Star Trek: Deep Space 9
# 18
Saratoga

HISTORIAN'S NOTE

The events in Saratoga occur between the third and
fourth seasons of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine.

Prologue

OLD FRIENDS, THOUGHT Pernon Obahr. You come to
know them as you know yourself, to love them, to rely
on them. You allow yourself to believe they will never
let you down.
    And yet, in the course of time, even the oldest
friend may betray you. It was a fact of life, he
mused--not only on Bajor, but on any world in the
great, star-spanning cosmos.
    Pernon stood on the highest balcony of the highest
building in Karvis and followed the curve of the
glistening fiver with his gaze. On its near bank, a few
kilometers north of the city, a half-dozen large gray
water pumps worked with the power and perserver-
ance of prehistoric animals.
    It was a good thing, too. Thanks to the pumps,
some thirty percent of the river's volume was redi-
rected through a channel that bisected the city. At
the other end of the channel, the river water fanned
out along a steep incline, eventually spilling into the
sea.
    Were the pumps not there, the city would have been
washed away long ago. If that had happened, Pernon
and his family would have been left penniless, desti-
tute, like a great many other Bajorans at the time.
Hence, his abiding love for the machines, a love
shared in full by his fellow Karvisians.
    But circumstances change, he thought. All manner
of things decay. And what a man thought was solid as a
rock in his youth turns out to have been anchored in
shifting sands.
    The words were those of Inartha Dor, one of
Bajor's greatest poets before the Occupation. But they
fit the situation, Pernon told himself--fit it as a hand
fits a well-made glove.
    After three decades, the pumps were beginning to
failmnot because they were structurally unsound, for
they had been given a good deal of attention over the
years. No, the machines themselves were not the
problem.
    It was the power source that made them run. That
was the problem. And if it were not solved, Karvis
would eventually be destroyed.
    Pernon sighed. As a youth, he had seen the birth of
the pumps. He had witnessed the arrival of the
Cardassian architects and the terrain engineers, the
excavation specialists and the builders. He had
watched the ground vehicles converge on the river-
bank day after day, bringing all kinds of construction
devices and raw materials.
    Of course, for the Cardassians, the pumping station
was a bandage on a self-inflicted wound. To obtain
cheap power farther north, they had meddled with the
river's tributaries. The result had been a massive
increase in volume and several bad floods the follow-
ing spring.
    This was not pleasing to the Gul responsible for the
area--a scaly-necked festival pole of a man named
Divok. After all, it was Divok's head that would roll if
the problem were not corrected somehow.
    The point of the occupation had been to exploit
Bajor's resources with a minimum of effort. Wiping
out a fair-sized city was not part of the plan, nor did
the Cardassian authorities wish to deal with addition-
al backlash.
    There was already a resistance movement brewing.
Why fuel it any more than they had to?
    Even as a boy, Pernon had hated the Cardassians as
much as any Bajoran. He had detested them with
every drop of blood in his body, with every muscle
and every bone. Had he seen the pumps as something
Cardassian, he would certainly have hated them as
well.
    But right from the start, he saw the lack of enthusi-
asm in the building of the things. The invaders had
fitted the pieces together methodically, as if they
themselves were nothing more than automatons.
There was no joy in the project for them.
    And even when they were finished, the Cardassians
seemed only to tolerate the machines as a necessary
evil. That, as much as anything else, made Pernon see
the pumps as something Bajoran. "Obahr? Is that you?"
    Pernon turned at the sound of the familiar female
voice. As he watched, his friend emerged from the
shadows of the room behind him.
    "Nerys," he said, glad for the opportunity to speak
her name. "What's it been? Almost a year?"
     "More like a year and a half," she told him,
approaching with her arms thrown wide.
 "You're kidding," he declared.
    "I'd never try to kid an old resistance fighter," she
assured him.
    As they embraced, he remembered a time when he
had hoped she would be more than a comrade. As it
happened, the opportunity to express that hope had
never materialized. And with their lives constantly on
the line, he came to value her friendship too much to
try to change it.
    Kira leaned back to look at him. "You're gaining
weight," she observed. "Being a city administrator
agrees with you, I see."
    "That's not it," he explained candidly. "I'm mak-
ing up for all the times we went hungry fighting the
Cardassians."
    Her smile faded. "I remember." Then she patted
him affectionately on the shoulder. "So what can I do
for you, Pernon Obahr? Or were you serious when you
asked me down here for a game of nobmoch?"
  "Don't I wish," he replied.
    That's when he told her about the pumps. And he
told her some other things as well, things he had
learned through the network of former resistance
fighters--a network made more useful since Shakaar
had come to power.
    While Pernon spoke, Kira nodded. And when he
was done, she nodded some more. Despite the cir-
cumstances, he couldn't help but remark inwardly on
her beauty. It wasn't easy to pull his thoughts back on
course.
"Do you think you can help?" he asked at last.
She looked at him. "I can try," she promised.
Pernon smiled with relief. When Kira Nerys said
she would try, the reward was as good as won. It was
good to know at least one old friend could still be
counted on.


