Chapter Text
Coasters.
An idea so ridiculously specific, it didn’t sound real.
But no, apparently these “coasters” were not only real, but also common, and commonly used. They were also inedible, inconspicuous, and easy to emulate with minimum effort. A perfect set of circumstances.
“Major Kira was back in Ops today!”
“Thank the Prophets. No disrespect to Li Nalas, may his spirit walk the Celestial Temple- but she knows how to keep these Starfleet types in check.”
“I still can’t believe the provisional government just reassigned her like that. After all she’s done, dealing with the Federationers for a whole year- can you imagine? She deserves a medal!”
So. These were the Solids who’d been venturing into the Gamma Quadrant over the last year.
Bajorans. Humans. Ferengi. All with individual names, titles, ranks.
All looked the same.
As the very first Changeling to infiltrate the military base known as “Deep Space Nine”, they needed to absorb as many details as possible.
Four limbs, two eyes, noses, mouths, hair, twenty digits on the extremities- those potentially a challenge to duplicate. Hands were clearly significant. Hands grasped objects, flew about the air as they spoke, touched nearby companions- how did they not feel empty, when no melding occurred?
“Look, I’m sorry about the way I acted earlier, Keiko. Truly. I want you to be happy. I want Molly to be safe.”
“I know. I’m sorry, too.”
“It’s good to have you back. I’ve missed you both.”
“Me too. I just… It’s hard, being back here after they bombed the school. I can’t help but feel a little betrayed! So many parents who sent their kids to me supported Vedek Winn- Kai Winn, now- it feels like I can’t trust them anymore. It’s like anyone could try to hurt us, any time.”
“The revolution didn’t help matters.”
“Maybe we should’ve stayed in the Korat system.”
“… Do you want to go back?”
“No. I want to be here, with you. I really was growing to like it here… I just need time to like it again.”
Nothing could have prepared the Founder for how strange these Solids would be. They crowded around furniture and sipped liquids from hilariously necessary containers, only to expel it later. They inserted sustenance into those disconcerting mouths, feeling absolutely no revulsion at the idea of foreign pollutants travelling through their bodies. They conversed with those same mouths, often at the same time- why have one organ for two so vastly different purposes? Why group together for such an activity?
There was much to observe. A lot to be carefully recorded for convincing emulation. Notice how their jaws and lips move, as they pursue the disintegration of each mouthful- if it needed to be mashed in order for consumption, why not replicate it that way? Perhaps they enjoy the textures. That, at least, was something the Changeling could understand. But why order different items? How can they share the experience of eating together when they are not experiencing the same thing?
The worst thing of all seemed to be the talking. The Founder had never heard so much talking in one day. It was so vulgar, so primitive and inelegant…
“They found her! They found her, oh, bless the Prophets, they found her-”
“Slow down! Who found whom?”
“My mother! The Cardassians took her four years ago, dragged her off to who knows where- apparently, she was in a mining colony in the Jalvei System, and she was sent home right after the Occupation ended, but her ship was intercepted by Ferengi traders-”
“Oh, is she all right?”
“Yes! She had to work as a cook on their vessel for a year, but the Federation Starship Uluru intercepted them two days ago and rescued all the prisoners!”
“Kori, that’s wonderful! Is she back?”
“She’s in the Rakantha province right now, I just asked Odo for ten days’ leave, and I’m going to go see her-”
Their notions of “family” were vague and narrow-minded, to say the least. The Solids seemed fiercely protective of their progeny and severely attached to their progenitors. It was unclear how they conceived; though it seemed unlikely that cloning was their preferred method- many similar species in the Gamma Quadrant required sexual relations to produce offspring, which was only slightly less appalling than the various manners in which the infants were grown and expelled.
In The Great Link, Changelings were thought into existence by the sheer power of collective unity and excellence. There were no “parents”, no “children”- just the efforts of many and one, many as one- matter materialised from melding and matrix and sheer will. The Founders could create life in its purest, most unpolluted form, from nothing at all.
But of course they could. They were Gods.
“Hey! How was work?”
“Don’t even ask. The damn computer terminals are all linked to the same subprocessor cells, and because the Cardassians either damaged or recoded every one of those on the way out, we had to re-lay the whole thing from scratch!”
