Star Trek: Deep Space 9
# 8
Antimatter

CHAPTER
       1

SUNK DEEP IN A GIANT PIT was an Ambassador-class
starship, looking as if it was about to be swallowed
whole. An intricate network of walkways and
turbolifts spanned its gleaming hull, and workers
swarmed over the helpless ship like hungry ants. The
scene reminded Benjamin Sisko of the Lilliputians
who tied down Gulliver and crawled all over him. But
even if the shackles were removed, this sleeping giant
was not about to rise, not for another few days. It was
missing the most crucial element of its being, the
thing that would give it life and send it streaking
across the galaxy, the most dangerous substance ever
discovered: antimatter.
    "Isn't it magnificent?" said Kira Nerys beside him.
"It's so thrilling to see the Okana Shipyards open
again. You don't know it, Commander, but this ship-
yard has seen centuries of history. Songs have been
written about it, and plays. We're very proud of it."
    "Impressive," answered Sisko. He didn't tell his
Bajoran first officer what he was really thinking, that
the shipyard was crude by Federation standards. It
had been centuries since Terrans had built starships
under normal planetary gravity--they much pre-
ferred moon-based or orbital shipyards with little or
no gravity. Of course, the Bajorans had once had a
state-of-the-art orbital shipyard, but it had been utter-
ly destroyed by the Cardassian invaders. With its
ravished economy, Bajor could hardly afford to build
a new orbital shipyard, so they had reopened the
surface shipyard. They were happy just to be building
a ship, even if it was under a Federation contract.
    Sisko also didn't mention that the design of the
Ambassador, one of the workhorses of the fleet, was
an old one. Its construction kinks had long been
worked out. The saucer section was considerably
smaller than that of a Galaxy-class vessel, such as the
Enterprise, and its hull was cylindrical rather than
squat. The twin nacelles were also directly behind the
saucer section rather than under it. But the seven-
hundred crew-member starship was an extremely
economical vessel, and it could go farther and run
longer than a Galaxy-class ship on the same amount of
antimatter. It was a perfect choice for its missionma
long-range exploration of the Gamma Quadrant, on
the other side of the wormhole.
    Most important, Sisko knew that this was the first
starship to be built on Bajor since the Cardassian
invasion over fifty years ago, and he was determined
to help them succeed. In one respect, he agreed with
Major Kira. The Okana Shipyards were a magnificent
sight--six monstrous pits spread across the vast
Okana Desert, each one crisscrossed by six gigantic
arches that curved to an apex almost a kilometer
above the ground.
    He was standing on one of those archways now, and
the view it afforded was incredible, despite the intense
heat that made his neck crawl with sweat. He knew
that soon--after the antimatter arrived and was in-
stalled in the reactor--tractor beams along the arches
would be activated, and the giant starship would rise
out of the pit half a kilometer above the ground. The
ship's inertial damping and structural integrity fields
would have to be adjusted to compensate for Bajor's
gravity, but they would be returned to normal once in
space. The launch was an event he didn't want to miss.
Until then, he could enjoy the endless horizon and a
respite from the rigors of commanding Deep Space
Nine.
    "You're smiling," observed Kira. "May I ask what
you find so humorous?"
    "I'm just enjoying myself," Sisko admitted. "It's so
peaceful out here--like being at the ends of the Earth.
Or in this case, at the ends of Bajor."
    "I knew you would enjoy it," said Kira with plea-
sure. "I came here once as a child, and I've never
forgotten it."
    "Best of all," said the commander, "I'm pleased
that everything is going so well. Right on schedule.
Maybe a little bit later we can go down and take a
closer look at the Hannibal."
    Kira wrinkled the ridges on her nose and muttered
something under her breath.
"Did you say something, Major?"
"It's that name. What does it mean?"
"Hannibal?" asked Sisko. "Why, he was a great
African general. He did incredible things, like leading
an army of elephants over the Alps to attack Rome.
It's also a town in Missouri."
 Kira nodded glumly. "Terran history."
The commander smiled. "So what would you name
it?"
    The Bajoran tightened her jaw. "I can think of
several worthy names. Okana would be nice, in honor
of the shipyards that built her. Or Kai Opaka, in honor
of her memory and her sacrifice."
    Sisko touched Kira's shoulder for a moment.
"Don't worry, Major, the time is coming when Bajor
will build her own ships again. First, you must build
up your economy and feed your people. This is a big
step in that direction."
    "I-know," said Kira, leaning on the railing. "Pa-
tience has never been one of my virtues." After a
moment's reflection, she stood erect and managed a
smile. "I'11 contact Director Amkot and see if he can
arrange a tour of the Hannibal for us."
    But before she could tap her communicator badge,
an explosion rent the desert air and rocked the
walkway beneath their feet. Kira was thrown against
the railing, and only her strength and quick reflexes
kept her from plunging into the abyss a kilometer
below them. Sisko staggered toward her and gripped
her tunic, pulling her to the metal walkway just as
another explosion jarred the structure. With an awful
groan, the archway tilted, and they began to slide
across the slick metal into the empty air beyond.
    Kira rolled to her back and slapped her comm
badge. "Emergency!" she yelled. "Two to beam off
arch three! Immediately!"
    Sisko's Starfleet comm badge wasn't patched into
the Bajoran system, so he could do nothing but hang
on to Kira and try to place his feet against the railing
supports. He managed to brace one foot, but their
precipitous slide continued. With the crook of her
arm, Kira grabbed the handrail as her legs swung off,
and she dangled in midair, groaning from the exertion
required to hold on. Sisko let go of her but not soon
enough, because her momentum pulled his foot off the
support and started a headlong slide into oblivion. He
grasped at the railing as it passed over his head, and
his arms were still flailing as he sailed into the air...
    And materialized in a crowded storage room,
stretched out on a transporter pad. Kira stood beside
h!m, her arms still twisted around a railing that was
no longer there. She let out loud gasp and sank to the
platform, and Sisko gripped his chest. He felt as if
his heart would pound straight out through his rib
cage.
    A young Bajoran transporter operator stared at
them from behind his console. "I... I got everybody,
didn't I?"
  "You did fine, son," breathed Sisko.
    Kira scrambled to her feet and bounded off the
platform. "What by the holy orbs happened?"
    "I don't know," the Bajoran answered. "We don't
keep any explosives near the arches. One of the pylons
just blew up!"
    Kira slapped her comm badge again while Sisko
rose slowly to his feet. Maybe he wouldn't come back
here to witness the Hannibal being launched, he
decided. He could monitor it just fine from the space
station.
    "Major Kira to Director Amkot," she barked. "Di-
rector, I need to speak with you. Now."
    "Major Kira!" came an excited male voice. "Are
you all right?"
    "We should be dead, but your transporter is at least
working. What happened to that arch?"
    There was a pause before Amkot responded, "We
won't know until we conduct an investigation."
    "You can't even make a guess?" asked Kira incredu-
lously.
    "If I had to make a guess," said the hoarse voice, "it
would be sabotage. Our security around the ship has
been tight, very tight, but perhaps it wasn't tight
enough aboveground. Offhand, the only thing I could
imagine that would cause those explosions would be
timed charges planted inside the pylon. We are re-
viewing maintenance records to see who had access to
it."
    Kira glanced at her commander to see if he wanted
to interject anything, and he nodded. "This is Com-
mander Benjamin Sisko of Deep Space Nine," his
voice thundered. "I think we should meet to discuss
this."
    "Of course, Commander!" came the reply. "I want
to assure you that this incident had nothing to do with
your presence here, nothing! Arch number three is the
center arch, so it was the most obvious target. The
charges could have been set days ago, or weeks ago.
You know, there is considerable opposition to us
building a starship for the Federation, instead of
Bajor."
    "Will you be able to repair it in time for the
launch?" asked Sisko.
    "Yes, Commander. It will take some doing, but we
can move a center arch from one of the other bays.
They're not in use. If you would like to discuss this
further, I am headed to my office now."
    "We will meet you there," Sisko concluded. He
nodded to his first officer.
"Kira out," she replied through clenched teeth.
Commander Sisko just looked away, deeply sad-
dened by Director Amkot's explanation. The planet of
Bajor could be a paradise, as it once was, but sabotage
and terrorism had become a way of life for too many
Bajorans. If only they could stop this insanity! Until
they did, the Bajorans were every bit as dangerous and
unpredictable as the antimatter that was headed their
way.

    In his spartan, windowless office on Deep Space
Nine, Security Chief Odo continued to page through
various Starfleet reports and documents concerning
the shipment and handling of antimatter. For two
days, he had been boning up on the subject in antici-
pation of the shipment that would arrive by convoy in
about twenty-four hours. Having never served aboard
a starship, the alien shapeshifter had little firsthand
experience with matter/antimatter propulsion sys-
tems and antimatter storage pods. He knew only one
thing for certain: the more he read about the stuff, the
less he liked it.
    In his analytical way, Odo summarized the most
important points about antimatter on his computer
screen. Thus far, everything he had learned was
troubling. For the hundredth time, he turned to his
screen and studied his notes:

1. Antimatter is the most dangerous substance
   ever discovered. When it comes into contact
   with matter, both are annihilated in a devastat-
   ing explosion.
2. Under controlled circumstances, this power is
   used to drive a starship, but a warp-core
   meltdown can result in total destruction.
3. When not in use, antimatter must be stored in a
   special pod that contains the substance within
   magnetic fields. If the pod is breached or
   ruptured, the result is total destruction.
4. The danger to a starship is so great that the
   warp core and antimatter pods are designed to
   be ejected in an emergency.
5. Antimatter cannot be transported, except in
   minute quantities. Antimatter storage pods
   must be shipped and handled manually.
6. Antimatter cannot be replicated. It is generated
   in a handful of major Starfleet refueling facili-
   ties, all of them deep in Federation space.
7. The expected shipment, 2,000 cubic meters of
   antimatter in 20 storage pods, is enough to
   power a starship for two years.
8. Starfleet only ships antimatter in special tanker
   craft that are protected by a minimum of two
   Starfleet cruisers.
9. Antimatter is one of the rarest and most valu-
   able commodities in the galaxy.

    Odo couldn't bear to read any more. He shut off his
screen, leaned back in his chair, and stared at the wall.
Despite the lack of features in his oddly unformed
face, no one could have mistaken the look of concern
in his tightened jaw and pinpoint eyes. After the
arrival of the tanker and her escorts, Deep Space Nine
was to be the waystation for twenty antimatter storage
pods, until the Bajorans sent enough shuttlecraft to
take them to the shipyard on the planet. Between the
arrival of the convoy and the departure of the last
storage pod, he didn't want to think about all the
terrible things that could happen.
    His door chimed cheerfully, and he scowled. "En-
ter."
    The door whooshed open, and the cherubic face of
Miles O'Brien peered around the corner. "You wanted
to see me, Constable?"
    Odo's scowl deepened. He despised that obnoxious
nickname pinned on him by Commander Sisko, but
he would let it pass today. He had more important
worries. "Yes, Chief. Thank you for coming."
    O'Brien strode into the room and stood at easy
attention. After a moment, he said with concern, "Are
you all right?"
    "I am most certainly not all right," snapped Odo.
"How would you feel if you were in charge of the
safekeeping of twenty containers of antimatter?"
    "Oh, that," scoffed the chiefi "We had thirty storage
pods aboard the Enterprise. Never gave us a lick of
trouble." He frowned in remembrance. "Well, maybe
I shouldn't say 'never.' Antimatter is always tricky
stuff."
  "Just how volatile is it?"
    O'Brien chuckled. "How volatile is it? Well, let's
put it this way--a fistful of antimatter would be
enough to destroy half this station."
    When he saw that his answer didn't do much to
lighten Odo's mood, O'Brien added, "But it's perfect-
ly safe, if it's contained. We have ships docking here
all the time that have antimatter on board."
    "But we've never had any on board the station,"
Odo countered. He shifted in his seat, uncomfortable
to be exhibiting so much fear. "I've been reading
everything I can find about it, and I don't like what
I'm finding out. Do you have any recommendations?"
    The chief of operations considered the question for
a moment before replying, "Only one thing. There's
quite a black market in the stuff, because almost every
ship with a warp drive needs it. And the storage pods
are self-contained--you could take one and leave the
rest alone. I'd be more concerned about thievery than
an accident."
    "Thievery," Odo repeated thoughtfully. He stood
with determination. "Chief, may I buy you a drink
down at Quark's establishment?"

    Despite the fact that Director Amkot said he was
headed straight for his office, Commander Sisko and
Major Kira sat impatiently in uncomfortable chrome
furniture for almost half an hour. For the dozenth
time, Sisko surveyed the room. Like most things
Bajoran, the furnishings were stylish, even if some of
them had seen better days. A double-paned window
looked out upon a pair of robotic arc welders, which
now sat quietly, their job over. Behind them, one of
the gleaming nacelles of the Hannibal was visible,
looking like a sleek silver fish. Natural light from
above filtered into the immense pit, adding to the
underwater illusion.
    Amkot's desk looked like a slab of black epoxy,
although it was chipped and scratched in various
places, as if it had spent several years in careless
storage. His chair looked considerably more comfort-
able than the one Sisko was sitting in. At least it had
padding. A huge diagram of the Hannibal covered one
entire wall, and behind the desk were a number of
diplomas and citations, all etched on brightly colored
slabs. There were blank spaces on the walls, too,
where citations had apparently been removed.
    More for the sake of conversation than from over-
whelming curiosity, Sisko asked, "What do you sup-
pose went in those blank spaces on the wall?"
    Kira stiflened in her seat. "Commendations, I
suppose--from the Cardassians. It's well known that
Amkot Groell was a collaborator. But he managed to
keep this facility open, even if they didn't build any
ships. He maintained the equipment, waiting for this
day. We all had to do unpleasant things, Amkot more
than most. He is still resented for it in some quarters."
    "How does the provisional government feel about
him?"
    Kira smiled grimly. "That depends on how the
Federation feels about their new starship. If it brings
more business to the shipyards, he'll be a hero. If it's a
failure--" She didn't have to finish the sentence.
    The door opened abruptly, and both Kira and Sisko
stood, relieved to finally see somebody. Amkot Groell
was a small man, with disheveled white hair that
made him look like a mad professor. He was followed
into the room by a distinguished older woman wear-
ing a finely tailored suit. The ridges on the bridge of
her nose looked like manicured hedges, and she wore
a jewel that dwarfed one entire ear.
    "Please excuse me, please!" begged the director.
"Just as I was coming here, I heard that Minister
Roser was en route. Naturally, I had to meet her.
Excuse me again--I am Director Amkot Groell, and
this is Roser Issa, Minister of Public Works."
    Sisko nodded. "Commander Benjamin Sisko of
Deep Space Nine. This is my first officer, Major Kira
Nerys."
    "Of course, of course," stuttered the little man.
"How are you, Major? It's a pleasure to see you again.
The major was a student when she first came here on a
field trip, but that was many years ago. How do you
like seeing the yard in operation?"
    "I thought it was wonderful," replied Kira, "until it
nearly killed me."
    "Most regrettable." Amkot shook his head with
genuine sorrow. "We have doubled security, I can
assure you. In some respects, it's amazing we haven't
had more incidents."
    "That's nonsense," claimed Minister Roser. "How
could we possibly know that anyone would want to
sabotage the shipyards? Frankly, I am stunned."
    Director Amkot looked like he wanted to correct
the minister, but he screwed his mouth shut. She must
have control of the purse strings, thought Sisko. His
first officer, however, felt no such restraint.
    "Aren't you being a bit disingenuous, Minister?"
asked Kira. "I can think of a dozen factions who
oppose building this ship, from pacifists to national-
ists, with every terrorist organization in between. And
what about the Cardassians? They're hoping that if
they bide their time, the Federation will get sick of
supporting us and just go away."
    Minister Roser gave her a tight smile. "Of course,
Major, you would know about terrorist organiza-
tions."
    From the way that Kira bounced on her feet and
balled her hands into fists, Sisko could tell that she
was about to explode, and he quickly interjected, "As
a representative of the client, let me say that I'm very
pleased with the progress you've made. Frankly, I
didn't think you would finish the Hannibal on sched-
ule, but you have. Now that we're so close to comple-
tion, let's not spoil it. We all want the same thing,
don't we?"
    "Yes! Yes, we do," agreed Amkot. "Thanks to the
Federation, we have the raw materials we need, and
the work. That's what we need the most--work."
    Minister Roser added, "We could also use a fusion
device and positron beam accelerator to generate our
own antimatter."
    "Let's not push things," answered Sisko. "That
would be a very tempting target, and Starfleet is too
far away to protect it. We'll get you all the antimatter
you need--to power whatever you build."
    Kira seized upon that small opening. "Commander,
does that mean we could build our own starships?"
    Sisko smiled. "We have a saying: 'All things come to
those who wait.' Now, let's get to practical matters.
What kind of explosive was it? Can we catch whoever
did it?"
    Amkot sighed and shook his head. "There isn't
much left, but we found traces of sarium krellide,
which is a common detonator and casing material."
    "I'11 send down a forensic team from the station,"
promised Sisko. "Perhaps they can help."
    Amkot clapped his hands together and tried to
appear cheerful. "Commander, may I take you on a
tour of the Hannibal?"
    "I'm afraid we don't have time now. We have our
own preparations to make. In addition to the antimat-
ter, the convoy is bringing the crew for the Hannibal's
test flights. I may assign some of my own people to go
along."
  "Can I volunteer?" asked Kira.
    "We'll see." Sisko managed a smile before he
tapped his comm badge. "Sisko to Hage. We are ready
to beam back to the runabout."
    "Yes, sir," came the reply. "Locking on to you and
Major Kira."
  "Energize when ready."
    They barely had time to nod their gOOd-byes before
the transporter beams scrambled their molecules and
whisked them away in a blaze of colored lights.
    By the time Sisko and Kira stepped from the small
transporter platform into the cramped cockpit of the
Mekong, the smile had vanished from the command-
er's face. It was replaced by a concerned frown,
matched by that of Major Kira.
    "They don't seem to realize the danger they're in,"
said the Bajoran.
    "No," answered Sisko, "and I'm not sure we do
either." He wondered if it was really a coincidence
that the arch was sabotaged just as they were standing
on it. He didn't like the fact that a relatively common-
place operation--the transfer of antimatter to a new
ship--should be a flashpoint for bitter hatreds. Most
of all, he didn't like his lack of control over the
Bajoran side of the operation.
"Shall I take us out of orbit?" asked Ensign Hage.
Sisko was stirred out of his troubled thoughts. "Let
me take the controls," he answered, slipping into the
conn seat. "I want to see if I can get us back in under
two hours."

    En route to Quark's Place on the bustling Prom-
enade, Chief O'Brien heard his communicator beep,
and he stopped midstride to answer it. Odo waited
patiently beside him.
    "Chief," said a concerned voice, "the level-three
diagnostic you ordered on cargo bay one has picked
up a few anomolies. They're probably just bad seals or
worn sensor arrays, but I thought you might want to
take a look."
    "I'll be right there," muttered O'Brien. "Out." He
turned to Odo and muttered, "Bloody Cardassians
never replaced a seal in their lives. I'd better go check
this, Odo. That's the cargo bay where we're storing the
antimatter pods."
    "Then by all means, don't let me detain you," said
the morph. "I am quite capable of questioning Quark
by myself."
    O'Brien smiled. "Yeah, but I don't know when
you'll offer to buy me a drink again."
  "Probably never," Odo answered honestly.
  "Maybe you could give me a rain check."
    Odo tilted his head puzzledly. "Why would I check
for rain in a space station?"
    "Never mind," muttered O'Brien, starting off. "I'll
make that cargo bay the safest place on the station."
    Odo offered him a slight smile. "If you do, I will buy
you that drink."
    After O'Brien strode off in the opposite direction,
Odo put his hands behind his back and continued his
stroll down the Promenade. He passed a combination
grooming/tattoo salon, a gift shop specializing in
holographic wormhole ornaments, and a restaurant
that featured live food. All of the establishments were
crowded. Publicly, Odo often complained about the
rowdy lot who passed through the station, but private-
ly he preferred to see it bustling and busy than
deserted and comatose. He liked the stimulus of so
many visitors, even if each one presented a unique
security risk.
    He could spot the tourists--the ones who had come
simply to see the only stable wormhole in existence.
And he could spot the adventurers--the ones who
were not content just to see it but had to pass through
to the little-explored Gamma Quadrant on the other
side. It was the others who concerned him--the ones
who came to this far-flung corner of the galaxy for
personal gain. Some were attracted by the lawless
elements of Bajor, a chaotic planet struggling to
rebuild itself while coping with the windfall generated
by the wormhole. Some came for honest commerce,
hoping to discover new products, services, and cus-
tomers in the Gamma Quadrant. Others came to
steal, pure and simple, to take what wasn't theirs and
make it their own. He couldn't tell who those people
were by sight, but he knew one thing about them:
    Sooner or later, they would congregate at Quark's
Place.
    Odo rounded the doorway into the gaudy, neon-lit
den of debauchery and heard the usual whoops and
hollers from the gaming tables. He smelled the nox-
ious intermingling of odors from a dozen alien foods,
none of which were ever meant to be eaten in the same
room together. He heard the clinking of glasses con-
taining substances that were, to him, incomprehensi-
ble in their appeal. And he saw the Ferengi servers
hurrying about--big-eared snaggletoothed scavengers
--grubbing money from every possible source. Most
incomprehensible of all was the steady flow of cus-
tomers marching up and down the staircase, plunking
down hard-earned cash to indulge sexual fantasies in
the holosuites overhead.
    Odo sighed, noticing that his presence did nothing
to curb any of this obnoxious behavior. The security
chief wouldn't care to admit it, but he probably spent
more time in Quark's Place than anyone, except the
employees and a chubby alien named Morn. His
presence had long since failed to raise any eyebrow
ridges.
    He strolled over to the bar, where the proprietor,
Quark, was going over inventory on a computer padd.
Odo leaned on the bar and asked without enthusiasm,
"How's business, Quark?"
    The Ferengi frowned. "Pretty good, until you came
in."
    "Would that was so," muttered Odo. He glanced
around the saloon and said matter-of-factly, "How
many people here have private starships?"
    Quark laughed and replied, "Almost all of them. We
can't all be privileged enough to belong to the Federa-
tion or the Klingon Empire."
    Odo nodded. "How many of those starships are
powered by matter/antimatter reactors?"
    Now Quark set down his padd, leaned across the
bar, and lowered his voice to say, "What are you
getting at, Odo?"
  "How much is antimatter worth?"
  Quark smiled. "Why, have you got some?"
    The shapeshifter grimaced in disgust. "No, but the
station is getting some. Twenty storage pods of anti-
matter. But of course, you knew that."
    Quark picked up his padd. "Well, it's not a secret.
At least, not much of one. If some of that shipment
were to be, shall we say, diverted--I'm sure a consid-
erable profit could be turned. We're in an excellent
position to sell antimatter, because any ship would
want to be well stocked before they enter the worm-
hole and begin a long journey in the Gamma
Quadrant."
  "How much profit? Give me an estimate."
    Quark smiled with the pleasure of estimating the
profit on an illegal deal. "It's a substance that cannot
be replicated or easily manufactured. Of course, stor-
age is a problem. I could probably get seven bars of
gold-pressed latinum for an empty storage pod. A full
one would net sixty, if the bidding were spirited."
    Odo stood erect. That was more than he had
estimated--considerably more. He looked around the
room. "You would tell me, wouldn't you, if somebody
were planning to steal any of that shipment?"
    "Steal it?" scoffed Quark. "From a Starfleet convoy
guarded by a couple of cruisers? Antimatter is valu-
able, but it's not worth getting killed over."
Odo lowered his voice. "What about stealing it
from a cargo bay?"
    "That would depend," said Quark. "What cargo
bay is it going to be in?"
    Odo gave the Ferengi a sly smile. "You didn't
answer my question, so I'm not going to answer yours.
I will just say one more thing: If I hear of any
conspiracy to steal even a single pod of that antimat-
ter, I will throw whoever is involved--and I mean
whoever--off Deep Space Nine for good. Do I make
myself understood?"
    Quark laughed nervously. "Why tell me that? I'm a
bartender, not an antimatter merchant. Now, you're
wasting my time, and I've got business to attend to."
    "By all means," said Odo snidely, "don't let me
keep you from your business." The shapeshifter
strode quickly toward the door.
    Odo had learned from long practice that it was wise
not to hurry away from Quark's establishment. To
attract customers, there were several gaudy blinking
signs in the windows of the place, and he had found
that he could stop just outside one of them and peer
in, with the bright lights affording him a bit of
camouflage. From that vantage point, he often saw
what Quark did immediately after one of his visits,
and that knowledge was often very elucidatory.
    He could see Quark summon his brother, Rom, to
the bar and whisper something to him. Rom scurried
off and returned a moment later with another Ferengi
whom Odo didn't know. The discussion between
Quark and the strange Ferengi quickly turned into an
argument, and the customer waved his hands and
stalked off. Quark shook his head glumly, as if he had
just lost money.
  Odo walked away from the window, content that he
had warned Quark off trying to pull anything with the
antimatter shipment. But Quark was only one
Ferengi, and there were scores of them infecting the
station at the moment. For sixty bars oflatinum, most
of them would do almost anything, including selling
their naked mothers into slavery. Plus, there were all
those other unsavory characters around.
    The security chief would not rest comfortably in his
pail until the last storage pod of antimatter was safely
off DS9 and on its way to Bajor.

CHAPTER
      2

JADZIA DAX PULLED BACK her sleek dark hair and
fastened the subdued ponytail with an ornate silver
barrette. The style revealed the intricate pattern of
small spots that ran along her hairline and down her
slender neck and shoulders. She fastened her tunic,
noticing her nicely formed breasts, which were impos-
sible to hide in a Starfleet uniform. Dax did her best to
look plain and unassuming, but it was a losing battle.
Men's heads turned in her direction wherever she
went on the station, and some did more than look.
Quark usually licked his lips and proffered obscene
proposals, and Julian Bashir--sweet childish Julian
mkept asking her out on dates. Unfortunately, she
found men's advances to be more amusing than
seductive, and she attributed that to the fact that in
several of her host lifetimes, including the most
recent, she had been a man.
  Dax seldom thought in terms of being two distinct
identities merged in one bodymone a three-hundred-
year-old androgynous scientist and the other a twenty-
eight-year-old woman--but at times one or the other
of her components would exert itself. In her last
incarnation, as Curzon Dax, the humanoid part of her
being had often taken the lead, especially in terms of
the hell-raising and womanizing he was famous for
across the galaxy. The current Trill was not at all like
that character, much to the amazement of Benjamin
Sisko. Benjamin kept expecting to see some of that old
devil-may-care attitude, but Curzon Dax was dead,
even if his memories and knowledge lived on. Jadzia,
the young woman who had volunteered at an early age
and trained all her life to be a host, was serious and
levelheaded, which was how she thought a host ought
to be.
    She sighed as she considered her fair reflection in
the mirror. The more she considered the exploits of
Curzon Dax, the more she wondered if she was in
some way failing as a Trill. Curzon Dax would have
undoubtedly bedded a fair number of the female
population of DS9 by now, but she couldn't even
bring herself to bed a single man, when the candidates
were both plentiful and eager. Curzon Dax had been
able to party all night, but Jadzia Dax preferred to
snuggle up in bed with a badly written Cardassian
operations manual.
    While training, she thought ruefully, she had heard
all about the scientific and humanitarian exploits of
Curzon Dax. When meeting people who knew him, all
she heard about were his romantic escapades and
death-defying adventures. Her merged memory was
full of them. Perhaps that was why she felt little need
to pursue the sensual side of life. She realized now
that it was pure luck that Curzon Dax had lived to be
an old man.
    She remembered her training. They drilled her on
Trill traditions, physical stamina, adaptation tech-
niquesmall the preparation necessary to make a
smooth transition. But they didn't tell her that merg-
ing with the symbiont was the easy part. The hard part
was living up to everyone's expectations, including
her own. People expected a Trill to be some kind of
superbeing, possessed of several lifetimes of knowl-
edge and experience. But Jadzia Dax couldn't be all
those people, even if they all combined to make her
what she was. She could only be herself.
    Sometimes she felt like an inexperienced person
with overexperienced memories. It was an odd di-
chotomy, thought the Trill, and she wondered how
much she could trust her secondhand memories.
    Her comm badge beeped, and she blinked herself
out of her reverie. "Dax here," she answered.
    "It's Kira," came the reply. "I know you're off duty.
I hope I'm not interrupting anything."
    Dax smiled at the irony. "No, I'm just getting
dressed." Kira was one of her best friends aboard
DS9. Benjamin Sisko was an old friend, but he was a
friend of Curzon Dax's. Kira was the only friend
Jadzia Dax had made, if you didn't count Dr. Julian
Bashir, who wanted other things than just friendship.
    "I was wondering if we could get together for a
drink, or an I'Danian spice, or something?" asked
Kira.
    "Certainly," answered Dax. "How was your trip to
the shipyard?"
    "Well, good and bad. Somebody tried to sabotage
the bay where they're building the Hannibal, but it
won't stop us. We're going to launch that ship."
    "I'm sure you are," said Dax, sensing the worry in
her friend's voice. "Where shall we meet?"
    "Quark's Place?" answered Kira. "Or any place is
okay."
 "No," said Dax, "Quark's Place will be fine."
 "Ten minutes then?"
 "Ten minutes," Dax agreed.

    Commander Sisko paced around Ops, the control
center of the station, and Chief O'Brien could tell that
he was worried. The commander hadn't gone into
much detail when he had summoned the chief, so he
couldn't tell how serious it was. But coming on top of
Odo's concerns, all of this fuss over the antimatter
shipment was getting to be a nuisance. Didn't any of
them realize that handling antimatter was a piece of
cake? A Starfleet tanker would certainly have storage
pods of the latest design, as well as automated loading
and unloading facilities. Cargo bay one was in good
shape, at least as good as could be expected for
anything built by Cardassians.
    Of course, other things were going haywire all over
the station, which meant that O'Brien didn't have the
luxury of worrying about one shipment of antimatter.
    "To make a long story short," said Sisko, "some-
body sabotaged one of the arches that span the bay
where they're building the Hannibal. I don't suppose,
Chief, that you know anything about planetary-based
shipyards?"
    O'Brien scowled. "I've read about them in history
books."
    That brought a smile to Sisko's face. "I know the
technology is outdated, but it's still fairly impressive.
They use tractor beams to lift the ship out of the pit,
and that's where the arches come in. Anyway, I want
you to take a team down there and check out the site
of the explosion. They couldn't find much, but I'm not
sure how hard they looked. I would like to catch
whoever did it before they try something else."
    "Begging your pardon, sir, but the power is out in
airlock six, and I have to rebuild one of the microwave
links. Plus, I have a dozen complaints about the air
quality 9n level nineteen in the habitat ring, and..."
    Sisko held up his hand to silence the chief. "I know
you've got more than you can handle already, but it
will be a disaster for the Bajorans if that ship doesn't
launch on schedule. And I simply don't have anybody
else I can trust with this matter. Actually, I want you
back in twenty hours, when the antimatter shipment
is due to arrive, so you won't be gone forever, But you
must leave as soon as you assemble your team."
    O'Brien nodded with resignation. "Is nepotism
allowed, sir?"
 "Nepotism?"
    "In other words, could I take my wife? Keiko has
been dying to see something else besides these
damned gray walls. She's an excellent chemist, and
she always knows who in her classroom threw the
spitball."
    Sisko smiled. "Certainly, Chief, it's your team. If
you find anything unusual, let me know first, before
you tell Director Amkot."
    "Yes, sir," agreed O'Brien. Heading toward the
turbolift, he was already assembling his team in his
head--himself, Keiko, a Bajoran for political consid-
erations, and the best pilot he could find on short
order.

    After reaching the bar, Dax and Kira had barely
alighted in their chairs when the obsequious Quark
was headed in their direction. He was rubbing his
hands in anticipation. In anticipation of what, Dax
didn't want to imagine.
    "Hello, ladies," he intoned, grinning like a feral rat.
His eyes never left various parts of Dax's anatomy.
"What will be your pleasure today?"
  "Just a Tellarite fizz for me," said Kira.
    Dax smiled pleasantly. "I'll have some water and a
grilled cheese sandwich."
    Quark blinked in amazement. "A grilled cheese
sandwich? Isn't that some sort of terribly mundane
Terran food?"
    "Yes, it is," said Dax. "I've never had one before,
but I remember that I used to like them."
    Quark started off, then paused to do a double take.
The Ferengi finally just shook his head and scurried to
the food replicatot.
    Kira raised an eyebrow. "You never had one before,
but you know you like them?"
    Dax nodded. "It's something that Curzon Dax used
to eat a lot. I've decided to try a few of the things he
liked--if they're not too dangerous or disgusting."
    Kira didn't pursue the matter, because she had
more pressing concerns. "Let me tell you what hap-
pened on Bajor," she began. In concise detail, she
related the near-fatal accident that resulted from
explosive charges planted in the pylon of an archway.
Dax listened with growing alarm, because she knew
how important the shipyards were to the Bajoran
recovery program. More disturbing was the possibili-
ty that the shipyards weren't the primary target.
  "Nobody else was in danger?" asked Dax.
    "No, not immediate danger," answered Kira. "We
were the only ones up there. I know what you're
thinking, but I don't think they were after us. Killing
us wouldn't stop anything. I know these people and
their methods, and they'll just try again, probably
closer to the launch date."
 "What can we do to stop them?"
    Kira leaned forward and said, "That's what I
wanted to talk to you about." But before she could
continue, Quark appeared with a tray containing a tall
bubbling drink, a glass of water, and something flat
and oozing on a plate.
    "Here are your orders, ladies," he smiled. He set
down the drinks and looked suspiciously at the gooey
sandwich. "Are you sure you want to eat this, Lieuten-
ant? It looks like something a Denebian slime devil
would drag into its nest."
    Dax tried not to look dismayed. "Are you sure you
cooked it long enough?"
    Quark nodded eagerly. "Oh, I'm sure of that. It
didn't look very good when I took it out the first time,
so I ran it through again. I'm afraid it looks worse
now."
 "Leave it, and I'll just try a bite," said Dax.
 "You'll still have to pay for it," Quark insisted.
 "Understood."
    The Ferengi grinned and rubbed his hands together.
"Of course, Lieutenant, we could work out a sort of
barter system. I can get you plenty of these, if you
would just consent to--"
    "Thank you," said Dax, cutting him off. "Bring me
the bill."
    Quark shrugged, as if there was no harm in asking,
then scurried off.
    Kira sighed impatiently. "I wonder if he has a
holosuite program where I could bash his head in?
Anyway, Dax, I can tell you what I think we ought to
do. I don't think we should wait until the antimatter
arrives and the Hannibal is officially launched. I think
we should send a crew down to that starship, demand
that they raise it from the bay, and take it into orbit
right then and there. The impulse engines don't need
antimatter to work."
    Dax shook her head. "But the shakedown crew is
coming with the antimatter. They're going to want to
go over every centimeter of that ship, and check the
launch procedures thoroughly. There are about six
volumes of Starfleet regulations to govern the first
flight of a new starship."
    Kira slammed her fist on the table. "The hell with
regulations! If we wait that long, they're sure to strike
again. Believe me, these people are capable of any-
thing, including a suicide mission. Do you think you
could tell the commander to adopt this emergency
plan?"
  "Why don't you tell him?"
"He won't do it if I tell him. But he'll listen to you."
Dax shook her head. "I'm sorry, but the chances are
nil of getting Benjamin Sisko to commandeer a Feder-
ation starship that hasn't even been checked out yet.
Unless an admiral tells him to do it."
    The Bajoran's shoulders slumped. "Then we're in
serious trouble," she muttered. "I want to see that
starship handed over to the Federation--intact."
    "So do I," answered the Trill. "But if we can't do it
safely, under the proper precautions and regulations,
the Federation is not going to be impressed. Your
people have to rise to the occasion. They have to
protect the Hannibal until it's officially launched.
This is a test for them, I know, but they're going to
have to be responsible."
    Kira gnawed her lip and lowered her head. Dax
touched her friend's hand and added, "I will ask the
commander if there's anything we can do to help with
security. But we have our own responsibility--
keeping the antimatter safe."
    From the corner of her eye, Dax saw a figure lurking
nearby. She turned to see Quark, standing within easy
earshot. He smiled and hustled forward to set a small
tray in front of her. "Your bill."
    Dax mimicked his obsequious smile. "How long
have you been listening to us?"
    "Listening to you?" asked Quark with alarm. "I
only stopped to... to recheck the figures on your bill.
I wasn't sure how much to charge for a grilled cheese
sandwich."
    Kira gazed up at him. "What have you heard about
the launching of the Hannibal? Have you heard of
anybody who's planning to disrupt it?"
    The Ferengi looked aghast. "Odo was in here today
asking very similar questions. Do I look like some sort
of repository for rumors?"
  "Yes," the women answered in unison.
    "Well, I'm not!" he protested. "I mean, I hear a few
rumors, but what do they really mean? I think that
most people are excited about the Bajorans building
ships again. More business for them means more
business for all of us. Get you another fizz, Major?"
    Kira opened her mouth to respond, but her comm
badge beeped instead. She answered it with a curt
"Major Kira."
      "Commander Sisko," came the deep-voiced reply.
"I understand that Lieutenant Dax is with you."
  "Yes, she is, Commander."
    "Could both of you report to Ops as soon as
possible? I want to go over our preparations for the
arrival of the convoy tomorrow."
    "Certainly, Commander. Kira out." The Bajoran
stood abruptly. "I am going to tell him what I think,
even if he doesn't listen."
    "That's your prerogative," said Dax. She stood and
placed a few coins on the table, then looked pointedly
at Quark. "You will tell us if you hear anything, won't
you?"
    "Of course," answered the Ferengi. After the offi-
cers walked away, he smiled, picked up the coins, and
added under his breath, "If there's something in it for
me."

    A sudden wind kicked up bits of the crusty sand
that covered twenty million square kilometers known
as the Okana Desert, and Keiko O'Brien pulled the
goggles over her eyes. When Miles had promised her a
trip to the planet, she had envisioned green forests,
perhaps a lake or a stream. Instead she got a barren
desert with hot gritty winds. For this, she had canceled
her afternoon class? Well, at least her reprieved stu-
dents were enjoying themselves, even if she wasn't.
    With her gloved hands, the petite woman of Asian
descent continued scraping burn residue off a large
chunk of mangled metal into a small plastic pouch.
Miles and one of his Bajoran assistants were crouched
about twenty meters away, scouring the sand for bits
of the bomb casing that had scattered in the explo-
sion. Keiko tried not to let her mind wander, but this
was tedious, brain-numbing work. Still, it was a break
from her routine. One thing you could say about
Bajor, she decided, was that it was geologically di-
verse. Deserts, forests, seas, mountains--you could
find it all without looking very far, much like Earth.
She instantly regretted thinking about Earth, because
that only made her homesick.
    Suddenly, her knife struck something hard, much
harder than burn residue. She peered closely at the
area she had been scraping and saw tiny formations of
crystal. That certainly wasn't supposed to be there,
and it didn't jibe with what they had been told about
the explosions. She looked up at the immense black
arch that curved off into the distance. The explosions
had damaged it and buckled it in places, but they
hadn't come close to bringing it down.
    Over a kilometer away, Keiko could see a Bajoran
work crew gathered around a similar arch that
spanned an unused bay. They were painstakingly
dissassembling the pylon in preparation for moving
the arch to the active bay, to replace the damaged one.
Two Bajoran shuttlecraft sat grounded nearby, wait-
ing to lift the arch. Directly in front of her, an
immense open pit surrounded a gleaming starship
that had never flown, nor moved so much as a
centimeter. Behind it, the sun was beginning to slip
beneath the pockmarked plain.
    "Miles!" she called. She had to scream his name
again in order to be heard above the wind.
    He came jogging toward her, his Bajoran assistant
close behind. "Only you!" she called. "Redac can keep
working."
    Miles nodded and instructed his assistant to keep
scouring the sand for evidence. He ran the rest of the
way and knelt down beside her.  "What have you found?"
    "This," she said, pointing to the crystallized re-
mains. "I think it's the fixative that held the charge in
place. Or what's left of it."
  O'Brien squinted at the deposits. "What is it?"
  "Unless I miss my guess," said Keiko, "it's bad
news. I want to take a sample and go back to the
runabout right away. I don't want to alarm anybody
until I have the computer analyze it."
    "Okay," said O'Brien. "I'11 stay here and keep
looking. If you find something really strange, contact
the commander first."
 "I will," she promised.

    Benjamin Sisko had just lain down for what he
hoped would be a brief but relaxing nap. His head
hurt from all the conflicting theories and safeguards
his officers had proposed at the briefing. Major Kira
wanted to hijack the Hannibal to head off another
attempt at sabotage on the ground. Odo was certain
that Ferengi scoundrels would try to steal the storage
pods from the cargo bay, and he wanted the Starfleet
tanker to keep the antimatter, docking directly with
the Bajoran shuttlecraft. Dax wanted to beef up the
security at the shipyards, without any regard to the
touchy political considerations. And he could well
imagine O'Brien chiming in, telling everyone they
were crazy.
    The fact of the matter was that time was running
out. The convoy was en route at warp speed, and
would arrive in less than twelve hours. It was already
night on Bajor, and there wasn't a damned thing
anybody could do, except follow Starfleet procedures
and hope for the best. Sisko would never admit it, but
he was still shaken by almost losing his life on that
swaying archway. He had instructed his officers to
make no mention of the mishap, because he didn't
want word of it to get back to his son, Jake. But that
didn't stop Sisko from worrying about it.
 Just as his eyelids fluttered shut and he had almost
surrendered himself to blessed sleep, his communica-
tor sounded. The commander slapped the badge with
considerable force.
    "Sisko here. I thought I left word not to be dis-
turbed?"
    "I'm sorry, sir," responded Kira, "but it's Keiko
O'Brien with the away team. She insists upon speak-
ing to you immediately."
      Sisko sat up, willing himself awake. "Patch her in.
Private channel."  "Yes, sir."
      The next voice was one that Sisko seldom heard
over a communicator. ,'Commander Sisko?" 
 "Yes, O'Brien. What can I do for you?"
    He could hear Keiko sigh. "I'm afraid I have
disturbing news for you, sir. We were given to under-
stand that the charges that blew up the pylon could
have been set any time in the last several days."
"That is correct." Sisko felt his throat getting dry.
"That doesn't appear to be so. I found crystallized
traces of the fixative that was used to hold the charges
in place. It's an organic substance called deveride,
which the Bajorans chew for pleasure, much as
Terrans used to chew gum, betel nuts, and tobacco. I
know about deveride, because we've been studying
Bajoran customs in my class."
    "So?" asked Sisko. "I can imagine that somebody
chewed this stuff, took a wad out of their mouth, stuck
it to the charge, and slapped it in place. It only means
they were using what was at hand."
    "That's true," agreed Keiko. "But after mixing with
enzymes in the mouth, deveride completely dissolves
in the air after two hours, which is why Bajoran
mothers don't mind it so much. The only reason we
found any of it was that the heat of the explosion
 crystallized it. That charge was planted only a short
 time before it exploded."
     Now it was Sisko's turn to sigh. "Are you sure about
 that?"
    "Positive. The computer aboard the runabout has
made a positive identification. To be fair to the
Bajorans, we had to look pretty hard to find it, so they
may have made an honest mistake by telling you that
they found nothing."
    "Thank you," said Sisko. "I'm glad your husband
insisted upon taking you along. Considering the dan-
ger, I'd like all of you to return to DS9 immediately."
"Understood, sir. Keiko O'Brien out."
    Benjamin Sisko lay back in his bed, but sleep wasn't
on his mind anymore. Instead he had to cope with the
fact that somebody had tried to kill him and his first
officer. Perhaps Kira was the primary target; she had
her share of enemies. Or maybe the timing of the
bomb was still just a coincidence! What had looked so
promising--the building and launching of the first
Bajoran-built starship in fifty years--had become a
magnet for sabotage and attempted murder.
    Maybe, he told himself, this was the end of it--the
last gasp of some disgruntled fringe organization.
They had failed to disrupt the launching, had failed to
kill either him or Kira, and now they would just go
away and accept the fact that Bajor was building a
starship. What was so terrible about that? Why
couldn't people accept peace and progress?
    His troubled thoughts turned to his arrival on Deep
Space Nine, when he had hated the assignment, had
hated the station, and, most of all, had hated Captain
Jean-Luc Picard. He had been one breath away from
resigning from Starfleet over his combined hatreds,
and now he couldn't imagine a more demanding and
fulfilling post in all of Starfleet than DS9. He knew
from firsthand experience that peace was hard to
accept, because it meant giving up treasured hatreds.
It meant accepting the past as gone and turning one's
attention to the future.
    He heard the outer door whoosh open and shut, and
he knew his son, Jake, had returned for the evening.
The adolescent certainly wouldn't expect his old man
to be in bed before he was, but Sisko felt like staying in
bed. What had started out as a nap now sounded more
appealing as a good night's sleep--a sleep with
dreams in which there were no terrorists, or bombs
going off. He would wake up, and it would be a new
day, a day in which the antimatter was transferred
from the tanker to the Hannibal without incident. A
day in which Bajor was at peace and full of pride over
the starship she had built.
    He was smiling when a knock sounded on his door.
"Dad, are you in there?"
    "Sure, son," said the weary commander, rising
from his bed. "Let me kiss you good night."