CHAPTER
        1

JAKE SISKO LEANED over the rail of the Promenade's
upper level and peered into Quark's. By craning his
neck a little, he could see his father sitting at a table
with Lieutenant Dax.
    The elder Sisko was staring into his raktajino, an
iced-coffee type drink. Even from here, Jake could see
the crease in his father's brow. "Jake?"
    The boy turned to his companion, whose face
barely cleared the rail. But then, Ferengi were among
the smaller races that populated the station, and
Nog--being a mere teenager--was shorter than
most.
 "Mm?" Jake replied.
    "Why does your father look so depressed?" asked
Nog.
    The human sighed. "He's going to see some of his
old cronies again."
    The Ferengi looked at him. "And he's depressed
about that?" He grunted. "They must not have been
very good friends."
    Jake scrutinized his father. "Actually, they were
some of the best friends he's ever had. They served
with him on his last assignment, the Saratoga. A
couple of times, they even saved his life."
    Nog shook his head. "Then why isn't he glad to see
them?"
    The human shrugged. "It's difficult to explain. You
see, he'd have been happy to see any one of them, if he
met them at another starbase or something. But this is
an official occasion."
    The Ferengi seemed to ponder the information.
"Ah, an official occasion. I understand," he said with
assurance. "Of course I understand. I mean, who
wouldn't understand?"  He paused. "Jake?"
    The boy glanced at him. "I know. You haven't the
slightest idea of what I'm talking about."
    "That's right," the Ferengi complained, unable to
hide his exasperation. "What difference does it make
if it's official or not? Friends are friends, aren't they?"
    Jake shook his head. "Believe me," he said, "it
makes a difference. Dad will be using the Defiant to
take his old shipmates to the Utopia Planitia ship-
yards in orbit around Mars. That's where they'll
witness the commissioning of the new Saratoga."
    "The new Saratoga?" Nog echoed. He looked per-
plexed. "What happened to the old Saratoga?"
    The boy was suddenly beset by memories, which
not so long ago would have overwhelmed him. But he
was older now. He could take a deep breath and wish
them away.
    "The old one," he said, in slow, careful tones, "was
the ship where my morn was killed. You know, by the
Borg."
    He wasn't looking at his friend, but he could
imagine the embarrassment on the Ferengi's face.
    "Oh," declared Nog, in an artificially cheerful tone.
"Now I remember." He paused. "So that's why it's so
hard for your father to see these people together?
Because they remind him of your mother's death?"
  Jake nodded. "That's why," he answered.
    It wasn't going to be easy for him, either. But more
than himself, he was worried about his dad. As
commanding officer of Deep Space Nine, the man
seldom let on that he had feelings about anything.
    But Benjamin Sisko's feelings ran deep indeed. And
when it came to that terrible moment on the Sarato-
ga, they ran so deep Jake had never seen the bottom of
them.

    Sisko turned to Dax. At some point, he had allowed
their conversation to slip away from him.
 "Did you say something?" he asked her.
    The Trill regarded him with a mixture of compas-
sion and rebuke. "I said a lot of somethings, Benja-
min. At what point did you stop listening?"
    The captain peered into his raktajino and frowned.
"I'm sorry, Old Man. I just can't seem to concentrate
on anything lately."
    "Because all you can think about is the Saratoga,"
said Dax. "And seeing your fellow officers again."
    He looked up at her. "You know, I'd come to grips
with Jennifer's death. As far as I could tell, I'd
accepted it. I'd put it behind me."
    "Until you got that message from Starfleet," his
friend suggested, "ordering you to ferry a bunch of
Saratoga survivors to Mars."
    Sisko sighed. "The wounds have closed," he ex-
plained, "but that doesn't mean they won't open
again under the right circumstances."
    "So I take it you're not looking forward to the
ceremony at Utopia Planit/a," Dax concluded.
    He looked at her. "Not looking forward to it? I'd
rather be dipped in Klingon hot sauce."
    His companion shrugged. "Actually, I'm quite par-
tial to Klingon hot sauce. Being dipped in it doesn't
sound half-bad."
The captain frowned. "You know what I mean."
In her several previous lives as a joined Trill, Dax
had been ambassador and artist, male and female,
scientist and explorer. All that life experience had
endowed her not only with a playful sense of humor,
but with a keen and penetrating intelligence.
    "If that's the case," she remarked sympathetically,
"maybe you'd better not go to Utopia P!anitia."
 The captain straightened. "Not attend, you mean?"
 She nodded. "You know, decline the invitation--as
respectfully as possible, of course. Tell them things
are just too grim here at the station, what with the
Dominion knocking at the door and Bajor on the
perpetual brink of disaster." She grunted. "Actually,
it won't be that far from the truth."
  He shook his head. "But I can't decline."
  "Why not?" asked the Trill.
    Sisko held out his hands in an appeal for reason.
"I'm the old Saratoga's highest-ranking survivor. I've
got to go. I owe it to all those people who died--not to
mention those who lived."
  "That's a lousy reason," she pointed out.
    The captain disagreed. He was about to say so when
his companion forged on, her blue eyes suddenly alive
with purpose.
    "Don't do it for all those others," she told him,
jabbing a forefinger in his direction. "Do it for
yourself Benjamin."
  Sisko eyed her. "For myself?." he echoed.
    "That's right," said Dax, smiling. "Because you're
alive. Because you gave everything you had to that
proud old ship. And most of all, because deep down
inside, you really want to." She leaned forward.
"Maybe it'll be a little uncomfortable for you, at first.
I don't doubt that. But in the end, you'll have a good
time. I know you will."
    The captain couldn't help but smile back, albeit
with a certain wariness. That's how infectious his
friend's enthusiasm was.
    He eased back in his seat. "You know me that well,
do you?"
 Dax grunted. "Who knows you better?"
    Sisko regarded her for a moment, drawing confi-
dence from her. Finally, he accepted the situation.
"Done," he told her. "I just hope you're right about
this, Old Man."
    Her smile turned impish. "Benjamin," she said,
"when have I ever steered you wrong?"

