Star Trek: Deep Space 9
# 17
Heart Of The Warrior

CHAPTER
        1

STATION LOG, CAPTAIN Benjamin Sisko, Arconina.
    The Valtusian peace conference is scheduled to
begin in two days aboard DS9. The Valtusians
have managed the near impossible through
tireless behind-the-scenes work, persuading not
only representatives of the Cardassian govern-
ment, but Maquis and Federation representatives
to sit down together in the hopes of finally settling
the Maquis problem.
    Complicating logistics will be the loss of three
key station personnel: Major Kira, Lieutenant
Commander Worf, and Security Chief Odo, who
are being dispatched on a high-priority mission
into the Gamma Quadrant one day before the
conference begins...

    Major Kira Nerys leaned forward as far as she
could, gazing out the vast curve of the Promenade's
viewport toward the docking ring. She felt a growing
sense of anticipation as she scanned the ships at-
tached to the space station's outermost section for the
one at Docking Pylon 7. She gazed past a beautiful
new planet-hopper at Docking Pylon 5, past an old
but serviceable Bajoran cargo carrier at Docking
Pylon 6, and then found herself staring at an ancient,
battered-looking transport ship parked just beyond
them.
    The moment she saw it, she thought she'd made a
mistake. That hunk of junk couldn't possibly be their
ship. Quickly she began counting out around the
docking ring, and once again she came to the same
broken-down wreck in Docking Port 7. What was
Quark trying to do, get them all killed? A flash of rage
passed through her, and she struggled to keep her
temper under control. This wasn't anything like the
sleek, fast little starship she'd been led to expect.
    The transport ship had to be at least fifty years old.
Its hull held hundreds if not thousands of pockmarks
from collisions with space debris, and more than a
couple of phaser burns scarred the nacelles, which
hunched over the passenger cabin. One such burn had
been sloppily patched with what looked like scrap
iron. She leaned closer, straining to make out the
details. Not durasteel, she thought, appalled, and not
even regular steel--raw scrap iron.
    I'm going to strangle him, she thought, gripping the
railing as though it were the Ferengi's scrawny little
neck. There's no doubt about it this time. I'm going to
strangle him.
    She felt the hair on the back of her neck bristle with
indignation. She had suspected Quark would try to
pull a fast one, and of course he had. When would
Sisko learn not to deal with him? Trusting a Ferengi to
get a civilian ship for them--it was nothing short of
suicidal.
    She shook her head in disgust and released the
railing. "He can't be serious," she said, turning to
Chief O'Brien beside her. She pointed at the ship.
"Tell me that's not it!"
    O'Brien frowned as he peered at the note in his
hand. "Docking Port 7," he read. "That's her, all
right. Perhaps she's not as bad as she looks."
    "Right." She gave a derisive snort. "It's going to be
ten times worse."
    "We won't know till we look inside," O'Brien went
on. His words sounded forced even to Kira.
    "Come on, then," she said, turning toward the
turbolift. "Let's get it over with so we can start
looking for a real ship."
    She wove her way through the crowds on the
Promenade toward the nearest lift, letting her anger
build to a white-hot fury. The station was packed, and
crowds swelled the Promenade to bursting, but she
noticed that everyone who saw her face or met her
gaze had the good sense to scramble out of her way. I
never was very good at hiding my feelings, she thought.
At least Quark won't mistake my reaction to his ship.
She'd known Quark for quite a few years, and
though he'd always cut comers in his rush to make a
profit, this was the most blatant rip-off she'd ever seen
him try to pull. It bordered on criminal. And he had
nerve to pull it on her--on all the station's command
personnel! Well, he wasn't going to get away with it,
she vowed, quickening her pace. She'd see to that.
    The turbolift doors opened as she approached, and
a pair of Vulcans in dark cloaks strolled out, gazing
around with faintly curious expressions. They had
probably come to monitor the peace conference, she
thought... not that she had much hope for success.
It had taken her people decades to wrest freedom
from Cardassia. How could the Maquis expect suc-
cess practically overnight? She nodded politely to the
Vulcans and entered the turbolift, with O'Brien right
on her heels.
      "Docking ring," she snapped to the computer. The
doors whisked closed, and they rode out in silence.
  "Perhaps..." O'Brien mused.
    Kira glanced at him and was shocked to find an
intrigued look on his face. She'd never been great at
reading people, but there couldn't be any mistaking
his expression.
    "You're thinking of taking that ship, aren't you?"
she demanded.
    "Uh... well, I'd have to have a closer look first, of
course," he said, shifting a little uncomfortably. A
hint of a blush crept into his cheeks. "It's not what's
outside that counts, after all--"
 "Forget it! Just forget it!" Kira said, waving her
arms for emphasis. Had everyone on the station gone
crazy? "It's not going to happen! There's no way I'm
going off to the Gamma Quadrant in that pile of
junk!"
    The lift door opened before O'Brien could answer,
and Kira whirled and strode out angrily into the
bustle of travelers, cargo handlers, and station person-
nel. DS9 never seenled to sleep anymore, she thought,
and with the peace conference coming up, ships were
arriving at a dizzying rate. Every berth on the docking
ring was occupied, and more sat waiting in queue to
disburse passengers and cargo. Dax and half the Ops
staff were busy juggling schedules to make sure every-
one got aboard the station in a timely manner.
    She paused and glanced up and down the broad
curve of the docking ring. Where was that Ferengi
bastard? With so much going on, he had to be here.
    Kira finally spotted Quark and his brother Rom
standing off to one side talking to a pair of Andorians.
The Andorians kept glancing around nervously; they
seemed to be trying to keep a low profile, Kira
thought. Although they wore long, concealing brown
tunics with simple brass-colored belts, their shocks of
white hair, bright blue skins, and antennae stood out
in sharp contrast to everything around them.
    Close by them, she noticed a pair of Bajoran cargo
handlers in one-piece red uniforms lounging incon-
spicuously, as though on break. I know those two, she
realized, and then managed to place their faces. They
were two of Odo's deputies. They had to be keeping
Quark under surveillance, Kira thought with a touch
of glee... leave it to Odo. Even with all the bustle
going on, the constable still had time to keep tabs on
the station's number one suspect.
    Surveillance or not, she had her own problems with
Quark right now, and she wasn't about to wait for him
to finish his business with the Andorians. She stalked
forward. The Andorians spotted her, muttered some-
thing to Quark, and hastily turned and walked farther
up the docking ring. Probably smugglers, Kira
thought with distaste; Quark would deal with anyone
or anything if it meant profit. Still, she would trust
Odo to keep him in check.
    Her thoughts turned to the ship he was trying to
foist off on them, and again her anger boiled up. I can
handle this, she told herself. I will not strangle him.
Yet.
    "Quark--" she began, drawing to a halt in front of
him.
    "Major Kira!" Quark said, grinning happily. "Your
ship has just arrived, exactly as ordered. And what a
beauty, too--the Galactic Queen, a pleasure cruiser
serving the Orjax Cluster until two weeks ago. Why,
she only has fifty million light-years on her warp
engines--"
    Kira clenched her jaw. I'm not going to strangle
him, she told herself again. She opened her mouth to
give an angry retort, but O'Brien interrupted.
    "And I'll bet," O'Brien said from behind her, "that
she hasn't had a single day of regularly scheduled
maintenance. We looked her over from the observa-
tion deck on the Promenade. We couldn't help but
notice all the damage she's sustained over the years."
    "Decades, rather," Kira muttered. Leave it to a
human to try to play peacemaker, she thought. She
gave O'Brien a displeased glance, but he flashed her a
quick grin.
    "A few minor cosmetic blemishes..." Quark be-
gan, giving them both a reassuring smile. "A little
paint and you won't even know the difference. Isn't
that right, Rom?"
    "True, brother," Rom said quickly. "A little paint
is all she needs."
    "There you have it," Quark said with a winning
smile.
    "Paint." Kira folded her arms and contented her-
self with leveling a piercing stare at the little Ferengi.
It seemed to work, she noticed with some satisfaction;
Quark shifted uneasily from foot to foot.
 "You won't find a better ship," he said.
    "Come on," O'Brien said, holding out one hand.
"Let's get it over with. I need the technical specs and
the registration papers."
    "Of course." Quark held out his palm and Rom
slapped a datachip into it. Quark passed the chip over
to O'Brien, then turned and led the way toward
Airlock 7, saying, "She's a Delphi-class transport
ship. As you no doubt already noticed, she is built
using the finest Thelorian construction from human
blueprints, with only fifty million light-years on her
warp engines--"
 "It won't do," Kira said flatly. Quark could talk it
up until his tongue fell out, but it didn't change one
simple fact: The ship was a disaster. "For one thing,
we need an airtight hull."
    "Delphi-class?" O'Brien said, nodding. "I thought
so. I worked on a couple of Delphi-class ships during
the Cardassian war."
    Delphi-class? Was that important? Kira glanced
over at him. O'Brien's forehead had wrinkled in
thought again. What was so great about a Delphi-class
ship? It was just another obsolete model, as far as she
knew. Wasn't it?
    "That's right," Quark said smoothly, "a classic,
isn't that so, Rorn?"
    "Right, brother," Rom said, rubbing his hands
together nervously. "They don't make them like that
anymore."
    Kira gave a snort. "I can see why," she said. "It's a
death trap."
    Reaching the proper airlock, Quark punched an
access code into the hand pad, then stood back as the
huge red door rolled to the side like a cog in some vast
clockwork mechanism.
    Instantly a dank, wet, unpleasant odor flowed out
through the airlock. Kira gagged and took a step back.
    "What the hell is that stink?" she demanded, cover-
ing her nose and mouth with one hand. It had to be
coming from inside the ship, she thought. What was
Quark trying to do, poison them on top of everything
else?
    The smell got worse. Gasping, Kira retreated a
couple of meters. It smelled like rotting meat and raw
sewage mixed together, she thought, fighting down
bile. She'd never smelled anything quite so foul.
    Quark, too, was covering his nose. "Rom?" he
demanded. "What's the meaning of this?"
    "Brother, I think they mentioned a small problem
with the ship's air filtration system," Rom said. "I'm
sure I can fix it."
    "No problem, then," Quark said. He turned back to
O'Brien and gave a nervous little laugh. "Rom can fix
it later tonight. Shall we look inside?"
    "Close it up," O'Brien said, frowning and covering
his own mouth and nose. "I'm not going in there with
anything less than an environment suit!"
    Quark punched in the code again and the door
rolled shut. "Rom will get right on it," he promised.
    "This ship is not even remotely acceptable," Kira
said. She continued to fight down nausea. "You'll
have to do better, Quark, if you expect to make a
deal."
    "It's the only thing on the market!" Quark pro-
tested. "You should see what I turned down to get this
beauty for youm"
    "It'll do," O'Brien said. He was nodding to himself
and smiling faintly.
    Kira gaped at him. "What?" she demanded. She
could barely believe what she'd just heard. "How can
you say that! This is a... a..." Words failed her.
She didn't know where to begin.
 "Prize?" Quark suggested. "Bargain?"
    "It's no prize," O'Brien said, "but it just might do.
If the systems check out, that is," he added hastily.
"I'll get back up here with a team in environment
suits to look everything over in half an hour." He
nodded toward the turbolift. "Come on, Major. Let's
talk to the captain about it."
    Kira set her feet. "Are you insane?" she demanded.
She had no intention of accepting the ship. "It's a
disaster waiting to happen!"
    "Come on, Major," O'Brien said, still softly but
more intensely. He gave a jerk of his head toward the
lift. "Let's see the captain first, okay?"
    She shrugged in despair. What was going through
O'Brien's mind? Either he had a plan or he really had
gone insane, she decided. If it was a plan, it had better
be a damn good one.
"All right," she said. "We'll talk to the captain."
O'Brien started for the lift, and Kira trailed after
him. How he could even suggest accepting this ship
was beyond her. She puzzled over it. More than once
she'd decided all humans were crazy, but there always
seemed to be a method to their madness. Even so,
O'Brien couldn't possibly accept such a pitiful excuse
for a ship... could he? He hadn't even checked out
the interior systems. Didn't he care about them?
Didn't he at least want an airtight hull?
    "Another pair of satisfied customers," Kira over-
heard Quark saying proudly to Rom.
    That did it. She whirled, leveling another piercing
glare at him. "Don't think this is over, Quark," she
called. "Captain Sisko still has to sign off on the
ship." And ifI have my way, she mentally added, Odo
will lock you up in that stinking hull for the rest of
your life for trying to cheat us. Let the punishment fit
the crime!
    She hurried to join O'Brien in the turbolift. The
second the doors shut, she demanded, "Are you
insane? That ship--"
    "Give me ten minutes at a comm station," he said,
"and I'll let you know."

CHAPTER
        2

"Just ONE SMALL adjustment." Dr. Julian Bashir hid
his nervousness behind a studied expression of calm.
He flipped open the back panel of his new DNA
analyzer, which he'd designed and built with the help
of the station's computer. He bent down and peered
inside at the complex tangle of circuits and relays and
power couplings. What was wrong with it? It should
be working. He'd gone over it a hundred times
already, and every circuit checked out perfectly.
    He glanced up at Captain Sisko. His commanding
officer was frowning with impatience. Sisko's new
beard and shaved head only emphasized that expres-
sion. Bashir swallowed. I'd better finish up in a hurry,
he thought. Sisko was a busy man, juggling the
Valtusian peace conference and a mission into the
Gamma Quadrant, and he didn't have time to waste.
    Behind Sisko, Lieutenant Commander Worf and
Security Chief Odo both looked on with bored,
slightly put-upon expressions. Worf sighed audibly
and shifted from foot to foot. I'm losing them, Bashir
thought.
    Nevertheless, he continued to keep his expression a
careful neutral as he examined the delicate micro-
connections inside the scanner. It should be working,
he thought. Why wasn't it? He simply didn't under-
stand the problem.
  "Doctor..." Sisko began.
    "One second more." His training at Starfleet Acad-
emy hadn't just covered biology and medicine.
Bedside--in this case, tableside--manners were just
as important, he knew. Like they said at Starfleet, as
long as you look like you know what you're doing,
your patients will have faith in you. Of course, he'd
have to make sure that faith wasn't misplaced.
    He sucked in a deep breath. The scanner had to
work. Everything from the schematics to the pro-
gramming parameters had checked out perfectly dur-
ing computer-simulated tests. So why wouldn't it
power up now?
    Then he spotted the problem. It was so simple, he
could have slapped himself. One power coupling had
worked its way loose. He must have failed to lock it
into position when he was assembling it, he realized.
Carefully he reached in with two fingers, fitted it into
the proper position, and pushed gently. He felt the
two pieces lock together with a faint snap.
    That should do it, he thought with a mental sigh of
relief. He hoped.
  "Well?" Sisko prompted.
    Bashir smiled with new confidence as he stood up
again. It would work, he told himself. You didn't
graduate second in your class from Starfleet Academy
without learning a thing or two about machines.
  "Ready," he said.
    He closed the DNA analyzer's back panel. Running
one hand nervously through his short brown hair, he
took a deep breath, then for the second time touched
the activation button. Now work, damn it, he mentally
instructed the machine. He willed it to start with
every fiber of his being.
    A low hum spread through the medical bay. Bashir
slowly let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been
holding. It had powered up, he thought triumphantly.
It was working. The power coupling hadn't been quite
in place, that was all. It had been his own fault, not
the machine's... simple human error.
    "That fixed it," he said. "Sorry about the delay.
Commander, if you wouldn't mind?"
    Worf stepped forward. "What exactly do you want
me to do?" the tall Klingon asked, his voice a low
growl. He sounded a little nervous, Bashir thought.
Klingons were just like human patients in that
respect. They all had to be coddled and encouraged
when it came to visiting sickbay. Sometimes he
thought every intelligent life-form in the galaxy had
an inborn distrust of the medical profession.
 "Simply place your hand on top," he said. He
pushed the gray box toward Worf, giving him a
reassuring smile. Best tableside manner and all that.
"The scanner will do the rest."
    Worf hesitated a second, glancing first at Captain
Sisko, then at Odo. Slowly, tentatively, he reached
out.
    "You won't feel a thing," Bashir said encouragingly.
At this rate it was going to take all afternoon.
    "I am not afraid of pain," Worf said sharply. He
slapped his hand down hard on top of the DNA
scanner. The slap made a sharp crack loud enough to
make a few of the nurses on the other side of the room
jump.
    Bashir winced a bit. Luckily the DNA scanner
didn't seem to have been injured; it continued to hum
along smoothly.
  "Sorry," Worf said a little more meekly.
    "No harm done," Bashir said. "I didn't mean to
imply that you were afraid of pain," he added. One
difference between Klingon and human patients, he
realized, was that most human patients couldn't
break you in half if you got them angry. "I simply
meant that the process is painless."
    The display panel on the side of the DNA scanner
flashed twice. "Reading," it said, its computer voice
faint and tinny. "Subject DNA passed. Subject is
Klingon."
    Worf withdrew his hand. Slowly he flexed his fin-
gers, staring at them as though he thought they might
have been changed. No chance of that, though, Bashir
thought. It had removed a single skin cell with a
microlaser.
    "Very impressive, Doctor," Sisko said. "Now let's
try a human."
    "Shall I?" Bashir asked, starting to pull up his right
sleeve.
  "No. I'd like to try it myself."
    Sisko placed his own hand on the scanner. After a
second's analysis, the computer announced, "Subject
DNA passed. Subject is human."
    Sisko nodded. "Now it's your turn, Doctor," he
said, stepping back and folding his arms.
    Bashir stepped forward. The captain undoubtedly
wanted to confirm that none of the command staff
had been replaced by changelings, and he was happy
to oblige. Bashir g DNA Scanner to the rescue, he
thought. When he published a paper on the device, he
was certain it would rapidly become the de facto
standard in testing for changeling infiltration. A work
of near genius, if I do say so myself he thought with
satisfaction.
    He put his own hand on the scanner, and after a
second it announced that he, too, was human. Of
course.
    That just left Odo. Bashir glanced at the station's
changeling security officer. This, he thought, would be
the real test.
 "Your turn, Constable," Sisko said.
    Without a moment's hesitation, Odo stepped for-
ward and put his hand on top of the box just as the
others had done.
 "Reading," the device said.
    Bashir leaned forward expectantly. Anyone could
detect DNA in carbon-based life-forms. But detecting
a changeling...
    "Subject has no DNA," his DNA analyzer an-
nounced. "Subject is not a carbon-based life-form."
    "Quite true," Odo said. "But what if they try to
sneak aboard by impersonating a life-form that
doesn't use DNA? Wouldn't that fool your device'?"
    "Some variant of DNA appears to be a universal
constant in all carbon-based life-forms," Bashir said.
"The Federation has only encountered a handful of
silicon-based life-forms, like the Hortas, and none of
them are likely to be on the station during these peace
negotiations. Valtusians, Cardassians, Bajorans, all
the races making up the Maquis, and in fact every
carbon-based race that belongs to the Federation has a
DNA signature on file with Starfleet Medical." He
patted the top of the DNA analyzer proudly. "If
changelings have replaced one or more of them, we'll
know it, believe me."
    "And since we're pulling this test as a surprise, they
won't have any chance to prepare any sort of counter-
measure," Sisko said.
    "I doubt that's possible--" Bashir began, but Odo
interrupted.
    "Don't underestimate my people," he said. "Re-
member what they did on Earth."
    Bashir nodded, then swallowed. They had indeed
infiltrated Starfleet Command and the Federation
headquarters, even going so far as blowing up a
conference with the Romulans. Starfleet had lost
many key personnel. The changelings were crafty and
resourceful. In time, they might indeed find some way
around his device... but hopefully not before he
smoked out any spies aboard DS9.
The captain's badge chirped. "Sisko here," he said.
"Benjamin," Lieutenant Jadzia Dax's voice said,
"the Valtusian ambassadors have arrived. I'm routing
them to Docking Pylon Three. I thought you might
want to welcome them aboard."
    "Thank you, Dax," he said. "I'm on my way." He
glanced at Bashir and said, "Doctor, I believe it's time
to field test your DNA scanner."
    "Right," Bashir said with a grin. This was what
he'd been waiting for, after all.
    "And, Constable," Sisko went on, "I think you
should join us as well. And you too, Mr. Worf, if
you're willing."
  "Certainly," Odo said.
 "Agreed," Worf said.
    Bashir picked up his DNA analyzer and tucked it
under his arm. He'd never met a Valtusian before,
though of course he knew their reputation as a race of
tinkerers and philosophers. Few of them left Valtusia,
preferring to live in their own communal villages,
pondering the universe, writing poetry, tinkering with
intricate clockwork mechanisms, and devoting them-
selves to the mysteries of their kind. This should
prove most interesting, he thought.

CHAPTER
        3

As SOON AS Kira and O'Brien were out of sight, Quark
rubbed his hands together with satisfaction. They
were going to buy his ship. He had that tingling
sensation in his lobes that meant a deal was going
perfectly. He smiled, thinking of the latinum to come.
First the ship, then the peace conference. He could
look forward to record profits this month. He chuck-
led. Yes, things were certainly going well.
 "I don't understand--" Rom began.
    "That's why I'm in charge," Quark replied smugly.
"Remember the one hundred and third Rule of Ac-
quisition."
    "'Fill a desperate need with your most expensive
product, then mark it up five hundred percent?'"
Rom's brow furrowed. "I still don't understand,
brother."
    Quark sighed. His brother might be a mechanical
genius, but he still needed someone to hold his hand
during complicated business deals. "You may recall

some pilgrims from Aryanus Six who ended up
stranded here six months ago," he began. "They
came--"
    "In a Delphi-class starship!" Rom finished. Quark
saw the realization in his brother's eyes. "It's still
there, on the seventh Bajoran moon!"
    "If I remembered that fact, I knew Chief O'Brien
would, too," Quark said smugly. "The pilgrims' ship
doesn't have working warp engines, but the passenger
compartment should be fine. It shouldn't take
O'Brien and his men long to assemble one working
ship out of the two. Because it's such a perfect match,
I quadrupled my original asking price for the Galactic
Queen." He patted the airlock affectionately. "A
small fortune, Rom, and it's all mine!"
      "Brilliant," Rom breathed. "But I believe you're
forgetting something." "What?"
    "My cut, brother! In exchange for my technical
help, you promised--"
    "A fortune less five percent is still a fortune,"
Quark said, waving one hand dismissively. Rom nev-
er seemed to grasp such fundamentals of business.
"Come on, let's get back to the bar before the Dabo
girls rob me blind."

    In Ops, Major Kira leaned against one of the
consoles and watched as Chief O'Brien fed a series of
queries into the computer. Maybe humans weren't
crazy after all, she thought, as the information began
to trickle back out.
    The first thing O'Brien looked at was the station's
recording of the Galactic Queen's warp signature as it
entered Bajoran space. It appeared completely nor-
mal, which meant the ship's warp engines worked
within acceptable parameters. It seemed almost mi-
raculous, considering the otherwise deplorable condi-
tion of the Galactic Queen.
    "All right," Kira said, "the engines work. But what
about everything else? What about the hull--that
stench is enough to smother anyone!"
    "I'm getting to that." He punched up a series of
salvage records and began scanning them. Kira shook
her head in bewilderment. They weren't even the
Galactic Queen's records--they belonged to another
ship, this one called the Progress. Crazy, indeed.
    "Just as I thought," O'Brien said suddenly.
"There's still a Delphi-class ship sitting on the sev-
enth Bajoran moon. It hasn't been picked up for
salvage yet."
    "The pilgrims..." Kira said, suddenly remember-
ing the problems that had left them stranded on DS9
with no way back to Arvanus VI six months previ-
ously. That had been one logistical nightmare, all
right. Luckily Captain Sisko had been able to arrange
transport home for them aboard a freighter. She
frowned, thinking back to the incident. What had
been wrong with their ship? It had been their warp
engines, she recalled. They had damaged their warp
core and fried both nacelles.
    She snapped her fingers, suddenly putting two and
two together. "Quark's ship has working engines,"
she said.
    "That's right." O'Brien leaned back in his chair and
laced his fingers behind his head, grinning widely.
"Still think I'm crazy, Major?"
    She could have laughed with relief. "No. But can
you assemble one working ship out of the pair?"
    "If the engines are in decent shape aboard Quark's
ship--and I suspect they are from the warp
signature--I can have them out and fitted aboard the
pilgrims~ Progress in six hours. The Delphi-class is
modular. I've done it before."
    "Then our only problem," Kira said, sliding into
the seat next to O'Brien, "will be acquiring salvage
rights to the pilgrims' ship." She transferred the
salvage claim he'd been studying to her terminal.
"Loran Devys Salvage," she read aloud, "owns the
hull."
    The name sounded familiar. Where did she know
Loran from? Suddenly it came to her. There had been
a fellow named Loran Devys in another cell during
the resistance. She'd worked with him at least once. If
this was the same man, perhaps he'd remember her
and cut her a deal. It was worth a try, anyway.
     "Do you think you can get the rights to it?" O'Brien
 was saying.
 "There's only one way to find out." She opened a
 link to Bajor and called the number on the salvage
 claim.
     A Bajoran woman in a gold and silver one-piece
 suit answered. An intricate earring dangled from her
 right ear. "Loran Devys Salvage," she said, then her
 eyes widened. "Nerys!" she said in surprise.
    Kira forced a smile. "That's right," she said. Who
was this woman? She didn't look familiar.
    "You don't remember me, of course," the woman
said. "I'm Jael--Koratta Jael, from Devys's cell? We
only met once, and it was many years ago. But I've
seen you quite a few times lately on the news reports.
You're making quite a name for yourself. Are you still
stationed on DS9?"
    "Yes," Kira said. Koratta Jael... that name did
sound vaguely familiar, even if her face wasn't. It had
been quite a few years, she reminded herself. People
could change a lot in all that time. She tried to think
back to the others in Devys's cell. "Didn't you used to
have your hair..." she began, sketching vaguely with
her hands.
    Koratta was nodding. "Yes, much longer. You do
remember. It's wonderful to talk to you again, Nerys,
but is this a social call?"
    "I'm afraid it's business," Kira said. "Devys owns
salvage rights to a Delphi-class transport ship on the
seventh Bajoran moon. Perhaps you know the one I'm
talking about."
    "We own a lot of salvage. Wait a second." Jael
punched something up on her computer terminal.
"Yes, I see the one you mean. The Progress, a Delphi-
class transport. We picked it up at auction six weeks
ago. It's scheduled for retrieval next month."
 "I'd like to buy it," Kira said.
    Jael stared at her in surprise. "It's a dead hull," she
said. "No power--"
    "I know," Kira said, and quickly she explained that
they hoped to assemble one whole ship out of two.
"Do you think Devys might be willing to sell it to
me?"
    "I'm sure he would," Koratta said, studying the
records before her. "We have the estimated salvage
value as scrap duranium at twenty-two bars of gold-
pressed latinum. If you'd like to buy it, that would be
the price. Frankly, I'm sure he'd jump at the offer--it
would save us a lot of work."
    "Thanks, Jael," Kira said with a smile she truly felt
this time. The price sounded more than fair to her. At
times like these, she thought the resistance movement
had brought the Bajoran people closer together than
at any other time in history. "Hold the ship for me.
I'll get back to you later today to work out the
details."
    "Of course," Jael said. "I'm happy to help. Take
care of yourself, Nerys." She severed the connection.
    Kira leaned back. "It looks like we've got your
hull," she said a trifle smugly to O'Brien. It was easy,
when you knew the right people.
    O'Brien shook his head. "Is there anyone you don't
know on Bajor?" he asked.
  Kira grinned. Sometimes it felt that way to her, too.
"You forget how big the resistance movement was,
Chiefi"
    He rose suddenly. "I'd better get an environment
suit and take a look at the Galactic Queen's engines,"
he said. "I'll let you know in half an hour whether it's
workable."

    As the airlock cycled and the huge coglike door
rolled to the side, Benjamin Sisko pulled his shirt
smooth and drew himself up straighter. A Starfleet
captain had to maintain an air of dignity at all times,
he knew. The Valtusian delegation had gone to a lot of
trouble to set up these peace negotiations, and Admir-
al Dulev had underlined the importance of success to
him. Fighting the Maquis sapped both Cardassian
and Federation strength, diverting their attention
from a larger threat in the Gamma Quadrant. If there
could be a fair and amicable settlement, they would
jump on it.
    If only the Valtusians' timing had been better. He
didn't relish the idea of having this peace conference
aboard DS9 while Odo, Kira, and Worf were away.
    Their mission to the Gamma Quadrant had come
about three days previously, when Admiral Dulev had
summoned him to Starbase 201. He'd gone aboard
the Defiant with Worf and Dax.
    There, they had been ushered almost at once into
the admiral's meeting room. It had been Spartanly
furnished: a long table, eight chairs, a pitcher of ice
water on a tray with glasses. Sisko surveyed the room
and noticed the three other people already there and
tried to hold in his surprise. The admiral, of course,
sat at the head of the table. She had her brown hair
pulled back in the severe bun that was becoming
popular among high-ranking Starfleet women. To her
right sat her golden boy, Lieutenant Colfax, looking a
little smug in his trim red command uniform. To the
admiral's left sat a humanoid alien covered in pale
yellow fur, with a pronounced snout and eight-
fingered hands... a female Groxxin, he realized.
They were native to the Gamma Quadrant. So what
was this one doing sitting in on Admiral Dulev's
meeting?
    The admiral wasted no time in getting down to
business. "You remember Lieutenant Colfax, of
course," she said. Sisko nodded; Colfax had been the
one to contact him about this meeting. "This is
Zheronn," she said, indicating the alien, "one of our
informants from the Gamma Quadrant."
    Sisko raised his eyebrows slightly, but made no
comment. An informant would have to have big news
to travel this far, he realized. It meant the Groxxin
had abandoned her job, her family, and any cover she
might have established to hide her activities.
    "Zheronn," the admiral went on, leaning forward
slightly, "has made a discovery about the labs which
genetically engineered the Jem'Hadar for the change-
lings. It seems that these 'perfect warriors' are not
quite so perfect as we thought."
    "In what way?" Dax asked, leaning forward with
interest.
The admiral punched something into the terminal
to her right. Instantly a holographic projection ap-
peared over the conference table: a common molecu-
lar sequence, Sisko saw as it revolved: a double-helix
design. It looked almost like human genetic coding.
  "The Jem'Hadar version of DNA?" Dax guessed.
  "That's right," Admiral Dulev said. "The complete
  genetic code for the Jem'Hadar, including the changes
  which created their chemical dependency on the drug
  called Ketracel-white, their inborn respect for the
  Founders, and most important of all, their aggres-
  sively militant natures."
    "Surely we had already had access to this informa-
tion," Sisko said. "We've encountered the Jem'Hadar
often enough to have skin and other cell samples
available for our scientists to analyze."
    "True. What we didn't have was a way to shut off
these Founder-given genetic tweaks."
    "Shut them off..." Sisko echoed, shocked. "You
mean we can change their genetic code?"
    "You're talking about a retrovirus, aren't you?"
Dax asked. Sisko heard the rise of excitement in her
voice. She knew what this meant, too, he thought.
  "I do not follow you," Worf said.
    Dax turned to him. "Retroviruses are small organ-
isms that work on a genetic level. They exist as
parasites in DNA. Your body is full of them, but that's
all right since most of them are harmless. Some of the
more dangerous types can rewrite bits of genetic code,
making changes throughout the body."
    "Like Panzer's Syndrome," Sisko said. His few
medical classes at the Federation started coming back
to him. A retrovirus had invaded the bodies of every
colonist on Galagos VI, and two hundred thousand
humans had suddenly found themselves developing
gills as a dormant genetic code reactivated itself.
    "Exactly," the admiral said. "I'11 let Zheronn ex-
plain." She turned to the yellow-furred Groxxin.
    Zheronn hesitated a second. When she spoke, the
universal translator gave her a soft, sultry voice.
    "My mate and I work at Laboratory Complex
Ileph-B on Daborat V," she said. "We were in charge
of cataloging and filing. One day a computer error
gave us access to a classified section of the cataloging
system, and Orvor found records from the earliest
days of the Dominion including the designs for a
retrovirus that can modify the Jem'Hadar's genetic
code to eliminate their violent tendencies and stop
their dependence on Ketracel-white. In essence, it
returns them to their state before the Founders modi-
fied their bodies."
    "Effectively neutralizing them as a military threat,"
Lieutenant Colfax finished.
    "If that is true," Worf said, "we must obtain that
retrovirus at all costs."
    Sisko steepled his fingers thoughtfully. This
sounded like the solution to their conflict with the
changelings. Without the Jem'Hadar to back them up
with military strength, much of the Dominion's
threat to the Alpha Quadrant would be ended.
    And yet something still bothered him. Why had
they been summoned to this meeting? Where did he
fit into Admiral Dulev's plan?
"Why do I feel there's a catch?" he asked.
Zheronn said, "Only one of us could make it out
with the information, and Orvor chose to send me.
He, however, kept the design specifications for the
retrovirus. You must rescue him from Daborat V to
get it. That is our price for helping you."
    "Impossible," Worf said. "Daborat V is one of the
most heavily guarded Jem'Hadar bases in the Gamma
Quadrant!"
    "It must be done," Zheronn said. "That is our
price."
    "We feel a small group may be able to infiltrate
Daborat V successfully in order to bring Orvor out,"
Admiral Dulev said. "Your people have the most
experience with changelings and the Jem'Hadar, Cap-
tain. I want you to put together an away team for this
mission including your Constable Odo. They will
depart as soon as possible. Time is of the essence."
    Sisko frowned a bit. Rescuing someone from one of
the largest Jem'Hadar bases in the Gamma Quadrant
was a lot to ask, but he knew that with such a big
payoff at stake, they had to take the chance. He said,
 "I'11 need a civilian ship."
    "Requisition whatever you need," Admiral Dulev
said, rising. "I'll leave you and Lieutenant Colfax to
work out the details." She nodded to Zheronn, and
the two of them left together.
    As soon as they were alone, Lieutenant Colfax
smiled his too-smooth smile and said in his too-
smooth voice, "Who do you have in mind for this
mission, Captain?"
    And so Sisko had mentioned Kira and Worf. Worf
had been only too happy to volunteer, as had Major
Kira when he briefed her the following day back at
DS9. Things had fallen quickly into place from there.
If all went well, the three of them--Kira, Worf, and
Odo--would leave tomorrow, and the peace negotia-
tions would continue without pause aboard DS9.
    The airlock door finished opening, and Sisko felt
his ears pop slightly as the Valtusian ship released its
seals and pressures equalized. Suddenly a scent of the
ship's internal atmosphere reached Sisko, and he
found himself breathing deeply. It was a rich, earthy
smell, filled with the tang of nitrogen and ozone, and
it made the skin on the back of his hands and neck
prickle. It smelled just like New Orleans after a
thunderstorm, he thought, enjoying the sensation. It
brought back quite a few pleasant memories, and for
an instant he wished he could visit his father again. I
do need a vacation, he thought. Maybe after every-
thing settles down again.
    He forced his mind back to the here and now as
three Valtusian ambassadors strolled single file
through the airlock. All three had to duck--they
towered over him, each a little more than two and a
half meters in height, but less than half as wide as an
average human. Their elongated gray-green skulls, the
only part of their bodies showing, held two large,
bulbous, unblinking green eyes set on either side of
their heads. Their toothless mouths were oddly tiny,
and they had no noses, only a pair of slits covered by a
fine grayish green membrane that flared open, then
closed, then flared open again as they breathed.
    They had a dislike of physical contact, Sisko re-
called, which probably explained the concealing
robes. Even their hands were covered, he noticed.
That wouldn't make Bashir's job any easier.
    Their feet making faint clicking noises beneath
their robes, they drew to a stop before him. Sisko
swallowed as he gazed up at their leader's face. He
hadn't realized they were so tall, and he tried not to
stare. Of course he knew what they looked like from
pictures, and many years ago he'd seen one on Vulcan
in the distance, but it had not prepared him to meet
three at one time. They were daunting, to say the
least.
    He glanced from one to another. It was impossible
to tell which was their leader. As one, they bowed to
him, their foreheads almost touching the floor.
    Sisko bowed back and noted how Bashir and Odo
did likewise. Worf, to their far left, nodded politely.
They knew their protocols as well as he did.
    "Welcome to Deep Space Nine," he began. "I am
Captain Benjamin Sisko. This is my chief medical
officer, Julian Bashir, and Constable Odo, who is in
charge of security for the peace conference, and
Lieutenant Commander Worf, my military opera-
tions officer. On behalf of the Federation, we wish to
welcome you and extend an invitation to use any of
the facilities aboard the station that you require."
 The three Valtusians bowed again. "I am Ambassa-
dor Zhosh," said the one on the far left. His voice was
high and reedy, almost musical. "My associates are
Gerazh and Senosh."
    "Do you have any special requirements to make
your stay more pleasant?" Sisko asked. "The envi-
ronmental control in your suites can be adjusted
to suit your needs, of course, but if there is anything
else...?"
    "This has been a long and tiring journey," Ambas-
sador Zhosh said. "We would like to rest now."
    "Of course," Sisko said. "We have one small securi-
ty formality, however. We are requiring all conference
attendees to take a DNA screening test. This is
entirely for your own safety, of course," he added.
    "Test?" Ambassador Zhosh said. His solid green
eyes stared unblinkingly at Sisko, and bits of gold
inside them seemed to sparkle with sudden anger.
"We were not informed of any such test."
    "It is a routine security check, to make sure you are
who you say you are," Sisko said quickly. He tried to
keep his voice calm and soothing. He could well
understand the ambassador's reaction; there weren't
supposed to be any surprises in diplomacy. "As I am
sure you're aware, there is the possibility of change-
lings from the Gamma Quadrant trying to infiltrate
and disrupt this peace conference."
    "Yes," said Zhosh distantly. "We do understand the
necessity. You may proceed."
    "Doctor?" he said, moving aside. Bashir had a
soothing manner when dealing with patients, he
knew, and that was what the situation called for. The
Valtusians were an intensely private race, and he did
not want to offend them.
    Bashir stepped forward and held out his DNA
analyzer. "This box will read your DNA and identify
your genetic codes," he said, "then use them to verify
that none of you is a changeling."
    "How does it work?" Ambassador Zhosh asked,
cocking his head to the side and staring down at the
box with one round green eye.
    "Place your hand on top of the device. It will
remove a skin cell and analyze it."
    Zhosh drew back as if horrified by the idea. "Our
hands must not be touched!" he said with a shudder.
There was a note of alarm in his voice. "Our hands
must not be touched!"
    They must have stumbled onto a cultural taboo,
Sisko realized with a mental sigh. Perhaps that was
why the attusians wrapped themselves so thoroughly
in robes. That, or the Valtusians were changelings,
which seemed singularly unlikely, since they had
spearheaded the peace initiative from the beginning.
    Quickly he said, "I'm sure we can work out an
alternative testing method."
    "It doesn't matter what part of the body is used,"
Bashir said hastily. "Arms, elbows, feet--any patch
of skin will do."
    Ambassador Zhosh gave another shudder. "We
must discuss this matter privately," he said. "This is a
serious breach of protocol, Captain Sisko. We are not
pleased."
 Turning, he led the other two Valtusians back into
their ship. The airlock door rolled closed with a low
grating sound.
    Sisko swallowed. Had he single-handedly derailed
the peace process? If so, Admiral Dulev would have
his head on a platter--not an event he looked forward
to.
    "I'm afraid they didn't react at all well to my
scanner," Dr. Bashir said uneasily.
  Worf said sharply, "They are hiding something."
  "I felt that, too," Odo said.
    "I don't know very much about them," Sisko
admitted. "However, nothing I've seen here today is
the least bit out of character. They are an intensely
private people, after all, and we may have stumbled
onto one of their taboos. Let's give them a few
minutes to talk things over. After all, we did spring
this on them as a surprise. What do you think,
Constable?"
    "I don't like them," Odo said. "Something about
them makes me distinctly uneasy."
    That was interesting, Sisko thought. Odo very
rarely voiced his inner feelings. He had to be more
than a little uneasy to speak up like this now.
    "Why don't you call for more security," Sisko said,
"in case we need help. Just keep them back. We don't
want an incident if we can avoid one."
    "Agreed." Odo tapped his badge and said, "Bring a
security detachment to Docking Port Three on the
double!"
    Sisko tried to wait patiently. His thoughts bounced
back and forth between the Valtusians, the peace
conference, and the possibility of changelings trying
to disrupt matters. Why weren't things ever easy?
    Four of Odo's security guards arrived, panting a bit
from sprinting, and Odo drew them aside, getting into
position to cover the hatch unobtrusively. Hopefully
it wouldn't be necessary, Sisko thought. Were the
Valtusians ever coming out? How long would it take
them to discuss the matter of being tested?
    Sisko glanced at a chronometer. Only three minutes
had passed, he told himself. That wasn't long to wait.
He had to be patient--diplomats moved at their own
pace, after all, and he didn't want to get off on the
wrong foot by pushing too hard.
    Suddenly the hatch rolled back and the three Valtu-
sians emerged single file once more. Sisko frowned.
What was that faint clicking sound? Ambassador
Zhoshmat least Sisko thought it was Ambassador
Zhosh--addressed him again.
    "We have discussed the matter," Zhosh said, "and
we will allow your device to touch us. It may analyze
our feet, which are among the least sacred parts of our
body."
    Zhosh pulled up the hem of his flowing green robe,
revealing a long, narrow green foot that ended in three
clawed toes. A fourth and much broader claw jutted
from its heel. The Valtusians walked balanced on the
tips of the claws, Sisko realized, which explained the
faint clicking he heard when they moved.
 "That will do nicely," Dr. Bashir said.
    He activated his DNA scanner and set it on the
floor in front of Ambassador Zhosh. Sisko watched
with interest as the Valtusian gave a birdlike hop
forward and placed the flat middle part of its foot
upon the box.
    "Reading," the scanner said. It paused for a long
time--longer than it had with Worf, Dr. Bashir, or
Odo. Sisko took a deep breath... had it broken
down again? If so, Bashir would have a lot of explain-
ing to do.
    But then the lights on its side flashed twice, and it
said, "Subject DNA passed. Subject is Valtusian."
    Sisko smiled to hide his relief, thinking of the time
on Earth when he'd mistaken his own father for a
changeling. His father had refused to take a blood test
being administered to the families of all Federation
officials due to plain old-fashioned stubbornness,
nothing more, and Sisko had learned a lesson that day
about paranoia. You had to have limits. Life wasn't
worth living if you couldn't trust anyone around you.
He nodded a bit. No, there weren't any changelings
here--just the private mysteries of an alien race. Dr.
Bashir wouldn't have these body-taboo problems with
the humans or Cardassians attending the conference,
at least.
    "When are the other representatives scheduled to
arrive?" Ambassador Zhosh asked, as Bashir ran the
other two Valtusians through the test.
    "The Cardassian delegation should be here in a few
hours," Sisko said. "The Maquis and the Federation
ambassadors are scheduled to arrive tomorrow."
    "I have an itinerary prepared. We will begin in two
days, at the ninth bell."

