Looking Glass - Chapt 07
A ruddy glow from the emergency lighting cast shadows of blood on the twisted remains. Tangled lines spewed from gouged bulkheads snaked across the cold steel floor. Mangled metal from machines and equipment convulsed in a tortured sculpture of wanton destruction. The deathless quiet pressed against the carnage, silence and memories all that remained. In the corner, cast off like so much chaff, an ore trolley lay tipped on its side, the last remnant of its final load scattered across the floor. The machinery was dead, the workers who had labored here gone. The only reminder of their presence was a tattered scrap of fabric snagged on the shattered face of a control panel. The air was cool, free from dust, but flat and stale. Life support in this portion of the station was minimal, sufficient only to sustain life should anyone come here, either intentionally or by accident. When the Cardassians withdrew, they gutted the ore processing facility along with the rest of the station, but no one had seen fit to reclaim the site for Bajor. Like the mines of the surface, this place held too many bitter memories of defeat and subjugation. Many would have the facility permanently closed, a symbolic gesture casting off the horrible yoke which had been borne so long by the people of Bajor.

As Bashir regained consciousness he slowly realized he was sitting, propped against a bulkhead. His head pounded and his vision blurred but he was aware of where he was and after surveying his surroundings closed his eyes against the macabre sights that were so hauntingly familiar. Blood pounded in his temples with each beat of his heart, and he thought he heard the phantom machinery pounding along with it, the commands of the guards, the endless shuffle of feet as Terran slaves moved ore, staggering from mindless labor to mindless labor. So dreamlike, yet he knew it was not a dream, just as he knew be was not dreaming this place. Reflexively, his hand went to his chest, knowing full well what he would find. His communicator was gone. Back braced against the wall, he tried to lever himself upward with his feet, but a sudden rush of nausea and dizziness forced him to sit again. Drawing his knees up, he rested his arm, then his head against them, partially to ease the pain, but mostly because he was suddenly shaken by where he was.

Several minutes passed in utter silence, before Bashir tried once again, to get to his feet. He had to get out of here, to warn Kira and Sisko. Steadying himself against the wall, he took a tentative step toward the exit.

"It isn't a pretty' place." The voice was barely audible, a coarse whisper as subdued as the silence, filtering through the deathly light.

Bashir hesitated, his heart pounding with each word, yet he knew his only chance lay in reaching a communications device. Without looking for the source of the voice, he started to dash for the exit, knowing his chances were slim. He had taken a half dozen steps when a hand clamped down on his elbow, spinning him around. Taking advantage of the momentum of the turning motion, he clasped both hands together like a club and struck out, a double, backhanded blow. His hands made contact with coarse fabric, and solid flesh below, before flesh gave way, melting from his touch. He tried to regain his balance, to strike again, but the hand holding his arm in an iron grip continued to pull him forward as a second hand, closed tightly in a fist, struck downward across his face.

The blow felt like it came from a jackhammer and he went down, hard, on his knees. A second blow, from a booted foot, caught him across the side, and he felt a white hot poker of pain pierce his gut. He could not move, would not have if he had been able to rise. The side of his face throbbed along with his head, blood trickled from the corner of his mouth where his teeth had cut his lip, and the grating pain in his side told him at least one rib had cracked. Curling himself around the injury, he slid across the floor so he was a foot or two from his attacker.

"How are your hands, Doctor? I hope you haven't hurt them." The supervisor stood over him, dressed in the same blue-grey uniform he had worn in the Intendant's ore processing center. His face was hidden by the shadows, but Bashir could see the glint of his eyes as they caught the barest fraction of light.

Bashir pushed himself farther from the shapeshifter. Fighting against the pain, and the fear that roiled up inside him. This creature was in complete control, and he was at his mercy, as he had been before, and his insides lurched. "What do you want?" Bashir finally managed to gasp out the question.

Odo laughed, the same humorless laugh that had haunted the station's corridors. "My, aren't we abrupt, Doctor? Aren't you going to ask how I feel, Doctor? Am I well? Have I recovered from my injuries? Did I enjoy my ride through the, what do you call it, the wormhole?" The shapeshifter stepped closer to Bashir, clenching his hands into fists as he did.

Bashir braced himself for another assault, and for a frozen moment, neither of them moved, then the shapeshifter squatted down so his face was inches from the doctor's.

"But I suppose you've figured that all out now, haven't you, Terran." The shapeshifter's voice held the word, rolling it around as though saying it were, in itself, disgusting.