    Ops was crowded in the minutes leading up to the
arrival of the convoy. On hand were the trio who
usually ran the control center, Commander Sisko,
Major Kira, and Lieutenant Dax, a full relief crew,
plus Chief O'Brien, Odo, and Director Amkot Groell
from the shipyards.
    Sisko didn't mind having the director present,
because it was up to the Bajorans and their
shuttlecraft to get the storage pods off-loaded as
quickly as possible. The director was in charge of
dispatching the shuttlecraft, and he had to get a feel
for the pace of the station's cargo movements. Sisko
 hadn't mentioned anything to the little man about
 Keiko's discovery. If at all possible, he still wanted to
 treat the attempted murder as an aberration.
    "Bearing sixteensmark-two-one-oh," said Dax. "It
looks like they're coming out of warp at a considerable
distance from the station. Considerable distance from
the planet and the wormhole, too. I estimate their
reentry coordinates will put them about twenty thou-
sand kilometers from us."
    Kira made a wry smile. "I guess they don't want to
take any chances. Probably nobody on these ships has
ever been here before."
    "They've come a long way with your antimatter,"
Sisko reminded the Bajoran. "All the way from Alpha
Centauri. So forgive them if they don't know the
territory and are a little cautious."
    "They may not have been here before," said Chief
O'Brien, "but there will be a veteran crew on that
tanker, I can tell ya. And the shakedown crew will all
be senior officers."
    "Expect to see somebody you know, Chief" asked
Kira.
  O'Brien shrugged. "You never know."
  Sisko queried, "What's their ETA?"
"Two minutes and thirty seconds," answered Dax.
Sisko looked around at faces that were intent but
calm, and he wondered what he had been worried
about. The Hannibal was nearing completion right on
schedule, and the antimatter was likewise arriving on
schedule. Two Starfleet cruisers would take up resi-
dence around DS9 until the transfer was complete,
and security had been doubled at every level. It would
take more than a couple of little bombs to upset this
applecart.
    Sisko was growing more confident by the moment,
until he caught sight of Odo's seamless face. The veins
on the morph's neck were taut, like cables, as his
head swiveled from one console to another, double-
checking everyone's readouts.
    The commander cleared his throat. "Constable, I
presume you are happy with your security prep-
arations?"
    "'Happy' is not the word I would use," snapped
Odo. "I am satisfied that I have taken every precau-
tion available, but there are too many inherent dan-
gers with this antimatter. I'll be 'happy' when it's
gone."
 "Neutrino level increasing," announced Dax.
    "Neutrino level?" echoed the commander. "We
weren't expecting any traffic out of the wormhole."
    Dax squinted at her readouts and shook her head.
"It's not coming from the wormhole, Commander.
The source is unknown, just a general increase."
    "That wouldn't have anything to do with the tanker,
would it?" asked Amkot Groell.
    "It shouldn't," said the commander. Without ap-
pearing unduly concerned, he strode slowly behind
Dax's console. "Lieutenant, check for other readings,
like plasma trails or unusual heat sources."
    Dax looked up at him with her expressive eyes, and
he knew she understood what he was thinking. She
said nothing, and if anybody else suspected what was
on their minds, they said nothing. Chief O'Brien,
however, began to pace at the edge of the circular
room.
    "ETA in one minute and fourteen seconds," pro-
claimed Dax. Then she bolted upright in her chair.
"Sudden influx in both heat and plasma readings!"
    Sisko leaned over her shoulder. "Where! Can you
pinpoint them?"
    "Bearing five-mark-two-nine." She stared at him.
"Nineteen thousand kilometers away. That's out of
our phaser range, but we might be within theirs."
    "Red alert!" shouted Sisko. "Shields up! Kira, hail
the tanker."
    Kira punched a few buttons on her panel; then her
eyes widened with horror. "We're being jammed!
Every subspace frequency. Massive interference!"
  "What is going on?" asked Odo.
    O'Brien stepped toward the viewscreen, staring at
what looked like thousands of harmless kilometers of
empty space. "Bloody hell," he muttered. "Who's out
there?"
    "Somebody who's jamming us like crazy!" shouted
Kira. She slapped her board with frustration. "We
can't hail the convoy unless we boost our signal. And
we can't do that with our shields up."
    O'Brien muttered, "We can't do that, anyway, un-
less we switch a lot of relays manually. Idiot
Cardassians."
    "Keep trying to hail them," ordered Sisko. His face
became an ebony mask of calm control that belied the
turmoil in the pit of his stomach. He leaned over
Dax's shoulder. "How many are there? Can you tell?"
     "At least two," she said. "They've stopped, so their
heat trails are becoming undetectable."
 "Two what?" Odo demanded.
    "Cloaked ships," answered Sisko. He stood at atten-
tion and announced in his sternest voice, "Attention,
all hands! This is Commander Sisko. The station is on
red alert. There are at least two cloaked vessels in
immediate proximity, and their intentions are un-
known. If you are in an airlock or the docking ring,
make an orderly withdrawal. Avoid those areas until
further notice. Sisko out."
"The convoy is coming out of warp," said Dax.
Sisko's jaw tightened, and he had the unpleasant
feeling that he knew why somebody had tried to kill
him yesterday.

CHAPTER
      3

"I'M trying to hail the convoy!" IGra said with
frustration. "But they're still jamming us!"
    Sisko prowled behind the consoles, his fists
clenched. "Is there any way we could divert more
power to communications?"
    "There's not enough time," replied the Trill.
"They're coming out of warp in ten seconds--with
shields down."
    O'Brien gripped the handrails. "Good God, they're
sitting ducks!"
    Sisko slammed his fist on the back of Dax's chair.
"Can we do anything, Dax? What are the options?"
    She shook her head glumly. "None, Benjamin.
We're out of transporter and weapon range, and we
can't move the station fast enough to do any good. We
can put it on the screen and watch--that's about all."
"We can protect the wormhole," Sisko vowed. He
slapped his comm badge. "Sisko to runabout pad A.
Which runabout is fueled?"
 "The Mekong is ready, sir."
    "Prepare it for launch. Sisko out." His jaw tight-
ened as he ordered, "On screen."
    Panning the coordinates twenty thousand kilome-
ters away, Dax picked up three blinding streaks, which
abruptly turned into three midsize starships and came
to a complete stop. The two Starfleet cruisers looked
like silver wedges, built for speed and the ability to
escape if they were outgunned. The tanker was a boxy
construct, like a large shuttlecraft, with a complex
docking nose that could match up with just about
anything that flew or orbited. Each ship had a crew of
about twenty, Sisko knew, plus passengers, who in this
case were the test crew for the Hannibal. He racked
his brain, trying to think of something to do, while he
waited for an innocuous patch of space to turn into
something deadly.
    He didn't have to wait long, as two rapacious-
looking Klingon Birds-of-Prey shimmered into view,
a microsecond before their phaser banks opened fire.
Beside him, O'Brien cringed at the onslaught and
lowered his head. The first volley raked the two
cruisers and crackled along their hulls like lightning,
and the ships teetered back and forth. But they held
together. At least, thought Sisko, the Klingons weren't
fool enough to shoot at the tanker itself; the resulting
explosion would probably obliterate all of them.
    "I'm getting through!" announced Kira. "I told
them to put their shields up. They're trying to do so."
    "Get me an ID on those Klingons," ordered Sisko.
"I don't see any official markings."
  "Running scanners," answered Dax.
    The next volley was even more devastating. One of
the cruisers was completely disabled and went as dark
as the deadest asteroid. The other one took a blast,
then blipped away into warp drive. Sisko couldn't
blame them--in a massacre, it all came down to
survival. He hoped the tanker would be lucky enough
to escape into warp drive.
    "They're locking on to the tanker with a tractor
beam," announced Dax.
    "Of course!" said Sisko, pounding his fist into his
palm. "That's how they're going to take the antimat-
ter. They can't beam over because the tanker has her
shields up. They have to take the whole ship." He grew
somber. "Any word from the cruiser that's out of
commission?"
    "None," answered Kira. "No response, and all
channels are open."
    Dax added, "The Klingon ships are renegades. The
Klingon High Council is offering rewards on the
captains' heads. Higher if you turn in only their
heads."
    Sisko sighed bitterly and muttered, "It's all over.
Like that. As soon as it's safe, we have to look for
survivors."
    Then his dark eyes brightened with a new thought.
"You know, I don't think even a Bird-of-Prey can go
very fast towing a tanker with a tractor beam. We
could dog them a little."
    He looked around at his command officers, many of
whom he was still getting to know. He certainly didn't
know any of them well enough to send them on a
suicide mission. "I'm taking the runabout," he de-
clared. "Is anyone fool enough to want to come with
me?"
 Dax nodded resolutely. "I want to go."
    Sisko smiled. "All right, old man," he agreed.
"Anybody else?"
    Odo put his hands behind his back and stepped
forward. "May I go?"
    The commander smiled puzzledly. "Odo, I'm not
sure this is such a bright idea--chasing two Klingon
Birds-of-Prey in a runabout. Do you want to recon-
sider?"
    "No, sir. I was the first one who predicted there
would be trouble over this antimatter shipment. I feel
as if this is my case. Besides, I want to see if there are
any Ferengi involved."
  "Okay." Sisko nodded.
  "Count me in, too," said O'Brien.
    Sisko shook his head. "I'm sorry, Chief, but I need
you here. If Dax and I were--delayed--we would
need at least one ranking Federation officer here.
Besides, I don't think DS9 can operate without you."
    He turned to Kira. "That's it. Major, you are in
charge until we get back. You might want to prepare
another runabout to look for survivors."
    "I will, Commander." The Bajoran smiled. "Good
luck, and get our antimatter back."
    "We'll try." The commander motioned to his tiny
crew and headed for the turbolift. He was almost out
when he heard O'Brien yell.
  "Commander! They were playing possum!"
    The crippled cruiser suddenly came alive with a
vibrant surge that lit it from stem to stern. It raked the
nearest Klingon ship with an array of photon torpe-
does at point-blank range. Because the Bird-of-Prey
had been using its tractor beam, its shields were down,
and it sparkled like a pigeon hitting a live wire. Just as
suddenly, the second cruiser came out of warp drive,
its phasers blazing. The other Bird-of-Prey went reel-
ing under the blast, and the battle was rejoined.
  Sisko, Odo, and Dax dashed to the turbolift.
    The runabout Mekong shot away from the dock
with Sisko piloting, but they had only gone a thousand
kilometers when they saw something that horrified
them. One of the Klingon vessels had backed away
from the main battle and was steadily emptying its
phasers into the tanker. Her shields were holding,
temporarily, but such an action was the height of
lunacy.
    "Those idiots!" growled Sisko. "If even one blast
gets through to those storage pods, we'll all be space
junk!"
    He opened all channels and calmly said, "This is
Commander Sisko of Deep Space Nine. Come in,
Klingon vessel."
    There was no answer, so he remarked, "Klingon
vessel, if you continue firing at that tanker, our
families will be screaming the death howl tonight."
    On his small screen, the brutal face of a Klingon
appeared. His bony brow was crosscut with a variety
of ancient scars, and he wheezed a sickly laugh.' "My
family screams the death howl every night, for they
have been told of my death a thousand times. By lying
scum like you? He spit in contempt. "vljonta!"
    "You may not care if you die," said Sisko, "but what
about your crew? The Klingons on the other ship?"
    "We want one thing, human," scowled the Klingon.
"We want the tanker to lower her shields. Tell her, or
we keep firing."
    Benjamin Sisko looked to Dax, sitting beside him,
but she could only shrug. A civilized Klingon wasn't
easy to deal with, and a renegade Klingon was a
hundred times more reckless. Both of the Starfleet
cruisers were idle in space, spent by the battle, divert-
ing all their power to their shields and life-support.
The second Klingon cruiser was limping away at
impulse power, but the first one kept firing at the
tanker. It was a standoff, thought Sisko, except for the
fact that one of the participants was holding a loaded
grenade.
    "This is crazy," muttered Sisko. "They're commit-
ting suicide."
    "Who is committing suicide?" asked Odo, standing
behind him.
  "Everybody, including us."
    Dax sat forward, studying her readouts on the Ops
console. "The tanker's shields are weakening. They're
either going to have to put them down, or--"
    She was cut off by a static-filled audio transmission.
"Mayday! Mayday!" came a distraught voice. "This is
the Starfleet tanker Phoenix, carrying two thousand
cubic meters of antimatter. We've been attacked near
Deep Space Nine, and we're going to have to lower our
shields or risk complete destruction!"
"Can you get us visual?" asked Sisko.
Dax shook her head. "No, only audio."
Anguished cries suddenly echoed over the speaker
system. "We're being boarded! All hands, repel invad-
ers! Repel..." A phaser pistol roared, and the cap-
tain's voice degenerated into a mangled scream. It was
followed by the awful din of hand-to-hand combat,
with shouts, screams, and blunt weapons striking
targets of flesh. The audio crackled with static, but not
enough to drown out the cries of people dying.
    "Bastards!" growled Sisko, banging his fist on the
console.
    Odo leaned forward. "Can we do anything to help
them?"
    The commander shook his head. "I'm afraid not,
Constable. We can't fire on the tanker, and we don't
want to trade phaser volleys with that Bird-of--" A
gut-wrenching scream cut him off.
    They listened as the battle subsided in intensity.
The cries faded into moans, and somebody shouted,
"Ship secured for BajorZ" That declaration was fol-
lowed by cheers, just before the transmission went
dead.
"Bajor?" asked Sisko. "What does that mean?"
Dax reported, "Both Klingon vessels are backing
off. The tanker has put up shields again, and it's
beginning to move under impulse power."
    Sisko nodded glumly. "Following the Klingons, I
suppose."
    "No." Dax lifted her expressive eyes and stared at
Sisko. "The tanker is headed for the wormhole."

    Major Kira couldn't believe the viewscreen--the
battle had abruptly ended, and the Klingons were
breaking off. The Starfleet cruisers had fought valiant-
ly, especially in their counterattack, but they had
never recovered from the initial ambush. They were
both dead in space. So why were the Klingons run-
ning? They couldn't be afraid of the Mekong, the little
runabout from the station, because it wouldn't even
be a mouthful for a Bird-of-Prey. The counterattack
had foiled the Klingons' attempt to haul the tanker
away with a tractor beam, but that didn't explain why
they were giving up. Kira had caught bits and pieces of
the Mayday issued by the tanker, but she wasn't sure
what the final outcome had been. The tanker appeared
little damaged by the skirmish, and it was on the
move.
    But why was it headed for the wormhole? She
opened the standard channels and hailed them. "Deep
Space Nine to Federation tanker Phoenix. What is
your status?"
    There was no answer, so she added, "You cannot
enter the wormhole without clearance." She wanted
to explain that warp engines had to be tuned a certain
way to enter the wormhole, but this was a Federation
ship. They knew the proper tuning.
    After three more failed attempts at contact, she
turned to the runabout, which was also streaking
toward the wormhole. "Kira to Mekong. What is
going on?"
    "Dax here," came the reply. "We think that an
armed party took over the tanker in hand-to-hand
combat. Why they're headed toward the wormhole,
we don't know. Can you stop them with a tractor
beam?"
    "Negative," answered Kira. "They're staying out of
range. I estimate they'll hit the wormhole in...
fifty-nine seconds."
    A voice peeped up behind her. "What will happen if
the antimatter explodes in the wormhole?" asked
Amkot Groell.
    Miles O'Brien took a sharp breath. "That's not
something we want to think about. Let me assure you,
starships powered by antimatter have gone through
before. The tanker just happens to be a little starship
that is packed to the gills with antimatter."
    Kira leaned over her console and said, "Mekong, we
can't do anything to stop the tanker. The Klingons are
gone--at least they're out of sensor range. So we're
going to concentrate on helping those two cruisers and
getting them into our docks. What will you do?"
    There was a tense moment, and Dax finally replied,
"We're going after them."
Sisko broke in. "Major, just hold down the fort
until we get back. We're going to drop down to match
their speed and trajectory, so maybe they'll think
we're just an echo on their sensors. Neither this ship
nor the tanker has much in the way of armaments, so
we won't be risking a shoot-out."
    Kira exchanged a look with Amkot Groell, and they
were both thinking the same thing. "Commander,"
she said, "if you can get that antimatter back, we'll all
be very happy."
    "Understood," said Sisko. "Please explain to my
son that... I'll be back."
  'TI1 handle it," said Kira.
    The wormhole opened up like a giant blue-and-
white iris, and the antimatter tanker was no bigger
than a speck against its swirling depths. After the
tanker was consumed, the wormhole blinked out of
existence for thirty seconds; then it opened again to
swallow the Mekong. When the wormhole closed, the
open channel to the Mekong sounded a strange hum,
and Kira knew that all contact between the station
and the runabout was overmat least until they re-
turned, or another ship went after them.
    "Good luck, Commander," whispered Kira, al-
though she knew he couldn't hear her.
    She turned to see a gloomy white-haired Bajoran
standing beside her. "Good luck to him?" muttered
Amkot Groell. "We have the hard jobrowe have to
explain all of this to Minister Roser, the assembly, and
the Federation!"
    "Yes," agreed Kira, sinking a few centimeters in
height. "That won't be easy. Chief O'Brien--"
    The chief was already headed toward the turbolift.
"I'11 grab Dr. Bashir and a runabout, and we'll see
what kind of shape those cruisers are in."
 "Thank you, Chief."
    After O'Brien left, Major Kira felt very alone in the
suddenly depleted Operations Center, despite the
presence of Director Amkot and an experienced relief
crew. Kira knew she could run Deep Space Nine, and
she had often resented Benjamin Sisko, despite her
respect for him, because he stood in her way. But this
wasn't how she wanted to get the job. She wanted to
earn it. She wanted her promotion to commander to
be obvious to everyone, from the provisional govern-
ment to the Federation. She wanted it to be a happy
day, a day for celebration--not a troubling day, a day
when Bajor had once again shown that it was unsta-
ble, perhaps unfit to govern itself. By her actions, she
would have to provide a contrast, to show that
Bajorans were ready to take over.
 But were they?

    Inside the wormhole's unearthly swirl of colors, the
little runabout was bounced and battered. Panel doors
popped open, and sparks shot out of one of them.
Sisko couldn't remember two ships ever going in so
closely together, and he wondered if that might have
resulted in the unusually bumpy ride. Well, he
thought, there wasn't anything anybody could do but
hang on and wait it out. He noted that even the stoic
Odo scrambled to find a seat.
    After a handful of seconds that seemed much
longer, the turmoil ceased, and the wormhole depos-
ited them in the Gamma Quadrant with a last burst of
blinding light. Sisko grabbed the controls. 
"Can you find them?" he asked Dax.
    "Yes, sir. Bearing two-mark-nineteen. Traveling at
warp three."
  "Good, we can match that," said Sisko, working the
conn. "Remember, we want to shadow them so closely
that they think we're an echo. Also, let's have the
computer make an automatic log of our course
changes, so we can find our way back."
    On the face of it, the Gamma Quadrant didn't look
any different than the Alpha Quadrant--stars and
nebulae as far as the eye could see. But there was a big
difference, and Sisko knew it. Except for a few unre-
markable planets and solar systems near the entrance
to the wormhole, the Gamma Quadrant was virtually
unexplored, uncharted, and unknown. Several Feder-
ation, Klingon, Ferengi, and other vessels had gone
through the wormhole, but not many of them had
returned yet to report their findings. Some that had
returned were keeping their secrets.
    A handful of spacefaring races from the Gamma
Quadrant had emerged on Deep Space Nine's side of
the wormhole, but most of them had taken a quick
look around and gone home. Despite the galactic
shortcut, explorations on both sides were proceeding
slowly and cautiously. Sisko glanced at his navigation-
al charts and knew why--if the wormhole ever closed,
it would take the explorers a lifetime to get back to
their home quadrant, even at warp nine.
    Yet here he was, chasing a stolen tanker full of
antimatter across untold parsecs of uncharted space.
He knew perfectly well how he had gotten into this
mess, but he didn't know how he was going to get out
of it. How were the three of them, in a tiny runabout,
going to recapture a tanker that twenty crew members
hadn't been able to hold?
    Odo wasn't telepathic, but he seemed to read
Sisko's mind. "Commander?" he asked. "Where are
we going?"
    Sisko frowned. "Damned if I know, Constable. For
the time being, we're just following that tanker
straight into the unknown. Do you think we ought to
turn back?"
    Odo's jaw jutted forward. "I don't enjoy letting
lawbreakers escape. However, it would be reassuring
to know our destination."
    "I can tell you our heading," said Dax, "although
that won't help much in determining our destination.
We basically don't know where we're going."
    Odo cleared his throat. "I suppose I was really
asking--how far are we going to pursue these bucca-
neers?"
    "They've just shot up a Starfleet convoy," answered
Sisko through clenched teeth. "And they probably
killed everybody on board that tanker. Plus, they stole
two thousand cubic meters of antimatter out from
under our noses."
"Which I predicted would happen," Odo added.
The commander nodded grudgingly. "Yes, I know.
But you thought they might steal a couple of pods off
the station. This is bigger than that. What did those
Klingon renegades get out of it? Not the antimatter.
So we have to assume that they were paid for their
participation."
    Odo sniffed with disdain. "Yes, this whole opera-
tion reeks of Ferengi involvement."
    "Bajorans too," Dax reminded him. "At least one
of the attackers claimed they were doing it for Bajor."
    "Well," muttered Sisko, "they've come over here
for a reason. Let's tail them long enough to find out
why. Dax, do they suspect we're following them?"
    "Not by their actions," said the Trill. "That tanker
is capable of outrunning us, if they wanted to. They
haven't made any course changes for a while, so I
suspect they have a destination in mind."
    "Maybe this was their plan all the time," said Odo.
"Sources of antimatter may be scarce in this quad-
rant, so they can get higher prices."
    "Or trade it for something," Sisko replied. "Damn
it, why don't they stop?"
    Dax leaned forward and studied her instruments.
"Benjamin, I think they heard you. They're coming
out of warp drive."
    "Let's correct our course and speed to match
theirs," said the commander. His long fingers played
over the console as he made the adjustments himselfi
    "They've just entered a solar system," observed
Dax.
    "Computer," said Sisko, "do we know anything
about the solar system that is currently in our sen-
sors?"
    "There is no record of this solar system," answered
the flat voice of the computer.
    "Figures," muttered Sisko. "Dax, can you make
their destination?"
    "Third planet from the sun," answered the Trill.
"We're too far away to tell for sure, but it could be
class-M. It's about the right size and clearly has an
atmosphere."
    "They'll have to establish orbit," said the com-
mander. "Let's set up our orbit as far away as we can
and still be in sensor range." With consummate skill,
he adjusted the course and speed of the Mekong.
  "Now what?" asked Odo.
    Sisko managed a smile. "Constable, I wish you
would stop asking me questions ! can't answer. We're
going to go into orbit around a strange planet nobody
in the Federation has ever heard of. If somebody from
that tanker beams down to the planet, we're going to
beam down."
    "Fine," said Odo sarcastically. "I just wanted to
make sure we had a plan."
    Slowly a planet was coming into visual range on the
Mekong's viewscreen. The sphere was lime green,
with dense but not unpleasant-looking clouds sur-
rounding it. As they drew closer, gaps could be seen in
the clouds, and the planet's surface appeared to be a
dark green color, broken up by splotches of salmon-
colored seas. Or perhaps they were deserts, Sisko
thought. He would have liked to gaze at the mysteri-
ous planet, but he had to monitor the tanker's every
movement and match it as closely as he could. Thus
far, the tanker had shown no evidence that its opera-
tors knew they were being followed, or cared. If they
spotted the runabout at this range, he decided, they
might not be too concerned with such a small craft.
    "They've taken an orbital trajectory," announced
Dax.
  "All right," said Sisko. "Let's match them."
  "And they're not the only ones," she added.
  "What?"
    "There are three other ships in orbit," she replied.
"The tanker and ourselves will make a total of five
ships orbiting the planet."
    "Can you get an identification on any of the oth-
ers?" he asked.
    Dax spent a few seconds manipulating the run-
about's scanners. "One of them is a Ferengi Marauder
that went through the wormhole three weeks ago."
  "I knew it!" crowed Odo.
  "The others?" asked the commander.
    Dax shook her head. "They don't correspond to
anything we know."
    Sisko shrugged his large shoulders. "Well then,
what's one more? I'll take us into standard orbit, and
to hell with them if they see us."
    "I can go for a space walk," said Odo, "and disguise
the Federation markings. If that is acceptable to you,
Commander?"
    "It wouldn't hurt," answered Sisko. "Until then,
we'll keep our distance. And keep our shields up."
    There were several moments of silence as Com-
mander Sisko piloted the compact runabout into a
standard orbit. He waited to see if they would be
hailed by any of the ships, but nobody seemed to mind
another one joining the party. Now the curve of the
planet filled the small viewscreen, and they could see
immense green continents, broken up by irregular
salmon-colored seas. The shape of the seas reminded
Sisko of the Great Lakes back in North America, but
he had no idea how they got their odd coloring. Dark
spidery blotches on the surface of the planet could be
population centers, he thought, but there wasn't time
to do a full scan.
  "What are they doing?" he asked Dax.
    "A small party just beamed down to the surface,"
she answered. "I've got their transporter coordi-
nates."
 "Is it class-M?"
 "Yes, breathable atmosphere."
    Sisko stood and stretched his arms, weary from the
long chase. This was the deepest he had ever pene-
trated into the Gamma Quadrant, and he wasn't
enthused to think that nobody in Starfleet or Deep
Space Nine had any idea where they were. But there
was a secret thrill in thinking that soon he would be
beaming down to a planet that was unknown to the
Federation, a complete mystery. Given the incredible
distance they were from Federation space, there was
no mistaking the fact that they were absolutely on
their own. They couldn't count on backup or help--
they had only their wits and a tiny runabout.
    "Okay," he said, "I'm beaming down. One of us
should stay with the runabout to discourage boarders
and run the transporter. Would you like to stay here,
Dax?"
    "No," the Trill answered quickly. "I want to experi-
ence whatever there is to experience."
    Sisko gave her a cockeyed grin. "Okay, old man, I
guess you know what you're doing. After all, this is a
volunteer mission. Constable, you stay here and hold
down the fort. I think it's a good idea to disguise our
markings."
  "If you don't return?" asked Odo.
    "Then go home," said the commander. "The com-
puter has analyzed our course. We'll report back every
two hours. If we lose contact and you can't raise us,
assume the worst."
    "I always assume the worst," muttered the
shapeshifter, slipping into Sisko's vacated chair. "I
would like relief in approximately six hours, because I
will have to assume my liquid shape."
    The commander nodded. "Six hours ought to be
enough time to figure out what's going on." He
glanced down at his Starfleet uniform and insignia
badge. "Maybe we need to remove a few of our own
markings."
    Dax headed for a storage compartment. "We've got
unmarked jackets," she said, "and we can take off our
comm badges and our rank insignia."
    She fished around in their stores for a large jacket
and a small one. Sisko put on the jacket and plucked
his badge off his chest, then took the three gold
buttons off his collar. He felt oddly undressed without
his rank insignia, but there wasn't much choice. He
put the badge in his jacket pocket, and Jadzia Dax did
the same.
  "What about weapons?" she asked.
    "Hand phasers," said Sisko. "We can hide them in
our pockets."
    The Trill handed him a phaser and took one herself.
Together, they strode toward the transporter plat-
form.
 He smiled at her. "Seems like old times."
  She smiled back. "And new times."
    Sisko nodded to Odo. "Lower the shields just long
enough to beam us down, then put them back up. Call
us if there's trouble."
    "Likewise," said Odo. His slim fingers touched the
console. "Energizing."
    In twin columns of blazing light, Jadzia Dax and
Benjamin Sisko left the Mekong for parts unknown.

CHAPTER
      4

COMMANDER SISKO and Lieutenant Dax materialized
inside a small room. To the commander, it looked
uncomfortably like a holding cell, or perhaps a very
sturdy vault. There was no furniture in the room,
except for a desk of adjustable height, upon which sat
what was unmistakably a computer terminal. Sisko
took a step toward the computer and halted when he
noticed several large winged bugs scurrying across the
floor. At his footstep, some of them fluttered toward
the ceiling and disappeared into tiny vents. He gasped
and jumped back.
    Dax smiled. "Benjamin, are you still scared of
bugs?"
    Sisko gulped. "Old man, you may be a different
person, but I'm not. Besides, I seem to recall that you
don't care for spiders much."
    "Spiders are arachnids," Dax observed dryly,
"which are more venomous than arthropods. Besides,
they may be keeping this area clean, or performing
some other useful function. Don't judge a creature by
its appearance."
    Sisko smiled gamely but didn't look convinced.
"Right."
    The computer screen blinked on, and a synthesized
voice said pleasantly, "Welcome, travelers, to the
planet of Eco, Hive Three. For your safety and conve-
nience, your transporter beams have been redirected
to this chamber. Our scanners indicate that you are
humanoid, and our records indicate that you are
first-time visitors. Do you understand this idiom?"
    "Yes, we do," answered Sisko. He wondered how
these Gamma Quadrant aliens could know the Stan-
dard language, but then he remembered that the
Ferengi were already here, in addition to the hijackers
of the tanker.
 "May we ask your purpose?" the computer said.
 Sisko shrugged. "Business,"
    "Then you have certainly come to the right planet,"
said the synthesized voice. "Eco is the home of the
Ecocids, who, in your idiom, would be called insects.
Individually, as you see us on the floor or in the
vented passageways above you, we are rather unre-
markable. But together we form a hive mind that is
every bit as advanced as your own. Probably more so.
We try to confine our movements to the overhead
passageways, but occasionally we must use the floor.
You are rather clumsy creatures, and if you acciden,
tally take the life of one of our individuals, we will
understand. But please endeavor not to step on us.
You may communicate with us through any of these
interfaces, which you will find located throughout the
hive.
  "We regret," continued the voice, "that not all areas
 of Hive Three are suitable for humanoid occupation.
 You will be restricted to certain levels. Also, we are a
 peace-loving race, and we require that you leave your
 weapons in this chamber."
     "Weapons?" asked Sisko, trying to sound noncha-
 lant. "We only have a few electronic devices."
     "Our scanners indicate that each of you has an
 electronic device which is also a weapon. Please leave
 it on the table if you wish to leave this chamber."
    Sisko looked around the windowless vault and
decided that yes, he wished to leave it. He took his
hand phaser out of his pocket and deposited it on the
table. Dax did likewise. If this rule was strictly en-
forced, thought Sisko, it was really a benefit to them,
since they were considerably outnumbered.
"Will these devices be returned to us?" he asked.
"No," answered the voice. "We wish to purchase
them--in order to study them. Each of you will be
given ten bilbok for your weapon. Since we detect that
you are carrying no bilbok, we presume that this sum
will be useful in your stay here. Do we have a deal?"
    Sisko smiled in spite of himself. No wonder the
Ferengi liked it here. "Agreed," he said.
    In a flash, the weapons disappeared from the table,
to be replaced by two stacks of black rectangles, ten in
each stack. Dax walked to the table and picked up the
bilbok.
  "Well," she said, "let's see what they buy."
    The voice interjected, "Your most valuable pur-
chase would be a guide to the color-coded passage-
ways of Hive Three. You can obtain one here for only
twelve bilbok."
    Sisko frowned at the interface. "A map costs more
than one of our weapons?"
    "It has been specially translated into your native
idiom," said the hive mind cheerfully. "On the other
hand, you may prefer to explore at your leisure."
  "Yes, I think we'll do that," said Sisko.
    "Have a profitable visit," the voice intoned. The
table rose in the air to a height matching Sisko's
height, and a door whooshed open behind it.
    Carefully stepping around an Ecocid on the floor,
Sisko followed Dax out of the chamber. They entered
a corridor that branched haphazardly into other corri-
dors, some climbing up, some trailing down. In the
distance, they could see more corridors crisscrossing
those in front of them. The only signposts were
numerous colored stripes that ran horizontally along
the walls. The junction where they were standing had
at least a dozen of these stripes, but some of the
corridors had only two or three colored stripes,
stretching off into the distance.
    Sisko muttered, "This looks like... well, like a
hive."
    Dax studied the colored stripes on the wall. "These
must be directional indicators," she said. "Unfortu-
nately, even if we bought a guide, it wouldn't tell us
where the hijackers went. Where do you want to go,
red, yellow, or green? How about magenta?"
    The commander shrugged. "I like blue myself. That
seems to be a popular place--there are at least three
corridors leading there."
  Dax nodded. "Let's go."
    The blue-striped corridor led upward, which was
also somewhat reassuring, although Sisko doubted
that any of the pathways opened onto the surface of
the planet. He wouldn't be surprised if Hive Three
was entirely subterranean. He spotted a few Ecocids
 scuttling along the walls, so he stuck squarely to the
 center of the corridor. Except for the colored stripes,
 the only distinguishing features of the maze were the
 small vents in the ceiling, which carried air and also
 Ecocids. The commander swallowed and plodded
 onward, wondering if he could possibly get used to a
 planet run by insects.
     "Wouldn't it be wonderful to study this culture?"
 asked Dax. "Spend a couple of years here?"
    "I'd rather spend a couple of years with the
Cardassians," answered Sisko. "You know, the
Ecocids couldn't have built these corridors by them-
selves. Who built them?"
    "The Ecocids must be wealthy," answered Dax, "if
bilbok is a widely accepted form of currency. The
question should be, how did they amass their
wealth?"
    There was no immediate answer, just a blue stripe
that the two visitors followed through the rambling
maze. They slowed when they saw two short bipedal
individuals headed their way. The two creatures were
covered with hair and wore green smocks, and they
pushed small devices that were apparently cleaning
appliances. Sisko thought about speaking to them, but
the two creatures, who were marginally humanoid,
were so intent on their task that he didn't want to
interrupt them. They passed each other, exchanging
barely a glance.
    When they were out of earshot, Dax remarked,
"Those creatures may be hired help."
    "Yes," agreed SiSko. "Although they may be saying
the same about us."
    He was relieved to hear the sound of voices in the
distance, and both he and Dax quickened their step.
The blue stripe blossomed into a wide triangle that
ended at what appeared to be a darkly lit restaurant.
At least there were tables and booths, with a staggering
variety of creatures sitting at them. Several of the
squat hirsute beings they had seen before were bus-
tling around, carrying trays and attending the tables.
Overheard, the ceiling blinked with a procession of
illuminated markings that crawled from one end of
the restaurant to the other, affording all of the diners a
chance to see them. Indeed, many of the diners
stopped their conversation to study the queer figures,
and a few pounded their tables in disgust.
    Dax drew close enough to the commander to whis-
per, "Are they gambling?"
    Sisko squinted at the endless readouts in the ceiling.
"It looks like something they used to have on Earth,
called a stock-market ticker."
    The Trill gave him a quizzical expression, and Sisko
shook his head. "Never mind. Let's concentrate on
our mission. We'll take a quick look around for
Bajorans, Ferengi, or anyone who looks they came
from our neighborhood."
    Dax nodded, and they made a quick ~tour of the
establishment, not finding any species they could
identify. Several of the aliens eyed them curiously,
especially Dax.
    They soon found themselves at another doorway,
confronted by the same array of colored stripes. Sisko
was afraid they could spend days roaming Hive Three
in this fashion. A short hairy servant wandered past
with a tray of empty glasses, and Sisko held out his
hand to stop him.
    "Excuse me," he said, "have you seen anyone from
the Alpha Quadrant? People with big ears?"
     The servant shook his head. In a guttural voice, he
 replied, "Interface." He pointed to a small alcove that
 contained a computer identical to the one they had
 found in the holding chamber.
     Sisko shrugged and said, "Thank you." He and Dax
 made their way over to the terminal.
    "Well," said the commander, "it understood us
before." He pressed a button on the alien keyboard to
get the machine's attention. "Computer," he said,
"can you help me?"
    "I am not a computer," came the synthesized reply.
"I am the interface to the hive mind. What is your
problem?"
    "We're looking for friends of ours, people we were
supposed to meet. They are Ferengi--humanoids like
us, but with large ears. There will also be Bajorans,
other humanoids who have recently arrived from the
Alpha Quadrant."
    "We welcome visitors from the Alpha Quadrant,"
the device said cheerfully. "Your friends are in the
Redemption Center. Simply follow the cyan path-
way."
    "Thank you," Sisko replied. He didn't know what
else to say to a collection of insects.
    Dax had already moved toward the array of stripes,
and she quickly picked out a light blue one. "You were
close when you picked blue," she said. "Does this look
like cyan?"
    Sisko nodded without much certainty. "Let's try
it."
    They walked downward along a meandering corri-
dor, passing several unusual species who were headed
toward the restaurant with the ticker-tape displays.
Everyone seemed to be on holiday, thought Sisko,
judging by the happy chattering from the revelers they
passed. He might have understood some of the con-
versation if his comm badge had been pinned to his
chest, thus activating the Universal Translator; but
with his comm badge in his pocket, he heard nothing
but gibberish.
    Before they reached the Redemption Center, three
burly humanoids dressed in rugged leather garments
stepped into the corridor just ahead of them. Sisko
motioned Dax to stop, and they froze in place, fearing
that the newcomers would turn to look at them. From
the back, he couldn't tell for sure if they were Bajorans
--or the hijackers--but their uncertain actions iden-
tified them as strangers. They appeared weary as they
slouched down the corridor, peering at the stripes,
and one of them had a streak of blood on his sleeve.
They walked in silence, too tired to talk.
    He and Dax followed them in silence. The cyan
stripe ended in a large triangle, and the corridor
opened into what might be called a store. There were
gleaming cases from floor to ceiling, containing the
most diverse assortment of merchandise Sisko had
ever seen in one place. The shelves kept revolving,
displaying tools, canteens, cushions, jewelry, clothing,
and works of art. Each item had a number posted
beneath it, which he assumed was the price in bilbok.
    When he saw that their quarry had stopped to
inspect the unusual surroundings, he allowed himself
to take a closer look at one of the display cases.
Passing within view were several clear globes that
contained miniature ecosystems--delicate spiral
mountains, strange plants, oceans of different colors
within which tiny creatures cavorted--all in worlds
that were about ten centimeters in diameter. They
were unspeakably beautiful. They passed out of sight
to be replaced by even stranger souvenirs--dead
ecocids mounted and frozen in curious tableaus, such
as mating, fighting, giving birth to larvae. He gulped,
thinking it was a bizarre species that would sell its
dead to intergalactic tourists. Another shelf came into
view, displaying unfathomable objects that could be
anything from engine parts to alien sex toys.
    "Benjamin," whispered Dax, "they're looking for
someone."
    Reluctantly, Sisko turned away from the display
case to take in the entire establishment. Beyond the
shop were a number of tables in a smaller version of
the restaurant they had passed through before. As in
the other place, unusual symbols marched across the
ceiling, capturing the attention of the scattered diners.
One of the three leather-garbed men turned to look
around, and Sisko could see in silhouette the ridges on
the bridge of his nose that marked him as a Bajoran.
"Over here!" someone shouted.
    Sisko pushed Dax back into the shadows of an
alcove, while keeping the Bajorans in sight. He saw
them stride toward a table, where two Ferengi were
waving them over. His rear end bumped against a
table, and he turned to see another one of the Ecocid
interface devices.
    "I see you have found your friends," the synthe-
sized voice remarked. "Why don't you greet them?"
    "I don't think that's any of your business," Sisko
whispered.
    "Nonsense," replied the hive mind, "everything on
Eco is my business. Perhaps this transaction requires
delicate handling. May I be of assistance?"
 Sisko was about to reply in anger when one of the
Ecocids fluttered toward his face; he gasped and
slapped at it without thinking.
    "We don't require your assistance at the moment,"
Dax interrupted. "But thank you, anyway."
     "Remember," the voice replied, "we offer a variety
of services--for the right price." "We'll remember," said Dax.
    Sisko took several deep breaths and tried to com-
pose himself. He wanted off this buggy planet and
back to the relatively safe confines of Deep Space
Nine--with the antimatter in tow. More immediate-
ly, he wanted to hear the conversation between the
two Ferengi and the three Bajorans at that distant
table. But how?
      "Benjamin," said Dax, reading his mind like the
old friend she was, "I have an idea." "I'm listening."
    She took her Starfleet insignia from her pocket. "If I
activate my comm badge and drop it under their table,
we ought to be able to listen to them on your comm
badge."
  "Good idea," answered Sisko. "Let's do it."
    "But we need a diversion. Something to distract
them."
    Sisko looked down at the beautiful raven-haired
woman standing in close proximity to him in the tiny
alcove. He smiled. "Old man, I know you haven't
been a woman for very long, not recently anyway, but
do you think you could walk like one of the Dabo girls
from Quark's Place?"
    She smiled with amusement. "You mean, jiggle my
rear end back and forth?"
    "Yes," he admitted, "that's the general idea. To
jiggle whatever you've got to jiggle."
 "Like this?" she asked, shifting rapidly from one
 foot to another.
    "More slowly," answered Sisko. He tried to demon-
strate, but he was ill-equipped to jiggle. "Look, just
hand me your jacket. I think it'll come naturally once
you get started."
    She took off the bulky jacket, revealing the tight~
fitting uniform underneath. "Do you really think that
my merely walking by them--jiggling--can cause a
sufficient diversion?"
    Sisko took her jacket and smiled. "I think so." He
took the comm badge out of her pocket. "Now, open a
channel to me."
    She squeezed her comm badge and said, "Dax to
Sisko."
    His comm badge beeped plaintively in his pocket,
and he took it out. "Sisko here. Keep this channel
open." He dropped his comm badge back into his
pocket and held out his hand. She nodded and
dropped her comm badge into his dark palm.
    "Now," he said, "just walk past their table, very
slowly. I'll be right behind you."
    Dax nodded and straightened her shoulders. "I'm
looking at this as an experiment."
    She set off at a gait that was very slow and properly
distracting. Sisko had to walk slowly to keep behind
her. As she approached the table where the five
conspirators were hunched over in conversation, her
movements became even more exaggerated and se-
ductive. Sisko couldn't see Dax's face, but he could
see the faces of the two Ferengi and the three Bajorans
--their conversation was short-circuited as she saun-
tered past. One of the Ferengi actually drooled
through his snaggled teeth, and Sisko smiled to him-
self as he tossed the comm badge under their table. Of
course, none of them paid him the slightest bit of
attention. As far as they were concerned, he might
have been an incorporeal energy creature.
    The drooling Ferengi rose to his feet and croaked,
"Darling, don't go away!"
    "Leave it, Gimba," snapped the handsomest of the
Bajorans. "There's time for that later."
 "Always time for that," agreed the Ferengi.
    That was the last Sisko heard of the conversation
until they rounded the corner and stopped in a
corridor, out of sight of the hijackers.
  "How did I do?" asked Dax.
  "Don't you know?"
    She smiled. "Yes, I do know. That effect on males is
so simple to attain. Was I that simpleminded when I
was Curzon Dax?"
    "Yes," admitted Sisko. He handed the Trill her
jacket and took his corem badge out of his pocket. The
conversation was so clear, they might have been
sitting at the table with the hijackers.
    "Gimba," said an irritated voice, "are you listening
to me?"
    "Of course I'm listening to you," answered a snide
Ferengi voice. "But what you were saying doesn't
make any sense."
  "I said, I want to renegotiate our deal."
    "No!" A fist pounded on the table. "Listen, Rizo,
you got what you wanted--the shipyard is out of
business, the government is embarrassed, and the
Federation is angry. Now it's time for us to get what
we want--the antimatter."
    "But we need funds!" protested the Bajoran. "The
revolution has only started."
    "Funds shmunds," said Gimba. "This was a rob-
bery, a heist, nothing more. It wasn't a revolution.
Listen, we're out a lot of money to those Klingons.
The only way we can recoup our investment is to sell
the antimatter on this side of the wormhole."
  "What about the tanker?"
    There was a pause, and the Ferengi answered,
"That's our profit."
    "Too much profit," said Rizo. "We're the ones who
lost seven lives taking that tanker. And we're the ones
who now control it. You want the antimatter, you start
negotiating."
    "That wasn't our deal!" screeched the Ferengi,
banging repeatedly on the table.
    "We can have a new deal," said the Bajoran, "one
that takes into account the needs of Bajor."
    "Hey," drawled the other Ferengi, "I always heard
Bajorans were idealists. It turns out they're just as
greedy as Cardassians."
    There were muffled shouts and the sound of chairs
scooting back. Sisko and Dax peered around the
comer in time to see the smaller Ferengi snarling like
caged rats at the hulking Bajorans. In the absence of
weapons, a fistfight seemed imminent. The last thing
Sisko wanted was for the Bajorans to pack up and run
off with the antimatter, so he strode toward them,
wondering what he was going to say.
    "What's this?" he asked pleasantly. "A fistfight?
There aren't many of us from the Alpha Quadrant
here--can't we all be friends?"
    The combatants were about to ignore him, until
Dax appeared at his side. "What's the problem,
boys?" she asked seductively.
 At once, fists began to unclench, and Gimba bowed
as low as his pot belly would allow him. "Hello, my
fair lady. And what brings you to this side of the
wormhole?"
 "You don't recognize us?" asked Dax.
    "No," said Gimba, "have we had the pleasure of
meeting?"
    Sisko studied the five humanoids, and he couldn't
recall any of their faces. Of course, he didn't meet
every person who came through Deep Space Nine, and
the Bajorans were terrorists--they wouldn't have set
foot on the station except to sabotage it.
    "You don't know us?" he asked incredulously.
"Why, I am Marcus Garvey, and this is Jade Dixon.
We are known throughout the galaxy as accomplished
private arbitrators."
    The handsome Bajoran stepped forward, looking at
them suspiciously. He reserved his longest look for
Dax. "You're human," he said finally, "but what is
she?"
    "A Trill," she answered, fluttering her eyelashes.
"And what are you?"
    The Ferengi guffawed. "A Bajoran," said Gimba.
"A decidedly minor race, but they do control the
other side of the wormhole. Didn't you come that
way? You couldn't have taken the long way to get here,
unless you're a lot older than you look." He gave her a
lengthy examination to make sure she wasn't older
than she looked.
    "Of course we came through the wormhole," an-
swered Dax. "We were in a hurry, so we didn't meet
any Bajorans."
    "It was a delicate matter," Sisko assured them. "We
had to, shall I say, disappear for a while. A tour of the
Gamma Quadrant seemed a suitable diversion."
    The handsome Bajoran turned away and muttered,
"That's nice, but we've got business to discuss." From
his voice, Sisko recognized him as the one called Rizo.
    The commander leaned forward and lowered his
voice. "We know you've got business to discuss,
because you were discussing it rather loudly. As I said,
we are private arbitrators, and we are very discreet.
Perhaps we could be of assistance in resolving your
differences."
  "Leave us alone," growled Rizo.
    "Now, now, let's not be too hasty," said the chubby
Ferengi. "We obviously cannot resolve this problem
by ourselves. You say you want to renegotiate--
perhaps an objective third party could be helpful."
    The Bajoran glowered suspiciously at Dax and
Sisko. "How do I know this isn't some trick? How do I
know these people aren't working with you, Gimba?
For that matter, how do I know they didn't follow us
through the wormhole--they look like they're wear-
ing some kind of uniform."
    "Simple," answered Gimba, "ask the proprietor of
this place. The hive mind. It knows everyone and
everything that goes on here, believe me. We've been
here two days--ask it how long they've been here."
    Rizo peered over his shoulder at the interface
terminal in the alcove, the same one Sisko had
bumped into. He nodded. "All right."
    He strode toward the device, and Sisko trailed after
him, trying to appear only mildly interested. In his
mind, he was formulating excuses for how they had
managed to arrive minutes after the Bajorans, but
none of them sounded very convincing. He noticed
that Dax stayed with the other Bajorans and the two
Ferengi, keeping up her charming but saucy facade.
He stood near the alcove with a pleasant grin on his
face as Rizo approached the machine. "Uh, hive mind?"
    "Yes, may I be of assistance?" asked the synthesized
voice.
    "This human beside me is named Marcus Garvey,"
said Rizo, casting a suspicious eye at the human.
"And he has a female with him named Jade Dixon.
How long have they been here?"
 "By 'here,' do you mean this room or Hive Three?"
 "Hive Three."
    "And do you wish this time interval to be expressed
in solar days, sidereal time, light-years, or some other
measurement?"
    "Dammit, just answer me," growled Rizo. "How
many days?"
"Six days," answered the Ecocid collective mind.
Sisko tried not to show any surprise at the lie. He
merely smiled accommodatingly when Rizo glared at
him.
    "All right," said the Bajoran, "do you know what
kind of business he's in?"
    "We wouldn't care to pry," replied the voice, "but
he has offered his skills as an arbitrator and negotia-
tor."
  "Yeah, he has," muttered the Bajoran. "Thanks."
    "Yes, thank you," said Sisko with heartfelt grati-
tude.
  "Glad to be of service."
    When they returned to the table, Rizo explained,
"That thing over there says they've been here for six
days. But I still don't know if I want to include
anybody in this deal. You know, what we did isn't
exactly legal."
    Sisko held up his hands. "Believe me when I say we
are the soul of discretion. We represent no power but
ourselves. Each side can submit its case to us, and we
will use our proven formulas to find an equitable
solution. That is what we offer, no more, no less."
    "For our own reasons," added Dax, "we're in no
hurry to go back to the Alpha Quadrant."
    The Ferengi smiled lasciviously at the Trill. "You
intrigue me, Jade. May I call you Jade?"
      "You may call me anything you like." She glanced
at Sisko. "I am accustomed to using various names."
  Gimba chuckled. "I bet you are."
    "How much do we have to pay them?" asked one of
the Bajorans.
    Sisko made a magnanimous gesture. "We don't ask
for much--just a few bilbok to make our stay here
more pleasant."
    "You will be amply rewarded," promised Gimba,
looking Dax up and down approvingly.
    "Don't promise them anything yet," snapped Rizo.
"I need to talk this over with the others."
    "Especially Elaka," said one of his comrades, giving
the third Bajoran a knowing smile.
    "Then let us arrange to meet later," offered Sisko,
"and if everything is agreeable, we can talk about how
to proceed. Do you know the restaurant at the end of
the dark blue stripe?"
    "It doesn't matter where we meet," snarled Rizo.
"It's very simple--we've got something they want,
and they refuse to pay for it. They think we should do
their dirty work for free."
    Gimba wrinkled his bulbous nose. "We've taken a
considerable financial risk already, and they're trying
to back out on the terms of a previous agreement!"
 Rizo snorted. "As if no Ferengi ever did that."
    "Now, now, boys," said Dax soothingly. "Let's not
hash this out in a public place. Marcus and I will
arrange with the hive mind for a private meeting
room. The two of you prepare your cases, with all the
particulars. Let's meet back here in four standard
hours. Will that be enough time?"
    "I suppose," muttered Rizo. He pulled a Starfleet
comm badge out of his pocket, and Sisko's jaw tight-
ened with anger, knowing how he had gotten it. But he
said nothing. "Can you beam out of this place?" asked
the Bajoran.
    "We have," replied Gimba. "Once the hive mind
has met you, they don't seem to care what you do."
    "With the exception of carrying weapons," Sisko
added.
    Rizo nodded and squeezed the comm badge until it
beeped. "Rizo to Elaka," he said.
    "Elaka here," came a no-nonsense female voice.
"Are you ready to beam back?
  "Yes. Can you lock on to us?"
    "We can," she answered. "And we're just about
done converting more comm badges to our
frequencies."
    "Good," said Rizo. "Get us out of here." He stole a
final glance at Dax before his molecules were disas-
sembled, along with those of his comrades.
    Gimba grinned at Dax and took her delicate hand
in his pudgy fist. "Now, my darling Jade, we have four
hours to go somewhere and, um, get to know each
other more intimately."
    "I think not," said the Trill, politely pulling her
hand away. "We are serious about the services we
offer, and we must remain objective." She smiled
flirtatiously. "But when the negotiations are overre"
     The Ferengi grinned and made a portly bow. "All
 the more reason for us to conclude them quickly."
     "Excuse us now," said Sisko. "We must speak to the
 hive mind--about that private meeting room." He
 bowed formally. "Until later, gentlemen."
     "Yes." Gimba grinned, never taking his rheumy
 eyes off Dax. "I am a gentle man. Very gentle."
    The two Ferengi reclaimed their seats at the table
and signaled a passing server, while Sisko and Dax
returned to the alcove containing the hive-mind inter-
face.
  "I've got a few questions," Dax whispered.
    "So do I," answered Sisko. "Like, are we crazy? We
mustn't forget that these people are as dangerous as
that antimatter they're carrying."
    He stopped in front of the by now familiar terminal.
Glancing around to make sure nobody was in earshot,
he leaned over the terminal and said, "This is the
person you know as Marcus Garvey."
  "Hello, Mr. Garvey," replied the voice.
"I want to thank you for, uh, lying about us."
"You're quite welcome," said the collective mind.
"You are probably wondering why we did so. You see,
we consider it our mission in life to facilitate the
conduct of business under ideal circumstances. Obvi-
ously, your two groups of friends need someone who
is offering your type of service. Your apparent aim is
to conclude the business between these two disagree-
able parties without them resorting to violence, and
that is also our aim. Simply put, the planet of Eco is a
peaceful haven for commerce. If you support that
goal, we will help you in any way we can."
    ú Before Sisko or Dax could think of anything to say,
a small shiny object came skittering out from behind
the screen. It took the commander a moment to
realize it was the comm badge he had tossed under the
table. He wondered how it could be moving until he
saw the dark antennae sticking above the metal and
the black legs scurrying underneath it. Sisko drew
back, but Dax reached out to retrieve her comm
badge, uncovering a large Ecocid.
    "Thank you," she said. "We need a private meeting
room. Can you arrange that?"
    "Certainly," answered the hive mind. "The yellow
pathway leads to private conference rooms. You may
use room number nine for as long as you need it, and a
modest charge will be billed to you. May I also arrange
sleeping quarters?"
    "No, thank you," said Dax. "We're sleeping on our
ship."
    "If your ship needs maintenance or refueling, we
have full facilities."
    "Thank you," said Dax, "I think we're all right in
that regard."
"Thank you for your help," Sisko managed to say.
The synthesized voice concluded, "Good luck in
your endeavors."
    Sisko stepped away from the interface with more
questions than answers churning in his mind. He
wondered how far they could go with this charade. He
wondered how they could overcome both a shipload
of greedy Ferengi and a shipload of bloodthirsty
Bajorans. Most of all, he wondered about the Ecocids.
If they had lied so glibly to Rizo, they were quite
capable of lying to him and Dax as well.
    Finally he shook his head, knowing there were no
answers, only actions. Under the circumstances, they
had very little choice but to wing it. After making sure
that the Ferengi were still occupied at their table, he
took out his comm badge and tapped it.
  "Sisko to Odo," he whispered.
  "Yes, Commander?"
  "We're ready to beam back."
  "Yes, sir. I'm locking on."
    So deep in thought was Commander Sisko that he
failed to notice that the Ecocid which had fetched the
comm badge suddenly leaped off the table, landed on
his jacket, and burrowed inside his pocket.
 "Energizing," said Odo's calm voice.