“I’m not even going to pretend I understood that, but it sounds rough.”
“Oh, you can say that again. The chief was cursing up a storm.”
“Well, things weren’t much better in the infirmary today. You know, I don’t think you Starfleet officers appreciate just how lucky you are! All that technology? Doctor Bashir was going on about how the computers weren’t processing his data fast enough, but really, what does it matter when you can heal plasma burns in under a minute? We didn’t have anything like that in the Resistance.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I guess that’s true… I just need a break, I think. Back on the Destiny, we used to have mandatory holodeck hours at least twice a month. I don’t think I’ve set foot in one for over a year, now.”
“Really? Why not?”
“Isn’t it obvious? I don’t have latinum.”
“Quique, this is perfect! I was just going to go sailing along the Dakhur peninsula this evening, you should come join me.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I don’t want to intrude-”
“Nonsense! You know, in Bajoran culture, it’s considered very rude to decline an invitation?”
“You’re making that up.”
“Am I?”
“… All right, I get off at 0700 hours. You?”
“0800, unless there’s an emergency. See you there!”
So far, it seemed these Bajorans were still reeling from an occupation of their meagre territories, carried out by a species known as “Cardassians”. A weakling child race, inefficiently enslaved by another child race that wasn’t even strong enough to keep hold of its property.
Sentiments towards Cardassians seemed to veer towards the negative on this station. The phrase “ugly Cardie bastard” had been uttered some hours before, though the Founder was yet to come across a Cardassian and thus did not know what they looked like.
Much the same as Bajorans, undoubtedly.
The Solid in charge of maintaining the station was likely “Chief”, and they had a suspicion the Human male assuaging his mate at this table some time ago was the Solid in question. A simple enough build to imitate… though, the hair could take some practice. “Doctor Bashir” seemed to lead the medics. Hopefully he’d be easier to impersonate.
They’d also heard the word “quarks” more than once, though they were unfamiliar with the term. Was quarks a social custom of some sort? A location, an activity? Perhaps they’d follow “Quique” and the Bajoran to these “holosuites” later that evening.
How fitting, that the Solids craved recreation so constantly. Their lives must be so very empty without the Link. How fickle their loyalty must be, that they needed to be bribed with entertainment in order to efficiently serve their masters. How futile, the way they touched each other, desperate for whatever shallow comfort that could offer.
The Vorta didn’t engage in physical touch like these Solids. The Jem’Hadar only did so to inflict pain.
Neither of them even dreamed of recreation.
That was the order of things.
“I just don’t see what the problem is, Dax. Major Kira doesn’t like the holosuites, so what? Everyone likes different things. It isn’t like I could ever get Curzon into baseball.”
“Oh, but it’s more than that! She’s just always so guarded, so… angry. She’s just completely incapable of relaxing! Even when we play springball, it seems like her primary goal’s to just… whack the hell out of that ball, as aggressively as possible! I’m her friend. It makes me sad.”
“The Occupation only ended a year ago. She’s been fighting her whole life! Some wounds take time to heal. We both know that.”
“… Oh, you’re right. I guess it doesn’t really matter if she gets the program or not- we just have to keep trying, so she knows we care about her.”
“Wise words, Old Man.”
Man. Woman. Just when they thought they were beginning to understand the difference, a comment like that would derail everything. The Trill was a man? An old man, too? Usually, the Solids referred to as “old” had wrinkly skin and a tired gait; the Trill possessed neither. In fact, he possessed the higher voice and protruding chest (the function of which was still unclear) that were, at least somewhat-consistently, associated with humanoid females.
The Founders would have to learn to simulate all types of bodies, then; just to be safe. It shouldn’t be too difficult- many of the species under the Dominion displayed similarly… troubling variations. It was a wonder these primitive life forms managed to work together at all.
It seemed Deep Space Nine's leaders had the maximum access to the station’s facilities. The authority figures mentioned most often were Major Kira, Constable Odo, Doctor Bashir, Chief O-Brien (likely an extension of “Chief”), Lieutenant Dax, Captain Sisko, and The Emissary.