"Yes, you Terrans think you are so superior here in this universe. You still have much to learn, Doctor. But I will answer your question." The shapeshifter rose, abruptly and walked several feet from Bashir.

The young Human let out his breath, realizing he had been holding it. The motion caused an ecstasy of pain to knife through his shattered side, but he dared not take his eyes from the being in front of him. This Odo was far more powerful than he, dangerous, and, he feared, quite mad. The Supervisor turned back to Bashir, his face unnaturally calm. "I actually wanted to thank you, Doctor."

"Thank me?" Bashir pushed himself to a sitting position, his eyes never leaving the shapeshifter.

"Yes. You did me a great favor." The shapeshifter's voice was calm, conversational. "I was far too good to be a supervisor in an ore processing operation."

"An overseer, you mean," Bashir blurted, then bit back the rest of his words.

"The title isn't important. You did not get to know our dear Intendant, but she liked to surround herself with those she could manipulate and control. She thought of those beneath her as inferior. The only way they could rise above their position was to become her pet. I did not wish to become a pet. So I did my job, and did it well. But that does not mean I wanted to remain one of her minions. I did plan on breaking free of her control in such a fashion, but when I saw the opportunity, I took it."

"I was that opportunity?" Bashir continued to edge painfully away from the shapeshifter.

"Not you. But the situation. I was sure you and your major would attempt to escape, would want to return to your own universe. I simply waited for the inevitable to happen."

"And if we had not made the attempt?"

Odo shrugged. "Then you would have been dead." He stared straight at Bashir, a gloating smile touching the corners of his mouth. "I had orders to destroy you before dawn. I would have preferred to keep you alive a bit longer to watch you squirm, but if I could not use you to further my own goals, I was not foolish enough to allow your presence to undermine my position."

Bashir had managed to push himself to a sitting position. His head still throbbed, but his vision had cleared. If he could keep the shapeshifter talking a few more minutes, he might have the strength to make another attempt at reaching the door. "Then if freedom is what you want, why are you still here? You could have slipped away undetected. Why show yourself to me and destroy any chance you have of getting off this station?"

Odo laughed, then his faced darkened with suppressed rage. "Have you forgotten, Doctor? You tried to kill me."

"I was defending myself." Bashir found it increasingly difficult to breath against the pain in his side.

"You blew me into a thousand--" Odo stopped, as though the memory was too painful. Bashir saw the outrage play across his features. The shapeshifter stepped closer to the young man. "You thought I was dead. They all thought I was dead. And I almost was. I had never disassociated to such an extensive degree. I was not able to recover all of my original mass." Odo paused as the words sunk in. "But I was still conscious. Still able to assimilate enough of myself to move through the ventilation system to the runabout pads. I was very weak, too weak to hold any but the simplest shape. I was in pain."

The shifter's eyes did not leave his captive for even the slightest moment. As he listened, Bashir could feel the pain and responded with a wash of sympathy. He was responsible for causing this injury. He was about to speak when darkness settled again over the shapeshifter's features, a rage deeper than he had seen before, an unbridled anger directed at him.

"You attempted to murder me, Doctor. Something I will never forget, nor take lightly. In my universe, Terrans have died for less."

'That isn't the only reason you're still here," Bashir said quietly.

"I needed time to recuperate. To heal. But, I found it amusing to watch you Terrans in your own environment. You think you are so superior, so much in control of your situation. You, especially, Doctor, are in need of reminding that you will not always be in control."

"So, now you have reminded me, where do you go?" Bashir fought to keep his voice flat and emotionless, to avoid stirring the anger in his adversary.

"Off this station. Anywhere in this universe. There are always places for a truly superior being to create his own niche. At first, I thought it would be amusing to take you with me, but I've decided it would not suit my purpose."

"But you still lured me here. Killed an innocent crewman to use as bait."

"It was just a Terran."

"Just a Terran. And what will you do with this Terran?" Bashir pointed to himself.

The Supervisor closed the gap between them in an instant, hauling Bashir to his feet, sending bolts of pain through his head and side. "I've a place for you. It will take them days to find you. If they do, you may live. But if they don't, I'll content myself with the knowledge that it was a long and uncomfortable death. Either way, I will be gone." With those words, the shapeshifter turned Bashir and shoved him forward.

The doctor stumbled, catching his balance against the thorium containment unit. As he did, his hand closed on a dislodged metal spar. Leaning against the unit, he tried to hide the movement of his hand, pretending to catch his breath, but he could not fool a being so accustomed to controlling others. An appendage snaked around his neck, closing off his air.