  "The ninth bell?" Sisko repeated.
    "That would be approximately eight-fifteen in the
morning," Dr. Bashir said. The second ambassador
passed the test. "The altusian calendar is quite
interesting," he went on. "Their clocks use musical
tones to indicate the time."
    Sisko felt his eyes starting to glaze over as Dr.
Bashir began one of his endless lectures, this one on
Valtusian clockwork mechanisms. He really shouM
have gone into teaching, Sisko thought. The way he
likes to talk, he wouM have made an excellent instruc-
tor at the Academy. Then he reminded himself that
he'd be losing one of the best doctors in Starfleet. He
can always retire to teaching, he told himself.
    "Quite correct." Zhosh gazed at Bashir with one
eye. "Have you visited altusia, Doctor?"
"No, but my mother owns one of your clocks."
The third Valtusian also passed the test. Odo's
suspicions had proved unfounded, for once. No
changelings here.
    "Ah." Ambassador Zhosh faced Sisko again. "If we
could be shown to our quarters now?"
    "Certainly," he began, and then his badge chirped.
"One second," he told Zhosh. He tapped his badge.
"Sisko here."
    "I have a priority one transmission for you from
Admiral Dulev," Dax said.
    "Thank you," Sisko said. "I'll be right there." He
turned back to Ambassador Zhosh. "Constable Odo
will have to show you to the habitat ring," he said. "If
you need anything, don't hesitate to let him know."
All three Valtusians bowed low to him. He returned
the gesture, then hurried toward the turbolift.
    "This way," Odo said behind him, sounding faintly
irritated that they hadn't turned out to be change-
ling spies after all. "Right now we are in the third
docking pylon," he said, beginning the standard tour
of the station. "Your quarters will be in the habitat
ring . . ."
    "Ops," Sisko said to the computer as he entered the
turbolift. It whisked him down rapidly. Another
transmission from Admiral Dulev... what could she
want?

CHAPTER
       4

"ADMIRAL DULEV," SISKO said as her stern face ap-
peared on his monitor. He couldn't recall ever seeing
her smile.
    "Captain Sisko," she said, as usual cutting through
all formalities, "you are to delay the mission to the
Gamma Quadrant until the Excalibur gets there."
  "If I may ask," Sisko said, "why?"
    "My aide, Lieutenant Colfax, will be aboard the
Excalibur. He will brief you and your people fully
upon his arrival."
    "Very well," Sisko said, puzzled. "When is the
Excalibur due?"
    "Thirty-two hours. If you have any questions,
please address them to Lieutenant Colfax. Dulev
out," she said, and the screen went blank.
 Sisko steepled his fingers thoughtfully. Thirty-two
hours. Starbase 201, where he'd met with the admiral
and Colfax, lay sixteen hours away which meant the
Excalibur either hadn't arrived yet or had another
stop to make before coming to DS9. At least the extra
time would give them a chance to better prepare for
the mission into the Gamma Quadrant. The peace
conference should already be underway by then. Per-
haps it would be less of a juggling act than he thought.
He could certainly use the extra help Odo would
provide when the Cardassian delegation arrived.
    Cardassians on the station always meant trouble, he
knew... not that they themselves posed a threat to
DS9's security. If anything, they tended toward model
behavior while visiting. The problems always came
from Bajorans, with their endless protests and picket-
ing and threats of violence against any and all Cardas-
sians they deemed war criminals.
    He felt a slight headache beginning, and he forced
himself to stretch and focus his eyes on the far wall.
Too much work, too much stress--he'd better not let
Dr. Bashir find out, or he'd find himself in a holosuite
on forced R and R despite the importance of every-
thing going on around him.
    He picked up the baseball he kept on his desk and
gripped it in his strong right hand. The tension of
dealing with two high-priority missions simultane-
ously was starting to get to him, he thought. He
needed to unwind. Perhaps a half hour game of catch
with his son Jake, or in a holosuite with the 2106
Brooklyn Dodgers... a scenario he'd been working
on for some weeks now. The Cardassians weren't due
yet, the Valtusians were safely in their quarters, and
the Excalibur wouldn't arrive for thirty-two hours.
He'd have enough time, wouldn't he?
    The door to his office chirped. Sighing, he put the
baseball back on its little stand. No rest for a weary
captain, he thought. "Come," he called.
    Lieutenant Jadzia Dax stepped in. Behind her he
could see Major Kira and Chief O'Brien. "Benja-
min," Dax said, "if you have a minute..."
    "Of course," he said, leaning back in his chair.
"What is it, Dax? A problem with Quark's ship?"
    "Have you been looking over my shoulder?" she
asked with a faint smile.
    "I expected it, actually," Sisko said. "What do you
think, Chief?. Will it do?"
 "It's a death trap," O'Brien said.
    "That doesn't sound very promising." But probably
what I shouM have expected, he mentally added. They
might have to use a runabout after all.
    "It gets better," Dax said. "Quark has already
billed us for two hundred and fifty bars of gold-
pressed latinum."
    "Outrageous," Sisko agreed, shaking his head. Still,
what could he expect from a Ferengi?
    "But here's the thing, sir," O'Brien said, leaning
forward. "It's a Delphi-class ship, just like the one the
pilgrims from Arvanus Six abandoned on the seventh
Bajoran moon. The pilgrims' ship has already been
claimed for salvage by a Bajoran company, but they
haven't picked it up yet."
 "I've made a few inquiries of my own," Kira added.
"We can have the pilgrim ship's hull for twenty-
two bars of latinum. All it needs are new warp en-
gines..."
  "And Quark's ship has those," O'Brien finished.
    Sisko looked at Dax. "What do you think?" he
asked her.
    She shook her head a fraction. "I think it's risky.
We have one day to put together a working starship.
That would be hard under the best of circumstances.
But I don't see a better alternative."
    "I have good news on that front," Sisko said.
"Admiral Dulev wants the mission delayed until the
Excalibur gets here. That gives us at least thirty-two
hours."
"Is the Excalibur coming with us?" Kira asked.
"The admiral wasn't clear on that point," Sisko
said. "I would assume not, though.~ So, what do you
think, Chief? Can you put together a working ship for
us in thirty-two hours?"
    "Oh, we can do it." O'Brien nodded. "For once,
I've got every system on DS9 functioning within
acceptable parameters. It's taken me three years, but
it's finally happened. I can put every man I have on
refitting the warp engines. Delphi-class ships are
completely modular in design, so it shouldn't be too
hard. My original estimate was six hours, and I still
think it can be done that quickly. The extra time will
give us a chance to make a few shakedown flights and
run full diagnostics."
 "Excellent." Sisko considered the options. If
O'Brien said he could make a working ship out of the
two, Sisko knew he could rely on him to deliver. Their
three years here together had proved his chief engi-
neer's competence time and again. Still, putting to-
gether a fix-up ship had its own risks. You never knew
quite what you were getting with a used starship...
let alone two of them. Systems might fail suddenly, or
there might be slight design variations between them
if they were built in different years.
    Unfortunately, there didn't seem to be much
choice. They needed a civilian ship, and there just
weren't any available through regular channels on
such short notice. He began to nod. It seemed Admir-
al Dulev's delay was in fact a godsend.
    "Very well," he said, "get on it... as soon as I
finish with Quark."
    "Two hundred and fifty bars of gold-pressed
latinum is an outrageous price for a ship in that
condition," Dax said.
    "What's fair?" Sisko asked, looking at O'Brien. He
would know, if anyone did aboard DS9, because he
kept close tabs on the used equipment market. "A
hundred?"
    "I'd say fifty," O'Brien said, "if that. It needs a lot
of work."
    Kira said, "Security has been keeping Quark under
surveillance. Why don't you ask Odo what Quark
paid for it?"
    "An excellent suggestion, Major," Sisko said. I
must be slipping, he thought. I shouM have thought of
that myself He activated the communications console
on his desk, and a second later Odo's smooth, nearly
featureless face appeared on the viewscreen.
    "Yes, Captain?" Odo asked, sounding faintly an-
noyed. Sisko hid his smile. Everything seemed to
faintly annoy Odo.
    "Did you get the Valtusian ambassadors settled
into their suite?" he asked.
    "Yes." He sounded more annoyed than ever. "Was
there anyhing else?"
    "By any chance, can you tell me what Quark paid
for that ship he just bought?"
    "The Galactic Queen--if you can call that mess a
ship?" Odo gave a snort. "He didn't pay anything for
it. Two Andorians paid him to take it off their hands.
Repairs would cost more that it's worth, and the
owners couldn't even afford the station's docking fees.
Quark promised to handle everything for them, in-
cluding the disposal of their ship, for two bars of gold-
pressed latinurn."
    Sisko had to laugh. "Leave it to Quark to try to
make a profit on every side of a deal," he said.
    "I don't find that particularly amusing," Odo said.
"Am I missing something, sir?"
    "Not really. Thank you, Constable. Keep up the
good work." He shut off the viewscreen. "Well," he
said to Dax and the others, "that certainly gives us a
lot of bargaining room."
    Kira folded her arms. "I say we let him keep the
ship. We can still take a runabout."
"I wouldn't object if you weren't going to a planet
with a Jem'Hadar base," Sisko said. "Taking a Feder-
ation vessel is simply too risky. Besides, I think
Quark's ship will work out, as soon as negotiations
are over."
    He turned again to his communications console.
"Quark," he said, and a second later an image ap-
peared on the viewscreen before him: Quark in his
bar, the babble of happy crowds creating a pleasant
background noise. Cheers came from one of the
gambling tables, followed by cries of "Dabo!"
    "Captain Sisko!" Quark said. He was wiping a glass
clean. "This is an unexpected surprise. I take it Chief
O'Brien has relayed the good news about the ship I
found?"
    "It is unacceptable," Sisko said, clipping his words
to emphasize how seriously he took the matter. "We
have had to make other arrangements, Quark. I'm
very disappointed in you."
    "What!" The shock was apparent on Quark's face.
Sisko felt a sudden pang of sympathy, but forced it
down. You had to play hardball with Ferengis during
negotiations, as the old saying went. They'd walk all
over you if you didn't.
    "I'm sorry things didn't work out," he went on. "rll
let you know if we have any more needs." He discon-
nected, and Quark's face disappeared.
    Smiling, Sisko leaned back in his seat and looked at
his officers. "Bets?" he asked, taking a glance at the
chronometer.
 "Ten seconds," O'Brien said instantly.
 "Ten? You're crazy," Kira said. "Eight."
    "It'll take him that long just to stop shaking," Dax
said. "Twelve, at least."
  "I'll take fifteen," Sisko said.
    The seconds ticked away. Eight... ten... and at
twelve seconds exactly the communicator chirped.
    "I believe you three owe me dinner," Dax said
triumphantly.
    Before Sisko could touch the controls, Quark's face
appeared on the viewscreen. Sisko frowned, a trifle
annoyed. The security devices in Ops and his private
office shouldn't let calls through to him like that.
Quark must have a security key. He made a mental
note to have Odo confiscate it.
      "Quark," Sisko said, trying to keep his tone even
and pleasant. "What can I do for you?"  "About this ship--"
  "It won't do. I thought we settled that."
    "If it's a matter of price, I am open to reasonable
counteroffers."
    Sisko shook his head. "As I told you, time is of the
essence here. Chief O'Brien informs me that it will
take all of his people two days working around the
clock to get that ship put back into working order. I
simply cannot spare him at this time, with the peace
conference coming up, so I have been forced to make
other arrangements. Luckily I managed to find an
alternate ship through an old friend of mine. It will
save us a little money, true, but manpower is the
primary factor."
    "Surely we can come to some arrangements?"
Quark said, a bit of a desperate whine creeping into
his voice. "I know this ship is perfect for your needs.
How much would it take to persuade you to use my
ship instead?"
    Sisko tilted his head to the side. "Quark, is that a
bribe you're offering me?"
    "No, no," Quark said hastily, raising both hands.
"What I meant is, how much of a reduction in price
would it take for you to consider my ship instead of
your friend's?"
    Sisko gazed down at the baseball on his desk
thoughtfully. "Forty bars of latinum?" he suggested.
    "Done!" Quark cried. "I'll put through the invoice
at once for two hundred and ten..." His voice
trailed off.
    Sisko was shaking his head. "Forty bars of latinum
total," he said. "Not one bar more."
Quark let out a strangled cry. "You're killing me!"
"It's the best I can do," Sisko said. "And I'll wave
the docking fees your ship has incurred while it's been
here."
    "I'll get back to you," Quark said. Muttering to
himself, he stabbed the disconnect button. Sisko
found himself staring at a blank screen, which was
quickly replaced by the Federation logo of a starfield
and two olive branches on a blue background.
    "Let me guess," Dax said. "Right now he's finding
out how much the hull is worth from salvage dealers."
    "I expect so," Sisko said. "And thanks to Kira, we
have a good idea what that is."
 Kira was grinning. "Right, Captain," she said.
 Half a minute later, Quark called again. "It's a
deal," he said to Sisko. He seemed more subdued
than usual, Sisko thought, and almost sulky. Perhaps
he was mourning the loss of two hundred and ten
undeserved bars of gold-pressed latinurn.
    "Excellent," Sisko said. "If you'll put through your
invoice, I'll see that it receives priority payment
authorization."
"Thank you," Quark said sullenly, disconnecting.
Now, Sisko thought, to see about the wreck on the
Bajoran moon. Then it would all be up to O'Brien and
his people.

CHAPTER
        5

FIVE O'CLOCK IN the morning is too early for delegates
to arrive, Dr. Julian Bashir thought with a yawn as he
strolled down the crossover bridge toward the dock-
ing ring. He hefted the DNA analyzer he was carrying.
It only weighed fourteen kilos, but lugging it with him
across half the station, he found it growing increas-
ingly heavy. He'd have another look at the schematics
later, he thought, and see if he could get the size
trimmed down a little more.
    At this hour, the station seemed oddly still, almost
serene in its emptiness. None of the shops in the
Promenade had opened for the day yet. Even Quark's
bar was closed, and that, he reflected, spoke volumes
about how dead the station became in the early hours
of the morning. He'd only passed two other people so
far, and one of them had been Dax out for her
morning jog. She had waved and called a brief invita-
tion for him to join her before passing by, but he'd
declined. Her energy never ceased to amaze him.
    Ahead, at the end of the crossover bridge, he
spotted a knot of men and women blocking the
passage. Something had to be going on here, he
realized. Their low babble of voices grew steadily
louder and more anxious. If someone was hurt, they'd
need a doctor. Bashir quickened his pace to a near jog.
But if someone was hurt, why hadn't he been called?
    "Kill the Butcher of Belmast!" he suddenly heard a
loud voice shouting.
  "We want justice!" another cried.
    "Bring him back to Bajor for trial!" a third voice
called. "We know how to deal with Cardassians!"
    Bashir groaned inwardly and drew up short. Not
again, he thought. The crowd faced away from him,
but now he recognized them all as Bajorans. The
dangling earrings gave them away, if not their civilian
clothes and anti-Cardassian sentiments. Somehow
they'd found out that the Cardassian delegation had
arrived, and they'd turned out in force as an unofficial
harassment party. It seemed to happen every time a
high-ranking Cardassian boarded the station.
    But who was this "Butcher of Belmast" they were
talking about? He frowned, trying to think back to
where he'd heard of Belmast before. Wasn't it a
remote province on Bajor? Hadn't some war atrocity
been committed there? He shook his head. It wasn't
his concern right now--he had delegates to screen for
the peace conference. If he remembered, he'd ask
Major Kira about it later.
    Taking a deep breath, he started forward with
determination. He'd never liked angry mobs, but he
couldn't see any way around this one--they were
completely blocking the walkway. To get around
them, he'd have to retrace his steps to the Promenade
and take a turbolift. Best to get it over with, he
thought. Besides, they weren't mad at him.
    The crowd seemed a little thinner to the left, so
he eased his way between two women in pink and yel-
low robes. "Excuse me," he murmured. "I need
through--station business."
    "Aren't you Dr. Bashir?" one of the women asked.
She was short and slightly overweight, with long
reddish brown hair tied up behind her head, and her
pale blue eyes held what looked like a fanatical gleam.
    Bashir gulped and tried to remember if they had
ever met before, but couldn't place her sharp features.
"Uh, yes," he admitted. "Do I know you?"
    Instead of replying, she seized his arm and pulled
him forward. "Let us through!" she called. "Let us
through to Werron!"
    Everyone around them turned to look, and Bashir
found himself the center of attention. A little ner-
vously, he forced a small nod and an even smaller
wave. What have I done to deserve this? he wondered.
He was almost certain he'd never met the Bajoran
woman before. And who was Werron?
 The crowd parted, and he rapidly found himself
pulled to the front. There, the Bajorans held placards
in a variety of languages--English, Cardassian, and
Bajoran. He scanned the ones he could read, and they
all talked about "Justice" and "Cardassian War Crim-
inals," as he'd half expected.
    Six of Odo's men in tan and brown security uni-
forms held the line of Bajorans at bay. A couple of
them gave Bashir welcoming nods, and the doctor felt
a little better. They would rescue him if trouble
started. Not that he really expected trouble. Relations
remained good between humans and Bajorans at the
moment, what with them applying for Federation
membership and Captain Sisko being their Emissary
and all.
    "Vedek Werron," the woman said, "this is Julian
Bashir, the station's medical officer."
    A Vedek--no wonder they were so riled up. Bashir
focused on the tall Bajoran wearing gray robes who
turned at her voice. The man might dress simply,
Bashir thought, but he carried himself like someone
important. Vedeks were among the highest religious
positions a Bajoran could attain, he knew, and their
unique authority in Bajoran society allowed them to
incite the masses with their words. Most of the
trouble on DS9 between Bajorans and Cardassians
could be traced to Bajoran religious leaders.
    Vedek Werron had the thin, almost emaciated fea-
tures of one who habitually fasted. His intense green
eyes focused on Bashir, who felt instantly dissected by
that gaze. Like he can see into my soul, Bashir thought
with a shiver. Werron's short brown hair had been
swept back over his scalp, and when he smiled,
showing perfect white teeth, the image that leaped to
Bashir's mind was that of a hungry tiger catching sight
of breakfast.
    "Doctor," Werron said in a low, powerful voice,
stepping forward and taking Bashir's hand. He shook
it in the human fashion. "I am delighted to make your
acquaintance, sir. I have heard good things about
you."
    "And I am delighted to meet you, Vedek," Bashir
said quickly. He extricated his hand as gently as he
could; no sense offending the fellow. The sooner the
niceties of introduction ended, the sooner he could
get back to his work and away from here.
    Vedek Werron searched Bashir's face. "It must be a
great privilege serving with the Emissary," he said.
    "Uh, yes, it is," Bashir said. Was this leading
somewhere? He had a suspicion it was. "Captain
Sisko is a fine commanding officer."
    "I would like the chance to confer with him, but I'm
afraid I haven't been able to reach him."
    Bashir nodded. So that was it; Sisko didn't want to
meet with Vedek Werron. Now Werron hoped to use
him as an intermediary. Bashir felt a flash of triumph
at having figured the man out.
    But Werron merely said, "I am certain we'll be
seeing more of each other, Doctor. It is, after all, a
small universe." He motioned to his people, who
drew back a half meter, leaving him a clear path. "I
believe you were on a business call?" Again his smile
reminded Bashir of a predator's.
    "That's right," Bashir said. He swallowed and
forced his eyes from Werron's face, feeling a cold knot
form in his stomach. This was a dangerous man,
something inside him said. He wished they hadn't
met. And he certainly hoped they wouldn't meet
again. Luckily business called.
    Taking a deep breath, he ducked past Odo's depu-
ties and continued toward the docking ports. He had
to get to the Cardassians and administer his DNA
test.
    Behind him, he heard the Bajorans begin their
chanting again: "Justice for Bajor... Justice for
Bajor... Justice for Bajor..." Vedek Werron's
deep, powerful voice boomed over the others, loud as
a bell on a clear summer day.
    When Bashir glanced back, he found Werron facing
his own people, exhorting them to louder shouts of
protest.
    He forced his attention back to the task at hand.
The Cardassian shuttle had parked at Docking Port 2.
Odo stood just outside the open airlock door with two
more deputies. Half a dozen Cardassians were stand-
ing just inside, out of sight of the Bajoran crowd, and
they did not look happy.
  "You're late, Doctor," Odo said gruffly.
    "Sorry," he said. "I had a little trouble getting
through the crowd."
    Odo glanced back at them. "Yes, I can see how that
might happen."
    Bashir scanned the Cardassians' faces and was a
trifle disappointed not to recognize anyone among
them. The enemy you know and all that, he thought.
Though their people might officially be at peace, he
had seen little to end his distrust of Cardassians
during his time on the station. If anything, he was
more paranoid when dealing with them than ever.
And he felt quite a bit of sympathy for the Bajorans--
Cardassian occupation had nearly destroyed their
world.
    "I am Dr. Bashir," he said to the Cardassian at the
front of the group, who seenled to be in charge. "I'm
the station's chief medical officer."
    "Gul Mekkar," the Cardassian replied. He was
short and heavyset, with a lumpy, grayish face and
thick corded neck. Mekkar folded his arms and
glared. "We are here on a peace mission, Doctor. Why
are we greeted by rioters, detained in our ship's
airlock, and met by underlings instead of diplomats?"
    Bashir wanted to roll his eyes and groan. It was
going to be one of those days. "I'm sorry if we weren't
prepared for you," he said, a trifle archly. "As you
may recall, you arrived three hours early and wouldn't
wait for proper clearance. Captain Sisko is in confer-
ence now and cannot be disturbed. He will join us as
soon as he is able. In the meantime, I am here to
ensure the safety and security of these proceedings.
Anyone who plans to debark your ship will be re-
quired to undergo a DNA test to prove that they are in
fact Cardassian."
    Mekkar snorted. "Who else would we be--
humans, perhaps? Or maybe VulcansT'
Odo said, "As I already told you, we have reason to
believe changelings from the Gamma Quadrant may
try to infiltrate these proceedings. This is a routine
security measure, I assure you."
    "Rubbish," Mekkar sneered. "It's another excuse
for harassment, nothing more. No one mentioned
tests when this conference was arranged."
    Bashir said, "It's a surprise test, to make sure the
changelings have no chance to prepare some way
around it. The Valtusians have already submitted to
the procedure, as has the entire command staff of
DS9. It's fast and painless. I assure you, you won't
feel the slightest discomfort."
    Odo added, "You will not be allowed aboard the
station until you and your entire crew submit to the
screening process."
 "This is an outrage!" Mekkar gestured angrily.

    The Cardassian woman behind him leaned forward
and whispered something in his ear. He listened for a
second, then frowned.
    "Very well," he said coldly to Bashir. "If it will
allow us to get on with our work, you may proceed.
But I warn you, if this is some sort of trick..." He let
the threat hang between them.
    One of those days, indeed. "And the rest of your
people?" Bashir asked.
    Many of the Cardassians behind Mekkar stirred,
muttering to one another. None of them seemed
happy with the idea of being tested.
    Mekkar turned to his people. "They will submit as
well," he said flatly. There were a few grumbles, but
they quickly died down. Mekkar was not a Cardassian
who was used to being argued with, Bashir saw.
    At least it would be over soon. "Please place your
hand on top," he said. He held out the DNA scanner.
    Still glaring, Mekkar did so. The computer voice
promptly announced that he was Cardassian.
    "As you can see," he snarled, "I am who I say I
am."
    Bashir nodded and stepped back. "You may pro-
ceed."
    Mekkar stomped out of the airlock, then turned
and surveyed the mob cordoned off twenty meters
away. His sneer grew, and Bashir heard him mutter,
"Rabble!"
    "That's him!" Bashir heard one of the Bajorans
shout. "That's Mekkar!" Other voices cried, "Cardas-
sian Butched" and "Murderer/"
    Mekkar set his hands on his hips and glared at
them. "On Cardassia," he announced in a loud voice,
"this display would be punishable by death!"
  More jeers came from the Bajorans.
    Bashir sighed. He'd better get this over with
quickly, he thought. The crowd was turning ugly. He
only hoped Odo's people would be able to keep them
in line.
    The Cardassian woman who'd reasoned with Mek-
kar was next, and she placed her hand on the scanner
before he asked. "Proceed," she said. There seemed to
be a trace of amusement in her voice.
  Bashir activated the scanner.
  "What's your name?" he asked.
    "Kloran." She brushed back her long, stringy black
hair with one hand and gave him a brief smile. "I am
Mekkar's second in these negotiations."
    "Subject DNA passes," the computer said. "Sub-
ject is Cardassian." A wave of relief passed through
Bashir. Every time he ran the scanner, he found he
half expected someone to fail.
    "You may proceed," he told her. "And thank you
for your help."
    "It was done in the interest of cooperation." She
gave him a brief smile, then stepped forward and took
Mekkar's arm. More jeers came from the Bajorans.
Bashir glanced over and found Kloran smiling faintly,
almost mockingly, at them, and a chill went through
him. The two Cardassians made a rather daunting
couple, he thought.

    Chief Miles O'Brien felt beads of perspiration start-
ing to form on his brow and shook his head. Damn
space suits. He felt an overpowering urge to wipe his
forehead, but there was no way he could reach inside
through the faceplate. Next time they asked him what
upgrades he wanted for DS9, he was going to ask for a
spacedock.
    For now, though, he'd just have to make do. Grit-
ting his teeth, he raised his heavy cutting phaser,
adjusting the controls to a tighter beam, and began
burning through the final series of power couplings
holding the Galactic Queen's nacelles in place over
the passenger compartment. Durasteel turned red,
then white under the burst of energy, bubbling like
one of Captain Sisko's gumbos. He could feel the heat
even through the insulation in his gloves and space
suit.
    One power relay parted silently, then the second,
then the third. Globules of rapidly cooling durasteel
spiraled off into the darkness. O'Brien felt a drop of
sweat run down the side of his face, then crawl along
the line of his jaw. His faceplate began to fog up ever
so slightly at the edges.
    He shifted the phaser and fired again. Finally the
fourth relay melted; the Galactic Queen's starboard
nacelle now floated freely in space. Only inertia held
it in position.
    O'Brien took a deep breath. The easy part was
done. Clipping the phaser to his side, he took a second
to glance down at his space suit's readouts. Twenty
degrees just isn't coM enough, he thought. He'd set the
controls as cold as they would go, but radiant heat
from the phaser and the fused metal had raised the
internal temperature of his space suit to nearly sixty
degrees centigrade.
    If only we had another couple of days, he thought.
He hated working out in raw vacuum, but didn't see
much choice. Fast and dirty, that was the only way to
get the job done in time.
    The durasteel had cooled back down. O'Brien
turned his back to the ship, planted his feet against
the hull, hooked his fingers under the power coupling
he'd just severed, and heaved with all his strength.
The ship had no weight in space; it was all a matter of
getting its mass moving. Slowly, a fraction of a
millimeter at a time, the nacelle parted from the main
passenger compartment.
    O'Brien let go after fifteen seconds. No sense strain-
ing any more against all that mass, he thought. Age
was catching up to him; he didn't want Bashir doing
an emergency procedure on his back to fix a slipped
disc. He'd never hear the end of it.
    He released the magnetic grips on his space boots
and floated away from Galactic Queen's hull, looking
over his work with a critical eye. The port nacelle,
already cut free, drifted a hundred meters away. He
nodded to himself. Yes, it was coming along right on
schedule.
    "Chief," a tinny-sounding but recognizably female
voice said through a burst of static. "We've got the
dead hull."
    He nudged the transmit bar with his chin. "Great,"
he said. He'd sent Ensign Polatta and her crew off in a
runabout to fetch the Progress from the Bajoran
moon. "How's she look?"
"Good, for scrap. Not so good for a starship."
"Bring her alongside the Galactic Queen. You'll
have to round up the nacelles I just cut loose with
tractor beams. We'll lick her into shape yet."

    Starfleet's diplomatic team arrived just after mid-
night that night, and Sisko found himself standing
outside the docking port, feeling bleary-eyed and
tired.
    Something hissed, and he felt a light touch on his
arm. He jumped, a bit startled.
    Dr. Bashir held up a hypo spray. "Vitamins," he
said. "You're looking a little pale."
    Leave it to Bashir to notice. "You, too, Doctor," he
said.
    "Yes, in my case it's lack of sleep." He stifled a
yawn. "I've been up since four o'clock this morning."
    "I've been meaning to thank you for covering the
Cardassians' arrival for me."
    "No problem," Bashir said. "Glad to help out.
Actually, it was an interesting experience. I almost
wish I could sit in on the negotiations just to see how
everyone interacts."
    "I'm expecting fireworks," Sisko admitted. Federa-
tion, Maquis, Valtusian, and Cardassian diplomats
struck him as about the least compatible bunch
imaginable. Even the Klingons and the Romulans
could be more reasonable than Cardassians.
    The door rolled aside, and a strikingly beautiful
Vulcan woman walked out, looking around curiously.
Her short black hair and pointed, almost elfin ears
loaned her delicately boned face an almost ethereal
quality. Sisko found his gaze moving from her face to
the stunning aqua dress she wore off one shoulder.
Matching blue sandals, studded with gemstones, com-
pleted the outfit.
    "You must be Captain Sisko," she said, her voice
flat and emotionless.
  "That's right," he said. "And you are...?"
    "Ambassador T'Pao." She turned and indicated the
heavyset man with short reddish blond hair following
her. "This is Ambassador DuQuesne, and behind him
is Ambassador Strockman." Strockman, thin to the
point of emaciation, with pinched cheeks and thin-
ning black hair cropped close to his skull, gave a curt
nod.
Sisko smiled politely, then did the introductions.
"We have designed a test to check for changeling
infiltration," he said. "It only takes a minute and is
completely painless."
      He half expected a series of protests, but T'Pao
merely nodded once. "Proceed."  "Doctor?" Sisko said.
    Bashir stepped forward. "If you would place your
hand on the scanner," he said.
    T'Pao did so, and it promptly announced that she
was Vulcan. Then DuQuesne stepped forward and
placed his hand on top.
    "A good idea," T'Pao commented. "One cannot be
too careful in negotiations such as these."
    "Our thoughts exactly," Sisko said. He couldn't
help but grin. At least the Federation ambassadors
understood the necessity of security.
    Both DuQuesne and Strockman passed the DNA
test.
    "Now," T'Pao said, "if you could show us to
our quarters. It has been a long trip, and I believe
my colleagues require rest. They have become
somewhat... irritable."

    "Of course." Sisko turned and led the way toward
the turbolift. "Your suites are on the habitat ring..."
he began.
    "Sir," Ensign McCormick said. "I think I'm pick-
ing up a ship on the extreme limits of sensor range."
    A new ship? Dax crossed to the ensign's console
and studied the readouts over his shoulder. The only
ship she was still expecting belonged to the Maquis
delegates to the peace conference, and if she knew her
Maquis, they'd be playing it very cautiously. After all,
DS9 was a Federation outpost, and technically they
would fall under Federation law the moment they set
foot aboard. Despite all of the assurances Starfleet
and the Valtusians had given them, they must still be a
little paranoid. She didn't blame them.
    On the other hand, it could be a Dominion ship
looking them over from the distance ....
    Dax reached down, channeled extra power to the
sensor relays, and scanned the ship again.
    "Bingo," she said, as the results came up on the
ensign's monitor screen. It was an old Federation
transport ship, probably decommissioned and sold off
to colonists years ago. The station's computer identi-
fied it as the Uganda.
 "Sir? Bingo?" The ensign gazed at her blankly.
 They were getting younger every year, Dax thought.
    "An old Earth expression," she explained. "It
means 'you're right.'"
 "Are they... Jem'Hadar?"
    "Wrong direction." She moved aside so McCor-
mick could see the readouts. "Take a look at that. It's
a Federation ship. Or used to be."
  "Maquis..." the ensign breathed.
    Dax smiled. "A pretty good guess, especially since
we're expecting them." She returned to the science
station. "I'11 take it from here."  "Yes, sir."
    Dax hailed the ship. "This is Lieutenant Com-
mander Jadzia Dax of Deep Space Nine. Maquis ship,
please identify yourself."
    There was no response. Probably still looking us
over, she thought, and who could blame them? It
must have taken a lot on the Valtusians' part to even
get them this far.
    "Maquis ship," she said again, "please identify
yourself."
    "This is the Uganda," a male voice responded
hesitantly a moment later. It was an audio-only signal.
How paranoid were these people? "We are here for
the peace conference."
    "You're early," she said. "Our docking schedule is
full for the next three hours. If you'd care to wait, I'll
fit you in--"
    "We've just picked up a Federation warship ap-
proaching at high warp!" The pitch of his voice rose
half an octave. "You've betrayed us--"
    "Not true," Dax said. Damn, what a time for a
Federation ship to show up! "Hold your position,
Uganda. You have nothing to worry about."
 She punched the new ship up on her console--the
Excalibur, with high-priority clearance. She groaned
inwardly. This was really going to screw up her
docking schedule. Perhaps they'd beam people over
instead of docking...
    She split the screen to monitor both ships at once.
The Maquis vessel had already come about and begun
accelerating away from DS9. She saw that its warp
coil was powering up.
    "Uganda," she said, "the Federation ship is only
here to drop off delegates for the conference. It will
depart as soon as it's done. You have nothing to worry
about."
 "I have your word on that, Commander?"
 "That's right."
    "We will withdraw for now," his voice said. "We'll
return in three hours. Uganda out."
    "DS9 out," Dax said. She nodded. No doubt about
it, they were nervous. At least they were coming back,
though. Hopefully the Excalibur would be gone by
then.