    Quark smiled. Everyone in the place seemed to be
enjoying himself--or herself, as the case might be.
Even Captain Sisko, who'd seemed down in the
dumps until just a few moments ago.
    The Ferengi liked seeing people happy. When they
were happy, they ate and drank more. They spent
more money. And that made Quark happy.
    To top off his delight, the long-necked, scaly-
skinned Lu'ufan at the other end of the bar was
describing to yet another innocent bystander the size
of the merragat worm he'd snared for his sister's
wedding feast.
    Bending down, the Ferengi reached under his bar
for the naturally cultivated erriz pod that he kept
there. He'd only recently acquired a couple gross of
the pods, which were perfect for cleaning delicate
surfaces. Also, he'd gotten a great deal on them. And
as the Rules of Acquisition clearly stated: When you
see a good deal, jump on it.
    Of course, at this rate, Quark would go through his
whole supply of erriz pods before the week was out.
But he didn't mind.
 The reason for his tolerance manifested itself a
moment later--as the Lu'ufan made a particularly
expansive gesture and knocked over his drink. The
slushy yellow and brown contents of his Scintaavian
Sunset spilled out over the previously spotless surface
of the bar.
    Whirling, the Lu'ufan gasped at his clumsiness. But
before he could exhale, the Ferengi was on top of
things. With a few circular swipes of his erriz pod, he
sopped up the mess. Then, with a flourish, he righted
the Lu'ufan's tall, fluted glass.
    "Oh, my," he said, picking up the vessel, which was
now empty except for a viscous yellow sediment along
its insides. "It seems you've spilled your drink.
Again."
    The Lu'ufan sighed--a response which included a
pronounced, almost comical rise and fall of his very
angular shoulders. "It seems I have," he agreed.
"Spilled it, that is. Again."
  "And you'd like another?" Quark ventured.
  "Yes," said the Lu'ufan, "I would."
    The Ferengi wagged a finger at him. "Try to take
better care of this one, would you? The ingredi-
entsw"
    "I know," the Lu'ufan interrupted. "They come
from the planet Scintaavi--which no longer exists,
since it was destroyed by a rogue comet several years
ago."
    "Along with the rest of its star system," Quark
reminded him. "It's nothing less than sacrilege to
waste such rare and exotic constituents."
  The Lu'ufan nodded soberly. "And worse than that,
it is expensive." Taking another gold coin from his
pocket, he laid it down on the bar. "Please. I'll be
more careful this time. I promise."
    "Well," said the Ferengi, in his most compassionate
tone, "all right, then. I trust you." And with another
swipe of the erriz pod for good measure, he went to
mix his guest another drink.
    Erriz pods didn't grow on trees, it was true. But
considering what he was charging for his Scintaavian
Sunsets, he might soon be able to buy his own pod
farm.
  "Brother?" called a familiar voice.
    Quark turned and saw his sibling Rom advancing
on the bar. He was carrying something wrapped in
what looked like a bunch of rags. And he was
smiling--always a bad sign when it came to Rom.
  "What is it now?" asked Quark.
    "Look what I found in the storeroom," said his
brother. He held out the thing in his hands. "It was
behind a case ofadfittari wine. You know, the stuff we
claim is ten years older than it really--"
    Quark clamped his hand over his brother's mouth
and looked around. Fortunately, no one seemed to
have overheard Rom's indiscretion.
    "Listen," rasped Quark. "I don't care where you
found it. I don't even particularly care what it is. I just
want to know if you've found out what I asked you to
find out."
    Rom regarded him with a certain amount of befud-
dlement. "And what was that, Brother?"
 Quark cursed beneath his breath. How could he
and Rom have sprung from the same set of parents? It
defied belief.
    "I asked you to find out when the Saratoga survi-
vors were going to arrive. You know, so we could hold
some kind of event to honor them--an event that
would draw people into the bar. You do remember
that, don't you?"
    His brother thought for a moment. Then, as he
recalled Quark's instructions, he slapped his forehead
with the heel of his hand.
    "You're right, Brother. And I was going to find that
out for you, I swear I was--until I realized we were
out of those little menju nuts Morn is so fond off"
    Quark grunted. "Morn's tab is longer than he is tall.
You're forbidden to bring him any more nuts until he
pays his bar bill."
    Rom shook his head sheepishly. "All right, Brother.
I won't bring him any more menju nuts. But the point
I was making is that I had to go to the storeroom to
get them. And while I was rummaging around for a
fresh canisterm"
    He held up the thing in his hand. What's more, he
seemed proud of it.
 "--I discovered this."
    Quark sighed. "And what, pray tell, is that thing,
anyway?"
    Rom shrugged. "I don't know," he admitted. "I was
kind of hoping you would be able to tell me."
    With that, Rom began to peel away the rags. They
didn't come away easily, and when they did they
tended to fall apart. But eventually, he revealed
enough of their contents for Quark to get an idea of
what they were dealing with.
 And when he did, it took his breath away.
    The object was smoky blue and perfectly round,
except for a small hole in the top of it. For the most
part it looked smooth as glass, but there was a band of
coarser material running around its circumference.
    "By the Nagus," Quark breathed, reaching out for
the thing involuntarily. "Do you know what that is?"
    Rom rolled his eyes. "If I knew what it was, I
wouldn't have asked you, Brother."
 "It's a beverage container," Quark told him.
 Rom tilted his head. "A beverage container?"
    He took a step away from Quark, to view the object
in a better light. But as he moved, his foot snagged on
the base of one of the bar stoolsmand he stumbled,
sending the smoky blue beverage container tumbling
through the air.
    Quark couldn't let the thing breakmnot when it
was worth several times its weight in gold-pressed
latinum. Diving full length, he reached out for the
object in an attempt to catch it before it hit the
ground.
    He could feel his fingers grazing the beverage con-
tainer, closing about it, trying to cradle it...
    Then he hit the floor--hit it so hard, in fact, that
his teeth rattled with the impact and the breath was
knocked out of him.
  "Brother, are you all right?"
  As he lay on the floor, gasping for breath and
certain he'd broken some ribs, Quark found the
strength to look up at Rom. Fortunately for his
brother, Quark was in no position to throttle him, or
he might have found himself an only child.
    "Let me help you," Rom pleaded, grabbing Quark
under his arms and pulling him up--whether Quark
liked it or not.
    It was the worried tone of Rom's voice that ulti-
mately saved him from becoming a victim of fratri-
cide. After all, how could Quark kill the only being in
the universe who genuinely gave a spacer's damn
about him?
    "Leave me alone," he grated, still trying to catch his
breath. "I'm fine, no thanks to you."
    Slumping against the bar, he looked around and
saw that several of his customers were staring at him.
He smiled and waved a bit, to signify that he wasn't
going to die and thereby release them from their
obligations to him.
    Besides, it didn't matter what kind of embarrass-
ment he'd brought on himself--or to be more accu-
rate, Rom had brought on him. The important thing,
he reflected, as he looked down at his hands, was that
he'd rescued the beverage container.
    Setting the artifact down gently on the surface of
the bar, Quark regarded it with an appropriate rever-
ence. A moment later, he realized that his brother was
gazing at it over his shoulder.
    "I still don't understand," Rom told him. "If it's
only a beverage container--"
    "It's not just any beverage container," Quark in-
formed him. He was almost able to speak normally
now. "It's from Thetalian Prime."
His brother shook his head. "Thetalian Prime?"
"That's right," said Quark. "Thetalian Prime."
He lowered his voice, not wanting to tempt any
thieves who might be in earshot. After all, one never
knew.
    "And like everything else made from the clay of
that world," he went on, "it contains traces of corlan-
dium. In case you haven't heard, that's a mineral. A
rare and very valuable mineral."
    Rom's eyes narrowed. "I have heard of it. And it's
in that beverage container?" He leaned closer. "Are
you sure?"
    "Sure as I can be," Quark responded. "Of course,
this thing would be even more valuable if the organ-
isms that secreted the mineral were still alive. But
then, it's not a perfect galaxy, is it?"
    "Are you going to share the profits with me?" asked
his brother.
    "Most certainly not," Quark snapped. "By your
own admission, you found this in my storeroom. And
though I can't say exactly what container it fell out of,
it clearly belongs to me."
    Rom frowned. "Then you're right. It's not a perfect
galaxy."
    "I'd better lock this away," said Quark, pulling the
beverage container to his bosom. "For safekeeping."
    But he'd no sooner turned away from the bar than
he found himself staring at a Bajoran uniform. And
even before he looked up to see whose face went with
it, he could tell from the way it was filled out whom it
belonged to.
    "Major Kira," he chuckled--a bit nervously, he
thought. "To what do I owe the honor of this visit?"

