Star Trek: Deep Space Nine: The Soul Key Read online

  The group spent the weeks that followed bringing the most useful sections of Grennokar back online, as well as recruiting mercenaries from those few old industrial communities on Harkoum that still clung to life as havens for every type of outlaw from dozens of worlds. And as the structure and aims of Iliana’s emerging criminal enclave gradually emerged, the group began undertaking seemingly random acts of piracy in several of the adjoining sectors, slowly escalating to more ambitious targets: outposts, colonies, even elaborate confidence games.

  And as the rewards began pouring in, Iliana gradually exploited her inner circle’s growing euphoria, reaching out to them as trusted friends. Eventually she confided in them the tale she wanted them to believe about her imprisonment on Letau—that she was the victim of an imposture being carried out to this very day, by a fraud who had claimed Iliana’s real identity aboard the Federation’s starbase in the B’hava’el system.

  Iliana’s subtle manipulations had their desired effect: Bit by bit she was transforming their already solidified loyalty into something much larger, much more heartfelt, and far more difficult to quantify: zeal.

  These pirates and former prisoners were no longer merely Iliana’s accomplices, or even her friends.

  They were now her followers.

  “Nerys, did you hear what I said? There’s a Jem’Hadar aboard Deep Space 9!”

  Iliana sighed and turned all the way around to face Shing-kur, who was standing just inside the threshold of the modest quarters Iliana had claimed as her own shortly after their arrival at Grennokar. Her Obsidian Order training had given her valuable insights into the detention center’s design, and she had immediately recognized the unremarkable-looking room for what it really was by its very inconspicuousness.

  True to her suspicions, she had discovered that the room’s rather ordinary workstation allowed—with some painstaking navigation of its labyrinthine security system—exclusive access to some of the detention center’s more interesting amenities, such as a personal armory, a secure subspace communications booth, a self-destruct system, and a vault containing a shocking amount of latinum. If the dust present was any indicator, Dukat and his scientists hadn’t known about any of it. Whoever had been in charge of this place when it was first built certainly had a flare for the dramatic. But then, she reflected, that was true for most Cardassians.

  Kressari, by contrast, possessed notions of drama that were not immediately recognizable outside their species. Their rough, hard-edged faces, lacking the flexibility of either Cardassian or Bajoran skin, did not emote in the manner of most humanoids. It wasn’t until Iliana looked into Shing-kur’s eyes that she saw the excitement there, evidenced by the deep black that filled her irises. Iliana had become quite fluent in the chromatic language of Kressari emotions, including even the subtle variations in Shing-kur’s ocular palette. She had learned to decode instances such as when one color encircled another, and the meaning conveyed by the expansion and contraction of those colors. It was a fascinating vocabulary of visual signals, in many ways as complex as the kinesics of any of the various species Iliana had studied during her Obsidian Order training. Interpreting the meaning behind those cues was usually easy, Iliana found, though she had to see Shing-kur’s eyes to fully grasp the emotional context of her words.

  Even so, there were still times when it could be a challenge to “read” the Kressari accurately. News of a Jem’Hadar visitor to the other Kira’s station was odd, to be sure, but Iliana failed to understand why this was a source of excitement for her confidant. It certainly offered Iliana no solace from the bitterness she was finding increasingly difficult to tamp down.

  “A Jem’Hadar on Deep Space 9. What is that to me, Shing?”

  The Kressari stepped farther into the room and, as if suddenly concerned about being overheard, lowered her voice to a whisper. “According to what I’ve been able to find out, he could be there awhile,” she said. “His name is Taran’atar. Supposedly he was sent by the colonel’s changeling lover as some kind of cultural observer, and the assignment is open-ended. This may be the opportunity we’ve been waiting for.”

  Iliana thought she understood where Shing was going with this, and she shook her head irritably. “If you’re thinking of doing to the colonel’s new pet what Dukat’s fools did with the Jem’Hadar on Harkoum, so that he’ll go into a berserker rage and kill her, I won’t have it. She’s mine to destroy, Shing.”