CHAPTER
      5

Dr. JULIAN BASHIR quickly loaded another hypospray
with painkiller and administered it to the wounded
ensign lying on the deck of the bridge. He and Chief
O'Brien had already spent an hour aboard the Valor,
the more damaged of the two cruisers, and Bashir had
just beamed over to the Regal, where there were halfa
dozen wounded crew members. The only death had
been aboard the Valor--a radiation burn--and thus
far none of the others required immediate hospitaliza
tion. For the time being, Bashir had been able to patch
up their contusions and fractures. He hoped his
handiwork would suffice until they could be trans-
ferred to the station, whenever that would be.
    The young doctor yawned, fighting fatigue. Every
moment since leaving the station on the runabout had
been a blur of activity. He was beginning to wish that
he weren't the only medical practitioner in this part of
space. The cruisers were too small to have their own
 doctors.
     "When is Chief O'Brien getting here?" growled an
 angry voice.
     Bashir looked up from his patient, who was merci-
 fully falling asleep, to see a handsome young man in a
 cranberry-colored uniform. At first, he had been glad
 to meet Captain Jon Rachman, thinking their similar
 ages would make them compatible, but now he was
 finding the Regal's young skipper to be rather tire-
 some.
    "I don't know," he muttered as he cauterized the
wound.
    "What do you mean you don't know?" snapped
Captain Rachman. "Aren't you coordinating with
him?"
    "Not really," answered Bashfl. "I'm patching up
the people, and he's patching up the impulse engines.
I'm sure he'll be here as soon as the Valor can make it
to the station under its own power."  "What about tractor beams?"
    The doctor sighed and turned off his cauterizing
instrument. He stood and looked Captain Rachman
in the eyes, wishing the young officer weren't several
centimeters taller. "You came in too far away from the
station for us to be of any help," he explained. "If you
had come in closer, none of this might have hap-
pened."
    Rachman's lips thinned. "So now you're telling me
my business. We were ordered to avoid the wormhole.
Why is your station sitting right on top of it?"
    "To monitor traffic going in and out," Bashir re-
plied. "Listen, Captain, I have patients who need me.
If there's nothing else..."
    "There's plenty," snarled Rachman. "I want to
know who attacked us, and where to find them!"
When Bashir looked past him, scanning the bridge for
more wounded, the captain's attitude softened. "Take
a look at my first officer, will you. Over here."
    The doctor nodded and followed the captain to the
navigation console, where an attractive blond woman
sat, grimacing in pain. With his long fingers, Bashir
unsnapped her collar, noticing her lieutenant's but-
tons. He quickly opened his tricorder and made a
preliminary examination.
    "Broken ribs," he announced. "I don't find any
internal injuries. Lieutenant, I want you to remain
perfectly still. Don't move around at all. I can give you
a painkiller."
    "No," she said through a grimace. "I have to remain
alert." She looked up at her captain. "We're going
after them, aren't we, sir?"
  "Damned right," snapped Rachman.
    "Not for several days," said Bashir. "At least she's
not going anywhere, except to bed. By the looks of this
ship, I don't think the rest of you are going anywhere
either."
    Captain Rachman's pink cheeks were turning red.
"Don't tell me what to do, Doctor. We were ordered
to protect that shipment ofantimatter, and I intend to
fulfill those orders. I'll pursue our attackers to the
ends of Federation space?
    "You are at the ends of Federation space," coun-
tered Bashir. "All around us is the Cardassian Em-
pire, and through the wormhole is a whole quadrant
we know nothing about. Plus, this sector is full of
Ferengi and renegade Klingons who don't owe alle-
giance to anyone but themselves. I don't know what
you were told to expect, Captain."
    "We weren't told this was the Wild Frontier, where
we were going to be shot up the moment we arrived!"
  Bashir smiled. "Then you were misinformed."
    "Starfleet will hear about this!" Rachman threat-
ened.
    "I certainly hope so," answered Bashir as he strode
away.

    "Minister Roser Issa would like to speak with you,"
said the Bajoran officer at the communications con-
sole.
  "Soon," answered Major Kira. "Tell her to wait."
    '~Director Amkot is waiting for you in his quarters,"
the officer reminded her.
  "Yes, I know," answered the attractive Bajoran.
  "And we're being hailed by the council."
  Kira nodded. "I expected that."
"They would like to see you on Bajor immediately."
"Would they now?" asked Kira. "Tell them all that I
have an urgent appointment to keep first, and then I
will contact them. In fact, why don't you tell them all
to talk to each other, if talking will make them feet
better. I've made my report, and I haven't got any-
thing to add!"
    The Bajoran officer looked quizzically at her. "Shall
I tell them that?"
    Kira shook her head. "No." She squared her shoul-
ders and took a deep breath. "Where is he?" she
muttered.
    As if in answer, the turbolift doors slid open and a
gangly adolescent walked into Ops. She looked at him
and smiled, thinking that he looked more like his
father every day. She had often had her differences
with Commander Sisko, but she couldn't fault him for
the way he was raising his son. He was doing a
stupendous job in her estimation, and she doubted if
she could do as well, especially as a single parent.
 "Hello, Jake," she said.
    The boy shifted uneasily from one foot to another.
"Hello, Major Kira. I'm sorry I took a while to get
here, but we were having an exam. We had to stay late
because of the alert."
    "That's all right," answered the Bajoran. "I wish we
were meeting under better circumstances."
 He looked at her puzzledly. "Where's my father?"
     She sighed. "That's what I wanted to talk to you
about. Would you like to go into your father's office?"
  "Where is he?" the boy asked, suddenly alarmed.
  "As far as we know, he's fine," Kira replied. "But
  we don't know where he is. He went through the
  wormhole with Dax and Odo almost two hours ago,
  pursuing an antimatter tanker that was hijacked."
    The boy nodded, squinting at her. He was a bright
young man, she knew, but that was a lot to take in in
one blunt sentence.
 "Uh, when is he coming back?"
    "We don't know," she answered. "As you know, we
can't communicate with the Gamma Quadrant. He
asked me to tell you that he will return as soon as he
can."
 "Who was he pursuing?" asked Jake.
    Kira's lips grew thin, and she looked down. "We
think it was Bajoran terrorists, working with Klingon
renegades."
    The boy turned away from her, and she could tell he
was fighting his emotions. "Damn it," he muttered,
"why did we have to come here? Why couldn't we go
back to Earth, where we understand the people? Why
can't Bajorans stop fighting?"
    Kira stepped down from the Ops command table
and approached the boy. He was already taller than
her, and she could swear that hadn't been the case a
few months earlier. She put her arm around his thin
shoulders.
    "Do you want me to explain what makes Bajorans
tick?" she asked. "What makes us tick is halfa century
of brutal occupation at the hands of the Cardassians.
That's the only thing all of us have in common. Some
of us were collaborators, to one degree or another;
others were resistance members and patriots. Some of
us can't stop resisting, can't stop fighting. We're like
that antimatter that everyone is chasing--we can't
change our reactions--we explode when anything,
including peace, gets too close."
    She shook her head. "I don't know how many
generations it will take before we're normal. You
study us in schoolmyou know what we were like
before the Cardassians invaded."
  Jake nodded. "You were peaceqoving."
    "Yes," Kira agreed. "And now we're war-loving.
We're vengeful, we're distrustful. But we're also hope-
ful. That's why we're building a starship for the
Federation, because we want to show that we can
build things again."
    She managed a smile. "I've been reading a little bit
about Terran history lately, and you've gone through
all of these same stages. In your case, it was worse,
because your cruelty came from within. You overcame
it, but it wasn't easy. Your father is helping us and
trying to set a good example. Please don't hold it
against him for helping us."
    Jake frowned. "Will you let me know... when
there's any news?"
    "Of course," said the major. "I have a lot of faith in
your father. You should, too."
     "Yeah," mumbled Jake. He smiled gamely.
"Thanks for telling me in person, Major." "That's okay."
    Jake slouched toward the turbolift, and the doors
whooshed open. Kira watched him until he was gone,
then shook her head.
    "Well," she muttered, "I guess if I can get through
that, I can get through the other meetings. Contact the
council, the ministers, and whoever else wants to see
me, and tell them that I'll go to Bajor as soon as Chief
O'Brien returns to DS9 with the cruisers."
 "Yes, sir," answered the subordinate.

"What is your plan?" asked Odo with his usual
directness.
    The shapeshifter looked well rested, thought Dax,
after spending three and a half hours as a blob of
liquid at the bottom of a portable lavatory aboard the
Mekong. Since she and Benjamin were about to return
to the planet, they had requested that he cut his rest
period short.
    "I don't know," sighed Sisko. "We've got to get
aboard the tanker, but we've got to do so with a
chance to take it over."
    "In other words," said Odo, "we've got to hijack it
back."
    "With three people," Dax added. "Really, two
people, because one of us has to pilot the runabout. I
don't know what we're doing exactly, but I think we're
on the right track in winning their confidence." She
gave them a wry smile. "I'm using a few skills I very
seldom use."
    Odo cocked his head curiously. "I see. From what
you've told me about the planet, there are no authori-
ty figures to whom we could appeal for help."
    "No," said Sisko, "there's only the hive mind of the
Ecocids, and it only seems interested in business-as-
usual. Weapons are outlawed, but we haven't found
much else that is."
    "I don't suppose," Odo said thoughtfully, "that you
saw anyone who might be of the same species as
myself?."
    Dax shook her head. "Who knows? We saw a lot of
unusual aliens, but nobody in a liquid state."
    Odo frowned. "Of course not. If I am modest about
my natural state, I suppose they would be too. I see
that we have no choice but to remain here and try to
pit the Ferengi against the terrorists, hoping they will
rely upon us for a solution."
    "That's about it," agreed Sisko. He slapped the
armrests of his chair, then stood. "Marcus Garvey and
Jade Dixon have a meeting in a few minutes."
    Dax smiled puzzledly. "I understand the correla-
tion between Jadzia Dax and Jade Dixon, but who is
Marcus Garvey?"
    "You need to study more Terran history," answered
Sisko. "I'11 loan you some reading materials as soon as
we get back. Let's put it this way--he has something
in common with Hannibal."
    Odo and Dax glanced at one another, but neither
one could enlighten the other. Odo swiveled around in
the Ops chair and ran his fingers over the controls.
"Should I return you to the Same coordinates where I
picked you up?" he asked.
    "Yes," said the commander, striding to the trans-
porter platform. "Coming, Jade?"
    "Yes, Marcus," she answered. Dax had been count-
ing the stack of black rectangular coins, wondering
exactly what twenty bilbok would purchase, other
than an overpriced map. She scooped up the coins and
stuffed them into her jacket pocket before joining
Sisko in the transporter. "I want to make sure we
don't run out of money," she explained.
    "If there's a bill, I'll make sure you get it," said
Sisko. "Okay, Constable, energize."
    Their molecules were dispersed across several thou-
sand kilometers of sunny planetary atmosphere to be
reassembled inside a dark subterranean emporium.
As before, the Redemption Center was sparsely
crowded compared to the larger restaurant they had
visited, but the odd illuminated symbols continued to
march across the ceiling.
    Dax looked around the room and didn't see any of
the parties they were supposed to meet. Suddenly, her
eyes struck something in one of the display cases,
something she would not have looked at if she hadn't
been thinking about how to play the part of Jade
Dixon. Draped over a curvaceous form in the display
window was a shimmering, low-cut, golden dress. She
walked toward it, wondering how it would look on
her.
    Even before joining with the symbiont named Dax,
the young woman named Jadzia had been a serious
person, little given to frivolity. The path to becoming
a host was demanding and unforgiving--only the
most determined were selected, fewer than ten per-
cent of the total population. That Curzon Dax had
turned into such a roustabout was still amazing to her,
but Jadzia Dax had completely different priorities. At
the moment, one of them was to try on the shimmer-
ing gold dress.
    Jadzia had not been a sensual person, and she had
had no desire to be one. However, that facet of life had
been fully appreciated by Curzon Dax, and the power
she wielded over the masculine sex--just by jiggling a
little and batting her eyes--was for part of her a new
experience. It required further study, and these cir-
cumstances were ideal. No one from Starfleet or DS9
was present to witness her "study," except for the one
person who knew her best, and he would forgive her
under the present circumstances. Yes, thought Dax,
the dress must be part of this experience.
    Sisko followed her without knowing where she was
headed. "Just like Ferengi and Bajorans to be late," he
muttered. "What are you looking at?"
  "That dress," she answered. "I'd like to buy it."
  He laughed. "You're not serious!"
  "Yes, I am."
    Sisko suddenly got serious too. "That's not some-
thing you would wear."
      "I know," she answered, transfixed by the dress.
"But it's something Jade Dixon would wear." 
 "I don't think so," he grumbled.
    "Listen, Benjamin, we have to keep them distracted
and off-balance. Can you think of anything that would
do it better than that dress?"
    Before he could answer--if he had an answer--the
dress shifted to the right on a pulley system that
revealed another dress. Afraid it would disappear
forever, Dax reached out to touch the case, and the
glasslike substance vanished at her touch.
    Touching the forcefield activated a synthesized
voice, which informed them, "The apparel costs
eighteen bilbok."
    "Eighteen bilbok!" scoffed Sisko. "That's almost all
we have!"
    She ignored him and reached for the dress. It
tumbled off the form into her hands.
 "What if it doesn't fit?" he asked.
    She smiled. "I haven't paid for it yet. You keep
watch for our friends."
    "The fitting room is to the right of this case," said
the voice.
    Dax gave Sisko what she hoped would be a comfort-
ing smile. 'Tll only be a minute."
    Commander Sisko paced in front of the display
case, occasionally slamming his fist into his palm. He
didn't know who he was less anxious to see--the surly
terrorists and their Ferengi partners, or Dax in that
dress. He tried very hard to think of Dax as his chum
and mentor, Curzon, and most of the time that wasn't
difficult. Jadzia had all of Curzon's memories and
experience, and the levelheaded wisdom she brought
to every occasion was a reassuring reminder of who
she was. But she wasn't the old man. She was a
different person, like someone who had been through
a very traumatic experience and had been forever
changed. She was perfectly calm about being a beauti-
ful young woman, and that kept him calm about it.
Most of the time.
    Sisko's traumatic experience came a moment later,
when Dax emerged from the fitting room, wearing the
revealing floor-length golden dress. His mouth hung
open, and his throat got dry, and he tried to stop his
eyes from wandering down the neckline. He knew she
had breasts, but he had never seen quite so much of
them before. Her cleavage was accentuated by the
delicate brown spots that wandered from her shoul-
ders deep into the glittering fabric.
    Sisko forced himself to look farther down the dress,
but that wasn't any better. It flowed around her hips
and thighs like a shimmering coat of paint, and the
fabric was transluscent enough to reveal the shape of
her legs underneath. He finally had to look away
entirely.
"You're not wearing that dress," he declared.
"Please, don't act like my father," Dax said. "I'm
old enough to be your father several times over, and I
think this dress will be very effective."
    Sisko couldn't argue with that. While he tried to
think of some good reason to forbid her from wearing
the dress, she shoved a box into his hands. "Those are
my old clothes," she said, "and I think I see our first
guests arriving."
    Swaggering through the room came the Bajoran,
Rizo. He was dressed in his same rough leather
garments, wearing the same distrustful scowl, only
this time he was accompanied by two Bajoran fe-
males. Sisko felt that Bajoran women were as attrac-
tive as any other, when they tried to be, but the
contrast between these two rugged terrorists and the
shimmering apparition beside him was rather amaz-
ing. Perhaps if they had been wearing the same
dresses... No, he decided, they still wouldn't look as
good as Dax.
    The contrast was not lost on Rizo either, or his
escorts. He smiled bemusedly at Dax, and the two
women glowered at her. To her credit, she looked as
calm as usual, as if she wore such exotic outfits every
day of the week.
 "Welcome," she said with a smile.
    "Hello," muttered Rizo. "Sorry we're late. If you
come down here with any sort of weapon at all, you
get whisked off to some damn holding cell. Even a
little knife."
 "How unfortunate," said Sisko. He nodded to the
Bajoran women. "! am Marcus Garvey. It's a pleasure
to meet you."
    "Elaka," said the taller and more forceful of the two
women. Her light brown hair was dirty and cut
raggedly, and her clothes were no cleaner than Rizo's.
She considered Dax with disgust. "I thought we were
coming down here to discuss business, not have an
orgy."
    "Actually," said Dax, "I was thinking more of
dancing."
    Rizo snapped at Elaka, "Leave her alone. We were
at each other's throats until they came along and
offered to help. Maybe we can get this resolved and get
on with the things we have to do." He leered at Dax in
a way that made Sisko feel both protective and
jealous. "I think Jade's approach will work very well
with Gimba. Put him in a good mood, if you know
what I mean."
    Elaka's eyes narrowed, as if she wasn't convinced
that he was thinking about Gimba. Sisko wondered
how involved the relationship was between her and
Rizo.
    "I am Petra," said the third Bajoran, and Sisko's
attention was diverted to the younger woman. "We
are freedom fighters, and we don't have many
resources," she explained. "Anything you can do to
help us will go a long way toward freeing Bajor from
oppression."
    Petra reminded him of what Major Kira might have
been like, say, five years ago, before her idealism was
tempered by pragmatism. He knew he shouldn't say
anything political, but he couldn't help but state the
obvious. "I thought Bajor was free? At least, I heard
you had gotten rid of the Cardassians."
     "Cardassians?" scoffed Rizo. "At least they were
 honest about their intentions. Now we have a puppet
 government set up by the Federation." He looked
 suspiciously at Sisko. "You aren't a Federation sym-
 pathizer, are you?"
     "I do most of my work outside Federation influ-
 ence," he answered, somewhat honestly.
     "By the wonders of Zot!" bellowed a voice behind
 them. "What a scrumptious vision!"
    There was little doubt what Gimba and his two
retainers were staring at and slathering over. The
Ferengi rushed forward to kiss Dax's hand, and she
smiled as if she enjoyed the slobbery attention. The
other two Ferengi stood bouncing on their feet, wait-
ing their turn to get close to Dax, but Gimba wasn't
going to give them the opportunity.
    "Jade," he purred, "looking at you in that beautiful
dress makes me wonder if we aren't mistaken in
keeping our own women naked. But then, one has to
maintain tradition. You are indeed a delicious vision,
and I am gratified that we made your acquaintance."
"Can we get on with this?" snarled Elaka.
    Gimba surveyed the Barjoran female with disdain.
"I suppose fifty years of Cardassian rule would make
anybody coarse," he sneered.
    Rizo looked torn between defending Elaka and
joining the others in their unabashed fawning over
Dax. Finally, he heaved his big shoulders and said, "I
suppose we must get on with it. Do you have a
meeting room for us?"
    "This way," said Dax, pointing to the corridor. "We
must follow the yellow pathway."
    The odd party made their way slowly through Hive
Three, passing a number of small doors that might
have been private quarters, then past what appeared
to be a recreation room, complete with clanging bells
and excited shouts. Gimba told his comrades to
remember what color would get them back to the
gaming room. Otherwise, he was content to make
aimless small talk with Dax. Sisko found himself
walking between the two Bajoran women.
    Elaka wore a perpetual frown, but Petra seemed
genuinely excited to be on the strange planet of Eco.
"I've never seen anything like this," said the younger
woman as they passed the gaming room.
 "You should go to Deep Space Nine," said Sisko.
    Elaka glared at him. "I thought you had nothing to
do with the Federation?"
    "I didn't say I had nothing to do with it," answered
Sisko. "I don't know how you come to be in the
Gamma Quadrant, but most ships have to stop at
Deep Space Nine before they can go through the
wormhole."
    "Hmm," she grunted, granting him that small con-
cession. "One day we will control Deep Space Nine
and the wormhole, and we'll blast any Cardassian or
Federation vessels to pieces!"
    It was difficult, but Sisko held his tongue. "What
possessed you to become a freedom fighter?" he
asked.
    For a moment, Elaka's hateful expression was re-
placed by one even more terrifying. "You don't want
to know."
  "Yes, I do," Sisko insisted.
    It was Petra who replied, "Our comrade, Elaka, was
buried alive in a ditch by the Cardassians. The bodies
of her parents were thrown on top of her. She had to
claw her way through them to get out." She said it in a
matter-of-fact tone that was chilling, as if such histo-
ries were commonplace among their band.
     A breath escaped from Elaka, like the hissing of an
 aifiock. "Death is the punishment for those who
 oppose us," she said. "They deserve no mercy."
    Sisko nodded and could think of nothing else to say.
He was familiar with unbridled hatred--he had felt it
himself, against the Borg and their conduit, Captain
Jean-Luc Picard. But hatreds so deep had to be
treated, had to be replaced with duty that benefited
others rather than destroyed blindly. Despite his
sympathy for Elaka and her kind, he had to remember
that they had massacred the crew of the tanker and
endangered the lives of thousands of people. They
were warped and unstable, like the antimatter they
had so recklessly stolen.
    It was with relief that he saw the yellow line widen
into a triangle, leading them into a circular lounge
with several numbered doors surrounding it. Dax led
the group to the room assigned them, and the door
whooshed open at her approach.
    They entered a brightly lit room containing a mas-
sive table of what appeared to be natural amber, a
dozen comfortable chairs, and two food slots. At the
sound of their voices, one of the food slots began
producing delicate pastries, and the other slot pro-
duced several cups of steaming liquid.
    Sisko walked over to the food slot and picked up
one of the steaming cups. He held it to his nose and
took a long sniff. "Coffee!" he marveled.
    "Coffee," echoed Gimba, strolling over toward the
machine and taking a cup. "One of the few Terran
refreshments that I can tolerate."
    But Sisko was frowning. "How do they know how to
make coffee?" he asked. "Or that we even drink it?"
    "We don't drink it," said Rizo, looking in disgust at
the dark fluid. "I'll have a Regulan ale."
"That is not in our memory," answered the ma-
chine.
    Rizo balled his hand into a fist. "You can make
coffee, but you can't make ale?" He looked as if he was
about to smash the machine; then he glanced at Dax
and thought better of it. He finally grabbed one of the
cups of coffee and took a seat at the handsome table.
    Sisko sat at the head of a table. "Shall we begin?" he
asked pleasantly.
    "Yes," said Gimba, who continued to pace near the
food slot, consuming pastries as quickly as the ma-
chine could make them. "The Bajorans were partners
of ours in a rather risky business venture. All the
arrangements were made in advance, and now they
want to change them."
    "Lies!" snarled Elaka, slamming her fist on the
table. "It was harder taking that tanker than they told
us it would be. We deserve more!"
    "Let's stay calm," said Sisko with determination.
"What was this business venture?"
    Gimba smiled. "Shall we say, we relieved the Feder-
ation of several storage pods of antimatter."
    His fellow Ferengi chuckled, and Gimba went on,
"They weren't our only partners--we also used cer-
tain Klingons who don't care much for the Federa-
tion. There's our problem. The Klingons got paid
hard currency for their part in the activities, currency
which we planned to recoup when we sold the anti-
matter. Now Rizo and his crew refuse to turn the
antimatter over to us."
    Rizo banged his coffee cup on the table. "We risked
our lives for that antimatter! We lost many brave
people, people we can't replace. All these fat Ferengi
did was sit around and wait for us to do all the dirty
work!"
    "I resent that!" snapped Gimba. He looked down at
his protruding stomach and tossed the last bite of
pastry into his mouth. "We organized and planned the
entire heist. It was our contacts and our secret intelli-
gence that made it possible."
    He shook a chubby finger at Rizo. "He wouldn't
have been able to get within a parsec of that tanker
without our help. He's just an ungrateful fool!"
    As fast as a Regulan eelbird, Elaka jumped behind
Gimba and whipped a cord around his neck. As her
sinewy forearms pulled tight, his cheeks bulged and
chunks of pastry shot out of his mouth. Gagging, the
Ferengi dropped to his knees and clutched at his
throat.
    Sisko leaped up and started toward her, along with
the other two Ferengi, but Elaka murmured, "One
more step, and he's dead. Rizo can tell you--I've
garroted much stronger men than this weakling. You
won't hear his lies until you've heard us first!"

CHAPTER
      6

ALL EYES TURNED toward Rizo, and the big Bajoran
rose slowly to his feet. His cautious movements made
it clear that he knew Elaka was capable of strangling
Gimba in an instant. That didn't keep him from
glaring at her.
    "Let him go," he said evenly. "We're not here to
fight--we're here to negotiate. The Ferengi were a
help to us, and they deserve to get something. Let him
go!"
    Elaka looked chastened, as if she hadn't counted on
Rizo turning against her. Sisko looked over at Dax,
and he could see through her tight gown that she was
holding her breath. He fumbled in his pocket for his
comm badge and felt better once he had found it. If
worse came to worse, they could beam out of that
stifling room.
    Elaka grimaced in disgust and released the cord.
Gimba slumped forward, gasping for breath, and his
retainers rushed to help him. Elaka prowled the room
like an angry cat, until she came to rest in the comer
farthest from her victim. Despite the way everyone
glared at her, she exhibited no remorse.
    Sisko knelt down beside the strickened Ferengi.
"Can you continue?"
    "Yes, yes," croaked Gimba. He glanced at the
Bajoran in the far corner. "They're rather forceful
about making their points, aren't they?"
    "Excuse me," said Dax, "but I don't believe this
method is going to work. Whenever one of you tries to
give his case with the other one present, we'll have an
argument. There are two of us, Marcus and myself,
and I think it might be better if we heard your cases
separately. Then we could confer and reach a deci-
sion."
    "I would agree to that," said Rizo. He looked
pointedly at Dax. "I think we can tell our story to
Jade, and she would understand."
    Sisko was about to protest--he didn't want Dax
alone with those lunatics--but then he realized that
she would probably be even less safe alone with the
Ferengi.
    Elaka didn't look pleased by the prospect either. "I
don't want her to come aboard the ship," she de-
clared.
    "Of course not," said Rizo. "Nobody gets aboard
that tanker but us."
    "You can stay here," rasped Gimba. "We'll take
Marcus Garvey aboard our ship and talk to him there.
It is agreed then." The Ferengi staggered to his feet
and massaged his neck.
    "May I confer with Jade for a moment?" asked
Sisko.
Both Rizo and Gimba nodded, and Sisko led Dax to
a neutral comer. "Have you got your comm badge on
you?" he whispered.
    She smiled. "Yes, although it's not anywhere I
would want anybody to look for it."
    "At the first sign of trouble, you call Odo and get
back to the runabout."
    Dax whispered, "I may look stupid in this dress, but
I'm not. I thought, by splitting up, maybe one of us
could get aboard the tanker. Maybe that won't happen
now, but it's got to happen sometime. I'll stay here
with them, and we'll meet back at the runabout as
soon as possible."
    "All right," agreed Sisko. "I suppose you'll be safe
here." He knew he didn't have to tell her to look out
for Elaka.
    He gazed at Rizo as he strode past him. "I'm
depending upon you for the safety of my associate."
    "Don't worry," said the Bajoran. "No harm will
come to her, I swear it."
Sisko nodded. "I'm ready to go," he told Gimba.
The Ferengi gave him a sly smile. "I trust you will
enjoy this little visit to our ship. There are some
people I would like you to meet." He touched an
ornate bracelet on his wrist and spoke loudly, "Four to
beam back i~stead of three. Please prepare a special
welcome for our guest, Marcus Garvey, who is stand-
ing on my right."
    "Aye, sir," came a raspy voice. "Getting ready to
transport."
    Sisko tried to conceal the worry in his eyes as he
gave Dax an encouraging smile. A second later, he felt
the tingle of the transporter beam along his spine, and
the conference room faded from view.
  It was replaced by a garish silver-and-gold trans-
porter platform that had twin arches crossing over it,
each embedded with glittering jewels. The walls of the
room were made entirely of mirrored surfaces and
colored lights, which made the room look bigger than
it was. Eerie music and some sort of perfumed scent
wafted about the place. It reminded Sisko of one of
Quark's more obnoxious holosuite programs, and this
was only the transporter room.
    He had seen a number of Ferengi Marauders, and
he knew the unihull vessel had the approximate shape
of a horseshoe crab, with its propulsion system in the
tail. He also knew the Marauder was a very sophisti-
cated starship with technologies stolen and bought
from all over the galaxy, plus a crew of several
hundred. He assumed the transporter room was in the
larger forward section, and he wondered where the
weapons were, as well as what they were.
    Gimba let out a large sigh and stepped off the
platform. "I think you can see the difficulty we have
dealing with those barbarians," he told Sisko.
    "Yes," said the commander, following his host,
"some of them are rather unpleasant. But that doesn't
mean they don't have a valid claim."
    "They have no claim," grumbled Gimba, "all they
have is the antimatter." The Ferengi motioned to his
retainers to remain behind, and Sisko followed him
into a turbolift. When the doors closed, he found
himself alone with the Ferengi chieftain.
    "Deck six," ordered the Ferengi, and the turbolift
lurched downward. Gimba smiled at Sisko. "You're
surprised I asked you to accompany us instead of your
lovely associate, Jade."
 "Well, yes, I am," the commander admitted.
 "We're reasonable men," said the Ferengi, "with
reasonable wants and desires. What are your desires,
Marcus Garvey?"
Sisko smiled. "Are you attempting to bribe me?"
Gimba shrugged. "But of course. We Ferengi have a
sayingman angry man is an enemy, and a satisfied
man is an ally."
 "Satisfied?" asked Sisko suspiciously.
    The turbolift thudded to a stop, and the command-
er felt his stomach sag. He was first off the decrepit
lift, and he could hardly believe the sight that greeted
his eyes. The turbolift opened into a luxurious bed-
room, with pillows piled high in every comer and
striped sheets adoming the walls. On the other side of
the room, a door opened, and the sight got even more
amazing as five naked Ferengi women strutted into
the giant boudoir.
    Sisko tried to find somewhere else to look, but he
was unable to avert his eyes. The Ferengi women were
entirely comfortable with their nudity, and they took
his wild-eyed stare as a compliment. Two of them
giggled.
    Though there were only five of them, they repre-
sented every imaginable shape and size. There was a
tall one with a sleek tanned body; a squat rotund one
who laughed a lot; another with mammary glands that
sagged to her navel; and a haughty creature who would
have looked presentable in Dax's new dress, despite
her enormous ears. The last one was disgustingly
young, barely older than his son, Jake, and her body
was still forming.
    Sisko cleared his throat and tried to find his host,
but Gimba had stepped back into the turbolift. "This
is my harem," he explained. "And my harem is your
harem. We'll talk later." The turbolift door clanged
shut.
    "No, no!" shouted Sisko. But the naked women
were already converging upon him.

    "Can we get some real food out of this thing?"
muttered Rizo, staring forlornly at the food slot in the
conference room.
    Dax stole a sidelong glance at Elaka, wondering
what else might send the unbalanced woman into
attack mode. Dax was beginning to regret buying the
body-hugging dress, but there was no turning back
now. She had a part to play, and the dress helped her
play it. Luckily, Benjamin had left the box containing
her regular clothes, so she could change if things got
too sticky.
    She told Rizo, "There was a wide variety of food in
the dining hall we saw earlier. All we have to do is
follow the blue stripe."
      "Fine," said the Bajoran. He looked pointedly at
Elaka and Petra. "Just Jade and I will go."  
"No!" protested Elaka. "We all go."
    Rizo shook his head sternly. "No, Elaka, not after
the trick you pulled. You're going back to the ship."
    Dax held her breath, thinking that the insane wom-
an was going to attack Rizo with her bare hands.
Instead, Elaka rushed to him and hugged his broad
chest fiercely. "Don't ever leave me. Ever."
    He gently but forcefully pushed her away. "You and
Petra go back to the tanker. Double the guard, and
keep the shields up. These negotiations may not work,
although I hope they will." He glanced at Dax.
    Elaka looked at Dax, too, as she drew her stolen
comm badge from her pocket. Her look told the Trill
that a cord would find her neck if she tried to steal
Rizo from her. Dax returned the woman's spiteful
gaze with what she hoped was a guileless smile.
 "I have my eye on you," said Elaka.
    "Understood," answered Dax. "I only want what's
best for all of us."
    Rizo strode toward the door, and it whooshed open.
"Come on," he ordered. Dax grabbed her box from
the table and followed him out.
    As soon as they were in the corridor, the Bajoran
seemed to relax, although Dax saw him glancing over
his shoulder to make sure Elaka wasn't following.
    "She is a great fighter," he explained. "Very loyal.
But she doesn't understand that not everything needs
to be won by force. If we are to succeed, we must learn
to lead our people."
  "What is your goal?" asked Dax.
    "A Bajor for Bajorans, not for anyone else. We've
earned the right to map our own destiny, and we don't
need that pompous Federation to tell us what to do.
Do you know what they are doing on Bajor right now?
They are building a starshipmfor the Federation! Not
for Bajorans. Not for our use or our commerce. First it
was the Cardassians, now it's the Federation. We must
expel them all."
    "Is that why you stole the antimatter?" Dax asked
innocently.
    "Yes. It was destined for that starship. Originally,
we did agree to steal the antimatter in order to stop
the launch and embarrass the puppet government.
But now we have both the storage pods and the tanker,
and we paid for them with our blood! Why should we
give them up to a bunch of money-grubbing Ferengi?"
    Rizo chuckled, and Dax found it a pleasant sound.
She liked the way his scowl vanished and a warmth
came over his rugged features. She had to remind
herself that he was cold-blooded murderer.
  "I guess I'm not presenting my case very well, am
I?" he asked. "I shouldn't say I agreed to one thing
and now want to renege. But we need either cash, the
tanker, or a good portion of the antimatter. We can't
count on Klingons and Ferengi to help usmwe have to
become stronger on our own. There used to be a dozen
rebel enclaves, until the Federation came along and
fooled most of them into laying down their arms. We
have to bring them back into the fight! What we did is
only temporary--we know the Federation will send
more antimatter, and they'll try to claim their ship.
We have to stop them. That ship was built on Bajor,
and it belongs to Bajor."
    As if making small talk, Dax remarked, "The
Federation is pretty stubborn. How can you hope to
get rid of them for good?"
    Rizo's eyes narrowed as he stared down the winding
corridor. "By destroying the wormhole. That's the
only reason they're around. When the wormhole is
gone, the Federation will follow."

