hand. Then he thought better of it. Touching him when he was asleep was really bad. Better to try speaking again. He squatted down and leaned closer to the doctor. "Doctor Bashir," he began.
Bashir's eyes flew open and he jumped backwards so quickly that he fell off the other side of the bed. Jake cringed. Bad. Bashir recovered quickly though, which was the silver lining on this particular cloud. He sat up and leaned back against the bed. Jake stood up. Bashir still wasn't facing him, but he was rubbing his hands over his face. Things would go easier now. "Sorry about that," Jake told him, "but you weren't waking up. Bad dreams again?"
Bashir spun around and stared at Jake as if he had just sprouted wings. "What?" he asked.
Maybe not so easy, Jake thought. "Are you okay?" he asked, expecting Bashir's usual negative answer.
But that look, that shocked, confused, I'm-staring-at-a-freak look never left Bashir's face. Finally, he moved, putting up a hand to stop Jake from saying anything else. "Kira," he said.
This was a completely new reaction. "You want me to get Kira?"
Bashir stood, apparently still scared. "Kira!" he repeated.
"Okay," Jake nodded, backing away, "okay. I'll get Kira." He was starting to be afraid himself. Jake had been living with Bashir for several days now, and things seemed to be holding steady with the doctor's intellectual state. But it was apparent, to Bashir and to himself, that something had happened. Things had gotten worse for Bashir. Jake felt bad. Things were bad enough.
Kira was in Ops when the call came. "What's wrong, Jake?" Dax looked over at her, but she didn't say anything.
"I don't know," Jake said, over the comm line, "something's changed. I don't know what, and Doctor Bashir can't tell me. He asked for you. It's all he would say."
Kira nodded. Ops could manage without her for a little while. "I'll be right down."
Thoughts ran through her mind as the turbolift carried her to the Habitat Ring. Something had changed, Jake had said. Kira tried to think, to anticipate what it could be. She thought about calling Dr. Girani, but didn't know that that would do any good, especially when she didn't know the situation. Besides she had done little good so far, not that it was her fault. Every test they ran still showed up normal. Bashir was anything but normal, but there were no more tests to run.
She didn't bother with the door chime since Jake knew she was coming. Jake was setting breakfast on the table when she entered. Julian was sitting on the couch. But he got up and met her at the door. He reached out and took her arms, looking into her eyes with intense urgency. "Say something," he said.
"What should I say?" she asked in return, looking to Jake. Jake shook his head. Julian's shoulders dropped and he released his hold on her. He turned away and leaned his head against the wall. Something had happened. "Julian, what is it? What's wrong? Jake?"
Julian turned, a little of the intensity had returned. His eyes showed hope. "Maybe slower," he suggested.
Slower? Kira thought. And then the realization hit. She remembered Bashir's expression from before. Doctor Surmak Ren had looked at her like that when she had contracted the aphasia virus and started speaking gibberish instead of words. "Julian," she said, slowing her words as he had requested, "if you can understand me, nod your head right now."
He stared blankly back at her. He sighed and looked away, to the table where Jake was watching them both. He bit his bottom lip and shook his head slowly.
Now Kira took his arms in hers. "We'll figure it out, Julian," she told him, knowing he didn't understand. "I promise." His eyes met hers and she saw the same hurt there, the hopelessness that he had started carrying around the last week. "I promise."
He took another deep breath and then said, "I'm going to eat breakfast. You can talk to Jake now."
Kira let him go. He sat with his back to her, allowing her to talk to Jake in what amounted now to privacy. Jake came over to her. "But he can still talk," he whispered.
"Don't whisper, Jake," she told him. "He can probably still get tone of voice. Whispering sounds conspiratorial. We need to sound reassuring." A sharp pain was building in her throat.
Jake nodded. He looked back at Bashir. "Maybe he was right, then."
"About what?"
Jake shrugged. "He said something about coming undone. His enhancements. Maybe they are coming undone."