CHAPTER
        6

SISKO WATCHED THE colorful flicker of lights in the
Ops's two-person transporter chamber as a figure
began to materialize. The Excalibur had come to a
stationary position between DS9 and the wormhole,
and now Lieutenant Colfax was in the process of
beaming aboard.
    The hum of the transporter faded away as Colfax
materialized. He carried what appeared to be a cloth
satchel in one hand. It seemed quite heavy, Sisko
noted. Stepping down from the transporter, Colfax
smiled coolly and offered his hand to Sisko.
    Sisko shook it. "Won't you come into my office," he
said.
    "Certainly," Colfax said, shifting the satchel to his
other hand and following.
"We weren't expecting you so soon," Sisko said
over his shoulder. "Admiral Dulev said thirty-two
hours."
    "We made excellent time," Colfax said. "I had the
Excalibur's captain shave every second off the run
that she could. You know how important speed is
here. I'm sorry to have held up your away team this
long, but I believe you'll find it necessary."
 "The admiral didn't say much about it."
    He nodded. "We're taking every precaution possi-
ble, in case the changelings are monitoring our sub-
space communications. Now, I'd appreciate it if
you'd call in your away team. I want to brief them as
quickly as possible."
    "Certainly." He paused in the doorway to his office.
"Dax?"
 "I'll get them here," she called.
    "Thanks." Sisko entered his office, then closed the
door behind them. To Colfax he said, "Can I offer you
a drink?"
    "No, thank you," Colfax said. He set his satchel on
a chair, then ran his finger along the seam and peeled
it open. "I'm afraid this is only a brief stopover for
me. I'm here to drop off equipment for your away
team, that's all. I trust they're ready to leave?"
    "Their ship is waiting," Sisko said. That was close
enough to true; it would be a matter of hours now
before the last tests were complete. He perched on the
edge of his desk and folded his arms.  "Good," Colfax said.
 The door chirped. "Come," Sisko said.
    Kira, Odo, and Worf filed in. "You wanted to see
us, sir?" Worf asked, his voice low and gravely.
    Sisko indicated his guest. "This is Lieutenant Col-
fax from Admiral Dulev's office. Apparently he has
additional equipment for you."
    "That's right," Dulev said. He pulled a thick metal-
lic belt from the satchel and turned around to face
them. "This is an experimental device which the
Romulans have loaned us specifically for this mission.
It's called a personal cloaker."
    A personal cloaker? Sisko found himself leaning
forward to study the belt. Surely it couldn't be a
cloaking device; it was far too small. He frowned a
bit, studying a series of silver boxes connected with
mesh links. It had a small control panel on the front,
he noted, which appeared to consist of a simple power
readout and an on/off switch.
  Odo asked, "What exactly does it do?"
    "I'm getting to that." Colfax snapped the belt
around his waist and looked up. "As the name sug-
gests, it's a variant on the cloaking devices which
conceal Romulan ships in space. It creates a distor-
tion wave which surrounds your body, rendering you
effectively invisible to the naked eye. Watch."
    Colfax activated one of the buttons on the belt's
control panel. The air around him rippled for a
second, and then he faded from view.
    Sisko stood bolt upright, shocked. The security
implications were devastating. With one of these,
someone could walk into the most closely guarded
Federation installation undetected.
    A second later Colfax reappeared. "Simple, yes?"
he said.
    "How many of these things are there?" Odo de-
manded.
    "I've brought two for use in your mission," Colfax
said. "The third one must remain with me. Our
people are working with Romulan scientists to perfect
the devices. They may well offer our first counter to
the advantages offered by the changelings' morphing
abilities."
 "How do they work?" Sisko asked.
    "Simplicity itself," Colfax said. He removed the
belt and laid it flat on the desk so everyone could see
the control panel on the front. "There is an on/off
button and a time readout."
 "A time readout?" Worf asked, frowning.
    Colfax hesitated. "There are problems with the
personal cloakers," he admitted. "They use a fantastic
amount of energy. Our most powerful battery can
only run one for eight minutes."
    Odo seemed to relax a little, Sisko saw, and he knew
why: With only eight minutes of power, it would be
difficult for anyone to use them effectively for sabo-
tage.
    "I know it's not a lot of time," Colfax said, "but it's
one extra advantage you didn't have before. It could
well mean the difference between getting caught and
eluding capture."
    "There is almost something cowardly about hiding
behind invisible shields," Worf said, a little stiffly.
 "Commander Worf," Colfax said, rising and facing
him, "the entire Alpha Quadrant risks subjugation
under the changelings. We will not allow this to
happen--whatever the cost. Honor is one of our least
valuable commodities right now. Is that understood?"
    Worf bristled a little, but nodded. Sisko could tell it
troubled him nonetheless.
    "Good," Colfax said. He drew two more belts from
his satchel and handed one to Kira and one to Worf.
"Wear them under your clothes at all times on this
mission," he said. "I know they're bulky, but they're
the best we can do. And one more thing: If you're in
danger of being caught, or if you exhaust the belts'
power supplies, destroy them. They cannot be
allowed to fall into the enemy's hands." He put the
belt he'd used for his demonstration away. "Any
questions?"
    A little to his surprise, Sisko found he didn't have
any, and neither did anyone else. The personal cloak-
ers seemed straight-forward enough.
    "Good." Colfax smiled and sealed up his satchel. "I
wish you all luck and all success. And now, Captain,"
he said to Sisko, "I've got to get back to my ship."
  Sisko rose. "I'll walk you out," he said.

CHAPTER
        7

Two HOURS LATER, Kira found herself standing next to
Worf on the transporter pad in Ops.  "Energize," O'Brien said.
    Kira tensed a little as the two of them beamed over
to the Progress. She didn't know what to expect, but
she had a feeling in the pit of her stomach that she
wouldn't like it.
    The second she materialized, she sniffed the air as
discreetly as she could, but tasted none of the Galactic
Queen's foul odor. That was one mark in this ship's
favor, she thought, ~ancing around. Beside her, Worf
was doing likewise.
    The Progress had a large oval cabin, with seats for
a pilot and copilot in the front, facing a broad
viewport. The middle section of the ship had fifteen
rows of seats that could recline into beds. Behind
them, half screened off by panels, stood the warp
engines and life-support panels. The only thing lack-
ing seemed to be a transporter. Hopefully they
wouldn't need one.
    Right now DS9 hung before them, visible through
the forward viewport, spinning ever so slowly. There
were starships attached to every single port on the
docking ring, Kira noted, and to two of the three tall
docking pylons jutting over the station. She hadn't
seen the station this busy since the Bajor's rogue
moon had passed by several years before. Tourists and
sightseers had flocked aboard to see the spectacle.
    Chief O'Brien and Odo materialized a few meters
away in a shimmer of light. She forced her attention
from DS9 and walked back to join them.
    "All systems check out, Major," O'Brien said with
a broad grin. "She's ready to go. Maximum warp
six-point-two, with a maximum safe range of about
two hundred and fifty light-years."
  "You're sure the nacetles won't fall off?." she said.
    "Major..." His crestfallen expression betrayed his
disappointment in her lack of faith.
    "Okay, okay," she said, laughing a little. "I'm sure
everything's fine. But I'll run my own diagnostics, if
you don't mind."
  "I'd be disappointed if you didn't," he said.
    Kira returned to the pilot's seat and brought the
diagnostic tests online. Quickly she ran them through
their paces and found that O'Brien hadn't
exaggerated--everything did indeed check out at a
hundred percent. There wasn't so much as an uneven
flicker in the power couplings.
    "You're a miracle worker," she said. "I never would
have believed it."
    He blushed a little. "Well, ! had help," he said. "I
put eight people on it."
    Kira began to nod. It would do. For the first time,
she thought this mad plan might actually work. And
with the Romulan personal cloakers...  
"Any questions?" O'Brien asked.
    "None," Kira said. "We'll leave in half an hour.
Just give us time to change into civilian clothes and
we'll be set."
    "Great. I have one more thing to show you all first,
though," he said. "If you'll follow me?" Turning, he
headed aft.
    She accompanied him to the screened off engine
area. There, he paused by the back wall.
    "This is it," he said, indicating battered, stained
durasteel panels.
 "What?" Worf said, wandering closer. "A wall?"
    "No, I see the seams," Odo said, moving forward
and looking closely. "Very ingenious, Chief."
    Worf stepped forward and ran his hands over the
panels. "I see nothing," he said.
    Kira too peered closely at it, but couldn't see much
more than durasteel plating. "Are you sure?" she said
to Odo.
    O'Brien was grinning. "It takes a pro to spot it," he
said.
    Odo snorted. "Or someone who's been watching
Quark too long," he said.
    O'Brien stepped forward, pushed in a hidden catch,
then slid the panel to one side, revealing a compart-
ment large enough to hide a person.
    "In case of trouble," he said, "I put in two secret
compartments. You can hide in them. They're fully
screened, so if someone scans the ship, they won't
pick up life signs."
 "Aren't you forgetting Odo?" Kira said.
    "It's hard for a scanner to pick up a changeling at
the best of times," Odo said. "If I turn myself into
something inanimate, they won't spot me, either."
    She nodded. O'Brien seemed to have thought of
everything. Again she felt a surge of optimism. This
mission really could succeed, she told herself.
    "Then let's move," she said. "The sooner we get
going, the sooner we get back." She tapped her badge.
"Major Kira to DS9. Four to beam over."

    Odo beamed back to DS9 with the others, but while
Kira and Worf went to change into civilian clothes, he
returned to his office. All the security details for the
peace conference had already been set, but he wanted
to take a last look at them. This would be the first
major event on the station that he'd missed in all his
years as head of security, and he didn't want anything
to happen while he was gone. Nobody was indispensa-
ble, of course, but he liked feeling needed. Since he'd
rejected his own kind, it gave him a measure of
comfort knowing there was a place he would always
be welcome. He wouldn't allow anything to jeopar-
dize that. He wanted a home to return to when this
mission ended.
    His door opened, and Captain Sisko stepped in
with a large square box in his hands.
    Odo rose. "Captain," he said. "What brings you
here?"
     "This," Sisko said, indicating the box. Odo looked
it over, but it appeared innocuous. "A bomb?" he asked.
    "A peace initiative," Sisko said. "It contains a
holographic recording inviting the Founders to a
peace conference. If you're caught in the Gamma
Quadrant, it might buy you some extra time. At the
very least it gives you a legitimate excuse to be there."
He smiled a little too thinly, Odo thought. "And, of
course, there is always the chance your people will
choose to take me up on the offer... remote as it
seems now."
    "Very remote," Odo said dryly. He couldn't imag-
ine anything more surprising when it came to the
changelings; they had stated their intention of con-
quering the Alpha Quadrant quite clearly. "But ! will,
of course, pass it on... should the opportunity
arise."
    "That's all I ask." Sisko set the box on the edge of
Odo's desk, then turned toward the door. Almost as
an afterthought, he added, "Take care of them, Odo. I
want my people back alive. And that includes you."
 "Of course," Odo said, straightening a little. Sisko
was depending on him. Sisko needed him. "I'll do my
best."

    Kira studied her reflection in the full-length mirror
next to her closet: a dark blue one-piece suit, with a
stripe of silver across the left shoulder and a splash of
gold at the wrists. The sleeves flared a little more
widely than she liked, allowing two silver bracelets to
show, but she could live with that. What she missed
was her earring; the right side of her head looked odd
without it, and she felt a little off-balance. Imagina-
tion of course, since the earring didn't weigh much,
but still, it didn't look or feel like her, like Major Kira
Nerys the Bajoran, without it.
    She turned to the side and studied her profile. She
looked very different, she decided. Nobody on Bajor
would recognize her now. Not even--
    A loud series of electronic beeps interrupted her
thoughts. "Come in," she called.
    The door whisked open. Captain Sisko stepped in
and did a double take.
    "What do you think?" Kira asked, turning around
once for him.
  "You look quite different, Major," he said.
    "Good different or bad different?" she asked with a
wicked grin. She'd see if he'd fall into that trap.
    "Like a Gamma Quadrant native," he said with a
laugh. "The Maquis ship will be here soon, and I
wanted to wish you luck before you go." 
 "Thank you," she said seriously.
  "Is there anything else you want to bring with
you?" he asked. "Any tools or weapons or...
anything?"
    Kira indicated her pack, which sat on the table by
the door. It held everything from emergency food
rations to high-tensor cord to extra power packs for
their phasers. "Worf and I already went through
that," she said. "I think we're set for anything we
come across." I hope, she mentally added.
    "Take care of yourself, Major," he said somberly.
"I'm counting on you to bring everyone else back
alive."
    Kira swallowed. "Yes, sir," she said, and she felt a
sudden flush of pride. He was counting on her. She
knew she couldn't let him down.
 Then he nodded once and left.
    She'd do her best to make sure she lived up to his
expectations. She glanced at the mirror one last time,
picked up her pack, and headed for the transporter in
Ops. Time to get going. The sooner they left, the
sooner they'd be back.

    Worf shouldered his pack and started for the door.
This was just a mission like any other, he told himself.
They would go, get the informant and his data, and
come back. Never mind that he had to dress in a
loose-fitting gray tunic, with a hood that could be
pulled up to cover his head; the importance of the
mission far outweighed his own comfort and fashion
sense. But he'd still take a good uniform any day.
    As his door opened, he stopped short. Captain
Sisko stood outside, poised to knock.
"Captain," he said, stepping back. "Won't you...
come in7"
    "Thank you, Commander," Sisko said, stepping
forward. "I've only known you a short while," he said
as the door closed behind him, "but I've developed a
deep respect for your talents."
    Worf felt his chest puff out a little. "Thank you,
sir," he said. Sisko was not a human given to extrava-
gant praise, he knew, and coming from him, this
meant a lot.
    "Although Major Kira is in charge of this mission,
you're still the ranking Starfleet officer. I wanted you
to know that I'm counting on you to make sure our
interests are fully protected."
    Worf nodded. That much went without saying. He
intended to give one hundred percent of his energy
and attention to making sure they succeeded.
    "And..." Sisko went on. "Good luck. Bring every-
one back alive, Worf."
    "Thank you, sir," Worf said. He'd do his best. Even
if it killed him.

    Sisko accompanied Worf to Ops, then watched as
Dax beamed first the Klingon and Kira, then Odo
over to the Progress using the two-man transporter.
    He had nodded to each of them, and he saw how
each took it personally to heart. Pep talks had never
come easily to him, but this time he'd meant every
word. He was depending on them to make it back.
Succeed or fail, he wanted them home safely.
  Dax joined him and leaned on his shoulder. "You
have the gloomiest expression on your face that I've
ever seen," she said. "They'll be back. Let them do
their jobs while you do yours. Come on, I'll buy you a
drink at Quark's. I hear O'Brien and Bashir are
planning another rematch in their ongoing darts
tournament."
 "Maybe later, old man."
 "It's a date. I'll collect you at six."
    He gazed over at one of the monitors, which
showed the Progress slowly accelerating away from the
station. Suddenly the wormhole opened before the
ship like a dazzling blue whirlpool in space--and just
as suddenly it was gone, the Progress along with it.
 "Stay well, my friends," he murmured. "Stay well."

CHAPTER
       8

AN HOUR LATER, the door to his office beeped. Sisko
sighed and looked up from his computer terminal.
Just as he was starting to get a handle on this week's
reports... just as he was starting to forget that he'd
just sent three of his people on what might turn out to
be a suicide mission by burying himself in routine
work... reality had to intrude.  "Come," he called.
    Dax stuck her head in the office, and Sisko relaxed a
little. It was hard to be annoyed by your best friend.
"Yes, Dax?" he said.
    "I thought you'd want to know, Benjamin," she
said. "The Maquis ship just docked."
    "Thank you," he said, tabbing off the screen and
rising. "Have you told Dr. Bashir yet?"
  "I've already alerted him." Dax matched his stride
as Sisko headed for the turbolift. "He's going to meet
us there."
    "Us?" Sisko shot her a puzzled glance. She hadn't
expressed any interest in meeting the other delegates;
she had to have an ulterior motive. He knew her
symbiont well enough to realize that.
    She smiled. "Well, they were a little nervous about
coming here. This is a Federation base, and when the
Excalibur showed up, it really spooked them. I gave
them my word that this wasn't a trap, so I thought I'd
be there to make sure everything goes smoothly."
    That was more like it. But something still seemed to
be bothering her. As the lift doors shut, he asked, "Is
something else concerning you?"
    "Well, yes, now that you mention it," she said.
"Benjamin, you've looked better, and you seem dis-
tracted. Is there anything I can do to help?"
    Sisko forced a smile. "I'm just feeling a little
overwhelmed. There's too much going on at once."
    "You mean between the mission to the Gamma
Quadrant and the peace conference."
    Those, and a thousand other things, Sisko thought.
He nodded.
    "Don't worry about Kira and Worf. You know they
have a good chance to make it out," Dax said. "Those
personal ctoakers are enough to get them out of
anything. And Odo is a Founder. The Jem'Hadar
practically fall to the floor and worship him whenever
they see him."
    Sisko nodded. "Yes, but I can't help but feel I
should have gone myself."
 "They volunteered."
    "I know--and I know my accompanying them
wouldn't have helped."
    "And you are needed at this peace summit," Dax
went on. "Put your energies where they'll do the most
good."
    "Like here," Sisko said with a quick grin. Some-
how, she always knew what to say to him. Sometimes
he thought she knew him better than he knew himself.
  "Like here," she said firmly.
    "Dax, sometimes I think you should have been a
psychiatrist."
 She made a face. "That's so boring."
    The doors opened. Sisko pulled his dress uniform a
trifle straighter. "Let's get it over with," he said.

    Philip Twofeathers sucked in a deep breath and
tried to hide his growing nervousness. His wide, flat
face with its prominent nose, dark eyes, and deep
reddish brown skin told of his Native American
heritage more than his conservative gray one-piece
suit, and for an instant he almost wished he'd worn
something more comfortable. His people--
descendants of the Cherokee--had settled a frontier
planet called Dorvanto twenty years previously, and
they had gone back to their people's old ways. He
would have felt more comfortable in a leather vest,
breechcloth, and moccasins. It had been many years
since he'd worn such confining clothing. Unlike the
Starfleet vessels, Maquis ships had no stuffy dress
codes.
    Why they had selected him, he still didn't quite
understand. They had said it was because of his
honesty, his dedication, and his commitment. Every
other member of the Maquis felt the same way,
though, he knew. They wouldn't be fighting an impos-
sible guerrilla war against an overwhelmingly superi-
or opponent like Cardassia if they didn't.
    He glanced over at Myriam Kravitz beside him.
She, too, was from the Maquis, but it was her three
years of legal training at Starfleet Academy--she left
to join the Maquis when the Federation ceded her
Homeworld, too, to Cardassia in a peace treaty--that
bought her a place at the negotiating table.
    The airlocks slowly matched pressure between their
ship and Deep Space Nine, and then their hatch
opened. Twofeathers saw a gigantic blood-red cog
slowly roll to one side. It was the space station's
hatch, he realized suddenly, disconcerted.
 "You first," Myriam whispered.
    He nodded reassuringly to her, keeping his face
impassive, then proceeded down the short passage
and out into the docking ring. There were three
humanoids waiting to greet them: one tall, imposing-
looking black man in a command uniform, with his
head shaved and a short beard; a Trill woman, her
straight black hair tied behind her head, revealing the
patterning of her spots on her forehead and neck; and
another human, this one with short wavy black hair.
  "Philip Twofeathers?" the Trill asked.
  "Yes," he said, his voice deep and booming.
    "I am Lieutenant Commander Dax," she said. "We
spoke earlier."
  "Yes," he said.
    "I am Captain Sisko," the black man said, nodding
politely. "This is Dr. Bashir. On behalf of the Fed-
eration, I would like to welcome you aboard DS9,
Ambassadors."
    "Thank you," Twofeathers said. "This is my associ-
ate, Myriam Kravitz."
    "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Captain
Sisko," she said.
    He nodded to her. "We have one security test
before we admit you to the station," he went on. "A
DNA test to verify that you are, indeed, who you say
you are."
    "My DNA patterns are not on file with Starfleet,"
Twofeathers said. Was this some kind of trick? He
didn't like the sound of it.
    "It's to make sure you're human and not change-
lings trying to infiltrate the peace process," Bashir
said quickly. "Anything which brings stability to this
quadrant is against their best interests."
    "But what else can you do with my DNA once you
have it?" Twofeathers said. He shook his head. No,
this would not do at all. "This is against all diplomat-
ic protocols as I understand them. I refuse."
    "Then," Sisko said, "you can get right back on your
ship. Go back to the Maquis. Tell them that you
single-handedly derailed the entire peace process be-
cause you didn't want to prove to us that you are
human."
      "We don't do anything with the DNA except scan it
 to make sure you're human," Bashir said.  "Use a tricorder."
    "The changelings can fool even a tricorder," he
said.
  Twofeathers snorted. Paranoid fools.
    Kravits stepped forward. "My DNA is already on
file with Starfleet," she said. "Test me."
    Bashir held out the box he was holding. "Place your
hand on top," he said. "It's painless. You won't feel a
thing."
    Twofeathers watched, feeling his heart start to beat
a little faster with concern, as Myriam did what she
was told.
    "Scanning," the box said. "Subject DNA passes.
Subject is human."
    Myriam stepped back, flexing her fingers and star-
ing at her hand. The breath caught in Twofeathers's
throat--was she all right?
    Suddenly she looked at him and nodded. "Do it,"
she said. "I don't see any harm."
    The Federation officers looked relieved. Twofeath-
ers studied them a second, then nodded his assent.
They had DNA on file from many members of the
Maquis, he thought, and it had done them little good
in the past. He didn't see how it could hurt now,
either.
    "Very well," he said and stretched out his hand. A
second later the box announced that he, too, was
human.
 "This way," Sisko said. "Perhaps you'd like a tour
of the station before we show you to your quarters?"
  "Yes," Twofeathers said. "I have heard of a place
  here called... Quark's?... which a number of
  friends recommend."
    Sisko blanched a bit at that. "Quark's," he said,
sounding completely nonplussed.
    Twofeathers folded his arms, tilted back his head,
and stared impassively up at him. "Quark's," he
repeated.
    Lieutenant Dax smiled. "Why don't you let me
show them around," she suggested to Sisko.
    "Very well," he said. He smiled briefly at Twofeath-
ers and Kravitz. "I leave you in Dax's capable hands."
As he turned to go, Twofeathers overheard him whis-
per, "Just keep them out of trouble, okay, old man?"
    Old man? Twofeathers frowned in bewilderment.
What kind of nickname was that for a woman?
    But Dax merely smiled and hooked her arms
through theirs, leading them toward the turbolift.
"One of the station's many attractions is Quark's
Place," she said. "Julian here is an excellent darts
player--do you know the game?mand I believe he's
going to be in a tournament tonight."
     "Darts," Twofeathers said. It was a game he'd
 always enjoyed as a boy, though he preferred throwing
 knives these days. "Aren't those similar to tiny ar-
 rows?" he said, trying to sound naive.
     "Very similar, actually," Dr. Bashir said from be-
 hind him. "I'd be glad to give you some pointers, if
 you'd like."

    "I think I would," Twofeathers said. A tournament
might be a good way to make a little money, he
thought. He smiled inwardly. It was rather amusing,
actually, that Federation losses would go straight into
the Maquis war fund.
    But he couldn't let himself forget the other reason
he'd come. There was a lot of war surplus available on
Bajor... arms and equipment the Maquis desper-
ately needed if they were going to win the fight with
Cardassia. Peace negotiations were fine, but knowing
the Cardassians and the Federation, he had little hope
of success. So while he could operate here in the open,
he intended to take advantage of his every opportuni-
ty. Rumor said that Quark could get anything you
wanted, for a price ....

CHAPTER
        9

AFTER ^ BUMPY ride through the wormhole, Kira
brought the Progress into the Gamma Quadrant.
Instantly she ran a long-range scan... and picked
up nothing. Not a sign of a ship, Jem'Hadar or
otherwise. That had always amazed her. If this were
her quadrant, she would have put some kind of
watchers here to monitor traffic through the worm-
hole. But then, if the changelings had a weakness, it
had to be their cocky attitude. They felt they were
born to rule the universe. Present company ex-
cluded, of course.
    "We're safe," she said. "No sign of Jem'Hadar
ships."
  "Excellent," Worf said from behind her.
    Kira punched in the coordinates and set the auto-
pilot. The ship accelerated smoothly on a new
bearing... the Daborat system, fifty-seven light-
years distant.
    "Since there's no sign of trouble," Odo said, 'TII
leave you to your piloting."
    "We'll call you if anything comes up," Kira prom-
ised.
    When she glanced back, she saw Odo transforming
into a shining golden glob. He oozed across the floor,
then one end arched up and fountained into a bucket
sitting on top of one of the padded seats in the
passenger section. She didn't know how he managed
to fit all of himself into such a small space, but
somehow he did.
    "I would never be able to get used to that," Worf
said, dropping into the copilot's seat beside her. "It
looks so--confining."
     She swiveled around to face him. His knobby
forehead was furrowed as he stared back toward Odo.
  "I'm sure he finds it safe and comfortable."
  Worf grunted, then turned around to look at her.
  "Since we're going to be flying for most of the day,"
  she said, "this seems like a good chance to get to know
  one another better. Tell me about yourself, Com-
  mander. What's it like being the first Klingon in
  Starfleet?"
    Worf sighed and rolled his eyes. "That is the
question everyone in the universe seems to ask," he
said.
 "And you're sick of it."
 He nodded.
 "I understand. I can't tell you how many times I've
been asked by Bajorans what it's like to serve under a
Federation captain." "Oh?"
    Kira thought she saw a spark of interest in his eyes.
Perhaps that was the key to winning his friendship,
she thought--finding common ground. But wasn't
that the case with all sentient life-forms throughout
the galaxy? Every life-form except Ferengi, she
thought. They didn't have friends. They had cus-
tomers.
  She shrugged. "It's a living."
    "A living... I will remember that answer," Worf
said. He seemed to relax a bit.
    "I was raised by human parents," Worf said, "so I
grew up with Starfleet. Had my Klingon parents lived,
I would never have joined." He jerked his chin back
the way they had come. "I would probably be with my
brothers now, helping to seize Cardassian territory."
  "You don't sound thrilled with that idea."
  "It is a living."
Kira did a double take. Was that a sense of humor?
"I always used to think I'd make a great farmer,"
she said. "As a child, I dreamed of running through
the fields, smelling the sun-ripened plants, feeling the
sun on my back and the soil between my toes. I
sometimes wonder if that's what I'd be doing today, if
it weren't for the Cardassian occupation. I might be a
mother with four or five children, running my farm,
living off the land..."
    "I cannot picture you as a mother," Worf said. "Or
as a farmer."

Kira sighed. "It's hard, but a part of me still wants
it."
    Then Worf began to tell her of life on the Enterprise
before its destruction, of his son Alexander and his
friends Data and Geordi LaForge and Deanna Troi
and she found herself actually enjoying his company.
Secretly she had been half dreading the long flight
with him. Now it seemed it might be more pleasant
than she would have thought possible.
    Four hours later, as Worf and Kira were comparing
their encounters with the life-form named Q, alarms
began to ring. Instantly Kira swiveled her seat around
and disengaged the autopilot.
    Worf said, "We're being scanned. There's a vessel
approaching quickly from behind."
    "I see it," Kira muttered. Then she looked up. "It's
not on an intercept course. And they're no longer
scanning us." She reached over and switched off the
alarm. Silence flooded through the cabin. Kira found
her heart racing. She took a deep breath to calm
herself. It sounded like a gulp.
    "We do not have weapon systems aboard," Worf
pointed out. "Perhaps we did not register as a threat."
    "Or perhaps they're smugglers watching out for
Jem'Hadar patrols," Kira said. She continued to
watch the ship on the monitor until it left scanner
range. Only then did she return control of the Progress
to the autopilot.
 It was going to be a long trip, she realized.

CHAPTER
      lO

QUARK'S BAR WAS packed. Jammed toe to claw to wing,
O'Brien thought a little gloomily as he surveyed the
hundreds of beings massed around the bar, crowding
the gambling tables, and generally mobbing the place.
He was wedged in at the end of the bar between a pair
of Bajorans who were noisily arguing about some
aspect of the Cardassian occupation and a grizzled
old Taltic whose iridescent blue-green scales stank
from too many months locked aboard a starship. You
could always tell a Harden space traveller spacer by
his odor, O'Brien thought. Half the tramp freighters
working this sector seemed to make DS9 a port of call
these days, and he would have bet that not one of
them carried proper bathing facilities anywhere
aboard. The Taltic, nursing a bottle of Qualian sea-
brandy, was typical. And he didn't seem to be
going anywhere soon. In fact, the only place that
wasn't packed was the dartboard area at the back,
stuck under the walkway to the holosuites.
    O'Brien sucked in an angry breath as one of the
Bajorans accidentally jostled him, almost spilling his
mug of Tirellian stout. Bloody hell, would Bashir
never show up? Had the doctor completely forgotten
their dart game?
    Taking another sip of the stout, he winced and tried
to catch Quark's eye. The stuff was vile, no doubt
about it, and he regretted letting Quark talk him into
trying it. Good old-fashioned lager, that's what he was
in the mood for tonight. "That and a dart game," he
muttered to himself.
    Quark was too busy piling orders onto Rom's tray
to notice O'Brien. Now that Nog was off at Starfleet
Academy, Quark seemed to be perpetually short-
handed, O'Brien thought, and the Ferengi was just too
cheap to hire another waiter. O'Brien took another
sip of the stout. It had a certain afterkick, he decided,
which wasn't half bad. He could get used to it.
    The Bajorans jostled him again, this time spilling
half his stout across the bar.
 "Watch it," he said sharply.
    The Bajoran glanced back at him. "You talking to
me, human?" he demanded.
    "That's right," O'Brien said, standing to face him.
"You knocked my drink over."
    "Maybe you shouldn't sit on top of me," the
Bajoran countered rudely. "Maybe you owe me an
apology, Earther."
    O'Brien sucked in an angry breath. "I'11 have you
know," he began hotly.
    Suddenly Quark was there, patting his arm sooth-
ingly. "Easy there, Chief," he said, leaning forward to
refill O'Brien's mug from a pitcher. "I can't afford any
more murder investigations this month. It cost me a
fortune paying off the families of the two Caxtonians
you killed in that brawl last week."
    O'Brien blinked in puzzlement. Caxtonians were
huge, hairy humanoids with great natural piloting
skills but few social graces. He knew better than
tackling one in a fight. He'd certainly never killed a
pair of them in a brawl.
  "Two... Caxtonians?" the Bajoran said.
    Quark nodded seriously and lowered his voice to a
conspiratorial whisper. "Oh, yes, O'Brien here, he's
an expert in Klingon martial arts. You should have
seen it. Ten seconds after he waded into the fight, he'd
decapitated one and shattered the other's skull with a
flying kick." He shook his head. "I've never seen
anything like it."
    Catching on, O'Brien bared his teeth and snarled a
bit, the way he'd once seen Worf do it when Quark
had pissed him off.
    The Bajoran paled. "My apologies for spilling your
drink," he said quickly. "Put it on my tab," he told
Quark. Then he quickly gathered up his own glass and
hurried off toward the gambling tables with his friend.
    "Thanks," O'Brien said, leaning on the bar, "but I
can take care of myself, Quark."
  "Nothing to do with you," Quark said, setting up a
new batch of glasses. "They were too busy arguing to
drink. I was just clearing space for paying customers."
    A pair of long-necked Igrids, tall and graceful,
almost birdlike creatures covered in blue feathers, but
with six tentacles instead of arms, quickly took the
vacant seats. Quark gave them a hideously toothy but
sincere-seeming smile.
 "What can I get you ladies?" he asked.
 Ladies? O'Brien thought. How could he tell?
     The two Igrids tittered drunkenly, tentacles slap-
ping on the bar's counter. "Mooth!" one said.
 "Make mine a double!" said the other.
 "Mine, too!" said the first.
    "Coming right up," Quark said, and he began
mixing a fluorescent green concoction in a pitcher for
them.
     "Let me know if Julian shows up," O'Brien said,
sliding off his stool. "I'11 be practicing."
 "You got it," Quark said.
    O'Brien headed for the dartboard, weaving his way
between tables. As he went, he became conscious of
the fact that quite a few Bajorans had grown silent
and were staring at him. He swallowed a little nerv-
ously, not liking the attention.
    "He killed five Klingons bare-handed last week!" he
overheard one saying to another. "Five!"
    It seemed the rumor mill had started spreading
Quark's tale. O'Brien shook his head. All he wanted
was a quiet game of darts. He didn't want a reputa-
tion as some kind of Captain Kirk.
"Chiefl" he heard a familiar voice shout.
Glancing toward the door, he spotted Bashir there
along with Dax and a pair of humans he didn't know.
He grinned and waved toward the dartboard, and
Bashir gave him the "okay" sign. Now O'Brien
grinned happily. He had a feeling Bashir's lucky
streak--three winning nights in a row--was about to
come to an end.

    Dax sensed a hesitation in Myriam Kravitz as they
stood in the doorway of Quark's place. A pair of
inebriated Denuvians staggered past them, reeking of
synthale, and Kravitz took a quick step out of their
way. Her face showed distaste.
    "You said you wanted to learn darts," Bashir was
saying to Twofeathers. "O'Brien there is a true master
of the sport. Taught me everything I know, in fact."
  "I would like to meet him, then," Twofeathers said.
    "Follow me." Bashir started forward, then paused.
"Coming, Dax?"
    Dax glanced at Ambassador Kravitz, then shook
her head. "Not tonight. I'd like to find a quieter place.
How about you, Ambassador?" "I'11 join you," she said.
    "Great," Dax said. She gave Bashir a bright smile.
"Next time."
    Turning, she followed the Denuvians out. They
headed up the Promenade toward their crossover
bridge... probably planning to spend the night on
their ship, she decided.
    "Is it always so crowded there?" the ambassador
asked, following her.
    "Quark's? No, not usually. It's busy because of the
negotiations."
 She looked puzzled. "Aren't they private?"
    "Of course. But there are quite a few Bajorans here
to protest the Cardassian ambassador's presence. So
the crews of the ships that brought them are here,
waiting to bring them back. And there are interested
observers from the Federation and, unless I miss my
guess, from quite a few of the Maquis Homeworlds.
Plus there's the normal station traffic. DS9 can get
pretty full when something big is happening."
  "Ah," she said.
    "What kind of food do you want? There's a
Klingon restaurant, but it's not for timid palates."
    "I don't think so," she said. "I've heard about
Klingon meals. I don't think I could eat something
that's still moving. i'm more of a nice matzo ball soup
type."
    "In that case," Dax said, steering her toward the far
side of the Promenade, "may I recommend the public
replicators?"

    Twofeathers deliberately missed the bulls-eye for
the third straight time. He found it almost painful, in
a way, to deliberately lose a contest. It went against
his every instinct.
    "Close," Bashir said. "You're catching on." He
moved forward and removed the darts from the
target.
"I need another drink," Twofeathers said.
"Charge whatever you want to the station's ac-
count," Bashir said. He returned to the throwing line,
took aim, and let fly. The dart struck the tiny red
circle at the center of the target: a perfect bulls-eye.
The engineer--what was his name, O'Brien?--let out
a loud groan.
  "May I bring you something?"
    "I'm still fine," Bashir said, throwing his second
dart. It landed a hairsbreadth to the left of the first:
another perfect shot. The doctor hadn't exaggerated,
Twofeathers thought. He was an excellent dart player.
  "I'm fine, too," O'Brien said, lifting his mug.
  Twofeathers smiled and nodded pleasantly. Now
  was his chance, he thought, to make contact with
  Quark. He'd spotted the Ferengi behind the bar when
  he came in.
    Weaving between the full tables, he reached the bar
and pushed his way up to the front. Quark bustled
over, looking harried.
 "What can I get you?" he asked.
    "Synthale... and a Mark III attack cruiser," Two-
feathers said. "More, if you can get them."
    Quark studied him. "Now where," he said, "would
I get a Mark III attack cruiser?" he said.
    "Bajoran military surplus. I know you have con-
tacts."
    Quark leaned forward. "How do I know you're not
Federation security?" he asked in a voice barely
audible over the background roar of the crowd. Two-
feathers found himself straining to hear.
    "The Grand Nagus's second cousin, Goff, sent me
to you. He thought you might have a line on Bajoran
war surplus. And by the way, he says you still owe him
fourteen strips of gold-pressed tatinum. Plus a ten
percent commission for referring me to you."
    "That sounds like GotT, always kidding." Quark
laughed, but Twofeathers saw the greed in his eyes.
"How long will you be here?" the Ferengi asked.
    "As long as the peace negotiations take." Twofeath-
ers leaned back. "I'm one of the Maquis ambassa-
dors."
    Quark nodded subtly. "Here's your synthale," he
said, putting a mug on the counter and filling it from a
pitcher. "I'll be in touch."
    Twofeathers nodded, accepted his drink, and
headed back for the dart game. Quark was hooked, he
knew. Now it was all a matter of playing everything
out to its all too inevitable conclusion... victory.
 He began to smile.

    Bashir aimed his last dart carefully, threw, and
knew the second he released that it was another
perfect shot. Sure enough, it hit the target dead center.
"Yes!" he cried. "Game, set, and match!"
    O'Brien groaned again. "That's quite a streak you
have going," he complained as he went to retrieve the
darts.
    Bashir smiled. "Your game's off tonight," he said.
"Is something bothering you?"
 "I had a run-in with some Bajorans at the bar," he
said, and then he quickly explained what had hap-
pened. "They've been staring at me ever since."
  "Don't worry, Chief, it'll blow over."
    "I certainly hope so." He handed three darts to
Bashir, then stepped up to the throwing line.
    "You," a low voice growled. "You, the human."
Bashir glanced back and found a Caxtonian ap-
proaching. It had a decidedly unfriendly look on its
face, and he swallowed uneasily. He followed the
alien's gaze... to Chief O'Brien. "Uh, Chief..." he said softly.
 "Not while I'm throwing, Julian," O'Brien said.
 "I really think--" he began.
    The Caxtonian knocked a chair out of the way and
continued its inexorable advance. They weren't the
brightest of beings, Bashir knew, but they made good
pilots. They also never bathed, Bashir realized, as the
smell of this one reached him: a sour-sweet reek of
animal musk and sweat and decades of grime.
    "--that you should look over here," he went on,
still backing away. He tapped his badge. Better call for
help now, he thought, before things got ugly. "Bashir
to security," he said. "There's going to be a riot at
Quark's. Hurry!"
    O'Brien threw his dart. It not only missed the bulls-
eye, it nearly missed the dartboard altogether, hitting
a 5 point area in the outer ring.
    "Look what you made me do!" O'Brien com-
plained, turning. "So what is it, Julian, that's so damn
important--"
  "Human!" The Caxtonian seized O'Brien's tunic,
heaved, and in one motion sent him flying ten meters,
across two tables, and into a knot of humans playing
cards at a table. Poker chips flew in all directions.
Players began to curse and pick themselves up.
    Bashir saw shock on O'Brien's face and winced a bit
in sympathy. That had to hurt, he thought. Luckily
O'Brien didn't seem to have any broken bones.
    "For my dead brothers!" the Caxtonian screamed.
Then he headed for O'Brien again, shoving everyone
and everything out of his way. Men and women began
pushing and shoving one another in their haste to
escape.
    "Revenge!" the Caxtonian roared. "I kill you!"
Clearly, Bashir thought, he had believed Quark's wild
rumor.
    Half a second later, the whole bar exploded with
fists, flying chairs, and angry screams. Bashir saw
O'Brien scrambling out of the Caxtonian's way, then
a Bajoran leaped on the engineer's back. They van-
ished beneath a heap of bodies.
    Bashir dove for cover. No sense getting hurt, he
thought. He ducked as a half-empty bottle of
Romutan ale came flying past and smashed to shards
on the wall behind him. He had a feeling half the
people here would need his medical services soon
enough. How long till security arrived to break things
up?