  Flecks of blue grew inside the Kressari’s eyes, conveying mild disappointment. “I’m not suggesting anything of the kind. I’m proposing that we put the Jem’Hadar under your control. Directly.”

  Iliana stared. “What in the world are you talking about? You were the one who couldn’t believe Omek and Vekeer were arrogant enough to tamper with creatures that dangerous! Now you want to follow in their footsteps? Are you insane?”

  “Hear me out,” said Shing-kur, spreading her hands placatingly. “I’ve been studying the research that was done here, and I think I’ve figured out where Dukat’s men went wrong. If I’m right, there may be a noninvasive way to override the Jem’Hadar’s behavioral programming and transfer his obedience imperative to you. And the best part is this: We won’t need to strap him down to a table and pray that he doesn’t kill us before his brain explodes. We can do it remotely, from the safety of Harkoum.”

  Iliana was beginning to think she might have to reevaluate her estimation of the Kressari flair for the dramatic. She folded her arms before her.

  “How?”

  “The short version? A subliminal waveform embedded in a subspace communications signal.”

  Iliana almost laughed. “That’s it?”

  “It’s actually considerably more complicated than that. But as I said, that’s the short version.”

  “And you’re telling me that once he’s exposed to this…waveform, he’ll obey my every command?”

  “Every command,” Shing-kur assured her. “And if it works the way I intend, he won’t even be aware of what we’ve done to him…especially since his new master will appear identical to his current one.”

  A sleeper. How deliciously ironic. Iliana turned and started pacing the office.

  “Nerys, are you listening to me?”

  “I’m listening, Shing. I’m just trying to consider all the implications.” She stopped in front of the Obsidian Order’s spectral Galor-emblem that still decorated one wall of her quarters and focused on it while she spoke. “How soon can you put your plan into effect?”

  “I’ll need several weeks at minimum to configure the pulse correctly,” Shing-kur said. “One of our people will need to hack into Deep Space 9’s medical database and download a copy of any scans the station’s doctors have made of the creature.”

  Iliana nodded, knowing that several of their hirelings were sufficiently proficient with Cardassian computer systems to pull off the job. After learning that Bajor was spearheading relief efforts to Cardassia Prime from all over the quadrant, and that those efforts were being coordinated from Deep Space 9, Iliana knew it afforded her the perfect means by which to keep tabs on what was going on aboard the station, as well as on the two worlds Iliana had lost.

  At her instruction, several of the smugglers in her employ began hiring themselves out legitimately as freelance cargo carriers, making regular runs as part of the relief effort. The required stopovers at Deep Space 9 allowed them some freedom of movement aboard the station for brief periods at a time, and they reported what they observed or overheard during those visits back to Shing-kur. Visits to the station’s Infirmary were not uncommon.

  “All right,” she said. “Put someone you trust on it, and get started on developing the pulse as quickly as you can. And Shing…”

  “Yes?”

  “Thank you.”

  Shing-kur’s black irises became ringed with vermilion—the pattern Iliana saw most often when she looked into her confidant’s eyes. “You never need to thank me, Nerys,” she said softly before turning and leavi
ng Iliana’s quarters.

  Iliana watched her go. She had known for some time that Shing was in love with her. Not in any way that could be consummated, of course; the profound differences between their respective species made such a thing impossible, even if Iliana’s ordeal of the past fifteen years had not purged her of any interest in physical intimacy. And for her part, Shing-kur made no such overtures. Her love for Iliana clearly wasn’t about that. Rather, it was the adoration of one individual for the essence of another—a tender and unconditional affection for the intangible part of another person’s being.

  Had Iliana believed herself capable of reciprocating those feelings, Shing-kur certainly would have been more than deserving.

  But she understood all too well that her own emotional spectrum had been bled of such vivid colors a long time ago.

  The next several weeks went by swiftly. A seemingly galaxywide crisis erupted during that time, involving the spontaneous opening of innumerable transspatial gateways. The brief period of instability that had grown out of the event came and went before Iliana could decide how she might take advantage of it—much to the relief of her lieutenants, who had considered the situation too dangerous and unpredictable for their liking.