    A naked Ferengi woman towered over Benjamin
Sisko, flaunting her voluptuous body. "What's the
matter?" she sneered. "Don't you like what you see?"
    Another woman had pushed Sisko onto a pillow,
and a third was insistently massaging his neckmhe
felt he was in immediate danger of being raped. Two
of the women, including the youngest one, showed
little interest in him, but the other three appeared
determined to have their way with him, or at least
have a good laugh at his expense.
    "He must like boys," said the chubby one with a
snicker.
    "We'll cure him of that," cooed the one massaging
his neck. Her hands worked around to his chest and
started downward.
    "No, no, you don't understand," said Sisko, gently
removing her hands. "I am a... a Vulcan. And we
only mate during pon farr."
    "A Vulcan?" said the statuesque nude. "You don't
look much like a Vulcan."
    "Plastic surgery," said Sisko. "I didn't want to be
mistaken for a Romulan."
    "Gimba will be displeased," said the woman be-
hind him.
    "Why does Gimba have to know?" asked Sisko.
"Let's give ourselves a short amount of time, then
we'll contact him."
    "I suppose so," the tall one pouted. "But it's so
boring here in the Gamma Quadrant~we were hop-
ing to have a little fun."
    Gradually, Sisko was becoming accustomed to the
unabashed nakedness of the Ferengi women~it re-
minded him of a Betazoid wedding he had once
attended. As long as he could keep them talking, he
decided, maybe they wouldn't try anything else.
    "Why do Ferengi women always go around naked?"
he asked.
    The chubby gave him a toothy grin and slid her
hand along her corpulent waist. "Because we have
such great bodies."
"And our men like us this way," the tall one added.
"But do you like being naked?" he asked.
The voluptuous one stared at him puzzledly. "Do I
like being naked? What a queer question. Do you like
being clothed? Aren't clothes hot and uncomfort-
able?"
    "Zot gave us skin. Zot didn't give us any clothes,"
said another.
    This conversation was going nowhere, thought
Sisko, and it could take a dangerous turn any minute.
He stood and started backing toward the turbolift. "I
promise that, when ponfarr overcomes me, I will seek
out your ship. Will you please tell Gimba that I would
like to see him now?"
    "What a pity," said the chubby one. She lifted a
pillow and suggestively stroked the panel underneath
it. The turbolift door opened, and Sisko hurried
inside, slumping against the wall.
  "Take me to the bridge," he sighed.
    The turbolift shook for a moment, then rumbled
upward. When it stopped, the door opened, and he
was greeted by a frowning Ferengi with his arms
crossed.
    "What's the matter?" asked Gimba. "Didn't you
like my women?"
    "Quite lovely," said Sisko. "And charming. It's just
that I, uh, couldn't..."
    "You like boys?" asked Gimba. "I can arrange
that." He clapped his hands. "Maalo, Pixo! Come
here!"
    "No, no," said Sisko, "I'm content just to talk. If
you're trying to buy my help, the use of your harem
isn't necessary. I'm predisposed to help you, anyway."
    Gimba grinned. "You are?" Then he frowned suspi-
ciously. "Why?"
    Sisko lowered his voice, as if revealing a confidence.
"As I told you before, Jade and I can't go back to the
Alpha Quadrant for some time. Until some trouble
blows over. We would like to explore the Gamma
Quadrant for a bit, but we don't have enough antimat-
ter to get us very far. That's what attracted us to your
conversation, when we heard you arguing over anti-
matter."
 Now Gimba really grinned, and he ushered Sisko
back into the turbolift. The doors jarred shut behind
them. "Deck four," he said. The turbolift dropped out
from under them, sending the commander's stomach
swirling.
    To his relief, the doors opened onto a small lounge
area that was little more than a few soft chairs, a game
table, and a food slot. He could see a corridor leading
off, presumbably to the crew's quarters.
    "Nobody here now," said Gimba. "Have a seat. Tell
me what is on your mind."
    "Just this," answered Sisko, improvising as he went
along. "If we could arrange for you to get both the
antimatter and the tanker, cotfid you part with, say,
four pods of antimatter? In our little craft, that would
be enough for a year or two."
    Gimba smiled. "Three pods. I can't give you any
more."
    Sisko shrugged. "All right. I haven't thought this
plan through all the way, so if you have any sugges-
tions, please let me know. Jade and I will work out an
agreement that is very beneficial to the Bajorans. For
example, you get the antimatter, and they get the
tanker and a few bars of gold-pressed latinum."
  "What?" growled Gimba. "That's too good!"
  Sisko shook his head. "Don't worry, the deal will
  never happen. But it must be good enough for them to
  agree to it unconditionally. The whole point of this is
  to get one of us, probably Jade, aboard the tanker. We
  can say it's on the pretext of inspecting the antimatter
  pods before they're transferred over to you."
    Sisko snapped his fingers. "Even better--to avoid
any dishonesty on anyone's part, we'll say that only
three people can be present when the storage pods are
moved from the tanker to your ship--yourself, Rizo,
 and Jade. Everyone else will have to wait on the
 surface of the planet."
     Gimba chuckled and massaged a massive earlobe.
 "I like that idea. Then we can just leave the Bajorans
 on the planet and let the insects deal with them."
    After a moment's thought, the Ferengi frowned.
"But how can just the three of us move all those heavy
pods, even if we really aren't going to move them?"
    "Don't worry," answered Sisko, "a Starfleet tanker
is totally automated. The docking, the robotic convey-
or beltinto do any of it you just have to press a few
buttons."
    Gimba narrowed his eyes. "How do you know
that?"
    Sisko smiled, while thinking quickly. "I worked on
a Federation starbase for a whilemas a chef--and I
learned a great many things that have proven useful. If
you have a better way to pry the antimatter away from
the Bajorans, I would like to hear it."
    Gimba scowled. "No, go ahead. So there will just be
the three of us--me, Jade, and Rizo. Since I suppose I
will have to stay on nay ship, that means that Jade will
have to overpower Rizo by herself. Can she do that?"
Sisko nodded. "Jade has hidden talents."
    "Oooh," moaned Gimba, stroking his ear, "I would
like to discover her hidden talents." He shook himself
out of his reverie. "All right, then our plans are made.
For three pods of antimatter, you will propose this
simply terrible deal to the Bajorans. One of the
conditions is that Ja~i3nd Rizo alone will be on the
tanker when the po sd~Ware transferred. And we will
trust Jade to do the rest."
    His frown suddenly deepened as he leaned across
the table toward Sisko. "You know what Ferengi do to
those who cheat them, don't you? We have a sort of
whip that can remove small pieces of skin, almost
surgically. But without anesthesia. Those who experi-
ence this weapon always end up begging us to kill
them. Of course, we might reserve other types of
punishment for Jade."
    "You don't have either the tanker or the antimatter
now, and you don't have to give up anything. So
you're not risking very much."
 "I hope not," snarled the Ferengi.

    An hour later, Odo listened impassively to the
reports of Commander Sisko and Lieutenant Dax, as
they related their adventures on the planet of Eco.
Sisko's account wasn't surprising in the least--it
entailed the usual obnoxious behavior of Ferengi, who
would rather pursue a dishonest deal than an honest
one. Odo could, however, enjoy the fact that the
Ferengi had been double-crossed by their hired mus-
cle, the Bajorans, and now they had to pursue their
ill-gotten gains through the efforts of a dishonest
intermediary.
    Despite any illusions the others might have held,
the security officer knew that he, Sisko, and Dax were
little better than their quarry. Through dishonest
means, they were attempting to steal back the anti-
matter. It bothered him, but there was no acceptable
alternative. There was no law in this part of the
Gamma Quadrant, at least none that recognized the
Federation and its rights.
    Dax's account was more troubling, because she
actually seemed to enjoy the company of the terrorist,
Rizo. Odo wouldn't go so far as to say that she was
infatuated with him, but she could sympathize with
his motives, if not his methods. As he studied the
attractive Trill in her shimmering dress, he wondered
if the role she was playing had affected her judgment.
Perhaps, he decided, it was impossible to play the role
of a femme fatale without losing a portion of common
sense.
    Odo had often assumed the guise of inanimate
objects, small animals, and species other than his
own, and he often developed an odd sort of kinship
with his subject, even if it was a rat or a painting. He
decided not to judge Dax too harshly until he saw how
this game played out.
    More chilling was their description of Elaka, a
person he judged to be seriously deranged. That she
was only one of a force of similar Bajorans was very
troubling. He hoped that, perhaps, they could be left
on the planet of Eco, never to endanger the Alpha
Quadrant again.
    "There you have it," Sisko concluded. He turned to
Dax. "Do you think you can get Rizo and the
Bajorans to accept our proposal? Essentially, we'll tell
them they get to keep the tanker and a little cash, in
exchange for the antimatter. But the transfer must
take place with just you and Rizo aboard the tanker."
He smiled at Odo. "Of course, you'll bring a handbag
or a jacket with you."
    The spots along Dax's hairline stretched as she
frowned. "I don't know, Benjamin. They will proba-
bly accept the deal, but they're going to be very
cautious. Rizo is going to expect some sort of trick."
    Odo held up a slim finger. "May I make a sugges-
tion?"
    "Of course, Constable," said Sisko, leaning back in
his chair at the conn station of the runabout.
    "As long as we are being disgustingly dishonest,"
said Odo, "why should we be dishonest only on one
side? Why can't the lieutenant tell the Bajorans that
she is going to rig the deal for them?"
    Odo continued, "The Ferengi vessel will also have
only one person on board, and all the others will be on
the planet. So, she could promise Rizo a chance to
overpower this Gimba person and hijack their ship.
They would leave the planet with two ships instead of
one, all the antimatter, and whatever loot is on the
Ferengi ship, which is probably considerable."
    Dax asked, "What do we say we're getting out of
it?"
    "The same deal," answered Odo. "A few pods of
antimatter to go on our merry way."
Sisko shook his head. "It's really dangerous."
The shapeshifter gazed at the ceiling. "Command-
er, it's debatable whether it's more dangerous to
double-cross a pack of terrorists than a pack of
Ferengi. Everything we are considering is dangerous,
even if I disguise myself as a purse or a jacket. All it
would take is either Rizo or Gimba getting to the
transporter controls, and they wouldn't be alone
anymore."
    "Yes," mused Sisko, running his hand over his
short-cropped hair, "the whole thing requires split-
second timing. Maybe what we're trying to do is
impossible. But what choice do we have?"
    Dax took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "It's up
to me," she said. "I have to convince Rizo to get me
alone on that tanker."
    Odo and Sisko exchanged a glance, and Odo knew
they were both thinking the same thing. The way
Lieutenant Dax looked in that dress, it shouldn't be
difficult to get a man to want to be alone with her.
Neither one was going to tell her what she could do, or
ask her to do it. But she undoubtedly knew. There was
also the problem of Elaka, who wouldn't take kindly
to Dax making overtures to her mate, if she found out.
    Sisko smiled and sounded upbeat. "But if we do this
right, we'll have two people on the tanker and one here
on the runabout, to cover the getaway. I don't see what
can go wrong."
    Suddenly, Dax leaned forward. "What was that?"
she asked, peering toward the rear of the cabin.
    Both Odo and Sisko swiveled their heads in the
direction she was looking, but the shapeshifter
couldn't see anything. "What did it look like?" he
asked.
    "Just something moved... along the floor." Dax
slumped back in her chair and rubbed her eyes.
"Never mind. I'm tired, and I drank a couple of ales.
I'm sure it was just a shadow."
    "Yes, we all need some sleep," said Sisko, rising to
his feet and stretching his long arms.
    "With your permission, Commander," said Odo, "I
would like to go below to the planet. I haven't been
there yet, and nobody has seen me. If the Ferengi or
Bajorans are still there, perhaps I can overhear their
conversation."
    Sisko smiled. "Go ahead, Constable. If you meet
anybody who's like you, I hope you have a nice
reunion."
    Odo would have blushed, if he were capable of
doing so. He wished it weren't such an open secret
that he was constantly on the lookout for others of his
own species, whatever that was.
 He took off his comm badge and other insignia and
put them in his pocket--at least he didn't have a
Starfleet uniform to camouflage. The shapeshifter
strode to the transporter platform, as Sisko leaned
over the controls.
 "Ready," said Odo.
 "Energizing," Sisko replied.

CHAPTER
      7

MAJOR KIRA sat in the conn seat of the runabout Rio
Grande and monitored their progress. They would be
reaching orbit around Bajor in about half an hour, she
estimated. She glanced beside her at Amkot Groell,
who was behaving exactly as she would expect a
starship builder to behavemhe was scrutinizing every
blinking light and panel readout. He gazed up at the
viewscreen to see a far-off globe that was getting larger
with every passing second.
"That viewscreen is too small," he remarked.
Kira smiled. "I know. But we don't have unlimited
energy in these runabouts. They're only supposed to
be for short trips, you know." "Weaponry?" he asked.
     "Six small phaser emitters," she replied. "Two
microtorpedoes." "Only two?"
 "Listen, Director Amkot, I didn't design these
runabouts, but I would have a hard time designing
better craft for our use on the station. They have
better range and speed than shuttlecraft, but they
don't take up much docking space. That's important,
since they're docked most of the time."
    Director Amkot nodded. "Yes, I can see the utility
in that. I have been very impressed with the design of
the Hannibal. At first, I thought they were giving us a
castoff when they asked us to build an Ambassador-
class ship, but it's a very flexible design, very modern.
The compact size of the space-time driver coil is quite
amazing."
  "I'm glad," said Kira wearily.
    "You're not having an easy time of it, are you,
Major? Tell me, has there been any word from Com-
mander Sisko?"
    Kira shook her short-bobbed head of reddish hair.
"No. It's like they vanished from the universe. I sure
wish they would come back."
  Amkot gave her a sidelong glance. "Do you?"
    "What's that supposed to mean?" Kira asked
slowly.
    "Nothing," replied the administrator. "I'm sure it's
a shock to suddenly be without your commanding
officer, but you're qualified to run the station, aren't
you."
    "I suppose," Kira answered doubtfully. "Don't
forget, we're also missing our security chief and our
science officer, and they're about as good as you can
get."
    The director smiled grimly. "But they are replace-
able. Everybody is, including me."
    Kira had been wondering how to bring up the
subject of the explosions at the shipyard that had
nearly killed her and Commander Sisko. Amkot's
sudden burst of philosophy and personal prying gave
her an opening. She seized it.
    "What happened down at your shipyards?" she
asked. "Who tried to kill us? And don't tell me it was
aimless sabotage, that we were just standing in the
wrong place at the wrong time. After what happened
to the convoy, I know it was more than that. If both
Commander Sisko and I had been killed, Deep Space
Nine would have been in trouble, and the hijacking
would have gone even better than it did."
    Amkot brushed back his shock of white hair with a
trembling hand. "You know. You recently dealt with
them. They resent the Federation, even though they
saved us from the Cardassians. They resent the fact
that we needed the Federation, and they resent the fact
that we need them now. They don't want peace--they
want to keep fighting."
    "The Circle?" asked Kira with amazement. "We
stopped them cold. They're history."
    The engineer shook his head. "Did you expose
every sympathizer? Did you arrest every person who
wants to see the Federation leave Bajor? No. They no
longer have a name, but they remain--some in high
places."
    Kira slapped her console with frustration. "Who?
Give me names?
    "IfI give you names," rasped Amkot, "they will kill
me. They came to me after Bajor was liberated and
said, 'Amkot Groell, we know you served the
Cardassians, but we are going to let you live. You kept
the shipyards ready, and now we need them to build
ships for Bajor.' They allowed me to build the Hanni-
bal only to sharpen the skills of the workers. They told
me who to hire, who to fire. They are always present."
Kira shook her head in disbelief. "Are you telling
me that you're being threatened? That someone is
coercing you?"
    Amkot lowered his head, and his voice was barely a
whisper. "I had to agree in order to build the Hanni-
bal. I had to build at least one ship before I died."
    The major stared at him. "What did you agree to?
You knew they were going to kill us, didn't you? You
set us up! I ought to turn back to DS9 and throw you
into a cell!"
    The little man nodded. "You could do that, Major.
At least I would be safe, but the Hannibal would never
be finished. I'm not proud of what I've done--for
thirty years I have not been proud of what I've done. I
had to convince the Cardassians I was running a
museum, a relic of the past. Now I have to convince
the Federation I'm operating on their behalf, the
government on their behalf, the underground on their
behalf. I've been pulled in so many different direc-
tions, I don't know what I believe in anymore!"
    His chin quivered, but he said forcefully, "I am
proud of one thing--the Hannibal. That's my ship.
My only wish is to live to see it fly."
    Kira chewed at her lower lip, but she could think of
only one thing to say. "After the Hannibal is
launched, will you tell me who threatened you?"
    The little white-haired man nodded; then he went
back to studying the instruments. They spoke no more
during the last leg of the trip to Bajor.

    Odo stepped out of the receiving room, still marvel-
ing at the efficiency of the hive mind of the Ecocids. Of
course, he had no weapons to surrender--he never
carried a phaser. To him, life was too precious to risk
ending it so abruptly, and he didn't trust electronic
devices all that much. He looked at the array of
brightly colored stripes lining the wall. From the
accounts of Sisko and Dax, he knew that blue led to a
restaurant, cyan to the Redemption Center, and yel-
low to the conference rooms. He chose to follow the
red stripe, even though red signified danger in most
cultures.
    Odo spotted several Ecocids scurrying along the
vents over his head, and he slowed his stride to walk
beside them. Picking a few specimens from the black
stream, he studied the small creatures. How did they
communicate? he wondered. Pheromones? Low-level
electric current? Sound? Touch? Or all of the above?
When he rounded a comer, he noticed that the
Ecocids were headed in the same direction he was,
following the red line. Odo cocked his head and strode
along beside them.
    He passed another of the ubiquitous interface ter-
minals, and he almost stopped to talk to the hive
mind. He knew exactly what he would ask it--were
there any other shapeshifters like him in Hive Three?
But something in Odo's nature--a desire for privacy,
an innate distrust--prevented him from revealing
himself to the collective consciousness. Odo might not
have known anything about his race or his origins, but
he knew himself and his outlook on the universe: He
was honest, and everyone else wasn't. Even his closest
associates were never free from suspicion.
    The black insects looked benign, but according to
Commander Sisko, the hive mind was capable of
lying. That was enough in his book to justify further
observation.
    After several twists and turns and considerable
walking, he noticed that the corridor was getting
narrower. The red stripe was now the only one on the
wall, and the number of Ecocids had increased expo-
nentially with each corridor that emptied into this
one. They now swarmed all over the walls and floor,
and Odo had to tread carefully to avoid stepping on
them. He wasn't sure why he was following the
Ecocids except that, subconsciously, he had chosen
this route, and he wanted to see where the red stripe
led.
    Before he and the Ecocids reached their destina-
tion, a small hairy humanoid came ambling toward
him from the other direction, carrying a pail and a
mop. He looked suspiciously at Odo as they passed
each other, but he said nothing. The shapeshifter
assumed that this was one of the servants that Sisko
and Dax had reported seeing. His presence explained
why the red stripe extended down a corridor that was
apparently used only by Ecocids.
    After another tributary emptied its six-legged traffic
into the main corridor, the insects were swarming
over the floor, walls, and ceiling. Odo inched along
without picking up his feet. A pungent odor rose all
around him, and he could hear the scurrying of a
billion little legs, and the flapping of a million tiny
wings. Thus far, the Ecocids hadn't seemed to mind
his presence, but he wondered what would happen if
he stepped on a few of them. He only wonderedmhe
wasn't about to find out.
    He had to crouch down as the corridor lowered in
height as well as narrowed in width, but he could
finally see the end. Unfortunately, he had to stop
before he got there for fear of killing dozens of
Ecocids with each step. Ahead of him, a monstrous
hump of insects were swarming over something, and
he thought about the servant with the mop and pail.
    At the end of the corridor, he saw a number of
unevenly spaced holes, each about as big as his fist.
They were black with insects crawling in and out.
    The screeching of their tiny legs was becoming
annoying. Then he heard the synthesized voice, which
seemed to come from the vents over his head. The
vents, too, were clogged with Ecocids.
    "Warning," said the voice, "visitors are not permit-
ted in the inner hive. Warning, please turn back.
Warning, we cannot be responsible for your safety if
you continue."
    Odo didn't need to be told twice. He turned slowly,
taking one last look over his shoulder at the mysteri-
ous lump of something at the end of the red-lined
corridor.

    Major Kira surveyed the room and swallowed hard.
From their accusatory expressions, the gathering of
Bajoran dignitaries looked more like a lynch mob
than a casual fact-finding committee. Plus, she
couldn't get the troubling words of Amkot Groell out
of her mind. How many of these people were plotting
to overthrow the provisional government, which was
already shaky enough?
    She recognized Roser Issa, Minister of Public
Works, to whom Amkot Groell reported; Minister of
Commerce Tanar Maya; Minister of the Interior
Wistod Emen; council members Kawa Lerdo and
Tagen Nico; and two members of the assembly, whom
she didn't know by name but recognized by their
robes. There was even a red-robed vedek, one of the
Bajoran religious leaders. The only thing missing was
a judge and a rope with a noose in it.
 Minister Roser sighed contemptuously. "When I
last saw you, Major, you and your commander as-
sured me that the antimatter would be transferred to
the shipyards without incident."
 "We thought it would," agreed Kira.
"Yet it was stolen right from under your noses."
"Not exactly," answered Kira. "It was stolen at a
distance from the station of almost twenty thousand
kilometers, too great for us to do anything about it.
We sent out runabouts as quickly as we could. In fact,
one of them is still out, pursuing the hijacked tanker."
    Minister Wistod frowned. "I thought the Federa-
tion was supposed to be prepared for eventualities like
this."
    Kira replied. "The cruiser escorts were attacked at
point-blank range by two Klingon warships, which
entered the area cloaked. We tried to warn the convoy,
but our communications were jammed. Under the
circumstances, the best the cruisers could do was to
drive off the Klingons."
    "You mean, they let the Klingons escape," said
Tagen Nico. "And they let the tanker be boarded.
From your report, I understand that the tanker low-
ered her shields, knowing she would be boarded."
    "If she hadn't," said Kira, "I probably wouldn't be
standing here, and Bajor would have a new moon--of
space rubble. They were firing on the tanker, and she
had no choice. At least that's what the Federation
captain decided."
"Do you agree with that decision?" asked Tagen.
"I..." Kira hesitated. "I'm second-in-command
of Deep Space Nine, not the captain of a Starfleet
tanker. I don't think it does us any good to second-
guess what has already happened."
  Tagen turned to his fellow council member. "I
warned you that we couldn't depend upon the Federa-
tion. We need our own capability for making antimat-
ter, and we need to be building our own starships?
    There was mumbled agreement with that senti-
ment, and Roser Issa declared, "I told Commander
Sisko as much when I last saw him."
    Kira took a deep breath and had to shout over the
officials to be heard. "Listen to me!" They blinked at
her and fell silent. "You sit around in your soft chairs
and decide this and that and the other, but it's people
like me, Amkot Groell, and, yes, Commander Sisko
who have to make things happen. Commander Sisko,
my own security chief, and another Starfleet officer
are in the Gamma Quadrant right now, risking their
lives to retrieve that antimatter."
    She bowed her head and lowered her voice. "If
Bajor had the capability to build her own ships and
generate her own antimatter, we would be doing so,
instead of just talking about it. But we don't. Bajor is a
poor cripple at the moment, and we've got to depend
on somebody else to pick us up and get us back on our
feet. I don't like it any better than any of you. So, if
you can make antimatter and starships, go ahead and
make them. If you can't, let the people who can do it."
    Tagen Nico narrowed his eyes at the young major.
"You are very impertinent."
    Kira nodded. "Yes, I am. Every day, I deal with
hundreds of races from all over the galaxy, all making
demands on me. I was probably impertinent before I
took this job, and now I'm worse. If you want to
replace me, go ahead." She glanced at Amkot Groell,
who was sitting in the far corner of the room. He
smiled encouragingly.
    "So," Kira continued, "we screwed up this time.
The Federation also screwed up, and I'm sorry that
some of you thought they were perfect." There were
chuckles, and Tagen Nico cleared his throat. "But the
Federation is giving us a chance to build something,
something of value. No, we won't be able to keep the
ship we're building, but we'll sell it for badly needed
credits. We aren't taking charity on this job--we're
earning it."
    One of the assembly members suddenly lifted a
robed arm and pointed it in Kira's direction. "That
ship is an abomination, nothing more and nothing
less! We should not be building weapons of destruc-
tion for the Federation, which they could use against
us. That ship is a symbol of our oppression."
    Kira bowed slightly. "I'm sorry you feel that way,
sir. I respect your opinion, but I don't happen to
agree."
    The din of another argument ensued, and it didn't
end until the Minister of Commerce, Tanar Maya,
declared in no uncertain terms, "The government has
chosen this course, and we all know it! If we don't
fulfill our obligation to build this ship, no one--not
the Federation or our own people--will trust us. We
must see it through, no matter what doubts we have."
    The older man turned to Kira and granted her a
warm smile. "I want to thank Major Kira for coming
here. I'm afraid we didn't make it very easy for her. I
just have one more question for the major."
  "Yes?" she asked.
    "Assuming the first shipment of antimatter is not
recovered, when can we expect another one?"
    Kira shook her head. "I don't know. My next duty
is to contact Starfleet Command. I've sent them a
brief report, but I haven't talked to them face-to-face.
I'm not looking forward to it either."
  She half-expected one of the gathered dignitaries to
offer to smooth the way with Starfleet, to offer to
contact them first. But most of them looked away and
began murmured conversations with each other.
Nope, she thought, these people were not going to do
anything but talk. Even the ones who wanted her dead
weren't worth worrying about. In this life, there were
people who demanded that things be done and people
who actually did them, and they were seldom the
same people. Kira turned on her heel and marched
Out.

    Miles O'Brien wrinkled his ruddy face into a frown
and lowered his computer padd. Dr. Bashir had
warned him about Captain Jon Rachman, but he
couldn't imagine that a young Starfleet officer could
be so obtuse and annoying. Well, he could imagine
it--Bashir was sometimes annoying--but not as bad
as this pup, who kept peering over his shoulder,
complaining.
    "Chief O'Brien," snapped the young captain,
"when can the Regal return to service? I must demand
that you give me a timetable."
    "A timetable?" growled O'Brien. "Your flux genera-
tors are fried, the inertial dampers are destroyed, and
the driver coil assembly is smashed! If you want to
take a leisurely cruise around this solar system at
half-impulse power, you can take her out now. And I'll
see you in a few years."
    Captain Rachman stiflened to angry attention.
"Chief O'Brien, your attitude is not acceptable. All of
these are simple repairs."
    O'Brien clenched his fists, trying to control his Irish
temper. "None of these are simple repairs, Captain,
but they would be possible--if this were a starbase.
This is a Bajoran space station built by Cardassians.
We don't have the parts we need, and we don't have
the plans to build them. As far as qualified engineers
--you're lookin' at him."
 "What about replicators?"
    O'Brien chuckled. "Cardassian replicators? They
won't even make a decent hot-fudge sundae."
    When he saw the crestfallen look on the young
captain's face, O'Brien tried to hit a conciliatory tone.
"Listen, Captain, I know you want to get after those
crooks, and I would love to send you off with a hearty
'Hail Mary.' But I can't. This cruiser is in bad shape,
and the Valor is worse. You put up quite a fight out
there against bigger ships, after an ambush, but you
have to accept reality. You're in dry-dock, and you're
going to stay that way until we get the right parts from
Starfleet."
    Captain Jon Rachman slammed a fist into his palm.
The handsome dark-haired officer looked as if he was
about to take O'Brien's head off again. Or cry. The
chief couldn't tell which.
    "When will you request the parts?" Rachman
asked.
    "That's what I'm doing," answered O'Brien, "try-
ing to find out what we need."
    Their attention was diverted by a short woman with
reddish hair who strode through the bridge of the
Regal as if she owned it. Captain Rachman saw her
distinctive tan-and-rust uniform and instantly got
huffy.
    "Excuse me," he said, "only Starfleet personnel are
allowed on board."
    "Is that right?" asked Major Kira. She turned to
O'Brien. "I've got to talk to you, Chief."
  "You must leave now," insisted Rachman.
     "Belay that, Captain," snapped O'Brien. "This is
 the acting commander of the station, Major KirK."
     "I don't care who she is," said Rachman. "She's
 Bajoran, she's not part of Starfleet, and she has to
 leave."
    Kirk whirled around to face the young captain. "I
have had enough problems for one day. Maybe you
would like it if I pulled Chief O'Brien off this detail
and sent him to fix the airlocks on level six."
    O'Brien grinned. "Sounds good to me." He shut off
his padd. "I'll get right on it, Major."
    "Wait, wait," said Rachman. "She can do that?
She's your commanding officer?"
    O'Brien nodded. "She's second-in-command nor-
mally, and she's in charge when Commander Sisko is
away. This station is under joint administration."
    Kira smiled pleasantly at the young man. "Where
are you from?"
  "Uh, Kansas."
    "I believe there's an old Terran saying--you're not
in Kansas anymore."
    Rachman swallowed. "I'm beginning to realize
that." He came to attention. "I am Captain Jon
Rachman of the cruiser Regal."
    "Okay, Captain Rachman," said the major, "if
you'd like to be useful, I've got a report to make to
Starfleet, and you and Chief O'Brien can help me. I've
got an Admiral Nichea waiting on subspace."
 "Admiral Nicheyev," said the officer with awe.
 "Do you know her?" asked KirK.
 "Only by reputation."
    O'Brien cleared his throat and added, "Admiral
Nicheyev has a reputation for being rather tough."
    Kira smiled. "So do I." She tapped her eomm
badge. "Kira to Ops."
 "Yes, sir?" came a voice.
    "Wait one moment," said Kira. She turned to
O'Brien. "Is their viewscreen working?"
    "That's about the only thing that is," the chief
muttered.
    "Ops," said KirK, "patch my communication with
Admiral Nicheyev down to the Regal in docking bay
four."
  "Yes, sir. Routing communication."
    The image of a spare middle-aged woman appeared
overhead on the viewscreen. She did not appear
happy.
    "I am not accustomed to being kept waiting," said
Admiral Nicheyev.
    "I apologize," answered Kira. "I thought you would
also like to discuss this matter with two of your
officers--our chief of operations, Miles O'Brien, and
Captain Jon Rachman of the Regal, one of the cruisers
in the convoy."
  "Where is Commander Sisko?"
    O'Brien glanced at Kira, wondering how she would
answer that question. The major calmly replied, "He
is in pursuit of the hijackers who stole the shipment of
antimatter."
  "Is he on the other cruiser?"
    "Negative," answered Kira. "Both cruisers are bad-
ly damaged. He is pursuing them in a runabout."
Before the rigid admiral could ask more questions,
Kira gave her a concise recounting of the events: the
cloaked Klingon ships, the jammed communications,
the pitched battle, and the insane attack on the tanker
that resulted in it being boarded and captured. She
 ended with the tanker and the runabout vanishing
 into the wormhole, which was undoubtedly not the
 end of the story, but it was all she knew.
    Admiral Nicheyev looked even less pleased than
before, and O'Brien was glad this wasn't a face-to-face
meeting. A second later, he was glad he wasn't one of
the cruiser captains either.
    "Captain Rachman," spit the admiral, "I know it
isn't mandatory to come out of warp drive with
shields up, but you were briefed on the history of
Bajor. You know this is the farthest extension of
Federation influence in this sector. A bit of caution
would have been prudent."
    The young captain stood at attention and framed
his response carefully. "Begging your pardon, Admi-
ral, but we had been traveling at warp speed for
eighteen hours. I admit, we were relieved to be ending
our journeymwith a tanker full of antimatter--and
that might have made us careless. Although I do not
believe we were unduly careless. Plus, our orders
cautioned us to avoid the wormhole more than rene-
gade Klingons."
    Admiral Nicheyev didn't look convinced, and
O'Brien found himself bailing the young man out.
"Excuse me, Admiral," he said, "all of us were
stunned by the attack. But Captain Rachman and
Captain Perez on the Valor did everything they could
do. Commander Sisko took off in the runabout as
soon as the attack started. When the Klingons opened
fire on the tanker, we were all holding our breath. If
the tanker hadn't lowered her shields, we would've
lost all three ships, plus Commander Sisko and the
runabout. And quite possibly the station."
 The admiral's pinched face pulled tighter. "And
what did Commander Sisko think he could do in a
runabout against two Klingons warships?"
    "Anything he could," answered O'Brien. "He took
Lieutenant Dax and our security chief with him."
    Admiral Nicheyev looked thoughtful for a moment;
then her shoulders slumped a bit. "All right," she
conceded, "we may have failed to consider the volatil-
ity of the situation near Bajor. Major Kira, what is the
status of the Hannibal? Is she safe?"
    "Yes, Admiral," answered Kira. "We could start
test flights as soon as we have more antimatter.
Nobody in the shakedown crew was injured. In fact,
our government is very interested in finding out when
another shipment will arrive."
    The admiral shook her head. "After this, we can't
send just two cruisers as escort with the next ship-
ment. We'll need to pull in some larger ships, and that
may take a couple of days."
    "Pardon me, Admiral," said O'Brien, "we also need
a lot of parts for the two cruisers. I can send you a
requisition."
    "Send it to my attention," answered the admiral.
"I'11 ship the parts with the antimatter. I estimate that
all of this will take about five days."
    "Five days?" said Captain Rachman, shocked.
"Begging your pardon, Admiral, but we've already
lost two days. We need to get our cruisers operational,
so we can go into the wormhole and chase down those
hijackers."
    Admiral Nicheyev's pale eyes grew steely cold
again. "Captain Rachman, under no circumstances
are you to proceed into the wormhole to pursue
anyone. We know almost nothing about the Gamma
Quadrant, and we have no idea what happened to the
runabout or the tanker. Do we?"
 "No, sir," answered Rachman with a hard swallow.
 "Then we must assume that both craft are lost," the
 admiral concluded. "That is a hard thing to accept, I
 know, but we can't sit around waiting for a miracle to
 occur. By the time a second shipment of antimatter
 reaches you, a week will have passed. To be on the safe
 side, we will also send along replacements for Com-
 mander Sisko and Lieutenant Dax. At the moment, I
 have no idea who they will be."
    The admiral took a deep breath. "Chief O'Brien, I
will be looking for the parts requisition. Captain
Rachman, I will expect a full report from both you
and Captain Perez. Major Kira, I can't issue you any
orders, but I would hope that you wouldn't endanger
anyone by sending them into the wormhole after
Commander Sisko and his crew. Perhaps they will
return, perhaps not. But their fate is out of our
hands."
    Her lips tightened. "Keep me informed. This is
Admiral Nicheyevmout."
    The admiral's stern visage blinked off the
viewscreen to be replaced by the distinctive oval
insignia of Starfleet outlined against a light blue
background.
    O'Brien flicked off the screen and scowled. "Well,
that was a cheery conversation, wasn't it?"
    "Yeah," muttered Kira. "I guess she has to think
that way."
    Seeing their downcast expressions, Captain
Rachman said, "I'm sorry. Here I am, worrying about
looking bad and getting my ship flying again, and
you've lost your commanding officer and two people
from your staff. I'm afraid I've been behaving like a
total ass."
 "Apologies accepted," replied O'Brien. "I know it's
not fun to get your ship shot up. I'll do what I can for
you right now, but you'll have to wait five days for the
major repairs."
    "Understood," said Captain Rachman. "Is there
anything I can do for you?" He looked from O'Brien
to Kira.
    Kira nodded, and O'Brien could tell that she was
barely in control of her emotions. "You can come with
me," she said, "and meet Commander Sisko's son. I
have to tell him about his dad's replacement before I
tell anybody else. If you come with me... I don't
know, maybe he would enjoy seeing somebody from
Kansas."
 "I'll do what I can," Jon Rachman promised.

    Major Kira had lost all track of time in the unpleas-
ant events of the day. She hadn't realized until she
asked the computer where Jake Sisko was that the boy
would be in the quarters he shared with his father,
getting ready for bed. She also wasn't surprised to find
Nog there with him. In troubled times, a good friend
was worth his weight in gold-pressed latinum, even if
he was a Ferengi. She and Jon Rachman entered the
small apartment, and she put on her bravest smile.
    "Hello, Jake. Nog," she said to the boys. "I'd like to
introduce a guest to you, Captain Jon Rachman of the
Starfleet cruiser Regal. He's from Kansas."
  "Hello," Jake said noncommittally.
    "Hi, Captain," said Nog, jumping to his feet.
"Wow, that was some battle you had out there! We
watched the visual log."
    Rachman blinked in surprise. "I didn't know it
would be used for entertainment."
    The Ferengi boy looked embarrassed. "Well, my
uncle has, you know, access..."
       "To just about anything he wants," Kira completed
   the sentence. "That's all right. It's not a secret what
   happened."
     "Any word about my dad?" asked Jake.
       Kira shook her head. "I'm afraid not. They could
   pop through the wormhole any minute. We're keeping
   an eye out for them."
       Nog was still excited about the battle. "That was
   neat the way that one crusier pretended to be dead.
   Was that you?'..'
       ~ "No," answered Rachman, "we went into warp
   drive, hoping they would thinkwe,were running. Then
   we warped back in and got off a couple good volleys."
       "You sure did!" gushed Nog. "It was neat, wasn't it,
   Jake?"
       The boy nodded and hugged his robe around his
   scrawny body. Kira could tell that Jake was trying
   mightily to think of something elsemand Nog was
   ú doing everything he could to distract his friend--but
       it wasn't working. His dad was missing, in pursuit of
: dangerous criminals. There wasn't anything that any-
    body could say that would change that. And now she
    had to give him the only news she had--bad news--
    that Starfleet was sending a replacement for his father.
       "Nog," she said, "do you think we could talk to Jake
   alone for a momen~ It's getting pretty late, and you
   should be getting to bed, too."
        The Ferengi boy looked at his friend as if it would
   take the Grand Nagus to order him away.   
 "Go ahead," said Jake. "I'll be okay."
        "Fll meet you for breakfast," Nog promised, as he
    headed for the door. "Nice to meet you, Captain
i Rachman!"
    "You too," Rachman answered.
    For his young age, Jake Sisko has been around a lot,
thought Kira. He had watched his mother die in a
Borg attack. He had been shunted with his father from
one assignment to another, like an old suitcase, end-
ing up in what might be the weirdest post in all of
Starfleet. Yet he had made the best of things, forming
at least One true friendship on DS9. Jake was young,
but he was no fool.
"Something has happened," he said. "What is it?"
"Really nothing," answered K_ira, sitting beside
him. "We had to contact Starfleet to ask them for
parts to repair the cruisers, plus more antimatter for
the shipyard. They thought it would be a good idea,
since they would be sending another convoy anyway,
to send an acting commander for the station."
    Jake's eyes widened with horror. "They're replacing
my dad?"
 "It's just a precaution," said Kira.
"That's trap!" shouted Jake, fighting back tears.
Kira looked helplessly at Jon Raehman, and the
young captain knelt in front of the boy. "It is trap," he
agreed. "But your dad has an important job, and
Starfleet can't leave it vacant... while he's away. I
don't know your dad, but I know he risked his life to
save ours. And I know that wherever he is, whatever
he's doing, he's trying to make a difference."
    The captain shook his head. "Hey, I didn't realize
until I got here what a tough job you people have on
Deep Space Nine. I used to think escorting antimatter
tankers was hard duty, but it's nothing compared to
being out here."
    Rachman held Jake's hands. "I'm too young to have
a boy your age, but if I ever do, I hope he's as brave as
you are. You've got to have faith in your dad, because
 you know he wants to get back here just as badly as
 you want him back. Say, what do you know about the
 Wild West?"
 Jake rubbed the tears from his eyes. "Wild West?"
 "Yeah, the cowboy period of Earth's history," said
 Rachman. "I had an ancestor who was a marshal in
 the Kansas territory days. He often had to go out and
 chase down outlaws for weeks, or months, at a time. I
 guess his family worried about him an awful lot, but
 he always came back. He died an old man at the age of
 seventy-nine. That was old back in the nineteenth
 century."
"They didn't know where he was?" asked Jake.
Rachman chuckled. "Naw, the prairie was nothing
but wilderness back then, full of Indians and outlaws.
You must have a library here--I bet we could read
about it. I think it will remind you a lot of life on Deep
Space Nine."
    Jake nodded, and his face crept into a smile. "I'd
like that."
    Kira looked gratefully at the young captain, and
she, too, wished that he would have a boy like Jake
someday.
    "Major Kira," said Captain Rachman, "I don't
have any quarters assigned to me yet. Do you think I
could bunk here with Jake?" He turned to the boy. "If
that's all right with you?"
  Jake nodded eagerly. "Sure."
    Kira rose to her feet. "If it's okay with both of you,
it's okay with me. Jake can show you around the
station." She started toward the door and stopped,
trying to think of something else to say.
    Jake seemed to sense her discomfort. "Good night,
Major Kira," he said. "Thanks for telling me in
person."
    The Bajoran nodded. "I'm looking forward to tell-
ing Starfleet not to bother sending anyone. Good
night."
    Kira strode out the door, and it clanged shut behind
her. She gazed down a vast corridor, empty except for
a few visitors, who shuffled along on their tentacles.
This amazing amalgam known as Deep Space Nine
was under her command, she mused, at least tempo-
rarily. It was odd how much it had changed since the
oppressive reign of the Cardassians, all for the better.
How much of that change was dependent upon the
quiet leadership of Benjamin Sisko she didn't know,
but she suspected it was considerable.
    If only she could get some idea what was going on.
Snooping around was a job usually performed by
Odo, but he was also missing in action. Reluctantly,
Kira decided that it was time to pay another visit to
Quark's Place.

CHAPTER
      8

BENJAMIN SlSKO sat at the conn station of the runabout
and watched white clouds creep across the lime green
surface of the planet of Eco. He would have preferred
to see the more familiar sphere of Bajor below him,
even with its pretty chieftains and strange dichoto-
mies. He would even have liked to see the cold
grayness of Deep Space Nine, with its faulty circuitry
and never-ending parade of life-forms. Most of all, he
would like to see Jake, and he hoped the boy was
holding up under the uncertainty of his absence.
    Could it be that he was homesick? Sisko had never
considered DS9 much more than a way station in his
career, a place to hang his hat between more conven-
tional assignments. Though, he had to admit, it had
turned into much more than that. He supposed it was
the challenge of the job that appealed to him--never
knowing what the day would bring. Unfortunately,
with challenge came frustration, and he bridled at all
the miracles he couldn't pull off, such as bringing
rebels like Rizo back into the community and resolv-
ing questions about the mysterious beings who had
constructed the wormhole. The job was fraught with
peril, as his present circumstances demonstrated.
    Thinking about his son and his unlikely home made
the commander wonder if they could pull off this
ridiculous heist. Because that's what they were doing,
trying to outfox the foxes. He hadn't seen much of the
Ferengi Marauder in his mercifully short visit there,
but he had seen enough to know that it could blow the
runabout to pieces without working up a sweat. It
could also chase the runabout down in the blink of an
eyelash. He would like to think that help was on its
way, but he doubted it. Antimatter was rare, but it
wasn't rare enough for Starfleet to risk any more ships.
They were on their own, and the slightest slipup
would mean that they would never see DS9 again. Or
Jake either.
    "Are you all right?" asked a concerned voice, and
he looked up to see Dax. He was relieved to see that
she had changed back into her uniform, although it
was still stripped of Starfleet insignia.
    "Oh, just thinking," he said. "I didn't hear Odo
come back. Is-he still resting?"
    Dax slipped into the Ops seat beside him. "I
beamed him aboard a few hours ago. He should be
getting up soon."
    Sisko smiled, thinking that "resting" and "getting
up" were interesting euphemisms for what Odo did
when he reverted to and from a liquid state.
    He sighed. "Old man, are we crazy? Do we have a
chance of pulling this off'?. Or should we just get the
hell out of here?"
  Dax paused in thought, then chuckled. "It's funny. I
was going to say, 'When we were younger, we wouldn't
have thought twice about stealing back the tanker.'
Then I realized that I am younger than when we used
to do a lot of crazy things. But we're both still here.
The question is, Benjamin, do you feel lucky? The
only thing we have on our side is their greed."
    "It's up to you," answered Sisko. "You have the
hardest jobmconvincing the terrorists to let you
aboard the tanker. If you think there's any danger, you
have my permission to call it off."
    Dax shrugged. "We knew there was danger forty-
eight hours ago, when we came after them. That hasn't
changed. But what they did hasn't changed either. If
they had done this to Klingons or Cardassians, they'd
have a death sentence on their heads. I don't know,
but I think they ought to be punished, even if it's just
making sure they don't get anything out of it."
    "All right," said Sisko, "you've answered my ques-
tion. But you're the one who has to spend time with
Rizo and his playmatesmyou tell us when to cut our
losses and run."
 Dax nodded somberly. "I will."
    They heard soft footsteps behind them, and a
chipper-looking Odo walked into the cockpit area.
"Good morning," he said with a polite bow of his
head.
    "Good morning," answered Sisko. "What did you
think about the planet of Eco?"
    Odo sniffed. "If Quark ever asks me where he
should go on vacation, I now know what to tell him."
    "Did you find out anything we should know?"
asked Dax.
    "I found the Ecocids' entrance to the inner hive,"
answered the shapeshifter. "But I don't think it's a
place a humanoid would want to venture. Then I
stationed myself in a public place and observed the
patrons for some time. They are engaged in buying
and selling commodities at a rapid pace, but since
they never actually see or possess the commodities,
it's little more than a glorified game of chance. I'll be
happy when we leave here."
    "Won't we all," said Dax. She checked the ship's
chronometer. "It's time to be going, Benjamin. I told
the Bajorans we would meet them at eight hundred
hours. Hopefully, the Ferengi won't be awake at such
an early hour."
    The commander stood and stretched his long arms.
"At least we can get some coffee in the conference
room. Hold down the fort, Constable."
    "Don't I always?" asked Odo, taking a vacated
chair.
    "And keep the shields up," Sisko added as he strode
to the transporter platform, with Dax close behind.
    Odo swiveled in his chair to face the commander.
"Be careful," he cautioned. "When I left, the price of
antimatter was going up."
    Sisko nodded and tried to smile, but he didn't feel
very cheerful this morning. He had a bad feeling
about something, but he couldn't tell what it was.
Thus far, both sides had believed his and Dax's story
and trusted them, as far as they trusted anyone. Their
plan was indeed risky, but it entailed only one crucial
elementmgetting Dax and a large Odo/handbag alone
with Rizo aboard the hijacked tanker. The Ferengi
would cooperatemthey were in no position not to.
    Nevertheless, Sisko couldn't help but to feel that he
was overlooking something. A detail, an unnecessary
risk. Probably, he decided, it was just his impatience
and frustration that was spooking him. If they focused
on what they had to do, they would soon get out of
here.
 "Energize," he told Odo.

