- PREFACE -
I wrote this short story in September 1998, once again for a
writing contest. My friend, John Campbell, and I came up with
the premise on a drive to catch a Mets' game at Shea Stadium
one hot August evening. This was the first time outside of
autobiographical material that I ever wrote in first person--
challenging but fun. Final thanks to John's wife, Cindy, and
Dennis for proof-reading and help with the details.
***************************************************
A Bajoran man punched in an access code on the door's
keypad. He quickly slipped inside the room, he hurried to a
bucket-shaped container lying nearby on the floor. He
inspected the locking mechanism on the closed container and
found it counting downwards from 89.96 clicks. Satisfied, he
reached into his coat pocket and retrieved a small, clear,
cylindrical data rod. He shook his head as he pocketed it
again, whispering, "This has not turned out at all the way I
planned. Better not risk it." As he exited the room for the
corridor, the Bajoran quickly turned, removed the data rod from
his pocket, saying, "But perhaps it's time I try to think as you
would." He tossed the rod back into the room, where it landed
near the container. "I'd venture you would leave this for me."
Once in the corridor, he made sure the door closed behind him,
and set off towards Docking Bay 3. A few moments later, he
had to step aside for Major Kira Nerys as she rushed past him
with a look of terrible concern on her face. The Bajoran man
continued on his way, allowing a slight smile to crack his
somber expression.
**********
I assume, Odo, that you're listening to this with your
friends. But since you were the greater inspiration for my
intentions tonight, I'll address this communique directly to you.
I admire you greatly, Odo, and in saying that, I apologize for
any embarrassments and inconveniences I may have caused
you. By the time you hear this, I'll be long gone, hopefully not
to be found by the Federation, the Cardassians, or especially
our own. Funny how situations can turn out much differently
than we expect them to. But perhaps I'm being too vague. I'll
begin by telling you a bit about myself.
You and I have met before, Odo, back on Earth. I must
commend you again for spotting me in my disguise as Admiral
Leyton. Unlike then, however, my mission here on Deep
Space Nine was a simple surveillance assignment: keep watch,
gather information, and report my findings. Even now I'm not
sure when it became more complicated than that. Maybe
being away from The Link for such an extended period of time
is more unhealthy for us Changelings than we thought.
Anyway, the following information I'm sure will prove helpful to
you. We have numerous ways of smuggling onto Deep Space
Nine, and there are always at least two of us lurking about at
any given time. Every fifteen days a fresh operative comes
aboard and stays for a month, thereby our shifts overlap. This
was my third visit to your station--to your home. And I must
add, you do manage it quite well.
Your reputation is vast in The Link, but primarily as one who
killed another of our own kind. The thought is both abhorrent
and amazing to me. I would rather die an agonizing death--no,
worse--I'd rather be banished from The Great Link to wander
the galaxy as a Solid, than to suffer the memory of having
terminated the existence of another Changeling. But you're
also known as the Changeling who dwells peacefully with the
Solids. Before coming here, I assumed you were an unwilling
or ignorant pawn being used by alien races, and I watched you
closely to justify these suspicions about you. However, I found
that the ignorance was on me, my friend, as I eventually
became convinced that you are truly accepted, respected, and
even loved amongst these strange creatures we call Solids.
Unlike my first tour of duty here, I found myself looking
forward to this particular visit. Perhaps that was fair warning
that I should have disqualified myself for this assignment.
During my first weeks on the station, I only manifested publicly
in the form of inanimate objects, fearing, and yes, loathing the
idea of posing as a sentient Solid. But it eventually came to
pass that, following a hard day's work of the usual
shape-shifting, eavesdropping, evading detection, etc., I began
to look forward to evenings on the Promenade. I would take
on the form of whatever local alien suited me, and eventually
even became comfortable fraternizing with this corporeal
rabble. Huh! I thought you had caught me one night as our
eyes met, when, looking up from my table where I was seated
at Quark's, I saw you peering down at me from the rail above
the Promenade. But anyway, these casual, impromptu
contacts with the Solids are probably what started me on the
road towards my current decision. Oh, have I mentioned to
you yet what that decision is? I'm going to attempt to separate
from the Great Link!
You see, as I mingled amongst the various characters who
gather at Quark's, I realized that many of my preconceptions of
Solids were simply--'skewed' is a good word. For example,
Quark himself is a fascinating study in solidology. At first, he
seemed to fit the bill to a tee: greedy, self-seeking,
condescending, exploitative, embodying all the loathsome
characteristics we come to expect of Solids. But then one
night, as I watched him offering a sympathetic ear to that pitiful
beast, Morn (did you know, I've never seen Quark charge him
for his drinks?)-- that night I realized what Quark's great virtue
was. He provides a place for Solids to link. Now I don't mean
to insinuate that this comes anywhere close to the Link we
experience back on our homeworld or between each other.
