“Who I am is not important,” I said as I raised the level of the enhancer. “It’s all a dream and as soon as you answer my questions you’ll wake up and return to your beloved forest.”

It was an advantage, I realized, to have connected him before he regained consciousness. Along with the drug and the light containment field, the suggestion of a dream reality was more threatening to a soldier like Dukat than the familiar context of a hostile interrogation. He sat on a chair with a low back in the middle of an intense cone of light while I remained in the outer dark. His squinting eyes told me that it was difficult for him to see me with any clarity. But his eyes also revealed that he would match the power of his mind with anyone who dared. My best chance with such an experienced and proud adversary was to press my advantage.

“PROCAL DUKAT!” I screamed harshly. He winced and tried to follow me as I receded deeper into the darkness of the room and moved around behind him. His head stopped and snapped to the other side where the containment field also prevented him from turning around to follow me.

“Why did you come here?” I whispered. He tried to shift the weight of his body to stand up and when he realized that he couldn’t, that even the range of his arm movement was limited, he rested his hands in his lap and tried to move into a deep relaxation. In a way it was touching: the old man reverting to the mind control exercises he had learned as a child. I remained still and let the silence extend as I very gradually raised the level of his subliminal anxiety.

“Why was it necessary?” I asked softly.

The silence continued to the point where I had to fight my own impatience. Usually the effectiveness of an interrogation is assured by its sense of timelessness; the maddening possibility that it could go on forever. In this case I was acutely aware that we had to finish by first light when Pythas would have to contact the compound and inform the others of Dukat’s “disappearance.” And yet I had to wait for his response, for some kind of reaction, before I could continue. To force the procedure would only betray my limitations. His breathing had a maddening regularity, and I wasn’t even sure if he was still conscious. I had modulated the enhancer to the upper end of level three, far past the point of no reaction. I wondered if I had attached the filament at the base of his skull correctly.

Suddenly he caught his breath in a ragged gasp that sounded like fear. His body shivered violently, and he held his breath longer than I thought possible. Whatever he was experiencing was terrifying and only his bedrock discipline enabled him to contain it. To admit that fear would have any effect on him was the equivalent of an act of cowardice to a man like him, and I began to suspect that he would literally go mad or die before he’d give me the cue I needed.

“Get inside! Get inside their appendages!” he yelled. “It’s your only chance! You’re going to die–at least die with honor not running away with your backs exposed to their death and ridicule–get inside! Use your hands, your teeth whatever is left is nothing but the last knowing that you died not running like gutted cowards but get inside!” he babbled on one long breath, his face turning red with the effort to control a horror that was uncontrollable. He began to cough and flecks of blood appeared on his lips. “Get inside! Embrace them your lives are not important nobody cares if you live but how you die in the face. . . .” His coughing turned to gagging and choking. He was apoplectic, and tears began to appear. His rage was impotent, and he knew it. He was crying like a little boy whose tantrum was having no effect whatsoever on the outside world. “You cowardly bastards!” he sobbed in a hoarse whisper. His voice was going. “Why won’t you die like men?”

I made the decision to modulate down to the lowest level. I knew the risk I was taking–this might give him the respite he needed to outlast the night–but his threshold was high, and he was perilously close to snapping into insanity or worse. I had to reinsert myself in his process somehow. He would try to match his will with anything I imposed from the outside and fight to the death; I had to become involved, even at the risk of imprinting my identity on his memory. I moved back around into his purview. His eyes were closed, his body clenched as if trapped by the horror of his last image. I came to the edge of the cone of light.

“Why are you frightening me like this? What have I ever done to you?” I asked simply.

He opened his eyes and squinted at me. “You.” Was there recognition?

“Yes, it’s me.” I squatted so that I was at eye level. I tried to soften myself, round off all the sharp edges. “Why are we here? Why have you brought me? I was asleep and safe.”

“There is no safety. You saw them!” he whispered fiercely, his eyes burning with his vision. “We can never sleep. How many times have I warned you? They even invade our dreams and we have to fight them there.” He was feverish, but there was definitely a look of recognition. I had a sudden intuition.

“But what can we do?” I asked like a child. “We’re asleep. How can we defend our dreams?” The clenched muscles of his face began to slowly give way to a smile. I was right.

“Tell me, Father. Please.” A hint of the real son’s overenunciated and ponderous diction began to creep into my voice. I even tried to lengthen my neck. I was summoning up the image of Dukat’s son as much as I could from just that one meeting on Romulus.

“You have to be strong on every level. Cowardice is like a disease and these people will infect you any way they can. Look what happened at Kobixine. They said negotiate with the arachnids. I said no.” The voice was harsh, whispered, but he was going to communicate at any cost. “We have the advantage. Exterminate them. That’s what they want to do to us. We’re outnumbered, but we have the element of surprise on our side. We have to use it!” The old man began to cough again and flecks of blood and spittle flew into my face. “Gul Karn caved in. He became infected. We lost our advantage and the arachnids slaughtered us.” The memory was fresh and bitter. “That’s why Karn had to die, son. That’s why we need the Brotherhood. They must not be allowed to infect us!”

I began to breather easier. Now we were getting to the crux. “Who are they, Father? Tell me so I can recognize them,” I pleaded.

“You know them!” I could feel the heat of the old man’s anger. “How many times have I warned you? Only fools don’t listen!”

“I’m sorry, Father,” I whispered.

“They’re the same people who now want to kiss the Federation’s ass and sign treaties that turn us all into women. Again, we have the advantage and the civilians and the traitors are pissing it away.” His disgust was corrosive. “We have two implacable enemies, son. How are we going to fight them if we turn our warriors into women? That’s what the Assembly wants to do!”

“The Federation . . . yes,” I said. “They only understand power . . .”

“And the Klingons, boy! Don’t forget them!” he commanded as if they were surrounding us. “They understand power, too, and if they think we’d rather talk than die. . . .” Dukat trailed off.

“I won’t forget them, Father.” I started to modulate the enhancer up. I didn’t want to lose him. His eyes widened with a new thought.

“Did you go to Romulus?” he asked.

“Yes, I did. With Barkan,” I added.

“He’s good. He’s good, son,” the old man nodded. “But watch him. He’s like his father. If a better deal can be made. . . .” I modulated higher. He was seized by a spasm and his face contorted into a rictus. “That’s what they look like!” he screamed. “That’s what they really look like when you strip away. . . .” His breath ran out and he began to choke in an attempt to refill his lungs. I chose not to modulate down. “We have to . . . kill them. Carriers . . . they carry the disease. Every one of them. Surround the Assembly . . . let everyone watch so they never forget. Ghemor . . . Lang . . . the guls who stand with them . . . especially the traitors!” Dukat was energized and tried to rise as if he were exhorting his troops. The frustration of not being able to poured into his words.