    Dax and Sisko materialized inside the now familiar
conference room, and Dax wasn't surprised to find
they were the first to arrive. While she walked to the
door and peered out into an empty lounge, Sisko
strode immediately toward the food slot.
    "The usual," he ordered. At once, the alien food slot
produced a steaming cup of java, and Sisko looked
very satisfied as he picked up the cup and sniffed its
aroma.
    After his initial sip, he remarked, "I wonder how
many bilbok one of these food replicators costs? It
sure makes better coffee than anything we've got...
you know where."
    "I'11 take your word for it," Dax replied. "Benja-
min, I think we should have a code phrase for when
there's trouble but we can't come out and say it.
Something innocuous."
    "All right," agreed Sisko, pausing thoughtfully be-
tween sips. "Just say, 'I drank too much coffee.'"
    Dax nodded and began to pace. The Trill prided
herself on remaining calm in any situation, but the
next step of their con game was like playing a game of
Dabo in Quark's Place. Every roll of the dice brought
a new set of probabilities, unrelated to the probabili-
ties of the previous roll. Just because you had won
once didn't mean you would continue winning. Like-
wise, every lie they told the terrorists resulted in a new
set of probabilities; just because they had believed the
last lie didn't mean they would believe the new one.
As Benjamin had said, it was up to her to know when
to quit and head for the exit, and she would have to
make that decision in a split second.
    The door slid open, and Rizo filled it. She was
amazed to see that the big Bajoran had cleaned
himself up and had even shaved. She wouldn't say the
clothes he was wearing were exactly clean, but they
weren't stained with grease and blood. They weren't
leather either, but a coarse handwoven fabric. He
smiled at her and swaggered into the room. There was
only one companion with him, and Dax was very
relieved to see that it wasn't Elaka. It was the other
female she had met, Petra.
"Good morning," Sisko said cheerfully. "Coffee?"
"Still no ale?" grumbled Rizo. At once, the food slot
produced a mug of brownish ale. "Ah, that's more like
it," the Bajoran said, grinning.
    "Hello," said Petra, standing meekly by the door.
She was carrying one of the computer padds from the
tanker. Another piece of loot, thought Dax. They had
grown accustomed to having that tanker and the
wonders it contained, and they might be receptive to
an idea that would let them keep it.
    "You're keeping notes," she said to Petra. "Very
wise. But some of what we're going to say shouldn't
leave this room."
    "Oh, yeah?" said Rizo, slamming his glass of ale on
the table. "Why not?"
    Dax looked at Sisko, wondering if he wanted to take
the lead. He nodded to her in encouragement and
stepped toward the door. "I want to keep an eye out
for our Ferengi friends," he explained.
    Rizo yanked back a chair and dropped his muscular
body into it. "What's going on?" he asked. "Have the
Ferengi made an offer?"
 "Yes," said Dax, "and a very good one." She smiled
slyly and sat on the edge of the table, draping her long
legs in Rizo's direction. "But you can do better yet."
    "Oh, yeah? Tell me about it." He leaned forward,
his dark eyes making a leisurely excursion up Dax's
legs and torso to her lovely face.
    Dax began, "They've offered to let you keep the
tanker if you turn over the antimatter pods. Plus,
they'll give you ten bars of gold-pressed latinum."
    Rizo nodded, clearly impressed. "That will keep us
in food and drink for a while, plus we'll have a place to
call home. But this is too good--there's got to be
some kind of catch."
"There is," Dax conceded. "They don't trust you."
The Bajoran roared with laughter. "Of course they
don't! They've been dealing with too many other
Ferengi--they don't trust anybody."
    "They want some safeguards to guarantee the trans-
fer of the antimatter," Dax continued. "They know
the tanker operations are entirely automated, so they
want to make sure there's only one of you aboard the
tanker when the transfer takes place."
    Rizo took a swig of ale and slammed down his mug.
"Unacceptable."
    "However," said Dax, "there will also be only one
Ferengi aboard their vessel. And I'll be there, as an
impartial observer, to keep you both honest."
    The Bajoran looked thoughtful. "You mean, their
whole crew will beam down here?"
    "That's right," said the Trill with a sly smile. She
turned to Petra. "Will you please stop recording what
I say now?"
    The young Bajoran looked at Rizo, and he nodded
his approval. "Then what?"
Dax whispered, "Then you can take over their ship.
You can leave this planet with a fleetma tanker full of
antimatter and a Ferengi Marauder. There isn't much
you can't bring down with that Marauder."
    Rizo leaned back in his chair, a smile spreading
across his face. He finally asked, "Why would you
help us do this?"
    Dax stood and walked slowly around the table,
being sure to jiggle everything she had to jiggle. "We
actually want more out of this than just a couple bars
of gold-pressed latinurn, but we know the Ferengi
won't give it to us. We want enough antimatter to stay
on this side of the wormhole for a good long time.
We're in no hurry to go back."
    "Ah," said Rizo with dawning comprehension.
"You're crooked, too."
    This was the crucial moment, Dax felt. Maybe they
had been wrong to forsake the pretense of being
honest arbitrators. But her mouth had no tractor
beam that could take back words once spoken. What
could she possibly say that would clinch this unholy
deal? What would turn the probabilities of him believ-
ing her in her favor?
    "You didn't think we were space cadets, did you?"
she scoffed. "We have a chance of robbing a bunch of
bloodsucking Ferengi of a whole ship and everything
it contains. I can't tell you how many times they've
cheated Marcus and me. Let's just say, we want to
come out on the winning end this time."
    Rizo nodded and scratched his clean-shaven chin,
as if he hadn't felt bare skin there in many Bajoran
moons. He looked at Sisko, apparently judging the
human; then his gaze returned to Dax. His heavy-
browed eyes roamed down her slim body, and she felt
both his distrust and his lust.
    He turned to Petra and said, "Go back to the ship.
You can read them the terms offered by the Ferengi,
but don't tell anyone about this other part. Let's keep
that secret for the time being."
    The young woman looked frightened at the pros-
pect of keeping a secret from her comrades. "But
why?" she asked with alarm.
    "Because I say so!" he roared. Then Rizo took a
deep breath and relaxed. "There are two reasons. One,
I haven't decided to do it yet. And two, the fewer
people who know about it, the better." He smiled at
Dax. "I think Jade understands that."
    Sisko asked pleasantly, "Why wouldn't you want to
do it?"
    Rizo gave the human an annoyed glance. "It's
awfully hard to hide a Ferengi Marauder. And if I
know the Ferengi, they'll have every bounty hunter in
the quadrant after us. That includes our Klingon
friends and probably the Cardassians as well. Still, it
might be worth it."
    He looked pointedly at Dax. "Mainly, I still don't
know if I can trust you."
    The Trill shrugged. "We're not the ones you should
worry about. If you don't capture the Ferengi ship, or
at least disable it, they can come after you any time
they feel like it. Remember, once the antimatter is off
that tanker, it becomes just another target."
    The ridges on the bridge of the Bajoran's nose
compressed in thought, until Petra came up and put
her arms around him.
    "Don't worry, Father, you'll make the right deci-
sion," she assured him.
    Dax and Sisko exchanged a glance, and Dax found
herself horrified at the thought that Petra could be
Rizo's daughter. How could somebody turn an im-
pressionable child into a criminal, living hand-to-
mouth, hunted by half the galaxy? The young
woman's age had been troubling before, and now it
was doubly so. Dax wondered whether Elaka could be
Petra's mother, but she decided that was impossible.
At the most, Elaka was only ten years older than Petra.
    Rizo patted his daughter's arm. "Go on back. Just
tell them what the Ferengi have offered us, and take a
poll to see if we should accept it. I'll be along soon."
    Petra nodded and stole a worried took at Dax
before she touched her comm badge. "One to beam
back," she said.
    The young Bajoran disappeared in the swirl of a
transporter beam. What was next? wondered Dax.
    Rizo drained his mug of ale and banged the glass on
the amber table. "I don't much like humans," he
remarked, wiping the suds from his upper lip, "but
they have a saying which I have to agree with: 'There is
no honor among thieves.'"
 "But you're not a thief," said Sisko.
    "Don't flatter me," snarled Rizo. "You know damn
well what I am, and now I know what you are. You,
me, the Ferengi--we're all the same." He took a deep
breath. "Maybe I should just take that tanker and fly
the hell away from here."
    He looked thoughtfully at Dax, and for the first time
she spotted some concern--and fear--in his hooded
eyes. "I'd like to do what you two are doing," he said,
"just escape from it all and explore a quadrant where
nobody knows me and I don't know anybody. But I've
got too many people who still believe in me. Too many
people who still have some honor."
 Then he snorted a laugh. "I used to have honor, but
after some of the things I've had to dow" He swal-
lowed hard and barked at the food slot, "Give me
another ale!"
    After the food slot had produced a second mug of
brown suds, Sisko fetched it for Rizo and set it in
front of him. The Bajoran smiled lazily at him.
"Marcus, haven't you got someplace to go?"
    Sisko looked at Dax, and his eyes bespoke his fears.
But the Trill was a few hundred years old, and she
knew what she was doing--she hoped.
    "It's okay, Marcus," she said. "Why don't you find
our Ferengi friends and tell them that the Bajorans are
considering their offer."
    "All right," answered Sisko without much enthusi-
asm. "Just let me get another cup of coffee." He did
so, then walked slowly to the door and left.
 It shut behind him with a resounding thud.
"At last," said Rizo in a husky voice, "we're alone."
Dax didn't run to the other side of the table, but she
felt like doing so. She tried to keep her voice calm and
sultry as she asked, "Aren't you afraid Elaka or
somebody else in your band will beam down here?"
    "They'd better not," answered Rizo, rising slowly
to his feet.
    He crossed the space between them in two long
strides and grabbed her with powerful arms. His
actions were so quick that she had no time to resist,
even if she had thought resistance was a possible
course. He pulled her roughly to his thick chest and
squeezed her until she thought her rib cage might
burst, while his hungry lips sought hers. It was only a
kiss, she told herself, and she let his tongue push her
mouth open. Perhaps, without the ale on his breath, it
might have been more pleasurable; as it was, she
forced herself to return the slobbery kiss, feeling more
alarm than arousal.
    The kiss satisfied him for a few moments. Then he
backed her against the table and pushed his groin into
hers, and she knew she had to do something fast. Dax
feared she would be able to slip out of his grasp only
once before he grew more forceful. After that, words
would be her only defense.
      She twisted and finally ducked under his arms. This
time, she did run for the other side of the table.
  "I don't want it like this," she panted.
  "How the hell do you want it?" he growled.
    "I've never shared a man," said Dax forcefully.
"And I don't intend to start now. You belong to
Elaka."
 He snorted. "What if I don't care about Elaka?"
    "Then I think you'd better have a long talk with
her."
 "Are you afraid of Elaka?" he asked.
 "Damn right. I think you should be, too."
    Rizo scowled and slammed his fist on the table.
Then he grabbed his mug of ale and took a long swig.
Dax took a deep breath, hoping the worst was over.
  "What about Petra's mother?" she asked.
    "What about her?" snarled Rizo. "Cardassians got
her. I suppose they raped her to deathmthat's what
they usually do. I never really did try to find out. I was
a farmer until that point in my life. Can you believe it?
Trying to scrape a few vegetables out of a chunk of
barren earth they left us. But taking our land wasn't
enough. If they saw women they liked in the village,
those women would just never come home."
    His face said the memory of the incident was still
impossible to fathom, even after what must have been
years. "So one day you've got a family and a chunk of
soil, and you think it's yours, and then even that is
gone. I asked around the village, but nobody would
tell me what had happened. They didn't have to."
    He stared past her and swallowed hard. "So I
grabbed Petra--she was four years old--and we ran
into the hills. Either we were going to die, the
Cardassians were going to get us, or we were going to
find the resistance. We found the resistance, and I
killed my first Cardassian two days later." His smile
looked demented. "It felt good."
    Dax opened her mouth and started to say how sorry
she was, but she held her tongue. This man was still a
murderer, even after the Cardassians were gone. He
didn't need pity--he needed treatment. Unfortunate-
ly, he would probably find death before he found any
other kind of sanctuary.
    He slumped heavily into the chair and began to
drain his ale. "Go on!" he growled. "Get outta here!
You're right, I'm an animal. I deserve Elaka, and she
deserves me. The only fine thing I ever had in my life
was taken away from me, and now I don't deserve
anyone as fine as you."
     His face contorted as he fought back tears. "Go on,
 I said! Get outta here!"
     Dax didn't wait to be told again. She slipped out the
 door of the conference room and never looked back.
     She walked the maze of corridors for what might
 have been hours, not paying any attention to the
 colored stripes on the walls or the various business
 and recreational areas she passed. It was impossible to
 imagine, but the symbiont part of her had lived for
 three hundred years and had never encountered one-
 tenth of the horror that poor man had faced. When
 she had volunteered for this mission, she had been
seeking experiences that would be unique to Jadzia
Dax and no one else. Now her outlook on experience
had changed. Experience not only built character, it
destroyed it.
    All the while that Curzon Dax had been having
what had seemed like grand adventures in life-
threatening situations, the real lives of many people
had been more than threatened. In an instant, their
lives had been torn apart. Dax had never really
understood what Benjamin Sisko had gone through
when he lost his mate in the Borg attack at Wolf 359.
For a Trill, no relationship could be greater than the
one between symbiont and host, and it was expected
to end, the way a journey in a starship was expected to
end when it reached its destination.
    Beings of normal life span, who mated for life, felt
differently. Ironically, they never expected their
blending with another being to end. When it ended
prematurely, with so much of life left, it was a tragedy
she could never hope to appreciate. Some people, like
Benjamin, were only temporarily unhinged. Others,
like Rizo, were permanently damaged, turned into
monsters their former selves wouldn't have recog-
nized. Three hundred years of experience, she thought
glumly, and that experience was beyond her. She felt
grateful but also sobered by the fact that longevity
didn't guarantee a wealth of experience.
    Without knowing where she was going, she found
herself in the Redemption Center. A new golden gown
exactly like the one she had purchased was revolving
slowly in the showcase. Sic transit gloria. She checked
to see that no Ferengi or Bajorans were in the vicinity;
then she took her comm badge from her pocket and
pressed it.
    "Dax to Sisko," she said, surprised at the raspy
quality of her own voice.
    "Sisko here," came the answer. "I've been looking
all over for you."
    "I'm in the Redemption Center. I think it's better
you come to me. Out."
    He must have been nearby, because he showed up in
a few minutes. Without giving it much thought, she
rushed to him and gave him a desperate hug.
  With alarm, he asked, "Are you all right?"
  "Yes," she said, rubbing under her eyes.
  "You look like you've been crying."
    "Was I?" she asked in amazement. "That's unusual
for me, isn't it?"
  "What did he do to you?"
    "I'm fine," she answered. "It's not what you think,
really." She debated whether to tell the commander
that she finally understood what he had gone through,
but this wasn't the time to bring up painful memories.
They already had enough ghosts from the past to
contend with.
    "Rizo is mentally unstable," Dax said finally. "How
he got that way is a very sad story, and I'm sure you
could figure it out if you tried. The question is, how
far can we trust somebody who's unstable? I mean,
even though both the Ferengi and Bajorans are
double-crossing each other, we have to count on them
to play straight with us."
    Sisko sighed. "I know. I found Gimba in the gaming
room. He was losing, so he wasn't very cheerful. He
insisted that his Marauder is such a large ship that he
could keep some people on it without the Bajorans
knowing it. Since we're acting like we're rigging the
deal in his favor, I couldn't argue strongly against it."
  "Well," said Dax, "he'll still have to transport
several hundred of his crew down to the planet, if he
wants to make it look good. Our main concern is still
Rizo and the Bajorans."
    Sisko nodded and glanced around the room. "Will
they let you on the tanker? Alone with him?"
    She shook her head. "I don't know. We didn't part
on such good terms. Being alone with him can be
quite an adventure."
    Sisko's jaw tightened, and he said decisively, "This
whole thing is too dangerous. I'm calling Odo to tell
him we're getting out of here."  "Human!" barked a voice.
    Despite the fact that it was a female voice, the cold
timbre of the syllables sent a chill down Dax's spotted
spine. She turned to see Elaka, staring at them from
the doorway of the Redemption Center. The hatred in
her eyes burned brighter than any of the colored lights
marching across the ceiling. She strode toward them,
jiggling nothing on her hard, compact body.
    "We agree to the terms," she sneered. "Tell the
bloodsuckers that we will make the exchange tomor-
row at nine hundred hours. We will beam down our
crew, and the Ferengi must do likewise. All shields
must be lowered, so that both sides can make a sensor
sweep. Gimba is to remain alone on the Marauder,
and Rizo will pilot the tanker to it and commence
docking."
    Elaka gazed at Dax with pure spite, and the Trill
made it a point not to look away. "Of course, you'll be
there, my dear. We'll beam you up from here. We'll do
a weapons scan on you before you're allowed on
board." She smiled. "And maybe a strip search."
  Dax smiled. "Will Rizo do that personally?"
    Elaka shoved a grimy finger in Dax's face. "Don't
press your luck."
    "This is indeed good news!" Sisko chirped brightly.
"Please relay to your captain our heartfelt gratitude
that this has worked out to everyone's mutual bene-
fit."
    "And you tell that fat Ferengi to have the latinum."
Elaka scowled. "There won't be any more communi-
cation between us."
    Sisko nodded, and Dax tried to maintain a pleasant
smile. Elaka gave her one last unbridled glare before
she marched off.
    The commander let his breath out. "What does that
mean?" he asked. "Are they expecting to take over the
Ferengi ship, or not?"
    Dax shook her head. "I don't know. But we're
apparently getting our wish--I'm going aboard the
tanker."
    "We'd better let Gimba know," said Sisko, heading
for the doorway. Dax followed close behind.
    "Marcus Garvey! Jade Dixon!" called another
voice, causing them to halt in their tracks. This voice
was very familiar and friendly, even if it was synthe-
sized.
    They looked down at the interface terminal in the
alcove by the door. "What do you want?" asked Dax.
    The hive mind replied, "We are pleased that your
negotiations have proven successful. We know they
weren't easy negotiations."
  "Thank you," muttered Sisko, walking away.
    "One moment, Marcus Garvey," said the voice.
"Or should I call you Commander Sisko?"
    That caused both of them to whirl around and
cautiously approach the device.
    "Who?" asked the commander, trying to sound
confused.
  "Let's not be coy," said the collective consciousness
of a billion insects. "You know who you are, and we
know who you are, even if your negotiating partners
do not. There is one negotiation which is still unre-
solved."
 "What is that?" asked Dax warily.
 "Our piece of the action," answered the interface.

CHAPTER
      9

THE MIDDLE-AGED CARDASSIAN was short but wiry, like
a coiled eelbird. His splotchy gray complexion and the
bony protuberances around his eyes and forehead
gave him the appearance of a rotting corpse. The
moment Major Kira saw him on the Promenade, she
felt the bile rise up her throat like a volcanic eruption.
A rush of adrenaline made her want to charge after
him, but she reminded herself that the Cardassian
hadn't broken any laws. He was alone, walking brisk-
ly, but he waited patiently when a group of Bajoran
schoolchildren crossed in front of him. Not shoving
them out of the way made him exceptionally well
mannered for a Cardassian.
    As part of the treaty that had seen their withdrawal
from Bajor, Cardassians had demanded access to
Deep Space Nine. They came to the station in such
small numbers that no one seemed to mind. Well, no
one but Kira and every Bajoran she knew. Every time
she saw a Cardassian, she wanted to squash it like a
bug. Their civilized veneer hid a culture steeped in the
pleasures of torture and warfare. Their disastrous
handling of the Bajoran economy made it clear, at
least to Kira, that Cardassians conquered mostly for
fun.
    The old hatreds bubbled and boiled inside her until
she felt queasy. Kira forced herself to slow down and
follow the Cardassian from a discreet distance. After
all, he was headed the same way she wasinto Quark's.
    The major wasn't surprised to find two more
Cardassians waiting in Quark's casino, nor was she
surprised to find them chatting with the jovial propri-
etor. She knew she shouldn't blame the Ferengim
customers were customers--but she hated Quark for
his collusion with them. He had functioned as well
under the Cardassian reign of terror as he had under
the Federation's benign but bumbling rule. Of course,
his sleazy mixture of gambling, libations, and holo-
suite fantasies would always be a draw, and it did
bring needed hard currency into the station. But it
also brought the wrong kind of customers, like these
arrogant, stiff-necked Cardassians. They were hoisting
glasses of ale like the victors in an escaped refugee
hunt.
    Kira knew she couldn't be circumspect, like Odo, or
diplomatic, like Sisko--she could only be direct. She
recollected hearing about the arrival of a Cardassian
trade delegation, and she assumed this must be them.
No matter what they called themselves, all they ever
wanted to trade was their horrific brand of oppression
for your sorrow and blood.
    "Welcome to Deep Space Nine," she said curtly as
she strode into their midst.
    Her arrival was so sudden that the Cardassians
jumped, and one of them spilled his ale down his gray
tailored suit. The other two glared at her, as one might
look at a person who had just relieved herself in
public. Her very existence was an affront to them.
    Quark didn't look too happy to see her either.
"Major Kira," he hissed, "what a pleasure it would be
to serve you at some other time."
    "I don't need service," she said bluntly. "I need
information. And I would prefer to talk to you,
privately." She glanced at the Cardassians and swal-
lowed the bad taste from her mouth. "You can tell
your customers that you'll only be a moment."
    The older Cardassian raised his hand. "Don't dis-
obey your keeper," he smiled. "The Bajorans always
insisted to us how peaceful and pleasant they were,
but we always found them simply rude."
    "Look," she told the Cardassians, "I haven't got
time for you today. Just steer clear of me, and we'll get
along fine."
    The shorter one snorted a laugh. "Yes, we heard
about you losing a shipment of antimatter to a ragtag
band of your own people. Must be quite embarrass-
ing.?' His fellows chuckled.
    "And none of your concern," snapped Kira. "I need
to talk to you, Quark."
    "By all means," said the elder Cardassian with a
good-humored chuckle. "Don't let us detain you,
Quark. We have to get back to our ship, anyway. A
pleasure, as always."
    The Cardassians marched off, and the Ferengi
waved after them with desperation. "Come back, if
you have time! She never stays long!" Quark turned
and glared at the Bajoran. "Don't you have anything
better to do than to chase off customers?"
    Kira's lips thinned. "Why were you talking to
them? What did you tell them?"
    "Exactly what Odo told me to tell them," he
answered. "To leave me out of it. To keep me unin-
volved. I wouldn't trade information to them, even ifI
had any."
    "You really don't know what's happening on the
other side of the wormhole?" asked Kira in disbelief.
    "I didn't say that, exactly," answered Quark, pick-
ing up a glass and inspecting it. "Listen, Major, if you
promise to leave, I'll tell you the one piece of informa-
tion I know that not everyone else does."
"All right," answered Kira, leaning on the bar.
Quark whispered, "The cartel was involved in the
hijacking--as the liquidators of the merchandise. But
they're not at all happy with the way things are going.
They sent one of their best operatives over to the
Gamma Quadrant a couple of weeks ago, and he was
supposed to return with the antimatter by now. No-
body on this side of the wormhole knows what the
delay is, and the cartel is getting nervous." 
"Who is this operative?" asked Kira.
    "I didn't promise to tell you that," said Quark.
Then he smiled with fond remembrance. "But he has
a wonderful harem."
    The major nodded. "So we know the Ferengi are
involved in a big way. What about the Cardassians?
Why were you talking to them?"
    "They're dignitaries," answered Quark with indig-
nation. "Trade representatives."
    "And I'm a royal princess," sneered Kira. "What
did they want?"
    "Like you--information. Help. But I'm steering
clear of this antimatter business. Contrary to what
you think, Major, I don't want to see DS9 blown up. I
like it here, and that wormhole gives us a great tourist
attraction. As far as I'm concerned, the antimatter can
just stay over there."
    "You sound like Odo," sniffed Kira. "This one
time, I'm almost inclined to agree with you. I'd be
content just to have Commander Sisko, Odo, and Dax
come back--without the antimatter."
    Quark frowned. "It's not a foregone conclusion that
they will come back. In fact, if you really believe the
Mekong will come back in one piece with all aboard, I
can get you a wager at three-to-one odds."
    Kira bolted upright and snarled, "You're disgust-
ing." She beeped her comm badge. "Kira to Ops. I
want all transmissions to and from the Cardassian
ship monitored. And keep me apprised of their sta-
tus."
    "Funny you should ask that, Major," O'Brien's
voice cut in. "They just sent a message--short but
encrypted. Then they asked for permission to shove
off."
    "Keep them here," said Kira. "Make up some
excuse for a delay. Can you decode their message?"
    "Given enough time," answered O'Brien. "I'll get
to work on it. O'Brien out."
    The Ferengi was collecting more glasses and ap-
peared not to be listening, but Kira knew how much
his gargantuan ears picked up. "So what are the
Cardassians going to do?" she asked.
    "They're scavengers," growled Quark. "They can
smell the deal falling through, the rodent about to die
in the desert. If the antimatter is up for grabs, they
will be grabbing. You know, I hadn't realized how
highly prized Federation-made antimatter is. By all
accounts, it is the most pure, and they have the best
storage pods. Do you suppose they would consider
selling me a franchise?"
    Kira muttered, "We already asked them, and they
said no."
    "Pity," shrugged Quark. "They are losing so much
profit. Cardassians, I can understand; these do-
gooders, I cannot."
    Kira's comm badge sounded, and she straightened
to attention before tapping it. "Major Kira."
    It was O'Brien, and he sounded excited. "Fourm
yes, I think it's fourmsmall cruisers headed our way.
They may be no more than one-man craft, but they
can do warp speed."
 "What is their destination?"
    "They're just slowing down," said O'Brien. "Their
impulse speed is impressive, too."
    "Where are they going, Chief?." Kira demanded,
trying to keep her voice calm and level. She knew that
Quark and several of his customers had stopped to
listen.
    "The wormhole," he answered. "I hope they slow
down long enough to get through it. We could fire on
them, but that's about all we could do to stop them.
They're spreading out--if their engines are tuned
properly, they should make it through all right."
    "Where are they from?" asked Kira, the bile rising
in her throat again.
    "I've never seen anything like them," answered
O'Brien, "but maybe this Cardassian computer has.
Let me try to get a match." Kira heard silence, but she
could sense the rumble growing beneath it, like the
prelude to thunder. O'Brien finally exploded, "Yeah,
this computer knows them all right! Cardassian regis-
try, and they came straight out of Cardassian space!"
 Kira sighed. One thing she could count on with
O'Brien was that he hated Cardassians as much as she
did. "No need to decode that message now, Chief.
Exactly how many went in?"
    "Four ships. I don't know how much range they
have, probably not as much as the runabout, but
they're small and fast." O'Brien's voice grew hoarse.
"Major, you just give me the word, and I'll go after
them. We'll find the Mekong and bring 'er home."
    Tempting it was, so tempting, to send O'Brien to
rescue Sisko, Dax, and Odo. But Sisko had been
right--the station needed O'Brien where he was. And
Admiral Nicheyev had been right--there was no
sense endangering more ships to save two that could
already be lost.
    "No, Chief," she said, "I'm sorry, but two run-
abouts would be almost as badly outnumbered as one.
I want you to send the Cardassians a very stern
message that if they send ships through the hole again,
without going through the proper procedures, we'll
fire on them. And we're holding the ship that's docked
here for investigation."
    "Aye, sir," answered O'Brien, not hiding the disap-
pointment in his voice.
    Didn't he know, thought Kira, that she would like
to do more? But decimating the command staff of
Deep Space Nine wasn't going to help matters much.
    She remembered the gleam in Sisko's eye when he
had asked for volunteers to go with him on the
runabout. It was a roguish quality he had exhibited
only a few times, but it gave her confidence that he
could succeed. The commander knew the dangers,
and he knew that his opportunities would be limited.
Either things were breaking their way or not, and only
he could make that decision. Kira certainly hoped
that fortune had been with the Mekong so far, because
it had just turned against them.
    Quark looked glum, too. "Zot," he muttered, "at
this rate, I'll never get anyone to bet on Sisko coming
back."
    Kira scowled, "You bet on him. Jack up the odds,
and you'll win big." She turned and stalked out of the
casino.
    "Hmmm," mused the Ferengi, giving it serious
thought.

    Benjamin Sisko just stared at the nondescript ter-
minal, rage seething inside of him. Unless he was
having an unpleasant dream, several billion bugs were
trying to extort money from him. He hadn't asked for
the Ecocids' help, even if their timely lie--saying that
he and Dax had been on the planet for days--had
paved the way for their acceptance by Gimba and
Rizo. He knew that once you started lying, and
enlisted others to lie for you, things often went
haywire, but he hadn't expected to be shaken down by
a hiveful of bugs.
    "Your... your piece of the action?" he asked in-
credulously.
    "Of course, Commander Sisko," answered the syn-
thesized voice of the interface. "That is your real
name and rank, isn't it? You have many secrets,
Commander, and this would not be a good time for
them to reach the surface."
    "But... but we haven't... we don't have any-
thing!"
 "Marcus, you're sputtering," Dax observed.
"Please allow me."
 Sisko threw his hands in the air and stepped back.
 The attractive Trill smiled pleasantly at the interface,
 which was undoubtedly a wasted gesture.
     "If you know so much about us," she began, "you
 must know that we pursued these criminals here from
 the Alpha Quadrant. All of our actions have been
 intended to recover stolen property, namely, a tanker
 full of antimatter. Even if we're successful, we're not
 going to make any profit."
     "We have no such restrictions," answered the hive
 mind. "We are going to make a profit, and we can
 make it from you or one of the other groups in-
 volved."
     Dax shook her head. "That's unlikely. If you tell the
 Bajorans, they'll probably become wary and just take
 off with the tanker. And the Ferengi are already out a
 sizable amount--they won't want to share anything
 with you."
    "That remains to be seen," answered the hive mind.
"We believe that you owe us something. If you don't
cooperate, we can make your stay here very unpleas-
ant."
    Sisko growled, "This is pointless. The Ecocids are
demanding something from us that we don't have!"
He grabbed Dax's arm and started off. "Let's go."
    The Trill followed, but her spots stretched
worriedly along her hairline. "Was that wise, Benja-
min?"
    "I don't know," he admitted. "But I refuse to talk to
that thing any longer. If it tells them the truth, then it
has to admit that it lied to them. All that matters is
that we get you and Odo aboard that tanker tomorrow
morning. If we can't do that, we've failed, anyway."
    Sisko's peripheral vision caught a wriggling stream
of blackness just over his head, and he sank back. He
wished he weren't prejudiced against the Ecocids, but
he couldn't repress his repulsion at their sheer number
and formidable presence. As a kid, he loved bees and
ants, but giant burrowing insects were beyond his
capacity for love. Especially when they were greedy
and dishonest. Dax seemed to have no trouble empa-
thizing with the Ecocids and treating them as an
equal, but she had merged with an alien species.
That's what Sisko had to admit--despite the fact that
he had lived with insects all his life, they were still an
alien species.
    "You need some rest," Dax suggested. "We all do. I
hadn't realized how exhausting it is to be dishonest.
Plus, tomorrow looks to be an eventful day."
    "Yeah," sighed the commander. "It'll be great to get
home."

    Jon Rachman dangled his toes in the cool stream
and looked around at the idyllic setting of Sabino
Canyon, with its gentle currents and drooping cotton-
wood trees. Like alien soldiers frozen by a sudden cold
wave, saguaro cactus lined the rugged hillside. Multi-
colored clouds lay smeared across the big sky behind
them, reminding him of a giant's finger painting. A
little farther up the stream, Jake and Nog howled with
laughter and splashed with abandon as they tried to
catch crayfish.
    "There's just one drawback about commanding a
cruiser." Jon Rachman grinned. "No room for a
holodeck. Boy, I'd like to be able to do this more
often!"
    "Is this what Kansas looks like?" called Nog. "Sorta
weird?"
    "No, no," said Rachman. "When we asked for
something from the Wild West, your uncle did the
best he could. By the looks of these stovepipe cacti, we
 must be someplace in Arizona. What do you think,
 Jake?"
     "This is great!" he shouted. "I'm going to save up
 my allowance to come back here. Wait till Dad sees
 it." His voice trailed off in sudden remembrance.
     His buddy, Nog, didn't let the moment linger. He
 scooped up a double handful of cold stream water and
 doused his friend. Sputtering and laughing, Jake gave
 chase.
     Rachman breathed a sigh of relief. Jake had finally
 come out of his funk over his dad's absence--and his
 imminent replacement. The captain had regaled both
 boys with tales of dangerous missions in Starfleet, all
 of which had turned out happily. Of course, Jake had
 been there at Wolf 359, so he knew that not all
 missions turned out happily. But plenty had. Then
 when Chief O'Brien piped in with a couple of the
 incredible scrapes the Enterprise had survived, every-
 body believed that the runabout could make it back.
 They believed it until they were reminded of the
 alternative.
    The persistence of his friend Nog had also gone a
long way toward elevating Jake's mood, and Rachman
found himself liking a Ferengi for the first time. He
certainly didn't know why anybody would complain
about Nog's uncle Quark, the owner of this remark-
able holosuite. The Ferengi proprietor had been the
height of hospitality to the young captain, giving him
the run of the holosuites plus treats from the
replicators--anything he needed to keep Jake Sisko's
mind off his dad. Rachman thought Deep Space Nine
-was the kind of place where he might settle down one
day, if he got tired of roaming the space lanes. After
all, the Bajoran women were quite attractive, and he
found himself visualizing Major Kira. Maybe a swim
in this very spot--
    His communicator beeped, startling him with its
intrusion. Rachman shook off his pleasant reverie and
tapped his badge.
 "Captain Rachman here," he announced.
    "It's Chief O'Brien," came the Irish drawl. "Sorry
to interrupt you, but there's been a development."
    "A development?" asked Rachman. He was trying
to keep his voice down, but Jake and Nog had stopped
their play with the second sense children have when
an adult doesn't want them to hear something. They
were sloshing their way toward him through the
stream, and he finally decided that Jake deserved to
hear whatever it was.
 "Go ahead," he said.
    "Four small Cardassian fighters have entered the
wormhole. We think this happened not long after they
found out about the missing antimatter. Anyway, we
assume that whoever comes out of there with the
tanker might have a very unfriendly escort. Major
Kira thinks we should mount a show of force, and the
Regal is about all we have. At least you have impulse
power and a few weapons. The Valor isn't going
anywhere, and our runabouts aren't going to frighten
anybody."
    "What about the Regal's shields?" asked her cap-
tain.
    "We can give you about fifty percent," said O'Brien,
"if you take a skeleton crew. That will let us steal some
energy from the life-support systems. You understand,
Captain, you're not really going to be able to do very
much, you just have to look like you could in a pinch."
  "Understood," said Rachman grimly. He glanced at
the two boys. "But no actual word yet on Commander
Sisko and the othersT'
    "No," answered O'Brien. "But it's a cinch that
somebody is going to come out of that wormhole.
We'd like to have you at the dock to tell us what you
absolutely need, and what you can do without."
  "I'm on my way," said Rachman. "Out."
    The young captain looked plaintively at the boys
and shrugged. "I guess playtime's over, at least for
me."
    "Thanks," said Jake, extending his hand. "You
know, you didn't have to spend so much time with
US."
    "Believe me, I enjoyed it," said Rachman. He
jumped to his naked feet and shook the young man's
hand. Then he began looking around for his socks and
boots. "You're good kids, both of you. And, Nog, your
uncle is a terrific guy, too."
    "Yeah, he is, isn't he?" The small Ferengi grinned.
"You should see some of the programs he wrote for
this holosuite."
      "I'd like to," said Rachman innocently. "You fellas
take care. I'll see you back at your apartment, Jake."
  "Thanks, Captain."
  "Bye, Captain!" crowed Nog.
    After Rachman had been absorbed into the
holosuite scenery, Nog looked at his friend and shook
his rubbery ears in incomprehension. "They're too
brave. You have to be too brave to be in Starfleet. !
respect Captain Rachman a lot, but I'm going into
business when I get older. No offense, Jake, but I'm
not the Starfleet type."
 "Not everyone is," the boy remarked.
 Nog seized upon this new topic of conversation.
"What did you say you were going to be when you got
older?"
    Jake gave his friend a lopsided grin. "A professional
baseball player."
    "Oh, yeah," said Nog. "Sounds neat. Let's catch
some crayfish."
    The two friends waded back into the gurgling water,
as the desert brooms swished gently in the breeze.

Kira looked right in the eyes of the Cardassian
seated in the investigation room.
    "We don't know what you're talking about," he
sneered. It was the third time that he had delivered
that answer, and Kira was getting annoyed, despite
her best intentions to remain calm.
    "What do you mean, you don't know what I'm
talking about?" she asked in amazement. "That squad
of fighters went through immediately after you sent
your message."
    "Coincidence." The trade representative shrugged.
His short stature was countered by massive shoulders,
Kira noted, and old scar tissue that rimmed his bony
eye sockets. He was a soldier of some sort, that was
evident. Like most Cardassians, he was also an ac-
complished liar.
    Chief O'Brien cut in. "We could decode that mes-
sage, you know. Find out exactly what you said."
    The Cardassian smiled pleasantly. "You would find
it very innocuous. A birthday greeting to someone's
spouse, if I recall."
    Kira let out a sharp breath. "That probably is all it
says. They would code the message, too. This is
useless, because we know he'll never admit to any-
thing. None of them will."
 "Too bad we're not Cardassians," O'Brien mut-
 tered, "or we could torture it out of them."
    Jukal laughed with what seemed like honest amuse-
ment. "That is why we are clearly superior to both
humans and Bajorans. A culture which doesn't use the
means at its disposal--any means necessary--will
always be at hampered in its development."
    Kira put her fists on her hips and glared at her
subject. "All right," she said, "you won't tell me
anything about those four small craft you sent
through. I'm not surprised. But do you have any
information about the tanker itself, or is this just a
scavenger hunt on your part?"
    The Cardassian glowered at her. "Are you insulting
me by calling me a scavenger?" he bridled. "We had
nothing to do with the disappearance of your tanker.
That was due entirely to your own ineptitude, and the
treachery of your own foolish people."
    Kira's body tensed, and she felt like strangling the
arrogant popinjay. Instead, she backed away from the
interrogation table and prowled around the security
room, her hands clasped behind her back.
    O'Brien asked pleasantly, "So what are your scav-
engers doing over there?"
    The Cardassian jerked forward with a sudden dis-
play of anger, and his eyes grew black in their sunken
hollows. Quickly, he regained his composure and sank
back into his chair. "As I told you before, I don't
know who those ships represent. However, it would
certainly be within the interests of the Cardassian
Empire to prevent a massive detonation of antimat-
ter, in either the wormhole or the Gamma Quadrant.
Since you don't seem to be able to control the situa-
tion, why should we sit idly by?"
    O'Brien smiled sourly. "Just trying to be good
citizens, eh?"
    "Precisely," answered Jukal. "Now, may we leave
the station?"
    Kira looked at O'Brien, and the Irishman scowled,
but he didn't give her any good reason for detaining
the Cardassian ship. This was the third dignitary they
had talked to, and their story hadn't changed one
syllable. "We don't know what you're talking about"
was the answer to every substantive question.
    "Make sure you really leave," said Kira. "Put some
distance between yourselves and this station. I don't
want your ship hanging around--I don't want it to be
anywhere on our sensors. Or I'll treat it as an act of
war and start shooting at any Cardassian vessel I see."
    Jukal forced a chuckle. "That would be over-
reacting."
    "Maybe." Kira smiled. "But Starfleet is sending a
new commander and several ships, so I don't have
much more time to be in command of DS9. Until they
get here, I'm going to do whatever I damn well please,
and firing on Cardassians is something I enjoy doing.
Do I make myself clear?"
    Jukal's laughter sounded nervous. "Oh, you warlike
Bajorans. Just let us go, that's all we want."
    "Go," Kira ordered, waving at the door. "But do
remember that the antimatter belongs to Starfleet,
until they hand it over to Bajor."
    The Cardassian chuckled. "They already handed it
over to Bajor. Farewell."
    Kira ran her hand over the security panel, and the
door slid open. Just as quickly, the Cardassian slid
out.
  O'Brien muttered, "Lying sons of..."
    Kira held up a hand. "I know. But when things go
wrong, you have to expect the jackals to get the scent."
    "Please let me go after them," begged the chief. "I'll
be careful."
    Kira considered O'Brien's offer for a moment, but
only for a moment. She shook her head glumly. "No,
Chief, going after them is not being careful. And the
Gamma Quadrant is more dangerous now than it was
a few hours ago. I'm sorry, but I need you here. How
are repairs going on the Regal?"
    O'Brien shrugged. "It'll look ready for action, and I
hope that will be enough. Taking the station's grape-
vine into account, we're spreading the rumor that the
Regal is going to be fully functional in twelve hours."
    "Good," said Kira. "I don't want to see Command-
er Sisko replaced, but I wouldn't mind if Starfleet
showed up with a couple of warships right about
now."
    O'Brien nodded and managed a smile. "You're
doing a good job, even if you won't let me risk my
neck. If it were up to me, I'd leave you in charge. If
worse came to worse, that is."
    "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Chief." She
touched her comm badge. "Kira to Ops. Let the
Cardassian ship go, but monitor their course."
  "Yes, sir," came a crisp reply.
    O'Brien shook his head, and Kira knew exactly
what he was thinking. Worry was carved all over his
ruddy face. If worse came to worse, what would any of
them do?

    It was a peculiar sort of dream, one that was sensory
more than visual, but Benjamin Sisko found himself
only vaguely troubled by it. For one thing, the soft
prickling on his skin was caused by sand blowing off
gigantic dunera As far as the eye could see, dunes
undulated in every direction--a dry sea of salmon
waves that flowed ever so slowly with the wind.
    The prickling was only part of it, as the desert had a
distinct odor, like burnt charcoal that had been left
out in the rain. Like an old house that had been long
neglected. It couldn't be the sun that drew this strange
odor from the sand, because the sun was only just
rising, like a vague halo, over the tallest dune. Or was
it setting? All Sisko knew for certain was that he was
asleep and dreaming of an alien vista.
    Did he know this place? What was he doing here?
What was his reason to be here? A dream can't go on
long with nothing happening, thought Sisko, because
dreams are very plot-heavy. With the realization that
he knew he was dreaming, the dreamer willed some-
thing to happen, and sure enough, the dunes began to
shift rapidly. The wind had picked up, and the sand
was pummeling him with itchy ferocity. Yet he strode
knee-deep through the dunes, because the erosion was
revealing something underneath--something dark
and massive.
    It was black sand, he thought, like the kind in
Hawaii. It was writhing under the fierce wind, and it
bit his skin and assaulted his nostrils with that pun-
gent smell. Nevertheless, he didn't cover his eyes and
run away--he drew closer, stumbling down the shift-
ing dune. He could see the black sand churning, as if it
were caught in a giant blender, and curiosity drew him
closer yet. By the time he saw the true nature of the
blackness underneath the sand, it was too late. He
grasped for the dune to halt his descent, but the sand
oozed through his fingers. In slow motion, he slid
toward the mass of writhing Ecocids.
  He plunged into them, gasping and flailing his arms.
With desperation, he willed himself to wake up--to
stop this horrible dream. But consciousness brought
no relief, because the black bugs were still swarming
all over him! They were in his hair and mouth, under
the waistband of his underwear, creeping and crawling
along his naked chest. He screamed with terror as he
tried to scrape them off. But they were tenacious
creatures, and they nipped his flesh with their pincers.
    "Ahhh-aaagh!" wailed Sisko, certain he was being
eaten alive.

CHAPTER
     lO

TuE DOOR TO Sisko's tiny cabin jerked open, and Odo
loomed in the doorway, followed by Dax, who peered
over his shoulder. They were two of the most stoic
creatures in the galaxy, but they shuddered at the sight
that greeted them, and their mouths twisted with
revulsion. Seeing their expressions, Sisko knew that it
must be serious, that he wasn't hallucinatingmhe
really was covered by squirming Ecocids.
 "Get them offi" he yelled. "Get them on"
    Odo instantly stepped forward and began batting
the creatures away. But they either scurried out of
sight or began leaping onto the shapeshifter. Dax
pitched in, too, but the sheer number of the creatures
made the job impossible. Sisko tried to help them, but
he was seconds away from giving up any attempt at
control and screaming.
    Finally, Odo's hands metamorphed into giant
scoops, which shoveled the insects off the commander
 and threw them against the bulkhead with odd crack-
 ing sounds. Sisko began to rip off his clothes to let Odo
 reach the bugs underneath. When he was completely
 naked and almost rid of the Ecocids, he rushed to the
 high-speed shower in the back of the runabout and
 doused himself with as much pressure as he could
 stand. Even that wasn't enough to help him feel clean.
    He stepped out, looking for a towel, and Dax
handed him one. He quickly wrapped it around his
waist.
"Sorry," he breathed. "Forgot you were here."
Dax smiled. "That's all right. It's nothing I haven't
seen before. Where the hell did those things come
from?"
    "I don't know," answered Sisko, looking around
warily. All the Ecocids had taken flight and burrowed
out of sight; it was as if they had never been there. He
shuddered, "If that's what they meant about making
my life unpleasant, they succeeded."
    Odo lifted his arm, and he was still holding one of
the intruders in the slim fingers of a hand returned to
normal. "They're really quite fascinating," he re-
marked. "I believe they are capable of generating
small amounts of electricity, like insects which can
illuminate themselves. Each one is like a tiny proces-
sor, and together they form a computer."
    "Damn them!" cursed Sisko. "There must be hun-
dreds of them. How did they get here?"
    "They might have been breeding here," suggested
Dax. "Or perhaps they brought some eggs aboard. But
how?"
    Odo cocked his head thoughtfully. "The biofilter's
been malfunctioning lately. We could have gotten a
handful with every transporter trip."
    Sisko scowled. "And we probably transported some
back down with us--that's how they knew about the
coffee and our real identities. We have to look at this
attack as a warning shot across our bow. Well, I got the
message."
    The commander began pacing. "First, I want a
sweep of this entire ship, and I want every one of them
off. That'll be the easy part. But how do we make sure
they don't screw everything up? The hive mind is the
key. Does anybody have any idea how to distract it,
give it something else to do besides tormenting us?"
    "A diversion," said Dax. "But what would work?
They can successfully screen out weapons, and the
individuals are so widespread it would be hard to
imagine that one single incident could distract all of
them."
     Sisko gazed at the Ecocid in Odo's grasp. "I wonder
how much like Terran insects they really are?"
  "What do you mean?" asked the morph.
    "Well," said the commander, "a hive on Earth
would have one queen, no matter what size it was. It's
the queen's job to lay the eggs, and if she's threatened,
the whole hive goes berserk. It goes into chaos."
    Odo observed, "I would think the queen would be
well protected."
    "Not necessarily," said Dax. "I think the com-
mander has something here. The queen has to be
accessible to the drones and the helpers. The first step
is to catch the Ecocids on board and examine them. If
they're all the same sex, or no sex, that may mean they
have a single queen."
    "And she's somewhere in the inner hive," added
Odo with a sigh. "I had the feeling I would be going
back down there."
    "Let me ask you something," said the commander.
"You've had plenty of time to do scans of the planet.
What are those salmon-colored areas down there?"
    "Vast sand dunes," answered Odo. "Oceans
sand."
 Sisko shivered. "That's what I thought."