Kira shook her head. She was watching Bashir, too. "I thought about that. I called his mother. She dug up his records from before the enhancements. I might have agreed before this. But he could speak then."
"And if he learned to speak," Jake concluded, "he'd have to understand what was spoken to him."
"At least to a point." Kira turned away so she couldn't see Julian, and more importantly, so he couldn't see her. "I don't know what to do," she whispered, ignoring her own orders. "He's slipping away."
"What's worse," Jake added, dropping his own voice, "he knows it. I'd rather lose it all at once and never know what hit me. He knows."
Kira nodded, unable to speak without upsetting Bashir even more. She took a few deep breaths and touched Jake on the arm. "Thank you for staying with him, Jake," she said finally.
Jake shrugged, but he blushed a little. "He would do it for me," he said. "For any of us."
Kira smiled at that, though it didn't make her feel any better. "Yes," she agreed, "he would."
A chair had been placed inside the cell. Jordan--the clone--sat down slowly and placed his hands flat on the arms of the chair. He stared forward to where Doctor Barton sat, just outside the cell. Captain Sisko stood with Chief Vndara and Admiral Ross in the next room. Sisko shifted his weight as he watched the viewscreen. He wanted to be in the room. Whatever was left of Jordan was in that clone. If the hypnosis was successful, that last remnant of a good officer, a good man, might be lost.
The viewscreen provided no sound at this point. Sisko could only watch. Doctor Barton's back was to him, so he couldn't see the process by which the doctor hypnotized the young man. But he could see Jordan's eyes close and his head fall forward. And he could see that head snap up again, with eyes wide and dangerous. Vndara touched a control and there was sound.
"What is your name?" Barton asked.
"Jordan, Joseph Jr.," the clone replied, his tone angry.
"Rank?"
"Lieutenant JG." The expression on the face never changed. He just looked dangerous. He sat still, stared forward.
"Where were you created?" Barton hadn't wasted time on the neutral questions.
"Cardassia IV." And Jordan didn't waste time on neutral answers.
"Is that where the original Joseph Jordan, Jr. is being held?"
"The original was terminated. He was no longer necessary."
If the questions bothered him, Barton didn't show it. His voice was steady when he asked, "Who killed him?"
"I was ordered to terminate him."
"Ordered by whom?"
"Pedron."
"Is Pedron a Vorta?"
"Yes."
"How long have you been aboard the Defiant in the original's place?"
"Two months, three weeks, four days, five hours--"
"That is sufficient," Barton cut him off. "Are there others like you?"
"No. I am the first."
"First," Barton repeated. "Will there be others?"
"If I am successful."
"You are a prototype," Barton concluded. "What was your mission? What would prove you successful?"
"Bashir."
Sisko stepped closer to the viewscreen. Why Bashir?
"Why Bashir?" Barton asked, as if reading Sisko's mind.
"He is a risk."
Barton shook his head. Sisko knew why. They were only getting terse answers, not complete ones. "Why is he a risk?"
"He is intelligent, more than other solids."
"There are others like him. Why just Bashir?"
"He is in Starfleet. He is assigned to Deep Space Nine and the Defiant."
"You have opportunity then, because your original is in Starfleet and is assigned to Deep Space Nine and the Defiant." Barton jotted a few notes on the PADD he had beside him. "Bashir is only test. A test of your success?"
"Yes."
"Why not sabotage the whole ship? Why not kill Bashir?"
"Discovery. Success could be proven but I would be discovered. There could be no more."
"You were not a success," Barton told him. "You were discovered anyway."
"But I was successful. Bashir has been neutralized."
Barton was silent for a few moments. Sisko understood. Barton was thinking, just as he was. It was easy to glance over that last statement, to take it as an argument only. But the clone was hypnotized and cooperative. He had not argued once. He was stating a fact. Bashir was neutralized. Discovered or not, the clone had been successful. There might still be others.
Admiral Ross had understood, too. "We'll just have to run more DNA scans on a regular basis. We know what to look for now."
"You say that like there's no hope for Bashir," Sisko said, turning.