"That would not be wise," the supervisor said.

"Nor was that," echoed the same voice.

The pressure on Bashir's throat eased. Through the roaring in his ears, he became aware of a new presence, another voice identical to his tormentor. Odo, the constable, their Odo, had managed to locate him. There was a brief buzz of talk behind him, but he was too muddled to comprehend it. Then the force around his neck vanished. He turned, staring dully into the darkness to see two shapeshifters, face to face.

"Now, isn't this an additional amusement," the supervisor said, his voice a low growl. He had changed, subtly, elongating to give the illusion he was looking down on Odo. But the maneuver did not ruffle the constable, who had begun to circle slowly, attempting to move the supervisor away from Bashir.

"I have no quarrel with you," said the supervisor. "We are, after all, one of a kind."

"No," said Odo simply. "Not one of a kind. My kind does not murder to achieve a goal, nor to bait another sentient being."

"My, my, how you fuss about one dead Terran. Where I come from they die in droves, and no one cares."

"I'm well aware of how things are done in your world. But this is not your world."

"It could be." The supervisor appeared to be shifting again. "It could be our world, our universe."

Odo was stalling, dragging out the encounter with his mirror image, perhaps, because he was as shocked and fascinated by his evil twin as Kira had been, but more likely, Bashir realized, to give him time to escape. As the two shapeshifters talked, the constable had subtly changed positions with the Mirror Odo, until he stood with his back to Bashir, between the doctor and the other. Bashir knew it was up to him to summon help. Leaning against the thorium containment unit for support, Bashir slowly stepped away. The movement left him dizzy, but he was upright. The door was his next goal, but it was not to be that easy.

The supervisor realized what he was attempting to do and charged foreword with a sudden, incoherent cry of rage. Equally swift, Odo moved to intercept him, his actions a blur. The two shapeshifters engaged each other as Bashir stared in fascination. He had expected each to assume some increasingly terrifying solid transformation in a duel of superiority, but instead, each melted before his eyes. They swirled into one another until Bashir could not tell the two apart. As one mass they rolled across the cluttered deck, churning, colors fluctuating, in soundless battle. Accustomed to humanoid encounters, Bashir was enthralled by the fluid movement and utter silence.

He had paused only a few seconds, but every second could be critical. Forcing himself to turn away from the mesmerizing battle, he staggered to the exit and out into the access corridor. He cursed silently for not being more familiar with this part of the station, for not knowing the shortest route to the nearest comm panel, though he prided himself on knowing so much. As he rounded a curved bulkhead he came to a communications outlet, and his heart sank. It had been gutted like everything else, and had not yet been repaired. He shambled on, each step jarring his head and side, until he half staggered, half ran. The turbolift was ahead. There had to be a working comm panel there. As he reached it and slammed his hand against the activation touch plate he was relieved to hear the familiar chirrup of response. Catching his breath he spoke hoarsely, "Bashir to Kira."

No response.

"Bashir to Kira, please respond."

"Bashir?" Kira's voice was taut, "Where are you? Is Odo there? I haven't been able to locate him."

"I need a security team and medkit at the ore processing plant. Now!"

"On my way."

Bashir cut the communications link and was back into the companionway before he realized Major Kira had never questioned his request, as though she was expecting his call. Perhaps she was. He had no idea how long he had been unconscious, or if anyone had noticed and reported his absence. Bashir's thoughts raced as he stumbled back to the ore processing center, wondering what he would find when he arrived, and knowing he could well be walking into greater danger than he had left.

At the entrance to the processing center he stopped. The filtered light seeped through the open hatchway into the corridor. Motionless, he waited for some sign that the battle he had left raging within was still being fought, but he could detect no sound or motion. Cautiously, he slipped inside the door until he could see the main floor. Torn and twisted equipment littered the area, but there was no sign of either Odo.

But what sign did you expect, he thought. They could be here, assuming the shape of any object, playing a deadly game of hide and seek. Bashir moved farther into the chamber, his headache almost forgotten as he strained to hear or see any hint of the others. The silence was ruptured by the shattering clamor of metal striking metal. A young Bajoran, in a service uniform, stood directly across from him - phaser drawn and ready.

"Dr. Bashir?" the young officer asked.

"Yes," was Kira's firm reply from a few paces to the man's left. Kira emerged from the shadows, the brownish red of her uniform barely discernible in the rusty light. She stood several meters from Bashir and said nothing as, tricorder in hand, she scanned the silent shadows that stretched between them. "Doctor?" she asked at last, expecting an explanation.