CHAPTER
      11

AN ALARM SOUNDED aboard the Progress, and Odo
returned to full consciousness with a jolt. What had
happened? Jem 'Hadar?
    He poured himself up from the pail in a golden
stream and allowed himself to coalesce into his usual
humanoid form.
    "What's wrong?" he demanded. He hurried for-
ward to gaze out the front viewport. Stars blurred into
lines around them from the distortion of their warp
field. He didn't see anything out of the ordinary, but
then he was a security officer, not a pilot.
    "We've got trouble," Kira called from the pilot's
seat.
  "What sort of trouble?"
    "Three ships," Worf said from the seat next to
Kira's. He looked up. "Jem'Hadar, from their warp
 signatures. We are already within their sensor range.
 They are altering course to intercept."
     "They're powering up their weapons systems!"
 Kira said. "Going to evasive maneuvers--"
    "No!" Odo said. "Leave the ship on autopilot. Get
into the back and hide. Get ready to activate your
personal cloakers in case they board and search for
you. I'll start the automatic distress call. We can fool
them into leaving us alone."  Kira hesitated.
    "Do it!" he told her. They didn't have time to
argue. Why didn't humanoids ever do things the first
time he asked?
    Nodding, she ducked into the back section of the
ship, and Worf followed. Chief O'Brien had done an
excellent job of camouflaging the hidden compart-
ments, and Odo felt certain they'd pass any
Jem'Hadar inspection.
    He slid into the pilot's seat and activated a low-
powered distress call. The Jem'Hadar would pick it
up, he knew. He was counting on it.
    That only left himself. He flowed up onto one wall
and changed into the shape of a support beam. It felt
good to try a new form. He blended in so completely
that not even the Jem'Hadar would be able to detect
him.
    From that position, he watched and waited with
growing impatience. The largest of the three
Jem'Hadar ships appeared on one of the monitors,
approaching quickly from behind. It looked like an
odd accumulation of spikes and rounded cornpart-
ments placed on a huge boxlike ship. It was a design
he had never encountered before. For a second he
wondered if it could be a different species than the
Jem'Hadar, but then he shook his head. No, it had to
be them. Who else would be policing this sector of
space?
    Suddenly the Progress trembled all over--a tractor
beam had locked onto them, he guessed. Their ship's
engines automatically powered down to keep from
burning out, and the sudden silence that filled the
ship screamed more loudly than words. Suddenly
they dropped out of warp, the stars in the front
viewport changing from streaks of light to slowly
moving dots. Then the Jem'Hadar ship began to pull
them in toward a wide rectangular opening in its
side... a landing bay of some kind, he guessed.
    They passed through a series of force fields which
cast shimmering blue lights across the monitors, and
then they were inside, slowly settled onto what looked
like a broad expanse of durasteel deck. Extruding a
tendril of himself to get a better look through the front
viewport, he saw rows of shuttles and small fighter
ships lined up. There had to be dozens of them in this
one landing bay, he realized. They were aboard some
kind of transport ship. But did that mean well or ill
for their mission?
    Ten seconds after they touched down, he heard the
airlock pop open. Quickly he withdrew his tendril
from the front viewport, once again assuming the
shape of a support beam.
    Below him, a dozen Jem'Hadar troops stormed
aboard, their disruptors held ready. He watched with
interest as they advanced quickly through the cabin,
covering one another, looking for any signs of life.
They didn't discover the hidden compartments, he
saw with relief. O'Brien's shielding held up. As they
milled about, one of them produced a small black box
with readouts on the top... a scanner of some kind,
Odo thought.
    A Jem'Hadar ofifcer boarded last. He looked at the
pilot seats, grunted once, then circled the seats in the
main part of the cabin and peered into the back area.
He frowned in puzzlement.
    "Where are they?" he demanded of the Jem'Hadar
with the scanner.
    "There are faint life signs," the Jem'Hadar with the
scanner reported. Odo felt a flash of panic. The
shielding wasn't completely hiding Worf and Kira, he
realized.
 "Where?" the officer demanded.
 "I cannot get a lock on it, sir."
    The officer struck him backhanded across the face.
"Fool. Give me your scanner."
 The warrior handed it to him silently.
    "They are hidden somewhere aboard," the officer
announced. "Rip the ship apart. Find them."
    "Yes, sir." Two of the warriors sprinted through the
hatch. Probably going for heavy equipment, Odo
thought. He'd have to do something. Even with their
personal cloakers, Kira and Worf wouldn't stand a
chance against a high-powered laser cutting through
the bulkheads in search of hiding places. They'd be
sliced to pieces.
"Is there anything else here?" the officer demanded.
"Just these," another trooper said, bringing out the
message cube Sisko had given Odo back on DS9. He
set it on a chair next to Odo's pail.
    "Find out what it is," the officer ordered, handing
the scanner back to the warrior he'd taken it from. "Is
it a bomb?"
    "No..." the Jem'Hadar said. "It appears to be a
recording device of some kind."
    Odo mentally nodded. Come on, he thought, acti-
vate it--this might be the distraction Kira and Worf
need to get out.
    The officer stepped forward and looked the box
over suspiciously. Then he touched the button on the
top. Instantly a holographic projection of Captain
Sisko in full dress uniform appeared. He was bigger
than life, towering a full half meter over the
Jem'Hadar.
    "I am Captain Benjamin Sisko, a Starfleet officer,"
Sisko's recording said in a booming voice. "This
message is for the leaders of the Dominion. On behalf
of the United Federation of Planets, I wish to invite
the Founders to join us in a peace conference. This
message box contains full instructions for getting a
reply safely back to us, as well as all necessary
diplomatic protocols this conference will require. We
hope to meet with you soon."
    The hologram disappeared as quickly as it ap-
peared. It had been short and to the point, Odo
thought. Hopefully it would be enough to fool the
Jem'Hadar.
    "A Federation trick," the officer sneered. The two
Jem'Hadar who'd left reappeared, lugging what
looked like a heavy-duty welding laser between them.
"Tear the ship apart," the officer said. "Kill anything
that moves. Find the source of those life readings."
    "What about the box?" the Jem'Hadar with the
scanner said.
    "I'll take care of it." Drawing his disruptor, the
officer took careful aim.
    Odo knew this was the time to act. He couldn't let
the message box be destroyed--not yet, anyway.
    Letting his body change and flow like liquid gold,
he dropped from the ceiling, then flowed up before
them into his normal humanoid form. Folding his
arms, he glared with all the strength he could muster.
    The Jem'Hadar dropped to their knees before him.
This, he thought, was a sign of the power the change-
lings wielded in the Gamma Quadrant.
    "Your name," Odo demanded of the officer, trying
to sound imperious.
"Sub-Garn Thok, Founder." He still didn't look up.
"I came personally to deliver this peace summit
invitation, Sub-Garn Thok," Odo told them in the
angriest voice he could muster, "in case anyone felt
like intercepting it. I see my precautions were justi-
fied. Your superiors will hear of this. Leave my ship--
you are forbidden to touch it in any way. I will have
need of it soon enough, when I return to the Alpha
Quadrant."
"Yes, Founder," Thok said, still not looking up.
Moving with a confidence he didn't feel, Odo
picked up Sisko's message box and stalked purpose-
fully down the ramp and out of the ship. If he was
going to be a Founder, he knew he'd better act the
part--blustering, angry, and oh so superior.
    Thok ran to catch up. Odo did not look back, but he
could hear the rest of the Jem'Hadar warriors scram-
bling out the hatch as fast as they could.
    "Sir," Thok said, "we had no idea you were
aboard."
    "Of course you didn't," Odo said. "That was the
idea. I can see that I will have to deliver the peace
summit invitation myself." He paused twenty meters
from the Progress and turned slowly, surveying the
vast landing bay. It had to be three hundred meters
wide and easily fifty meters across. Perhaps as many
as fifty small ships had been parked here. Suddenly he
felt small and lost.
  "Which way?" he asked.
    Thok hurried to take the lead. "Follow me, Found-
er," he said, heading to the left, toward what looked
like a bank of turbolifts on the far side of a pair of
shuttles. "I will take you to a waiting place. Then I
will let the captain know you are on board."
    Odo nodded. That would do, for starters. He
glanced back at the Progress. All of the Jem'Hadar
had vanished, exactly as he'd ordered, and the ship
now sat unguarded with its hatch open. At the very
least he'd bought Worf and Kira some extra time.

    Kira felt herself beginning to breathe again. If not
for Odo, she knew they would have been caught.
    Slowly she eased open the door to her hidden
compartment and crept out. Worf joined her. She
pantomimed looking out the hatch, and he nodded in
agreement. They had to get out of here as fast as
possible; no telling if Odo's orders would be counter-
manded by someone higher up.
    Lowering herself to the floor, she crawled forward
on her belly to the edge of the open hatch. There she
peered out, taking in the long line of small starships
standing between them and the far wall. Fifteen
meters away, half a dozen gaunt, hairless, almost
skeletal aliens with triangular heads appeared to be
doing maintenance work on a small vessel. Then a
line of Jem'Hadar warriors marched into view around
another ship, and she ducked back to avoid being
seen.
    "We're not being guarded," she said in a low voice,
"but there are plenty of people outside."
     "We will never get this ship into space again," Worf
said. "We must find another way to Daborat V."
  "And we have to rescue Odo," Kira added.
  "The mission must come first."
    "I'm not leaving him." That was one thing you
learned in the resistance: You took all your people
with you when you left. She had no intention of
abandoning Odo.
"We may not have that option," Worf pointed out.
Kira paused a heartbeat. One thing at a time, she
told herself. For now, Odo could look after himself.
Considering how the Jem'Hadar treated changelings,
he wouldn't be in any immediate danger. They could
save him later.
    "We must find better cover," Worf said. "The
Jem'Hadar may come back to check for us despite
Odo's orders."
"All right," Kira said. She stood. "I'll go first."
She reached down and activated the cloaker be-
neath her blue dress. The controls were so simple, she
could have operated them in her sleep. Just a little
push and--
    A shimmer of colors enveloped her, then grew clear.
She found herself inside what appeared to be a bubble
about twenty centimeters from her skin. She could see
out, but murkily, as though through a thick glass wall,
and all sounds suddenly took on a muted quality.
    She glanced back and could just make out a dim
form that had to be Worf. At least she could see him:
She'd half expected him to be invisible to her, too.
    "Don't lose me," she said, starting down the ramp.
Eight minutes... that wasn't a long time. They'd
better find a hiding place before then, she thought, or
they were going to be in a great deal of trouble.

    Odo watched the turbolift's readouts. They were
rising rapidly, and when the doors finally opened onto
a long corridor lit by bright overhead panels, he had
counted seventeen decks. This Jem'Hadar spaceship
was more enormous than anything he had ever seen
before, practically a space-going city. Five or six DS9s
would have fit inside with room to spare.
    Thok stepped out ahead of him and ushered him
forward to the sixth door on the left.
    "Please wait here, Founder," he said, touching the
hand pad. "I will inform my superiors of your pres-
ence."
    The door dilated open, and Odo stepped into a tiny,
almost unfurnished room. It had a narrow bunk, a
small table that folded out from the wall, and a hard
metal bench that was welded to the floor. There were
no decorations or personal touches of any kind. He
found it distinctly unpleasant... a cell more than
anything else.
 "What is this room normally used for?" he asked.
    Thok stared at him, looking puzzled. "This is my
cabin, Founder. You can rest comfortably here."
    Odo swallowed and looked around again. He had
always lived a life that others on DS9 considered
austere, but compared to this officer's Spartan exis-
tence, he lived in decadent luxury.
    "It will do," he said gruffly. For all he knew, this
might well be among the nicest cabins on the ship, he
reflected. The Jem'Hadar were notably lacking in
decorator touches.
    The door irised shut and he found himself alone.
He glanced around again, then placed the message
box on the table. Closing his eyes, he allowed himself
to flow freely from one shape to another, mimicking
everything around him... first the bed... then the
table... then the bench...
    Perhaps fifteen minutes later, the door opened
again. Odo pulled himself back up into his humanoid
form and found himself facing a new Jem'Hadar
officer... this one considerably older than the other
one had been.
    "I am Jezrak, Captain of the Sespar's Revenge," he
announced, studying Odo with a calculating expres-
sion. Jezrak carried himself like someone used to
being obeyed, Odo thought.
  "My name is Odo," he said.
    "I know, Founder. I have orders to bring you to the
docking bay." He stood back away from the door.
"This way, Founder. The others are waiting for you."
    Others? What did that mean? Other changelings, a
small voice inside him said. That had to be it. He
swallowed. It didn't take them long to get here. But did
that bode well for him?
    Keeping his expression a careful neutral, Odo
picked up the message box and stepped through the
door. He would keep up his pretense of delivering the
message, he decided, and see what happened.
    Ten Jem'Hadar guards had been waiting outside.
They fell in around him. Probably an honor guard
more than anything else, he decided. They couldn't
hurt him; their genetic programming made that im-
possible. And his own skills as a changeling--small
compared to other members of his race, but huge next
to solids like them--would be more than enough to
save him in any emergency. No, he thought, the real
danger would come from his own kind. He was the
first changeling ever in history to have harmed anoth-
er member of his own race. What if his people
decided he had to be destroyed before he contami-
nated others of their kind?
    He forced those dark thoughts to the back of his
mind. He had no reason to expect trouble, he told
himself. He'd have to see what developed. His main
goal now had to be buying more time for Kira and
Worf so they could carry out their mission. He could
make it back to DS9 on his own later if he had to.
    Jezrak escorted him back to turbolift, and they all
rode back down to the huge open landing bay. As soon
as he stepped out, he deliberately avoided glancing
around for Kira or Worf; if they had any sense, they
would have used their personal cloakers to get away
from their ship and under cover by now, waiting their
own chance to escape. He'd return to help them if he
could, but that possibility seemed more and more
remote.
    "The others are waiting on their ship for you,
Founder," Jezrak said. He started to the left, between
a row of sleek little fighters, and after a half second's
hesitation Odo followed.
    They seemed to be heading for the largest ship
there, a long, sleek white and silver craft. Its side
hatch stood open, and a ramp had telescoped to the
deck. Standing in the opening, waiting for him, were
two changelings dressed in long, pale yellow robes. He
didn't recognize either one.
    Jezrak stopped at the foot of the ramp and folded
his arms. Odo didn't see any other options, so he
marched up to the open hatch with a confidence he
didn't feel--best to play up his role, he thought. He
would be the Federation's messenger. If he didn't act
the part, they might suspect he had come here for
other reasons.
    The two changelings moved back, and he stepped
between them and into the ship. It was nothing like he
had expected. The main cabin was all white, from the
floor to the walls to the ceiling, and two long, curved
benches ran lengthwise down the cabin. It had no
other furnishings. Between the benches, suspended in
midair, hung a large holographic projection of a
planet, which completely filled the center of the room.
It was a beautiful world, Odo thought: deep azure
oceans, four huge continents, tiny polar ice caps, all
wisped with white clouds. Was that the new change-
ling Homeworld? He had no way of finding out, short
of asking, and he wasn't quite prepared to do that yet.
    He glanced forward, into the pilots' compartment.
The four seats there were occupied by Jem'Hadar in
black uniforms--pilots, Odo assumed. They didn't
seem to be paying attention to anything behind them.
     "You are Odo," one of the changelings said. It was a
statement, Odo noticed, rather than a question.
  "Yes," he said.
 "I am Auron and this is Selann."
    Odo gave them a quick nod. "I have come on behalf
of the United Federation of Planets--"
 "To deliver a peace message," Auron finished for
him. "We find it curious," he said, moving forward
and taking the box out of Odo's hands, "that you did
not come through more diplomatic channels, Odo."
    "After the reception given to our last few ships,"
Odo said gruffly, "the Federation thought it prudent
to come in more subtly this time."
  "And to send you."
  "That's right."
    Auron set the message box on the floor, activated it,
and watched impassively as Sisko's image appeared
and repeated the peace initiative. When it ended, the
changeling dismissed it with an idle wave of one hand.
    "The Federation and the other powers in the Alpha
Quadrant know our terms for peace," he said. "We
will gladly take them under our protection. No other
alternative is possible."
 "Surely there must be room for negotiation."
 "None," Auron said.
    The hatch suddenly swung closed with a whump of
displaced air, and Odo felt a sudden vibration run-
ning through the soles of his feet--the pilots had
begun to power up the engines. He had a sudden
sinking feeling inside as he realized Kira and Worf
were about to be stranded here without him.
  "Where are we going?" he demanded.
    "Carnalia VIII," Selenn said. A shiver of sudden
apprehension went through Odo as the changeling
added, "A delightful little world, as you will soon
discover."

CHAPTER
      12

"BREAK IT UP in here/" a loud voice boomed, and a
phaser hummed twice as it struck. A Caxtonian and a
Klingon, arms locked around each other, fell to the
floor.
    That seemed to catch everyone's attention, Bashir
saw. He watched as eight security guards jogged
through the front doors of Quark's bar with phasers
drawn and took up positions around the periphery of
the fight. Although their weapons had undoubtedly
been set for stun, Bashir knew nobody would want to
be hit by them. Spending several hours unconscious,
then waking up in a holding cell, was nobody's idea of
a good shore leave, and most of the fighters looked
like seasoned spacers.
    "Break it up/" the lead security officer's voice
boomed again. He was a Bajoran named ertan,
officially Odo's third in command, but second until
Lieutenant Commander Rodington returned from
leave.
    The rioters had all paused. Bashir saw fists un-
clench, chairs about to be thrown suddenly get low-
ered to the floor, and fallen comrades helped to their
feet. Odo would have been proud of Vertan's work,
Rashir thought.
    "You will disperse!" Vertan called again. "Leave the
bar in an orderly fashion/ Return to your ships/Anyone
still on the station in five minutes will spend the night
in a cell/"
    A few last bottles and glasses crashed to the floor,
shattering, as the crowd headed for the doors. All,
Bajorans, humans, Klingons, and aliens alike, gave
the guards guilty glances as they passed by.
    "Who's going to pay for this damage?" Quark
demanded, appearing from behind the bar. "Arrest
them!"
    A stampede started. Quark could not have said
anything to get them moving more quickly, Bashir
thought. Security followed to make sure new fighting
didn't break out. In ten seconds, only he, Quark,
O'Brien, the Dabo girls, and the unconscious Caxto-
nian and Klingon remained. Then Ambassador Two-
feathers poked his head up from behind the bar,
smiled, and stood up.
 "Most entertaining," he said.
    Quark shot him a dirty look. "That's because you
don't have to clean up the mess." He wandered out
from behind the bar and stood surveying the damage
and shaking his head. "Rom!" he bellowed. "Get a
broom!"
    Grinning, Bashir climbed to his feet, dusted himself
off, and headed for O'Brien. Quark's brother, as
always, would get the short end of the deal. Fortu-
nately Vertan had arrived less than a minute and a
half after the riot had broken out, so nobody had been
seriously injured that he could see. Now, how much
damage had that CaxtonJan done to O'Brien?
    Perched on the edge of a round table, O'Brien was
gingerly feeling his right arm and grimacing a bit. No
blood or broken bones showing, Bashir noted, looking
him over quickly, although he'd have an old-
fashioned black eye in the morning. Bashir pulled out
his medical scanner and passed it over O'Brien's right
arm, face, and chest.
    "Wrenched shoulder," he said, studying the read-
outs. "A few bruises. Just soft tissue damage, nothing
to be concerned about. You'll be right as rain in a day
or two."
 O'Brien groaned loudly.
    "Do you need something for the pain?" Bashit
asked, frowning a bit. It shouldn't hurt all that much,
he thought--had he missed something?
    "I'm groaning," O'Brien said, "because I'm going
to have to forfeit the game to you, Julian! I can't
throw with my arm like this!"
    Bashir grinned in relief, then quickly covered it up.
"You're right," he said with mock seriousness. "But
look at the bright side. Now you'll have an excuse
when you lose to me, Chief."
  O'Brien groaned again.
     Quark scurried over, a stylus in his hand. "Did you
 see who started it?" he demanded. "I'm taking
 names!"
    "Yes," O'Brien said. He slowly worked his shoulder
in a circle. "I was there."
      "Well?" Quark demanded, hand poised to write.
"Who're responsible?"  "You are."
    "Me?" Quark's expression of shock was priceless,
Bashir thought. "I think you hit your head a little too
hard there, Chief."
    "It was that stupid rumor you started about me
killing two Caxtonians!" O'Brien snapped. "When a
real Caxtonian heard it, he decided to avenge his
fallen comrades!"
    Bashir made a tsk-tsk sound. "Sounds like you
stuck it to yourself there, Quark."
    "Everyone knows rumors don't count," the Ferengi
said. "So, it was the Caxtonian..." He glanced over
at the alien's unconscious form where it still lay.
BasMr knew Vertan and his men would be back to
collect the two bodies once they'd seen the other
rioters safely off the station. "I have his ship's credit
account number," Quark said. "They'll be getting a
pretty sharp bill, I can tell you." He glanced around.
"'Six tables," he muttered, writing quickly. "Sew
enteen--no, make that eighteen chairs..." He wan-
dered off, still taking notes of the damage.
    "Tell me," Ambassador Twofeathers said, joining
them, "is it always this exciting here? I joined the
Maquis in part for the adventure, but I have never
seen anything quite like this before."
    "This doesn't happen very often, fortunately,"
Bashir said. He glanced at the chronometer over the
bar, which thankfully hadn't been broken by flying
debris. It was nearly 2300 hours. "Maybe I should
show you to your suite now, Ambassador. It's getting
late, and I don't think much more is going to be
happening here tonight."
    Twofeathers nodded. "Yes... I think I'm done for
now." He shot a quick glance at Quark. "Though I
may be back tomorrow."

    It was going to be a good day, Captain Benjamin
Sisko thought. He awakened from a long, deep sleep
feeling refreshed, almost rejuvenated. Rising, he
showered quickly, shaved around his beard, and put
on a dress uniform. His son, Jake, was still asleep, so
he sat down to have a light breakfast of toast, orange
juice, and strong black coffee. On the computer moni-
tor, he called up the daily reports and flipped through
them quickly.
    A small riot at Quark's, but no injuries... sixteen
ships queued up for docking today... no emergen-
cies, no problems, no disasters. For once, the station
seemed to be running smoothly on its own.
    He wiped his mouth, stood, and put the dishes int›
the recycling bin. With everything going so well, he
wondered briefly if he should tempt fate and stop by
Ops on the way to the peace conference. After a
second he decided he had the time. Besides, with
everything going so well, what could possibly go
wrong?
    He tabbed his dress blouse closed at the throat and
headed out. The second his door opened, he knew it
was a mistake. A crowd at the end of the corridor
spotted him.
    "There he is!" someone shouted. Instantly a dozen
people holding signs and placards rushed toward him.
Bajoran protesters, he realized in dismay. They'd been
staking out the habitat ring waiting for him, and now
they'd found him.
    Holding up both hands, he motioned for silence.
"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded. "Pro-
tests are restricted to the Promenade. Clear this
corridor at once or I will have you removed by
security!"
    A Bajoran man in a brown robe waved his people to
silence. "A thousand apologies for the disturbance,
Emissary," he said. "I am Vedek Werron."
    "This is not the best time, Vedek." Sisko folded his
arms, leveling a stern glare at the Vedek. He would
have to handle this delicately, he thought. Werron
might be an extremist and a reactionary, but he had
quite a few followers.
    "It's always the right time for justice!" Werron said
loudly.
    "Justice for Bajor!" the crowd began to chant.
"Justice for Bajor! .lustice for Bajor!"
    "Vedek, there are channels for this sort of thing,"
he said, turning toward the turbolift at the far end of
the corridor. He'd catch that one to avoid riding with
any of the protesters. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have
work to do."
    "Of course," Werron said, catching up to him. "I'll
just walk with you. I had something important I
needed to tell you."
    "What is that?" Sisko stopped and faced the Vedek
with a sigh. He didn't seem to be taking the hint.
    Vedek Werron drew himself up to his tallest, which
still only came level to Sisko's shoulder. "I must
demand that the Cardassians be put off Deep Space
Nine at once," he said.
    "That's impossible," Sisko said flatly. "We have
delicate negotiations going on right now--"
    "Gul Mekkar is the Butcher of Belmast." He
whirled and addressed his followers. "And what do
we do to Cardassian war criminals?" he shouted.
  "Death!" the crowd roared.
  "What else?" Werron cried.
  "Justice/Justice for Bajor!"
Sisko tapped his badge. "Security," he said.
"Verton here, Captain," a voice said instantly.
"Get some people to the habitat ring," Sisko said.
"Vedek Werron and his followers are staging a protest
outside my cabin."
    "I'11 have people there in thirty seconds," Verton
said. That was as good as Odo could have done, Sisko
thought.
    The crowd began chanting, "Justice for Bajor! Jus-
tice for Bajor!" again.
  Smiling triumphantly, like he'd proved some point,
Vedek Werron turned back to Sisko. "Justice cannot
be denied, Emissary," he said darkly.
    "Of course," Sisko said. Over Werron's shoulder,
he saw the turbolift doors open. Four human security
officers sprinted up the corridor toward him. Verton
had had the good sense to send humans rather than
Bajorans, Sisko noted. Odo had picked the right man
to leave in charge.
    The security officers lined up two on each side of
Sisko. Their hands were on their phasers, but they
didn't draw their weapons yet. The were waiting for
his go-ahead, Sisko realized. Hopefully it wouldn't
come to that.
    Werron's followers had begun to shift nervously,
though. Good: He didn't want them getting too cocky
with their protest. He didn't like being cornered.
    "I'm not unsympathetic to the problem of Cardas-
sian war criminals," Sisko said to Werron. "Many
great injustices were done to your people during the
occupation. Let me work through proper channels to
look into the matter."
 "When?" Werron demanded.
 "How does this afternoon sound?"
    Werron considered for a second, then nodded.
"Thank you, Emissary," he said. "All we want is
justice." Turning to his people, he held up his hands
for silence. Instantly the chanting ceased.
    "Join me for prayers and meditation," he said,
cutting through them and heading for the turbolift.
"The Emissary will help us!"
    A cheer went up, and they followed him down the
corridor.
    Sisko relaxed. "See that they make it to the Prome-
nade," he said to the security guards. "Then post a
guard to make sure they don't hold any more im-
promptu protests on the habitat ring."
    They nodded and followed Werron and his group.
As soon as he was alone, Sisko turned and headed in
the opposite direction. He'd take the other turbolift,
he decided, to avoid any chance of running into any
more of Werron's followers.
     That still left his promise to fulfill. Tapping his
badge, he said, "Sisko to Dax."  "Dax here," she replied.
    Quickly he briefed her. "Find out all you can about
Werron and his movement," he said. He would have
done it himself, but he was going to be wrapped up
with the peace negotiations all day.
    "Easy enough," Dax said. "I'11 tap into the Bajoran
databases and see what they have on him."
    "And see what you can find out about Gul Mek-
kar," Sisko added, "the so-called Butcher of Be!mast.
If Werron has a real grievance, I want to know it."

CHAPTER
      13

KLINGONS WERE NOT meant for sneaking around, Wolf
thought in frustration. Their hands, their bodies--
their very mindsmwere designed for clean, honest,
open combat.
    So what was he doing hiding in a small cleaning
closet just off the landing bay? He rose and paced
the few steps there was room for. There was no honor
in hiding. If only their mission hadn't been so crit-
ical...
    He glanced down at Kira, who was now asleep. She
sat on the floor with her knees pulled up and her head
resting on her arms, snoring softly. He snorted. How
she could rest while being penned in here like some
animalm
    He shook his head. Discipline, he told himself, is the
heart of the warrior. Kira was depending on him, and
the future of the whole Federation might well depend
on the success of their mission. He could wait in a
supply closet for a few more hours.
    At least the supply closet door had a few holes for
ventilation. The air inside, thick with the scents of
cleaning solvents, made him want to sneeze.
    Rubbing his nose, he eased forward and pressed his
eyes close to the top vent just in time to see a line of
Jem'Hadar warriors jog up in formation to the calls of
their superiors. He tensed as they turned and faced
the supply closet, but then they moved into a drill of
some kind.
    Warm-up exercises, Worf thought. What better
place to exercise than the open space of the landing
bay?
    He allowed his breathing to quicken. Martial arts
had always been of keen interest to him, and he had
tried everything from Klingon to human to Romulan
to Doldarian forms of combat.
    Their warm-up done, the lines of Jem'Hadar warri-
ors suddenly broke into groups of four. Instructors
passed among them, passing out wooden sticks about
a meter and a half long. The foursomes began spar-
ring.
    Worf focused on one warrior, a tall Jem'Hadar who
seemed to be single-handedly keeping the other three
in his group at bay. He moved with the lightning
reflexes of a natural athlete. Worf found himself
tensing his own muscles as he sought to emulate what
he was watching. Parry--parry--thrust--kill!
    His breath quickened as he compared their moves
to the Klingon martial arts he practiced. His respect
for the Jem'Hadar as warriors began to increase.
What other similarities to Klingons did they have,
beyond their obvious love of battle?
    He wanted to see more, but just as suddenly as the
fights had begun, they ended. The Jem'Hadar raced
back into formation, then began jogging farther down
the landing bay. He listened, straining to hear, and
heard the fighting beginning again, but he couldn't see
it from the closet.
    Frustrated, he turned and sank down to the floor.
Idly he raised his tunic and glanced down at the
cloaker. The readout said 00:05:14. Not much time
left. He couldn't risk going outside to see... and
anyway, someone might notice the door opening and
sl-.utting by itself.
 "What was that noise?" Kira asked.
    He glanced over and found her awake. "Jem'Hadar
warriors training in the landing bay."
     "Great," she said sarcastically. Opening her pack,
she dug out a protein bar. "Want one?" "Perhaps later," he said.
    She opened it and bit. "I've been thinking," she
said as she chewed. "If this ship follows the
Jem'Hadar flight patterns that the Federation has
been charting, it should enter the Daborat system in a
day or two. That will be our chance to get out and find
Oreor."
 "This ship is too big to land," he said.
 "Shore leave, Worf. Jem'Hadar have to go some-
 where to burn off their energy. I'm willing to bet
 everyone goes down to the planet, leaving a skeleton
 crew watching things. We can sneak aboard a trans-
 port ship and ride down with them."
    "You are forgetting how little time we have left on
our cloakers," he said. He didn't think they'd have
time to sneak aboard a Jem'Hadar ship and hide. And
what if they were caught?
  "Do you have a better plan?"
  He hesitated. "Not yet," he said.
  "Well, you have two days to think of one."
    Worf leaned back and closed his eyes. Might as well
rest, he thought. If he slept, the time would pass more
quickly. And perhaps something would come to him.
    A low rustling noise from his left brought him
sharply back to consciousness. What was that? Kira,
directly across from him, didn't seem to have heard it.
Probably some small scavenger, he thought.
    He turned and tensed. It wasn't some animal. A
panel in the back of the closet was slowly sliding open.
    Silently, Worf rose to his feet, gesturing frantically
to Kira. She paused in midbite.
    Then a small, gnarled-looking alien in a silver tunic
slipped through the opening. Worf reached for his
phaser. Whatever it was, it seemed to be sneaking up
on them.
    It took one look at Kira and Worf, let out an
alarmed squeal, and bolted back into the opening.
    Worf leaped forward and caught the door before it
could slide back into place. He couldn't let the alien
escape, he thought. He forced his shoulder through
the opening, pushed, and managed to squeeze
through.
    He was in some kind of access corridor between the
walls, he realized, taking in the unfinished walls and
the bare metal floor. A few open panels revealed
delicate-looking circuits and other equipmentmkind
of like the Jefferies tubes aboard a starship, Worf
thought, only built to a practical scale.
    The alien had dropped to four legs, sprinting like a
wild hzork. Worf climbed to his feet, tucked down his
chin, and raced in pursuit. Klingons were not known
for speed or long endurance in wind sprints, but now
Worf thanked his grueling workouts on the holodeck
on the Enterprise and more recently in Quark's holo-
suites. He was in top form. He actually started to gain
ground on the alien.
    The alien skidded around a corner and disappeared
from sight. Worf put on a burst of extra speed,
rounded the corner himself, and found the little alien
prying open another access door.
    "Got you!" he snarled, tackling it around the waist,
trying to pin its arms. It bucked and twisted like a
wild animal beneath him, hissing. It was stronger than
it looked, Worf found, and he had trouble holding it
down. Then it suddenly twisted its long, limber neck
and sank its fangs deep into the flesh of his shoulder.
    His whole right arm went numb. What--he
thought, as a fuzzy-headedness spread through his
mind. The alien wriggled out from under him. He
tried to catch himself, but both his arms were com-
pletely numb. They hung like lead weights.
    Distantly, he heard the hum of a phaser. With the
last of his strength, he raised his head. Kira had
stunned the alien, he saw. It fell just beyond him.
    Good, he thought with satisfaction. He'd slowed it
down enough for Kira to catch up with them. That
was important. Now it couldn't betray them to the
Jem'Hadar.
    His vision grew cloudy, and he realized he was
having trouble breathing. The numbness had reached
his chest. He tried to suck in a deep lungful of air, but
nothing happened.
    "Kiram" he tried to say, but nothing came out. He
could only gaze up at her with growing panic.
    Then he felt his arms and legs moving on their own,
shaking crazily, and his whole body began to con-
valse.

    It was a short trip to Camalia VIII, Odo found, and
Auron and Selann made pleasant if innocuous (per-
haps too innocuous, Odo thought darkly) conversa-
tion along the way. He found himself growing a little
bored with their chatter about the weather on planets
he'd never visited and about people he'd never met.
    At last, though, the planet came into sight through
the front viewport. Odo moved forward to see better.
It was the same planet on the hologram in the center
of the cabin, he realized, and he felt a growing sense of
excitement. Was this the new changeling home? If so,
the Federation would need to know its location.
 Almost as if reading his thoughts, Selann came up
behind him and said, "We have a small outpost here,
with few of the comforts of home."
 "And where is home?" Odo said.
    "With us." Selann smiled faintly. "You don't be-
long with the Federation, Odo. You know that deep
inside."
    "Perhaps," he murmured. He wasn't willing to give
them any more encouragement than that, he decided.
If he appeared too eager, they might catch on that he
was hiding something. He'd only been off the
Jem'Hadar ship for a few hours; Kira and Worf
wouldn't have had time to do much of anything yet.
    The pilots brought the ship down to a soft landing.
Auron crossed to the hatch, opened it, and a sudden
flood of deep amber sunlight entered the cabin. Odo
followed Selann down the ramp.
    They had landed in a cleared field, he saw. Thirty or
so small white domes clustered to the far left, amid
twisted treelike plants whose crowns held streamers
of red flowers. A series of broad pebble paths threaded
their way among the domes. He could see a number of
changelings walking about over there, and he sus-
pected that several of the trees might be changelings
as well. He couldn't say what sixth sense told him; he
just knew.
    "Carnalia VIII," Auron said softly from behind
him. "Stay with us here, Odo. Learn to use the power
and influence that is your birthright."
    "It's... tempting," he admitted. And it was.
When he thought about all his people had accore-
 plished, when he thought about the proud place they
 had made for themselves, he couldn't help but won-
 der what it would be like to join them.
    Then he forced himself to back away from those
thoughts. The changelings had accomplished a lot,
but at too high a price, he thought. They had virtually
enslaved an entire quadrant of the galaxy. That went
against everything he knew to be right and good. He
could never be a part of it. Never.
    Selann smiled as they continued down the path to
the domes. "This will be yours," he said, pointing to
the third one.
    The building had no door, Odo saw, just a large
round opening in one side. He ducked through
and caught his breath in amazement as he stared
at the strange assortment of objects before him.
Oddly shaped sculptures... intricate pottery...
weathered stones... pieces of driftwood. No human-
oid would like this dome, he thought, turning slowly
to gaze in wonder at everything around him, but for a
changeling it had a luxurious feel. On some level each
of these objects called to him, asking him to emulate
them.
  "All this for me," he murmured.
    "Yes," Selann said. "All this for you, Odo. You are
one of us. You belong here. Join with me, Odo. Feel
what it is to truly belong."
    He opened his arms to Odo, and Odo came to him.
There was no way back to the Federation from here,
no way to help Worf and Kira for the moment, so why
not? He had joined with changelings before, when
he'd visited their Homeworld, and it had been one of
the most incredible sensations of his life. The nearest
thing he could compare it to was sex among the solids,
but it wasn't like that. It was... spiritual, he decided.
A joining of minds, a melding of thoughts and souls, a
surrender to a larger universe. You lost your individu-
ality and became part of something greater than
yourself.
    As he watched his hands shifting, becoming golden,
luminous, and liquid--as he felt his body merging
with Selann's--his last thoughts were that he had
indeed come home.