    Using tricorders to locate them and phasers to stun
them, it had proven surprisingly easy to round up the
stowaway insects. Pressing a medical tricorder into
service, Dax had managed to make a detailed exami-
nation of one hundred Ecocids before she reached the
conclusion that they were all sexless soldiers. They
had even found a cache of egg sacs that had been
secreted aboard, which accounted for the number of
stowaways. Both of these discoveries made it likely
that the hive had a single queen to handle its repro-
ductive needs.
    Six hours before the antimatter exchange was
scheduled to take place, Odo found himself strolling
along one of the meandering corridors of Hive Three.
He was following the red stripe, but he wasn't in much
hurry to reach the teeming entrance to the inner hive.
He had to meet somebody first. Finally, he spotted
him--one of the hirsute servants who did the grunt
work in Hive Three. Were these humanoids natives of
the planet, he wondered, or had they been imported
for this work? Quite possibly, they performed similar
work on other planets in the Gamma Quadrant.
    "Excuse me!" he called to the creature, who
stopped and gazed at him with polite disinterest. The
servant was carrying a silver tray piled high with
brightly colored packages. "Could you give me direc-
tions, please?"
    Odo came as close to the being as he thought his
sense of personal space would allow, and he studied
him intently, imprinting every shank of hair and pool
of sweat into his memory. It wasn't so much memory
as a mold, a vessel he filled with impressions of a thing
he was about to become.
    "What, sir?" growled the creature, as if he didn't
like to talk. Perhaps, thought Odo, he didn't like the
new language he'd had to learn since visitors had
shown up from the Alpha Quadrant.
    "Is it this way?" asked Odo, pointing in both
directions at once like a confused tourist. "Which
color is it to get to the laundry?"
    "Purple," snarled the creature through uneven
teeth.
    Odo looked at him, absorbing a few final details,
such as his musty breath and the length of his bare
toenails. He stepped back to get a sense of height and
proportion. "Thank you," he said.
    The thing grunted and scurried away, and Odo
turned to pick up the red stripe on the wall in earnest.
He soon found himself in the final corridor, the one
the others emptied into on their way to the inner hive.
Without losing a step, his body started to mutate.
    Odo's skin went as sleek as the surface of a pond for
just a moment before it hardened and grew swaths of
coarse brown hair. His face melted, then wizened into
a hairy simian countenance. He had to take quicker
steps as his legs shortened, and he stepped cautiously
for a few meters, learning how to move in this
unfamiliar form. Finally, he mastered the shape and
moved forward cautiously, encumbered by his own
fatigue and the surging influx of black insects.
    They swarmed all over the walls, floor, and ceiling,
and Odo studied them. Aboard the Mekong, he had
stared for an hour at the stunned Ecocids, and he
knew their dimensions. Now he wanted to know the
way they moved.
  As the flow of insects became dense and noisy with
the scraping of billions of legs, Odo slowed to a
deliberate shuffle. Thus far, he felt, his disguise was
working. He remembered the lump he had seen in the
corridor his first trip down here, and he assumed that
an intruder wouldn't last long if the Ecocids attacked
him en masse. Getting in, he thought, wouldn't be a
problem, but he was concerned about how he would
get out, if he had to revert to his normal size.
    Even in the smaller humanoid shape, Odo had to
bend over as the corridor constricted around him, the
walls black with rippling waves of insects. He could
see the mass of fist-size holes along the final wall, each
teeming with chaotic traffic. He shuffled slowly to-
ward it, passing the place where he had heard the
audio warning, then past the place where he had seen
the lump on the ground. The chirping/scraping sound
of the insects was almost overwhelming, and he could
sense their disturbing smells. Holding his breath, he
reached out to touch the highest opening in the wall.
    Where Odo's finger lit on the fist-sized entrance, the
rest of his hand began to pool. His entire body
stretched like taffy as it glommed onto the wall and
sucked his mass off the floor. Soon, he was a pulsating
mass of jelly at the edge of the hole, and the surround-
ing insects gave him a wide berth. Odo's only thought
was to make the transition as swiftly as possible,
before they decided he was an intruder.
    Suddenly, he had arms and legs again. Lots of them.
And he ducked into the hole before the other Ecocids
could scrutinize him. He couldn't move very quickly,
but neither could any of the others, so closely packed
were they in the tiny opening. Beyond the entrance, he
found himself in a chute, one that curled downward at
a remarkable angle, and he was thankful for the sticky
surface of his spindly legs. The chute meandered
downward into the inner hive, into utter darkness.
This wasn't a complete surprise for Odo, but he wasn't
looking forward to using touch and smell as his only
means of navigation. He had to figure out quickly
what clues to use to find the queen.
    Pressed as he was against a mass of insects in the
tunnel, he soon sensed the differences among them.
The majority were stalwart soldiers, like those who
had sneaked aboard the Mekong. Others were smaller
and less numerous, and he categorized them as the
helpers, or nursemaids. Their place was with the
maggots, and he didn't really want to go there.
    Members of the third class were rare, at least in this
part of the hive. They were slow in their movements
and somewhat imperious, and Odo probed his mind
for the information given him by Sisko and Dax. He
decided that these were the drones, the queen's con-
sorts, and he snuck up behind the legs of one of them,
prodding him with his pincers. Perhaps, Odo hoped,
he was headed for a little tryst with the queen.
    As he crawled along, Odo decided that he could see
his surroundings a bit. It wasn't sight in the normal
sense--the winding passageway was still pitch black
--but radar or some sixth sense gave him a feeling of
the dimensions of the passageway and the occasional
openings. With six tactile instruments at his disposal,
Odo probed the walls of the passageway, trying to
determine what it was made from.
    The tunnel was an amalgam of materials: it was
mostly packed sand, hardened by some type of excre-
tion, but there were also slivers of metal beneath his
tiny claws. And he could feel the metal imparting a
mild sort of charge, a sensory flow of information. Of
course! The metal slivers in the passageway were the
contacts to the hive mind's interface, the means by
 which it became a sentient being that communicated
 with others. Every single Ecocid within the inner hive
 was a component of this biological computer. When
 the insects ventured into the outer hive to mingle with
 their customers, they became scouts, bringing back
 information. Whenever there was an exchange over
 the interface, each of them shared the information as
 well. This was a natural form of distributed comput-
 ing and parallel processing.
    This information was crucial, felt Odo, because it
meant that no single Ecocid--not even the queen--
was sentient by itself. Only together, flowing like
electrons through these charged passageways, did the
Ecocids achieve consciousness. Of course, each indi-
vidual still had its basic instincts and its unique
function within the hive, and that included protecting
the queen. At his present size, each one of them was
dangerous.
    Odo continued to stick close to the drone in front of
him, aware of time running out and the effort it
required to maintain this shape. He was encouraged
when the drone he was following turned off onto a
side passage that was inhabited mostly by drones and
nursemaids.
    Odo had assumed the soldier shape, and he tried to
bustle along so as not to call attention to himself. He
left his sluggish drone to catch up with a faster one.
They passed a major intersection, where most of the
nursemaids branched off, leaving the passageway rela-
tively uncrowded. With great relief, Odo allowed his
segmented body to expand a bit and his legs to stretch.
Now the darkness worked in his favor, because he
knew he no longer looked much like an Ecocid. But he
was doing the best he could.
 Two things happened simultaneously. His radar
sense told him that he was entering a much large
cavity; at the same moment, two nursemaids latched
onto his legs with their heavy pincers.
    Odo came as close to screaming in pain as an insect
could, and he knew he had been found out. He could
sense the other Ecocids in the vicinity converging
upon him, and he realized that if he didn't act fast,
they would tear him apart. An image flashed through
Odo's mind--that of a daugu, a phosphorescent
reptile native to Bajor. It was a cave dweller and
provided its own light, which was exactly what the
shapeshifter needed at that moment.
    He morphed into a snakelike creature with stubby
appendages and skin that glowed milky white, espe-
cially near its upturned snout. He dragged the at-
tached Ecocids with him as he lumbered through the
cavity in search of the queen. A gathering of cowering
drones gave her away, and the glowing reptile galloped
toward her, flicking his tongue at the threatening
insects.
    The queen was impressive--she had a regal golden
color and was three times the size of the biggest drone.
Plus, she stood her ground to meet his attack head-on
and protect the egg sacs that were awaiting transport.
She snapped at him with immense pincers, and he
could imagine her using them to grip her helpless
suitors until she was through with them. But Odo was
already changing into something else--he needed the
dexterity of his human hand. As the hand stretched
toward the queen, he assumed the humanoid form he
presented to denizens of Deep Space Nine.
    His delicate fingers engulfed the queen while his
expanding shoulders pressed against the sand that
enclosed the hive. He had no idea whether it would
crumble at his touch or entomb him, or how deep he
was. So he ducked when the sand and metal caved in
all around him. It was stifling, but it didn't crush him.
Likewise, he kept his grip on the queen light, so as not
to crush her, ignoring the way she nipped and dawed
at his palm. At least he couldn't feel the gnawing of the
Ecocids at his extremities anymore.
    With his free hand, Odo clawed through the sand
until he had loosened an area around his face. The
sand was just too heavy to allow him to claw his way to
the surface, no matter how far away that was. Besides,
he was terribly weakened from his various transfor-
mations, and it was all he could do to keep his
customary form together, He turned his collar out-
ward, revealing his Bajoran communicator badge. He
squeezed it with what little strength he had left.
    "Odo..." he breathed. A moment later, his body
transported from its premature burial plot.

    The queen was not of that genus, but she was as
mad as a hornet inside the laboratory jar. She kept
trying to claw her way up the smooth sides of the jar.
When that didn't work, she thudded around on her
heavy wings until she dropped, exhausted, to the
bottom. Dax didn't think it was possible for insects to
pant, but that's what it looked like this one was doing.
    She shut off her tricorder. "We can't keep her long,"
the Trill announced solemnly. "She's weakening, she
won't eat, and she'll die soon."
    "Terrible," said Sisko, not sounding like he meant
it. "They must have other females."
    "Not like this one," said Dax. "A proven producer.
Females may be born spontaneously, but they're prob-
ably killed or driven from the hive as long as this one
is healthy. More likely, they have to produce a queen
by feeding royal jelly to the larva--a process that
could be very uncertain. I don't mind what we did for
expediency, but we have to return her fairly soon. If
another one isn't born to replace her, the hive could
die."
    The commander straightened up and put his hands
behind his back. "All right, Dax, go down and talk to
the interface. I'd go with you, but Odo is resting and
one of us should stay on alert. Tell the hive mind that
we'll return their queen as soon as they stop interfer-
ing."
    "They'll probably want to know exactly when that
will be," said Dax.
    Sisko frowned in thought. "In four hours, just
before we pull out of here. I'll beam all of the Ecocids
back then. If they've cooperated, that is."
    Dax went to the storage closet to fetch her un-
marked jacket. "There will be no negotiating," she
promised. "I'11 tell the Ecocids they'll get their queen
back in four hours if they keep quiet and don't
interfere."
  "Exactly," answered Sisko.
    Dax slipped into her jacket and heard something
jingle in the pocket. She reached in and smiled at what
she found. "I've got two bilbok left," she announced.
"Anything you want me to buy before we leave here?"
  "Bug spray," said Sisko.

    Dax transported to the Redemption Center, which
had become their unofficial headquarters on the plan-
et of Eco. She glanced at the display cases, wondering
what two bilbok would buy. Of course, she already
had a dramatic souvenir from this mission--the
golden gown--and it was unlikely she could top that.
 Unfortunately, Benjamin would probably court-mar-
 tial her if she tried to wear it again.
    She saw a bulky creature standing by the terminal,
shaking both his heads. As she drew closer she saw
what he was unhappy about--the interface screen was
blank. One of the heads swiveled to look at her, and
the other one looked at the ceiling, rolling its three
eyes. The other row of eyes regarded her with pity;
then the being shrugged his mighty shoulders and
shuffled off, muttering in two voices.
    Dax stood at the interface, waiting for it to greet her
in its familiar synthesized voice. But it said nothing. It
did indeed appear to be turned off. She glanced
behind her and was relieved to see that the familiar
scrawl of figures was still lighting up the ceiling.
    "What's the matter?" she asked. "Lost your
queen?"
    At once, the terminal blinked on. "Jade Dixon,"
said the voice. "Famous abductress. We were wonder-
ing when you would come crawling around."
    "You began this," said Dax. "We came here for the
sake of justice, not profit. You helped us once, and
now all we ask you to do is to stay out of the way. Stay
neutral in our affairs."
  "Our queen--have you killed her?"
    "Of course not. You had information about us, and
we needed something equally important to bargain
with you. This is your game we're playing. We would
like to finish it in approximately four hours."
    "And you will," said the cold synth voice. "We will
remain neutral from this point onward, saying noth-
ing to anyone about this matter. We will even wipe out
your bill and make your stay complimentary. When
can we expect to have our queen back?"
 "In four hours."
    The interface said nothing. What could it say? Dax
felt bad about using such desperate tactics, but they
had been left little choice. She turned to go. "Thank
you."
    "One moment," said the somber hive mind. "I was
instructed to leave a message for you. A representative
from the Bajorans is waiting in your conference room
to discuss some of the arrangements."
    "Was this message for me or Marcus Garvey?"
asked Dax.
    "It doesn't matter," answered the machine. "Fare-
well." The screen went blank.
    Dax shook her head, thinking that someday she
wanted to make amends for this visit. She wanted to
come back to Eco as what she was, a representative of
the Federation, not just another con artist. But that
visit would have to wait.
    She set off following the yellow stripe, even though
she barely had to glance at it, she had been there so
often. The Trill decided that she should take a cup of
coffee back to the commander. Benjamin would be
appreciative, because the replicator in the conference
room was the only thing he had liked about Eco.
    She strode across the lounge, and the door
whooshed open at her approach. Without pause, she
stepped inside the familiar room. The lights were
lower in brightness than normal, but she attributed
that to the late hour.
    "Hello!" Dax called, squinting into the dimness.
She heard the food slot slowly filling a cup of coffee.
    The door banged shut behind her with a finality that
made her jump, and she turned around to see some-
body rising from behind the table.
     "Hello," yawned Elaka. "Excuse me, I had just
 dozed off. I wondered when you would be getting
 down here."
    Involuntarily, Dax backed up. "I didn't think we
were supposed to meet for four hours."
    "But we have to decide where to meet," said Elaka,
circling the table. "We forgot to decide that. Rizo said
you should be beamed aboard as soon as all the rest of
us are beamed down here."
    The Bajoran motioned around the room. "We're
going to bring all of our people right here--I think
we'll all fit. I hope the Ferengi weren't planning to use
this area."
    "No," said Dax, relaxing a little. "They've got
hundreds of people, so they've taken a banquet room.
And some of them are going to the gaming room.
When everybody is down--except for the three of
us--we'll run the scans."
      Elaka nodded. "Good. Then you should meet us
here. I'll be glad to get this over with."  "Me too," agreed Dax.
    Elaka stopped in front of the food slot and looked
inside. "Oh, you probably would like this cup of
coffee." She reached in and pulled it out. "Here you
are."
    Dax took a few steps forward to retrieve the cup
from Elaka's outstretched hands. As her hand was
about to grasp the cup, Elaka heaved it forward, and
the scalding liquid struck her in the face. When Dax
shrieked and staggered backward, the stocky Bajoran
leaped like a mugato and went for her throat. Snarling
like a beast, she wrestled Dax to the ground and tried
to strangle her with her bare hands.
    Dax's face was searing with pain, and her breathing
had stoppedrebut the Trill's self-preservation was
just kicking in. One didn't live to be three hundred
years old without having quite a bit of it. Even though
the host's brain might short out after a few seconds
without oxygen, the symbiont deep in her torso had its
own brain, one that was quite capable of commanding
this youthful body in a ruthless fashion. Dax formed
two fists and brought them together on Elaka's head
like a cymbal player doing the 1812 Overture.
    The Bajoran screamed with pain and loosened her
grip just a little. Dax beat on her forearms mercilessly
and kicked her long legs upward like a bucking
bronco. All of this finally worked, and Elaka lost her
grip on Dax's throat and was tossed off. Unfortunate-
ly, the air assaulting her throat made the Trill gasp for
breath, and Dax could barely roll over and get to her
knees before Elaka buried her head in her chest.
    Dax groaned and fell onto her back again. The wind
she had struggled so hard to get was knocked out of
her, but the symbiont still commanded her hands.
Those hands gripped Elaka by the close-cropped sides
of her head and pulled with all their might. Elaka
whimpered but kept on trying to get another grip
around the Trill's neck.
     Dax's eyes burned bright as all rational thought left
 her brain and the self-preservation instincts of the
 symbiont took over. She plunged her thumbs into
 Elaka's eyes, and the Bajoran screamed with terror
 and was forced to go on the defensive. Squealing,
 Elaka peeled Dax's fingers off her eyes, but it took her
 several seconds to regain her vision. Before she did,
 the Trill snapped her right hand back, formed a fist,
 and smashed the Bajoran in the nose.
     Blood spattered over both of them as the women
 struggled to their feet, grunting with the effort. Elaka
 kicked viciously, trying to smash Dax's kneecap, and
the Trill jumped back just in time. Elaka kept coming,
like a boa constrictor. Without thinking, the Trill
grabbed the terrorist's collar and pulled their heads
together in a crunching blow. When Elaka battered
Dax's hands away and staggered backward, her entire
face was awash in blood.
    Elaka spit out a tooth and snarled, "Bitch!" She
wiped a sleeve across her oozing face, then pulled a
gleaming cord from her pocket. Slowly she wrapped
the ends around her hands and smiled. "I'm going to
hang your head on the bridge of that tanker."

CHAPTER
     11

DAX REACHED FOR her comm badge, but it was inside
her jacket pocket. That moment of forgetfulness near-
ly cost her her life when Elaka lunged across the room
and wrapped the cord afound her neck.
    At the last microsecond, Dax got her hand to her
throat, and the thin muscles of one hand had to battle
the brawny forearms of the Bajoran woman. Elaka
yanked for all she was worth, trying to tighten the
cord; Dax staggered, just trying to stay on her feet.
This bizarre dance continued around the table until
Dax got enough wits about her to remember her legs.
In a fundamental judo move, she wrapped her leg
behind Elaka's and punched her in the chest with her
free hand.
    The maneuver worked better than expected, be-
cause Eiaka not only lost her balance but fell against
the wall and struck her head. Dax was instantly in her
 face with another right cross that snapped her head
 around and sent her sinking to the carpeted floor.
    Dax staggered backward, massaging a hand that felt
as if it had been mangled by farm machinery. Her
neck was raw and swollen from all the abuse, and she
could only swallow with great pain. With her better
hand, she reached into the pocket of her jacket for her
comm badge; then she thought better of it. If she
didn't somehow make peace with Elaka, she would be
at her throat again the next time she saw her, and the
entire caper would be too risky.
    So Dax grabbed a chair and threw it on top of the
Bajoran. She threw her weight across the chair, leaned
over the edge, and peered into the terrorist's face,
waiting for her to revive.
    She did a second later, sputtering and squirming.
"Why don't you just kill me? You beat me--you
deserve it. Or let me go!"
    Dax's voice was hoarse when she replied, "No. You
tried to kill me, and I want to know why."
 'Elaka snarled, "You mated with Rizo!"
    "No!" shouted Dax. "Whoever told you that is a
liar." She shook her head and began to cough; then
she paused to catch her breath. "I know who told you
that... those blasted bugs!"
    "Then it's not true?" asked Elaka in amazement.
"You flirted with him enough."
    "I flirt with everyone," muttered Dax. Actually it
was Jade Dixon who answered that one.
"Why would the Ecocids lie?" asked the Bajoran.
"Because they want a piece of this deal, and we
won't give it to them. That's the whole thing. They
don't mind lying if it's to their gain."
    "Are you lying?" snapped Elaka. "If you are, I will
find a way to kill you."
 "There's nothing between me and Rizo, except
business," answered Dax, being specific in her denial.
"Look, in a few hours, you will never see Marcus and
me again. I promise."
    Elaka pouted, but Dax could see the fight drain out
of her, along with a lot of blood. "I never thought you
would defend yourself like that. You're a fighter."
    "Thanks," said Dax. "But I don't enjoy it, like you
do."
    "Something in you enjoys it," said Elaka. "Let me
go. I'll leave you alone, I swear by the revolution."
    Every muscle in her body aching, Dax staggered to
her feet and pulled off the chair. She certainly hoped
that Elaka wouldn't renew the fight, because she felt
unable to defend herself against a stiff breeze. Elaka
looked worse than she did, but the Bajoran sprang to
her feet with a reserve of energy. Warily, she studied
the Trill.
    "Remember," she said, "there had better be no
lies."
    At this point, Dax was too weary to tell anothcCr lie,
so she merely shrugged. Elaka cast her a final glare,
unmindful of the blood drooling down her face; then
she marched out the door.
    Jadzia Dax sank into a chair and lifted her right
hand to pull her comm badge out of her pocket. It was
the hand that had stopped Elaka's cord, and it was
shaking so badly that she doubted if she had any
control over it. She had to use her left hand to fish out
the badge and beep it.
    "Dax to Mekong," she said. "Beam me up. Better
get out the medkit."
    "Medkit?" said Sisko with alarm. "What hap-
pened?"
    The Trill rubbed her bruised neck. "Another inter-
esting experience."
     Commander Sisko was seething. "That woman
 needs to be taught a lesson!"
     "I think she learned a few things," said Dax. She
 grimaced in pain as Odo flattened out her hand on the
 treatment table.
     "Supposedly, this machine will speed up the heal-
 ing of your ligaments," he said, gazing doubtfully at a
 silver tubelike device. "But I would be careful with
 that hand, if I were you."
 Dax smiled gratefully. "Just do the best you can."
 "Look at that neck," muttered Sisko with alarm. He
 shook his head miserably. "I shouldn't have let you go
 down there alone."
    "It turned out okay," Dax assured him. "I accom-
plished my mission, and the hive mind will stay out of
it. We just have to hope that Elaka was the only one
they told."
    "But what if she tries it again, or somebody else
goes crazy?" asked Sisko.
    Dax shrugged. "We'll deal with it when the time
comes, like I did with Elaka. I think I made my peace
with her. But these are unstable people, and that
includes the hive mind."
    "There," said Odo, lifting the instrument and turn-
ing off its vibrant green beam. He craned his long neck
to study the Trill from stem to stern. "I don't think
there's anything we can do about the bruises on her
neck, except some cold packs and a hypo for pain. You
need to rest, Lieutenant."
    "I will, Odo. Thanks." She craned her neck to check
the time, then groaned slightly with the pain. "What
time is it?"
    "We have less than three hours," said Sisko. He
turned to Odo. "You'd better rest, too, Constable."
 "And what will you do?" asked the morph.
    "Worry." He patted Dax on the shoulder and
smiled. "When things start popping, I hope I have
time to beam those insects back."
    "You've got to," Dax insisted. "We can't deprive
them of their queen."
     "I'd have to lower my shields to do it," said Sisko.
"This whole thing will require split-second timing."
  Odo growled, "And a lot of luck."
  "That, too," agreed the human.
    "Then if luck is the deciding factor," said Dax, "a
few seconds won't make any difference. I gave them
my word we would return their queen to them."
    "You're awfully forgiving," said Sisko, "considering
how they set you up."
    Dax coughed. "I think the hive mind is another one
who has learned a lesson."
    Odo cut in, "Commander, she has to rest. If you
insist, I will, too."
    "I insist," said the commander. "Leave the worry-
ing to me."

    Captain Jon Rachman manned the conn of the
Starfleet cruiser Regal as she disengaged from the
docking ring of DS9 and eased into space. Chief
O'Brien sat right beside him at the Ops console,
monitoring ship's systems. The crew was extremely
skeletal--rounding out the bridge crew were an engi-
neer and two lieutenants, one on weapons and the
other on communications. Life-support was cut off
everywhere except for the bridge and Engineering,
which had a crew of two.
  "Half impulse," ordered Rachman.
    O'Brien punched in the command and nodded with
satisfaction. "Half impulse is totally stable. You can
alway~ fall back to that."
     "Setting a course for Bajor," said the captain,
 entering the coordinates himself. "Let's try full im-
 pulse."
     O'Brien gave him a hopeful smile. "Nothing ven-
 tured, nothing gained."
     A few seconds later, the chief was satisfied, but the
 engineer at his station called out, "Twenty-percent
 drop in fusion rate. I wouldn't want to keep this up
 more than a minute or two."
     "Blast it," muttered the chief. "I thought it would
 hold better than that."
     "That's okay, Chief," said Rachman. "Drop to half
 impulse. Shields up."
    Everyone held their breath for a few seconds, until
O'Brien announced, "The shields are holding steady
at seventy percent. Any power loss?"
    "None," said the ship's engineer. "We could keep
this up all day."
    "That's better than I expected," said the captain.
"Congratulations to you, Chief."
    "Oh, it's a pretty good craft," O'Brien responded
modestly. "Don't get me started with the things I
wasn't able to do."
"Weapons status?" Captain Rachman called out.
"All systems functioning," answered the lieutenant
on the weapons console. "Photon torpedoes 1oaded~
phasers powered."
    "But the phasers could be erratic," said O'Brien,
"and a real power drain."
    "That's okay," answered Rachman with a smile.
"As long as we're in this sector, we're not lowering the
Shields except to dock. Maybe not then," he joked.
"I'll stick with the torpedoes."
    "But if you get into a toe-to-toe--" O'Brien started
to say. He didn't need to finish.
    "I understand," the captain said grimly. "We'll just
look tough. No slugging it out." He turned toward the
communications station. "Open a channel to Deep
Space Nine. Tell them we're coming home."
    "Yeah, home," mused O'Brien. "Who would think
you could call a place like that home?"
    "I'd like to spend some time on Deep Space Nine,"
said Rachman. "Maybe I'll request a transfer. I like
being on the frontier."
    O'Brien wrinkled his face. "Do it while you're
single. I'm not so sure if this is the place to raise a
family."
    Rachman scratched his dimpled chin. "Speaking of
which, does Major Kira have a steady, er, arrange-
ment?"
    O'Brien laughed out loud. "Now you are getting
ambitious. Why don't you stick to something easy,
like making admiral before you're thirty."
    "A challenge never discouraged me," said ~he
young captain. "Computer, what are my chances with
Major Kira?"
    "I do not understand the question," said the com-
puter bluntly.
    "Okay," said Rachman with a deep intake of
breath. "We're ready."

    The transporters worked overtime, especially those
on the Ferengi Marauder. If anyone on Eco thought it
was odd for an entire ship's complement of several
hundred people to beam down all at once, they didn't
say so. Dax watched with awe as a banquet room on
Hive Three filled with Ferengi of every description,
including young children, grizzled crew members,
aged retainers, and several cadres of naked women.
Dax didn't want to think of them as harems, but that's
what they had to be. Food and drink were being
served by the ubiquitous servants of Hive Three, but
several of the Ferengi snuck off to explore the under-
ground metropolis.
    Dax set her heavy handbag on the floor and hoped,
for Odo's sake, that he wouldn't have to maintain that
shape for a lengthy time. As far as the Ferengi were
concerned, the evacuation was going as efficiently as
possible, and they had twenty times more people than
the tanker. Dax didn't want to see the Bajorans again,
but she couldn't avoid it if she was going aboard their
ship. She left the Ferengi fiesta to head to the confer-
ence room and check on the Bajorans.
    Minus their leader, the rest of the terrorist band sat
around the conference table or slumped against the
walls. A few were quietly sampling treats from the
food slots. She had met only a handful of the hijack-
ers, and the impoverished condition of the other
dozen or so troubled her. For the last two days, they
had been eating regularly, but she doubted if many of
them had before that. Several of the terrorists were
sick or nursing wounds. One woman was in a litter
and had to be carried from place to place. About half
of them were wearing captured Starfleet uniforms,
and she kept her jacket zipped up so as not to reveal
her own.
    The age of the terrorists also troubled her--Rizo
had to be one of the older ones, and they ranged down
to the early teens, mere children. Petra was a typical
age, and she probably wasn't even twenty. Dax sup-
posed that rebellion was an activity for the young, and
she wondered how many of their parents had died
trying to cast off the Cardassians. She wanted to tell
them that it was time to rebuild, not tear down, but
that would be the same as admitting who she really
was.
    It dawned on her that--if they were successful--
they were abandoning these lost souls on the planet of
Eco. What would their fate be at the whims of the hive
mind? She didn't want to think about what might
happen to them, but then Eco was a large planet and
there were undoubtedly other cultures and other
hives, perhaps more scrupulous. They might end up
working for a hive, as did the hirsute creatures; or
perhaps the Ferengi would find some use for them. At
any rate, the punishment for their crime was exile
from their homeworld to a world ruled by insects.
    It was hard to feel pity for these murderous thieves,
but she only had to look at Elaka and Petra to see the
two extremes. One psychologically damaged and pos-
sibly beyond redemption, and another who simply
knew no other life. In Petra's case, Dax hoped, the
exposure to the Ecocid culture would be positive.
Whatever happened, it could scarcely be worse than
the way they were living now.
 "Jade!" said an angry voice.
    Dax whirled around to see Elaka, and she instantly
tensed for an attack, even though they were sur-
rounded by people.
    "I kept calling your name," said Elaka. "Are you all
right?"
    Dax pulled her collar up around her throat, to hide
the bruises. "Thanks to you," she muttered, "I didn't
get a lot of sleep last night."
    "So sorry," said Elaka. "A little fight is good for
you--keeps your battle skills honed. We're both still
walking today, aren't we? Say, why are you bringing
that purse aboard?"
    Dax was ready for this question. "We're picking up
a little gold-pressed latinurn, too." She still didn't
know whether Rizo or Petra had taken Elaka into
their confidence about hijacking the Marauder. The
absurdity of the idea made Dax cringe, and she
wondered whether anybody was really believing their
crazy stories. The hijackers were supposed to fall into
their trap, but what if it was the other way around?
  "I don't know about that bag," Elaka was saying.
  "You can scan it, search it manually--anything you
  want," Dax responded. "Look, I'm a little tired this
  morning, but everything will go okay."
    "It had better," warned Elaka. "We're all down,
except for Rizo, of course. How are the bloodsuckers
doing?"
    "They were doing quite well a few minutes ago,"
said Dax, relieved to be headed toward the door. "Let
me check on them again."
    The Ferengi captain assured her that the entire
ship's complement was on the ground, except for
Gimba. Dax knew this wasn't the truth, but it would
have to do. She could see in the captain's eyes that he
knew the fix was in. Just going through the motions in
order to dupe someone--nothing out of the ordinary
for him. She could only hope that the Bajorans
weren't trying similar tactics. Dax herted the heavy
bag, thankful to have a secret weapon.
    The Trill returned to the conference room and the
motley collection of Bajoran terrorists. Petra smiled
at her trustingly as she entered.
    "The revolution will remember you," said the
young woman.
    Dax wanted to tell her to get a shower and get away
from these people, not necessarily in that order,
but she held her tongue. She sought out Elaka, who
was overseeing medical treatment of the wounded
woman.
    "They have medical facilities here," she said, hand-
ing Elaka her two leftover bilbok. "See if that will get
her some treatment."
    The Bajoran women stared at her, as if her act of
charity was both a miracle and an affront. Elaka said,
"You act like you're not coming back."
    "I've had enough of this place," said the Trill. "As
soon as Marcus and I get a little antimatter for our
reactor, we're leaving here."
    "We'll soon have our own latinum," said Elaka
proudly.
    "But you have this now," insisted Dax, wrapping
the other woman's fingers around the rectangular
coins. "On Eco, gold-pressed latinurn may not buy a
bucket of warm spit."
    That argument struck home, and Elaka pocketed
the bilbok. "Fare thee well, fighter," said the Bajoran.
"If you ever care to fight for more than your life, come
find us."
    "I will," Dax promised, thinking she would bring
an army of counselors with her when she came to look
for them. "The Ferengi are in the hive, so I think we
can proceed."
 "All right," said Elaka. "Hand me the bag."
    Dax hesitated. "You can scan it. Besides, the
Ecocids wouldn't let me carry a weapon down here."
    "I want to look inside," the Bajoran insisted. "If it's
empty, I'll give it back."
    So as not to reveal the bag's unusual weight, Dax
opened it and held it open for Elaka's inspection. The
Bajoran reached inside and felt around for hidden
objects, but she never removed the bag from Dax's
grasp.
    "Nice bag," Elaka said. "Supple leather." She
slapped her stolen Federation comm badge and an-
nounced, "It's me. Jade Dixon says the Ferengi are all
down, and she's ready to go up."
    Rizo answered, "Tell her to go outside the door of
the conference room, and I'll lock on."
    Elaka quickly added, "She's clean, Rizo, no need to
search her."
    Rizo grumbled something and signed off. Elaka
pointed to the door and said in a whisper, "Remem-
ber, Jade, he's my man."
"I know," said Dax. "Take care of your people."
Elaka gave her another strange look, but Dax wasn't
about to explain her comment. She strode out the
door, trying to look comfortable carrying the heavy
bag. As soon as she reached the deserted lounge area,
she felt her body tingle in the distinctive way a
transporter beam affected it.
    Dax materialized, along with her handbag, in the
transporter room of the Starfleet tanker Phoenix. It
was very cramped and utilitarian, mostly for person-
nel, because antimatter cannot be transported. The
docking bay of the Phoenix was probably much more
impressive, thought Dax.
    She wasn't surprised that Rizo wasn't there to meet
her, because he was alone on the Starfleet tanker. Or at
least, he was supposed to be. The knowledge ~at the
Ferengi Marauder was somehow keeping people back
didn't sit well with Dax either. This was like a
convention of snakes with no one to be trusted or
predicted.
    She found a turbolift and entered it, saying merely,
"Bridge." The hijackers must have rigged it by now to
accept commands from virtually anyone, she thought.
Sure enough, the turbolift rose swiftly.
    As the door opened, she hoisted the bag, trying to
make it look light. Dax smiled as she strode onto the
compact bridge of the tanker, and she saw the broad
back of the hijacker as he sat hunched over the
navigation readouts.
    "Take Ops," Rizo ordered. "I can't do every damn
thing by myself."
    Dax almost set the bag on the floor where she stood,
but she decided she had better keep it close. She
hauled it to the Ops station and carefully set it on the
floor beside her. Then she slipped into the seat and
looked at an array of familiar instruments.
    "Docking is almost automatic," she said. "At least
that's what Marcus told me. Just select the ship you
wish to refuel, and the computer and gyrostabilizers
will take over."
    "Yeah?" scowled Rizo. "All right, then. Let's start
that scan of the Marauder, and I'll be looking over
your shoulder."
    Efficiently, Dax responded, "Both ships are sup-
posed to contact each other first. That's what we
agreed to."
    Rizo stopped for the first time to look at her, and he
gave her a lopsided grin. "Well, we wouldn't want to
break an agreement, would we? Contact them."
    Dax hoped that Rizo wasn't watching her too
closely, because she couldn't entirely hide her profi-
ciency at the Ops station. She hoped he wouldn't
notice that she was routing most of the command
functions of the ship, including communications and
weaponry, into her console.
    But Rizo was busy pacing, staring at the viewscreen.
"What are those bastards up to?" he muttered. "Are
they really off the ship?"
 "You never told us," said Dax, as her fingers sped
across the colored panels. "Are you going to try to
take the Marauder?"
    "No, I'm not," rasped Rizo. "I can't put my people
through any more of this. We already have a Starfleet
tanker, and what good does that do us? We need to go
someplace and hide out, rest, get our bearings. We'll
probably end up selling the tanker for a little peace
and quiet. I don't want to have to worry about a
Ferengi Marauder, too."
    Dax shifted in her seat, uncomfortable with the way
she was cheating Rizo. He deserved punishment, but
he deserved honesty, too. He deserved to have some-
one treat him fairly, and she was upset that it couldn't
be her. She was also sorry that he wasn't going to be
one of the terrorists who got a fresh start here in the
Gamma Quadrant. He was a casualty of the
Cardassian invasion, and he would remain so.
    "Jade Dixon to Ferengi vessel," she said in a sultry
voice. "Do you read me, Gimba?"
    The viewscreen lit up, and a chubby Ferengi
grinned lasciviously. "Read you, Jade Dixon? I'd like
to smother you with... Oh, hello, Rizo. I was hoping
I could talk to Jade privately for a moment."
    "On your own time," scowled the Bajoran, "not
mine. Let's start these scans, and they had better come
out clean."
"Yes, they had better," Gimba agreed pleasantly.
Rizo strode behind Dax's back. "You seem to know
how to operate that thing. I won't ask you where you
learned it. Start the scan."
    Dax bit her lip to keep from saying too much. If she
was found out now, at least she was aboard, and her
secret weapon was only a few centimeters away.
  "Starting scan," she said, directing the tanker's
impressive array of sensors at the Marauder. This step
was actually necessary, because the tanker's computer
needed to know what type of vessel it was dealing
with.
    On the viewscreen, Gimba leaned over and prod-
ded his panel with stubby fingers. "I'm starting
mine," he announced.
    Rizo leaned directly over Dax's shoulder, so close
she could feel the heat of his breath and the hardness
of his chest. "What have you got?" he said hoarsely.
    "Scanning all decks," answered Dax. "Looking for
life-forms. None registering, except for Gimba on the
bridge."
    Rizo was smarter than he looked. "What's that
blinking area?" he asked, pointing to an abnormal
section of the readout.
    She swallowed. "An area inside their engine room
cannot be scanned. Some sort of interference."
    "What the hell kind of interference?" growled Rizo.
He glared at the viewscreen. "Gimba, why are you
interfering with our scan? What have you got in your
engine room?"
    But the Ferengi was barely listening. His eyes kept
widening as he punched his console and scanned
through the screens. "What are you braying about?
You are trying to cheat us! I make a number of possible
life-form readings in cargo bay two."
    Rizo shrugged. "Those are dead bodies you're
reading. We never had time to dispose of them."
    Dax's lips thinned, knowing whose bodies they
were. Former crew members, people she had met in a
hundred Starfleet installations, part of her family. She
said nothing, because the deal was already teetering
enough.
    "Well, yes," conceded Gimba, "there is something
wrong with them. But a living person could be hiding
in that mass of tissue."
    "Not likely," answered Rizo. "There's no atmo-
sphere in cargo bay two. Jade can tell you."
    The hijacker looked at her expectantly, and Dax
had to admit by her actions that she knew the controls
well enough to run a status report on cargo bay two.
  "It has no atmosphere," she reported.
    "What about that spot in your engine room?"
countered Rizo. "What's in there?"
    Gimba shook his floppy ears. "I have no idea what
you're talking about. Now that we have all the crew off
the ship, we are running some low-level tests for
radiation leaks, and that might be affecting your
instruments. That's all I can think it would be."
    Dax held her breath, waiting to see what effect this
lie would have. When no one spoke, she told Rizo,
"Their engine room is eight decks away from their
main cargo bay. I don't think this should be a deal-
breaker."
    Rizo cocked his head and smiled. "Expert opinion?
Go ahead, Jade--you're in command. Start up the
docking procedure."
    That had been what Dax was waiting for. As the
tanker drifted toward the Marauder to dock, Gimba
would be off his guard, and a phaser blast might
cripple the Ferengi warship long enough for them to
get away. If they didn't delay the Ferengi, they would
hunt them down in the wink of an eye. She entered the
docking sequence and turned over control of the
Phoenix to the computer. The ship began to move out
of orbit, setting its course automatically.
    "I need to go down to our cargo bay," said Gimba.
"How long before we dock?"
 "Hold on a minute," said Rizo, circling behind
Dax. "Gimba, there's somebody I want you to meet."
  "Who?" said the Ferengi, showing his anger.
  "You're supposed to be alone!"
    "Except for Jade Dixon," said the terrorist. Brutal-
ly, he gripped her ponytail and snapped her head
back. "You've met her--now meet Jadzia Dax. A
Starfleet lieutenant!"
    Dax started to protest, but the pain and the threat
of more pain quieted her. She glanced at her handbag.
It was as still as she was.
    Gimba laughed. "A Star fleet officer? Believe me,
I've met Starfleet officers, and they don't look like
Jade."
    Abruptly, Rizo let go of her hair, and Dax slumped
forward. When she swiveled in her seat to look at the
Bajoran, he was aiming a phaser at her.
    "Tell him," Rizo ordered. He moved the weapon
slowly up and down her body. "I wouldn't want to
burn any holes in that pretty body. Tell him."
    Dax managed a sneer. "You don't believe that
stupid hive mind, do you? It's been causing trouble for
me since the beginning. What does it matter who I
once was--you're getting what you want, aren't you?"
    The rugged terrorist shook his head. "Not good
enough."
    A blue beam stretched between the phaser and
Dax's chest, and she bolted backward in her chair.
With a moan, the Trill toppled to the floor.

CHAPTER
     12

ODO REMAINED PERFECTLY STILL. AS much as he wanted
to leap up and throttle the hulking Bajoran, he didn't.
With Rizo holding a phaser and Gimba looking on
from his warship, it was wiser to be a handbag than a
hero. The mission was in jeopardy, but as long as Odo
kept his true nature hidden, there was still a chance
for success. He hoped Dax wasn't dead or badly
injured, but what could he do about it if she was?
After he revealed himself, the element of surprise
would be gone forever.
    Odo sat still and waited. Gimba, in shock, was the
first to speak. "By Zot, you haven't killed her, have
you?"
    "No," said Rizo, lowering the phaser. "It was set on
light stunmshe'11 be out only a few minutes. That
should give me enough time to tie her up. Believe me,
what I told you is true. The hive mind showed me
proof."
    "This shouldn't change our arrangement," Gimba
said pleasantly. "We're still going to make the ex-
change, correct?"
    Rizo scratched his stubbled cheek with the tip of his
phaser. "That depends. You weren't in league with
her, were you?"
    Gimba chuckled. "With the Federation? Please,
we're not that desperate. In fact, we could make a side
deal for... whatever her name is. I'll give you anoth-
er ten bars of gold-pressed latimum for her."
    Now Rizo laughed. "She's worth a lot more than
that just in ransom from the Federation. And for what
you want to do with herintwenty bars."
  "Fifteen."
    Rizo looked down at the unconscious figure and
grinned. "Maybe I'll keep her for myself. You don't
find one like this every day."
 "Sixteen! Not a credit more."
    Rizo held up his arms. "Okay, Gimba. I'm in a
generous mood. That means you will have twenty-six
bars of gold-pressed latinum waiting for me. Nothing
funny, all right? I'm not in the mood. And I know all
the other settings on this phaser, too."
    "Agreed," said Gimba. "I'll get the latinurn and go
to the cargo bay. I'll route my communications down
there."
    Rizo glanced at Dax's screen and reported, "Esti-
mated docking in four-point-four minutes."
    Gimba nodded, and the viewscreen went blank.
Rizo scrounged around in the pockets of his leather
vest for a length of cord, and Odo wondered whether
this was the moment to make his move. He was about
to do so when he heard a moan coming from the floor.
    Rizo sneered and leveled the phaser at her. "Hello,
Lieutenant Dax. You must have the constitution of a
 pugabeast. This phaser is still set on stun, but the
 instructions say it's not good to stun someone
 repeatedly."
     Dax groaned and lifted herself up. "I'11 behave
 myself. But if I don't check in with my ship in a
 minute or so, Marcus is going to start firing."
  Rizo smiled. "You mean Commander Sisko."
    She shrugged and lifted herself back into her chair.
"If you think he's a Starfleet commander, then you
know he can aim a torpedo."
    "He won't blow up the tanker," said Rizo confi-
dently.
    "If I don't check in soon, he's going to think I'm
dead," said Dax. "Then he won't give a damn what
happens. He's funny like that."
    i~dzo waved the phaser nervously. "What are you
going to tell him?"
    "That the docking is proceeding as planned. No
matter what you think, we just want to get out of here
with a chunk of antimatter and our lives."
    Rizo held the phaser at the back of Dax's head,
where it would be unseen by the viewscreen angle. He
clicked up the phaser setting several notches. "Say the
wrong thing," he warned, "and it'll take a month to
clean you off this bridge."
    Dax swallowed and rubbed her head. "I under-
stand." A few seconds later, she announced, "This is
the Phoenix calling the Mekong. Marcus, this is Jade."
    The face of Benjamin Sisko came on the view-
screen, and he gave them his chipper Marcus Garvey
smile. "How good to see you," he chirped. "Is every-
thing proceeding as planned?"
    Dax took a breath and rubbed her hands together.
"It seems to be going well. I'm a little nervous, that's
all."
 "Why are you nervous?" asked Sisko pleasantly.
 "Yes, why?" echoed Rizo.
    Dax smiled. "I don't know--guess I drank too
much coffee. But we have started docking procedures
with the Marauder, and that's going well."
    "Understood," said Sisko calmly. "If you cannot
pick up our fee at this time, I'll understand. Do you
still have your bag to bring back the latinum?"
  "Yes," she answered.
    "Just keep me posted," said Sisko. The viewscreen
went blank.
    This was the time to act, thought Odo. They had to
do it while they were out of contact with the Ferengi
vessel, and Sisko had just been notified. If there were
only some way he could communicate with Dax--
    The Trill sensed the same urgency. "May I stand up
and walk off this headache?" she asked.
    "I'm keeping my eye on you," Rizo warned her.
"And this phaser is still set to do some damage."
    When Dax stood up, she did the best thing possible
by walking away from Rizo and forcing him to turn
his back on the handbag. "Was that true," she asked,
"about you wanting to get away from the fight to rest
and evaluate your life?"
    "It's a nice idea," said the terrorist wistfully. "But
somehow the fight always comes after me."
    At that moment, a slender figure was looming
behind the Bajoran. Dax tried to show no reaction,
except to stare at the phaser that was leveled at her.
When she saw the shapeshifter's hands rise above
Rizo's head and form a large mallet, Dax poised to
dodge. The mallet came crashing down, and she
leaped out of the way--just as a phaser beam ripped
through the air. The science console burned and
sizzled until Rizo lost his grip on the phaser, followed
by his grip on consciousness. He slumped to the floor.
    At once, Odo grabbed the cord from his out-
stretched hand and began to tie him up. Dax rushed to
the Ops console and punched the panel that put the
Ferengi Marauder on the screen. The distinctive crab-
shaped vessel almost filled the viewscreen.
    "We're too close," said Dax, "to fire on the Ferengi
ourselves. We'll have to get the commander to do it."
    Odo continued to wind cord around Rizo's hands
and feet. "I heard his explanation about the dead
bodies in the hold. Do you really think they're all
dead?"
    "I don't know," admitted Dax, plying the controls.
"I can't get the internal sensors to work--a lot of the
circuitry was destroyed. The best I can do is to seal off
the cargo bays. Just in case, you had better keep an eye
on the turbolift."
    Odo nodded and finished tying up Rizo. With
distaste, he picked up the discarded phaser and
handed it to Dax. Then he stood at attention, swivel-
ing his head slowly from the Trill to the unconscious
prisoner to the turbolift door.
  "Are we taking him back with us?" asked Odo.
  "We should, shouldn't we?" said Dax.
    "Yes. Murder, hijacking, terrorism, kidnapping--I
believe we have enough charges to hold him."
    "We've got to get home first," added Dax. She gazed
from her instruments to the viewscreen, but the
information was the same. Under computer control,
the tanker was making a cautious but inexorable
approach to the Ferengi Marauder.
    Thinking out loud, she muttered, "If Gimba is
alone, or nearly alone, maybe he won't have time to
monitor our transmissions. We have to hope so,
because we've got to contact the commander. If
Gimba hits us with a tractor beam, we belong to
them."
    With determination, she plied the controls. "Jade to
Marcus. Come in, Mekong."
    Sisko's grave face burst upon the viewscreen. "Mar-
cus here. What is your status?"
    "Better," said Jade, "since our last message. Our
captain is indisposed at the moment, and we are right
on top of the Marauder. It should happen soon."
    "I understand," answered Sisko. "I took us out of
orbit and headed your way after our last conversation.
I suppose it will be up to me to say our final good-
byes."
    "I'm afraid so," Dax answered calmly. "Did you
send our visitors back?"
    The commander scowled. "Yes, right after I talked
to you. I was relieved to see them go."
"Then we can get on with our business," said Dax.
Sisko's jaw clenched. "Whenever you wish."
    Dax stroked the panel, and the tanker stopped dead
in front of the foreboding Ferengi Marauder. She
punched in a rough course toward the wormhole and
sent the ship into impulse power. The boxy craft
couldn't make an elegant maneuver, but it did a slow
about-face and lumbered toward the stars.
    Sisko's face was immediately replaced on the
viewscreen by an angry Ferengi, standing in an empty
cargo bay. "What do you think you're doing?" raged
Gimba, shaking his fists. "Where's Rizo?"
    Dax just stared at the Ferengi, counting the seconds
until the runabout showed up. As Gimba was about to
demand an answer, the Marauder was rocked by
phaser blasts. Gimba staggered from the impact, and
she could see other Ferengi rushing from their hiding
places--crew members who weren't supposed to be
there.
    "Weapons!" he yelled. "Shields up! Get to the
transporter room! Get our bridge crew back!"
    His ship was rocked again, and the screen degener-
ated into a mass of crackling interference. There
wasn't much Dax could say to Gimba, anyway, and
she knew the runabout couldn't permanently cripple
the big ship. If they'd had a full crew and people
manning the bridge, the runabout would probably
have been blown to space junk by now. 
"Going to warp four," said the Trill.
    Odo nodded and slipped into the chair beside her,
but his attention was riveted on the unconscious
Bajoran and the turbolift door beyond.