"Odo was here," Bashir answered. "They both were."

"But where are they now? Response time was minimal." Kira sounded impatient.

"I don't know."

"Major Kira," came a new voice over Kira's comm badge, "I think I have something. I'm near the first large ore crusher."

"We're on our way." Kira nodded, then plunged into the depths of the facility.

Having not been told to wait, Bashir followed doggedly, silently glad to see two members of Kira 's security team flanking him, matching their pace to his slower one. Bodyguard, he thought. His pace had slowed considerably, and while the ache in his head had subsided somewhat, a weight had settled on the left side of his chest, and breathing was becoming more difficult.

When they joined the rest of the team, Kira looked completely baffled. What they had found looked nothing like Odo, in any form. A slick of material, thinly spread and greyish in color, that more closely resembled a poured plate of old-fashioned agar, covered the floor for approximately four square meters.

"Doctor," Kira said, handing him the tricorder, "what do you make of those readings?"

Bashir studied the information Kira had gathered, quickly cross-referencing it with everything he had on record about Odo's physiological make-up and function. It wasn't much. He would have to do some fancy guessing.

"It's definitely Odo. One of them, at any rate." Bashir was working as he talked.

"And?" Kira asked expectantly.

"I'm not one hundred percent certain."

"How many percent certain are you, Doctor?" Kira's eyebrows arched, and the look on her face was one Bashir recognized well. She was annoyed, and the annoyance was rapidly becoming outright anger.

"The closest I can come to a diagnosis, if he were humanoid, would be a neural toxin. Some substance that creates a barrier that inhibits the transmission of electrical impulses across synapses, or causes the neurons to fire uncontrollably. The rigidity of the mass is like the spasms of a muscle."

"Can you do anything?"

Bashir nodded his head. "I think I can. But Odo's nervous system isn't humanoid." His fingers flew over the tricorder, attempting to determine the agent and its antidote, and swearing he swore he would run a full baseline series of diagnostic tests on the shapeshifter as soon as Odo was back to normal. If he got back to normal. Reaching for the med kit, he quickly prepared a hypo. It would either work, or Bashir had a feeling Kira would be very angry with him.

The only sound besides his own ragged breathing was the hiss of a hypospray. Bashir sat back on his heels, tricorder scanning, his mental fingers crossed. For several seconds there was no response. The flat lifeless grey of his "patient" became grayer, and Bashir feared he had made matters worse instead of helping. Then a small quiver ran through the flattened material. A second, more visible shiver followed. Then slowly, from edges to center, the color began to change from dully gray to pale pink and, finally, to soft orange-red. The alien began to pulse and drew together so that it was not spread over the entire floor. It looked once again like Odo at rest.

Kira looked at Bashir as though still expecting more.

"I doubt he'll be able to assume any solid shape until he has had time to rest, Major," Bashir answered her unasked question. "For now. I think it would be best if he was taken to the infirmary for observation."

"How can we be sure it's...our Odo?" Kira asked.

"From these readings, we can't. But I think it is, Major. The other had every intention of leaving this station. I assume he planned his escape well. If he hasn't already boarded a ship that was leaving, he will be soon." Bashir looked up from where he sat on the floor. "And now, Major, if you don't get me to the infirmary, all this effort will have been for nothing."

*****
Odo sat unmoving, his gaze fixed on the readout from his computer terminal. Standing in the doorway, Bashir cleared his throat to announce his presence.

"Yes, Doctor." Odo's eyes never moved from the data scrolling silently across his board.

"I stopped to see how you were feeling." Bashir stepped into the security chief's office. "If you have no objection." He indicated the tricorder in his hand.

Odo shrugged and grunted a nonverbal assent to the examination. "You will find nothing changed from yesterday," he commented over the soft whir of the medical tricorder.

Completing the exam, Bashir replaced the scanner and shut down the tricorder. The silent room was filled by the almost inaudible hum of Odo's computer.

"As I said, Doctor, you will find nothing changed from yesterday."

Bashir felt his spirits dive, not because of the apparent dismissal of his concerns, but because of what it implied.

"As I reported to you then, and the day before, there has been no sign of my duplicate, either on this space station or on any outgoing vessel."