CHAPTER
      14

KIRA FLIPPED WORF over onto his back and put her
hands on his chest, trying to push him down. His
whole body strained violently, almost knocking her
off, and his arms and legs thrashed against the floor.
Foam began to pour from his mouth and nostrils, and
a weird pathetic wheeze came from his chest.
    "Easy," she murmured, still pressing him down.
"Easy, Worf."
    His teeth clenched. He gave a low moan and
relaxed, and for a second she thought the worst might
be over. Then he began to buck again, moaning, his
eyes rolling back in his head.
    Finally his convulsions slowed, then stopped com-
pletely. Gasping for air, he lay still. Every few sec-
onds, his legs or arms gave faint spasmodic twitches.
Was he dying? Kira bit her lip, then leaned forward
and put her head to his chest. His massive heart
pounded wildly, but the beat seemed erratic to her.
She sat back on her heels, trying to think. Battlefield
medicine didn't cover situations like this one. If only
Bashir were here. Should she try to get him to drink
something? Or would that only make things worse?
    Suddenly he gasped and opened his eyes. The
pupils were bigger than she'd ever seen them before,
and they were shot through with red lines.
    "Worf?" she said. He didn't seem able to focus on
her, though. "Can you hear me? It's Kira. How do you
feel?"
 "The corridor..." he whispered.
 "What about it?"
 "It is spinning..."
    He raised one hand to his head. For a second he
tried to sit up, but then he slumped to the side. He
couldn't even lift his own weight, Kira realized with
dismay. How was she going to get him down to
Daborat V in this condition?
    Carefully she eased her pack under his head for a
pillow and dabbed at the foam around his mouth. The
best thing she could do for him, she decided, was wait
and hope for the best.
    "Rest," she said softly. "I'm going to reconnoiter
and see what I can find. Just as soon as I take care of
our little friend here, that is."
    Quickly she pulled a length of cord from her pack
and tied up the little alien. He was still unconscious
from the phaser stun, snoring loudly. Up close, he
didn't seem very dangerous looking, but those tiny
needlelike fangs and their venom had certainly done
their work on Worf.
    Was it part of the ship's crew? Searching its pockets,
she found a brass ring, a few datachips, and some
scraps of paper; all were dusty, battered, and looked
like they had been lost for quite a while before being
scavenged. No, she decided, the little alien couldn't
possibly be a crewman... more like a mascot or a
pet. If the Jem'Hadar kept pets, which seemed doubt-
ful. Was it sentient? It had on a simple tunic, but that
didn't mean much. They wouldn't know until it
regained consciousness. Hopefully, whatever it was, it
wouldn't be missed right away.
  "Water," Worf said hoarsely.
    She dug out a canteen and gave him a sip. Maybe
that would help.
  "How are you feeling?" she asked.
    "Weak," he said. His voice was barely a whisper.
"Help me sit up."
    She carefully pulled him forward, then had him
lean back against the wall. He had bloodstains on his
tunic, she saw. Peeling it back at the shoulder, she
found the two puncture marks which were still seep-
ing red. Hard to believe, but those two tiny wounds
had almost killed him.
    "It seems he had some nasty venom in his fangs,"
Kira said. She pulled bandages from her pack and
dressed the wounds.
    "Fortunately," Worf said, voice stronger now,
sounding more like his old self, "the effects do not
appear long lasting on Klingons."
    "Then I'll leave you to watch him and rest," Kira
said. "I want to look down some of the tunnels. If
we're going to be trapped here for a while, we're going
to need to know the layout of the ship."
 Worf nodded, wincing a little.
 "I'll be back soon," she promised.
    Rising, she turned and walked quickly back to the
large tunnel that led to the storage closet. It amazed
her how long and high they were. The access corridors
seemed to run through the whole ship.
    She explored, mentally mapping the place in her
mind. Several times she came to ventilation ducts,
and each time she peeked through. Once she saw
several Jem'Hadar lying on rows of hard-looking
bunks. Other times she saw empty rooms, or store-
rooms filled with crates.
    She kept going and eventually came to the ship's
gailey. Through the ventilation holes, she could see
long metal tables and benches. They seemed to be in
the middle of a meal shift now; the benches were
crowded with every species but Jem'Hadar, all eating
what looked like nearly raw meat and some kind of
vegetable stew. The Jem'Hadar didn't eat, she re-
minded herself, so there would be plenty of real food
available. Perhaps they'd be able to sneak in during an
off-shift; fresh supplies would make a good supple-
ment to their protein bars, which they should hold for
emergencies.
    She checked the time. She'd been gone nearly an
hour--time to get back to Worf. She didn't want to
leave him too long in his weakened state in case any
more of those savage little aliens showed up. He'd
lived through one bite, but she didn't want to risk any
more.
    Retracing her steps, she neared to the corridor
where she'd left Worf. Then from ahead she heard
low voices. That could only mean trouble, she
thought, drawing her phaser. If the Jem'Hadar had
found Worf... she didn't want to think what it
would mean. They weren't exactly known for their
mercy or their compassion.
    She crept forward cautiously, placing each foot
carefully. As silent as Death, she peeked around the
corrler.
    It was Worf talking to the little alien, she saw. Woff
had untied their captive, and now the two of them sat
facing each other. She relaxed and felt the tension
drain from her shoulders. It seemed the alien was
sentient after all.
     "Major," Worf said, "I want you to meet Snoct
Sneyd. He'd an Iffalian. Snoct, this is Major Kira."
  "Hello," she said cautiously.
    "Hello, Major Kira," Snoct said back, head cocked
to one side in what might have been an almost
comical manner in different circumstances.
    "It seems I scared him when he stumbled upon us,"
Worf said. "He was part of a cleaning crew the last
time this ship was serviced--"
 "Six long months ago!" Snoct said.
    "--and he fell asleep in our closet after a long shift.
When he woke up, they were already in space."
    "The Jem'Hadar have been trying to catch me ever
since," Snoct said, "only I escaped."
    "What do you mean, trying to catch you?" Kira
asked. That didn't make much sense to her. "How
could you elude the Jem'Hadar aboard their own
ship?"
    "I think it is a game to them," Snoct said. "They
hold hunts for me, using primitive weapons like nets
and spears."
 "Have they never caught you?" Worf demanded.
 "Once," Snoct admitted.
 "What happened?"
 "They let me escape."
    "They let you escape?" Worf's knobby forehead
furrowed.
    "That makes sense," Kira said. "If it's a game to
them, why let the fun end?"
    "Because when the prey is caught, the game is
over," Worf said.
    "Haven't you ever wanted a game to keep going
once it ended?"
    "No," Worf said. "That would defeat the purpose
of a game, which is victory."
    Kira shook her head. Sometimes Worf just didn't
understand. To Snoct, she said, "Do you know when
this ship is due to visit Daborat V again?"
  "I don't know," Snoct said.
  "Can you take a guess?"
    He mewed plaintively. "It could happen any time
now. Today, next week, or six months from now. They
don't confide in me, after all. I just hope it's soon. If
they dock at any space station for servicing, I'll finally
be able to escape!"
    Without warning, a strange sound echoed through
the corridors--a low, almost inaudible drumbeat,
thumping just this side of subsonic. Kira felt the hair
on the back of her neck start to bristle. Then came a
drawn-out wail like the cry of someone being disem-
boweled.
  Snoct let out a low moan.
    "What's that noise?" Worf demanded, leaping to
his feet. He balanced himself against the wall with one
hand. He hadn't completely recovered from the ef-
fects of Snoct's bite, Kira realized.
    "The Jem'Hadar have begun their hunt again," the
little alien said with a shudder. "We must flee!"

CHAPTER
      15

S~^r,~N, Ot)o PULLEt) himself away from Selann and
reassumed his own humanoid form. He had never
known such peace, such tranquillity, as the first time
he had joined with another changeling. It had left him
weak from euphoria, almost giddy.
    But this time it had been different. This time it
hadn't been so novel, and he had been able to sense
Selann's thoughts as they drifted between their collec-
tive consciousness... thoughts that bewildered and
at times enraged him.
Thoughts of peace through conquest.
Thoughts of bending lesser races to his will.
Thoughts of a great destiny for their people and a
vision of the future which Odo did not believe in--or
want to share: nothing less than the conquest of the
entire galaxy.
     He took a step back, then another, then a third.
 All he wanted to do was separate himself from
 Selann, to put as much distance between them as he
 could.
     Selann regarded him solemnly from the other side
 of the room. "Odo--" he said.
     "Leave me!" Odo cried. "I cannot face your
 thoughts!"
    Silently, Selann left the dome. Odo gazed at the
statues and the driftwood, at the rocks and the
pottery assembled around him. He no longer felt
like emulating any of it. He just wanted to go
home.
    He heard a light step behind him and whirled. Had
Selann returned? No, he saw, Auron had appeared in
the doorway.
"Come with me, Odo," the changeling said softly.
Odo didn't know why, but he obeyed. He walked
out with Auron onto the curving pebble path, and
they passed in silence between the domes, through
the trees, then onto a beach covered in glistening
black sand. Low waves lapped at their feet, and the
air held a faint tang of salt and brine. Far across the
water, two huge orange suns sank toward the ho-
rizon.
    "You are still not happy among us," Auron said, as
they gazed into the distance side by side.
    "I'm sorry," Odo said. "I cannot accept what
you're doing. It isn't right--"
"Do not apologize," Auron said. "You are still
young, Odo. You have not seen all the horrors of the
universe. You do not understand why we must stand
united against the solids. But you will, Odo, in time.
We are a very ancient and very patient race. We will
wait for you to change, to see things as we do."
    "It's just that my heart tells me all of this is
wrong," Odo said. "Why can't all sentient life-forms
find nonaggressive ways to live in peace everywhere
in the galaxy?"
    Auron laughed. "That's what we've done. All
changelings live in peace. No changeling but you has
ever harmed another. It's only the solids who are a
threat and must be restrained."
    Odo sighed and shook his head. His people didn't
want to understand, he realized. Perhaps they had
grown too comfortable with their power, or too
drunk on their success. He had to escape. He had to
find some way to return and help Worf and Kira if he
could. But how?
    "Perhaps," he said hesitantly, "if you could show
me more of what you've done here, in the Gamma
Quadrant...?" Maybe he could persuade Auron to
take him to Daborat V, he thought.
    "Of course," he said. "We will take you on a tour
of the nearby worlds so you can see how well every-
thing is run. Perhaps then you will come to under-
stand the magnitude of what we have accomplished
here, and what we will accomplish in the future,
when you rejoin us. The Alpha Quadrant is ripe with
possibilities, Odo, and with your knowledge and
secure position within DS9, you can be of invaluable
aid."
    "Perhaps," Odo said, but he swore to himself that
he would never let that happen.
    "This way," Auron said, heading back toward the
domes. "We will leave at once."

CHAPTER
      16

THE CONFERENCE HAD been scheduled to start
promptly at 09:00 hours. Sisko arrived at the proper
section of the habitat ring fifteen minutes early,
determined to get everything off on the right foot.
His run-in with Vedek Werron had soured his mood,
but whatever coddling the ambassadors needed to
get things rolling, he would provide it. Admiral
Dulev had been more than clear on that subject, and
he planned on taking no chances with these negotia-
tions.
    The four security guards posted in the corridor
outside the conference room snapped to attention the
second they saw him.
    "Status report, Ensign?" he asked the closest, a tall,
fair-haired man whose name he recalled was Dan
Cziraky.
     "None of the ambassadors has arrived yet,"
 Cziraky said. "Security measures are all in place. The
 room hasn't been left unguarded for a second, sir.
 Only Quark has been inside, and I accompanied
 him."
     Sisko frowned. "Quark?" he asked. Now, what
 would the Ferengi want in the negotiation room?
     "He dropped off the refreshments, sir," Cziraky
 said. Sisko nodded. He vaguely remembered signing
 off on the requisition. "I accompanied him the whole
 time. And I screened everything he brought in with a
 tricorder. There were no poisons or listening devices,
 sir."
"Very well," he said. "Keep up the good work."
Punching his access code into the hand pad, he
surveyed the room when the doors slide open. A
square table three meters across had been set up in the
exact center, with place cards indicating assigned
seats. The Federation negotiating team would have
their backs to the door, facing the Maquis members;
to the left would be the Valtusians and to the right the
Cardassians. Sisko would sit in as an observer on the
Federation side of the table whenever he joined them.
Four extra chairs sat against each of the side walls.
    He circled the table, looking everything over one
last time. A small table at the back of the room held
various pitchers of drinks--water, fruit nectars,
juices--and a selection of small pastries, thanks
to Quark. There were plenty of padds for note tak-
ing... in short, everything the ambassadors could
possibly want. He nodded to himself. Everything
seemed perfect. Now, if everyone would only agree on
peace ....
    The doors opened suddenly, and he turned to find
the Cardassian negotiators filing into the room, led by
Gul Mekkar. Mekkar dressed in a slate gray shirt and
pants, with a silver belt and more silver trim on his
sleeves and shoulders. The other two Cardassian
ambassadors--both women--dressed much the
same way.
    Mekkar took one look at the table and sneered,
"This is totally unacceptable."
    Sisko sighed inwardly. "What's wrong?" he asked
in a deliberately even tone. Mekkar's reaction did not
bode well for a timely start to the negotiations, he
thought. "If any changes are needed, of course we will
be happy to comply."
    "We must be seated facing the door, at the head of
the table," Mekkar demanded. "And furthermore--"
    No, Sisko thought, as his head began to throb, it
looked like it was going to be a long opening session.

    Jadzia Dax had always had an affinity for research
work. Perhaps it stemmed from Jadzia's days as a
novice, before she got her symbiont. In her youth, she
had spent most of her studies on computers, locked
away from people, reading and researching. Now that
she had been joined with her symbiont, the part of her
that had been Curzon Dax--adventurer, explorer, and
rogue--she realized how foolish that choice had been.
You had to embrace the wonders of the universe, get
out of your house and off your planet, explore the
 galaxy and experience new things. The joining of
 Jadzia and the Dax symbiont had produced little in
 the way of new research, but she still had her old
 skills, and now it was time to put them to good use.
    Accessing Bajor's computer systems, she began a
global search for anything to do with Vedek Werron's
career. Almost at once a stream of articles began to fill
the computer's memory buffer. She punched up the
most recent and skimmed it quickly. It told of his trip
to DS9 to protest Gul Mekkar's presence. In fact, she
discovered as she read one article after another, all of
the recent stories seemed political in nature--the
Vedek's somewhat controversial interpretations of
prophecies, the protest marches he led in the capital,
that sort of thing. The Prophets could be interpreted
quite a few different ways, she knew, but the Vedek's
take on them seemed rather... militant might be a
good word, she finally decided. It seemed he'd taken a
personal interest in bringing Cardassian war crimi-
nals like Gul Mekkar to justice, and he used the
ancient Bajoran prophecies to justify the often ex-
treme nature of his actions.
    As she continued to work her way back through the
news stories, she found the articles suddenly stopped
about a year previously. It seemed almost as if Mek-
kar had appeared out of nowhere. That threw up
warning flags, so she jumped back to the earliest
article in the buffer and read more deeply into the
story.
    It told how Vedek Werron had emerged from an
extended period of meditation. He claimed to have
had a new series of visions from the Prophets after
spending nearly twenty years--most of his adult
life--in secluded meditations in the Retollan Monas-
tery on Bajor. His sudden emergence and very public
life had caused something of a stir in Bajoran reli-
gious circles. Kai Winn had been particularly critical
of Werron and his visions, but then, Dax reflected,
Winn was critical of anyone whose views didn't
match her own. For all Dax knew, Kira would have
put that down as a mark in Werron's favor.
    Vedek Werron appeared completely on the level
as far as his presence on DS9 was concerned. Dax
rose, crossed to a replicator, and got a glass of prune
juice. She sipped as she sat back down, then grimaced
a bit. Not her favorite among the human fruit juices
by any means, she decided. Still, she'd overheard
Worf claiming it was a drink fit for a warrior, and
she'd always had an interest in the Klingon way of
doing things. She sipped again, a little more deeply,
and this time the flavor didn't seem so bad. In fact,
she thought, it just might begin to grow on her, in
time ....
    She returned to her reading. Now, who exactly was
this "Butcher of Belmast" he claimed to be stalking?

 The negotiating session was not going well.
    Sisko, sitting next to Ambassador T'Pao on the
Federation side of the table, had developed a splitting
headache. If he heard Mekkar whine one more time
about protocols, he thought he'd scream. And the
same went for the Federation ambassador, Harold
DuQuesne. The Maquis and the Valtusian ambassa-
dors sat in near silence, watching with what Sisko
could only assume was amazed shock as questions of
who sat where, who spoke first, and whether the table
was really big enough or the right shape or the right
height were argued back and forth in mind-numbing
detail and at sometimes deafening volumes.
    It was amazing, Sisko thought, that peace had ever
been declared between Cardassia and the Federation.
Heaven save us from diplomats, as his father might
have put it.
    "These matters are irrelevant," one of the Valtu-
sians finally announced, and the three ambassadors
rose as one. "Summon us when you are ready to talk."
    Sisko stood, too. "Ambassador," he began. Zhosh
regarded him with an unblinking green eye. "I will
call you as soon as possible," Sisko said.
    The Maquis ambassadors followed the Valtusians
out. Twofeathers had been shaking his head in dis-
gust. "Fools," Sisko overheard him murmuring to
Ambassador Kravitz, "I told you this would be a
waste of time--" Then the doors closed, leaving the
Federation and the Cardassian ambassadors alone.
  "Can't we wrap this up?" Sisko demanded.
    T'Pao leaned over and whispered in his ear, "The
first side to surrender on a point of protocol loses a
vital edge in negotiations, Captain. Have patience.
We know what we are doing."
    Still the debate raged back and forth. Finally Sisko
recessed for lunch, and when they reconvened an
hour later, nothing had changed.
    At last the Cardassians gave in on the table: The
present height and dimensions would be acceptable.
The Federation gave in on the seating order, and
everyone exchanged places, with the Cardassians now
sitting at what they considered the head of the table,
with the Federation to their left, the Valtusians to the
right, and the Maquis facing them.
    Mekkar seemed to be gloating inwardly about this
supposed victory, Sisko thought. It made him bristle,
and when he glanced at T'Pao, DuQuesne, and
Strockman, none of them seemed entirely comfort-
able... though it was hard to tell with a Vulcan.
 "Agenda next," the Valtusian ambassador said.
 "That's another problem," Mekkar began.
    Sisko sighed again. They really didn't need him for
this, he thought. It was almost time for the session to
end for the day, and he had important duties to attend
to.
    He leaned over to T'Pao and said softly, "Nothing
is going to be accomplished today. Please call me if
you need me."
    "Affirmative, Captain," she said, equally softly.
"However, you are mistaken. In the initial jockeying
for position, we have achieved a minor victory."
    "I'11 take your word for that." Sisko rose. "Good
day," he said, nodding to everyone else in the room.
"Station duties call, but I trust I will hear from you if
you have any comments or suggestions."
 "You can count on that," Mekkar said.
 I'm sure I can, Sisko thought.
    He strode from the room, and the moment the door
closed behind him, he let out a deep sigh and rubbed
his temples. How could T'Pao possibly think they had
accomplished anything? He crossed to the turbolift
and a second later one came.
  "Ops," he said to the computer.
    It whisked him to his destination, and ten seconds
later he stepped out into the familiar bustle of the
nerve-center of Deep Space Nine. He surveyed the
men and women moving about their tasks, monitor-
ing their stations, and generally keeping the business
end of the space station going. There were no argu-
ments or egos at play here; it felt good to be back.
    "Benjamin," Dax called, "I have that information
you wanted."
  "In my office," he said, and he led the way.
    As he settled into his chair, he realized his headache
had vanished. Five minutes away from Gul Mekkar
was all it had taken. If only Bashir could bottle that,
he thought a bit wryly.
 "What have you got for me?" he asked.
    She held up a datachip. "Every news report from
Bajor that mentions edek Werron."
    "Give me the short version." He leaned forward,
interested.
    "He is apparently something of a militant outsider
in Bajoran political and religious circles--if there's a
difference these days--due to a series of rather ex-
traordinary visions he claims to have experienced
during a twenty-year seclusion in a Bajoran monas-
tery."
    "A twenty-year seclusion? That sounds a little
odd," he said.
    "It gets better," she said. "He suddenly emerged
from that seclusion one year ago, when he began a
crusade to capture and punish all Cardassian war
criminals. He has surrounded himself with a band of
militant radicals, and several times Kai Winn has had
to publicly chastise him for his zeal."
    Sisko frowned, considering the facts. Changelings
could disguise themselves as anyone, he knew, and
the Bajorans weren't equipped--mentally or
technologically--to defend themselves against that
possibility. If a changeling wanted to infiltrate DS9,
what better way than through a Bajoran religious
figure? How hard would it be to replace a Vedek who
hadn't been seen in public in twenty years?
    If they had Vedek Werron set up as a "sleeper" of
some kind, what better time to use him than now? If
they could disrupt the peace talks, it might well
prolong the Maquis conflict and keep the Alpha
Quadrant divided and weak and therefore ripe for
attempted invasion and takeover.
 "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" he asked.
    "That he could be a changeling? The possibility did
occur to me."
    "Good, then I'm not paranoid." He tapped his
badge. "Sisko to Bashir, please report to Ops." Sud-
denly he wanted a DNA scan run on Vedek Werron.
  "Right away," came the doctor's response.
    "You know how touchy the Bajorans are about their
religious figures," Dax said.
    Sisko nodded. Bashir couldn't just walk up to one
and demand a cell sample. That would be a good way
to start a riot.
    'Tll just have to rely on the good doctor's wits and
subtlety," he said. He knew Bashir liked to play spy in
Quark's holosuites. He'd heard quite a tale of it from
Garak while the Cardassian tailor was letting out his
uniform a bit the other week. Now was the time for
Bashir to use those finely honed skills in real life.

CHAPTER
      17

"QUIET!" WORF HELD up one hand, straining to hear.
A Klingon's senses were more acute than a human's,
he knew, so he stood a better chance of detecting any
dangers that might lie ahead of them.
    The weird cry came again, echoing through the
corridor like a brush-devil's hunting scream. It sent
shivers of anticipation down Worf's back. He had
only hunted brush-devils once, on the Homeworld
with his brother Kurn, but it had been one of the most
satisfying experiences of his life.
    He glanced back. Kira and Snoct had paused,
hardly moving, hardly breathing. Snoct looked fright-
ened nearly out of his wits. They would have to get to
safety soon, he thought. The corridors seemed to be
rapidly filling up with Jem'Hadar warriors, all giving
hunting cries.
    Worf slowly leaned forward, turning his head ever
so slightly. As he'd thought, below the loud cry he
heard the mutter of voices from just ahead, along with
an odd whisking sound that he couldn't identify.
    He felt Kira tap his arm and, frowning, he glanced
back at her. She pantomimed a broad shrug. Of
course, he thought, with her poor hearing, she wanted
him to tell her what was going on.
    "Jem'Hadar ahead," he breathed, the barest of
whispers. It sounded far too loud to him.
    "Flee!" Snoct whimpered. The little alien turned to
run, but Worf snagged his arm with a lightning move.
    "You will be safe with us," he promised. "Stay." It
was an order, not a suggestion.
    Snoct's limbs were trembling violently, but he man-
aged a nod of assent. Worf released him, feeling a
twinge of disgust. Snoct was a coward, little better
than a spooked herd animal. Although he realized the
little alien couldn't help it--indeed, fleeing in terror
seemed to be his normal reaction to any confronta-
tion or surprise--such a response was so alien to the
Klingon way of life that Worfjust couldn't accept it.
There had to be something Snoct could do to bolster
his nerves. For now, though, it was enough that he
wasn't running down the corridor shrieking in hyster-
ical panic.
    Carefully Worf peeked around the corner. Fifty
meters away, a group of seven Jem'Hadar warriors
was strolling toward him at a leisurely pace, laughing
and joking among themselves. Worf inhaled
sharply--their clothing was anything but standard:
jungle-green kilts and leather sandals with thongs that
laced up their legs. Their chests and faces had been
painted with green geometric shapes. Strangest of all,
for weapons, the Jem'Hadar held what looked like
wooden spears. The whisking noise was them sharp-
ening the tips of those spears with stones as they
walked.
    As he watched, they reached a small side corridor.
There they all paused, and two of their number leaped
down the passage, giving that strange warbling cry. A
second cry answered from farther down that side
corridor. Another hunting party? Worf assumed so.
    A few moments later, the two rejoined their group.
They pantomimed throwing their spears with exagge-
rated hops and bounds, to the hoots and cheers of
their companions. A few Jem'Hadar now pulled small
nets from their belts and began whirling them over-
head until they made a whistling sound. The rest
cheered like it was all some wild, drunken game.
    Suddenly he realized that it was a game to them,
like Kira had said. They were hunting Snoct Sneyd for
sport. But that was only part of it. This was a bonding
ritual, a way for warriors to grow closer to one
another. Everything made sense to him now. It didn't
matter if the hunt succeeded or not--it was the act
itself that they found important.
     They gave another series of hunting calls. The
 noises were designed to spook game animals, Worf
 decided, to send them fleeing in panic. Kurn had done
 that with the brush-devil, driving it toward Worf that
 day on the Homeworld. And it was working just as
 well on Snoct.
    Satisfied he understood, Worf leaned back.
"They're trying to drive us out into the open," he said
to Kira. "They must have set a trap."
  "We can't run into it blindly," Kira said.
    "We must fight them," Worf said. He stretched,
feeling his muscles ripple like liquid durasteel. Only
seven Jem'Hadar and they looked inebriated. How
would they stand up against one sober Klingon warri-
or? Not well, he thought.
    "Not a chance!" Kira said. "That's a fast way to an
early grave."
    "They are only carrying spears and nets," he
pointed out. "We have phasers."
    "If they fail to return, dozens or perhaps hundreds
of Jem'Hadar will come looking for them."
    "I suppose you have a plan," Worf said. He readied
his phaser. "They will be here in a few moments."
    Snoct whimpered again and started edging away.
Kira reached out, grabbed his arm, and hauled him
back. Worf shook his head with distaste; Snoct had
begun shaking in fear again. He had never seen such a
cowardly creature.
    "Damn right, I have a plan," she said. "Since the
Jem'Hadar are in the access tunnels, who's going to be
outside in the ship's main corridors?" "The crew--" Worf began.
    She shook her head. "With this many people hunt-
ing for us, a skeleton crew must be running the ship.
Every off-duty Jem'Hadar is probably in on the
hunt."
    Worf pondered that for a second. It sounded rea-
sonable. Of course they would all want to take part in
the sport and the bonding ritual. He would have felt
the same way if Sisko held similar rituals aboard
DS9--which might be a good idea to suggest once
they got back.
"Where do you think we should go?" he asked.
"Back through the cleaning supply closet, assuming
we can get to it safely, and then out into the landing
bay."
 "Our ship--"
 "It's a possibility."
    "I will go first," Worf said, heading back down the
tunnel. Now that they had a plan, he could act on it.
    Periodically he glanced back to check on Kira, and
each time he found her following, still clutching
Snoct's arm in a vicelike grip. Good; she wasn't taking
any chances in letting him get away.
    At each intersection Worf paused, listening. Any
time he heard sounds of Jem'Hadar hunters, they
skirted them. Once, in a darkened section, he saw
bright lights approaching from the left. He led them
back, crouched in the recess with Kira and Snoct until
a hunting party of six Jem'Hadar passed, then led
them forward once more.
    Finally, after what seemed hours, they reached the
access panel leading to the cleaning supply closet.
Worf pressed his ear to the panel and listened in-
tently. He heard not a whisper of a sound from the
 other side; it had to be empty. Leaning his shoulder to
 the panel, he pushed until it snapped out of position,
 then slid it smoothly to the side.  "Quickly," he said.
     Kira released Snoct who promptly turned and
 bolted blindly up the corridor.
    Worf dove after him and just managed to snag the
back of the little alien's tunic. Snoct whirled, fangs
snapping, and Worf slapped him open-handed across
the face. Hissing, Snoct drew back to strike again, and
this time Worf shook him like a rag doll. He wasn't
taking any chances of getting another bite from the
little alien; once had been more than enough.
    At last Snoct went limp. A series of small sobs
shook his body.
    "It will be all right," Worf said, trying to sound
reassuring. In some ways, Snoct reminded him of his
son Alexander. He could still remember the times on
the Enterprise when Alexander had awakened scream-

ing from nightmares. Comforting his son had been a
new and somewhat awkward experience. But he had
learned the technique from necessity. "It will be all
right," Worf said again. "I will not let them hurt you."
  The warbling cries of the hunters grew louder.
  "Let me go!" Snoct whimpered. "Let me go!"
  "Not a chance," Kira said. Worfnoted idly that her
  voice held far less sympathy than his. She ducked
  through the opening into the cleaning supply closet.
  "Pass him through," she said to Worf.
    Worf, holding Snoct one-handedly by the back of
his tunic, pushed him through the opening, then when
Kira had him safely restrained, Worf climbed through
himself. Turning, he eased the access panel back into
position. When it snapped into place, the cries of the
Jem'Hadar hunters became nearly inaudible. They
were safe, at least for the moment, he decided.
    He glanced around. Nothing had changed in the
supply closet, and he still found the stench of chemi-
cals and cleaning solutions overpowering. He rubbed
his nose and tried to ignore a sudden urge to sneeze.
At least Snoct had stopped shaking, he saw, and now
huddled quietly in the center of the room. The closet
seemed to be something of a safe haven for him.
    Kira crossed to the door into the landing bay and
opened it a crack. A bright blade of light cut across the
room. Worf straightened, listening intently, but noth-
ing more than the low constant thrum of the ship's
engines reached him.
    "It's deserted," Kira said, peeking out, "exactly as
I'd hoped."
    She opened the door fully, and Worf gazed out into
the flight bay. It stretched hugely before them. Not a
single Jem'Hadar was in sight, but a new ship had
docked, he noticed. It was a small, sleek-looking white
craft with three warp nacelles over an ovoid cabin.
He'd never seen anything quite like that design be-
fore. It certainly hadn't been made in the Alpha
Quadrant.
    He noticed Kira eyeing the new ship, too. "What do
you think?" she asked softly.
     "If we can get it out..." he mused. It might be
 exactly the sort of vessel they would need to get to
 Daborat V, he realized. It looked fast. And if the
 changelings had installed one of the cloaking devices
 they'd stolen from the Romulan fleet they'd de-
 stroyed, it could well be the answer to their problems.
   "Shall we take it?" he asked.
     Kira hesitated. "Not yet," she said, "but I think it's
 going to be the safest place to hide."
     "Agreed," Worf said. The last place the Jem'Hadar
 would think to search would be another ship. "What
 about Snoct?" he asked.
    "Bring him," she said. "He wants off this ship as
badly as we do."
    "Thank you? Snoct called, leaping to his feet.
"Thank you!"
    "We will not be able to use our personal cloakers if
there are three of us," Worf pointed out. "It is a long
way across to that ship."
    "I don't think we'll need them. Cover me." Kira
took a hesitant step out from the storage room, looked
up and down the broad expanse of the landing bay,
then turned and walked with calm precision toward
the new ship.
    She reached it unchallenged, entered the open
hatch, and disappeared from sight. Worf strained to
hear. He didn't like not being able to see her.
    Snoct crowded up against him, and he let one hand
drop to the little alien's shoulder. If Snoct tried to flee
again, he'd be ready for it, he thought.
    "Let me go!" Snoct said, sounding like his old self
once more. He had completely stopped shaking.
 "Will you run?" Worf asked.
 "No."
    Worf narrowed his eyes, studying the little alien.
Snoct seemed in complete control of himself now.
How would Deanna have handled it? She would have
analyzed SnocFs motives, he thought. Undoubtedly
she would have concluded that he suffered from a
strong panic-flight impulse. Now that Snoct was no
longer confronted by an immediate threat, his ration-
al mind had resumed control. But how long would it
last? Worf wished he knew. Probably until we encoun-
ter another danger, he thought.
"Let me go, please, friend Worfl" Snoct said again.
"Very well," Worf said a little reluctantly. He
couldn't fight effectively while shepherding the little
alien anyway, and Kira might need him any second
now. "But I will be watching you," he added in his
most menacing growl.
    Kira finally reappeared in the little shuttle's open
hatch and beckoned them forward. She hadn't drawn
her weapon, he noticed, which seemed a good sign.
    "Come," Worf said. Drawing a deep breath, he
jogged away from the storage room door, heading for
the shuttle. Suddenly he realized he didn't hear
Snoct's footsteps behind him and, with a silent groan,
he glanced back.
    Calmly, the little alien was shutting the storage
room's door behind them. Worf could have slapped
himself; he should have thought to do that. When
Snoct finished, he dropped to all fours and sprinted
after Worf.
  Worf made it up the ramp and into the ship. It had
 only been a hundred meters, but he felt his heart
 racing. He would double his workouts when he got
 back to Deep Space Nine, he vowed, to get into better
 shape. A Klingon warrior's heart should be beating
 almost normally after a dash like that.
    A second later Snoct joined him. The alien panted,
long forked tongue flicking in and out between his
fangs.
  "Well?" Worf asked Kira.
    "It's perfect," she said. "This ship has the range to
make it to Daborat V and back to the Alpha Quad-
rant."
    "Do you mean to steal it or to hijack it?" Worf
asked, brow furrowing. Both possibilities had their
advantages, he thought. Hijacking the ship after it
had launched would mean fighting and prisoners. But
trying to steal it from the flight bay might be even
harder. He felt no qualms about taking the ship either
way; the Federation was at war with the Dominion,
and this would be a military action, he reasoned,
rather than theft in the traditional sense.
    "I'm not sure which would be easier," she admit-
ted. "We'll have to see what opportunities present
themselves. Our first goal remains getting safely to
Daborat V. We still have to meet Orvor there. For
now, I think we should stow away here and see what
develops."
    "By the time this ship is launched, we might be
halfway across the Gamma Quadrant!"
    "I think it's a chance we should take," Kira said.
"We can't guarantee that any Jem'Hadar ship will
land on Daborat V, but given the size and proximity
of that base, I think it's a good possibility."
    Worf considered that. True, Daborat V was an
important world in the Dominion, and it held the
largest Jem'Hadar base in this sector. Logically, it
might well be the little ship's next destination.
    "But if it is not the destination..." he began,
looking at her sharply.
    "If it's not," she said, "we'll take the ship on a little
detour. By force, if we have to."
Worf nodded. It was a good plan, he decided.
Kira led the way toward the rear of the ship. It had
been divided into three compartments, Worf saw.
Four seats occupied the smaller front compartment,
facing control panels and the broad curved viewports.
The second compartment held two long slightly
curved benches, separated by a wide aisle; the walls
were white and made of some sound-dampening
material, as were the floors and ceiling. The third
compartment held storage lockers, the warp drive,
and controls for all of the ship's other systems.
    The lockers, he saw at once, offered the most cover.
He opened the nearest one and peered inside, sniffing.
A faint odor of mold greeted him, and something had
left a greasy stain on the floor. Other than that, it was
empty. At least it was tall enough that he could
probably squeeze inside with a minimum of trouble,
he thought.
    He eased his right shoulder in, tucked down his
head, and crammed himself in as best he could. Kira
pushed until the door shut and the latch clicked. He
could see out a little bit through the narrow ventila-
tion grills cut into the metal. "How is it?" she asked.
    "Bearable," he said. He wouldn't want to spend
much time locked in here, though.
    Suddenly Snoct Sneyd dashed into the rear of the
shuttle. "They're coming!" he shouted in near hyster-
ia. "They're coming!"
 "Who?" Worf demanded through the locker.
 "Jem'Hadar!"
    "Stay inside, Worf," Kira said to him. 'Tll get
Snoct out of sight and hide myself. This could be it!"
    "Hurry," he told her. He dropped his hand to his
phaser. If she couldn't get under cover in time, he
would leap out to help defend her.
    He watched through the vents as she forced Snoct
into another empty locker, then climbed into one
herself and shut the door.
    She barely made it in time. Worf discovered he
could see about half of the passenger section and a
third of the cabin where the pilots sat, if he pushed
himself all the way back against the far wall of the
locker. He felt the metal start to bend beneath him
and forced himself to relax. This was going to be a
long trip, he told himself. He wasn't looking forward
to it. Already his muscles had begun to ache from
confinement.
    One by one he began to tense his muscles, going
through an ancient Klingon exercise designed to keep
his body from stiffening up. It was the only thing he
could think of that might keep him fighting fit while
crammed in such a tight space.

    From her locker, Kira had a clear view all the way
to the front of the little ship. She watched with
growing uneasiness as first one, then another, then a
third Jem'Hadar entered. Two slipped at once into the
pilot and copilot seats. The third turned to gaze
outside at whoever was coming up the ramp next.
    Great, she thought, it looks like we're going to have a
large traveling party. Had she been insane, suggesting
they try to hijack this ship?
    But instead of more Jem'Hadar, a pair of change-
lings climbed aboard... and the second one, she was
shocked to find, was Odo.

CHAPTER
      18

AT ~530 HOURS, Captain Sisko walked into the negoti-
ation room again. Ambassador T'Pao had called him
in his office and asked him to join them once more.
"All matters of protocol have been settled," she had
reported.
     "Excellent," he had said. "I take it the Valtusian
and Maquis ambassadors have also been notified?"
  "Of course."
 "I'll be right there."
    When he walked into the room, Ambassador Zhosh
was speaking. Sisko felt a brief stab of disappoint-
ment that they hadn't waited for him, but just as
quickly he realized how silly that was. He had no
official standing here; they didn't have to wait for
him. Sliding into his chair, he gave T'Pao a brief nod.
  "--will create a self-governing buffer zone for the
disputed worlds," Ambassador Zhosh was saying.
"Neither the Federation nor the Cardassians will have
jurisdiction here. The Maquis will be transformed
from a military agency to a political one, under the
supervision of both the Federation and Cardassia,
with duties that include policing their own worlds."
    "A bold idea," Harold Strockman said from the
Federation side of the table.
    "Indeed," Gul Mekkar said, "but I fail to see why
Cardassia should be the only one to give up anything
in such negotiations. These are our worlds, in an area
of space which is under Cardassian rule."
    "They are our worlds!" Ambassador Twofeathers
cried, leaping to his feet. "We never asked for Cardas-
sian rule!"
    "But," said Mekkar, a trifle smugly Sisko thought,
"you are Cardassian citizens now."
    "Please." Ambassador Zhosh looked at each side
with one eye. "Resume your seats. We have not yet
finished."
    Reluctantly, it seemed, both Mekkar and Twofeath-
ers sat. There was no love lost between that pair, Sisko
thought. Both of them glared across the table at each
other.
    "Observe," Zhosh said. He touched the terminal in
front of him with one claw, and a holographic map of
the Maquis worlds appeared over the center of the
table. "This is the disputed territory," the ambassa-
dor said, and a section of space took on a pink glow: a
long ribbon encompassing perhaps a hundred star
systems. "In the greater scheme of things, it is a minor
amount of territory to either the Federation or the
Cardassian empire. We are proposing that the Federa-
tion also cede the following territory." Another rib-
bon, colored blue and of approximately equal size to
the pink territories already marked, appeared along-
side the Maquis space. "As you can see, both the
Federation and Cardassia would be surrendering
equal territory to create this independent buffer
state."
    Sisko glanced at the Federation ambassadors. No
emotions showed on T'Pao's face, but disapproval
was plain on Strockman's and DuQuesne's faces. This
was a surprise to them, he realized. It had never
occurred to them that the Valtusians might ask the
Federation to give up yet more territory in the name
of peace.
    "An interesting idea," Mekkar said loudly, "but
one cannot help but wonder what this buffer state
would do once its independence is granted. What
would stop them from joining the Federation? And
what would prevent the Federation from simply an-
nexing them again? No, it seems to me that there are
many problems to work out."
    "I'm not sure the Federation would be willing to
grant additional territory to this buffer state,"
DuQuesne said. "The problems--"
    "Are solvable," Ambassador Zhosh said. "Let us
proceed under the assumption that both the Federa-
tion and Cardassia are willing to create this buffer
state."
  "A large assumption," Strockman grumbled.
 "But you may proceed," T'Pao said.
    Zhosh bowed to her. "The Maquis worlds will gain
independence," he went on, "but in return will sign
military alliance treaties with both Cardassia and the
Federation. If either side attacks or encroaches on-
to their space, the other side will retaliate. They will
be free to trade with both sides. In fact, they will be
free... period."
"I like it," Twofeathers said softly. "It could work."
Sisko found himself nodding. It just might be the
solution to all of their problems, he thought. The
Maquis drained resources that were badly needed
elsewhere, and the Klingons posed a much bigger
threat to Cardassia right now. If the Depta Council,
Cardassia's ruling civilian government, could see fit
to surrender the territory--and having the Federa-
tion surrender a comparable adjacent territory was a
stroke of genius--then he saw no obstacle to finally
bringing peace to the Maquis worlds.