    Commander Sisko saw the Phoenix elongate slightly
and streak out of sight, and he knew it was time for
him to make his getaway. He had been firing his small
phaser emitters so rapidly that he hoped he had
enough power left to reach warp drive. The Marauder
had put her shields up by now, so he cut off his attack
and cruised away. He realized that the lack of a crew
was the main reason the Ferengi ship wasn't coming
after him immediately.
    His viewscreen blinked on, and a truly disgusted-
looking Ferengi glared at him.
    "I congratulate you," muttered Gimba. "You fooled
us completely, you and your lovely accomplice. But
business comes before revenge, we Ferengi always say,
and I am just as willing to negotiate with you for the
antimatter as I was with the Bajorans. In fact, I'm not
terribly disappointed to see them replaced in this
deal."
    "I don't own the antimatter," said Sisko. "It be-
longs to the Federation, and I'm just returning it."
    "By Zot!" snapped Gimba. "You are a Federation
sympathizer! You can never trust humans. Listen,
human, you have a long way to go to get back to the
Federation, and our bridge crew has just beamed
aboard."
    "Then I had better get going," answered Sisko. He
saluted and broke off communications.
    Warp four was close to the limit for the runabout,
but they couldn't chance getting away at a slower
speed. The Marauder was capable of warp nine and
would be on them in a thrice. He plied the controls
and forced the tiny ship into warp drive, hoping his
attack had bought them enough time.

    Rizo howled in anger, and the big Bajoran strained
and twisted against his bonds like a shark thrashing
about on the floor of a boat.
 "I'11 kill you!" he screamed. "I'11 kill you!"
    "If he doesn't shut up," said Dax, "we'll have to
stun him."
    Odo gazed sternly at Rizo. "I'11 leave that pleasure
to you, Lieutenant. You know, after he stunned you,
he tried to sell you to the Ferengi." Dax smiled. "For how much?"
     "Sixteen bars of gold-pressed latinum. To his credit,
the Ferengi originally offered ten." "I'm flattered," said Dax.
    Rizo muttered, "I was just toying with them. I
wouldn't have sold you to the Ferengi. You're too
valuable as a hostage."
    "Am I?" asked Dax, never taking her eyes off her
instruments. "I'm afraid I'm not your prisoner. It's
the other way around."
    "For now," said Rizo. "But you're running, just like
we were. And you'll never make it back."
    "Perhaps you should stun him," suggested Odo.
"He hasn't exactly shut up."
    "No," said Dax. "We have several hours before we
reach the wormhole, so we might as well make the best
of it. Besides, I'm interested to know who will stop
US."
    Rizo laughed. "The Ferengi, for one. And you don't
know who else might be out there. The resistance has
a lot of friends, you know."
  "Do your friends have a ship?" asked Dax.
    "Why not?" snarled Rizo. "Until a few minutes
ago, I had a ship. Plus, we have friends who have
ships."
    That thought gave Dax pause, because she remem-
bered the ruthless tendencies of the Klingon rene-
gades. They had gladly allied themselves with the
Bajoran terrorists in the past.
    "It doesn't matter," she said. "We've gotten this far,
and we can't turn back. You should be more con-
cerned about yourself."
    "Me?" scoffed Rizo. "I'm a dead man. But I've been
dead for years. I'll kill myself before I let you put me
in a cell for the rest of my life."
    "I would think you could get treatment," Dax
suggested.
    "Treatment? Is that the new punishment for murder
and hijacking?"
    "Not on Bajor, it isn't," said Odo. "We have several
interesting penal colonies, most of them built by the
Cardassians. They're fairly empty, so you'll have lots
of room to relax."
    Rizo growled, "That's great. The Federation can
give me treatment, and the puppet government can
lock me up for the rest of my life. I'll be the most
well-adjusted prisoner you ever saw!"
    Despite being tied up on his stomach, Rizo shook
his head angrily. "Kill me now, because I'm not going
to rot in a cell. Kill me! Kill me!" he screamed, and
continued screaming until it grated on Dax's nerves.
    She shook her head sadly and picked up the phaser.
"We'll see you in a few minutes, Rizo."

    Commander Sisko looked at his sensors and
grunted with alarm. No, it wasn't a phantom--a
photon torpedo was right on his tail, launched by a
Ferengi Marauder that wasn't far behind. He braced
himself as the torpedo overtook him and shook the
small craft with a near miss. At once, his power began
to drop, and the runabout shuddered as it came out of
warp drive.
    He banged on his comm panel. "Mekong to Phoe-
nix/I'm under attack!"
    Dax's concerned face appeared on his viewscreen,
but her image wavered when he put up the runabout's
shields. "Benjamin, we have a fix on you--we can
double back. Is it the Marauder?"
 "Yes. But keep on going! Don't come back."
    "Interference in that last part," said Dax, cutting off
communications.
    Sisko didn't have time to scold her or worry about
the tanker, as he could see the Ferengi Marauder glide
out of warp drive, not ten thousand kilometers away.
He threw the runabout into full impulse and began
evasive maneuvers. Such a stratagem had saved his
life at Wolf 359, and Sisko was in complete charge of
the small craft. The Ferengi vessel opened with
phasers, but Sisko dodged out of range and took only a
peripheral hit. They were forced to give chase through
an expansive solar system, with only three small
planets as guideposts.
    After a few tense maneuvers, the commander took
the time to wipe the sweat from his lofty brow and
short-cropped hair. As quickly as they had come after
him, he figured the Ferengi still had only a minimal
crew, and the Marauder wasn't designed to be flown
solo like the runabout. The Mekong was small but it
was responsive--he could zig while they were still
zagging. At full impulse, he was gradually pulling
away from them.
    That was the good news. The bad news was that he
would run out of fuel, or fall asleep, long before they
did. And warp drive was a death trap, not a means of
escape. Time was on their side.
    The Marauder soon lagged far enough behind him
that he wondered if he could turn and get off a shot of
his own. As long as Dax had insisted on joining the
fight, he might as well give her a stationary target. He
had only two microtorpedoes, but they wouldn't do
him much good if a Ferengi torpedo caught him first.
Then he would be a cosmic cinder.
    The Ferengi captain tried to hail him, but Sisko
ignored his angry pleadings. There was nothing left to
negotiate. He turned swiftly while checking to make
sure torpedo bay one was ready, and he caught the
Ferengi vessel making a slow turn to reach his last
position. He locked in on his target and launched the
torpedo without hesitation. It streaked toward the
sluggish starship.
    The explosion lit the starscape like a nova, and
Sisko leaned forward eagerly. His joy was short-lived,
however, when it became evident that the Marauder
had its shields at full effectiveness and had sustained
minor damage at best. The Ferengi were not known
for being great warriors, but they were known for
having excellent shields.
    Sisko braced himself to be obliterated, and he was
surprised when there wasn't an answering torpedo.
Maybe the Marauder was more damaged than it
looked, he thought hopefully. His hope was dashed a
moment later when the Ferengi began hailing him
again.
    He put the smiling image of Gimba, who was still
stationed in the empty cargo bay, on the viewscreen.
"If that's the best you can do, Marcus Garvey, then
you had better surrender yourself. We have no desire
to destroy you--just to reclaim what is ours."
    Sisko answered calmly, stalling for time. "If your
wish is to see the tanker returned to its rightful
owners, then let us go."
    "We are the rightful owners," snarled Gimba. He
quickly replaced his anger with his usual superior air.
"Why do you insist upon making this difficult? Tell
Jade to return with the tanker, and we'll conclude our
business, as planned. You can receive the latinum we
promised the Bajorans, and we'll leave you with the
ship you have. What more could you possibly ask?"
  "You won't try to hold us?" asked Sisko.
    The Ferengi chuckled. "What do I look like, an
Orion slaver? Trust me, it is the antimatter and the
tanker we have always wanted. This entire deal has
been more trouble than it's worth, I can tell you, and
we'll be lucky to turn even a minuscule profit."
 "Poor thing," said Sisko with mock sympathy. He
suddenly had an idea. "Put down your shields, and I'll
beam over to talk about it."
    Gimba smiled pleasantly. "You put down your
shields, and we'll transport you over."
    Despite his bravado, Sisko was worried. He had no
options, and he had no idea what good Dax could do
in the tanker once she showed up. The tanker proba-
bly wasn't armed much better than the runabout, and
neither one of them could outrun the Marauder. It
appeared, at best, that only one of them could get back
to the Alpha Quadrant.
    The commander resolved to make sure it was the
tanker that got back. He readied the self-destruct
sequence for the runabout and plotted a suicide
course straight into the Marauder. Then he aimed his
second--and last--torpedo at the Marauder's main
cargo bay.
    "We are waiting," said Gimba. "Put down your
shields, disarm your weapons, and we'll behave as
partners again."
    Sisko thought about the whip Gimba had described
at one of their meetings, and the way it was used on
people who double-crossed them. He scanned his
sensors for the arrival of the tanker, and he saw it at
the same time that somebody came running forward
to alert Gimba. Sisko launched his torpedo just as
Gimba's eyes widened at the news.
    The Ferengi vessel shuddered at the impact, and
sparks burst from a flaming control panel behind
Gimba. The crew ran for cover, and Sisko wondered if
the cumulative effect of his attacks had been greater
than he had imagined. He put a wide view of the
starscape on his screen, and he saw the tanker lumber
over his head and get offa phaser array of its own. The
Marauder teetered in space and lit up like a crab-
shaped Christmas-tree ornament.
    There was no time to gloat, however, because the
Marauder would soon be getting off shots of its own.
One misplaced hit on the tanker could end it all rather
quickly. Sisko hit his communications panel. "Me-
kong to Phoenix. Bypass our first rendezvous point
and go straight to the second."
 "Acknowledged," answered Dax.
    Sisko waited to leave until he saw the tanker streak
into warp drive; then he took off on its tail. He
realized the rear of the convoy was the more danger-
ous position, especially since he had used up all his
microtorpedoes; but Sisko had brought them here to
save the tanker, and save it they would. The goal of
self-preservation was also on his mind, and that was
another reason to keep the tanker from being the first
one hit.
    Without torpedoes, he still had his phaser emitters.
But he had already emptied them into the Marauder
without much effect, so he didn't hold much hope for
the phasers as a deterrent. With a sigh, the command-
er canceled the self-destruct sequence on the run-
about. He knew that Gimba would be happy to
perform that service, free of charge.

    For her part, Dax was also deep in thought, wonder-
ing how they could extricate themselves from this race
they couldn't win. She had no illusions that the
Marauder was out of it. In fact, her long-range scan-
ners picked up the fact that the starship had moved
from its last position. If it could manage even half of
the warp drive it was capable of, it would easily catch
them again before they reached the wormhole.
     Something thudded beyond the turbolift. "What
 was that?" asked Odo, rising to his feet.
     They heard wheezing laughter coming from the
 ground. "Ghosts," answered Rizo. "Coming to get us,
 to make us atone for our sins."
     "You're awake," said Odo with disappointment. "It
 might be harmful to stun you again sø soon, but I am
 perfectly willing to put you in the hold with the dead
 bodies."
     "Fine with me," answered Rizo. "I have more in
 common with them than with you. Besides, we all
 share the same future."
     Dax ignored him and warned, "Somebody could be
 trying to climb down the turbolift shaft, to avoid the
 forcefields I put in the corridors."
    "I can go look for them," offered Odo, "but I don't
know the design of this craft very well."
    Dax sighed. "Yes, and it's bigger than it looks. I'd
better be the one to go."
    "Look how brave you are!" crowed Rizo. "You
really are a Starfleet lieutenant. That's amazing. I
never thought we could trust you, but I didn't think
that was the reason. You should feel very proud of
yourself."
    "I'm not proud of using subterfuge," answered Dax,
rising to her feet. She picked up the phaser. "Call me
if you see anything unusual on the readouts."
    "I would prefer to go instead," said Odo. "Perhaps
if I took a moment to study the schematics of the
ship--"
    Dax wasn't a coward, but it wasn't fair to make Odo
take over the unfamiliar controls of the tanker under
these conditions. At any moment, a Ferengi torpedo
could catch up with them. She set the phaser back on
the Ops console and returned to her seat.
    "I'll bring up the schematics on your screen,"
offered the Trill, "with an emphasis on the cargo bays
and the turbolifts leading to them. And I'll show you
which corridors are sealed off. We ought to check on
the antimatter pods as well. But for the moment, let's
just keep an eye on our passenger."
    "Absolutely," said the security chief, fixing his most
dour gaze upon the Bajoran.
    "Ghosts." Rizo grinned. "They're out there all
right. All the ghosts of the crew we killed, and our own
brave comrades as well. Most of them murdered on
this very spot, right where you're sitting."
    Against her will, Dax looked down, and she did see
the smeared stains on the deck. Someone had tried to
wipe them up, but there had been a lot of blood.
    The bound prisoner wheezed a laugh. "They
couldn't escape, and neither can you."

CHAPTER
     13

BENJAMIN SISKO had a bad feeling, the same feeling
he'd had just before the Ecocids revealed themselves
as extortionists. By all rights, things were going better
than they could expect. In a few minutes, they were
due to rendezvous near a giant asteroid belt they had
passed on their initial dash across the Gamma Quad-
rant. They had been able to skip their first rendezvous
after the unscheduled stop with the Ferengi. Since
then, the Ferengi vessel had remained out of scanner
range, if it was behind them at all.
    It was too early to say if the Marauder had broken
off its pursuit, but there was at least a chance it had.
Of course, the Ferengi knew the position of the
wormhole as well as anyone, and they could be trying
to do an end-around, to get there first. That prospect
was real, yet it wasn't the cause of Sisko's apprehen-
sion.
 Real, even likely, obstacles Sisko was used to han-
dling. It was the unseen, the unreal, the unexpected
that bothered him. By that token, the absence of the
Marauder was troubling, because Sisko knew that the
Ferengi never let go of money. The antimatter repre-
sented cold cash to them, including expenses uncol-
lected. If the Marauder was able to fly at all, it should
be right on their tail.
    He pressed his communications panel. "Sisko to
Dax. Do you see any sign of that Marauder?"
    "No, Benjamin," answered Dax. "She was on the
move last I got a reading. I thought she had gone into
warp, but there's been no sign of her. The Phoenix has
excellent scanners, but we're out of range from where
we left her. Maybe we hit her harder than we thought."
    "This may sound crazy," said Sisko, "but I'd like to
go back and see what happened to them."
    Odo had remained silent until that point, but he
jumped up and filled Sisko's viewscreen. "That's very
humanitarian of you, Commander, but we aren't on a
rescue mission. To say that Gimba deserved what he
got is putting it mildly. Their ship didn't look so badly
damaged that they couldn't make it to Eco or some
other port of call."
    "That's the point," said Sisko. "If they're not badly
damaged, why aren't they after us? Look, Constable, I
don't have to go all the way back, just far enough to get
them in sensor range. Maybe they're still where we left
them. They might also be trying to go around us,
trying to reach the wormhole first."
    "Odo," said Dax, "the commander is right. Either
they are too damaged to come after us, they have
broken off, or they are planning an ambush. Whichev-
er it is, we need to know." She smiled. "Besides, it is
the humanitarian thing to do."
  Odo bowed his head and said nothing more.
     Sisko remarked, "You can keep going to the worm~
 hole. Perhaps we don't need to rendezvous sooner."
     The commander saw Dax glance at Odo; then he
 heard laughter coming from off the screen.
     "The tanker is haunted, Commander!" called a
 voice from the floor. "There are bumps and thurfips in
 the night. I say it's the ghosts of all those bodies in the
 hold--what do you think?"
     The computer located the source of the voice and
 widened the angle to include the hog-tied Bajoran.
    Sisko muttered, "I had almost forgotten about you,
Rizo. Are you so desperate that you have to make up
imaginary allies?"
    "They may not be imaginary," said Dax. "We feel
there could be someone else aboard. The internal
security on the tanker has been destroyed, and we'll
have to go out with tricorders to check the ship. We
also need to check on the antimatter pods, so we
would prefer to stop at the asteroid belt as planned.
The computer says the pods are all right, but--"
    "I understand," said Sisko, "you need to eyeball
them. I don't blame you--we have gone to an awful
lot of trouble to get them. I'm going to backtrack just
enough to find out the status of the Marauder, while
you continue on to the rendezvous. I don't suppose
there are any detention cells on that tanker?"
  "No," said Odo.
    Rizo began to laugh. "Don't you understand, Com-
mander?" yelled the Bajoran. "That stuff is cursed!
Everybody who handles that antimatter is going to
die. We're not going to make it back."
 "Have you stunned him?" asked Sisko.
    Odo sighed. "Yes, and cracked him on the head for
good measure. That's another reason for stopping--
to find a secure area to put him."
    "Proceed," ordered Sisko. "I'll let you know as soon
as I locate the Ferengi. Sisko out."

    After the screen switched back to the slightly
blurred starscape of warp drive, Odo looked with
disgust at his prisoner. He expected even captured
criminals to act somewhat dignified, which didn't
include ranting about ghosts and haunted spaceships.
Of course, the prisoner was the only one who knew if
the tanker had any stowaways. Odo didn't imagine
there could be more than one, but one more terrorist
made the odds even--two against two.
    Having taken the craft once by force, the Bajorans
wouldn't be averse to trying it again. Plus, they would
get desperate as they realized their only alternative
was probably life in prison.
    "Constable?" said Rizo, gazing up at him. "Is that
really what they call you? That was a neat trick,
coming aboard as a handbag. How do you do that?"
    Odo cocked his head and looked annoyed. "I don't
wish to hold a conversation with you, especially about
matters that are none of your business."
    "Oh, touchy," cooed Rizo. "But look at me,
Constable--I'm not shouting and screaming now. I'm
merely trying to pass the time. What kind of species
are you?"
    The shapeshifter shrugged. "Does it matter? Have
you ever seen any like me?"
    "No," admitted the Bajoran. "But you would be
invaluable to us, if you decided to have a little
excitement in your life."
    Odo gazed around the unfamiliar bridge of the
tanker, and his eyes came to rest with distaste upon
his prisoner. "I've got quite enough excitement in my
 life, thank you. Besides, your days are going to be
 considerably less exciting from now on."
     Rizo closed his eyes and struggled to find a comfort-
 able position. "If you really find a room to put me in,
 are you going to take off these ropes?"
    "Eventually," said Odo, "I'm sure they will come
off."
    "Maybe we can rig up something with forcefields,"
Dax suggested, "and monitor him on one of the
viewscreens."
    "Are you two really from Deep Space Nine?" asked
Rizo, suddenly friendly. "I've only heard about the
station--my life doesn't lend itself to taking vaca-
tions."
    "I'm the science officer," said Dax, "and Odo is the
chief of security. DS9 was built by Cardassians, so, in
case you were wondering, it has plenty of detention
cells."
    Rizo scowled. "I liked you better as Jade Dixon.
Both of you are being wasted in Starfleet."
    "I'm not in Starfleet," Odo added. "I work for
Bajor."
  "So do I," snapped Rizo.
    Odo shook his head. "I don't think so. The Bajor I
work for is trying to build upon its hard-won freedom.
It's trying to stop fighting and make peace with itself,
and its neighbors."
 The Bajoran muttered, "Does that include
Cardassians?"
"I'm afraid so," said Odo.
    "Then the puppet government is weaker than I
thought," Rizo decided. "It's a wonder anyone sup-
ports them. You know, we only stole the antimatter to
keep that new starship for Bajor."
    "All you did was to delay its testing," countered
Dax. "If you want to stop fighting and live peacefully,
now would be a good time to start."
    "Yeah," scoffed Rizo, "as we run from a starship
fifty times our size. Save me your platitudes, Lieuten-
ant. You did what had to be done to recapture this
tanker. You opened fire on the Ferengi and left hun-
dreds of innocent people down there on that bug-
infested planet."
 "We can go back for them," said Dax.
    Rizo shook his head. "You won't. Nobody will.
Because nobody will ever know where they are--after
this tanker blows up, and we all die."
    Dax flashed anger only briefly before she grit her
teeth and announced. "Coming out of warp drive.
Going into synchronous orbit with the largest aster-
oid, G-One, for lack of a better name."
    Odo asked worriedly, "You're not going to orbit an
asteroid in the middle of an asteroid belt, are you?"
    "No," said Dax. "We're coasting along beside it, at
a safe distance, orbiting whatever it's orbiting. I
imagine it's taking a leisurely trip around that red
giant in the corner of the screen. This position should
be safe, and it has the advantage of shielding us from a
casual scan."
    The Trill entered some final commands on her
console, grabbed the phaser, and stood up. She
checked the setting, took a few steps back, and leveled
the weapon at Rizo.
  "Go ahead, untie him," she ordered.
    "All right," said Odo, bending down to undo his
handiwork.
    "Hey, friend," said Rizo to the shapeshifter. "Don't
you ever carry a phaser?"
  "Never."
  "How come?"
     "For one thing," answered Odo, "if you don't carry
 a phaser, it's impossible for a prisoner to take yours
 away from you."
     Odo finished untying the Bajoran and stepped back,
 unarmed but ready to react quickly.
     Dax pointed to the turbolift with the phaser. "You
 go first."
Rizo grinned. "You want the ghosts to get me first?"
"Move it," ordered Dax. "How you act will deter-
mine the kind of holding cell we put you in. There
may be some spare antimatter pods, and we could seal
you up in one of those."
    Rizo laughed nervously. "She's just joking, right,
Constable?"
    "I haven't known Lieutenant Dax to joke," an-
swered Odo. "You had better follow instructions."
    Humming loudly and off-key, Rizo swaggered to-
ward the turbolift doors, which flew open at his
approach. "It's just me--Rizo!" he announced. "Do
your worst, ghosts. I know we're not going to make it
back to Bajor."
    Odo looked at Dax and shook his head in disgust.
The more he thought about it, the better he liked the
idea of sealing the terrorist inside an empty antimat-
ter pod. But first, they had to make sure there weren't
any more of his playmates around.
    The shapeshifter entered the turbolift immediately
after Rizo. When Dax entered, he stationed himself
between her and the Bajoran, knowing that Rizo
might try something in the confines of the turbolift.
    "Deck three," said Dax. "We should check on the
antimatter first."
 "Are the forcefields still up?" asked Odo.
    "I turned them off on deck three," answered Dax.
"So we can move around. This ship has only three
levels, and the bottom one is nothing but cargo bays.
That's where they keep the antimatter."
 "And the bodies," Rizo whispered.
    The turbolift came to a stop, and the door
whooshed open. Odo stepped out, dragging Rizo by
the arm, and pushed him a safe distance away from
Dax and her phaser.
    The Bajoran ignored the rough treatment and kept
his attention focused on Dax. "Which one are we
going to see first, Lieutenant, the antimatter or the
bodies?"
    "First we have to find some tricorders," answered
Dax. "You wouldn't happen to know where some are,
would you? I couldn't find any on the bridge."
    The Bajoran laughed. "I knew where some were, but
we handed them out to everyone. I think some were
traded to the Ecocids for bilbok."
    While this conversation was going on, Odo stole a
moment's attention from Dax and Rizo to look
around the anteroom of the cargo bay. It was like a
miniature bridge, with its own viewscreens and work-
stations, one for each of the three large doors that
surrounded them. The doors were marked One, Two,
and Three, and a thick-paned window on each did
little to reveal their contents. He could see vague
white shapes beyond door one, but cargo bays two and
three looked dark and dismal.
    It was very quiet in the hold of the deserted tanker,
and Odo wondered if the earlier sound they heard was
just an aural mirage. But, no, he thought. The Ferengi
captain had also been suspicious, but he had been
 playing the same game and couldn't complain. Rizo
 had at least entertained the thought of taking the
 Marauder, and he certainly had no scruples to prevent
 him from keeping another killer on board.
     The shapeshifter turned to see Rizo take a threaten-
 ing step toward Dax. "Keep your distance," he
 warned.
      "It's all right," answered Dax. "He was walking
 past me to show me where there might be a tricorder."
   "I'll go," offered Odo. "Where is it?"
    "A bit touchy, aren't we, Constable?" sneered Rizo.
Nevertheless, he pointed. "In that panel under the
console for bay one. There was some stuff in there
before."
    Odo opened the panel but could find nothing in it
except for wads of bloody bandages. A human might
not have been able to search through the soiled
bandages, caked with bodily fluids, but Odo had no
such compulsions. His only disappointment was that
there were no tricorders in evidence.  "Anywhere else?" he asked.
    Rizo shrugged. "What can I tell you, we're pirates,
and we sacked the ship. I'm sorry we didn't treat it as
nicely as you would, but we're not used to many nice
things."
    Dax frowned. "Rizo, if you can't be of any use to us,
I'm going to find a place to put you. Any ideas,
Constable?"
    "Yes," replied the shapeshifter. "If cargo bay one
holds the antimatter pods, and bay two holds the
bodies, what's in bay three?"
    "That would be the smallest of the cargo bays,"
answered Dax, moving behind its controls. She
punched in some commands, gazed at the readouts,
and frowned. "All the logs have been erased and
disabled. We'll never know who came in and out of
these cargo bays, or what they were carrying."
    Rizo grinned. "Sorry, Lieutenant. We didn't know
what we were doing."
    "I think you knew exactly what you were doing,"
muttered Dax. "There's nothing left to do but fill
them with atmosphere and go have a look. I'm filling
bay three with atmosphere."
    She moved to the center console. "Filling bay two."
She glanced at the controls for the largest bay. "Bay
one already has atmosphere. I hope you didn't disable
the automated docking systems, too."
    "No," said Rizo, sounding hurt. "The idea is to get
rid of the antimatter, remember? We're simple people,
and we trust each other. So we shut down a few
security systems."
    Dax moved back to the controls for cargo bay three
and pressed the button that opened the door. It slid
open with a gasp of fresh atmosphere, and the lights
blinked on, illuminating the auxilary cargo hold. Odo
strolled a few meters into the chamber. It was empty
now, except for assorted robotic arms, belts, and
bumpers that guided antimatter pods toward a freight
turbolift. Odo imagined that the turbolift took the
pods straight out the docking module in the nose, or
perhaps to the other cargo bays. An efficient setup, he
observed--also a means of escape from the ship.
     Nevertheless, they couldn't drag Rizo around with
 them everywhere they went. It was simply too danger-
 ous, considering the constant demands on their atten-
 tion. Besides, outside the ship was nothing but cold
 space and asteroids.
  Odo returned to the doorway. "I'm going to search
 for an intruder, or weapons. If this bay is clean, I
 suggest we put our prisoner here. Can we disable the
 controls?"
     Dax shrugged. "Why not? Everything else has been
 disabled."
    Odo nodded and went back into the empty bay. The
storage area struck him as small, but he reminded
himself that this was the most auxiliary of the cargo
bays on the Phoenix. The dull yellow walls bespoke a
utilitarian existence for the room. The only features of
interest were the robotic mechanisms that moved the
storage pods in their inexorable journey to a matter/
antimatter reactor. Without pods to move, they
looked like frozen monuments to tasks uncompleted.
He wandered between two big arms and a viselike
pincer, and he was reminded uncomfortably of the
Ecocids. This was a machine an insect might appreci-
ate.
    With no sensors or weapons at his disposal, Odo
perused every centimeter of the silent chamber. He
crouched down and looked into dark crevices, and he
opened storage and equipment panels. He was on the
lookout for tricorders as well, but everything of value
had been stripped by the scavengers, replaced by
bandages and soiled clothes. He wondered if they had
slept in here, too, but then he decided that they would
have taken over the crew's quarters on the second
deck. That thought hiked Odo's threshold of anger for
a moment, but he quickly shook it off and returned to
his search.
    The emptiness of the cargo bay made his investiga-
tion easier, and he was soon convinced that cargo bay
three was empty.
    "Come in, Rizo!" he called. "And go to the far
corner, where the scale is."
    The Bajoran did as he was told, shuffling into the
empty room and taking a sullen position near a floor
scale in a remote corner. Dax entered and went
straight to the control panel, which duplicated the
console outside the door, except for its lack of a chair
and a viewscreen.
    Rizo grinned and looked around the room. "So this
is to be my grave? My tomb. You'll leave me here to
die, just like you left my comrades on Eco, just like
you left the Ferengi vessel."
    "We won't be able to hear him in here, will we?"
asked Odo.
    "Not likely," said Dax with a smile. "They've
disabled all the password protection, so I'm going to
do what they did--destroy the circuitry."
    She reached into a panel and pulled out an isolinear
chip, which she set on the floor. She proceeded to reset
her phaser, take aim at the chip, and strike it with a
pinpoint blue beam. After a second, the chip was a
wisp of smoke.
"We just ground them with our heels," said Rizo.
Odo backed slowly away from the terrorist, expect-
ing him to make his move. But something within Rizo
was beaten down--despite his bravado and crude
energy, he seemed weary. He sat on the floor, testing
the scale with his hand. A digital readout was a blur as
it registered the changes in weight.
    "Lieutenant," said the Bajoran. "I wish you well,
truly I do. This isn't a fight you should be involved in.
Bajor must be just for Bajorans. We don't know the
Federation very well, but we know how a conqueror
can start off with promises and aid, only to turn into
an occupying army. We let ourselves be conquered
once--it can't happen again."
  "I have sympathy for your feelings," answered Dax.
 "And the suffering you can't get over. There's been
 nothing in my life to compare to it, and I'm eight
 times your age. But many of your people have put the
 horror behind them in order to get on with their lives.
 I might remind you that the Federation also fought the
 Cardassians."
  "It was the resistance!" insisted Rizo.
    "Both," admitted Dax. "Nevertheless, we have
earned your trust. The Federation could keep a much
greater presence on Bajor, but we don't." She mo-
tioned around the empty cargo bay. "And sometimes
it gets us into trouble."
    The Bajoran shook his head. "I doubt if everyone in
your Federation is as noble as you, Lieutenant." He
glanced at Odo. "There are too many alien Species on
Bajor already."
    Odo scoffed, "We're wasting time. We may have to
search this entire ship."
    Dax lowered her head and nodded. "I'm afraid
you're right. Rizo, we'll bring you food and water
later."
    He waved at her. "Good-bye, Jadzia Dax. And Jade
Dixon."
    Dax hurried out, quickly followed by Odo, and the
door clanged shut behind them. While Dax stopped at
the controls to make sure the makeshift cell was
secure, Odo strode to the massive door marked One
and gazed through the thick window. He could see the
storage pods--hexagonal cylinders each about the
height of a man but much widermstacked end to end
in neat rows. Not only was this bay twice as large as
bay three, but it had an intricate network of thick
tubes crisscrossing its high ceiling.
 "What are all those tubes for?" he asked.
 "Under normal circumstances," said Dax, "the
storage pods wouldn't leave the cargo bay during
refueling. Using those shielded conduits, the antimat-
ter would be moved directly from the full storage pods
into the empty pods on the starship. But the Hannibal
is a new ship without any storage pods of its own, so
the pods themselves are going on board."
    She moved to the controls for bay one and an-
nounced, "I'm opening the door."
    Odo stepped back as the door drew open. He braced
himself for a possible attack, although he thought it
unlikely that their stowaway, if they had one, would be
hiding among the antimatter. It wasn't the kind of
place a person would want to stay for hours on end.
There was something distinctly foreboding about the
large white canisters, emblazoned in red letters that
issued severe warnings in several languages. They
looked like rows of alien coffins.
    He moved into the room in a crouch, glancing into
the corners and low places. Bright overhead lighting
dispelled most of the shadows and made his search
easy. Like the other cargo bay, this was a big room, but
it didn't offer many hiding places. Three-fourths of
the space was taken up by the storage pods and their
support mechanism. The rest was simply vacant, and
he figured there was room for ten more pods.
    Dax stopped at the closest pod and bent over to
study the readouts on its tiny screen. Odo recalled
from his research that each storage pod was a self-
contained unit with its own computer and monitoring
systems. The internal systems had to be good, because
only the stability of the magnetic field stood between
safety and total annihilation.
    Odo heard a gentle chirping noise and whirled
around to face an offending pod. "What is it doing?"
he asked.
     Dax smiled as she moved from pod to pod, inspect-
 ing their readouts. "They're quite remarkable, these
 pods. Each has its own diagnostic system set to start at
 a different time. The beeping means a pod has com-
 pleted its diagnostic sweep. It will sleep for several
 hours and do it again."
     "Is the tanker equipped to eject these pods?" asked
 Odo.
     Dax shook her head. "Not in the way a starship can.
 Of course, we can shoot them out the space dock, but
 they're not plugged into an ejection system here, like
 they will be on the Hannibal."
    She chuckled. "I think Benjamin once referred to a
Starfleet tanker as a giant gas can. He's not far from
wrong."
    Pressing flat against the wall, Odo maneuvered his
way around the storage pods and made a complete
excursion of the cargo bay. He peered into the freight
turbolift, under the conduits and pipework, and be-
tween the gigantic robot arms, but he didn't find
anything amiss. Still, the somber storage pods made
him uneasy, and he stood outside the door as Dax
completed her inspection of each individual con-
tainer.
    She stepped out, and the door shut automatically
behind her. "The pods appear in order," she an-
nounced. "At least Rizo and his friend didn't tamper
with them."
    Dax drew her phaser and motioned toward the
middle door. "I'm afraid this next one will be a
chambers of horrors."
    "I don't have a weak stomach," said Odo, gazing
through the window into the forbidding darkness of
cargo bay two. "In fact, I don't have a stomach at all."
"You're lucky," Dax remarked. She went to bay
two's console and punched in some commands. Not
even the lights came on.
    "This bay is badly damaged," she said. "It now has
an atmosphere, but I'm going to have to override the
circuits to get the door open and the lights on. They
didn't want anybody just wandering in here."
    Odo watched the three cargo bay doors while Dax
worked on the controls. The impatient part of him
thought they should forgo this search in order to make
it back to the Alpha Quadrant as quickly as possible,
but the cautious part knew they had to be thorough.
The middle of the wormhole was not the place for a
sneak attack from within. Besides, Commander Sisko
was off on an errand of mercy, or at least curiosity,
and maybe this was a good time to take stock of their
situation.
    They had managed to wrest the tanker away from
the criminals, and they had at least one prisoner to
show for it. A couple of dozen prisoners would be
more to his liking, but Odo was willing to settle for
their success so far. Unfortunately, he had a feeling
that this adventure was not finished yet.
    The lights came on in cargo bay two, and the door
whooshed open. Odo stepped inside to be greeted by a
grisly sight, which brought home the full impact of
what the terrorists had done. Twenty-one bodies of
young Starfleet officers in their prime lay before him,
mostly human, about evenly divided between male
and female. Their bodies were bloodied and burned,
but they had benefited from being stored in an airless
cargo hold. He could detect no unpleasant odors or
pools of blood, and their skin had started to mum-
mify.
    Neatly separated from the Starfleet bodies were the
bodies of seven Bajoran terrorists, also bloodied,
 burned, and mummified. Except for their clothing, it
 would have been difficult to tell them apart from the
 larger group.
    He heard Dax enter behind him, and he was glad he
had a Trill with him instead of a human. Humans
would have been uselessly emotional at this sight,
although it was difficult for him to suppress his anger.
He wanted to go next door and throttle Rizo.
    Dax let out a heavy sigh. "Any sympathy I had for
them just went away."
    "Good," said Odo. He studied the rest of the cargo
bay, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Like
cargo bay one, bay two had a full complement of both
magnetic conduits and robotic devices, to move the
antimatter either alone or inside its pod. It wouldn't
take much, he thought, to eject the bodies into space,
and he marveled that the terrorists had the considera-
tion not to do so while in orbit around Eco.
    "Look there!" said Dax, pointing to one of the
thickest pipes snaking across the ceiling.
    Odo saw nothing out of the ordinary, except for a
wadded bit of yellow cloth hanging over the conduit.
But the cloth evidently meant more to Dax, because
she stood under it, staring at it.  "Can you get it?" she asked.
    "Certainly," said Odo. He reached up, and his arm
stretched double its normal length to snag the yellow
cloth. To his surprise, there was considerably more of
it stashed behind the pipe than he had thought, and he
ended up pulling an entire spacesuit from its hiding
place. A helmet tumbled on the floor after it.
    "With that," said Dax, "you could hide in here
without atmosphere."
 "We are not alone," breathed Odo.
    They heard a rumbling sound, and they whirled
around to see the heavy door shutting behind them.

    Commander Sisko rubbed his eyes and stared at the
sight before him. He was at a distance of tens of
thousands of kilometers, but the small shapes on the
viewscreen were unmistakable. So was the ferocity of
the battle, with phaser blasts streaking silently across
the blackness. The scanners confirmed his eyesight--
four small craft had the Ferengi Marauder surrounded
and were blasting the hell out of it.
    The Marauder tried to escape, but it was like a bear
cornered by a pack of dogs. Wherever it turned, a
smaller craft zoomed to cut it off, while the other three
nipped at its heels with phaser fire. When the Maraud-
er turned to stand and fight, the four sleek craft broke
off and fell back. They were trying to surround it,
thought Sisko, to keep pounding away from four
different directions. But the Ferengi captain didn't
panic--he calmly picked one of the retreating ships
and unleashed a torpedo at it. The smaller ship
sputtered like a wet candle and went dark.
    "Good for you!" Sisko found himself saying. He
wished he hadn't done so much to cripple the Ferengi
ship. They were greedy and dishonest, but they didn't
deserve to be blasted out of the sky.
    He racked his brain to think who the attackers could
be. His first thought was that they were Ecocids, but
he didn't recall seeing any ships like that while
orbiting the planet. Who had small one- or two-person
fighters? In the Gamma Quadrant, it could be any-
body. Coming from the Alpha Quadrant, it could only
be a handful of races. Who hated the Ferengi, or had a
score to settle? That could also be anybody.
     The Marauder changed course and was on the move
 again, this time headed toward Sisko. Had he been
 spotted by the larger craft's sensors? Would they think
 he was enemy or foe? As desperate as the Ferengi
 probably were at this point, they didn't care. They saw
 another ship, and they were going to try to get some
 help.
    Could he help the Marauder? The answer, sad to
say, was no. He had no torpedoes left, and his phasers
weren't capable of stopping the sleek craft the way the
Marauder's torpedo had. An unarmed runabout and a
badly damaged warship just weren't going to defeat
three fresh fighters, even if the fourth one was out of
it.
    Sisko's only question was: When should he run? If
the mystery fighters caught him in their sensors,
would they come after him, too? He really didn't want
to find out.
    The commander was about to reverse course and
head back into warp drive when a distress signal
blinked on his console. He thought about the delay it
would cause if he listened to the Ferengi, but he
couldn't ignore their plea. He put the transmission on
the screen.
    He saw a smoke-filled bridge and a dead body
draped over the navigator's chair. The Ferengi captain
rushed toward the screen, waving his arms frantically.
    "You can't help us! Go away!" he howled. "These
are Cardassians--"
    A direct hit rocked the Marauder, and the captain
screamed and tumbled out of sight. The image broke
up, and Sisko reached for the controls. Before he
could go to warp, a tremendous explosion lit up the
cockpit like a strobe light; and he was forced to cover
his eyes. He opened them to see the Marauder streak-
ing across the starscape like a giant Roman candle,
until it exploded into chunks that glimmered and
grew dark, like the entrails of fireworks.
    He also saw that the three fighters were changing
course and picking up speed.
    Damn, he thought, they've seen me! Sisko punched
the runabout into warp drive and began to pray.

CHAPTER
     14

LIEUTENANT DAX whipped out her phaser, adjusted the
setting, and drilled the doorway that was shutting
behind them. With pinpoint accuracy, she fried the
seals and the sensors, then she swerved her fiery beam
to the controls on the wall and reduced them to a
shower of sparks. Odo was already running for the
door, and he dove under it as it lurched to a stop.
    Dax turned off her phaser and paused to assess the
damage. Cargo bay two was even more disabled now,
because the door wouldn't even shut. Perhaps, she
thought, it was fitting that the door be left open and
the bodies visible to all.
    She crawled out from under the partially closed
door into the anteroom, expecting to find Odo holding
the culprit by the scruff of the neck. Instead, she found
him hunched over the controls for cargo bay one.
 "I think our visitor went back into bay one," he
said. "And unless I miss my guess, he's activated the
freight turbolift."
    Dax rushed to Odo's side. "Is there any atmosphere
in there?" She gazed at the screen. "Yes, there is. They
can move between the cargo bays." "Rizo!" barked the shapeshifter.
    In tandem, they rushed to the console for cargo bay
three. Dax bent over the controls and was relieved to
see that nothing else had been disabled. She keyed the
command to open the doors and drew her phaser
again.
    Odo tensed beside her and began a slow approach to
the auxiliary cargo bay. Dax didn't know if Rizo had
joined with his confederate to fight or escape, but she
was prepared for the worst. She set her phaser to
heavy stun and waited to see what Odo encountered.
    He was in a spidery crouch as he rounded the open
door and gazed into the hold. Then he froze, and she
started to rush to his side. Before she reached him she
saw Odo relax and assume his usual stiff-backed
posture, so Dax lowered her phaser and rounded the
corner of the door.
    Inside was Rizo with his arms wrapped around
Petra, his nineteen-year-old daughter. He was trying
to calm her, and Dax could only imagine from her
wild eyes the kind of experience she had been through.
Hiding in a spacesuit in a dark vacuum full of dead
bodies, then dodging their determined pursuit, while
trying to mount a final attack. The poor girl had a
right to look exhausted and crazed.
    "I told her it was no use," said Rizo hoarsely, as he
cradled his daughter. "We have reached the end.
When the Federation is this determined to stomp us
out, they will do it. You're a different kind of foe to us,
Lieutenant Dax, because you turn our own people
against us. For all their ruthlessness, the Cardassians
were never able to do that."
    Dax didn't know what to say. She didn't want an
innocent to be tarred with the same brush as the
guilty, but how many of those Starfleet officers had
Petra killed? Her fate had long ago been corrupted
and sealed.
    "You can stay here until we arrive at Deep Space
Nine, "said Dax. "I'm going up to the crew quarters to
fix some food and drink for you, and I'll beam it
directly here. We don't want to harm you, but this
shipment of antimatter has to be returned to the
Federation."
    "And us?" Petra asked meekly. "We only wanted to
go someplace where there wasn't any war."
    "I'll help you find that place," Dax promised. "But
I can't help you avoid your rightful punishment,
whatever that will be."
    Dax nodded to Odo, who stood by the door and
waited until she had left the cargo bay. When Odo
came out, she rushed to the controls to shut the door
and disable the freight turbolift.
    "I think they'll stay where they are," she said. "The
fight seems to have gone out of them."
 "They're murderers," Odo reminded her.
 "I know."