  Still, the transient emergency had made Iliana imagine how she might employ such power had she been in a position to gain control over it.

  As Bajor’s movement toward Federation membership accelerated in the aftermath of the gateway crisis, Shing-kur reported that her subliminal waveform was ready at last. They were delayed from putting it to work, however, when Deep Space 9 became engulfed in a conspiracy by a species of hostile sentient parasites bent on dominating the Bajoran civilization; the discovery of that threat had forced a lockdown of the B’hava’el system.

  The deceptively small creatures had already usurped the body and the identity of Bajor’s political leader, the man Iliana remembered as her friend and commander in the Bajoran resistance, Shakaar Edon. Iliana’s emotions at learning of his death were decidedly mixed. On the one hand, she had found the fact of Edon’s demise and the circumstances surrounding it both horrific and heartbreaking. On the other hand, the fact that it had all happened right before Kira’s eyes seemed to make it all worthwhile.

  It was during the days that followed the successful ending of the parasite menace—a resolution that had brought with it both Bajor’s admission to the Federation and the inexplicable return of Benjamin Sisko, the supposed Emissary—that a relative calm settled over Deep Space 9.

  That was when Shing-kur told Iliana that she thought she was ready to attempt the subversion of Kira’s Jem’Hadar, because there was finally a reasonably high chance of success.

  Bypassing the station’s comm system so that their signal wouldn’t alert station personnel to the incoming transmission—and then following that system to the correct companel—took a bit of finessing. But when the shatterframe screen in Iliana’s secure comm booth suddenly came to life with the Jem’Hadar’s grim visage, Iliana smiled at him from across the many light-years that separated Harkoum from Deep Space 9 and uttered the words she’d been waiting months to say.

  “Hello, Taran’atar.”

  2

  THREE MONTHS AGO

  Shing-kur’s waveform performed exactly as she had predicted; Taran’atar’s altered thralldom made him the perfect mole, enabling him to collect all manner of interesting intelligence that was stored aboard the station, transmit it to Iliana, cover his actions from detection, and retain no memory of what he did—except perhaps in the way one might remember a fading fragment of a dream.

  “I’m surprised you’re using him purely as a spy,” Shing-kur volunteered one day, finding Iliana as she often did these days: sitting alone in the old prison administrator’s office, reading from a padd.

  “For now,” Iliana answered, her eyes never leaving the device. She had developed a particular interest of late in the Celestial Temple and the Orbs, both of which had been absent from Kira’s life until after the Occupation. Taran’atar had obligingly performed exhaustive searches on Iliana’s behalf for any data relating to them. “Let me guess: you thought that if we were successful with Taran’atar, I would immediately begin preparations to infiltrate the Gamma quadrant so we might put your waveform to more widespread use, bending the armies of the Dominion to my will.”

  “Something like that,” the Kressari admitted.

  “Patience, Shing. Leading untold billions of Jem’Hadar soldiers back through the wormhole and onto Captain Kira’s very doorstep just before I place her head on a pike is a tempting idea, but it lacks a certain…”

  Iliana trailed off, suddenly frozen by the content of the file she was reading.

  “Nerys?” said Shing-kur. “What’s the matter?”

  When Iliana found her voice, she could manage only a strangled whisper. “Another Kira.”

  “What?”

  “Another Kira,” Iliana rasped. “Another universe.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Look!” Iliana shouted, holding the padd out to Shing-kur. “A parallel universe with another Kira Nerys!”

  Shing-kur took the padd and read through the file while Iliana paced the room, scarcely able to breathe, clutching fistfuls of her hair in both hands, feeling as if she might come apart at any moment.

  “All right,” the Kressari said finally. “But why is this upsetting you? This woman had nothing to do with—”

  Iliana stopped in front of Shing-kur and backhanded her across the face. The impact against the Kressari’s hard skin was more painful for Iliana than it was for Shing-kur, but her confidant shrank from her anyway, letting the padd drop to the floor, her eyes turning lavender with sadness as Iliana’s rage poured out and broke across her like a wave striking a rocky shore.