    Julian Bashir trailed Vedek Werron through the
bustle of the Promenade. Weaving around a pair of
Andorians, darting past a group of Klingons window-
shopping at a store selling swords and knives, he kept
his target in sight at all times. He felt like a spy
shadowing a suspect in one of the holosuite programs
he often enjoyed at Quark's. They had been good
training. for his present mission, he decided. Luckily
the Promenade was crowded; he had no trouble
ducking out of sight every time Werron paused or
glanced around.
    He herted the package he carried inconspicuously
under one arm. The real trick would be getting a
sample cell from the Vedek without him noticing.
    Two Bajorans suddenly joined Werron, and they
paused to talk in the middle of the Promenade. Bashir
ducked into the nearest doorway--Garak's tailor
shop, as it turned out. He almost bumped into Garak
in his haste. The Cardassian was just locking the
doors.
    "Why, Julian," Garak said. "I didn't see you there.
Won't you come in?"
    "Uh, certainly," Bashir said, peering around the
corner. Three more Bajorans had joined Werron, and
the six of them were talking animatedly among them-
selves. What were they saying? He tried to read their
lips, but couldn't make out more than a few syllables.
    "I just got in a shipment of the most delightful
Oslan silks," Garak said. "I hadn't realized word
would spread so quickly. That is what brings you here
on such a fine day, isn't it? And who are those people
you're watching?"
    "Every day is like any other day on a space station,"
Bashir said, only half listening. He had to keep his
mind on his mission, he reminded himself; Garak
might well play a mild-mannered tailor, but he was a
veteran of the Obsidian Order. "The environmental
controls don't change much, remember?"
    "It's a fine day," Garak said expansively, "because
I've had a sudden influx of Cardassian customers, all
with fresh gossip from home. Business is so good, in
fact, that I'm closing early. I'm only going to stay open
for paying customers. I believe you said you were
interested in a new suit made of Oslan silks?"
    "Huh?" What was Garak nattering on about?
Bashir forced his attention back to the Cardassian. "A
new suit?"
    Garak indicated a headless mannequin just inside
the door. It had on a gaudy green tunic with large and
rather revealing holes sewn in the front and sides. It
looked like nothing so much as a gigantic green Swiss
cheese, Bashit thought.
 "It's perfect for a doctor," Garak said with a smile.
 "It's so... revealing," Bashir said.
    "All your patients will see how healthy you are,
which in turn will give them greater faith in your
medical abilities."
    "Uh... I'll have to think about it." He leaned
forward and glanced up the Promenade. Werron was
gazing in his direction. Gulping, Bashit ducked back
out of sight. What would a real spy do in a situation
like this?
    Garak folded his arms. "We don't allow loitering in
this shop," he said a little sternly. "I'm afraid you're
going to have to leave if you're not shopping, Doctor.
I do want to close up."
  "I, uh, just wanted to talk," Bashir said.
    "That's different, of course. Perhaps you'd care to
join me in Quark's for a drink?"
    Bashir risked another glance around the corner.
Werron and the other Bajorans were heading into
Quark's, he saw. He'd have to follow them, and Garak
might provide him with the perfect cover.
    "Good idea," he said. "I could use a drink just
now."
    "Excellent." Garak locked his shop's door, then set
off for the bar with Bashir. "What's in the package.9"
he asked idly, trying to peek in.
    Bashir shifted it to his other arm. "A present for my
mother," he said.
  "It looks heavy."
  "Not really."
    "Exotic Bajoran spices?" he guessed. "Or Selusian
Bakkao?"
    Bashir sighed. Would Garak's questions never
cease?
    "If you must know," he said, "it's really a DNA
scanner. It's supposed to be a secret. I'm writing a
paper on it."
    "If you don't want me prying into your secrets,
Doctor," Garak said, grinning a little too widely, 'TU
back off. But you can tell me, is it something Quark
got for you? Something, perhaps, Romulan in or-
igin?"
    Bashir sighed. He'd told the truth and Garak still
didn't believe him. Well, there wasn't anything he
could do about it now.
    He led the way into Quark's. This early in the day,
the place was only half full. As he gazed about, Bashir
saw no sign of last night's brawl. All the tables and
chairs had returned to their normal places, and as
always patrons sat or stood at the bar or crossed the
walkway overhead to the holosuites.
 Werron sat at a round table in the center of the
room with the five other Bajorans. As Bashir watched,
another Bajoran joined them. They seemed to be
earnestly discussing something. Probably plotting to
disrupt the negotiations, he thought.
    "Your mother wouldn't happen to be visiting the
Bajorans at that table, would she?" Garak asked
pointedly.
    Bashit blushed; he was being too obvious, he real-
ized. He selected a nearby table and sat, dropping the
package on the chair next to him.
    Rom hurried over. "What can I get you today?" he
asked.
  "Apple juice," Bashir said.
    "Oh, Doctor," Garak said. "One might almost
think you were working. Synthale for me, Rom."
    "Coming right up," Rom said, and he hurried to
the bar.
    "What would you do," Bashir asked Garak, "if you
needed to get a cell sample from someone without
their knowing it? Theoretically, of course," he added
hastily. No sense giving anything away, after all.
  "Theoretically? And just one cell?"
  "That's all I need."
      "Hmm." Garak leaned back, considering. "It's not
a subject a tailor would know a lot about, of course."
  "Of course."
    "But I'd say get the Bajoran's glass when he's done
with it. He may well leave a skin cell on it. I assume
you'd rather do that than break into his quarters and
look for stray hair follicles."
  "Uh, yes," Bashir said. He glanced over at Werron,
who was drinking something from a large silver
goblet. As he watched, the Vedek drained the goblet
and called for more. One of the Dabo girls, working
the tables as a waitress, hurried to get it for him.
  Rom arrived with their drinks.
  "Can you do me a favor?" Bashir asked him.
    "Yes," Rom said. "And I can get it wholesale, the
same as Quark."
    Wholesale? Bashir shook his head, suddenly realiz-
ing what the Ferengi meant. "Not a new holosuite
program," he said. "I want the Vedek's glass from that
table over there."
  "Vedek Werron?" Rom asked in a loud voice.
  Bashir winced. "Keep it down!" he whispered.
    "Oh, sorry," Rom said in softer tones. "Do you
want to buy it? Or just rent it?"
    "Uh, rent it, I guess." He shot Garak a quick
glance, but the Cardassian's eyes were on the gam-
bling tables just then.
    "I'11 put it on your tab." Rom headed for Werron's
table.
    Bashir watched from the corner of his eye as Rom
collected all the empties. Bashir winced a bit as the
Ferengi touched the Vedek's goblet. It shouldn't make
any difference, he told himself. His scanner could tell
Ferengi from Bajoran DNA easily enough. Then to his
surprise Rom carried the tray of glasses toward the
bar.
    Twisting around in his seat, Bashir watched Rom's
progress. He dumped all the empties except Werron's
into the sanitizer. Calmly, he rinsed and then wiped
clean the Vedek's goblet before putting it on a new
tray and carrying it triumphantly out to Bashir.
    Bashir groaned. "You weren't supposed to wash it!"
he said as Rom set it before him.
    "You wanted a dirty goblet?" Rom protested. "You
never said you wanted a dirty goblet!"
    "Yes, well, don't worry about it," Bashir said. "Just
take it away!"
 "What about the fee?"
 "You can still add it to my tab."
    Scooping up the goblet, Rom hurried off to take
another table's order. "Crazy hu-mans!" Bashir heard
him muttering.
 "So much for that idea," Garak said.
    "I have another one, though." Bashir raised his
hand and motioned to Rom again, and in a couple of
seconds the Ferengi returned.
    "What is it this time, Doctor?" Rom asked, bob-
bing his head nervously. "Another goblet? This one
dirty?"
    "What are the Bajorans at the Vedek's table drink-
ing?" he asked.
      Rom glanced over at Werron and his group.
"Bajoran spiced ale," he said.  "Thanks," he said.
    Standing, he pulled out his medical tricorder, ad-
justed the settings to give a contaminated readout of
whatever it scanned, and headed for the Vedek's table.
    "Excuse me," he said, "but are you drinking
Bajoran spiced ale, by any chance? There's been some
trouble with it here."
    "What kind of trouble?" one of the Bajorans said.
He had a half-empty glass in front of him.
    "Some slight chance of contamination," Bashir
said quickly. "Nothing to be concerned about, of
course, if proper precautions are taken--"
    Two of the Bajorans leaped to their feet. One
grabbed Rom by the front of his shirt and lifted him
halfa meter off the floor. "What's this about bad ale?"
he demanded.
    "It's from a replicator!" Rom cried. "It's not bad!
There's nothing wrong with it!"
    "That's not what my tricorder says," Bashir said,
raising it slightly.
    "What's all this?" Quark demanded, hurrying over
from the bar.
    "You're serving bad ale!" another of the Bajorans
roared. He shook his fist in Quark's face. "What's the
idea, you Ferengi worm?"
     "I don't know what you're talking about," Quark
snapped back. "Who started this unfounded rumor?"
  "Him!" They all pointed at Bashir.
    Bashir swallowed and looked around. An unnatural
silence had settled over the bar. Everyone in the place
had turned to stare at him. He looked at Garak
helplessly, but the Cardassian wore an amused ex-
pression.
    Bashir scanned the nearest goblet of Bajoran spiced
ale, then turned the readouts so Quark could see
them. They blinked bright red, warning of contamina-
tion.
 "My tricorderm" Bashir began.
    Quark snatched it from his hand. "--is malfunc-
tioning," he said. He gave a nervous laugh as he
passed it to Rom.
    "It's set wrong," Rom said. He adjusted the con-
trols, scanned the ale again, and passed it to the
Bajoran who had been threatening him.
    The Bajoran nodded. "There's nothing wrong with
it," he admitted.
    "False alarm!" Quark shouted so everyone in the
room could hear. Bashir glanced around. Everyone
seemed to be relaxing again. "Nothing's wrong with
the ale! To celebrate, we'll take five percent off the
price of all drinks for the next ten minutes!"
    People began calling orders to Rom, and Quark
hurried back to the bar to fill them. Bashir couldn't
miss the dirty look the little Ferengi shot him.
    "Thank you for your concern, Doctor," edek
Werron said. "I appreciate the warning you tried to
give."
    "Of course," Bashir said. "I'm sorry for the, uh,
mistake." He hurried back to his table. His cheeks
were burning. If he were a dog, he thought, his tail
would be firmly between his legs.
    "My plan didn't work," he said to Garak as he slid
into his seat. He stared down at his apple juice,
brooding on the problem. }low was he going to get a
cell or a sample of Werron's blood now?
    "Don't look," Garak said, "but your Bajorans are
leaving the bar."
    "What!" Bashir glanced up. Sure enough, the seven
of them had risen from their table and begun settling
their bill. Perhaps he'd put a scare into them, he
thought. Damn it, he'd have to act before they got
away. At least Werron brought up the rear.
    "May I suggest a more direct approach?" Garak
said.
  "What do you mean?"
    "If it were me, I'd simply walk up to him on some
pretext and take a sample of his blood."
    "Brilliant," Bashir breathed. The utter simplicity of
it all. It could actually work. Just do it, part of him
said. What could Vedek Werron do after the fact?
    "Excuse me," he said, sliding from his seat. He
drew a hypo, cut across the room, and reached the
door just as Werron was leaving.
    He bumped Werron hard from behind, taking his
sample from the Bajoran's arm. The hypo made the
faintest of hisses.
    "Excuse me," Bashir said. "Very sorry, Vedek." He
tried to tuck the hypo up his sleeve. Hopefully the
Bajoran hadn't felt the tiny, almost unnoticeable little
sting from taking the blood sample.
 Werron whirled and caught Bashir's hand.
    "What by the Prophets do you think you're doing?"
he demanded. "What did you just inject me with,
Doctor?"
    "Inject... no, I took a sample of blood!" Bashir
said. He'd put his foot in it now, he realized. The
Vedek thought he was trying to assassinate him.
  "Why?" Werron demanded, eyes hard.
    "Uh... testing for Xolon poisoning?" Bashir sug-
gested. He held the hypo up and swirled it gently. The
blood inside remained a dark red which meant Wer-
ron wasn't a changeling. I was so sure, he thought.
    He met the Vedek's gaze. Rage had contorted
Werron's face, and those piercing green eyes seemed
to bore into Bashir.
    "What's wrong?" the other Bajorans were saying,
gathering around the Vedek.
    "He," Werron said, pointing, "stabbed me with a
needle and took a sample of my blood!"
    "There are no needles in hyposprays," Bashir said,
swallowing frantically. He began to back into the bar
and suddenly found himself trodding on toes.
     "What's going on?" another Bajoran voice asked.
"Vedek? Are you all right?" "No," Werron said.
    Strong hands seized Bashir's arms from behind.
Bashir tried to wrench free, but couldn't. The circle
around him was closing in. Gulping, he felt a surge of
panic. He should have known better than to listen to
Garak's mad plan. How was he going to get out of
this?

CHAPTER
      19

WATCHING FROM THE safety of her locker, Kira didn't
know what to do. Odo's presence complicated things.
Worst of all, he appeared to be cooperating com-
pletely with the changeling and the Jem'Hadar. Had
he gone over to the other side? They'd only been apart
for a day. She didn't think so, but it had to remain a
possibility. It might explain the hunt for them in the
access corridors.
    No sense getting paranoid, she told herself. Snoct
said those hunts happened all the time. Our presence is
just a coincidence.
    Finally she decided to trust her instincts. Odo had
always been a friend. He wouldn't betray them.
    The ship's engines powered up, and she felt them
lift from the landing bay's deck. She watched the
Jem'Hadar pilots bring them around, then fly out,
passing through the series of force fields that served as
the giant landing bay's airlock. Then they were out-
side, and as soon as they were a safe distance out, they
went to warp. She saw stars streaking past on the
forward viewscreen.
    Odo continued to stand in front with the changeling
and the Jem'Hadar pilots. He was chatting with them,
but she couldn't make out the words. If only he'd face
her for a minute.
    Finally he turned. None of the others were
looking--this was her chance.
    Opening the locker, she leaned out and waved. He
must have seen her, she thought, but he gave no sign
of it. Which meant he hadn't betrayed them.
    A few minutes later, he wandered toward the back
of the ship with the other changeling.
    "This is an interesting vessel," she heard him
saying. "I've never seen anything like it. What kind is
it?"
    "The first of the new Jakar-class," the changeling
said. "It's a prototype from the shipyards in orbit
around Octyne III. We'll stop there, if you like."
    "If you don't mind, I would like to examine the
engines more closely."
    The changeling gestured magnanimously. "Of
course, Odo. Your own people have no secrets from
you."
    "I'm sure," Odo said dryly. Turning, he headed into
the aft compartment. Kira watched through the venti-
lation slits in the storage compartment. Fortunately,
the other changeling didn't follow.
    Odo approached the warp engines. He seemed
completely fascinated by them, Kira thought, study-
ing them like an engineer on an inspection circuit.
    Finally Kira decided he was close enough to risk
trying to talk with him. She pressed her lips close to
the air vents and whispered, "Odo, it's me, Kira."
    "I saw you," he whispered back. "Is Worf aboard,
too?"
    "Yes," she said. "When are we going to land on
Daborat V?"
    "It's our second stop," Odo said, "after the energy
conversion complex at Skovar VI. Have patience. I'll
do the best I can to get you out safely when we reach
the planet."
  "All right," Kira said.
    She sank back as Odo, finishing his inspection,
returned to the front of the ship. This was going to be
a long journey, she thought. Already her muscles were
starting to tense up a bit from being in such a confined
space. She shifted uncomfortably. It had to be ten
times worse for Worf because of his size. She just
hoped he and Snoct Sneyd could hold out until they
made planetfall. Still, perhaps they'd have a chance to
stretch when they landed on Skovar VI.
    Kira spent the next few hours dozing, trying to
make the time pass more quickly. When the tenor of
the engines changed suddenly, though, she snapped
awake. Something had happened, she realized.
 She lowered her head and peered out the air vents.

Through the forward viewports she could just make
out a planet. They must have arrived, she realized.
    She twisted a little, trying to relieve her aching
muscles, and bumped the locker's door hard with her
left knee. The thump sounded loud in the confined
space, but neither the Jem'Hadar nor the changeling
turned around.
    They entered the atmosphere. It was a class-M
planet, Kira rapidly realized, as they pierced the
dense layer of clouds covering the surface and tower-
ing green forests appeared.
    When buildings appeared on the horizon, they
landed smoothly, and the side hatch popped open.
She heard the ramp extending to the ground outside.
    A sudden banging sound close by startled her.
Worf? No, she realized, as Snoct Sneyd burst into
view, it was the little alien. He made a mad dash for
the hatch.
    One of the Jem'Hadar leaped forward and seized
Snoct by the back of the neck. Snoct whipped around
and tried to sink his fangs into the warrior's arm, but
the Jem'Hadar hit him twice with a rocklike fist.
Snoct sagged a little, hissing.
"What is this creature?" the changeling asked.
"An Iffalian," said one of the pilots. He told briefly
how the little alien had sneaked onto their ship. "We
have been hunting it for several months for sport," he
concluded.
 "Dispose of it," said the changeling.
    The Jem'Hadar holding Snoct reached down and
drew his sidearm.
    When Snoct Sneyd let out a plaintive whimper, the
breath caught in Kira's throat. How could the change-
ling order a murder so callously? Snoct was sentient.
They couldn't just shoot him.
    Instinctively she reached for her phaser. She wasn't
going to sit here while someone she knew was butch-
ered. Not when she could do something about it.
    "Wait!" cried Odo, gazing from the changeling to
Snoct Sneyd. "You can't kill an intelligent creature
like that!"
    Kira relaxed a little. Maybe she wouldn't have to
act, she thought.
    "Intelligent?" the changeling said with a sneer. "A
truly intelligent being would have escaped long ago.
No, Odo, you need to learn how we do things in the
Gamma Quadrant." He nodded to the Jem'Hadar.
"Proceed."
  The Jem'Hadar raised their weapons to fire.
    Time to act. Kira burst from her locker, phaser
firing. She liked the little fellow too much to stand by
and let him be executed.

CHAPTER
      2O

As THE CIRCLE of angry Bajorans closed around him,
Basbir realized he only had one defense--the truth.
    "I needed a sample of your blood," he blurted out
to Werron, "to verify that you were not a changeling
infiltrating the station from the Gamma Quadrant."
He held up the vial. "You've just been cleared; you're
Bajoran."
    Werron paused and held up one hand for the vial.
Bashir felt a quick wave of relief as the Vedek's
followers released him. He handed the vial over.
    "I fail to understand," Werron said slowly, staring
at his blood, "why you'd think I might be a changeling
infiltrator."
    "You appeared suddenly a year ago as a public
figure after twenty years of near invisibility."
 "It was the will of the Prophets."
    "And then there were your attacks on Gul
Mekkar--"
    Werron's face twisted with rage. "Those are right-
eous attacks! He is the Butcher of Belmast! We must
be avenged!"
    "That may be," Bashir said quickly. No sense
upsetting him more. "But we think the changelings
want this conference stopped. What better way than
to have one of the chief negotiators removed?"
    "A better way," Werron said, "would be to infiltrate
one of the negotiating teams."
  "We already thought of that," Bashir said.
    "It all makes sense," Werron said slowly. He turned
to his followers, and Bashir thought he saw a vengeful
gleam in the Vedek's eye as he loudly announced,
"The Cardassian war criminal Gul Mekkar, the
Butcher of Belmast, is a changeling!"
    "But I tested Mekkar's blood!" Bashit protested
from behind him. There wasn't any possibility of the
Cardassian being a changeling.
    "But," said Werron, turning back to him, "is there
any way to tell if the results might have somehow been
faked? Can you say in all certainty that he couldn't
have found some way around your little test?"
    Bashir drew himself up. "I designed the DNA
scanner myself," he said. "I tested everyone in the
Cardassian delegation. They all passed. Just as the
altusians, the Maquis, and the Federation ambassa-
dors passed."
  "But couldn't they have found a way to fool your
screening method?" Werron prodded. "Couldn't they
have found some trick to get around it?"
    Bashir hesitated. He couldn't think of a way, but
that didn't mean one didn't exist... did it? Even if it
was a slender possibility.
 "Perhaps," he admitted.
    Werron smiled serenely. "That," he said, "is all I
wanted to know."

    Benjamin Sisko sighed. He wished he could cover
his ears to shut out the noise, but he knew everyone in
the room--Cardassians, Humans, and Valtusians
alike--would take affront at the gesture. He wanted
them united but not united against him.
    "Paragraph one, subsection three," Gul Mekkar
said in a loud voice and for the fourth time, "remains
utterly unacceptable."
    They were going through the Valtusian peace pro-
posal line by line now, arguing over language, inter-
pretation, and consequences. In short, they were
bickering.
    "I suppose you'd like to simply clear out all the
human settlers," the Maquis representative said with
a sneer. "Just ship us off to work camps, like you did
with Bajoran troublemakers, while you rape our
worlds, too!"
    "Bajor got what it deserved!" Mekkar roared, plac-
ing his fists on the table and half rising from his seat.
"The only way to deal with terrorists is with total,
ruthless, merciless force! The old ways handled trou-
blemakers just fine!"
    Sisko leaped to his feet. "Enough!" he cried. He had
never seen such a pack of spoiled children. "Let's take
a half hour break to cool our heads. This meeting is
recessed."
    Sisko stalked from the room. He wanted to pound
the walls with his fists. Of all the obstructionist, petty,
and stupid things that had been going on throughout
these negotiations, Gul Mekkar's latest demands took
top prize. How could he even hope for peace with such
inflexible demands? And the Federation negotiators
weren't much better.
    He turned and headed for the turbolift. An hour...
it wouldn't be nearly enough time, he thought, for
them to get over their petty, demanding ways. At this
rate, it would take years to settle the Maquis problem.
    The turbolift doors opened; he got in. "Ops," he
said.
    He rode in silence, reflecting on everything that had
happened. Hopefully Kira, Worf, and Odo were hav-
ing better luck, he thought. If their mission succeeded,
the urgency of settling the Maquis problem would be
over, and then the Cardassians could stop trying to
use it as an edge in the negotiating process.
    When the lift doors opened, he stepped out and
surveyed Ops with an experienced eye. Everything
seemed normal here, he thought. All the stations were
manned, and nobody seemed to be running around in
a panic. He nodded. At least he could count on his
people to keep things running in times like these,
when he was too occupied to keep up on DS9's day-
by-day operations.
    Dax spotted him and hurried over. She had a half
smile on her face that Sisko recognized as trouble. He
gave an inward groan. What now?
    "What is it, Dax?" he asked. "Riots on the Prome-
nade? Bajoran terrorists threatening to blow up Gul
Mekkar and his delegation?"
    "Worse," she said. "Vedek Werron and Dr. Bashir
are waiting for you in your office."
    It was, Sisko decided, one of those days where
nothing went right. He'd hoped to avoid meeting with
Werron; his fanatical politics went beyond even Kai
Winn's.
 "Thanks," he said. "Any other bad news?"
    "No," she said with another smile. "But I'U let you
know."
    Shaking his head, he headed for his office. As the
door opened, he found Bashir perched on the corner
of his desk talking to Werron, who sat in one of the
two chairs. Bashir leaped to his feet, looking guilty.
Good, Sisko thought, but he didn't let that show.
    "It's nice to meet with you again, Vedek Werron,"
Sisko said, nodding politely to the Bajoran.
 "I feet the same way, Emissary," Werron said.
    "I am afraid I have a very hectic schedule. I am still
looking into Gul Mekkar's history, so I have nothing
to report on that front, if that's why you're here."
  "It's not," Werron said.
    Sisko nodded. He'd suspected as much. "Very
well," he said. "I can only spare you a few minutes,
however. Do you mind if we dispense with formalities
and come right to the point?"
    Werron frowned a little, and for a second Sisko
thought he might have offended him. But then Wer-
ron too nodded.
  "I think that may be best," he said.
    Sisko listened intently as Werron argued that Mek-
kar must be a changeling infiltrator. Sisko didn't
believe it for an instant himself, considering how all
the ambassadors had passed Bashir's surprise DNA
scans, but he allowed himself to accept the idea for an
instant. If Mekkar had been replaced, might that not
explain his constant delays and incessant demands?
Several times now they had almost thrown the negoti-
ations off track.
    "It occurred to me," Bashir said, "that one or more
of the ambassadors might have been replaced after we
scanned them."
    "They've been under such close supervision," Sisko
began, shaking his head, "that I find the possibility
difficult to believe."
    "Then explain this to me," Werron said. "Why
would a notorious war criminal like Mekkar return to
Bajoran space? The real Mekkar would never have
dared such a thing. The real Mekkar would have
known we would find some way to bring him to
justice."
    That argument did make a certain amount of sense,
Sisko thought. He reflected for a moment on the
possibility and had to admit that, remote as it
seemed, it still worried him. He frowned. Perhaps he
could turn it to his advantage, though. Werron
seemed determined that Gul Mekkar had to be guilty
of something.
  "You're certain he is a changeling?" Sisko said.
    "Yes," Werron said firmly. "I would stake my
reputation on it."
    "You just have," Sisko finally said. "We will test
Gut Mekkar. However," he added, "if Mekkar and
the other Cardassian delegates turn out to be real
Cardassians, I will ask you and your followers to leave
the station until the negotiations are over."
"And if they're changelings?" Werron demanded.
"If they're changelings, you'll be a hero," Sisko
said. Playing to a Vedek's vanity had often worked for
him in the past. "You'll be the one who uncovered the
plot, when all of Starfleet couldn't."
Werron mulled that over. "Agreed," he finally said.
Sisko rose. "Very well. If you'll leave Dr. Bashir
with me to make the arrangements, we'll contact you
as soon as we're ready to begin. You do, I trust, want
to be present when the tests are carried out."
    "Yes." Werron turned and strode purposefully from
the room. Sisko thought he detected a bit of a strut in
the Bajoran's walk.
    "Are you sure this is a good idea?" Bashir asked as
soon as they were alone.
    "You tell me, Doctor," Sisko said. "You brought
Werron here, remember?"
    Bashir sighed and shook his head a little ruefully.
"He had me half believing Gul Mekkar had somehow
slipped past my DNA scan," he admitted. "I kept
trying to picture ways the delegates might have fooled
my equipment."
    "And did they?" Sisko asked. He wanted to know
the truth, no matter how painful to Bashir.
    "I just don't know anymore," the doctor said with a
helpless shrug. "Are you really going to test Mekkar
again? Singling him out may simply enrage him
further."
    "I realize that. Which is why I intend to test all the
delegates again." Sisko leaned back. "And this time,"
he went on, "you're going to take blood tests as well as
DNA tests, just to make certain. And when none of
them turns out to be a changeling, I'll have Werron--
and all the other Bajoran troublemakersmoff this
station for the duration of the peace conference,
which will be a load off of everyone's mind."

CHAPTER
      21

WORF BURST FROM his locker the moment he heard
the changeling give the order for Snoct's execution.
Blood roaring in his ears, he dove forward, phaser
firing.
    Some distant and more primitive part of him
thought, this was what a Klingon lived for, the
may'boq--the battle fever that came with fighting. It
sent his emotions soaring and filled his body with an
almost electric energy.
    His first shot hit the Jem'Hadar holding Snoct by
the back of the neck.
    The universe seemed to be slowing down around
him, Worf thought. He felt the thudding rhythm of his
heart pumping blood in his chest. Colors blared with
vibrant energy as his sight narrowed to the targets
ahead of him.
    He fired his phaser a second time, jagging to the
side. The second Jem'Hadar warrior began to crum-
ple. Then Worf fired at the copilot, who dodged,
drawing his own weapon. As the pilot started to aim,
Worf dove toward the floor. If he could get under his
guard long enough to fire a second shot...
    The changeling began to shimmer with a strange
golden light, body rippling like wind on a lake. He was
shape-shifting, Worf realized. He hesitated a fraction
of an instant, torn between two targets. Go for the
Jem'Hadar, a voice inside him said.
    A phaser blast from behind Worf struck the copilot
in the chest, throwing him back against the bulkhead
with a thud. That shot had come from Kira, Worf
realized.
    Worf turned his dive into a forward roll, coming up
in a kneeling position. He snapped off his third shot,
striking the changeling, but it didn't seem to have any
effect. He would be a more difficult target, Worf
realized, climbing to his feet.
    The changeling returned to humanoid form and
folded his arms. He regarded Worf with an expression
of intense curiosity.
"A Klingon," he heard it murmur. "Superb."
The may'boq began to pass, and the room dropped
back into normal focus again. Worf frowned, trying to
think. It was hard after the battle fever. He still heard
a faint murmur of blood in his ears, and it left him
charged for combat.
    "Thank you!" Snoct Sneyd called in a shrill voice.
"Good friends!"
    "Idiot," Kira snapped at the little alien. She stalked
forward and pushed the pilot's body out of the way,
then slid into his seat. Worfkept his phaser trained on
the changeling, covering her. She began taking read-
ings off the instruments.
    The changeling didn't seem to be making any
hostile moves, so Worf took a final cleansing breath
and walked forward as normally as he could. It felt
good to have stretched his battle muscles, but the
changeling represented a huge problem for him. What
would Captain Picard have done? Better still, what
would Captain Sisko do?
    Delegate, he thought with a mental cry of triumph.
Both captains had different strengths, but one trait
they shared was the ability to let others pitch in and
help.
    "Odo," Worf said, "what do you recommend we do
with the prisoners?"
    "There's only one who matters," Odo said, looking
at the changeling next to him.
    "Then you have learned something from our time
together," the changeling said smoothly. "There are
only two of them, Odo. Help me capture them. The
Alpha Quadrant can be yours, too."
    The changeling began to shapeshift, and Worf
snapped up his phaser, thumbing the controls to a
lethal setting. Would it be enough?
 Then Odo stepped between them.
    "No," he said to the changeling. "I have rejected all
you stand for. These are my friends. I won't betray
them."
    The changeling slowly returned to his normal hu-
manoid form. "You are still young, Odo, but you will
only have so many chances to rejoin your people."
  'Tve made my decision," Odo said firmly.
  "Perhaps you will regret it." Worf thought he heard
  a note of disapproval mixed with disappointment in
  that smooth, alien voice. "No true changeling has ever
  harmed another. I will not fight you over two solids.
  You are truly not one of us, Odo. Perhaps something
  will be done about that."
    Odo seemed to relax a little. "You will not be
injured," Odo promised.
    "Unless you try to fight or escape," Worf added. No
sense making their intentions unclear, he thought.
Odo might have qualms about hurting a fellow
changeling, but he didn't. He was more than ready to
meet any danger this one posed.
    The changeling inclined his head slightly. "Then I
will rest." He swirled into a new shape, a gracefully
sculpted mound with the faintest hint of head and
arms, and solidified in that form.
    Worf stared at him distrustfully for a second. How
could you guard against something like that sneaking
up on you? You couldn't, he realized. He'd have to
rely on Odo to keep the changeling under control.
    But that still left the three unconscious Jem'Hadar
to worry about. They, at least, offered no real threat at
the moment. But they would be regaining conscious-
ness soon, and he wanted to be ready.
    "I have cord in my pack," he said to Snoct Sneyd.
"Get it and we will tie them up."
    "Gladly!" the little alien said. It scampered to the
back of the shuttle on all fours.
    Worf seized the first Jem'Hadar he'd shot and
dragged him into the middle section of the ship. In a
moment Snoct Sneyd rejoined him with a coil of light
rope. Worf drew his knife, cut a length, and began
binding the warrior's hands behind his back.

    Kira lifted the ship from the spaceport and headed
east at top speed. They couldn't very well take the
Jem'Hadar or the changeling with them to Daborat V,
she thought, so they'd have to dump them somewhere
out of the way.
    Calling up the planetary survey on the ship's com-
puter, she studied the information. The colonization
of Skovar IV hadn't been completed, she saw; the
large southern continent on the other side of the
planet hadn't been settled yet. That should do nicely.
What better place to leave them? The changeling
would, of course, make it back to civilization in less
than a week. All he had to do was turn into a fish and
swim or a bird and fly. But that would give them all
the time they needed to get to Daborat V and finish
their mission.
    She punched in the destination coordinates and
activated the autopilot. Now, she thought, rising and
heading aft, to see about helping Worf...

    Half an hour later, the great southern continent
came up below them. Kira took back control and
slowed the ship, scanning the shoreline for a suitable
landing place. She didn't see one. Huge waves
pounded against jagged black rocks, and tall obsidian
cliffs topped by dense jungle rose from the ocean.
    Well, nobody said stranding captives had to be easy,
she thought. She headed inland, over the tush, ver-
dant green jungle filled with exotic life-forms. Bird-
like animals with bright red and yellow wings flitted
among the trees, and she could see several enormous
creatures with six legs crashing about, their bulbous
red heads jutting above the tops of the trees as they
nibbled leaves from upper branches. They reminded
her for an instant of the extinct giant reptiles of
Bajor's past.
    The jungle wouldn't be a safe place to leave their
prisoners, she decided, so on she flew until the jungles
gave way to sprawling yellowish green grasslands
threaded by blue streams and rivers. More leathery-
winged birds flapped out of the way as she brought the
ship down, and smaller reptiles with six legs bounded
away in herds.
    "This is it," she called back. "We'll leave them
here."
    Abruptly the changeling shifted into his humanoid
form. He stared out the viewport, then looked at Kira.
She felt uncomfortable under his gaze, as though he
were dissecting her with his eyes.
    "This is little more than an inconvenience to me,"
he said.
    "I know," Kira answered, "but it's better than
killing you, which is the alternative."
He smiled thinly. "I don't think you could do that."
    "Unlike Starfleet officers, I have no qualms about
killing when it's necessary."
    "I don't doubt your ethics," he said in a voice that
chilled her. "I doubt your ability." Turning, he strode
quickly into the passenger compartment. Odo fol-
lowed, and after a second's hesitation, Kira did, too.
Somehow, she believed the changeling. She'd seen
enough people try to kill Odo over the years. What
must a fully mature changeling be capable of?.
    Snoct and Worf were carrying the unconscious
Jem'Hadar down the ramp and laying them out on the
grass. The changeling stood nearby, watching without
a trace of emotion. He might have been supervising
the unloading of bags of grain, for all he cared, Kira
thought.
 "Auron," Odo said. "Will you be all right?"
    He sneered a little. "Of course. Nothing here can
harm me."
    Odo nodded once. When they had off-loaded the
last Jem'Hadar, Worf and Snoct returned to the ship.
Kira followed, then lastly Odo. He didn't like strand-
ing the other changeling here, she realized as she
closed and sealed the hatch.
 "Don't worry about him," she said.
 "I'm not."
    Kira returned to her seat, strapped herself in, took
the controls, and lifted off smoothly. She circled
around once to see what the changeling--Auron, Odo
had called himmwould do. She could see him staring
up at her, with the three Jem'Hadar lying on the
ground just behind him.
    Suddenly he changed form, becoming a huge
winged beast. He flapped his leathery wings until he
caught an updraft, then soared high into the sky.
Banking, he headed east for the other continent and
civilization.
    The least he could have done was untie the
Jem'Hadar first, Kira thought. Knowing them, they
would doubtless be able to work their way free in a
few hours, but nonetheless, it showed how little he
thought of "solids," as they called other life-forms.
They were disposable in his philosophy.
    She shook her head. Not her problem now. They
still had their mission to finish.
    She punched in the course for Daborat V, and as
they left the planet's gravitational field, they went to
warp.
    Twelve hours later, they entered the Daborat ~
system. Kira shut off the autopilot and resumed
manual control.
    The planet grew rapidly in the viewport. It looked
like a beautiful class-M world, with deep blue oceans,
three major land masses, and large polar ice caps.
White clouds dotted the atmosphere. Bajor, she
thought, would look like this again someday.
    A second later, a light series of tones sounded.
"Daborat V spaceport control to unidentified ship," a
voice said. "Please identify."  "Odo!" she called.
  He jogged into the cockpit. "What is it, Major?"
  "They're hailing us."
  "Put them on. I'll take care of it."
    "I sure hope this works," she muttered to herself.
They had almost literally bet everything on Odo's
being able to get them past the security checkpoints. If
not, they would have to run, come back later, and try
to sneak a landing.
    She activated the viewscreen, and a Jem'Hadar
warrior in a black uniform different from the others
she'd seen appeared. Probably a local official, she
thought.
    He took one look at Odo and saluted. "Founder!"
he said.
    Odo leveled his gaze at the officer. "I want clear-
ance to land," he said in his most authoritative voice.
Kira glanced sideways at him. She'd heard that same
overbearing tone in the changeling whom they'd
stranded on Skovar IV.
     "Immediately." The officer punched something
into his console, then gave landing coordinates.
 Odo nodded, then severed the connection.
 "That was easy," Kira said.
    "Too easy," Worf said. He had come up behind
them while they were getting landing clearance. Now
he glowered a bit at Odo. "Almost as if they were
expecting us."
    "Are you implying that this is a trap?" Odo de-
manded.
    "I am not implying anything," Worf said. "It
seemed too easy to me."
    Kira sighed and leaned back in her seat. Odo and
Worf had been working at odds with one another
almost since they'd met, it sometimes seemed. The
Klingon didn't know Odo as well as she knew him,
she told herself. At first he always seemed a little off-
putting, but now that she knew his quirks, she would
have trusted him with her life. On this mission, in
fact, she already had.
    "I'm willing to take this at face value," she said to
Worf.
  "Thank you, Major," Odo said.
    "Now let's get back to business at hand, shall we?"
She turned back to the controls and locked in the
landing coordinates she'd been given, activating the
autopilot. The ship nosed down and began its descent.
    A bit of turbulence shook the ship suddenly. It was
always a little bumpy when you entered a planer's
atmosphere, she knew, so that didn't worry her. Odo
steadied himself against the back of her chair, and
Worf slid into the copilot's seat.
    The planet grew before them. Kira stared at the
huge landing field now appearing through the clouds
below. It was immense, she realized, easily twice the
size of the largest city on Bajor. Hundreds if not
thousands of ships were parked here, ranging in size
from tiny starships like their own to behemoths nearly
as big as the Enterprise had been.
  A series of bleeps greeted them.
    "We're being hailed," Worf said beside her. "It's
ground control. They want us to slave the controls
over to them. Major?"
     "I'm taking care of it." She didn't like losing
 control of the ship, but she didn't see any alternative.
She didn't want to attract attention to herself by
refusing what might well be a routine landing proce-
dure here. As she activated the automatic landing
sequencers, the ship's controls suddenly locked her
out.
    She slid from her chair as the turbulence eased,
using the break to check her phaser and personal
cloaker. You could never be too careful, she thought.
Everything seemed in working order. Now that they'd
reached Daborat V and the end was in sight, they'd
have to move quickly to make up for lost time. Worf
too was checking his weapons, she noted. Odo merely
stood with his arms folded, watching out the front
viewport as they passed over hundreds of parked
ships.
    Snoct began making a happy chittering sound from
the passenger cabin. At least one of us is home, she
thought.
    They angled down toward a less crowded area of
the landing field, approaching an open spot between
two small Jem'Hadar fighter ships. The shuttle
slowed, moved to one side, then settled to the ground.
Kira felt a slight bump when they touched down, then
the engines powered down. The sudden silence was
deafening.
    Odo strode to the hatch. Kira drew here weapon
and followed him. After a second's hesitation, Worf
did the same. The hatch popped open, admitting a
stale, dry breeze scented with machine oils, exhaust
fumes, and sun-baked duracrete, and the ramp tele-
scoped down to the pavement.
    Kira went first, then Odo, then Worf. The landing
field looked deserted: no signs of people at all, just
parked ships in all directions. Everyone had probably
gone to the city proper on leave. She clipped the
phaser back onto her belt.
    Worf turned in a complete circle as he reached the
pavement, taking everything in, then put away his
own phaser. He seemed almost disappointed in their
reception, Kira thought.
    "A hundred million thanks," Snoct said, bounding
out the open hatch excitedly. "I am home! I am
home!"
  Kira told him, "We're glad to have helped."
    "If I can ever be of service, let me know," he
promised. "Just ask any of the maintenance people at
the spaceport for Snoct Sneyd. They all know me!"
    "There is one more small thing you can do right
now," Odo said.
 "Name it!" Snoct said.
 "We need directions."
    That's right, Kira thought. Leave it to Odo to
remember.
    "We're looking for a bar called the Empty Coffin,"
she said. "Do you know it?"
    Snoct shuddered. "A horrible place," he said. "It's
in Old Town. The scum of Daborat V go there. Stay
away, stay away!"
    "We cannot," Worf said. "We need to meet some-
one there."
    Snoct shuddered again. "Then yes, I know how to
get there." He pointed down a row of shuttlecraft.
"Go that way. When the landing field ends, you will
see the city. Look for a small, filthy street named
Jork's End. That's where you will find the Empty
Coffin."
 "How will we know it?"
 "It's the only bar there."
 "Thank you," Kira said.
    "Happy to help!" Snoct said. Then, dropping to all
fours, he dashed in the opposite direction.
    At least some good had come of the mission so far,
Kira thought. They'd rescued one small alien and
brought him home. She drew herself up and took a
deep breath. Now to see about rescuing Orvor and
retrieving the retrovirus.
    They set out down the row of spaceships. Once a
pair of ground vehicles glided silently past, suspended
a few centimeters off the ground by antigravity skids,
and though a few Jem'Hadar troops sat aboard, they
didn't slow down for a second. Kira forced herself to
untense. It really did seem as though Odo's presence
guaranteed them free passage throughout the Domin-
ion, she reflected.
    Still they walked, and it began to grow dark. Fi-
nally, as dusk swept across the spaceport, huge lights
came on, flooding the duracrete pavement with a
harsh white illumination.
    Fifteen minutes later they came to the edge of the
spaceport. The duracrete simply ended and the city
itself began. Here, this close to the landing field, the
buildings appeared small, dark, and run-down look-
ing. The street lamps had all been smashed, and the
only illumination was a grayish glow spilling over
from the spaceport. Empty doors and windows gaped
like the eye sockets of alien skulls, Kira thought
with a shiver.
    This couldn't be the best neighborhood, she real-
ized, glancing around uneasily. It was exactly the sort
of place she'd expect to find a dive called the Empty
Coffin. No wonder Snoct Sneyd had warned them to
stay away.
    Sudden scuttling movement caught her eye. She
whirled, phaser ready.
  "Worf..." she began.
    "I saw it." He drew his own phaser, squinting into
the dark. "A figure--"
    "Just a homeless scavenger of some kind, I'm sure,"
Odo said. "This way." He started up the street, taking
the lead, and Kira followed. Now, as they walked, she
saw furtive movements all around them in the dark.
She longed for a torch of some sort. Light would have
made her feel safer.
    The buildings began to grow larger and better kept.
A few now had doors and windows, she noticed, and
finally they came to a series of working street lamps.
A scattering of humanoidsmsome with tall, narrow
skulls, some with broad lumpy faces, all dressed in
what looked like worn black animal leathermlounged
beneath the lights, watching them. Their eyes were
hungry, she thought. Ahead, a scattering of buildings
glowed with light.
 Odo strode up to one of the aliens without a
moment's hesitation. "I'm looking for the Empty
Coffin," he announced.
    The atien--bipedal, humanoid, but with a head
that was almost completely flat on top--grunted
once, then pulled a knife. "Money," he said.
    Odo's left arm suddenly extended an extra meter,
wrapping around the alien's knife hand. Odo
squeezed, and Kira heard the pop of joints dislocat-
ing. The knife clattered on the ground, and the alien
began to whimper.
 "I'm looking for the Empty Coffin," Odo repeated.
    With its one good hand, the alien pointed up the
street.
 "Thank you," Odo said, and he continued on.
    Kira caught up with him. "Why did you do that?"
she demanded.
    "To show we weren't afraid of them," he said. "We
are being followed--no, don't look back--and I want
them to know we're not going to be easy prey."
    Kira swallowed. She'd been watching everything
around them carefully, but couldn't see anyone fol-
lowing them. Odo had keener senses than she did, she
reminded herself, plus he had security training. Drop-
ping back half a meter, she matched Worf's stride.
  "Do you see them?" she said.
 "Yes," he said warily. "I counted fifteen."
    Then, ahead, she spotted a building that glowed
with soft pastel lights. There were flickering neon
signs in front, she saw, written in the local dialect.
Unfortunately, she couldn't read them, but she recog-
nized the blinking coffin shape over the door. This
had to be the bar they were looking for.
    Odo held back, looking into the darkness, as she
went up the worn steps to the front door. It slid aside
soundlessly for her. Taking a deep breath, she stepped
in and surveyed the room.
    A long bar stretched across the back, and aliens of
various sizes and descriptions lounged there sipping
drinks. Booths lined the walls to her left and right,
and a handful of tables sat in the middle of the room.
Weird atonal music came from hidden speakers in the
corners. As she'd expected, there were no Jem'Hadar
present.
    Every eye in the place had focused on her. The
people standing at the bar turned to face her. Several
of them began picking their teeth with long, rapierlike
knives.
    Worf and Odo entered behind her. As they stepped
in, every being in the room suddenly whipped out
disruptors. She surveyed the alien faces and found
emotions ranging from anger to outrage to disgust.
    "Hands up!" the bartender sneered, coming out
from around the bar. His piggish gray snout curled
back to reveal a mouth full of needle-sharp teeth. He
held a huge disruptor rifle in his four arms.
  "Better do as he says," Odo murmured.
  Dismayed, Kira raised her arms over her head.
  Behind her, she sensed Odo and Worf doing the same.
  This rescue, she thought, was not going very well.

