She opened her eyes.
The world she had seen once before—McHogue's world, Ahrmant Wyoss's world; the world that held a weeping boy in a dark cellar, and was held in turn by each tear and drop of his blood—stretched on all sides of her. The dark, empty city, the crumbling walls, the bricks wet as if an inanimate fever were sweating from them; shadows that bled into one another, that would not flee even if a guttering flame were held against them . . .
And this was where she would be divided in two, the CI modules' interference effect forcing her humanoid neurosystem apart from that of the symbiont inside her. As though she were about to leave part of herself behind—the symbiont would be alone as well, waiting for its humanoid half to return.
"And what if I don't come back?" She couldn't stop herself from saying it. There was always that possibility, and no way of knowing what world lay beyond this one.
Then I'll go on waiting, came the symbiont's reply. But I won't leave you behind.
That was as much comfort as she could expect. And as much as she needed. She drew in a deep breath of the hallucinated world's night-heavy air.
Go on . . .
Already, the symbiont's wordless voice was farther away; she had to strain to hear it. The interference was already beginning to set in. The gap between the symbiont's neurosystem and the single one with which she had been born was widening, a space measurable both in microns and centuries. Don't worry about me; I'll be fine.
She smiled at the small joke, the way the symbiont said goodbye as if she were running an errand to another part of the station.
"What'll you do while I'm gone?" That was her joke in return.
Its reply was just faintly discernible to her; the image of a pair of shoulders shrugging formed in her thoughts. Maybe I'll take a nap.
The visualized incongruity was even more humorous; she found it hard to imagine what the symbiont's shoulders would be like, if it were to have any.
Go on now . . .
A whisper; all the efforts at alleviating her fears were over. Jadzia let the connection between herself and the symbiont come to an end, a thread drawn down to its final atoms and then broken. She was alone.
And in darkness.
The chill breeze she had felt against her skin had disappeared, along with even the faintest light that had seeped around the night world's buildings. All sensory processing of the CI module's effects had been taken over by the symbiont's neurosystem. Leaving her cortex, the humanoid part of what had been their shared consciousness, to pass beyond the CI data stream.
A voice spoke inside her again, but this time it was her own. Go I know not where . . .
She could feel it happening. She had moved through two worlds now, as though her steps could carry her across one universe after another. The real world, and that which would take its place. If it could, if she could not find a way to stop it.
There was no time here, so Jadzia could not tell how long the process took. The work of an instant, or centuries—she had counted upon the innate hunger of the senses, their constant searching desire for stimuli, their inability to tolerate a perfect lightless, silent vacuum.
A spark moved at the center of her vision, then twisted into a spiral, swelling and multiplying in fractal-like patterns, consuming darkness. Transforming it into raw color, then shade and form.
The infinitely small and busy machinery, the creating of another reality, surged to the peripheries of her sight, then were gone. She saw a high-ceilinged, white corridor in front of her.
And someone waiting. Who smiled.
"How good of you to drop in," said McHogue. "I've been expecting you."
"It's impossible. There's no way it can be done."
Sisko turned a hard gaze toward his chief medical officer. "I didn't ask for your estimate of a rescue mission's chances of success. But since you've seen fit to speak up on the matter, I'll allow you to elaborate."
"There's not much to say." Seated before the desk, Bashir spread his hands apart. "The only operational CI module we had available to us, the one that we were working with in the research lab, has self-destructed; the damage to the components is so thorough that even O'Brien wouldn't be able to patch it back together. Without that, we have no entry to the artificial world that McHogue's created—a world that he's somehow been able to bring even further into reality."
"I had no intention of going after Dax by placing myself under the CI effects again." Sisko reached over and activated the computer panel on his desk. "It seems obvious now that whatever reality McHogue created with the altered holosuites has now become overlaid with his personal domain of Moagitty—why else would we have been able to trace Dax's comm badge to the surface of Bajor?" He made a few taps at the panel's keyboard, then leaned back to study the information that had appeared. "I'm surprised the solution doesn't seem more obvious to you, Doctor. I'm going down to Bajor myself, to find Dax and fetch her back here." He pressed his own comm badge. "Sisko to Ops; have a runabout prepared for immediate departure."
Standing beside Bashir, Odo slowly shook his head. "While I acknowledge the gravity of the circumstances that prompt your decision, Commander, I feel compelled to express my reservations regarding it. There's been a temporary decrease in the severity of the spatial disturbances emanating from the planet, but all indications from the monitoring crew is that the next wave to hit the station will be considerably stronger—and we have no ability to determine when that will be; it could be anywhere from seconds to hours from now. The impact of the shock waves has been sufficient to cause extensive structural damage to DS9; a runabout caught in that kind of flux field could be crushed like an egg."
Sisko turned away from the computer panel. "Your concerns are well founded, Constable. That's why I'll be going alone on this mission. If anything happens to me, the full complement of the station's officers will be needed here to handle the situation as it develops further."
"I agree with Odo," said Bashir. "It's far too dangerous; even if you get past the spatial disturbances, the atmospheric storms above Bajor will make any kind of landing almost impossible. What would be the point of throwing away the life of the station's commanding officer? If anyone is to go down there, it should be me—I'm the one with firsthand knowledge of Dax's research into the CI technology's effects."
"Perhaps so, Doctor." Sisko kept his voice level as he replied. "But you don't have any experience at piloting a runabout under hazardous conditions. I do. The disturbances that have been hitting the station generally have a leading edge that can be punched through with maximum thrust, then a zone of gravitational rarefaction that requires a three-point visual scan to reestablish the instrument bearings—that's a little trickier than what I believe you're capable of handling at this point. As for when I reach Bajor . . ." He shrugged. "Every hurricane has an eye, where the air is relatively still. It's just a matter of threading the needle."
"I think," said Odo, "that even you will find this mission to be more difficult than you've made it sound."
Sisko managed a thin smile. "It must be a good thing then, that nothing that's happened lately has drawn upon my store of good luck."
To his own ear, nothing sounded in his voice but a calm confidence; he had long ago mastered the commanding officer's necessary skill of betraying no hesitation or doubt. To that end, he would forgo even returning to his quarters for a moment and seeing Jake before setting out on the mission. It was impossible to remove his son entirely from his thoughts; he would have to admit no other possibility—lying to himself, if need be—than that he would see Jake again, upon his own coming back from Bajor and whatever he found there.