wonderful.”
Gomez sighed, burrowed. “Feeling’s mutual.”
A pause. Then: “Well?”
“Well, what?”
“Come on,” Duffy said with mock severity. He pulled back and squinted down his nose. “You know what.”
“Yeah?” Her eyes flicked down to his right trouser pocket. The fabric tented over something square. “Is that a box in your pocket, or are you just glad to see me?”
“Cretin. What, I’m supposed to get on my kne—?”
A hail shrilled, and Gomez threw her head back, closed her eyes. “I don’t believe it.”
“Believe what?” It was Gold.
She rolled her eyes at Duffy who smothered a giggle. “Nothing, sir. Commander Duffy and I are nearly done here. If you’ll—”
“Let your team finish up. I want you and Duffy in sickbay, pronto.”
“Aye, sir. Gomez, out.” She waited a split second to make sure the channel had closed then said, “Damn.”
Grinning, Duffy planted a kiss on her lips. “It’ll keep. Maybe I’ll reconsider.”
“You reconsider,” Gomez said as they started off, “and I’ll take out your tonsils.”
All three stared at Nog. “You figured out the code?” asked Gomez.
“I will in a sec,” said Nog. His fingers played over his tricorder.
“How?”
“It’s what you said about Duffy.” Nog gave a ferociously triumphant smile, all zigzag Ferengi teeth. “The Kwolek ’s got patterns of Soloman when he wasn’t Soloman, right? So if I access them now, compare the two and whittle down…”
Gomez saw it. “You get rid of the twin effect. Whatever remains will be the interaction between Soloman and that universe’s 111.”
“Yup. And that means I can talk to her. So,” Nog gave his tricorder a final jab, “what do you want me to say?”
“How about,” said Gomez, “what the hell do you want?”
For Soloman, it was like sitting at the bottom of an infinitely deep pool. He was aware of light shimmering overhead and a world beyond this hermetic seal. But that life was far away and strangely muffled, and he had no strength to reach for it, or the desire. At a rudimentary level akin to instinct, he understood what he had done: caught 110 in a paradox, a recursive algorithm that could not be resolved.
Then the quality of the light above changed, and the surface seemed to split, and Soloman knew that they—someone—had come after him.
“Beneath the surface,” said 111. The chip on her left temple winked furiously, and the buffer on her belt hummed. Her lips quivered, and her blue eyes were wide and liquid. “It’s another line of code. Not thought.”
“A fourth Bynar?” said Gold. “Are you sure? How do you know that the Androssi haven’t planted a virus designed to simulate a Bynar’s cerebral patterns?”
“No, no…” 111 shook her head in the exaggerated way of a little girl trying to make a point to an adult who just did not speak the same language. But her hesitancy was gone, and her speech had acquired the high singsong Gold associated with the Bynars. “This is no virus. This is not 110 either, and it is not 110’s doppelgänger. Both are unchanged. This one says that the doppelgänger is Soloman, a Bynar existing outside in another temporal realm.”
“It’s a Prophet,” Dax blurted. “Look, the reason we stole the device in the first place is because the ancient Hebitians built it, and the Cardassians can’t access it. The pictographs on those Hebitian tombs on Cardassia strongly favor the view that the Hebitians were telepaths—”
“That’s only legend,” said Gomez.
Salek said, “Legends usually have a basis in fact. We know that there are no Cardassian telepaths. Yet the Hebitians leave behind a device that relies on the ability to access information on a digital level when combined with telepathy. The Bynars are the only species capable of both.”
Dax looked triumphant. “What’s happening now is precisely what’s been prophesized: that the One will reach out and then His Temple will be
Gomez sighed, burrowed. “Feeling’s mutual.”
A pause. Then: “Well?”
“Well, what?”
“Come on,” Duffy said with mock severity. He pulled back and squinted down his nose. “You know what.”
“Yeah?” Her eyes flicked down to his right trouser pocket. The fabric tented over something square. “Is that a box in your pocket, or are you just glad to see me?”
“Cretin. What, I’m supposed to get on my kne—?”
A hail shrilled, and Gomez threw her head back, closed her eyes. “I don’t believe it.”
“Believe what?” It was Gold.
She rolled her eyes at Duffy who smothered a giggle. “Nothing, sir. Commander Duffy and I are nearly done here. If you’ll—”
“Let your team finish up. I want you and Duffy in sickbay, pronto.”
“Aye, sir. Gomez, out.” She waited a split second to make sure the channel had closed then said, “Damn.”
Grinning, Duffy planted a kiss on her lips. “It’ll keep. Maybe I’ll reconsider.”
“You reconsider,” Gomez said as they started off, “and I’ll take out your tonsils.”
All three stared at Nog. “You figured out the code?” asked Gomez.
“I will in a sec,” said Nog. His fingers played over his tricorder.
“How?”
“It’s what you said about Duffy.” Nog gave a ferociously triumphant smile, all zigzag Ferengi teeth. “The Kwolek ’s got patterns of Soloman when he wasn’t Soloman, right? So if I access them now, compare the two and whittle down…”
Gomez saw it. “You get rid of the twin effect. Whatever remains will be the interaction between Soloman and that universe’s 111.”
“Yup. And that means I can talk to her. So,” Nog gave his tricorder a final jab, “what do you want me to say?”
“How about,” said Gomez, “what the hell do you want?”
For Soloman, it was like sitting at the bottom of an infinitely deep pool. He was aware of light shimmering overhead and a world beyond this hermetic seal. But that life was far away and strangely muffled, and he had no strength to reach for it, or the desire. At a rudimentary level akin to instinct, he understood what he had done: caught 110 in a paradox, a recursive algorithm that could not be resolved.
Then the quality of the light above changed, and the surface seemed to split, and Soloman knew that they—someone—had come after him.
“Beneath the surface,” said 111. The chip on her left temple winked furiously, and the buffer on her belt hummed. Her lips quivered, and her blue eyes were wide and liquid. “It’s another line of code. Not thought.”
“A fourth Bynar?” said Gold. “Are you sure? How do you know that the Androssi haven’t planted a virus designed to simulate a Bynar’s cerebral patterns?”
“No, no…” 111 shook her head in the exaggerated way of a little girl trying to make a point to an adult who just did not speak the same language. But her hesitancy was gone, and her speech had acquired the high singsong Gold associated with the Bynars. “This is no virus. This is not 110 either, and it is not 110’s doppelgänger. Both are unchanged. This one says that the doppelgänger is Soloman, a Bynar existing outside in another temporal realm.”
“It’s a Prophet,” Dax blurted. “Look, the reason we stole the device in the first place is because the ancient Hebitians built it, and the Cardassians can’t access it. The pictographs on those Hebitian tombs on Cardassia strongly favor the view that the Hebitians were telepaths—”
“That’s only legend,” said Gomez.
Salek said, “Legends usually have a basis in fact. We know that there are no Cardassian telepaths. Yet the Hebitians leave behind a device that relies on the ability to access information on a digital level when combined with telepathy. The Bynars are the only species capable of both.”
Dax looked triumphant. “What’s happening now is precisely what’s been prophesized: that the One will reach out and then His Temple will be
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