These Solids also apparently treated their subordinates in a manner which allowed for a staggering amount of familiarity. Where was the fear; the loyalty, the piety? Furthermore, they seemed obsessively preoccupied with each others’ mental health. Were their bodies and minds truly so very weak?
To conquer their worlds would be a simple task, then. The Jem’Hadar did not tire easily and certainly did not require sleep, comfort, or emotional coddling as they did.
Oh, and they did. The Bajorans prayed to false gods. The others organised themselves around inherently disorganised “Star-fleet” ranks. Everything about their nature suggested subservience, and an inherent craving for higher intervention.
They were made to be ruled.
“Forgive me, Doctor, but you have tried three books from my home world and assailed me with your erroneous opinions; it is only fair that I am granted the opportunity to do the same.”
“Really? Sorry, I just didn’t think you were interested in trying Earth literature.”
“Why not?”
“W- well, you’re, um… Honestly? You seem… somewhat convinced that Cardassian literature is the best there is. No offence.”
“My dear doctor. I know Cardassian literature is the best there is. I only wish to broaden my horizons, so that I may then proclaim it with a conviction that much more warranted.”
“Oh, come on, Garak! Have an open mind! What if you do like it, are you just going to pretend you didn’t, anyway?”
“Would you be able to tell?”
“Hmm… honestly? No. God, you’re like a Vulcan, when you want to be-”
“Well, I hardly think it’s fair to start throwing names around.”
“I wasn’t throwing- oh, you infuriate me, you know that? And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“Oh, neither would I… You grow so very animated when we disagree, it’s quite charming.”
“Oh… I do?”
“I mean it in the best possible way, Doctor.”
“… You do, don’t you? You really do enjoy my company.”
“Did you somehow think I was in the habit of dining once a week with someone whose company I find tedious or offensive?”
“No! I’m just… happy it’s me, that’s all. Who you dine with once a week.”
“How polite of you.”
“I appreciate it, Garak. Really! Being able to… well, talk too much.”
“Ah, but if there’s one thing we Cardassians appreciate, Doctor, it’s conversation.”
“Well, here’s a conversation I’d love to have with you- how would you feel about trying an ancient Earth playwright, called Shakespeare?”
So, this was a Cardassian… sitting here idly with the doctor, smiling and eating dessert.
Surely, this had to be some kind of joke? Based on the looks the two of them were getting, the Cardassian wasn’t very popular- but he didn’t even seem in mortal danger for it. No, the Bajorans didn’t appear to fear this “Garak” at all, nothing beyond an occasional display of resentment- and apparently, all this Cardassian really did was sit around and repair clothing all day, and… discuss books. How had these people managed to take over a planet?
Perhaps it was a ruse. Perhaps it would be worthwhile to follow this “Garak” around a few hours; get a better impression of how the Cardassian mind worked. He certainly seemed different, at the very least… It could be a false belief stemming from the hubris of his race, but he did come across as less overtly needy than his Human companion.
The Human was a lost cause, for now. Doctor Bashir had a relatively imitable form, but unfortunately, he spoke altogether too much. Accurately impersonating him before his colleagues would be near impossible at this point; what would a Changeling even say? A replacement would be detected instantly. Bashir was far too knowledgable, and far too quick to display it- not to mention overly familiar and, as previously noted, needy.
How did these creatures evolve in a way that they needed so much? They needed fabrics to protect their skins, water and food to sustain them, sleep so they wouldn’t tire, furniture to drape their grotesque bodies about, distractions so they wouldn’t grow bored, hollow and superficial connections so they wouldn’t grow lonely, variety, variety in everything, all so their minds wouldn’t dull- how could they stand it?
Despite themselves, the Founder felt a trickle of curiosity polluting their disgust.
“Come on, come on, I know you want to! Try it, try it-”
“… The more you hype it up, the more afraid I get.”
“My goal exactly. Try it, try it-”
“Stop cheerleading!”
“… “Shout-pulling”?”
“Wow, is that how it translates? Anyway, not important. Okay. Okay, I’m trying it…”
“…”
“… Bleurgh! Anara, this is… absolutely awful, what the hell?!”
“Hah! You- your face, you- I warned you, authentic hasperat isn’t really hasperat unless it makes your eyes water-”
“My tongue! It’s actually burning off, you absolute-”
“Oh, it’s too much, too much- wait, don’t- don’t spit it out! Oh, Great Prophets, you’re ridiculous…”
It was the mess.