    Commander Sisko cursed himself for his own stu-
pidity, good-heartedness, or whatever foolishness had
brought him back to search for the Ferengi Marauder.
Her killers were on his tail, at a respectful distance,
but nevertheless on his tail. The sleek fighters were
faster than the runabout and could have caught him in
a matter of minutes, but they seemed content to

follow him. That was more frightening than if they
had just come after him, because then he would be
forced to fight and get it over with. If he was going to
be blown to bits, he wanted it to happen before they
found the tanker.
    If they really were Cardassians, he thought glumly,
the hijacking was public knowledge on the other side
of the wormhole. Sisko shivered, thinking this could
be only the beginning of the task of defending their
hard-won prize.
    He estimated his rendezvous time at the asteroid
belt to be less than half an hour, and he hadn't decided
what to do yet. If he kept going to the wormhole, they
might follow him all the way through, and the tanker
would be spared. At least temporarily. If the
Cardassians were doing sensor sweeps, they might
detect the tanker and go after it--no matter what he
did. The Ferengi Marauder had probably been putting
out a distress signal, and it had cost them their lives.
    Sisko knew he couldn't leave his comrades in the
dark about this new threat. He would have to tell
them, and they would have to obey his orders. But
first, he would have to make certain of the
Cardassians' intentions.
    He opened a standard hailing frequency and an-
nounced, "This is the runabout Mekong from the
United Federation of Planets, hailing the ships that
are following me. This is Commander Benjamin
Sisko--please respond."
    A young Cardassian female appeared on the
viewscreen. She was surrounded by an impressive
array of instruments in her cocoonlike cockpit. Her
brown hair was pulled back severely, and she had an
arrogant gleam in her sunken eyes.
    "Commander Sisko, we assumed that was you," she
remarked. "This is Gul Nerwat of the Yaro, an experi-
 mental vessel. Would you please stop so that we can
 come aboard and search your vessel?"
     "What business do you have to search my vessel?"
 asked Sisko, getting huffy. "The Gamma Quadrant
 doesn't belong to you."
    The Cardassian smiled, because she was in a posi-
tion to do so. "We have learned that a rogue shipment
of antimatter is endangering the Gamma Quadrant
and the wormhole. We are pledged to find this ship-
ment and safeguard it."
    "Like you safeguarded the Ferengi ship?" asked
Sisko.
    The Cardassian's smile faded a little. "We don't
believe that is any of your concern. The Ferengi were,
shall we say, belligerent. We know they were in league
with you, but we don't know where the tanker is. Can
you tell us?"
    "No," Sisko lied. "I don't know what you're talking
about. I'm on a routine mission from Deep Space Nine
to open trade with a planet called Eco. You can check
all of this out. In fact, I think you should go to
Eco--maybe you'll find what you're looking for."
    "No, thank you," answered the fighter pilot. "You
have ten seconds to stop and let us board you. One--"
    Cursing under his breath, Sisko flicked the
viewscreen off. He opened up an audio channel that
was little used, except for Starfleet emergencies.
"Sisko to Dax," he said. "Come in, Phoenix."
    "Dax here," came the reply. "Benjamin, I've got
something to reportw"
    "Listen to mine first," he ordered. "There are three
Cardassian ships on my tail--one-man, experimental
craft. They've already destroyed the Ferengi Maraud-
er, losing Gimba and all hands, and they want the
antimatter."
    He could hear Dax swallow. "What do you want to
do?"
"Proceed to the wormhole. I'll hold them off."
"With what?" asked Dax. "You haven't got any
weapons to speak of, so you couldn't delay them more
than the time it takes to blow you up."
    The commander's lips thinned. "I gave you an
order."
    "Lure them into an ambush here," answered Dax,
"in the asteroid belt."
    Sisko shook his head with frustration. "You haven't
got enough weaponry to take out three ships either.
Maybe one, if you got real lucky."
    Suddenly, his short-range scanners began to flash,
and Sisko nearly jumped out of his seat. "I can't
believe it! They'x/e launched a torpedo after me!"
    For the third time that day, Sisko took evasive
action. He dropped the ship out of warp, hoping the
torpedo wouldn't be able to accomplish the same feat.
The fighters were sophisticated but small, and they
probably had simple torpedoes, he hoped, like the
microtorpedoes on the runabout. Sure enough, his
sensors tracked the torpedo as it whizzed by him. But
the Cardassians had accomplished their objective--
they had gotten him to slow down. He went to full
impulse power and began more desperate maneuvers.
    He checked his readouts and saw that the antimat-
ter in his warp reactor was getting dangerously low.
He didn't have time to appreciate the ironywrunning
out of antimatter while guarding a full tanker of the
stuff. Besides, the Cardassians would probably oblit-
erate him before he had a chance to run out of fuel. He
glanced over his shoulder, although there was nothing
to see but the back of the cockpit area. But he could
feel them breathing down his neck.
    The three fighters came out of warp at a consider-
able distance, but they instantly hit top impulse and
spread out to surround him. When he zigzagged, one
kept on his tail, another tried to cut him off, and the
third tried to anticipate his next maneuver and beat
him to it. There was none of that leisurely pace that
had saved his life when the Marauder was chasing
him. He took to mixing vertical and horizontal course
changes, but the third fighter began to anticipate those
moves and gain on him at an alarming rate.
    The Cardassians tried to hail him, to say, he sup-
posed, that his ten seconds were up. Sisko began to
wonder if perhaps he should let them board the
runabout as a delaying tactic to let the tanker escape.
A second later, a phaser blast rocked the runabout and
reminded him that he was not the one making the
decisions. The Cardassians had stopped hailing him.
    Commander Sisko made his sharpest turn yet and
came around hard. They had attacked him, and that
made up his mind what he had to do. He wanted to
contact Dax and order her to escape, but he didn't
dare try another transmission with the Cardassians so
close. Besides, there wasn't any time. He picked the
center fighter and fired up all of his phaser emitters;
then he leaned forward and punched a fist in the air as
the phasers raked the target. It blinked and swerved
off course, although Sisko knew that its shields de-
flected most of the damage.
    The other two fighters swerved hard to meet him
head-on, and he gripped his chair as their combined
phaser fire pounded the runabout. The tiny ship
bucked like an angry bull, and the lights in the cockpit
ran through a spectrum of colors before the emergen-
cy reds came on. Behind him circuits were burning
and raining sparks on the back of his neck, but Sisko
remained at his post, staring at his instruments
through acrid smoke.
    He tried the helm and discovered that he had no
control. This was it, thought Sisko--death in an
unknown sector of the Gamma Quadrant. It might as
well be the Gobi Desert.
    Suddenly, a bulky vessel streaked out of warp drive,
sending the two undamaged fighters scurrying. Sisko
shook his head and tried not to blame Dax too much.
Where old friendships were concerned, the Trill had
always had more loyalty than sense. But she knew a
sitting duck when she saw it--she picked out the
crippled fighter and hit it with full phasers.
    The small craft shuddered and fizzled like a wet
firecracker. Then it went completely dark. Another
fighter zoomed in and unleashed a phaser barrage
upon the tanker.
    Sisko punched his comm panel and opened hailing
frequencies. "Gul Nerwat," he warned, "do not fire
on that tanker--unless you want to blow us all to
kingdom come!"
    The Cardassian's face appeared on his viewscreen,
and she scowled, "Our sister ship does not respond.
Tell the tanker to drop her shields and prepare to be
boarded. Or we will retreat to a safe distance and blow
it up."
    Sisko heaved a sigh. He could stall for time, but
what good would it do? The normal running lights
flickered on in the cockpit, and he was thankful that
some of the runabout's systems were coming back
on-line. However, a quick check of his instruments
showed that both his shields and phasers were
inoperative--the computer had assigned all available
energy to the helm and life-support.
  "Let me confer with the captain of the tanker," he
 told the Cardassian. He didn't want to reveal the fact
 that her crew were all dead and she was being piloted
 by two of his staff.
    "Five minutes," sneered the Cardassian. "Then we
destroy you first, as an example."
    Taking out the battered runabout shouldn't be too
difficult, thought Sisko glumly. He went back to the
emergency audio frequency. "Dax," he said, "I told
you to make a run for it."
    "You didn't order me," the Trill replied calmly.
"Besides, we're in this together."
    "We're deep in it," Sisko muttered. "The runabout
has no weapons or shields left."
    "Then you're out of it," answered Dax. "They don't
want the runabout, anyway, so you should make a run
for it."
    "But you can't hold out," Sisko answered. "If you
don't let them board you, they'll back off to a safe
distance and just keep pounding away."
    Odo's voice cut in. "Pardon me, sir, but we're
sitting on more raw explosives than ten photon torpe-
does combined. Isn't. there anything we can do with
it?"
    The commander frowned mightily for several mo-
ments; then he snapped his fingers. "Depth charges!"
"Pardon me, sir?" asked Odo.
    Dax answered, "It's an ancient Terran weapon used
by seagoing vessels against submarine vessels."
    "To great effect," added Sisko. "Dax, is there any
way to eject a storage pod and set it to explode at a
given distance?"
    "Not at a given distance," answered Dax, "but at a
given time, yes. You simply program the pod to shut
down its magnetic field at a given moment. The
antimatter is released and hits the pod--and
kaboom!"
    "I can't be any help," Sisko murmured. "For this to
work, they'll have to be chasing you."
    "You should go now," said Dax. "Somebody has to
get back to DS9 to let them know what happened. Tell
the Cardassians to give us a few minutes, then we'll let
them board us. I have to do some calculations and get
set up. We can't eject a pod at warp speed, but we
should be able to do it at full impulse."
    Sisko said hoarsely, "I don't want to leave you out
here, old man."
    "You haven't got much choice," said Dax in her
usual businesslike manner. "Besides, we've been
through worse scrapes than this." She paused. "Al-
though I really can't remember any."
    He shook his head, thankful that they were on audio
only. "I don't remember ever leaving you behind. I'm
not going to do it."
    "Yes, you are," answered Dax. "I hate to use
clich6s, but I've led a long, full life, and you've got a
son who needs you. Please get going, Benjamin."
    "Odo," said the commander, "I want to beam you
over."
     "I'm afraid not," answered the shapeshifter. "With
 the state of the controls over here, I'm sure it will
 require both of us to eject a pod. Rest assured,
 Commander, I will not volunteer for any more rescue
 missions."
  "We'll be right along," Dax assured him.
  Sisko gulped. "You'd better be. Out."
     He cut off communications and stared at the
 Cardassian ships on his viewscreen with an over-
 whelming mixture of hatred, grief, and frustration. A
 shred of hope was somewhere in that muck, but he
 feared giving it too much credence. Best to act as if
 Dax, Odo, and the Phoenix were gone. At least he
 would get back to DS9 and try to prevent the
 Cardassians from bringing the antimatter back.
     He opened a channel to Gul Nerwat and reported,
 "The tanker needs five minutes to prepare for board-
 ing."
  "Why?" snarled the Cardassian.
     "There are safety precautions to disable," answered
 Sisko, hoping that sounded plausible. "My life-
 support systems are failing. Do you mind ifI try to get
 back to the wormhole?"
     The Cardassian woman paused in thought, and she
 finally asked, "This isn't a trick, is it?"
    Sisko shrugged. "I have no shields and no weapons.
Your own scanners probably tell you that. I couldn't
do anything to you even if I wanted to. Plus, if you
destroy me, the tanker will fight to the end, and you'll
have to destroy it. You'll go back to Cardassia having
lost two ships from your squadron, with nothing to
show for it."
    Sisko was quite content to talk all day and give Dax
as much time as she needed, but the Cardassian
captain was decisive. "Go," she ordered. "Tell your
people that Cardassians are merciful."
    No one would believe him if he said that, thought
Sisko, but he smiled pleasantly. "You are indeed
merciful. I bid you good-bye."
    "May we meet again," answered the Cardassian
woman with a smile that could only be called lascivi-
ous. "Under more pleasant circumstances."
    Sisko hid his repulsion. "Perhaps," he answered. He
cut off the transmission and slumped back in his
chair.
    It was all up to Dax now. With his fingers crossed,
he put the battered runabout into low warp drive and
headed for the wormhole.

    When Dax entered cargo bay two, Rizo was just
finishing a drumstick of fried chicken. Petra was
asleep beside him on the barren cargo bay floor.
    Rizo licked his lips appreciatively. "How did you
know I liked this dish called 'fried chicken'?"
    "Lucky guess," said Dax. "I notice it's popular
among humans, and Bajorans are a lot like humans."
    "I'm not sure if that's an insult, or not," muttered
Rizo. He stood to his impressive height and wiped his
hands on his shirt. "Have we gone through the worm-
hole? It didn't feel like we went very far."
    "We haven't," answered Dax. "We're surrounded
by three Cardassian ships. They've already destroyed
the Ferengi ship, killing Gimba and all aboard, and
now they're after us."
    Rizo's face twisted into a frightening mask of
hatred. "Cardassians," he hissed. "You must destroy
them."
    "We have a plan," answered Dax, "but it will take
three of us. Odo doesn't want to trust you, but I don't
see that we have any choice. Will you give me your
word, by whatever philosophies you hold dear, that
you won't turn on us?"
     The Bajoran brushed back his hair and stared at her
 in amazement. "Do you think I want to be captured
 by Cardassians? What do you think they would do to
 me? Or you! They don't want to destroy us--they
 want to take us alive. Let me die fighting them, and I
 will die happy."
  "You may be very happy," muttered Dax. "If what
 we have planned doesn't work, we're out of options.
 Come." She started to the doorway.
     "One moment," said the big Bajoran. He leaned
 down and stroked his daughter's rough-cut hair off her
 forehead; then he kissed her.
     "Daughter," he said, "I don't wish to wake you, but
 I have to go with Lieutenant Dax."
     The young woman sat up, confused and alarmed.
 "Where are they taking you?"
     "Nowhere," he said. "I'm going to help them. You
 stay here and sleep. Eat."
     "Yes," agreed Dax. "We may need your help, too.
 For now, you should try to get some rest."
  "It will be over soon," Rizo promised her.
    Dax strode out the doorway, motioning Rizo after
her. He was rubbing his eyes as he came out. "I've
been no fit parent," he admitted, "but we are no better
than the mold which forms us. If we die killing
Cardassians, it will be worth it."
    Dax shook her head and walked to the turbolift.
"Remember, our mission is to recover the antimatter.
Not kill Cardassians."
    "My mission is always to kill Cardassians," an-
swered the terrorist.
    She explained the plan briefly to Rizo on the way up
the turbolift. When they reached the bridge of the
tanker, Odo gave them a dour expression and leaped
to his feet, assuming a defensive posture. Rizo tight-
ened his fists and glared at the security chief.
    "At ease," ordered Dax. "You'll have to trust each
other for the next few minutes, or you'll die as
comrades, no matter what. Odo, you will take over the
conn. I've set the course, but you'll have to relay to me
the exact distance and speed of our pursuers. Rizo, I'll
need you below on the controls for cargo bay one. I'll
be inside the cargo bay, adjusting the program on the
pod we're going to eject."
    A beep sounded, and Odo glanced at the controls.
"They're hailing us," he reported.
    "Put down our shields," answered Dax, "and tell
them to start making their approach. When I give you
the word, go to full impulse. Our shields have to be
down, anyway, so we might as well do it now. Any
questions?"
  "Will you let Petra go?" asked Rizo.
    Dax shook her head. "That's a question for a
tribunal, not me. If you don't help us, she'll be dead,
or a Cardassian prisoner."
  Rizo nodded grimly. "Lead on."
    Dax could hear Odo speaking to the Cardassians as
the turbolift doors shut between them. She tried to
relax, but the idea of turning antimatter storage pods
into deep-space depth charges was not a relaxing
notion. Suicidal was more like it.
    When they reached the cargo bay anteroom, Rizo
rushed directly to his post like an eager Starfleet cadet.
He smiled at her. 'Tll help you kill Cardassians all
day long. What do you want me to do?"
     "Open the door and leave it open," she answered.
 "When you hear me shout 'now,' eject the first pod in
 line through the docking nose. You'll need to use the
 manual override, but I think you know how to do that
 already."
  "I do," promised Rizo. "Count on me."
     He opened the door for her, and Dax entered the
 cavernous chamber. She was unable to suppress a
 horrible feeling of dread. The pods looked like what
 they suddenly were--enormous bombs. Conduits
 snaked across the ceiling like hungry vines, and robot
 arms dangled like the legs of giant spiders. Dax shook
 her head and tried to concentrate on her mission.
     She was squeezing between pods on her way toward
 the freight turbolift when a noise sounded. She leaped
 back, startled, before she realized that it was just a
 nearby pod signaling the end of its diagnostic cycle.
 The Trill swallowed hard and scrambled toward the
 first pod in line.
     She touched the panels to activate the pod's internal
 programming. After studying the readouts on its small
 screen, she was satisfied that she knew how to turn off
 its internal magnetic field at a given microsecond. Of
 course, nobody ever did that when the pod was full of
 antimatter, so she had to disable several safety fea-
 tures, too.
     Finally, she touched her comm badge. "Odo, I'm
 ready."
    "Good," he answered, "because the two Cardassian
ships are at five hundred kilometers and closing fast."
"Are their shields down?"
    "Still up," answered the security chief. "There is no
point in firing at them. Shall I escape?"
    "Do it," she ordered. She called to Rizo, "Ready
yourselfl"
    "I'm always ready," he shouted back, "to kill
Cardassians!"
    The ship pitched slightly as Odo plunged them into
impulse drive. Dax brought up the subsystem that
regulated the magnetic field inside the pod, and she
saw that the timer read IND for indefinite. She readied
her fingers to change the setting. The Trill had already
done a batch of calculations, and she had a set of
rough equivalents in her mind. One second for every
two thousand kilometers. Adjust for speed and add
four seconds for the ejection process. This wasn't
going to be very accurate, she knew, but an antimatter
explosion didn't require great accuracy to do damage.
    However, an explosion that happened too soon
would catch the tanker as well. An explosion that
happened too late would miss its target. Her fingers
tensed in readiness.
    She jumped when her communicator beeped. "Odo
to Dax. They are demanding we stop, or they will
open fire."
  "Distance?" she asked.
    "They fell back to eighteen thousand kilometers.
Now seventeen. Bearing, sixty-three-mark-four. Full
impulse. Now sixteen thousand."
    Awfully damned close, she thought, and the longer
they waited the closer they would come. Knowing that
one second's mistake could cost them their lives, her
fingers were a blur on the controls. Allowing for her
own actions, she set the timer to shut off the pod in ten
seconds. It was a nice round number.
  "Now!" she screamed, leaping back.
    The robotic arms lurched into action, lifting the
pod as if it were a pillow and shoving it out the
turbolift doors, which shut immediately behind the
robot. She should run, thought Dax, somewhere! But
she knew that there was no place to hide on a tanker
full of antimatter.
     She slapped her comm badge and announced. "Dax
 here. The pod is away!"
     "Putting up shields!" barked Odo. Apparently not
 a second too soon, as the ship was jolted by a phaser
 blast.
     "Was that it?" yelled Rizo from outside in the
 anteroom.
  "No!" Dax shouted back. She was frozen while
  mentally counting down the seconds. Four, three, two,
  one ....
      Matter met antimatter and ripped the fabric of
  space open for a blistering moment. The light that
  burned was whiter than the newest star, but it was
  gone in seconds, leaving nothing in its wake.
      Dax was knocked completely off her feet between
  two huge pods. The ship pitched again, and she could
  hear the groaning of the giant pods against their
  restraints. She feared she Would be crushed! Suddenly
  strong arms were lifting her and dragging her into a
  clear area.
      She looked up to see Rizo towering over her,
  panting and grinning. "Did we kill 'em?"
      "I'll check," she breathed. She tapped her comm
  badge. "Odo, what about our pursuers?"
      "Gone," answered Odo with satisfaction. "Not a
  trace."
      Dax lay back on the cold floor and spread her arms
  in blessed relief. "Go to warp drive," she said. "I'll be
  right there. Out."
    When she started to get up, Rizo stuck a beefy palm
in her chest and pushed her back down.
i    "Sorry," he said, pulling a phaser from the back of
  his belt. "You,re not going anywhere."

CHAPTER
     15

BEFORE RIZO COULD STUN HER, Dax whipped up her
legs, curled her back, and gave him two heels in the
stomach. The Bajoran staggered backward, gasping
for breath but trying to aim his phaser. Dax rolled,
and the brilliant beam flashed pa.st her shoulder.
Before Rizo could steady himself to aim again, she
made a dash into the sea of pods and crouched behind
them.
     She yelled, "Don't shoot phase/rs in here! You
 idiot!"
     Holding his stomach and gulping with anger, Rizo
 staggered along the row of antimatter Pods. 'Tin not
 the idiot!" he snarled. "You showed me how valuable
 this antimatter is--as a weapon! I can't let you take it
 back!"
     "You have to," she insisted. "You have to end this
 way of life. What are you going to do with this ship
 and the antimatter? You've seen how it attracts noth-
 ing but trouble. Isn't that what you told me?"
     Rizo looked away, anger being replaced by confu-
 sion and weariness. "What will you do with Petra?"
     "I personally will try to help her," answered the
 Trill. She rose from her hiding place. "I can't speak for
 anyone else, but I'll do whatever I can. Listen, you
 cannot try to prove your points with death and
 destruction anymore. That time is past. Other
 Bajorans feel much like you, and they speak openly
 about it. The war for independence is over. You can
 see from what happened here that it's not the Federa-
 tion who's in control. It's the Bajorans. They are in
 control of their own destiny."
     Rizo muttered, "That ship they are building--it
 should be for Bajor."
    "Perhaps the next one will be for Bajor," said Dax.
"The shipyards are up and working. Perhaps the next
shipment of antimatter will be for a Bajoran ship, the
first one built in generations. Come back with us and
see that happen."
  Rizo scoffed, "I'11 be in a cell."
    "Voices from cells have been heard before," said the
lieutenant. Her comm badge beeped, and she an-
swered it. "Dax here."
    "You said you were coming right up," Odo said
with concern. "Is everything all right?"
    Dax looked expectantly at Rizo, and he lowered the
phaser. "Yes," she nodded, "I was just having a
discussion with our prisoner. It will take me a minute
to escort him back to the cargo bay. Is our course
locked in for the wormhole?"
    "Locked in," said Odo. "Estimated arrival at the
wormhole in thirty-two minutes. We will probably
overtake Commander Sisko before then."
    "Give hima report," said Dax. She looked at Rizo.
"And tell him our prisoner distinguished himself
under fire."
    "I'm glad I was wrong," admitted the shape-shifter.
"Out."
    She strode up to Rizo, and the hulking Bajoran let
out a long sigh as he dropped the phaser into her hand.
    "Have any more of these hidden around?" she
asked.
    "No," he murmured, "that was the only one." He
gave her a wry smile. "Don't take this wrong, Lieuten-
ant, but you're the first woman I've admired in a long
time. Since Petra's mother."
    Dax shook her head sadly. "I wish your lives had
been different. As I said, I have no basis to imagine
what you went through."
    He shrugged his big shoulders. "It's over now. I
knew this would be the end--one way or another."

Captain Jon Rachman lifted his glass of synthehol
and said suavely, "I'm having a wonderful time."
    Major Kira Nerys looked at a chronometer and
grumbled, "I'm not."
    "Relax," he told her. "They'll let you know if
something happens. You're a minute away from the
bridge, and I'm a minute away from my ship. If duty
calls, we'll answer. Meanwhile, relax."
    Kira tried to slump back in her chair and relax, but
her shoulder blades refused to loosen up. She rubbed
them against the back of the chair, trying to make
them relax. She finally had to admit that she didn't
want to sit back, so she sat forward and tried to relax.
    "Couldn't you have picked some other time to ask
me for a date?" she muttered. She glanced around
Quark's Place with mild disgust.
     "I'm sorry that your people are still missing," said
 Rachman soberly. "But after they come back, I'll be
 leaving. If not sooner. So you see, Major, this is the
 only time. There are a lot of poets who think the
 present should be lived as if it were the last moment of
 creation."
     "Are there?" asked Kira mockingly. Grudgingly,
 she took a sip of her fruit punch. "I'm truly not averse
 to you as a person, Captain Rachman--"  "Jon, please." He smiled.
     "But I can't think about, er, what you would like me
 to think about at the moment."
    "What exactly would I like you to think about?"
asked Jon Rachman, resting his chiseled chin in his
hand and leaning forward.
    Kira shifted in her chair and finally met his stare
head-on. "You would love to seduce me."
    Rachman looked thoughtful. "Actually I would
prefer that you seduce me. But for the moment, I'm
content to just get to know you. What do you want out
of life?"
    "Bajor," she answered immediately. "I want our
homeworld to be free and secure and on her way to
prosperity. Then maybe we can pay back the people
who have helped us."
    Rachman shook his head in amazement. "When I
first read the report on Deep Space Nine, I couldn't
understand what we were doing here."
  Kira bristled, and her dark eyes flashed.
    "Don't get me wrong," added the young captain, "I
didn't object to being here. It's just unusual for the
Federation to have coadministration of a space sta-
tion with another party. Now that I've gotten to know
you and your people, I can see how both sides needed
this arrangement--to form a bond of mutual trust. I
really admire what you're doing here. I mean that
sincerely."
    Kira took his hand and gave him a warm smile. Her
shoulders suddenly felt very relaxed. "Thanks. I know
how much the Federation has risked for us, and I'm
grateful. I'm sure we can coexist."
    Rachman laid his other hand on top of hers. "We
can test that theory in a sort of microcosm. Just two
people, say, on a long weekend down to Bajor--"
    The major's comm badge beeped, and she shrugged
an apology as she tapped it. "Kira."
    O'Brien's voice had none of its usual playfulness.
"Major, the neutrino level from the wormhole is very
high. Something is coming through. Perhaps more
than one ship."
  She jumped up. "Any other unusual readings?"
    "Other?" asked O'Brien. Then it dawned on him.
"You don't think those Klingon ships went away?"
    "They could be close enough to monitor the worm-
hole," answered Kira, already dashing toward the
door. "Scan for all anomalies. I'm on my way!"
    Captain Rachman rushed after her, but he turned
the other way on the Promenade. "The Regal is
ready," he assured her.
    Kira paused on her way to the turbolift and gave the
captain a glancing smile. "Maybe we'll have some-
thing to celebrate."
    Quark ran after them both, shouting, "Who's going
to pay this bill?"
    When both the captain and the major ignored him
and dashed out of sight, the Ferengi saloonkeeper
stroked his earlobe and smiled. He could smell money
changing hands, very soon now. Then he frowned.
 Which way would the money be going?
    "Please be alive, Commander Sisko," whispered
Quark earnestly. "Please come back... alive."

     Chief O'Brien frowned at the shifting readouts on
 the Ops table. Where was Dax? he wondered; she
 would be able to make sense of these mysterious
 fluctuations. Then he remembered where Dax was,
 and that he'd gone too many bloody hours without
 sleep.
    He gazed up at the main viewer and the endless
expanse of stars, expecting any moment for the worm-
hole to erupt in an orgasm of swirling colors. Sudden-
ly it did, swirling outward like a giant rainbow turned
inside out. He momentarily forgot about the unusual
readings in the vicinity and stared at the screen, as did
everyone else on the bridge. He heard the turbolift
doors swish open as the first ship emerged from the
wormhole.
  "The tanker!" he shouted.
    Kira rushed through Operations, pointing to the
communications off~cer. "Hail them!" she ordered.
    "There's a second ship!" shouted O'Brien. He
pointed at the viewscreen, although it was hardly
necessary. All eyes were riveted upon it. A smaller
vessel was suddenly spit out, and the wormhole
vanished.
  "The runabout!" gasped Kira.
    "Damn," muttered O'Brien, slamming his fist on
the operations table. "Two Klingon Birds-of-Prey
uncloaking at fifteen thousand kilometers!"
    On the viewscreen, two vulturelike warships shim-
mered into view.
    "The tanker does not respond," said the communi-
cations officer, "but the Klingons are hailing us."
    "On screen," snapped Kira. "What business do you
have here--" She started to say more, but she was
stopped by the sight of a young Bajoran man smiling
at her from the screen.
    "Prepare to die," said the Bajoran. "We have had
enough of Cardassian space stations and Federation
meddling. With the help of our Klingon friends, we
will put an end to all of it now. That includes the
wormhole."
    The screen went blank, and Kira and O'Brien stared
at each other. The chief was almost afraid to look at
his instruments, for fear of what he would find. When
he did, his worst fears were realized.
    "They're dropping their shields," he breathed.
"Powering up phasers. The tanker is headed straight
toward them!"
  "Where's the runabout?" asked Kira.
    "It's headed for the docking ring," reported
O'Brien. "But if those crazy Klingons do what I think
they're going to do, we'll all be chipped beef on toast!"
    "They won't blow themselves up," said Kira hope-
fully.
      "They're far enough away to avoid the worst of it,"
answered O'Brien. "But we're not."  "Hail them!" ordered Kira.
    The communications officer shook his head.
"They're not responding."
    O'Brien took a gulp of air and changed the setting
on the main viewer to show the Klingon warships.
There were gasps all around as they unleashed a broad
band of phaser fire. He changed the view to show the
tanker, streaking to its doom in total oblivion.
  "Brace yourselves!" yelled O'Brien.
    An explosion ruptured the starscape, but it wasn't
the cataclysmic end of the world that O'Brien ex-
 pected. It was just your normal starship being blown
 to smithereens, a sight he had witnessed too many
 times in his long career with Starfleet. The station
 didn't even tremble.
     "Where's the antimatter?" asked Kira in amaze-
 ment.
     O'Brien shrugged, but a smile began to creep across
 his ruddy face. "If it ain't there, it must be someplace
 else."
     The communications panel beeped, and Kira an-
 swered, "Ops."
     "Major, this is Ensign Pertwee at docking port
 three. I just want to report that the Mekong is docked
 and Commander Sisko, Lieutenant Dax, and Chief
 Odo are safe."
    Kira looked at O'Brien and puffed up her chest,
before expelling a long sigh.
    Ensign Pertwee continued, "But the runabout is
packed to the gills with antimatter pods, and we're not
sure how to handle them. Could you spare us Chief
O'Brien?"
    "He's on his way," answered Kira. And he was, with
a big grin on his face.
    The major would have liked to savor the moment,
but there were still two Klingon Birds-of-Prey within
striking distance--and they had just been cheated out
of their big kill.
    She hit her comm badge. "Ops to Captain
Rachman. There are two Klingon ships in the area. Be
careful, but get rid of them."
    "Aye, sir," the captain answered crisply. "Leaving
spacedock."
    Kira took over control of the Operations table, and
she changed the angle on the main viewer to watch the
Regal pull away from the station. The cruiser went
quickly to full impulse and bore down on the Klingon
warships. They hadn't come any closer, but they
weren't backing off either. Kira widened the view to
include all three ships, and she held her breath,
knowing that Rachman had a skeleton crew and a
dysfunctional ship. Yet he plowed straight toward
them, as if he could wipe them out with a snap of his
fingers.
    She monitored communications frequencies, but
there were no transmissions. The Regal was acting like
the bouncer in an Orion nightclub, throwing out a
couple of unruly bullies. It muscled closer and closer
to them--five thousand kilometers, four, three...
    Finally, the Klingon ships blinked. They made
graceful pirouettes in space and were already going
into warp drive when the Regal reached their former
position and stopped.
    With relief in his voice, the communications officer
announced, "Captain Rachman reports that the area
is secure. He requests permission to return to Deep
Space Nine."
    Kira finally took a breath and permitted herself a
wide grin. "Yes," she agreed. "Let's get everybody
home."

CHAPTER
     16

"MORE WINE?" asked Quark, brandishing a bottle
under Commander Sisko's nose. "Trefethen from
Napa Valley, California, 2361, which I understand is a
very good year."
  "Replicated?" asked Dr. Bashir.
    Quark shot him a glare. "Of course not. I've been
saving this for a special occasion."
    Benjamin Sisko was beaming. "Absolutely. In fact,
take it to your replicatots and make a bunch of bottles.
I want everybody to have a glass of wine for a toast."
    Quark snapped his fingers and handed the bottle off
to Rom. He had converted his largest holodeck suite
into a palatial French dining hall modeled after one
owned by some Terran geezer named Louis XVI.
    Dr. Bashir leaned forward eagerly. "Commander,
whatever gave you the idea to put the antimatter on
the runabout?"
    Sisko shook his head in amazement. "From the very
beginning, that tanker was like a giant bull's-eye. We
knew we couldn't protect it from another assault,
especially with the condition of the runabout. So after
we got away from the Cardassians and stopped on the
other side of the wormhole, we decided to move the
antimatter. We had a bit of luck in that the Mekong
had an empty cargo module. Still, those nineteen pods
were crammed in everywhere, even the cockpit. We
had to turn off the artificial gravity to maneuver them
around."
    "Nineteen?" asked Bashit. "I thought there were
twenty?"
    Sisko grew somber. "We had to use one. Anyway, we
didn't know what we would find in the Alpha Quad-
rant, so Dax plotted a course for the empty tanker and
we beamed her off before it went through the worm-
hole."
    Rom and several other waiters were suddenly at
everyone's elbow, pouring white wine. Only Odo and
young Jake Sisko declined, but they held up their
glasses of water.
    Quark bowed gracefully and gushed, "Your wine is
served, Commander, and the appetizer is on its way."
    Sisko looked puzzledly at the Ferengi. "I'm glad to
see you too, Quark, but I must say I'm overwhelmed
by this welcome. We were only gone a few days."
    The Ferengi rubbed his hands together. "A few
profitable days."
     "I'm glad it was profitable for someone," said the
 commander. "I should tell you that Gimba and his
 Marauder will not be coming back."
     Quark lowered his head. "Our esteemed colleague
 would be relieved to know that somebody profited by
 his death."
    The commander nodded. Then he stood and lifted
his wineglass. "I would like to propose a toast."
    Everyone stood and lifted a glasS. They were still
laughing and chatting amiably until they saw the look
on Commander Sisko's face. Quark was issuing orders
to his waiters when he glanced at Sisko. He instantly
drew himself to attention.
    The commander held up his glass and Said, "To the
brave men and women of the Phoenix. They went
down with their ship."
 The glasses were hoisted and drained in silence.

    "I'm sorry, Admiral Nicheyev," said Benjamin
Sisko to the small viewscreen on his desk. "But you
see, I'm alive. There's no need for a replacement."
    The stiff-necked admiral bristled and cleared her
throat. "Of course not, Commander. I didn't mean to
say that we were disappointed you were still alive, only
that your replacement will be disappointed. But we'll
find another suitable post for Commander Shelby."
    Sisko was in an unusually jovial mood, and not
even an admiral could bring him down. "If she's a
good officer, send her along! We can always use her."
    "I'm afraid not," said the admiral. "Commander
Shelby needs a command post to function at her best.
Of course, you have recovered the antimatter as well,
so we can recall the entire convoy, except for the
escort ship which is carrying the parts for the cruis-
ers."
  "Whatever you wish," agreed Sisko.
    Dax stopped in the doorway of his office and caught
his eye. He motioned to her to stop. "It's been a
pleasure, Admiral. I'm sorry we've caused you so
much trouble, but I believe we can get the launch of
the Hannibal back on schedule."
 "Thank you, Commander. I look forward to seeing
what sounds like a most interesting report." The dour
admiral signed off.
    Sisko motioned Dax to come forward. "What hap-
pened at the hearing?"
    Dax entered the room, looking a little embarrassed.
"I made a strong plea for some sort of clemency,
especially for Petra. She is being sent to a hospital for
psychiatric evaluation, which is a good first step.
There's no way to avoid punishment for Rizo, but he
came up with his own unique sentence."  Sisko smiled. "Which is?"
    "One of the old Cardassian prisons has several
empty buildings, and he wants to turn them into a
factory to make ship components. He's proposing that
convicts of a free Bajor have to be given the right to
work for Bajor, even if it's prison labor. The council
may go along with him. At any rate, Rizo will be given
a life sentence."
    The commander stood at his desk and nodded
thoughtfully. "We were lucky this time. Very lucky.
We could have ended up like all the others, dead or
trapped on Eco." He shuddered at the thought and
began to rearrange objects on his desk. "Do you want
to go with Major Kira and me to the launch? I hear it
could be as early as tomorrow."
    Dax shook her head slowly. "I don't think so. I
believe I need to keep my own company for a few
days."
     "You earned a rest, old man. I'm glad you were
 there with me."
  Dax nodded. "So am I."
     Sisko chuckled but didn't look up. "1 think I could
 even stand to see you in that dress again."
  Dax smiled. "You should be so lucky."
     The Hannibal, an Ambassador-class starship, re-
 mained imprisoned in a giant pit, where Commander
 Sisko had last seen it. But now the Lilliputians were
 on a far hill, watching the launch from bleachers, and
 only a few chosen VIPs were at ground level, staring
 into the pit. The commander and Major Kira were
 among them, along with dignitaries, such as Bajoran
 ministers and Federation envoys.
    Unlike his earlier visit, no one was crawling over the
gleaming hull of the ship, and no one was watching it
from the six gigantic arches overhead. He looked
down to see steam escaping from couplings surround-
ing the ship, and he knew that these couplings would
soon let go and release the Hannibal from its earthy
bonds.
    The commander nodded and smiled at the digni-
taries. He was in a magnanimous mood, having
thought more than once that he would never live to
see this day. Now, to have a starship named after
Hannibal taking off from these historic shipyards,
which had been in use since before airplanes flew on
Earth--it was wonderful! Plus, he had the satisfaction
of knowing that he had made his own small contribu-
tion to the proceedings. Other antimatter could have
powered the Hannibal on its maiden voyages, but it
was the antimatter they had rescued that would be
doing the job.
    Despite Sisko's delight in the proceedings, he
couldn't help but notice that Major Kira looked
pensive and suspicious. The way she studied some of
her own government officials, such as Minister Roser,
made him wonder if they might be wanted criminals.
He wondered how to broach the subject, and he
decided to come around to it slowly.
 "Major," he said, "I wondered why you didn't
request to be assigned to the shakedown crew. They
would have welcomed you, even as an observer, and I
would have agreed."
    "I didn't want to be gone for so long," answered
Kira. She shrugged, trying to make light of her lame
excuse. "After everything that's happened, I didn't
think it was appropriate."
    "Yes," said Sisko, lowering his voice. "I forget what
it must have been like here. These people put you
through a lot, did they?"
    "Some," answered Kira. She lowered her own voice
to say, "Actually, Commander, I can explain it all
much better after the launch, when we go to see
Director Amkot."
    "Director Amkot," echoed Sisko. "I wonder why he
isn't here?"
    "Probably in the control room," she answered. As
Sisko had hoped, conversation was beginning to relax
Major Kira, and she gave him a smile. "I have to tell
you, Commander, I've been reading up on Terran
history. You know, when Hannibal led those fantastic
creatures--the elephants--over the Alp Mountains
to attack Rome, he was defeated."
     "After taking two-thirds of the country," said Sisko,
 "and only after Rome mustered every able-bodied
 soldier she had."
     "But they were defeated," Kira mused with plea-
 sure. "It makes me think fondly of your culture that
 you would memorialize a general who was defeated,
 even though he was courageous and visionary. It gives
 me hope that our people can make mistakes and learn
 to appreciate them."
     "Oh, we've made lots of mistakes," said Sisko with
 a chuckle. "You've got to learn from them, or keep
 making them."
     Kira shook her head. "I know revenge is a powerful
 emotion and victory is an aphrodisiac, but we have to
 stop fighting, every one of us. After the Cardassians
 conquered us, we learned to be warriors. But how do
 you learn peace?"
     "Practice," answered Sisko. "We had a captain in
 Starfleet who used to say that being civilized doesn't
 mean you'll never fight, only that you're not going to
 fight today."
     "Not today," said Kira thoughtfully. "Do you mind
 if I pass that saying on? I don't think we can ever go
 back to being pacifists--not in my lifetime--but we
 have to know that peace is an option. It's the prefera-
 ble option."
    Before Sisko could give his heartfelt approval, there
was a buzz of conversation, and they looked up to see
the arches overhead starting to glow with a greenish
light. A weird humming sound pierced the air, and
people began to step back from the giant pit. Not
Commander Sisko. A full-sized starship taking off
from a planet was a sight that hadn't been seen on
Earth in hundreds of years. He didn't want to miss
this launching.
    Kira stood at his side, and he could see the concern
on her face dissolving into pride. This starship had
been built on Bajor, and wherever it went, it would
serve as a monument to their recovery.
    The tractor beams on the arches locked on, and the
mammoth ship gave a palpable shudder. The steam
stopped shooting from the couplers, and their hydrau-
lics yanked back to release the twin nacelles, the
cylindrical hull, and the gleaming saucer section. The
Hannibal rose gracefully into the clear desert air, and
Sisko felt his feelings soaring with each meter it rose.
The hole in the ground was no longer a mysterious
ruin but a mother giving birth, and the arches were the
calm midwife.
    The Hannibal was securely cradled inside the mas-
sive archways before the crew took over. Shuttlecraft
hovered nearby like anxious pilot fish, but the Hanni-
bal was going to leave the forcefields under her own
power. Sisko could see the lights ripple on along the
length of her hull, and they were brilliant even in the
bright sunlight of the Okana Desert. He could hear the
oohs and ahs, and knew he was saying them, too. So
enraptured was he by the magnificent sight that Sisko
lost track of time--he had no idea how long the
starship remained tethered inside its metallic cocoon.
When its thrusters finally came on, it shot off like a
butterfly bursting free. He was amazed that such an
enormous object could grow so small so fast, because
it was soon the merest blip in the sky to the naked eye.
    Beside him, Kira nodded with satisfaction. "This is
a good day, a very good day."
    "Yes," saidSisko with a smile. "I can hear the
admirals calling up now, placing more orders."
    Kira tapped her comm badge. "Major Kira to
Director Amkot."
    There was no response, and she frowned puzzledly.
"Major Kira to Director Amkot."
    Again the response was nil. She tapped her badge
and requested instead, "Major Kira to the control
room."
    "Chief Engineer Daken here. What can I do for you,
Major?"
     "I was looking for Director Amkot, but he doesn't
 respond. Is he with you?"
 "He was here until the launch started," answered
the engineer. "Then he said he wanted to watch the
rest of it in his private office. Do you know where that
is?"
    "Yes," answered Kira. "But why doesn't he respond
to his communicator?"
    "I don't know. We leave him alone when he goes
there."
    "Thank you." Kira turned to Sisko and said with
alarm, "Let's go find him."

    The door to his office was closed, and a middle-aged
Bajoran in coverails was trying to override the circuits
to gain entry.
    "Hello," he said, slightly out of breath. "You must
be Major Kira. I'm Chief Daken. We spoke a moment
ago."
  "Yes," said Kira. "What's the matter?"
    "Right after I talked to you, I tried to contact the
director, and he didn't respond. The computer says
he's. in here, but he doesn't answer even when I bang
on the door!"
    Sisko stepped forward. "What about transporters?
Can we beam inside?"
    Chief Daken shook his head. "No, all transporters
are on emergency standby in case there's some mal-
function with the Hannibal. That doesn't seem likely,
but we can't use them until the Hannibal establishes
orbit."
    Kira drew a small phaser from her pocket. "With
your permission?"
  "Yes, yes!" agreed Daken.
    "Major," asked Sisko with disapproval, "do you
always arm yourself when you come to Bajor?"
    "Lately, yes." Kira took aim at the controls of the
door and fried the instruments with a pinpoint blast.
The door slid halfway open, and she was the first one
through.
    She froze in shock, as did Sisko and the engineer a
few steps behind her. Slumped over his expensive but
chipped and weathered desk was the director of the
Okana Shipyards. Under a thatch of thick white hair,
just above his right temple, was a small blackened
hole. A phaser was lying close to his curled fingers,
where he had dropped it. There was no way in or out
except for the door that had been locked.
    Chief Daken pounded on his communicator and
shouted for help, while Sisko strode to the desk and
lifted the man's wrist. He could feel no pulse--the
man was dead. He touched Amkot Groell's neck and
reached the same conclusion.
    "It's too late," said the commander, shaking his
head in astonishment. "Why the hell would he kill
himself?. On the day of his biggest triumph."
    Kira looked dazed. "Guilt," she muttered. "Or
maybe just weariness. I was going to tell you,
Commander--the last time we came here, he set us
up to be killed."  "Why?"
     Her voice was hoarse as she answered, "Because he
 had to make unholy alliances to keep the shipyards
 open. Because he had to sell his soul over and over
 again to build that ship. His silent partners never let
 go of their hold on him."
  "The Circle?" asked Sisko.
     Kira shrugged. "What does it matter? He's free of
 them now."
     The commander glanced around the room, and his
 eyes came to rest on the empty spaces on the wall,
 where commendations from the Cardassians had once
 hung. Sisko had suffered his share of tragedy and
sacrifice, but they paled beside what the majority of
Bajorans had gone through. He turned to ask what
Engineer Daken thought, but the middle-aged
Bajoran had retreated to the corridor. Sisko couldn't
blame him.
    He put his hand on Kira's shoulder. "Someday the
casualties will stop. There will be whole generations to
whom the Cardassians are nothing but ancient his-
tory."
    The Bajoran stared down at the lifeless body, and
he could tell she was fighting back tears. "As long as
we keep building--like he did--we'll make prog-
ress." Her jaw tightened with resolve. "We have to
break this news to many people, but let's remember
that this is a victorious day, especially for Amkot
Groell."
 "I agree," said Sisko, and they walked out together.