Bashir had no doubts of Odo's sincerity or the thoroughness of his investigation. It had been over a week since their last encounter with the mirror Odo. The constable had made a full recovery from the toxin he had been exposed to. Odo had saved Bashir's life, and the doctor had, he hoped, repaid the debt. He no longer had reason to fear this Odo, yet the lingering doubt still assailed him. Despite the constable's diligence, they had no proof the alternate Odo had left the station, any more than they had proof he was still on board.

"Traffic through the wormhole cannot be discontinued indefinitely while we continue to search." Odo had risen to his feet and stood facing the young Terran, his voice softer. "We have to resume our normal activities."

Touched by the change in the shapeshifter's manner, Bashir's own voice dropped to a whisper. "He's still out there."

Odo nodded. "Believe me, Doctor, I feel no better about that than you do. I do not like knowing my mirror image may be anywhere in this universe. But we can do nothing about it. You must accept that fact."

Or allow the memories to haunt me forever; Bashir finished silently to himself. He looked Odo steadily in the eyes. "I apologize for anything I might have said to you in the past days that was offensive. I realize that I lashed out at you when you were not at fault."

Again, Odo nodded acceptance of the apology. Very slowly, the shapeshifter extended his hand. Bashir hesitated, unable to remember Odo ever offering this simple gesture, aware of Odo's personal preference of physical distance from his colleagues. Then he took the shapeshifter's hand in his own, silent acknowledgment that it was time to put the supervisor and his world behind him.

*****

"There is something very peaceful about it, isn't there?"

Bashir looked up to see Kira standing a few feet away. Her hands were held behind her back, and she hesitated a moment before stepping to the window.

"The Denorious belt has long been a source of peace for my people. Even before the discovery of the wormhole, it was considered the calm center of a troubled universe."

They stood silently for several minutes, each lost in their own thoughts. Finally, Bashir spoke. "How long did you work below?"

"Below, in ore processing?"

Bashir nodded.

"From the time I was old enough to move ore until I finally escaped." Kira's voice was calm.

"How did you survive so long?" Bashir knew for a fact he would have been worked to death before he would have lived more than a year.

"By becoming a shadow. Unseen. You survived by not being noticed. Once the guards knew your name, who you were, you were done for. If you remained nameless and obscure, you lived from one day to the next."

"I find it difficult to believe Kira Nerys was ever meek and obscure."

"It's amazing what sixty years of Cardassian cruelty can accomplish."

"I guess I never got the chance to be obscure." Bashir continued to stare until the soft touch of Kira's hand on his forearm startled him.

"I can't say I didn't know what would happen," she said. "Because I did. But I couldn't think of any other way to keep you alive. The Intendant would have ordered you killed. Immediately. I convinced her you would learn a valuable lesson from the experience. I knew the work would be hard, but I never expected the supervisor to single you out." Kira shook her head, her lips a tight line, and the hand on his arm tightened.

Bashir sensed frustrated anger in her movement, but did he also sense guilt?

"And..." Kira seemed to choke on the words. "I wanted you to taste what life had be like for so many of my people. You have led such a privileged existence compared to them." She paused, emotions mixing in her eyes. "Compared to me."

"I'm sorry, Major. I never meant to hurt you. And I didn't mean to place myself above your people or belittle their experience. But I am good at what I do, no matter how my arrogance may gall you. I won't deny that."

Bashir studied Kira's face. In the low light, the glitter of her dark eyes told him how much her own experience in the alternate universe had disturbed her. Seeing herself as a willful, indulgent, and cruel leader must have been as emotionally shocking, if less physically trying, than his own tenure in the mines. "You are not the Intendant, Kira, anymore than Odo was the supervisor. You don't need to feel guilty for anything she did."

"I saw so much of myself in her," Kira said, a look of bewilderment passing briefly over her features before she turned to look out the window.

"They were all so much like the people we know, yet so different," Bashir reassured. "In different circumstances, we might have been more like them. I keep wondering how they all fared--Sisko and O'Brien. I suppose we'll never know. I don't think I will ever forget them, though, or what happened."

"No," Kira said, her voice calm and confident once more. She looked up at Bashir and a smile touched her lips. "You never forget. You don't want to. You learn to accept what happened and get on with your life. But you never forget."

They stood for several moments in companionable silence. Finally, Kira turned to Bashir and shook her head. "I don't know about you, Julian, but I could use a good, strong cup of coffee."

Bashir smiled. She had finally used his name. "Actually, Major, I was going to suggest a cup of Tarkhalian tea. Quite refreshing."

"Nerys," she said as she turned away from the window, linking her hand through his elbow and leading him toward the replimat.

"Nerys. Perhaps, I'll try that."

END