    Kira smiled. It was obvious from Quark's expres-
sion that he was trying to figure out what he'd done
wrong.
    But for a change, he hadn't done anything. Or at
least, it wasn't any of the things he'd probably done
that had brought her here.
 "Please," she said. "The honor is all mine."
 "It is?" Quark replied, clearly surprised.
    "Of course," the Bajoran assured him. "I feel at
home here. But then, maybe that's because I feel so at
home with you."
    The Ferengi's smile faded. "You want something
from me," he realized.
    "Want something?" she repeated, as innocent as the
day she was born.
 "Come on," he told her. "Admit it."
    "What makes you say I want something?" Kira
inquired.
    Quark frowned. "You can't con a con man, Major.
You've been coming into my bar for years, and in all
that time you've never said anything even vaguely
nice to me. All of a sudden, you're treating me with
respect--even affection. And you're telling me you
don't want something?" He chuckled some more, this
time honestly amused. "So what is it?"
The Bajoran sighed. "All right," she conceded.
"Maybe I do have a bit of an ulterior motive."
    "Aha," said the Ferengi, poking a finger at her. "I
knew it."
    "But what I'm asking isn't for me," she amended
quickly. "It's for a place called Karvis. You may have
heard of it."
    Quark thought for a moment. "Karvis," he echoed.
"Southern continent, yes? A medium-size city? At the
mouth of the Teejan River, I believe?"
    "That's the one," she told him. "Unfortunately,
Karvis began flooding about thirty years ago--about
the same time the Cardassians began tampering with
the Teejan's tributaries. In order to preserve Karvis,
they had to install a series of heavy-duty water
pumps."
    The Ferengi nodded. "Fascinating stuff," he said
sarcastically. "But what's it got to do with me?"
    "I'm getting to that," Kira assured him. "You see,
the power coils that keep the pumps going are running
down. Karvisian officials say that the first of them will
go in a matter of weeks--maybe days. A couple of
months from now, the pumps will grind to a halt for
lack of power."
    "Too bad," Quark remarked. "But I still don't see
how--"
    "My friend is one of the administrators of Karvis,"
she interrupted. "He recently learned of a supply of
Cardassian power coils--just the kind his city needs.
But they're owned by a Retizian, who wants to charge
Karvis two arms and a leg for them."
Quark's eyes narrowed. "A Retizian, you say?"
The major nodded. "And not just any Retizian.
This particular one got into a tough spot once upon a
time, and needed the help of a Ferengi to get him out
of it. In fact, you might say the Ferengi saved his life."
  Quark's brow creased. "Fel Jangor," he muttered.
  "I see you remember him," Kira noted. "Then you
  must also remember how you talked that Cardassian
  guard out of killing him--right here on this very
  station, if I'm not mistaken."
    The Ferengi winced as he recalled the incident.
"The Cardassian thought Jangor had insulted him.
And of course, he had. But I hated to see such a clever
businessman get killed for something so meaning-
less."
    "A truly humanitarian gesture," the Bajoran re-
marked. "And one that could serve us all in good
stead."
     Quark looked at her. "You're asking me to take
advantage of Jangor's debt to me?" "I am," she said simply.
 The Ferengi balked. "It wouldn't be right, Major."
    "Since when does it disturb you to take advantage
of people?" she asked.
    "It's not that," Quark told her. "That kind of debt
has real value, you know. I was saving it for a really
big deal. How can I..." He searched for the right
word. "... fritter it away on a bunch of strangers?"
    "Strangers in desperate need of your help," Kira
reminded him.
 Quark shook his head. "I don't know," he said,
dearly on the fence about this. He grinned sugges-
tively at her. "Unless, of course, you're absolutely
determined to make it worth my while .... "
    She knew what he was getting at. "Oh," she replied,
"you'll get something for your troubles, all right."
      His eyes lit up. Unconsciously, the fingers of his
right hand rose to caress the lobe of his ear.  "I will?" he asked.
    Kira grinned back at him. "Absolutely. You'll get
an opportunity to continue doing business on Deep
Space Nine." She ran her forefinger down the outside
of his other ear. "Also, the undying admiration of this
station's first officer, for a job well done."
    The Ferengi sighed. "I have to admit, I'd hoped for
a better deal. Maybe one with a quicker return on
investment."
    "Don't push your luck," she advised him, with-
drawing her hand.
    Quark muttered something uncomplimentary be-
neath his breath. "All right," he agreed, albeit with
obvious reluctance. "I guess I have no choice in the
matter. Count me in."
    The major felt as ifa terrible weight had been lifted
from her shoulders. "That's good," she responded.
    She was about to thank the Ferengi when she
noticed something in his hands. It was round and
blue, with a small hole in the top of it.
    "By the way," Kira said, "what's that thing you're
holding?"
    The Ferengi looked down at it. He seemed sur-
prised.
    "Oh," he declared, turning away so that the thing
was concealed from her, "it's nothing, really. Just
some old family heirloom that Rom found in the
storeroom. I was going to polish it and send it to my
mother."
    The major had a feeling he was going to do nothing
of the sort. But, she mused, this wasn't a good time
for Quark to be discovered committing a crime. At
least, not until he was done helping Karvis.
    Kira just smiled. "Whatever you say," she told him.
Turning away, she left Quark's bar and its proprietor
behindwsecure in the knowledge that, one way or
another, her friend would get his power coils.