CHAPTER
      22

GLANCING AT WERRON, Bashir, and the four security
guards, Sisko stepped up to the conference room
door. This wasn't going to be pretty, he knew.
He punched his access code into the hand pad. All
the ambassadors had given them so much trouble
over the initial DNA scans, he could only imagine
their reaction when he asked for actual blood sam-
ples.
    Bashit looked as nervous as Sisko felt. The doctor
had his arms full with the DNA scanner, medical
tricorder, hypo, and a small case of glass vials. Each of
the eleven ambassadors would have his or her own
sample neatly taken, labeled, and set in the center of
the conference room table. This time there would be
no mistakes, no possibilities of an error, and no
question of changeling subterfuge.
    "Ready, Doctor?" he asked, keying in the final
digit.
    Bashir nodded, all business now. It was nice to see
how he had matured into his post, Sisko reflected.
Three years ago, he thought, Bashir would have
giggled nervously and made a joke.  "Then let's do it," Sisko said.
    The door whisked open. He'd timed their arrival
perfectly, and sure enough everyone else already sat
in their seats. His gaze swept across the round table,
taking in the Valtusians, the Federation negotiators,
the Cardassians, and lastly the two Maquis.
    Their argument had broken off the second the door
whisked open. They stared in surprise at him.
    "May I have your attention, please," he began in a
loud voice. "Thanks to Vedek Werron, we have reason
to believe that the changelings have indeed managed
to infiltrate this conference."
    "We already passed your screening tests," Gul
Mekkar said in a gravely voice.
    "For security reasons, we must administer new
tests. To make sure there is no question of faking the
results, we will also draw blood samples. No one will
be exempted, including myself. Doctor?"
    "Put your hand here," Bashir said, offering his
scanner.
Sisko did so. It promptly announced he was human.
"Now the blood test, Doctor," Sisko said. Keeping
his gaze locked with Mekkar's, he rolled up his sleeve
and offered his arm to Bashir. He felt a brief cold
 prickling sensation, then a second later Bashir re-
 leased him.
  "We'll know in a second," Bashir said.
    Sisko glanced over. The doctor held a small vial up
to the light, swirling it gently in a counterclockwise
direction. The deep crimson blood in the container
remained unchanged.
  "He's human," Bashir announced.
    "The process," Sisko went on, "only requires a few
seconds. I trust you will all cooperate so we may
proceed with the more important business at hand."
  "If not...?" Mekkar demanded.
    "You will be detained in a cell for the next twenty-
four hours, under close observation. Periodically,
changelings must revert to a liquid state. If you
remain unchanged after twenty-four hours, you will
be released to resume your negotiations. However,"
and Sisko let his voice drop an octave, "I trust that
detention will not be necessary."
 "This is preposterous--" Mekkar began.
    "We will begin," Sisko went on, ignoring him,
"with the Federation negotiators."
    DuQuesne leaped to his feet. "Absurd!" he cried.
"You can't do this! It violates every civil right we've
won over the last six centuries!"
    "Be quiet," T'Pao said. She rose and circled the
table to where Bashir waited. "I will go first. In
matters of security, there can be no politics. Remem-
ber the conference on Earth with the Romulans."
 She placed her hand on the DNA scanner.
 "Subject is Vulcan," it announced.
     Next T'Pao bared her arm. Bashir drew a sample of
her green blood, swirled it, held it up to the light.
  "She's Vulcan," he said.
    "Logically," she said, "we are all interested in
peace. Why not permit this painless examination,
which will then allow us to continue with our work,
rather than waste more precious time?" Leave it to a
Vulcan to cut through the red tape, Sisko thought.
T'Pao reclaimed her seat. "You are next, Ambassa-
dor," she said to DuQuesne.
    His face revealed his anger. "Very well," he said
with ill-concealed fury. He circled the table, rolling up
his sleeve for Dr. Bashir.
  "Human," both the DNA scanner and Bashir said.
    "Hah," DuQuesne said to Sisko. Sulkily, he sat
next to T'Pao again, folding his arms and glaring.
    Strockman went next. Bashir quickly pronounced
him human as well.
    "As we already knew," DuQuesne said. "This is a
waste of time, and I promise you," he said pointedly
to Sisko, "that formal complaints will be lodged
against you for this outrage. We didn't come here for
daily blood tests, and you've interrupted our negotia-
tions at a critical juncture."
    "That's a risk I'm willing to take," Sisko said. After
everything that had happened so far, he knew Admir-
al Dulev would back him. He nodded to Bashir. "The
Maquis ambassadors next, if you please, Doctor."
  Ambassador Twofeathers went first and passed, as
 did Ambassador Kravits. Sisko nodded; he'd ex-
 pected no less. Now would come the real test.
   "Now the Cardassians, if you please."
    "I feel the same way your own negotiating team
does," Gul Mekkar said, rising. "However, I bow to
the inevitable. Begin your tests, Doctor."
    Mekkar placed his hand on the scanner. Sisko
leaned forward in anticipation.
    "Subject DNA passes," the scanner announced.
"Subject is Cardassian."
    Sisko relaxed even as Bashir took Mekkar's blood
sample. He isn't a changeling. Now I can be rid of
Werron once and for all. At least something good had
come of it, he thought.
    He glanced over at Vedek Werron, who had
watched all this impassively. The Vedek's face showed
not a flicker of emotion. Nevertheless Sisko knew it
had to hurt. He'd staked his reputation on it, after all,
and now he'd be deported from DS9 like a common
troublemaker. I'm sure he'll manage to put a good spin
on it, though, Sisko thought. He'll just declare his
mission a success and leave. That'll be the end of it.
    Only the Valtusians remained, but testing was little
more than a formality. The whole conference had
been their idea, after all, and they had been the ones
working toward peace.
"Now the Valtusian ambassadors," he said.
Ambassador Zhosh and the others rose. But rather
than argue as Sisko expected, Zhosh removed a small
tube from a hidden pocket in his robes, twisted it
once, and suddenly the hum of a transporter beam
filled the room.
Sisko whirled. "Stop them!" he cried to the guards.
It was too late, he realized a millisecond later. They
were already dematerializing. In the transporter
beam, he saw them starting to shimmer and turn gold.
They were reverting to their changeling forms.
    "Dax to Sisko," his communicator said with a
chirp. "We just picked up a small Jem'Hadar ship on
our scanners. It was hiding on a Bajoran moon. Now
it's heading for the wormhole at high speed. Do you
want the Defiant to give chase?"
    Sisko tapped his badge, frowning. "No, Dax," he
said. "it's too late. We can't possibly catch them."
And what wouM we do with them once we caught
them? he wondered.
    "But at least another changeling plot has been
stopped," Bashir said. "That's the important thing."
    "Thanks to me, "Vedek Werron said, puffing out his
chest,
    Sisko shot a glare at him, and the Vedek shut up
suddenly. They both knew he'd only accused Mekkar
as an excuse to harass the Cardassians. Now leave it
to the Vedek to claim he'd seen the whole thing--
probably in a vision based on one of the ancient
Bajoran prophecies, Sisko thought.
    All the other ambassadors were staring at him in
shock. Even DuQuesne and Mekkar had run out of
insults for once.
     "What happened with your DNA scanner?" Sisko
 asked Bashir. He'd watched the Valtusians pass the
 test on the docking ring. How had they fooled the
 computer?
    Bashir hesitated. "They must have had real Valtu-
sians aboard their ship," he said. "When they left us
to confer--"
    "They must have gone inside and taken skin sam-
ples," Sisko finished. He nodded; it all made sense
now. Like his father had said, they would find a way
around any security measures the Federation came up
with. It had only taken them ten minutes. So much for
any technological advantage a DNA scanner might
give them.
    "Skin samples... or worse." Bashir swallowed
visibly, and Sisko realized he must be thinking of
severed limbs. "I'd better get over to their ship. I
think it's still docked." Turning, he sprinted for the
door, calling for medical backup to meet him there.
Sisko knew he'd get a full report later. Hopefully there
weren't injured or maimed Valtusians being held
prisoner aboard the changelings' ship.
    Now, though, he had the ruins of the peace confer-
ence to deal with. Admiral Dulev would definitely not
be pleased, he thought.
    "I'm sorry," DuQuesne said to him, sounding
sincerely apologetic. "It seems we were on the verge of
giving the changelings exactly what they wanted."
    "The Maquis buffer state might have given the
changelings a toehold in the Alpha Quadrant," T'Pao
mused. "They might have taken over and used it as a
base to launch their invasion of the rest of the Alpha
Quadrant."
 "It's possible," Sisko said.
    Gul Mekkar looked at the other negotiators. "I
move for an adjournment for today," he said. "We
can reconvene tomorrow to finish up. Not," he added
hastily, "that we can use the Valtusian--rather, the
changeling--plan now, of course. But we can offi-
cially dismiss their plan. And perhaps something new
will occur to us."
    Sisko nodded. "I think that's wise." Although noth-
ing was likely to come of these talks now, the negotia-
tors could still wrap things up nicely. At least they
hadn't made a terrible mistake.
    Mekkar rose, picking up his files, and nodded to the
other Cardassian negotiators. They joined him, head-
ing for the door.
    Suddenly an explosion rocked the station. As the
floor bucked and heaved beneath him, Sisko rolled
with it as best he could, ignoring the panicked
screams and shouts from the ambassadors. Alarms
began to blare.
    "Keep calm!" he shouted over the noise. "Hold on
to something and try to stay where you are!"
    Was it an attack? Had the Jem'Hadar ship returned
and opened fire on them? If so, why hadn't Dax
warned him?
    Desperately he gripped the edge of the table to keep
his balance, then tapped his badge. Smoke began to
fill the room. Then everything went dark as power
failed. A second later, red emergency lights flickered
to life.

 "Dax!" he cried. "Status report!"
    A second explosion hit, and the force of it knocked
him flying backward. He tried to grab hold of some-
thing for support. Smoke and red flames leaped
everywhere.
 "Dax?" he screamed. "Dax?"

CHAPTER
      23

mIRA SWALLOWED HARD, feeling like she'd just walked
into a nest of pit spiders. Her every instinct made her
want to grab her phaser and duck for cover, but she
knew she'd be dead before she made it two steps.
    "My name is Kira Nerys," she said. "I'm looking
for a Groxxin named Orvor. Has anyone here seen
him?"
    "What do you want with him?" one of the aliens
called from the bar. She couldn't see which one, but
she thought the voice came from a green glob with
three eyes and five or six bony ridges on its broad
face.
    "Our business is with him alone," she said. "We're
not here to start trouble."
    "Dead, you won't," another voice called. There
were chuckles all around.
     "Let me handle this," Worf said to her in a low
voice. "I am a trained security officer, after all."
 "By all means," Kira said.
    Worf stepped forward. "l speak for my companions
and myself," he said. "We offer you no threat. Put
down your weapons."
    Nobody answered. Kira scanned the hard faces
looking at them and thought they were getting ready
to open fire. She'd better do something fast, she
thought, or they'd all end up little piles of ashes.
    "You have five seconds to live," the bartender said.
"Any last words?"
    Worf frowned and opened his mouth, but before he
could speak, Kira stepped forward.
 "Just... hyperspace links lead us all together."
    It was the password phrase they had been given so
they'd know the real Orvor when they met him. There
didn't seem to be much choice but to use it now.
Hopefully the Groxxin was somewhere in the room,
and hopefully he'd act to save them. It was a long
shot, she knew, but she didn't have a better idea.
    Instead of one person stepping forward, everyone
in the Empty Coffin seemed to relax a little, almost as
though she'd passed some test. Did they all know that
password? She felt a wave of confusion.
     "What about that one?" the bartender demanded,
nodding toward OdD. "Isn't he...?" "A changeling, yes," Kira said.
    "I am OdD, not 'that one,'" OdD said. "I was
brought up in the Alpha Quadrant, and I have re-
nounced the Founders and their philosophy."
    "I've never seen a Founder before," the bartender
said, lowering his disruptor rifle, "but we all know
enough to fear them and their evil ways."
      "They are powerful," Odo said. "Determined, yes.
Wrong, yes. And certainly stubborn. But not evil."
  "So you're defending them--"
  "No, I'm saying they're wrong."
  "But..."
    Quietly, Kira drifted toward the back of the bar,
searching for a Groxxin. Most of the patrons had put
their disruptors away. Half of them were following the
bartender's argument with Odo, but the other half
had resumed their own conversations.
    Kira spotted an alien with dense yellow fur sitting
alone in one of the booths. She slid in opposite him,
noting his snoutlike mouth and eight-fingered hands.
A Groxxin... but was he the one they wanted?
  "Orvor?" she asked.
    The Groxxin shook his head. "He was picked up by
the Jem'Hadar last night."
  "Picked up? What do you mean?"
    "They took him on the street outside." He jerked
his head toward the door. "It had to be something
important. The Jem'Hadar never come to Old Town
unless they have to." He chuckled. "Snipers killed six
of 'em on their way out."
  "Where would they take him?"
  "Probably one of the interrogation centers."
  "We have to get him out."
    The Groxxin laughed bitterly. "Nobody escapes
from the Jem'Hadar. He's probably dead already."
    Then we've come all this way for nothing. Kira
shook her head. "I can't accept that," she said. "If
there's a chance he's still alive, we have to try. Where
would he be?"
    "Try their central interrogation center; it's located
on Peace Street." Quickly he gave her directions.
    "Thank you," Kira said. She slid out of the booth
and rejoined Worf and Odo by the door. Odo's
argument with the bartender was still going strong.
  "Did you find him?" Worf asked in a low voice.
    She shook her head. "He's not here. The Jem'Hadar
picked him up."
    "It's not their nature to be evil," she heard Odo
saying a trifle hotly, "just as there is no species or race
that is evil. It's a matter of environment and circum-
stances. I personally am proof of that, as you can
see--"
    "I hate to break up this fascinating argument," Kira
said, taking Odo by the arm, "but we have to go." She
pulled him out the door and onto the street, turned
left, and began to walk at a brisk pace. Quickly she
told them what the Groxxin had said about Orvor
being captured by the Jem'Hadar.
    Odo stopped suddenly, looking pained. "I must be
the reason," he said.
    Kira and Worf stopped, too. "What do you mean?"
Worf demanded.
    "I mingled with one of the changelings. Just as I felt
Selann's thoughts, he must have felt mine as well. He
could easily have discovered you were on the
Jem'Hadar ship and learned about Orvor from me. I
feel like a fool," he added bitterly.
    "That's all right, Odo," Kira said quickly. She
knew he would never had consciously given them
away. "You couldn't help it. It's not your fault. We
wouldn't have made it this far without you. Besides,
maybe it's a coincidence. The Jem'Hadar never tried
to find us aboard their ship, after all."
    "Perhaps," Worf suggested, glowering a bit at Odo,
"that's what the hunt was supposed to do. Only we
escaped before the net could close in on us."
    Kira nodded slowly. Of course, the hunt. She'd
been assuming it was aimed at Snoct. Perhaps they
had been lucky to get off the Jem'Hadar ship after all.
    "But that still leaves our informant," she said,
starting forward again. "The Groxxin in the bar
seemed to think he would be dead. If so, that's the end
of our mission."
    "He might still be alive," Odo said. "He would
make good bait if they wanted to capture us."
    "That's what I was thinking," Worf said. "It smells
like a trap."
    "I know," Kira said. "But I don't see any alterna-
tive other than trying to rescue him. Without him, our
whole mission is a waste." And, she mentally added,
he and his mate risked their lives to contact us. The
least we can do is try.
    The streets had been growing steadily nicer as they
walked. Fifteen minutes from Old Town and the
Empty Coffin, the first few pedestrians appeared,
busting about on unimaginable errands. Now, turning
left at a huge apartment complex, Kira abruptly
found herself on a broad street lined with open-air
shops. Tall spreading trees with razorlike yellow
leaves canopied the pavement, and ample street
lamps cast a pleasant golden glow over everything.
Hundreds, perhaps thousands of peoplemsome
Groxxin, some Jem'Hadar, even a few Iffalians like
Snoct--moved among the shops, browsing, haggling
with merchants, picking up orders. Farther up, a few
hovercars glided down the center of the street on
antigrav skids.
    "Two more blocks," Kira said, eyes searching the
buildings ahead. Finally she spotted their target, eight
stories tall and built like a prison. "It's that tall stone
building--see it?"
 "Yes," Worf said.
    "There's an alley just ahead," Odo said. "Turn in
there."
    "Right." Kira ducked into the narrow passageway
between two shops selling exotic-looking fruits and
vegetables. It was little more than a deep doorway, she
realized quickly. They had no real cover here.
    There, Odo shapeshifted into a smaller figure with a
cloak and a hood that left his face in shadow. He
gazed out at Kira.
     "Shop close by the building," he said. "I'11 go in
alone first to make sure it's safe." "But--"
    He shook his head. "I'11 be all right, Major," he
said. "Nothing can happen to me. You just take care
of yourselves for now."
 "We'll keep you covered," she promised.
    "Keep your weapons hidden," he said. "The last
thing I want is to be caught in the middle of a
firefight."
    He strolled quickly out of the deep doorway,
turned, and headed for the interrogation center. Kira
watched with trepidation. She had a bad feeling about
this whole setup. Now that the changelings knew their
plan, what else might they have guessed? Perhaps
Auron hasn't made it back to civilization yet, she
thought, remembering how far they'd stranded him
from the Jem'Hadar base on Skovar VI.
    She paused at a fruit stand and picked up what
looked like a bright purple melon of some kind. When
she shook it, it rattled faintly... a dried gourd with
seeds inside? She passed it to Worf, who smelled it,
made a face, and passed it back. Not to his taste
either, she thought. She put it back on the stand.
    From the comer of her eye, she watched Odo reach
the interrogation center. As he climbed the broad
steps to the front doors, Jem'Hadar suddenly stormed
in from all directions, surrounding Odo with drawn
weapons.

CHAPTER
      24

MEKKAR DOVE FOR the floor when the first explosion
rocked the conference room. It was those damn
Bajoran terrorists, he knew. He'd been warned about
them by half of his friends before he left Cardassia.
Never turn your back on a Bajoran, they'd said. You 7l
find a dagger in it if you do.
    Close by, someone screamed in agony, and alarm
klaxons began to sound. A surge of anger ran through
him. Sisko hadn't heard the last of this, he thought.
    Smoke roiled around him, thick and choking. Hold-
ing his breath, he rose to his knees and peered to the
left, trying to spot Kloran or Etkar or any of DS9's
security guards. If he only had a disruptor, he
thought, they'd stand a chance of making it out of
here alive.
  His eyes began to sting, and suddenly everything
turned blurry. lt~ the smoke. He blinked at his tears
and felt his lungs start to burn. Dropping down as
close to the floor as he could, he sucked in a breath of
foul-tasting air. At least there didn't seem to be any
fire, but that was small consolation.
    He began to crawl toward the door, and suddenly
he found heavy boots blocking his way. He glanced up
and found a phaser pointed at his head. Behind the
phaser, wreathed in swirls of smoke, stood a Bajoran
with a respirator over his mouth and nose. Hard,
angry, fanatically crazy eyes glared down at him.
    "Butcher!" the Bajoran cried. He pulled back his
leg and kicked with all his strength.
    Hardly able to breathe, hardly able to see it coming,
Mekkar couldn't dodge in time. The kick caught him
in the side of the head, stunning him for a second. He
fell, gasping. The Bajoran kicked him a second time,
in the side, and he felt ribs crack. Sharp, raw pain
blossomed in his side.
    Whimpering, he doubled up. What had he done to
deserve this? he thought. Why did they keep calling
him "Butcher"?
    "Up!" the Bajoran called, nudging him with the toe
of his boot. "On your feet, Mekkar! Up/"
    Mekkar tried to rise but couldn't get his legs under
him. Pain stabbed through his stomach and ribs. He
couldn't hold his breath anymore. He sucked in a
lungful of smoke and began to cough and wheeze.
    Two more Bajorans in respirators joined the first.
They seized Mekkar's arms and hauled him forward,
through the smoke, to a hole in the wall. They'd
blown it open with a bomb of some kind, Mekkar
realized. They really were insane. They could have
depressurized the entire station and killed everyone
aboard!
    At least the air on the other side tasted better, he
thought, wheezing and gasping. If he could just get his
breath, maybe he could try to grab a phaser from one
of them.
    Suddenly someone grabbed his hair and forced his
head back. Mekkar found himself staring up at Vedek
Werron's hard, cold face.
"Justice," the Vedek said, "will be served."
Turning, the Vedek strode to the door, then out into
the corridor. The alarm klaxons were still ringing.
People were screaming and running everywhere.
Mekkar thought he was going to vomit.
    The three Bajorans dragged him down one of the
small crossover bridges to the station's core, then up
to the Promenade. There, men and women clustered
along the huge viewports, trying to see what was going
on. The alarms sounded far-off here. Probably more
than a few blast doors had already closed, Mekkar
thought.
    "Help!" he tried to shout. "Help!" What came out
was a wracking cough that shook his whole body.
They would pay for this, he vowed, as soon as he had
his strength back.
    Vedek Werron strode into a huge bar like he owned
the place. He now had a phaser in each hand, and he
fired them both at the ceiling. Mekkar winced, certain
they were all going to die from explosive decompres-
sion, but the phasers must have been set on stun since
nothing happened but bright lights and a whining
sound.
    Inside, the effect was devastating: Men and woman
shrieked and dove for cover.
    "Everyone out!" Mekkar ordered. "This place is
closed!"
    "You can't do that!" a Ferengi called from behind
the long bar against the wall.
In answer, Vedek Werron fired both phasers at him.
"Don't shoot! You can do it! You can do ifi" the
Ferengi called.
    Men and women stampeded for the exits, shouting
and jostling one another in their haste. As the bar
cleared out, the two Bajorans holding Mekkar's arms
dragged him to a round table, threw him on top of it,
and began tying him spread-eagle across it.
    For a second he struggled, but the one on the right
turned and punched him in the head as hard as he
could. Darkness swept over him.
    Quark motioned for Rom to stay down, then
peeked around the end of the bar. Two of the Bajorans
were tying down their prisoner. Another had taken up
a position by the front door. Vedek Werron seated
himself at a nearby table, putting both phasers before
him. From a pocket he drew a white candle, which he
lit and set down before him. He stared at the flame as
though in a trance.
    They were out of their minds, Quark thought. Did
they think they could possibly get away with kidnap-
ping a Cardassian and holing up here? As soon as
security arrived, it would be all over. He eased back
out of sight.
    "What are they doing, brother?" Rom asked in a
whisper. Quark didn't think he'd ever seen Rom
looking so frightened. Nothing like a true emergency
to bring out the coward in someone, he thought.
    "Not much," Quark said. He was concerned him-
self, but most important, he wondered how he could
possibly turn things to his own advantage. After all, as
the Ninth Rule of Acquisition said, "Opportunity
plus instinct equals profit." And his every instinct
said he was looking at a latinum-plated opportunity.

    Sisko watched as Dax used the station's internal
sensors to locate Mekkar. "He's in Quark's," she said.
    "Quark's?' Sisko said. He frowned. If Mekkar had
run out for a drink instead of being kidnapped...
    "I'm picking up seven life-forms there," Dax went
on. "One Cardassian, four Bajorans, and two Ferengi.
WaitmI lost them!" She looked up. "They've acti-
vated a scrambler of some kind."
    Sisko moved to the transporter controls. Maybe
that one brief lock had been enough, he thought. He
fed the readings from Dax's console to the transporter
and tried to get a lock on Mekkar.
Nothing. "I can't beam Mekkar out," Sisko asked.
"It's a subspace distortion field," Dax went on. "I
might be able to punch through it in time, but I
couldn't guarantee getting a lock on any of them."
 Sisko nodded slowly. "I see." They also might kill
Mekkar at the first sign of trouble, he thought. "I
guess we'll have to see what their demands are."
    He opened a comm link to Quark's, and a second
later Quark's face appeared on the screen.
    "Captain Sisko!" Quark said, looking anxious. "I
insist you do something at once! There are Bajoran
terrorists here--"
    A fist flashed in front of the monitor, and Quark
gave a pained cry. Everything blurred, and then the
monitor swiveled around and Sisko found himself
gazing at Vedek Werron's face. Werron smiled se-
renely.
    "Captain Sisko," he said, "the Bajoran people have
spoken. War crimes must be atoned for."
    Sisko leaned forward, the muscles in his jaw clench-
ing. He had seldom been this angry. It nearly left him
speechless.
    "Werron," he said, deliberately keeping his words
short and clipped. "Put down your weapons, bring
Gul Mekkar out, and I promise you that we will get to
the bottom of this matter."
    "You had your chance, Captain," Werron said.
"Here are my demands. You will make a runabout
available to me immediately. We will transport the
Butcher down to Bajor for a fair trial. After his
execution, your peace negotiations can continue."
  "And the alternative?" Sisko asked.
    "I will convene a military trial here, with myself as
judge, jury, and executioner," he said.
    "That is unacceptable," Sisko said. Either way, he
knew Mekkar would be killed.
    "It's your only choice. Think about it." Werron
severed the transmission.

    "But I've never even been to Bajor before!" Gul
Mekkar continued to protest. "This is insane! I was
busy fighting the Federation during the Bajoran occu-
pation--"
    "Lies!" Werron hissed. His face twisted with rage.
"Shut up, Butcher, or I'll kill you here myself?'
    Mekkar shut up. Pain speared his side from the
broken ribs again, and he twisted in agony on the
table. Somehow, he managed to keep from screaming.
He wouldn't give Werron the satisfaction.
    Quark nursed his bruised cheek. He thought Vedek
Werron had loosened a tooth, and he probed carefully
with his tongue, tasting blood. So much for reasoning
with him, he thought, glaring from across the room.
  "Are you all right, brother?" Rom whispered.
  "Yes," Quark said, "so far."
    "Do yourself a favor... leave them alone! It's
none of our business what they do to the Cardassian!"
    "You're right," Quark said. "It's none of our busi-
ness. But I'm not going to let him treat me this way in
my own bar!"
    He slid off his stool and stalked forward. Rom
grabbed his arm, pleading silently with him for rea-
son, but Quark shrugged him away.
    "Vedek," he said, "there's no reason to let our
misunderstanding get in the way of business. Would
you like to run a tab while you're staying here?"
    Werron stared coldly at him. "So you can poison
me?" he demanded.
    That was the general idea, Quark thought. "No, of
course not!" he said magnanimously. "Corpses are
bad for business. I'm just trying to make an honest
living, that's all."
 "Water," Werron said.
    "That's it?" Quark asked. "Would you like it
scented, perhaps? Or flavored with Jonja? Or per-
haps--"
    "Water," Werron said. "Pure, unadulterated
water."
    "Coming up," Quark said. Turning, he headed for
the bar. He could feel Werron's sharp gaze boring into
the back of his head, and he shivered a little. No
chance of drugging the Vedek's water, he thought, but
if he could win his trust, maybe he'd try some Bajoran
spiced ale later. You could hide some pretty potent
solutions in that, and he'd never know until it hit
him ....

    Sisko bit his lip and considered the problem from
every angle. It seemed to come down to two choices,
neither of which appealed to him: Let Werron and his
people kill Mekkar on the station or let them trans-
port Mekkar down to Bajor for trial and execution.
He had no doubt that an armed attack on Quark's bar
would result in Mekkar's immediate execution, and it
might also cost the lives of some of the Bajorans and
his own security forces. This would have been a
perfect job for Odo, he reflected.
    He'd scarcely had time to think about the mission
to the Gamma Quadrant, he realized a bit guiltily.
Too much had been going on here. He prayed they
were having better luck than he was.
    Now he had to focus on the present problem,
however. What options did he have?
    What if I let them take Mekkar to Bajor? he
wondered. That would at least buy us more time. And
if he~ guilty of war crimes, perhaps he should be
punished... but through the proper channels.
    He realized suddenly that he didn't know whether
Mekkar really was this so-called Butcher of Belmast,
as all the Bajorans seemed to believe. Dax hadn't had
time to give him her full report.
    "What about Mekkar?" he asked her. "Is he guilty
of war crimes?"
    "No," she said. "Gul Rel Mekkar--our Mekkar--
is innocent. He had never even been in Bajoran space
before these peace negotiations, which is why the
Detepa Council sent him. They had hoped to avoid
any problems with the Bajorans. According to
Bajoran records I was able to access, Gul Ren
Mekkar--similar name, similar appearance, perhaps
a relative of our Mekkar--was the one the Bajorans
called the Butcher of Belmast."
    "It seems a pretty clear case of mistaken identity,"
he said. "How could Werron have made such a
mistake?"
    "He wants to believe Mekkar is the Butcher of
Belmast," Dax said. "Everything I've read about him
leads me to believe he's not stable. He thinks he has a
divine responsibility to bring all Cardassians to jus-
tice. This hostage taking..." She shook her head.
"He's a dangerous man, and nothing's going to con-
vince him he's wrong. Not even the facts." 
 "1 have to try," Sisko said.
    He called Quark's bar again, and this time Werron
answered himself.
    "I've had a chance to review the facts of the
Belmast case," Sisko said, "and I agree that it's an
outrage, and appropriate steps should be taken to
punish the guilty parties."
    "Excellent," Werron said. "Then you'll provide a
transport for us to Bajor."
    "I said the guilty parties, Vedek. Gul Rel Mekkar
isn't the Butcher of Belmast. He's never even been to
Bajor. You're looking for Gul Ren Mekkar--"
  "Lies!" Werron screamed. "All lies!"
    Slowly Sisko shook his head. "Facts don't lie,
Vedek. If you don't believe me, I'll be glad to supply
you with the appropriate files so you can check for
yourself--"
    "Get me that runabout," Mekkar said. His eyes
were wild, dangerous, Sisko thought. "You have one
hour."
 He severed the connection.
    "He's a fanatic," Dax said. "There's no reasoning
with him."
     Sisko sighed. "I'm starting to think you're right,"
he said. 'Tll have to seek a higher authority."
  "Admiral Dulev?"
  "Kai Winn," he said. As the religious leader of
Bajor, she might have enough influence with Werron
to talk sense into him, he thought. "Try to keep an eye
on Werron," he said. "Let me know if anything
happens."
 "You got it," she said.
    Sisko went into his office and shut the door. He
didn't particularly like Kai Winn, but he understood
her. Although she had a ruthless--and sometimes
senseless--drive for power, hers was an honest greed
compared to Werron's.
    He put through the call. Would she speak to him?
Would she be available on such short notice? After a
few tense moments of waiting, her face appeared on
the monitor.
    "Hello, Emissary," she said, smiling broadly. She
did beatific well, he thought. "As always, it is a
pleasure to speak with you."
    "And it's a pleasure to see you looking so well," he
said. "I have a problem with Vedek Werron, however,
and I was hoping you might be able to give me the
benefit of your counsel."
    She all but preened herself in satisfaction. Nothing
worked quite so well as playing up to her, he thought.
    Quickly he outlined the situation. "Vedek Werron
seems unwilling to listen to reason--or the truth."
    Kai Winn sighed. "Werron has always been some-
thing of a problem for us," she said. "If Mekkar is not
the Butcher, he should be released at once. We don't
want another Cardassian incident; this is an age of
healing. We must move on and put the scars of the
past behind us."
    "Exactly," Sisko said. "Then you'll speak to him
for us."
    "He would never listen to me," she said. "He has
somehow built me up in his mind as his enemy. He
thinks he sees plots of my spinning behind every bush
and every tree."
  "Then what do you suggest?"
    "Send him to Bajor. We will have a fair trial for Gul
Mekkar, and I will personally expedite it. We will
have him declared innocent and released, if that is the
case, within a single day."
    Sisko smiled. "Thank you, Kai," he said. That
sounded like an altogether satisfactory solution.