But the elements are indisputably there.
Quark's Place is an arena where Solids can congregate,
communicate, share, exchange ideas, aspirations, laments,
emotions, life energy. These evenings on the Promenade are
simply times for individuals to lose and find themselves in a
pool of community. After all, I had to wonder why it was that I
was continually drawn there. It was a revelation to me to
understand that I was returning night after night to seek out the
closest thing to the Great Link that the Solids have to offer here
on this lonely outpost. Ha, ha-- I can almost see your
incredulous expression as I say this. I watched how you treat
Quark, Odo. You know, you really should lighten up on him.
Sure, even I despise the way he's heavy-handed with his
employees, and devious in his business pursuits (if only you
knew). But we cannot expect Solids to be perfect any more
than we can expect Changelings to be fearless. All this to say,
I've become fascinated with the complex layers of unity and
diversity that I find amongst them.
So, yes, Quark's Place is definitely where my turning
began. But don't let the brevity of this recording give the
impression my decision was a sudden or easy one.
Obviously, I don't have the luxury of time to give you a more
comprehensive account of my journey. Hopefully the
highlights I include here will give you sufficient understanding
of my 'conversion', and my new found respect for you, Odo.
Now back to my mission, and how it changed me.
About two weeks ago, just before my partner's replacement
was to arrive, we were camouflaged in your weekly Command
Staff meeting. You've probably guessed it already, but there
we learned of Bashir and O'Brien's new technology for flushing
out Changelings. Try to imagine our panic. Not only did this
imply a direct challenge to our covert presence on Deep Space
Nine, but worse, it foretold of great setback to the cause of the
Dominion-- and probably the death of many a Changeling
along the way. This had to be stopped at any cost.
Fortunately for us, Deep Space Nine is full of shadowy
places from where we can clandestinely conduct our
observations. The broad undersides of the station's tables
and consoles serve as good hiding places for us, too--
something you may want to consider, Odo. Anyway, while my
partner left the station to warn the others, I spent day and night
trying to gather what information I could, with the intention of
secretly sabotaging your new weapon. This required that I
take much greater risks in my spying than usual, but I was
desperate.
My first priority was to gather technical information, so I
spent much time watching Bashir and O'Brien in their labs.
This was very dangerous, mind you. If they happened to turn
that weapon my way-- even now I'd rather not speculate on the
outcome. Needless to say, it would not have been good. But
I want to relate their one snippet of conversation that would
come back to haunt me over and over again in the days to
follow. Bashir said, "You know, Miles, even though the
Shape-shifters are our ultimate enemy, something inside me
still hates that we have to-- torture them to gain the upper
hand." And O'Brien replied, "Yeah, I know what you mean.
My only solace is knowing that they don't return the
sentiment." At the time, I dismissed these words as being
mere sentimental pabulum. But O'Brien was right. I was
instrumental in the Antwerp bombing incident, which brought
you to Earth and allowed us to meet in the first place. By the
way, I had no regrets at the time of the bombing.
Days later, while hiding in an overhead ventilation shaft, I
was shocked to see you present at one of Bashir's testing
sessions, Odo-- as a guinea pig. This is something you may
not be aware of yet, but Changelings experience a semblance
of the Link even when not physically touching. I watched you
take the form of a cat; I saw the doctor activate the weapon; I
felt your pain as you cried out when forced to release your
form. I nearly lost my own form in sympathetic anguish. Odo,
I was amazed that you would subject yourself to such torture.
I dreaded what sway these Solids must have held over you that
you would endure this. I remember Bashir saying, "Odo, you
don't have to do this you know," and you replied, "Doctor, if
only one life is saved in this sacrifice of pain, it is worth it. I do
have to do this. Carry on," and you resumed the form of the
cat. I had to leave at that point, not being sure of my own
ability to remain non-reactive, physically or emotionally.
That scene played itself out over and over in my thoughts
against the backdrop of a million questions: How can I stop this
madness? How can I avenge you? How can I save you?
But Bashir's words would interrupt, "Something inside me still
hates that we have to-- torture them..." I strove to ignore his
words and continued to agonize: How can I reach you, Odo?