"Not now," Ross admonished. "We'll discuss this later." He turned his attention back to the monitor.
"When I clap my hands," Barton was saying, "you will waken, with no memory of this interview." He clapped.
Jordan blinked a few times and then gripped the chair hard. A slow snarl spread across his face. "Obedience is victory," he said. "Victory is life!" Then he threw himself into the forcefield that held him in the cell.
Barton instinctively backed away. The forcefield shimmered and strained, shocking Jordan as he again fell against it. Now he picked up the chair, swinging it against the field and against the walls. Sisko left the viewscreen and headed for the door that would take him into the brig. Vndara opened it for him, and the three of them went in. Just as they did, the chair thrashed again against the wall, and one of its legs came off with a jagged end. Jordan threw away the rest of the chair and grasped the broken leg. He held it up against himself, pressing the point into his chest.
"Sleep!" Barton shouted and clapped his hands together. Jordan went limp, falling like a puppet whose strings had been cut. The broken piece of chair landed a few feet from his hand, but he made no further move toward it. Jordan's eyes were closed. He was sleeping.
"What can we do?" Ross asked, turning away from Jordan. He motioned for Sisko to follow him back outside. "We can't have him re-enhanced. It's illegal. There's no way to be sure it would work anyway. There's nothing we can do for him. I know you don't like that. I don't like it either. He was a good doctor. He's not anymore. He can't be. He's been relieved of duty." He took a breath and Sisko didn't think he'd like what he heard next. "And he's been ordered to the Institute. They'll do what they can for him there."
Sisko just couldn't let it go. "Then they'll win," he argued. "You heard what he said. Unless his mission failed, there would be more of them. He thinks his mission has succeeded. And it has! Bashir has been neutralized. He's no longer a threat. They'll send more."
"And we have the means of detecting them," Ross held. "Starfleet Command has made up its mind on this, Captain. And Starfleet Medical concurs."
Sisko heard something in those two sentences. He flushed with heat and anger. "They've been looking for this, haven't they?" he accused, stopping in the middle of the corridor. "He's given them nothing but loyal and valuable service for six years, and they can't wait to get rid of him because he's enhanced. Makes them look bad. But they just couldn't toss him out. His record was too good. They were hoping for something like this. How convenient for them!"
"That will be enough, Captain!" Ross ordered, turning to face him with eyes like thunder. "He is to be transported to the Institute before the week is out. Understood?"
Sisko glared back at him. "Understood," he spat. Turning on his heels, he left Ross and marched back to the docking area. Once aboard the Defiant, he nearly choked. The ship was in pieces. They had torn her apart.
"It is not as bad as it looks," a deep, rough voice spoke from behind him. He turned to see Worf with the rest of the crew flanked behind him all the way down the corridor.
"It's been worse," O'Brien agreed. "And we were able to fix it then."
"This time," Nog added, "there is a starbase nearby."
"We will work extra shifts," Worf stated. "Round the clock."
Barton pushed his way from the back, smiling. "Who needs sleep anyway?" He drew himself to attention. "Doctor Barton, reporting for duty."
"Hensing decided he liked the starbase better," O'Brien explained.
Sisko looked at them. His crew. His loyal crew. They were a family. Sisko felt like smiling, but didn't. "Then let's get to work."
It turned out that Jake was rather inventive. Or maybe he'd just learned it from Bashir and the few things he did tell about his time in the camp when no one spoke his language. Jake used his hands to make himself understood, at least about simple things. Time to eat, time to leave, that sort of thing. He even did something Bashir hadn't thought to do in the camps, even if he'd had the materials necessary. He drew pictures. They weren't great pictures. Just scribbles on a convenient PADD. But they got the idea across where his voice couldn't.
And Bashir appreciated it, more than he could tell Jake. To him, it meant that he still had something. He could still understand things, at least on a visual level. Jake still spoke to him, even though he couldn't understand his words. On one level it was nice to hear another voice. On another level it frustrated him greatly that he couldn't comprehend what was being said.