CHAPTER
        2

As CAPTAIN ISI~mAKi of the Federation Starship
Zapata wove his way through the vessel's lounge
toward his favorite table, he considered the quartet
seated there.
    The only familiar face was that of his first officer,
Mara Klein. She fairly beamed at the sight of him.
    Strange, the captain thought. Mara wasn't usually
so glad to see him. After all, they'd had their differ-
ences lately. If she wasn't such a damned good exec,
he might have been tempted to seek a transfer for her.
    The others at the table peered at Ishimaki with
muted curiosity--just about what he'd expected. It
was only natural for a visitor to hold himself in
reserve until he'd sized up his host. Obviously these
three were no exception in that regard.
 The first, he saw, was the Craynid--one of four in
the service of Starfleet, and the only female. There
was no mistaking her hunched, vaguely insectoid
posture, or her pale, almost translucent skin, or the
round black eyes set into her massive head.
    One of her companions was a Bolian, in the gold
uniform of operations. The other was human, dressed
in medical blue, with short brown hair that didn't
draw enough attention from the length of her face.
    "Well," said Ishimaki, as he stopped in front of his
guests, "we meet at last. I apologize for not having
been available to greet you personally as you arrived,
of course--but there were extenuating circum-
stances."
    Klein's smile actually broadened--something the
captain wouldn't have thought physically possible. If
he was mildly interested in her reaction before, now
he was downright intrigued.
    "It's all right, sir," his first officer told him. "I've
already explained about our unscheduled side trip to
Beta Jalonis, and how long you'd been without sleep."
    "Believe me," remarked the Bolian, "we've all
answered our share of colony distress calls. There's no
need to make excuses."
    Ishimaki inclined his head--a gesture of respect. "I
appreciate that, Lieutenant. Zar, isn't it?"
    The Bolian nodded congenially. "Tactical officer on
the Crazy Horse. At your service."
    Had Zar been human, the captain would have
extended his hand. But to a Bolian, he knew, the
gesture had no meaning.
  Instead, he turned to the Craynid. "And you must
 be Lieutenant Commander Graal," he concluded.
 "Chief engineer of the Charleston, I believe?"
     The Craynid nodded her cumbersome head. "Cor-
 rect," she rasped softly.
    Finally he regarded the last of the visitors. And this
time, he did extend his hand, since she was a fellow
human.
    For a moment, however, the woman failed to re-
spond to the gesture. She stared at his hand, inspect-
ing it as if it were some exotic variety of alien fauna.
Finally she grasped it with her own.
    Her touch was cold and a little clammy. But it was
also brief.
  "Dr. Laffer," Ishimaki noted.
  "Yes," she replied simply.
    Suddenly Klein got to her feet. "Sorry to leave so
abruptly," she said, taking in the visitors with a
glance, "but someone's got to be up on the bridge
while the captain makes you feel at home. See you."
    As she brushed past Ishimaki, he tried to divine the
reason for his first officer's sudden departure. Despite
her claim, there wasn't anything on the bridge that
required her immediate attention. If she'd wanted to,
she could have stayed a bit longer.
    So, clearly, she hadn't wanted to. The captain
wondered why.
    First the inexplicable smile, then the sudden desire
to be gone. One would think these people had been
torturing Klein with Klingon painstiks.
 Dr. Laffer leaned forward. "Captain?"
 "Yes?" he answered.
    "I hope you weren't thinking of calling me Miri-
am," she said. "Because I much prefer Dr. Laffer."
    Ishimaki regarded her, thinking she was joking at
first. Then, when he saw the way she looked back at
him, he wasn't so sure.
 "Dr. Laffer it is," he agreed, just in case.
    "Good," said the doctor, with apparent earnest-
ness.
    The Bolian's mouth crept up at the comers. The
captain got the distinct impression that he was trying
to keep from laughing.
    Ishimaki considered Laffer again, then Zar, then
the Craynid. He smiled. "Am I missing something
here?"
  "Missing?" echoed Graal.
 The captain nodded. "A joke, perhaps?"
  "I don't make jokes," the doctor noted.
    Ishimaki believed it. He was beginning to get an
inkling of why his first officer had been so eager to
leave.
    "So," he began, trying to jump-start the conversa-
tion, "I guess you're all excited about the chance to
christen the new Saratoga?"
  "Yes," the Craynid hissed.
    Of course, to the captain's mind, she didn't sound
very excited. Nor did she look very excited. For all he
knew, she was being sarcastic. It was difficult to tell on
the basis of a one-word answer.
    "Graal's not much of a conversationalist," Laffer
pointed out.
  Ishimaki believed that as well.
     "We are excited," Zar chimed in. "Not that it
 makes up for the loss of the original Saratoga, of
 course. Or the deaths of the brave and dedicated
 people we served with."
  "That is correct," the Craynid verified.
    "On the other hand," Zar continued undaunted,
"we worked hard to make the Saratoga the best ship
in the fleet. It's good to know all that hard work didn't
go unnoticed."
    "Rest assured," said Ishimaki, "we'll get you to
Deep Space Nine as quickly as possible. Then you
canto"
  "When do we eat?" interrupted Dr. Laffer.
  The captain looked at her. "Eat?"
"Yes," said the doctor. "Eat. Ingest. Consume."
There was no irony in her voicemat least none that
Ishimaki could detect. It was as if she honestly didn't
think he knew what the word meant.
    The captain had the feeling again that he was
missing something. It was either that, or Laffer was
the rudest human being he'd ever met.
  "We can eat any time you like," he responded.
  "How about now, then?" asked the doctor.
  "Now is fine," Ishimaki told her.
    Looking around, he spotted a waiter--a large, fair-
haired man named Soderholm. He gestured.
    A moment later, Soderholm was '~:anding beside
their table. "What can I get you?" the waiter inquired
cheerfully of Ishimaki and his companions.
    "Anything," Graal replied. "As long as it is Craynid
food."
 Soderholm glanced at the captain.
    "It's all right," Ishimaki told him. "I had McCall
program the replicator for several popular Craynid
dishes."
 "Any one will do," Graal whistled.
    Soderholm shrugged. "Whatever you say, sir." He
looked to Zar. "And what can I get for you, Lieu-
tenant?"
    "Anything that's not Craynid food," the Bolian
replied. He grimaced good-naturedly. "When you see
it, you'll understand."
    The captain could only imagine. "All right, then.
Lieutenant Zar and I will have the Actuman ginger
chicken," he instructed the waiter. "And don't skimp
on the seaweed." He turned to Laffer. "And you,
Doctor?"
    The woman waved her hand in front of her. "Noth-
ing for me," she said.
 Ishimaki regarded her. Laffer returned the scrutiny.
    "Nothing?" he repeated. "Excuse me, but didn't
you ask just a moment ago when we could eat?"
    The doctor thought for a moment. "Yes," she said
finally. "As a matter of fact, I believe I did."
    The captain glanced at the waiter, who seemed
somewhat perplexed now as well. Then he turned
back to Laffer. "But now you're saying you don't want
anything," he pressed.
    "I don't," she explained. "I'm not hungry. I had
something in my quarters just a little while ago."
    He shook his head helplessly. "Then why did you
ask about eating?" he inquired.
     Laffer shrugged. "I don't know. Curiosity, I sup-
 pose."
     "The doctor isn't all that enamored of dining in
 public," Zar interjected. "It's one of her quirks." He
 leaned forward and winked at Ishimaki. "One of her
 many quirks."
    "I do not have quirks," Laffer insisted. "I have
unique behavior patterns. And exemplary ones, at
that."
    "You are incorrect," stated the Craynid. "You have
quirks."
The doctor's eyes narrowed. "Stuf it, Graal."
Soderholm grunted. "I think I'll get your orders
now, Captain." With that, he whirled and made his
escape--much as Ishimaki would have liked to.
    Zar sighed and looked apologetically at the captain.
"It was only a matter of time," he observed. "Usually,
they go at it in the first thirty seconds."
    Ishimaki steeled himself. From all appearances, it
was going to be a very interesting evening.
    Mara Klein would pay for this, he resolved. Oh,
how she would pay.

