Dax looked sympathetic. "Actually, that's rather well put, Doctor. The toxic nature of these obsessions goes beyond anything else I've ever encountered. It's as if this other universe's inherent entropic nature is not a blind, unconscious process, but something actively malign. And intelligently so."
"More's the pity, at least for poor Wyoss and the others. There may or may not be a God in our universe, but they found a universe in which there certainly is. Just their bad luck that it turned out to be a murderous one." Bashir fell silent; these theological musings were something new for both himself and Jadzia, an indication of how deep the abyss was that they had each discerned beneath the subject's onslaught of words. He took a deep breath, as if physically drawing himself back from the edge that he had looked over. "What about the attack on the commander? Any clue what brought that about?"
She nodded. "That's a perfect example of how this delusional fantasy world seems to operate: it distorts an element of reality into something altogether different. It appears that Ahrmant Wyoss previously had a normal awareness of Benjamin Sisko as an authority figure, the tip of DS9's hierarchical pyramid, as it were. The process of the change in that conception can actually be traced in the transcript; it becomes a full-fledged obsession, a monomania centered around a vision of Sisko as the malign universe's controlling deity. In a sense, Wyoss's intended murder of the commander was a desperate attempt at autotherapy; he was trying to cure himself of the perceived evil that had taken over his psyche. "
Bashir had enough psychiatric experience to recognize the pattern: a spiral whose turns moved claustrophobically tighter and tighter, until the inevitable lashing-out. Without intervention, the result was always some form of death . . . either for the one undergoing the psychotic collapse, or for the target of his fixated attention.
"And you're sure that these so-called CI modules are the source of the psychosis?" He pointed to the rectangular black boxes arrayed on the workbench. "After all, even if Odo has established that Wyoss and the others were all frequent users of the altered holosuites, it's still remotely possible that it was only a coincidence. Or their attraction to the holosuites was a consequence, rather than a cause, of their mental aberrations. We could waste a lot of valuable time here, if the epidemic's triggering agent is actually something for which we should still be looking."
"A valid concern, Doctor, but at this point I estimate the chances of finding any other source as being well below operational significance." Dax turned the larger computer panel on the bench toward him. "I created a simulation of a functioning holosuite and then downloaded the additional programming from one of the modules into it. With the run time accelerated by a factor of ten, the culminating effects of the CI technology could be seen relatively quickly. Even the most benign holosuite programs are subsumed into a toxic psychological environment. And that effect is consistent, no matter what the initial programming might be; these modules have a defining orientation, what might be termed a constant gravitational pull toward that dark experiential universe. The one that Ahrmant Wyoss is in right now."
"The question is, how much damage has he suffered already? Computer, give me a visual scan on the subject Wyoss." He saw on the panel's screen an overhead view of the isolation chamber, with the unconscious figure still in restraints. To all appearances, the man now seemed peaceably asleep. "Vital indicators." Across the bottom of the screen the lines tracing the subject's respiratory and cerebral functions appeared.
"I wish that were our only concern," said Dax. "But it's not. Odo informed me that there were others who were exposed to the altered holosuites. The effects upon them, and the consequences for the station, will need to be determined. What actions we take will depend upon—"
"There's something wrong here." Bashir tapped the screen with his fingertip. "This brain-wave trace—there's something funny about it."
Dax looked over his shoulder. "The monitors are set to sound an alarm if there's any crisis, such as a stroke."
"That's not it. This is something happening below the physiological threshold. Look at how smooth the wave's become; there's no jags or spikes to it, no irregularities at all. It's all just steady-state, like a sine wave with no modulation." He turned away from the panel. "Come on, we'd better take a hands-on look at him."
The isolation chamber was only a few meters away from the lab. Within seconds, Bashir was bending over the raised pallet, drawing back the subject's eyelids with his fingertips, as Dax watched.
"Pupil dilation seems normal. There's some level of cerebral activity going on, but . . ." Bashir glanced behind him. "Give him some more of the drug."
They both stood back and waited, the minutes freezing into silence.
Dax shook her head. "He should have started talking by now."
"I don't think he's going to." Bashir stepped forward; brushed the hair back from the subject's sweating brow. "He's gone. Wherever he was, he's found his own way out."
Just as Quark finished pouring a drink and setting it with a flourish before one of his customers, Deep Space Nine's chief of security stepped behind the bar and grabbed the Ferengi by the collar.
"Let's go." Odo had lifted his startled quarry off his feet. "We have a lot of talking to do." He began dragging Quark toward the end of the bar and the private booths beyond.
"Hey—" The customer pointed to the drink, a frothing blue concoction. "I haven't paid for this yet."
"It's on the house," growled Odo.
"No, it's not!" Quark's natural instincts overcame his panic. "I'll be right back—"
Odo slammed the Ferengi down in a booth and drew the security curtain. Quark shrank back as the security chief loomed over him from the other side of the table. "Now you can tell me everything you should have told me to begin with."
"What?" Confusion tightened Quark's voice to a squeak. "I don't know what you're talking about." He peered anxiously through the translucent curtain; the bar's patrons could be seen leaning toward each other and buzzing about this interesting event. "What are people going to say, your hauling me in here like this . . ."
"I did you a favor." Odo sat back in the booth, his unamused gaze pinning the Ferengi. "Anything less gentle would only have triggered the suspicions, among your less-than-savory companions, that you're always worrying about. This way, they'll merely think you've run afoul of the law—again—and thus incurred my wrath. I'm sure this will make you even more trustworthy in their eyes. Or as much as any of you ever trust one another."
"That's a fine way to speak to an honest businessman." Quark ignored Odo's snort of disgust, as he straightened his jacket, his wounded dignity reassembling itself. "I'd lodge acomplaint about some of your patently biased remarks, if I thought it would do any good."
"You'll have a lot more to complain about, if you don't tell me what you know."
Quark sighed wearily. "About what?"
"An individual named McHogue."
A few seconds of silence went by. Odo detected a minute contraction of the dark pupils at the centers of Quark's eyes.
"Never heard of him," said Quark at last. He made a show of racking his memory, looking up at a corner of the booth, then back to Odo with an apologetic expression. "Sorry, the name doesn't ring a bell for me."
"Now, that is odd." Odo's voice was uncharacteristically gentle and thoughtful for a moment; then it turned to steel again. "Inasmuch as the Starfleet criminal-investigation files have records of your business dealings with this certain McHogue, going back fifteen years before your arrival here at DS9."