How can I make you see that Solids are not worth the
sacrifices you make? They cannot be trusted! But then
O'Brien's words would come, "They don't return the
sentiment." I began to feel a confusion and a fear that I'd
never known before, Odo, and I was alone in it. I wanted-- no,
I needed so badly to join with another Changeling, to regain
composure and sobriety. But not having that luxury available
to me, I forced myself to face the fear. And as I examined that
fear, Changeling fear, I heard it again: "They don't return the
sentiment." That's when it dawned on me. We fear Solids,
and in self-defense we aim to intimidate, conquer, and
obliterate them. Solids fear us, yet in self-defense they lament
even having to cause us pain!
It was two days before I could resume my surveillance,
during which time I was able to reinstate my convictions that
Solids are inherently evil and not to be trusted. But those
convictions would soon be shaken again as I listened in on a
conversation several mornings ago in the Replimat.
You began, "Those look like some pretty deep thoughts,
Captain."
Sisko responded, "You know, everything in the book says
we should be working towards creating a diplomatic exchange
with our enemy. And that's the one thing we haven't come
close to achieving in this war with the Dominion."
Then Worf, with his predictable, small-minded belligerence,
added, "A Klingon proverb says, 'Only the respected are truly
heard.' We have not yet earned the respect of the Dominion.
Perhaps our new Deformation Cannon will gain that respect,
and then they will be willing to talk."
You countered brilliantly. "But Worf, respect at the point of
a gun is short-lived; lose the gun, and you lose the respect.
Do you think that if the Jem Hadar were able to secure Ketrocel
White for themselves they would still respect their Changeling
gods the way they do now? I see it as an issue of trust.
Something dreadful happened to the Changelings in the past
that makes them so distrustful of Solids now that they want to
virtually annihilate them all."
Finally Sisko said, "Perhaps that's the key, Odo, to find out
what in their past caused them to become so disaffected with
Solids. Maybe if we knew that, we could begin to understand
the cause of their fear, and open a dialogue on that level."
I found it ironic that Changelings endeavor to employ fear
as our primary weapon against Solids, and here Solids were
attempting to understand Changeling fear as an avenue
towards peace. Did Sisko ever tell you about the time back on
Earth when I came to him in the form of Miles O'Brien? I told
him at that meeting that it is fear that would ultimately destroy
the Solids. I used to believe that wholeheartedly, and perhaps
I still do. But Odo, everything in our psyche screams at us that
Solids only ever attempted to earn our trust and respect in
order to exploit our trust and respect. And this you probably
don't know, though you should, that our history is riddled with
Solids trying to control and manipulate us for their own selfish
gains. But scream at me though my psyche did, the truth
behind your point was so profound, so obvious, I could not
ignore it. For us, it is an issue of distrust become obsession.
Changelings were indeed victims of paranoid races that
determined to wipe us out in order to assuage their own
paranoia. But you helped me see that Changelings have
turned into the very thing they detest. We who were exploited
are now bent on exploiting, as is evident in how we use the
Vorta, Jem Hadar, and Cardassians. We who were on the
brink of being exterminated are now determined to exterminate
others-- ah! You have helped me understand your allegiance
to the Solids in a whole new light.
Yesterday, three Changelings arrived on the transport that
carried the Federation science team to the station. We were
aware of your plans to demonstrate and disseminate the
technology for your Disformation Cannon to them, and so we
needed to devise and implement a counter-strategy. My
comrades intended to destroy Deep Space Nine (and don't
think we couldn't do it). But I convinced them that destroying
DS9 would not deter manufacture of the weapon, since it was
highly probable that Bashir had sent the Cannon's
specifications to Starfleet Headquarters already. My alternate
plan involved simply re-coding an undetectable, dynamic phase
variance on the prototype units. This way, when the weapons
went in to production based on these prototypes, the
Federation would be left standing with a bunch of impotent
wave generators. My plan would at least delay the weapon's
deployment, so that by the time our ploy was finally discovered,
we could be prepared with a more sufficient defense.
It was a difficult Linking, for one to persuade three, but I
prevailed on the notion that maintaining our anonymity was
more valuable than raising suspicions with a display of force.
So last night we sabotaged the prototype units, and retreated
to rest for our departure the next day with the returning
Federation science team. I was relieved that my mission was
drawing to a close. The ebb and flow of my soul-searching
during the past two weeks left me utterly exhausted and in dire
need of return to the Great Link.