    First Officer Zina Forrest of the Starship Agamem-
non was not an impulsive woman. She was not given
to indiscretions of any kind, major or minor.
    But as she and her companion turned the corner of
a corridor and headed for the Agamemnon's primary
transporter room, Forrest was on the verge of com-
mitting the indiscretion to end all indiscretions.
    The doors to the transporter room were just up
ahead, not more than ten meters away. She would
reach them in a matter of seconds.
    Turning to the man beside her, whose blue and
black uniform marked him as a Starfleet science
officer, she studied his features for a moment. The
large, soulful eyes, set beneath mysterious dark brows.
The clean, well-defined jawline~ The tousled black
hair and the expressive lips.
    In one moment, the man seemed the epitome of
boyish innocence--full of mischief and a thirst for
exploration. In the next, he appeared to know all that
could possibly be worth knowing.
    Suddenly, Forrest grabbed her companion by the
shoulder, spun him around, and pinned him hard
against the bulkhead. Then she kissed him full on the
mouth, as passionately as she'd ever kissed anyone.
    He didn't protest, either. He returned the kiss. And
when she released him, a few moments later, she saw
that his eyes were smiling at her.
    She smiled too. "I'm going to miss you, Esteban
Lopez."
    His expression turned rueful. "I'11 miss you too,"
Lopez assured her. "But the LaSalle frequents many
of the same space routes as the Agamemnon. With
any luck, we'll see each other again sometime soon."
    "And if not," she said, "there are always shore
leaves."
    "Yes," he replied, running his fingers through her
honey-colored hair. "There are always those."
     He glanced about, as if he'd just remembered the
 circumstances. Fortunately, there was no one else in
 the corridor.
     "We should continue to the transporter room," he
 advised gently, though there was a reluctance in his
 voice. "If anyone should see us like this..."
     He was right, of course. Releasing him, Forrest
 stepped back and straightened the front of her tunic.
 Her lover did the same.
     Then, as if nothing had taken place between them,
 either just then or over the last few days, they negoti-
 ated the remainder of the corridor and walked
 through the transporter room doors.
    Tanya Federovna, the petite, pale-blonde ensign on
duty, was attending to some last-minute adjustments
at her control console. She barely looked up as the
first officer joined her, or as their visitor crossed the
breadth of the room on his way to the transporter
platform.
    Forrest's heart skipped a beat as she watched Lopez
step up onto the platform and turn to look at her.
Then he dutifully lifted his sculpted chin and looked
away.
  "Ready to transport," said Federovna.
    "Energize," the first officer commanded, still hun-
grily taking in the sight of her paramour.
    A moment later, Lopez was claimed by the trans-
porter effect. And a moment after that, he was gone.
Forrest sighed.
 "You know," she said out loud, her judgment still
impaired by the man's spell, "men like him aren't
easy to find."
    "No," agreed Federovna, with equal fervor.
"They're--"
    Abruptly they looked at each other. The ensign
looked surprised--shocked, even. Before Forrest's
eyes, she turned a ripe shade of crimson.
    "My god," said the first officer, doing her best to
adjust to the situation. "Not you, too?"
    A little sheepishly, Federovna nodded. "But I
thought I was the only one." She winced. "How
long... ?"
 "Long enough," Forrest remarked.
    She looked to the empty transporter platform, not
quite sure how to feel about this. For a moment, she
leaned toward anger. Then bitterness. But in the end,
a smile came to her face.
    "That bastard," she said admiringly. "That hand-
some, charming, silver-tongued bastard."
    And she wondered if Lopez had made any other
conquests while he was at it.