CHAPTER
      25

THE SECOND THE Jem'Hadar surrounded him, Odo let
his body loose its rigid form, morphing back into his
normal humanoid shape. The change served no real
purpose except to show them that he could
shapeshift--that he was, in fact, a changeling. Hope-
fully that would be enough.
    "Founder," the leader of the Jem'Hadar squad said,
dropping to his knees.
    Odo turned slowly. Every one of his attackers had
bowed down before him, he saw. They were no
different than the other Jem'Hadar he'd encountered.
They had been genetically programmed to feel awe,
respect, and dedication bordering on devotion to any
changeling they encountered. Well, he thought, if they
wanted a Founder, he'd play the part.
 "What is the meaning of this attack?" he de-
manded, trying to sound as irritated as possible. Now
that he thought back to their joining, he remembered
Selann's memories of dealing with Jem'Hadar. The
changeling always used this same tone.
    "Sir," the leader said, meeting his gaze. "This is a
trap to find and capture the Federation spies--"
    "Enough," Odo said, waving one hand curtly.
"Send your men back to their positions. If your real
targets show up, I trust you'll do a better job of
capturing them."
    "Yes, Founder." He saluted, then rose and sent his
men back to their hiding places.
    Odo watched expressionlessly as the Jem'Hadar
fitted themselves into the shadows, behind market
stands, and down in recessed doorways. If he hadn't
known they were there, he never would have spotted
them, he realized. Only the officer remained out of
position, next to him.
    The trap also confirmed his worst fears, Odo
thought: Selann had indeed picked up on the details
of their mission while they had been joined. He'd
have to watch out for that in the future, he knew.
    Turning, he strolled up the steps toward the interro-
gation center's front doors. He felt a flash of appre-
hension as the officer kept pace with him.
    "Is there anything I can do for you?" the officer
asked.
 "I am here to interrogate the prisoner," Odo said.
 "Which one?"
  Which one? There's more than one? He'd better
bluff, he thought. No--he had a better idea. What
would Selann have done in this situation?
    He whirled and glared down at the Jem'Hadar.
"You forget your place, Soldier. When you need
information, you will be provided with it."
    The officer's face fell. Odo strode forward alone. It
had worked, he thought triumphantly.
    The huge door slid aside for him, and he found
himself in a long, high chamber. The walls and floor,
made of some amber-colored stone, had been pol-
ished to mirror smoothness. Except for a single guard
fifty meters ahead, the place seemed deserted.
    His footsteps echoed loudly as he moved forward.
The guard snapped to attention, staring at Odo.
    "Where are prisoners held?" Odo demanded as he
neared.
    "Level three, Founder," the guard said without
hesitation.
    Odo gave a nod, then stepped up to one of the
turbolifts. The doors slid open for him. He entered
without a backward glance. Let them think he knew
what he was doing, he thought.  "Level three," he said.
    Instead of heading up, though, the lift headed
down. When the doors opened again, this time onto a
narrow corridor, two more Jem'Hadar guards
snapped to attention. Odo strode past them without
so much as acknowledging their existence. Selann
should see me now, he thought. The changeling had
inadvertently provided him with better training to
infiltrate this Jem'Hadar prison than he would ever
have expected.
    The corridor opened onto the interrogation center's
holding area. It was odd, Odo noted, how uniform
prisons seemed to be across the galaxy. They fell into
two categories. If you came from a high technology,
you used force fields. If you came from a low technol-
ogy, you used metal bars.
    This prison was of the 1ow-tech variety. Each cell
had been cut into solid bedrock. Durasteel bars ran
from the floor to the ceiling along the front wall.
There had to be hundreds of cells on this level, he
thought, moving forward between rows of cells. Some
prisoners stared sullenly out at him. Others lay with
their faces turned to the stone wall. Several wept
openly. Odo felt a wave of sympathy and wished he
could do more. Although the cells looked clean
enough, there was an atmosphere of doom about the
place. No wonder the Groxxin in the Empty Coffin
had said nobody ever escaped from the interrogation
center.
    Finally he came to a cell with a yellow-furred
Groxxin inside. He lay on his bench staring up into
infinity with large round eyes. Manacles held his
wrists to the wall. Half-healed burn wounds covered
his arms. Odo felt a rush of anger at seeing a prisoner
treated in such a manner. He couldn't stand the idea
of torture--he found the concept criminal.
    "You are Orvor?" he said, trying to sound authori-
tative.

"What of it?" The Groxxin sneered openly at him.
The prisoner's spirit hadn't been broken yet, Odo
saw. That had to be a good sign. Perhaps he hadn't
talked yet. He still might have the retrovirus that
would unlock the Jem'Hadar's DNA.
    Odo risked a sidelong glance up the corridor. The
two guards hadn't moved. They were muttering qui-
etly between each other and watching him, though.
What would be the best way to handle the situation?
What would a real Founder do if he wanted to remove
a prisoner?
    "You," he called loudly to one of the guards.
"Come here."
    The Jem'Hadar hurried over. "Yes, Founder," he
said.
 "Who is this one?" Odo demanded.
 "A Groxxin terrorist."
 "Has he talked yet?"
 "Not yet, Founder."
 "What are you doing about that?"
    "Standard procedure. He will be interrogated again
tomorrow, and if he still proves uncooperative, he
will be terminated."
     Odo nodded. He didn't have much time left. "I
wish to interrogate this one myself," he said.
  "Sir?"
     Odo whirled and struck him across the face. "Do
not question me! Move.r'  "Yes, Founder."
  Quickly the guard unlocked the cell door, stepped
in, and released Orvor's manacles from their magnet-
ic clamps to the wall. Orvor rose with a sigh and
shuffled out, his chains rattling.  "I won't talk," he said.
    "We'll see about that," Odo countered. He looked
at the Jem'Hadar. "The keys to his restraints?"
    Silently the guard passed them over. Then, pulling
Orvor along by his manacles, Odo turned and led him
down the corridor and into the turbolift.  
The doors closed, and they started up.
    "Pause," Odo said to the computer. "Lock access to
this turbolift."
"What are you doing?" Orvor demanded.
"Hyperspace links lead us all together," Odo said,
unlocking the manacles and pulling them off of
Orvor's wrists and ankles.  "But you're--"
    "Yes," Odo said. "I don't have time to explain. I'm
here with two others to get you out." He pushed the
manacles into the corner, where they couldn't be seen
from outside the turbolift. It would have to do, he
decided.
 Standing, he said, "Resume. Surface level."
 The lift started upward once more.
    When the doors opened, Odo half expected to see
changelings and more Jem'Hadar waiting for him, but
the one guard still stood there. He snapped to atten-
tion again as Odo and Orvor walked past him.
    Together, side by side, they walked out the front
door and down the steps. Odo felt the eyes of the
hidden Jem'Hadar on him, but he didn't acknowledge
their presence in any way. He simply walked out to
the middle of the street, turned left, and kept going.
    He spotted Kira and Worfat one of the fruit stands.
They saw him, then followed at a leisurely pace, as
though they were casual shoppers moving on to a
different stand.
    Six blocks from the interrogation center, Odo be-
gan to think they might get away with it. Twenty
blocks later, as the crowds thinned out, he knew they
had. He turned down a side alley and paused, and a
few seconds later Kira and Worf joined them.
    "This is Orvor," Odo said, and he made the intro-
ductions.
    "We did it!" Kira grinned and slapped him on the
back. Worf nodded solemnly.
    "All we have to do is get back to our ship," Odo
said.
 "Tell me... my wife?" Orvor began.
    "She's safe," Kira said. "You'll be back with her in
three days, maybe sooner if the debriefing goes well."
    Orvor shook his head. "There won't be any debrief-
ing," he said.
 Odo tensed. "Why?"
    "The retrovirus--they took the files when they
arrested me. I'm afraid you've come for nothing."
    "We'll discuss that later," Odo said. "Right now
we've got to get out of here. As soon as they discover
you're gone, this place is going to be crawling with
Jem'Hadar looking for us."
    He nodded. "You're right. Which way to your
ship?"
    Odo took the lead. Once more they passed through
Old Town, and once more he glimpsed furtive figures
paralleling them, trying to gauge their strength, trying
to work up their courage to attack. Kira and Worf
drew their phasers and carried them openly. That
seemed to turn the trick, Odo saw. They made it to
the spaceport's landing field unscathed.
    As soon as they stepped onto the duracrete, into the
brightness of the landing field's lights, Odo felt almost
safe. They headed up the row of shuttles. He began
counting, so he'd know exactly where they'd left their
ship.
    When they got there, though, he stopped in shock.
Their berth between the two Jem'Hadar warships lay
empty.
 Their ship had vanished.

CHAPTER
      26

SISKO TOOK A second runabout to Bajor with Dax and
Dr. Bashir aboard, following the ship he'd loaned to
Vedek Werron. Sisko kept a careful eye on the sensors.
For all he knew, Werron might throw Mekkar out an
airlock along the way.
    But it seemed Vedek Werron truly did intend to
turn Mekkar over to the authorities. The Vedek
landed his ship in a field just outside the small
southern city of Belmast--the site where Mekkar had
supposedly committed his atrocities--and Sisko
brought his own runabout down there, too.
    Thousands of Bajorans had turned out to meet the
runabouts, Sisko saw, and lines of Bajoran security
guards held them back a safe distance. Some of the
crowd held up placards saluting Werron. Others held
signs in various languages screaming for justice and
death for the Butcher of Belmast. News reporters
swarmed everywhere with cameras.
    "It looks like quite a welcoming committee," Dax
commented.
  "A circus is more like it," Sisko said.
 Bashir said, "Let's hope they're friendly."
    "I didn't allow Mekkar to be brought here only to
have him lynched," Sisko said. Rising, he opened the
hatch and hopped to the ground.
    The noise was incredible, Sisko thought, staring out
at the thousands of Bajorans being held back by a line
of security guards. They all seemed to be screaming
insults directed at Mekkar. Dax joined him, then
Bashit. Dax shouted something to him, but he
couldn't make out the words; he tapped to his ears
and shook his head. She nodded and pointed to the
other runabout.
    Sisko turned. The hatch had opened and now Vedek
Werron climbed out. He r~.ised both arms in saluta-
tion, and the crowd went wild. Sisko had to cover
his ears. Next, following him, came two of the Vedek's
followers, and they dragged a limp Gul Mek-
kar between them. Mekkar appeared unconscious--
or so Sisko hoped. That was infinitely better than
dead.
    A few people in the crowd began throwing stones.
One struck Mekkar on the cheek, opening a jagged
wound. Dark blood flowed out.
    Bajoran security officers hurried forward, seized
Mekkar's arms, and hustled him to a waiting vehicle.
It looked heavily armored, Sisko saw. The guards
locked themselves inside, then the vehicle took off,
flying low over the crowd. A few more rocks struck its
sides, then it accelerated toward the city and rapidly
vanished from sight.
    The security officers let down their crowd-control
barriers, and the mob surged forward, beading for
Werron and his men. They lifted the Vedek into the
air and began parading him forward. Grinning, Wet-
ton waved to everyone around him.
    He's quite the hero now, Sisko thought. But what
would the Bajorans think when they found out the
truth?
    Spontaneously most of the crowd began to sing a
battle hymn Sisko had never heard before. Still sing-
ing, they bore Werron and his followers off toward the
center of the city. Five minutes later, they were alone.
    Bashir was shaking his head. "I've never seen
anything like that," he said. "It was... incredible."
    "I think we'd better see the local authorities," Sisko
said, "before this thing gets any more out of control."
He glanced at Dax. As soon as they'd learned Vedek
Werron's destination, she'd looked up the city on the
ship's database. "Which way?"
    "That tall building with the spires," she said,
pointing to the left, "is the Hall of Justice."

    Three hours and ten meetings later, Sisko had a bad
feeling in his stomach. True to her word, Kai Winn
had expedited proceedings. Unfortunately, she'd
failed to tell anyone that Mekkar wasn't the Butcher
of Belmast. Every official who met with Sisko insisted
Mekkar would get a fair trial--"All of Bajor is
watching, after all! "--and then went on to say that his
execution had been scheduled for the following week.
    They weren't taking him seriously, Sisko realized.
They all wanted Mekkar to be guilty. Like Vedek
Werron, they saw what they wanted to see and noth-
ing else.
    At one point he saw a photograph of the real
Butcher of Belmast. The moment he did, he realized
where the mistake had come from. The two Cardas-
sians looked enough alike to be identical twins. But
that doesn't help our Gul Mekkar, he thought.
    Worst of all, Kai Winn suddenly made herself
unavailable to talk whenever Sisko called. He began
to grow frustrated. He started to think he'd been
duped by her. She hadn't believed him and had used
him to bring Mekkar to Bajor for trial. Gul Mekkar
really was going to be tried and, Sisko assumed, found
guilty and executed for crimes he did not commit.
    "Nobody here will speak on the Butcher's behalf,"
a frustrated magistrate finally snapped at Sisko after a
long argument about due process. "Since you think
the Butcher's innocent, why don't you have yourself
appointed as his Speaker?"
    Dax leaned close and whispered, "That might not
be a bad idea, Benjamin. As I understand the judicial
system in Belmast, it will give you a lot more leeway
to present Mekkar's case."
    That made sense. "Is there a downside?" he asked
her.
    "If you plead his case and lose, it's bound to affect
your standing as the Emissary."
    "That's a chance I'm willing to take." Sisko nodded
to the magistrate. "Very well. What do I need to do to
become Mekkar's Speaker?"
    "I have the forms... Yes! Here we are." He
handed Sisko a set of pages.
    Sisko signed everywhere he indicated. "That's it?'
he asked as he finished.
    "Yes," the magistrate said. "The trial begins at first
light tomorrow. Be here an hour beforehand to see the
Butcher."
 "I want to see him now."
 "Impossible."
    Sisko barely managed to keep his anger in check.
This wasn't a trial, it was murder. He'd never run into
so many roadblocks before. They didn't want justice,
he realized, they wanted blood. Mekkar's blood.
    Dax took his arm and pulled him from the magis-
trate's office. "I know that look," she said. "You were
going to do something you'd regret."
    He sighed. "You're probably right. What do you
suggest?"
    "Let's find Julian and get back to the runabout.
We're going to have a lot of work to do to get ready for
that trial tomorrow."
    He tapped his badge. "Sisko to Bashir. Where are
you, Doctor?"
 "I've just been to see Gul Mekkar," Bashir replied.
    "What? How?" Sisko could barely believe it. They
hadn't let him anywhere near Mekkar's cell.
    "I explained that he was hurt and I was his personal
physician. They want him in top health for his execu-
tion, it seems."
 "How is he?"
    "Two broken ribs, some cuts and bruises, a slight
case of shock. I've done as much for him as I could, all
things considered. I'd really like to get him back to
DS9. How are you coming?"
    "Not well," Sisko said. "The trial begins to-
morrow."

    Sisko spent the rest of the night cramming through
Bajoran legal precedents. Bleary-eyed, he finally
allowed Dr. Bashir to give him a light stimulant to
keep him awake. Mekkar's life was in danger; he knew
he had to be sharp for the trial. The Bajorans seemed
to think it wouldn't last more than one or possibly
two days at the most. He had no intention of letting
them railroad Mekkar into a punishment he didn't
deserve.
    Dax and Bashir pursued other lines of inquiry. Dax
was trying to get information on the real Butcher of
Belmast From Cardassia, but kept running into road-
blocks. Bashir was looking for medical reasons to
postpone the trial. Neither made fast progress.
    The night passed all too quickly. Finally it was
nearly time to head to the Hall of Justice. Sisko sighed
and tabbed off the computer monitor, rubbing his
eyes. What he really needed, he thought, was a team
of crack Federation legal experts, six months to pre-
pare for the trial, and some Bajoran advisors to help
him over the rough spots. Nevertheless, he would
have to make do and trust in the truth to win out.
    After cleaning himself up as best he could in the
runabout, he headed for the courtroom, Dax at his
side. Bashir was still at work.
    "I'll catch up," he promised, "as soon as I have
something."
    "It had better be fast," Sisko said. "I have a feeling
this is going to be a very quick trial, if we're not
careful."
    "Right." Swallowing, Bashir threw himself back
into his work.
    It was a twenty-minute walk to the center of Bel-
mast. By the time Sisko and Dax arrived, a huge
crowd had already gathered outside. He had to push
his way through. It seemed most of the city had
turned out to wait for the guilty verdict, Sisko
thought. It was a shame he had to disappoint them.
    Inside, a guard ushered them into a huge, cavernous
room where the trial would take place. Security
seemed tight. At the far end of the room, on a raised
dais, sat the three magistrates who would hear the
case. One of them, he saw, was the Bajoran who'd
suggested he act as Mekkar's Speaker. For a second he
considered asking the man to remove himself from
the case--after all, he'd already made up his mind
that Mekkar was guilty, but then Sisko thought better
of it. All three magistrates undoubtedly felt the same
way. Trying to remove one might aggravate matters.
No, he would have to win them over.
    "Over here," the guard said, leading them to one
side. A table had been set up for them.
    "Thank you," Sisko said. He glanced to the right,
where another table sat: probably for the prosecution.
The two Bajorans there ignored him.
    The magistrates signaled their readiness. Mekkar,
in chains but walking--no doubt thanks to Bashir,
Sisko thought--was escorted in. He sat in the center
of the hall, facing the three magistrates. Sisko sat
behind Mekkar and to the left; the Prosecutor sat to
the right.
    The magistrate in the center rose. "This trial is
open," he said loudly, and his voice echoed through
the vast Hall of Justice. "Read the charges."
    The Prosecutor rose. "Gul Mekkar, known as the
Butcher of Belmast, is accused of the following crimes
against Bajor. First, that he did knowingly and will-
fully order the death of two thousand three hundred
and twelve mine-workers following the Ten Day
Strike. Second, that he did knowingly and willfully
order the executions of four hundred and sixty-five
Bajorans following a food riot in Belmast. Third--"
    The list of crimes went on and on. Sisko listened,
and as he did his horror grew. The real Mekkar had
been a bloodthirsty monster, he realized, drunk on
power. No wonder everyone on Bajor wanted him
brought to justice.
    Nearly two hours later, the Prosecutor finished his
list of crimes.
    "How say you to these charges?" the magistrate
asked.
    Sisko rose slowly. When he turned, it was to address
not only the magistrates, but the Prosecutor and all
the Bajorans who had assembled inside the Hall of
Justice.
    "I am Captain Benjamin Sisko," he said, "the
commanding officer of Deep Space Nine. You all know
who I am, and believe me, no one has more sympathy
for the Bajoran people than I do. Kai Opara pro-
claimed me your Emissary, and ! have walked in the
wormhole with the beings you call Prophets.
    "You all suffered tremendously under the Cardas-
sian occupation. But this is now a time for healing
and reconciliation. Cardassians are not your enemies.
They are a people like any other--some good, some
bad."
    "Is there a point to this?" the Prosecutor asked
dryly.
    "Yes." Sisko took a deep breath and scanned the
faces around him. "Mekkar is an innocent man. He
was not here during the Cardassian occupation. True,
there is a similarity in names, and true, there is a
similarity in appearance. He is a distant relative of the
so-called Butcher of Belmast. You cannot convict him
for crimes he did not commit!"
    "You have evidence of this, of course," said the
magistrate on the left.
 "Yes. If I may present it?"
 "Proceed."
 "My science officer, Lieutenant Commander Dax,
has gathered the following information from the
Cardassian government." Sisko nodded to Dax.
    Dax picked up a set of folders from the Speaker's
table and carried them forward. She handed one to
each of the magistrates, one to the Prosecutor, and
one to Sisko.
 "Thank you, Dax," he said.
 She smiled and returned to her seat.
    Sisko opened the folder. The first page held two
pictures side by side, one of the real Gul Mekkar as he
had been during the occupation--and the similarity
to their Mekkar was striking--and one as the real Gul
Mekkar was today.
    "Here you see these two different Cardassians," he
began.
    "I see no difference," the Prosecutor said. "These
photos are of the same person."
  "They are different--" Sisko began.
    The magistrate cut him off. "What proof do you
have?" he asked. "Photos and documents can be
faked."
    "Proof?." Sisko said. He'd been afraid they would
say something like that. Dax had been trying to get
through to Cardassia to get direct confirmation all
night without success. At the moment, they had only
his word, which might not be enough. "Look at the
pictures. They have Starfleet authentication. You have
my word as the Emissary and as a Starfleet officer.
Mekkar is not guilty of these crimes."
    The three magistrates conferred briefly. Sisko
watched anxiously as they compared the two photo-
graphs, studied the two Mekkars' identifications, life
histories, and war records. They frowned, then
nodded.
    Sisko's badge chirped. He tapped it as subtly as he
could. "Yes?" he whispered.
    "It's Bashir," he heard the doctor say. "I've finally
reached Cardassia--"
  "Hold that thought, Doctor," he said.
    An undercurrent of talking had swept through the
Hall of Justice while the magistrates studied Sisko's
evidence. The magistrate in the middle looked up
suddenly.
  "Silence!" he roared.
    "This evidence is not conclusive," the magistrate to
his left said. "We took nearly three hundred sworn
testimonies yesterday identifying this Cardassian as
the Butcher of Belmast. Since you are unable to
produce concrete evidence--"
    "Wait!" Sisko cried. "Did you hear that, Doctor?"
ne said. "Do you have someone on line now who can
clear our Mekkar?"
    "I think so," Bashir said. "Is there a monitor there?
I can relay the signal through."
    Sisko looked up at the magistrates, who gave a brief
nod.
    "Do so," Sisko said. He swallowed. Whatever
Bashir had found, it had better be good, he thought.
    A clerk activated a holographic projector, and a
huge image flickered to life on one side of the Hall of
Justice. It was Bashir.
 "This image is being sent to us directly from
Cardassia PMMR," Bashir said. "It's not the highest
quality signal, considering the distances involved. But
I think it will do."
 He touched a button before them.
    Static flickered on the screen, and then an older
Cardassian appeared. He looked like Gul Mekkar,
only a long thin scar puckered the left side of his
mouth.
    "I am," the Cardassian said in a low, powerful
voice, "Gul Ren Mekkar, whom Bajoran terrorists
branded the Butcher of Belmast nearly twenty years
ago." He scanned the faces of the magistrates, and a
faint sneer crept into his voice. "Bajorans are a little
people," he said, "hardly worth the attention of a
proud and great race like the Cardassians. I spat on
you then, and I spit on you now."
    The magistrate on the right stood. "YouJ" he said,
voice hoarse. "You killed my father and my grandfa-
ther."
    Mekkar sneered, "And I'd kill you too, given half
the chance. If it were up to me, I'd put Bajor back
under Cardassian rule tomorrow. We should never
have left before we broke your spirits. Youre"
    "I think that's quite enough," Bashir said, inter-
rupting the tirade. He gazed at the magistrates from
the viewscreen. "Or do you want to hear more from
him?"
    "No ... no," said the magistrate, sitting. His face
was ashen, Sisko saw. He now realized what a mistake
they had almost made.
    "I want all charges against Gul Mekkar dropped,"
Sisko said loudly. "He is innocent."
    The three magistrates conferred for a minute, then
nodded. "Agreed," the high magistrate said. "Release
the prisoner," he told the clerk.
    Sisko and Dax hurried forward to help Mekkar
stand as the clerk unlocked the chains on his arms and
legs. Mekkar seemed to be in a state of shock, Sisko
thought. Little wonder, considering what he'd just
been through. Best to get him back to Bashir and DS9
as quickly as possible.
    He put one of Mekkar's arms around his shoulders
and Dax did the same. Together, they helped the
Cardassian down the long aisle, past the benches filled
with silent Bajorans, and outside.
    "Thank you," Sisko heard Mekkar whispering.
"Thank you."
 "That's what I'm here for," he said.

    Julian Bashir watched them set Gul Mekkar free,
then cut off his transmission to the Hall of Justice. So
much for that, he thought. His plan had worked
perfectly.
    He flipped back to the signal from DS9. It was
completely secure, he knew, coming in on a scram-
bled channel. He found the face of the Butcher of
Betmast grinning at him.
 "How did I do?" Garak asked behind his makeup.
    "Fine," Bashir said. "I think you just saved the day.
See you when we get back. I owe you a drink."
 "You owe me more than that," Garak said. "I have
an Oslan silk suit here with your name on it, Doctor."
  Bashir groaned a bit, but didn't complain. It was
  worth it.
    He severed the connection and smiled. There was a
certain irony in the solution, he thought. The Bajor-
ans refused to believe the truth, no matter how it had
been presented to them. But they'd been only too
eager to believe a lie.

CHAPTER
      27

"WHERE IS IT.9" Kira demanded. A ship didn't just
vanish. Someone had moved it... or taken it back,
she realized with growing panic.
    She glanced around. None of the other shuttles
seemed to be in use, but she didn't think they'd have
sufficient range to make it back to DS9. But they
might give the others a place to hide while she looked
around.
    Then she remembered Snoct Sneyd. He said he'd
help them if they ever needed it. Well, she thought,
they certainly needed it now.
    "Get them over to one of the shuttles and keep
them there," she said to Worf. "I'm going to see if I
can find Snoct. Maybe he can help us find a new
ship."
 Worf nodded. "Agreed." He turned to Odo and
Orvor. "This way, quickly," he said, striking out for
the nearest shuttle.
    Kira hesitated. Where would she find an Iffalian
maintenance crew? Probably near the center of the
field, she decided. That way they could be quickly
dispatched to any ship that needed them.

She took her bearings and started walking.
Twenty minutes later, she saw movement ahead: a
small car on antigray skids. It was filled with
Jem'Hadar and was headed straight for her. Turning
to the side like she had business at one particular ship,
she ducked out of sight.
    "You'd better work again," she murmured, activat-
ing her cloaker. Instantly the air around her shim-
mered, and then she seemed to be looking out at the
world through a thick glass wall. Everything became
muted and distant.
    The Jem'Hadar turned where she'd turned and
passed not two meters from where she stood. They
slowed down, peering this way and that, obviously
searching for her. Their starship had been deliberately
moved, Kira realized, to prevent them from escaping.
The changelings knew what they were up to.
    Biting her lip, she turned and sprinted up the
landing field, trying to put as much distance between
herself and the Jem'Hadar as she could. She only had
a few minutes left on her cloaker, she reminded
herself. Site began to count the seconds.
    She put a good half kilometer and ten rows of
parked ships between herself and the Jem'Hadar.
That ought to be enough for now, she decided,
slowing down and ducking behind another ship, this
one a small fighter craft of some sort. She shut off the
cloaker and crouched there, panting, until she caught
her wind.
    Then, carefully, she continued to jog forward. If
anything came up, she still had a little time left on the
cloaker, she thought. She wished she'd brought Worf's
as well. She had a strange feeling she'd need all the
help she could get.
    A large cluster of buildings appeared on the hori-
zon. That had to be the central complex, she decided.
The Iffalians had better be there.
    Then she saw movement ahead on the landing
field--more Jem'Hadar, she realized. She glanced
around in panic. She was a good fifty meters from the
nearest cover. She'd never make it before being seen.
    She activated her cloaker again, hoping they hadn't
spotted her yet. Turning, she jogged quickly to the
side, cutting across, and just as quickly she stopped
short. A pair of Jem'Hadar warriors were patrolling
this area on foot, their disruptors held ready. Beyond
them lay a couple of low buildings--little more than
storage sheds, really. Maybe she could find cover
there.
    Suddenly colors flickered all around her. The cloak-
er had begun running low on power, she realized. Its
distortion field shimmered brightly for an instant, like
a beacon in the darkness, then returned to normal.
She checked its readouts. Less than a minute left, she
thought with dismay.
"There!" one of Jem'Hadar began to shout, point-
ing in her direction.
    Kira glanced down. The cloaker failed again, and
for the second time a sheet of colored light rippled
over her body. She stood out like a burning torch, she
realized. Suddenly it failed altogether, and she found
herself standing completely exposed.
    The two Jem'Hadar fired just as she dived to the
side, and their energy bolts sizzled past, just missing
her. She ducked around the nearest ship, tucked down
her head, and sprinted toward the buildings. Maybe
she could lose them there, she thought.
    She risked a glance back. The two Jem'Hadar
sprinted after her, about twenty yards behind. Gradu-
ally they began to close the gap. It would be close,
Kira thought, but she'd beat them.
    She rounded the first low building, spotted a stack
of wooden crates, and skidded behind them without a
second's hesitation. The two Jem'Hadar pounded
past. One of them glanced her way but didn't spot her
in the shadows.
    For once, her luck was holding, Kira thought. As
soon as they passed by, she got up and took a closer
look at the shed. The door lay on the other side, she
saw, but there were a few high windows for ventila-
tion on this side. It would be a tight fit, but she
thought she could get through.
    Climbing onto the crates, she opened the window
and glanced inside. It seemed to be a storage depot for
heavy cleaning equipment of some kind, she thought.
 Grunting a little, she pulled herself in, then lowered
 herself to the floor.
    She heard the patrol returning, more slowly this
time. She eased back farther into the darkness. A
heartbeat later, a face appeared at the ventilation
window she'd climbed through. The Jem'Hadar
peered this way and that, but didn't spot her. He tried
'squeezing inside himself, but rapidly gave up. With
his muscles, he'd never fit.
    Someone outside shouted something, and he pulled
back.
    Kira drifted forward like a ghost. Standing on
tiptoe, she could just see out the window. More
Jem'Hadar had appeared, including two of the cars on
antigrav skids, and they began to mill about outside,
talking among themselves.
    Kira sighed and slumped to the floor, her back to
the wall.
It looked like it was going to be a long night, she
thought.

    Forty minutes later, the Jem'Hadar still hadn't left.
They kept wandering by in little groups, as if hoping
she'd magically reappear. Perhaps they were waiting
for daylight to track her, she thought.
    Then she spotted a group of Iffalians walking
toward the storage sheds on foot. They looked a lot
like Snoct Sneyd, she thought, only they wore drab
gray uniforms. She hesitated. Was it worth trying to
get them to help her?
    They opened the doors of the storage shed next to
hers and began wheeling out equipment. They were
only twenty meters away. But they were in the open,
and if that patrol spotted her, she wouldn't have a
prayer of escape.
    There had to be some way to attract the Iffalians'
attention, she finally decided. She looked around the
shed, but in the semidarkness nothing stood out
among the large hulking machines. She didn't see a
single thing she could use to attract their attention.
    She felt her own pockets and also came up empty--
just her phaser and the personal ctoaker.
    Well, valuable or not, she needed to use it. Since it
wasn't working, she took the cloaker off, opened up its
control panel, and started breaking off little pieces of
delicate circuitry. She began stacking them on the
floor in front of her.
    When she had a little pile of them, she slowly
pushed open the ventilation window and threw the
first piece toward the Iffalians as hard as she could. It
fell a little short; they didn't even look up. Taking a
deep breath, she threw the second piece. This one
traveled a little farther and came to rest a few meters
to the left of one of the workers. He didn't look up,
either, though.
    "What do I have to do," Kira muttered to herself,
"hit you in the head?"
    She threw the third piece, and this time her aim
came closer. It fell short by a few meters, but skittered
forward and tapped one of the workers' boots.
  He glanced down, saw the piece of rubbish, and
bent to pick it up curiously. Kira didn't wait, but
threw two more pieces in quick succession. She didn't
want to lose him now that she had his interest.
    The other pieces must have caught his eye. He
turned and stared toward her shed. Come on, she
thought, just a little bit closer...
     He didn't take so much as a step in her direction.
    , "Psst!" Kira said as loudly as she dared. "Psst!
Come over here, quick!"
    The alien muttered something to his companions,
then picked up a broom and dustpan. He pretended to
sweep up bits of rubbish and quickly worked his way
over to Kira.
    "Who are you?" he demanded in a whisper, not
looking in her direction.
    "A friend," Kira said. "Do you know Snoct
Sneyd?"
 "The one who was trapped in the Jem'Hadar ship?"
 "Yes. Can you get him for me? I need his help."
 "Why?"
    "Because I'm trapped here, the Jem'Hadar are
looking for me, and he said he owed me a favor. I got
him off that ship and saved his life, after all."
     "That was you?" The Iffalian looked up at her, an
expression of awe and wonder on his face.
  "Yes," Kira said. "Can you help me?"
  "Wait here."
    He worked his way back to the others and con-
versed briefly with them. Kira watched expectantly,
but they did nothing to acknowledge her presence.
Instead, they quickly finished unloading their clean-
ing equipment and rolled it away.
    She sat back. Was that a good sign? Had they
decided to turn her in, in case there was a reward? She
didn't know. If only Snoct Sneyd had been there, she
thought, things would have been much simpler.
    She gazed out the window again, straining to see
both left and right. There was no sign of the patrol.
Perhaps she should make a break for it, she thought,
and try to steal a ship on her own. If the Jem'Hadar
surrounded her shed, she knew she wouldn't have a
chance of escaping.
    She had just about decided to strike out again on
her own when she spotted the maintenance crew
returning, this time with a vehicle. The little transport
had a square storage compartment mounted over the
rear antigrav skids, she saw. And there were more
Iffalians this time. And was that Snoct Sneyd...?
Yes, she thought. Itk him. Relief flooded through her.
He'd come to help.
     They opened the doors to her shed and backed the
transport up. Snoct darted inside.  "Major Kira!" he said.
    "Thanks for coming," she said. "They took our
shipm"
    "I know," he said. "The Founders ordered it. We're
cleaning it for them now."
  "Can you take me there?"
    "Of course!" he said. He crossed to the storage
compartment on the transport and opened the cover.
"Climb in!"

    "First we need to get Worf and the others," she
said.
    Snoct Sneyd drove the transport back to where
she'd left Worf, Odo, and Orvor. Fortunately, the
Jem'Hadar hadn't found them yet. Kira realized she'd
probably served as a distraction. They'd concentrated
all their efforts on trying to find her.
    After a brief reunion, Snoct hustled everyone into
the storage bin and drove across the landing field. It
was a tight fit, but nobody complained. Odo trans-
formed himself into a cushion to take up less room.
They all sat on him.
    Kira weathered the bumpy ride in silence, as did
the others. She didn't tell them how close she'd come
to being captured, or that her personal cloaker had
failed at a crucial moment, when it should have lasted
another thirty seconds. She'd have something to say
about that to Lieutenant Colfax when they got back to
DS9.
    Finally the ride ended. She felt the transport swing
around, then back up. A second later the motor shut
off.
    Snoct opened the cargo bin. They'd pulled up by
the hatch of the ship they'd taken to get here, Kira
saw, exactly as he'd promised. She could have kissed
him.
 "It's ready to go!" Snoct said.
 Odo and Worf hustled Orvor aboard.
    "Thank you," Kira said. "I won't forget this, Snoct.
If you ever make it to the Alpha Quadrant--"
    "No, no!" he piped. "I will never leave Daborat V
again!"
    She laughed, then turned and dashed up the ramp.
They'd spent too long here, she thought. She wanted
to get home. Although the mission hadn't been a
complete success, at least they'd rescued Orvor. That
had to count for something. As they said during the
Bajoran Resistance, any mission you came back from
was a success.
    She slid into the pilot's seat and powered up the
engines. When Worf closed the hatch, she lifted off
smoothly. The ship handled as well as ever, she found.
They could be home in two days.
     Suddenly the communicator gave a series of beeps.
Ground control was hailing them. "Odo!" she called.
    "Right here," he said, appearing beside her. He
activated the monitor.
    "You are not cleared for takeoff," a Jem'Hadar
warrior said.
"I'm leaving," Odo said. "Do nothing to stop me."
The Jem'Hadar opened his mouth, but nothing
came out. He seemed to be struggling with an inner
conflict. Probably the orders another changeling gave
him, Kira realized with a grin. By the time he got it all
sorted out, they'd be long gone.
    She cleared the atmosphere and laid in a course for
the wormhole. Forty-one hours, she thought, going to
warp, and she'd be safe in her own bed.
  She couldn't wait.

CHAPTER
      28

As THEY EMERGED into the Alpha Quadrant through
the wormhole, Major Kira saw that DS9 looked much
the same as when she'd left. It hung before them,
spinning slowly, its docking ring packed with ships.
The Excalibur sat half a kilometer off from the sta-
tion... probably waiting to take Orvor aboard, she
thought. The Federation would doubtless be disap-
pointed when they learned he hadn't managed to
escape with the retrovirus, but she knew they'd get
whatever he could remember from him. Perhaps it
would provide a clue toward   defeatingthe
Jem'Hadar.
"Ten minutes," she called back.
 Orvor grinned. "Thank you, Major."
    In the two days since his rescue, he'd made an
almost miraculous recovery, she thought. His burns
had almost entirely healed, his yellow fur had taken
on a rich luster, and his snout had turned a healthy
pink. He didn't look like the same pathetic prisoner
they'd rescued.
    "DS9 to unidentified ship," Kira heard a familiar
voice say over the subspace radio, "please identify
yourself."
    "This is Major Kira, Dax," she said. "We're coming
home) Clear a berth for us."
    "Docking Pylon three," Dax said. "Welcome home,
Nerys)"
 "Thanks," Kira said.

Sisko studied Kira and Worf, who both stood at
attention before him.
    All told, it had been quite a week, Sisko thought. An
hour after Kira docked, Orvor had been bundled off
aboard the Excalibur for a reunion with his mate. The
Excalibur then put the captured Jem'Hadar ship in a
tractor beam and towed it off for further study.
Admiral Dulev would be a little disappointed about
the retrovirus, but still, things could have gone much
worse. The Excalibur had already taken the Valtusian
ship aboard one of its docking bays. Although the
changelings hadn't made many modifications to the
ship beside adding tissue culture banks in which they
had grown Valtusian skin--the same skin they'd used
to fool Bashir's DNA scanner--Starfleet scientists
would go over every inch of it. You never knew what
might prove useful.
    "Sir," Worf said, offering his report. Sisko accepted
it, then took Kira's.
    'Tll read them tomorrow," he promised. "Now, I
think I'd like to buy you both drinks. From what I
hear, you deserve them."
    "If you don't mind my saying so," Kira said, "so do
you. I hear you make quite an impressive Speaker,
Captain."
    "Well..." Sisko made a deprecating gesture. "One
does what one must."
    Grinning, he led the way out into Ops. Dax was just
coming off her shift, he saw, so he invited her to join
them, and she gladly accepted.
    By the time they reached Quark's, their party had
swelled to include Dr. Bashir, O'Brien, and Odo.
Hopefully they'd find a table, Sisko thought, noting
the time.
    When he led the way inside, though, he found
business decidedly slow. Half a dozen people sat at
the Dabo tables, and only Morn sat at the bar nursing
a drink. Other than that, the place was deserted.
  Quark wandered over, looking a bit sour.
    "What's wrong?" Sisko asked, looking around.
"Where is everybody?"
    "That's what I'd like to know," Quark grumbled.
"You have one brawl, one terrorist attack, and one
rumor of contaminated Bajoran spice ale--" Sisko
noted the dark look Quark shot at Bashir, who shifted
uneasily and didn't meet the Ferengi's gaze. There
had to be a story there, Sisko thought. They'd worm it
out of Bashir after he'd had a few drinks. "--and all
of a sudden nobody wants to drink here anymore."
  "They'll be back," Bashir said.
    "They'd better," Quark said. "And don't think
Vedek Werron isn't getting the bill for my lost busi-
Bess!"
 "We need a table," Sisko said.
    "Here," Quark said, leading them to a large one by
the door. "Maybe people will notice you sitting here
and come in."
    Everyone began calling their orders. Quark hurried
to fill them.
    Yes, Sisko thought, it had been quite a week. A
changeling plot had been foiled. An innocent Cardas-
sian had been saved. And best of all, a Federation
informant had been rescued, though Sisko had no
idea if Orvor's information would prove useful. But
best of all, his friends were alive and well and with
him now.
  "Drinks," he announced, "are on me."
    He grinned. All in all, it had been a very good week,
he thought.