I hid in your quarters last night (that should give you some
food for thought) in order to take care of my last problem Odo--
you. Although I cannot say I was not tempted often, I had
always respected your personal privacy. This was my first
time in your cabin while you were present. I was surprised
when Kira Nerys returned to your quarters with you, but more
surprised at the interchange I witnessed between the two of
you-- the interchange that finalized my decision to not return to
the Link. When Kira asked you how you felt about unleashing
a weapon that would virtually destroy your own kind, I was
riveted. For the longest time you simply stood frozen, looking
off to one side. Then I saw Kira touch you gently. And you
wept. I tuned into your anguish, and I inwardly wept with you,
Odo, partly because I knew your sorrow was needless, but also
because I knew you still had heart for our kind. What a
fascinating Changeling you are, my friend. Since this was the
last time I'd probably be this close to you, I allowed myself to
search and savor your complexity and beauty in that moment.
Then Kira cradled you in her arms, and you wept even more. I
couldn't stop myself. As she held you, I reached through and
fearfully touched her soul, and found there not the
condescension and deviousness I expected. Instead, I found
sympathy, and compassion, and concern, and -- love. Odo,
Solids can love! And this is not the love that Changelings
know. It's hard to describe, but I sensed such an incredible
exchange of soul: giving and receiving; abandonment and
assurance; freedom and commitment. Here was something
new outside my experience, something so unusual and so
good, I must know it more.
Yes, in that moment I was changed, knowing I could not go
back to the Link. Not for a long while, anyway. The Link
would overwhelmingly oppose my discoveries, and I alone
could not withstand their driving fear and scrutiny. (Listen to
my words: they've already become other to me.) But I perceive
that the pain of remaining ignorant would be greater than the
pain of remaining safe. So I will be leaving the station
tomorrow, but not to return to the Link. I have a new,
self-appointed mission now: to follow in your footsteps, Odo,
and discover the virtue in these Solids.
Before I close this recording, I want you to know I am truly
sorry I had to subject you to such humiliation. Odo, you were
my last problem. I know the plan is for the weapon to be
presented to the science team in the morning, and that Bashir
has no intention of using you in a live demonstration. But it is
feasible that one of the science team will insist, and that you
will consent, and that my sabotage will be exposed. I cannot
take that risk. That is why, after Kira left and you retired to
your resting trough, I locked you in with a timed release set for
twenty-four hours. I will be posing as you in the morning, and
will be adamant about not subjecting myself to a live
demonstration of the Disformation Cannon. If all goes well, I
will then sneak aboard the Federation transport vessel with the
departing science team, and be off to fulfill my new mission.
Funny-- never in a million eons would I have thought myself
capable of such an audacious enterprise. I was just a simple,
Changeling spy! But I guess that should be my first lesson: be
prepared for people and situations to turn out differently,
sometimes much differently, than expected.
**********
The access door to the conference room was flanked by
station security personnel. Captain Sisko, Commander Worf,
Doctor Bashir, and Chief Engineer O'Brien sat at the head of
the conference table. Constable Odo and Major Kira stood
behind them. The members of the Federation science team
occupied the remaining seats at the table, and others were
standing in the rear of the room. Several prototypes of the
Disformation Cannon were arrayed at the head of the table,
from small, hand-held, phaser-type weapons, to larger
phaser-rifle varieties. Sisko opened the conference,
introducing the new weapon to be used in the war against the
Dominion. O'Brien followed with a holographic presentation of
the technology behind the weapon. Worf then explained each
of the various prototypes, and the situations in which they
would be useful. Bashir took his turn to comment on
Shape-shifter physiology, and how it was incompatible with the
emissions of the Disformation Cannon.
Then Bashir reached into his breast pocket, and produced a
pen. "This," he said, "is the final working prototype I want to
present to you." A quiet murmur rifled through the room. "It
was a last minute inspiration," he continued, flashing a knowing
smile at O'Brien. "In fact, I whipped it up only an hour ago."
Odo and one of the security guards exchanged a worried
glance. The security guard slowly removed his phaser from
his belt, and began lifting it towards Bashir. Startling the entire
room, Odo yelled, "No!!!", as he fired his own phaser at the
guard. The wounded guard gaped at Odo with wide-eyed
horror and confusion. Those in the room who had not sought
cover watched in amazement as the security guard buckled in
pain, slowly losing his humanoid form, melting into a gelatinous
puddle on the floor. "A Shape-shifter!", was the hushed cry
that momentarily filled the room.
Kira looked up from the formless corpse with a question on
her brow. "Odo?" But as she scanned the room, she could
not locate him. "Where is Odo?," Kira asked with deep
concern on her face. She hastily turned and exited from the
room.
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