“Progressive Neurological Degeneration,” Bashir Said.
It felt strangely liberating to voice aloud the thought he’d tried so hard to avoid for the past two days. “At the rate I’m declining, by tomorrow I’ll probably no longer be able to function as the ship’s chief medical officer.”
“You don’t know that,” Ezri said.
“I can feel it, Ezri.” He decided that now wasn’t an occasion that called for a stiff upper lip. “I believe I’m…reverting. Regressing to what I was before Adigeon Prime.”
Her eyes widened with sudden understanding. “Before you were genetically enhanced.”
“I can’t begin to explain it,” he said, nodding. “But somehow our encounter with the alien artifact has begun…undoing my genetic resequencing.”
She seemed to mull that over for a moment before responding. “It sounds crazy, but it fits. Nog and I are reverting, too, if you think about it. He’s become the two-legged Ferengi he used to be. I’ve been turned into the unjoined Trill I was before the Destiny brought me together with Dax. And you’re becoming…” She trailed off.
Slow, plodding, uncoordinated, dumb Jules Bashir.
Jules. He had repudiated that name during his childhood, after his parents had, in effect, repudiated him—when they’d had his DNA illegally rewritten when he was only six years old. Whatever Jules might eventually have accomplished left to his own devices had been rendered moot from that point on, forever after consigned to the shadow-world of roads not taken. Inaccessible mirror universes.
He vividly recalled the day, three short years ago, when he had taken his parents to task over this. Facing the very real possibility of dismissal from Starfleet because of his illegal genetic alterations, he had wished that Richard and Amsha Bashir had never taken him to Adigeon Prime, that they’d instead simply allowed nature to take its course with young Jules, for better or for worse.
That errant wish now appeared to be coming true—and the brutal reality of it horrified him. He realized now that it meant the loss of abilities and talents which he had come to take for granted over the better part of three decades. The loss of what he sometimes feared were the only things that gave him value as a human being.
The loss of self.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
An Original Publication of POCKET BOOKS
POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020
Copyright © 2002 by Paramount Pictures. All Rights Reserved.
STAR TREK is a Registered Trademark of Paramount Pictures.
This book is published by Pocket Books, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc., under exclusive license from Paramount Pictures.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020
ISBN: 0-7434-4565-1
POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
Cover art by Cliff Nielsen
Visit us on the World Wide Web:
http://www.SimonSays.com/st
http://www.startrek.com
To my wife, Jennifer Dottery, whose patience approaches the asymptotic infinite
—M.A.M.
For Tim Tuohy, our past editor on the
Star Trek: Deep Space Nine comics at
Marvel. Thanks for giving us an assignment with Starfleet!
—A.M.
Acknowledgments
The authors wish to acknowledge that the poem quoted in Chapter 23 comprises the closing lines of Through the Looking-Glass And What Alice Found There by Lewis Carroll—a book much beloved by young Jules Bashir, as well as by many previous generations of youthful adventurers.
We also owe a debt of gratitude to our editor, Marco Palmieri, whose patient efforts made this a much better book than it otherwise would have been.
I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethrough
Gleams that untraveled world, whose margin fades
For ever and for ever when I move…
—ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON,
“ULYSSES”
CATHEDRAL
1
“Are we certain it was suicide?”
Lieutenant Ro Laren turned to Sergeant Shul as they stalked down the corridor, with Dr. Simon Tarses following close behind. “I’m not certain of anything yet, Shul,” Ro replied. “At this point, what I know is that Councillor zh’Thane says that Thriss committed suicide in Shar’s quarters.”
Tarses spoke up, his brow furrowed. “Thriss seemed to be beyond the worst of her depression when she was working her last shift at the infirmary. And Counselor Matthias was optimistic about her improvement. I find it hard to believe that Thriss would have taken her own life.”
“If she didn’t, then we’re looking at a murder investigation, Doctor,” Shul said. “And I don’t mean to be crass, but with everything else happening on this station, we don’t need that to contend with, as well.”
Ro grunted in agreement, then, before they got much farther down the hall, spoke in a low voice. After all, Andorian antennae were very sensitive, and she had no clue who might be listening two junctions down the corridor. “Whatever the situation, please remember that Andorian customs are different from ours. I haven’t been able to brief you before now on certain…aspects of their relationships, but I suspect you may have already picked up clues along the way. This will be very delicate, especially with Councillor zh’Thane involved.”
Both men nodded, and they continued toward Shar’s quarters. No one was there to meet them outside the