Retaining this shape across several hours wasn’t much of a challenge. What made it unbearable was the mess.
Over the course of the day, the Founder had borne five utensils of varying shape, weight, texture, and temperature. This on its own was pleasant enough… the heat especially was, at times, rather soothing. Ultimately though, the mess was intolerable.
It repulsed them, thinking of how these utensil were lifted to mouths, held between lips, the liquid within corrupted with humanoid residue… And there was so much residue, everywhere. Humans, it seemed, were the worst offenders, shedding bits of what made up their skin across every surface- they hardly even seemed aware of it! What was it like, leaving a trail behind wherever you went? How did the untidiness of it all not drive them insane?
“Whoa- Jake, what’re you doing?”
“Come on, help me! You said throwing tube grubs at people from the upper levels was a waste of food, if you can even call that food-”
“Tube grubs are food!”
“If you say so. But, coasters aren’t food, right? And they roll! So, I’m thinking, maybe if we attach the stink bombs to them-”
“Oh! I get it-”
“Quickly, please, before someone else gets it?”
The Founder was seized in short, grubby fingers, which they saw belonged to a small, orange Solid with crooked teeth. It was definitely Ferengi, possibly male, probably adolescent, and certainly the most hideous of all the Solids they’d seen that day.
Maintaining composure while being squashed among their fellow coasters was a struggle.
“Shh, you gotta be quiet, or Odo’ll hear us-”
““Quiet”?! Jake, we’re setting off a bomb!”
“It’s not a regular bomb, silly, it’s a stink bomb. There’s a difference!”
They did not know what a “stink bomb” was, but the phrase hardly suggested anything pleasant. It was fortunate Changelings had no sense of smell.
Unfortunately, they were not quite as immune to the unpleasantness of blowing up.
The two little Solids gleefully attached a series of small devices to their collection of coasters, kneeling on the ground with gas masks covering their breathing orifices. This did not bode well. The Founder wondered if revealing their presence was worth it, but- no, no it is not. Not when our biggest advantage is this “Federation’s” complete ignorance of our existence.
Still… the idea of having an explosive taped to their side held little appeal.
“Wait! Someone’s coming!”
“Haha, perfect, then they’re our first target-”
“Jake, wait, stop!”
A coaster from just beside them was rolled out from beneath the table, travelling on its side, and eventually hitting a pair of feet before toppling over.
“Jake- you idiot! Those are Odo’s shoes!”
“Oh, crap-”
Three pulses of light from the device attached to it, and BOOM- the coaster was lost in a cloud of billowing smoke. Based on the exclamations and groans erupting from all around the premises, the smell was most unpleasant indeed- what could possibly have been the objective here?
Chaos, the Founder realised, with a sharp pang of revulsion.
These Solids didn’t merely exist in a state of chaos.
They wantonly caused it.
They delighted in it. They encouraged their young to indulge in it. They cultivated it, nurtured it, spread it like a disease.
There were few things in the known universe so disconcerting.
These Solids were not merely incompetent. They were evil.
“What’s going on here?”
Ah, so this was Constable Odo… Based on everything they’d heard earlier, they assumed this Solid was in charge of security- a powerful position. It was a valuable opportunity to learn how this Odo looked.
But it was also a valuable opportunity to escape, as both the young Solids were reluctantly abandoning their haven underneath the table and stuttering excuses and apologies to everyone present.
The Founder would soon need to regenerate anyway, and had no desire to do so alone. They didn’t want to spend another minute away from the Link.
It was time to leave the station.
Slowly, they rolled out from under the pile of coasters before turning into a small vole- they’d come across a nest of the creatures in the mining shafts above, and the rodents were fairly simple to mimic. Taking advantage of the roiling smoke, they scurried past rows of feet- dust-caked, sweaty, fabric-and-grime-enveloped feet- and through the recreation centre they now knew to be “Quark’s”, a bar where the Solids socialised, wasted their material wealth, and poisoned their bodies with harmful chemicals.
It was worse than anything the Founder could have imagined.
These creatures were in desperate need of salvation.