    As Esteban Lopez materialized in the primary
transporter room of the Endeavor, he mentally added
the Agamemnon to the list of starships on which he
was no longer welcome.
    Too bad, he thought. All three of his romances there
were quite stimulating, each in her own way.
    Fortunately for him, there were plenty of other
ships in the fleet, and plenty of attractive women who
 hadn't heard of him yet. And one of them, he noted
 happily, was standing behind the transporter console.
     He was just about to make the woman's acquain-
 tance when the doors to the room slid open. A bear of
 a man swaggered in, his small blue eyes blazing over
 his ample, golden brown beard.
     What's more, Lopez knew this man. His name was
 Aidan Thom, and he had once been the chief of
 security on the Starship Saratoga. Beyond that, he
had been the science officer's closest friend.
  "Esteban!" cried Thom.
    Lopez came down off the platform and extended
his hand. The security officer nearly tore it off at the
wrist in his exuberance.
    "Yeow!" cried Lopez, clutching his forearTM with
his left hand. "Take it easy, damn you!"
    "Fat chance of that!" roared the big man, wrapping
Lopez in a bear hug that made the science officer's
ribs ache. He couldn't even shout for mercy. He could
only bear the pain until it was over.
    Finally his tormentor set him free. Gasping for air,
Lopez held his hand out, palm out for peace.
    "No more," he breathed. "I may've survived the
Borg, Thom, but you'll be the death of me yet."
    The big man grinned and brushed imaginary dust
from his mustard and black tunic. "Come on," he
gibed. "I took it easy on you. If I'd really wanted to
hurt you, you'd be on your way to sickbay about
now."
    Lopez smiled. "How have you been, you old devil?
How are things on the Gorkon?"
    Thorn, who was in truth just a year older than
Lopez himself, shrugged his big shoulders. "They're
secure," he said, "which is how we security chiefs like
it."
    Over Thorn's shoulder, the science officer saw the
transporter room doors slide apart again. He couldn't
help but notice the form they admittedma female
one, and rather comely at that.
    Dark skin, dark eyes, even darker hair. Her lips
were full and inviting, her build lithe and athletic-
looking. Yes, thought Lopez, very comely indeed.
    Thorn turned to look in the same direction--and
made a beckoning motion with his arm. "Come on,
Counselormdon't be shy. This is the man I was
telling you aboutrathe one you and all the other
ladies have got to watch out for, if you know what's
good for you."
    Lopez cursed inwardly. Leave it to his old friend
Thorn to spoil his prospects. Not that it made things
impossible for him, of course. Just a lot more difficult.
    "I'm Esteban Lopez," he said cordially, inclining
his head as he came forward to meet the counselor.
"And you are... ?"
    "Constance Barnes," the woman replied. "I work
here." Her tone was detached, professional. And her
expression only served to reinforce the impression.
"Welcome to the Endeavor, Lieutenant Lopez."
    The science officer smiled. "It's a pleasure to meet
you, Counselor Barnes."
The woman's attitude changed a bit, then, though
 Lopez couldn't have said exactly how. She cleared her
 throat.
     "Obviously," she said, "you don't remember me,
 Mr. Lopez."
     The science officer was caught off balance. He
 peered more closely at Barnes, hoping like crazy this
 wasn't one of his former liaisons come back to haunt
 him.
     But try as he might, he didn't recognize her. Finally
 he cast a look at Thom, who just grunted.
    "I served with you on the Saratoga, "the counselor
revealed at last. "Of course, I was only a trainee back
then, and I'd only just arrived when the ship was
deployed to Wolf Three-five-nine and our encounter
with the Borg. You and I never had a chance to be
formally introduced."
    Lopez thought for a moment. "Yes," he said at last.
"I do remember you now." It was a lie, of course.
    Barnes shook her head. "No, you don't. I can tell.
I'm a counselor, remember?"
    For once, the science officer was speechless. Thorn
seemed to find amusement in the fact.
    "There's no need to massage my feelings," the
woman pointed out. "I take no offense at not being
remembered. And if it's any consolation, Mr. Thorn
had no recollection of me, either."
"True," the security chief confirmed.
"Nonetheless," said Lopez, "I regret the fact. And I
would like to make it up to you, somehow. Perhaps,
with dinner?"
    Barnes cracked a smile, at last. "Dinner?" she
echoed.
    He nodded. "We've got a while before we reach
Deep Space Nine. Being old comrades, we might as
well get to know each other."
    "I don't think I'll have time for that," the counselor
told him. "After all, I'm not a guest like you and Mr.
Thom here. I'm a member of the crew. And I've got a
lot of work to finish before I can attend the Utopia
Planitia ceremony in good conscience."
"But surely, you have to eat," Lopez entreated.
"Yes," Barnes agreed. "Unfortunately, it'll have to
be at my desk." She paused. "Again, welcome to the
Endeavor, Lieutenant. Mr. Thorn can show you to
your quarters."
    And with that, she turned and left the two men
standing there, along with the transporter operator.
Lopez turned to the young woman--a slender bru-
nette with skin like alabaster.
    "It appears I'll be free for dinner," he said. "I don't
suppose you know where I can find someone to take
the counselor's place."
    The transporter operator regarded him sternly.
"I'm on duty," she told him. Suddenly, her eyes
crinkled playfully at the comers. "But I'm sure I'll be
hungry when I get off."
    Lopez grinned. "Excellent. I'll meet you here at the
end of your shift. Deal?"
  The woman nodded. "Deal," she agreed.
  Good, thought Lopez, as he followed his friend
Thorn out of the transporter room. He wasn't sure he
could have taken two rejections in the space of a
single minute.
    "You haven't changed a bit," the security chief
noted, his eyes narrowed with obvious amusement.
    "Nor have you," the science officer jabbed back.
"Still trying to sink my ship before I get it afloat."
    Thorn clapped him on the shoulder with a large,
heavy paw. "Relax, Esteban. You would've struck out
with Counselor Barnes no matter what."
  "What makes you say that?" asked Lopez.
    The bearded man shrugged. "I've been on the
Endeavor for two days now, and I wasn't able to get so
much as a smile out of the woman." He shook his
head. "Not exactly the kind of personality one would
expect from a ship's counselor, now is it?"
    Lopez chuckled. "No," he agreed. "Come to think
of it, it isn't."

