She turned her attention to the computer screen. There, the smaller universe of Ahrmant Wyoss was being carefully pried apart. On the screen, rows of numbers bounced between a narrow range of values, giving her a real-time monitoring of his physiological processes. A scrolling graph of brain-wave function showed him to still be in a state of narcotized sleep, though with abnormal spikes of activity throughout the thalamocortical zones. Something was going on inside the subject's visual information processes that was connected to the hyperactive REM being picked up by the optical sensors. He's seeing things, thought Dax. But what? Mere dreams, even nightmares, didn't produce such neuroanatomical storms.
She scanned past the other numbers. Respiratory functions were on the high side, but sustainable, as hormone levels whipsawed between apparent panic and anger states. As Odo had remarked to her when the subject had been transferred to her keeping, whatever world Wyoss had found himself trapped in, it was evidently not a pleasant one.
With another command, she switched the screen to a view from the overhead camera in the subject's secured isolation chamber. With clinical detachment, Dax observed the clenching of the jaw, the straining neck tendons, the feverish sweat upon the brow. Invisible energy restraints at the wrists and ankles, and a wider band across the abdomen, prevented Wyoss from injuring himself.
"Computer, give me audio on this subject." In response to her spoken command, a low guttural murmuring came from the panel's speaker. "Increase one-point-two-five decibels."
Now she could make out the words, the alternately furious and terrified monologue that seeped through Wyoss's teeth. The voice was scarcely human, a howl of anguish from the darkest, unexplored caverns of the brain stem.
"All right, that's enough." The lab's silence folded around her again. The subject's words, loosened by an injection of one of the more powerful pentathol analogues, had spoken of things that no sane person would wish to hear. But she would have to, eventually; every syllable was being picked up by the chamber's microphones and recorded in the data banks.
She blanked the screen. "Computer. I want all material from this subject indexed against the recordings logged on by the chief of security, reference tag 'Epidemic.' Give me a breakdown on all distinctive word patterns and imagery that cross-link between the recordings. Prepare a transcript with embedded back-markers."
"Processing," responded the synthesized voice.
There was nothing to do now but wait. It would take only a few minutes at most. But part of her, that had listened to the words with dread, wished it would be longer.
"I just wanted to see my dad." He gave a small shrug, as if it were nothing important. "That's all."
School was over for this shift, and Jake had come up to the Ops deck on the off chance that his father might have time for him. Perhaps they could go get something to eat—it'd been a long while since they'd had dinner together in their living quarters—or if there were only a few minutes to spare, maybe he could just sit in his father's private office behind Ops, and they could talk. Not even about the things that weighed heaviest on Jake's heart and mind, but about anything at all. He'd always thought that that made his father feel better as well.
"Sure—" The comm tech, a lieutenant who was one of Jake's favorites, glanced over her shoulder toward Commander Sisko's office. The door was partially retracted, voices drifting out from the other side. "Tell you what, I'll go see if he's busy right now. You just wait here, okay?"
Standing in the Ops entranceway, Jake watched as she slipped through the deck's low-key bustle of activity, the constant monitoring of the station's well-being. The big viewscreen was blanked at the moment, without even a scattering of distant stars beamed aboard. Though if there had been a show like that, he knew, nobody here would have had the time to pull away from their gauges and controls to take a look at it.
The comm tech had crossed over to where she could cast a surreptitious glance into the office. She caught the arm of one of the other crew members passing by; they had a quick, whispered conversation.
"I'm sorry." She had come back and leaned her head close to Jake's. "But it looks like right now's not a very good time. Your father's got an agenda full of conferences and briefings—I don't know when he's going to get through it all."
"That's okay." Jake made a stone-faced effort to conceal his disappointment. He knew that these chances had grown increasingly scarce. They were hardly worth bothering with, if they weren't something he wanted so much. He shrugged again. "I guess I'll see him later on."
"I'm sure you will." The comm tech gave him a sympathetic smile and a pat on the shoulder. "Soon as I can, I'll let him know you were here."
Jake turned and walked away without replying.
And kept walking, with no intended destination, not even watching where his footsteps along the metal-walled corridors led him.
Though when he arrived, he knew that some part inside had led him there.
Jake glanced toward the darkness at either end of the corridor. Silence; hardly anyone ever came to this sector. He had stumbled upon it by accident, in his wanderings around the station. Assured that no one was watching him, he laid the flat of his hand against the nearest door. There were three others just like it, all in a row, the entrances to a bank of holosuites. The new ones, the ones that were special; the one that could take him to places that weren't programmed into Quark's boring old holosuites. And to one place in particular a very special place . . .
He punched his access code into the control panel and stepped inside.
Behind him, he heard the doorway to that other world, the one with his father in it, seal shut. Squinting, he glanced up at the bright sun overhead, then started walking through the field of wind-brushed yellow grasses, the stalks parting around him like a whispering sea.
"I figured you'd be back." The other boy smiled and side-armed a small stone across the creek. The smile twisted at one corner, to signal just how much he knew. "Where else could you go?"
Jake looked away, feeling his breath tighten in his chest. Even under this false yet oddly true sun, a cold shiver ran over the skin of his arms.
CHAPTER 4
He grasped the edge of the empty tray and pulled it toward himself, bringing the server's face within centimeters of his own.
"Tell me," said Odo, his gaze boring straight to the back of the startled Quark's skull. "Everything you seemed so insistent that I should know before."
Quark managed to tug the tray free and straightened up, smoothing with one hand the disarrayed lapels of his jacket. "I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about." He glanced over his shoulder, aware that other patrons of his establishment had noticed the confrontation between him and the chief of security. "Tell you what? Perhaps you've been working a little too hard. I don't want to suggest that you're imagining things, but—"