He pushed the button Jake had showed him, ending the log he'd just tried to record. He hadn't said anything though. He had decided to take it up again, in a burst of desperation. But he found he had little to say. All he could do was complain about what he'd lost. It wasn't what he wanted to leave behind. He'd rather leave nothing at all.
The door opened without even a chime. It was Jake. Julian knew it before the door even opened. But Jake had something in his arms. Something familiar. And something alive. "I brought a surprise!" Jake said, smiling. His voice was bright and the smile was big. Bashir stood up to meet him at the door. He was about to drop the thing, because he had other things in his arms that weren't alive. The live thing wiggled and complained. It meowed. "Chester is going to stay with us for a while."
"Chester," Bashir wasn't sure if he'd understood the word or if it was just a memory attached to the animal Jake was holding. He reached out and picked up the struggling cat, much to Jake's relief.
"Mrs. O'Brien doesn't really like him," Jake was saying. Bashir heard only useless syllables. Bashir turned away, setting the cat on the floor and watching it sniff its way around the unfamiliar room. Jake kept talking. "She didn't have any complaints about us borrowing him. Molly was a little sad though. I had to promise we'd give him back. I thought he'd be good for you. He doesn't speak exactly. You don't have to understand him."
Bashir was fascinated. He had never really paid much attention to Chester before when he'd visited Miles. But he found the cat enthralling now. He'd had nothing else to focus on lately. Nothing to occupy his mind. He'd slept most of the morning simply out of boredom. But now he had the cat. It moved about the room, cautiously stepping into every corner, sniffing every piece of furniture. It jumped up onto the couch and put its front paws on the window. Then it jumped down and padded into the bedroom. Julian let it go and turned back to Jake.
Jake was putting some of the other things on the table. There were a few balls which jingled when Julian picked them up. There was brush with very soft bristles. Julian reasoned that since they had come with the cat, they must belong to the cat. There was a stuffed mouse, too, which made him sure. It was attached to a string that was attached to a short stick. "Toys," Julian said. Jake nodded, smiling. He spoke a few more syllables, but Julian wasn't listening. Chester had come back from the bedroom and had found a place on the couch.
Admiral Ross, wishing the Defiant well on its way, had offered starbase engineers--the ones who'd taken the ship apart--to help put the Defiant back together. Sisko didn't know whether to be relieved or not. The sooner he was at the station, the less excuses he'd have for not delivering Bashir to the Institute. On the other hand, knowing what he knew about the clone and the experiment, he wanted to get Dr. Barton back to the station as soon as possible, so that maybe he could help Julian and there would be more grounds for argument on his former CMO's behalf.
It had been thirty-six hours already. The Shiloh had already arrived to take Jordan to a maximum-security facility back on Earth. They'd be taking off before the end of the day. The Defiant, on the other hand, would still be docked. O'Brien estimated another two days before the ship could safely leave. Ross, through some act of compassion, had rescinded his deadline in the wake of the Defiant's condition. Bashir still had to go, but there was no way the Defiant could get him to the Institute by the end of the week. And Sisko had insisted that he would take Bashir himself. No other ship was to be diverted. He'd reemphasized his insistence with facts. The war effort required ships. None should be diverted to ferry a mentally-handicapped former doctor to what would amount to oblivion. Sisko would take a runabout, leaving the Defiant to continue to fight the war.
But that was still a few days away. For now, he plunged headlong down the Jefferies Tube into the bowels of the ship. Nog was waiting for him with a spanner and PADD detailing the work that needed to be done on the particular system O'Brien had assigned him to. "Thank you, Mr. Nog," Sisko said, taking the PADD and trying to sound cheerful. He looked over the extremely detailed instructions. "But you might remind the Chief that I designed this ship."
Nog grinned. "Yes, sir. I'll leave you to it then. I need to adjust the energy flow to propulsion. We've been getting some spikes."
Sisko watched him go, making much easier progress through the tubes than he had himself. Sometimes, he thought, it pays to be small.
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