  “How can you know me as well as you do and still not understand what this means to me? Another Kira is out there, Shing, claiming my identity, keeping from me what’s rightfully mine!”

  Shing-kur said nothing. Iliana grabbed her by the front of her tunic and shoved her against the wall.

  “And doesn’t that imply that there’s a potential infinitude of alternate Kiras,” Iliana screamed, “in innumerable alternate universes, each of them carrying a piece of me?”

  Iliana recalled very little of what happened after that, but when she became aware of herself again, she was on the floor, surrounded by the wreckage of the office, weeping uncontrollably. And Shing-kur, bloodied and bruised, was cradling Iliana’s head in her arms, rocking gently back and forth, whispering softly in her ear.

  “We’ll get them somehow,” she promised Iliana. “We’ll get all of them.”

  In time Iliana returned to herself, but she was not the same afterward. She could feel it. Something deep inside of her had changed somehow. She became consumed with the belief that she would only feel whole again once all the other Kiras had been eradicated. Once she had punished each and every one of them for the torment she felt, for the love they’d taken from her, for the life she’d been cruelly denied.

  She spent days sequestered in her quarters. Shing-kur ran interference for her with the rest of her followers, taking responsibility for the outburst that had led to the Kressari’s injuries and the destruction of the office. Iliana thought she could imagine what the others thought of Shing-kur’s excuses and evasions, but she was beyond caring. Nothing they were doing seemed to matter anymore. None of it would fill the void in her soul.

  She should have known that Shing-kur would never give up trying.

  “Nerys,” Iliana heard as she sat alone in the soul-salving darkness of her quarters. A trapezoid of light stretched across her floor, ascending the wall that faced her chair; illumination from the outer corridor, let in by the open door. The light framed Shing-kur’s shadow. “Nerys, there’s something I want to show you. I think you’ll like it.”

  Iliana said nothing. Shing-kur’s shadow grew larger. Iliana became vaguely aware of a padd being plac
ed in her lap.

  “Take your time with it,” the Kressari said, and then she was gone again.

  How many hours passed before Iliana finally summoned the volition to read what Shing-kur had brought her, she couldn’t say. She knew only what she felt afterward, that her friend had left her with a precious gift.

  A ray of hope.

  It was a grouping of several files, selections from the data Taran’atar had sent her about the Orbs, the wormhole, and the alternate universe. Some of it Iliana had already read, but all of it was cross-referenced with a file that was entirely new to her, an obscure paper by a Bajoran philosopher named Ke Hovath, from a backwater village in Hedrikspool Province:

  SPECULATIONS ON THE ARCHITECTURE OF THE CELESTIAL TEMPLE

  Highlighted parts of the selected files stressed the popular belief that the Bajoran Orbs were structured vortices of the energy within the wormhole, and the fact that the wormhole itself was transspatial in nature, as evidenced by the passage it once facilitated to and from the alternate universe.

  The connection Shing-kur seemed to be making immediately became clear enough: perhaps the Orbs themselves offered a way to access other realities. Ke Hovath’s whimsical thesis seemed to imply something of the sort, though it didn’t go quite so far in its speculations. Still, Iliana could see that it represented a promising beginning…especially after she finished reading several attached log transcripts describing the Deep Space 9 crew’s single interaction with Ke and his village, years ago, and the curious object that was in Ke’s care.

  An Orb fragment. An artifact that hardly anyone knows about, and which wouldn’t be missed until far too late, provided we take the proper precautions. This thing could be the key to unlocking all the doors of the wormhole.

  An infinitude of doors, beyond which existed an infinitude of Kiras.

  In the pale glow of possibility that Shing-kur had given her, Iliana delved back into the mountains of data that Taran’atar had sent her, acquainting herself intimately with every last detail she could find concerning the wormhole, the Orbs, the prophecies of the Emissary, the so-called Intendant of the alternate universe, and the state of that continuum.