CHAPTER
        3

CAPTAIN NIKOLAS KYPRIOS shaded his eyes and
scanned the mighty copper-colored disk of a sun. It
was nowhere near its zenith yet, but it still dominated
the purplish blue heavens of Danula II, and baked
his leathery brown skin in a way the Greek sun never
had.
    Beneath that torturous sun and sky, the landscape
was a flat, parched plain in every direction except
south. As one gazed in the direction of the planet's
distant equator, one saw the tawny, humpbacked hills
that had broken many a runner's spirit.
    But then, the Academy wouldn't have held their
annual marathon here if the setting were too idyllic.
The idea was to separate out the cadets with real grit,
with real couragemnot to pass a pleasant afternoon.
Of course, it had been thirty years since Kyprios
 had run the real Academy marathon. This was just a
 holodeck re-creation, in which he took part once a
 month to keep himself sharp.
     Planting his hands on the ground, Kyprios ex-
 tended his right leg behind him and stretched out his
 calf muscle. Then he did the same with his left leg.
 Rising again and spreading his legs out, he reached for
 the dry, cracked ground with his palms, feeling his
 hamstrings strain in the process.
     Only when he felt he was good and loose did he add
 the final ingredient, reluctantly yielding up his soli-
 tude. "Computer," he said, "add cadets."
    A moment later, he found himself surrounded by
young men and women of various races and planetary
origins. Naturally there was no need for them to
warm up. They were composed of magnetic fields, not
real muscles.
    The first few times he'd run this program, he'd
raced through the hills all by himself. But after a
while, he'd found the exercise lacking in stimulation.
Kyprios had craved company--competition. Hence,
the addition of the other runners into the mix.
    The starting line was a shallow furrow cut into the
ground. As one, the runners gravitated to it, Kyprios
himself among them.
    An Academy proctor he'd known--a small, muscu-
lar man named Tarleggia, who'd taught him quantum
mechanics--approached the assembled competitors.
Raising his hand, he alerted them to the imminence
of the start.
 The runners tensed, their eyes narrowed with put-
pose, their muscles taut with anticipation. Kyprios
watched Tarleggia, eager to take off at precisely the
moment his old instructor dropped his hand.
    But before that could happen, a portion of the
horizon disappeared in the shape of the holodeck
entryway, and another flesh-and-blood person en-
tered the program. The captain straightened.
 "Freeze program," he commanded.
    Immediately the other cadets froze in place, their
bodies leaning, their eyes fixed on what they imagined
to be the distant finish line.
    Kyprios eyed the interloper. "I was wondering what
had happened to you," he said.
    Counselor Barnes frowned. "Sorry, sir. I had to file
a few reports, and I lost track of the time."
    The captain smiled forgivingly. "You've been doing
that a lot lately, Constance. In fact, ever since this
Utopia Planitia thing came up. Now, you could tell
me that's a coincidence, of coursewbut I'd have a
hard time believing it."
    Barnes looked away, as if she'd suddenly developed
an interest in the other runners. She sighed. "No," she
said finally, in a low voice. "It's not a coincidence."
     Kyprios eyed her. "That's why I asked you to meet
 me here, Constance. I'm concerned about how you're
 taking all this--the arrivals of your fellow officers, the
 prospect of seeing even more of them. Of revisiting an
 understandably traumatic time of your life." He
 paused. "We've never spoken much about what hap-
 pened on the Saratoga."
    "That's true," the woman admitted, still intent on
the other runners. "We haven't."
  "Would you like to talk about it now?" he asked.
    The counselor turned to him, her dark eyes full of
pain for a moment. Then the pain seemed to subside.
    "The Saratoga was a bad experience," she said.
"As bad as you may have imagined, and then some.
All those people dying, and nothing--there was noth-
ing I could do about it. I'd made it my life's work to
help people, to ease their pain. But in a situation like
that..."
    "I know," the captain told her. "A counselor is of
little or no use in those circumstances. Sparks flying,
bulkheads exploding, alarms going off all over the
place. It's all you can do to keep your wits about you."
    Barnes sighed again. "You think you're prepared
for it. At least, that's what they tell you they're doing
at the Academy--preparing you for it. But you can't
ever be ready for something like that."
    Kyprios didn't want his ship's counselor to have to
relive that kind of pain. He said as much.
    "They'd miss you at Utopia Planitia," he told her.
"But the hell with them. I'll cover for you."
    Barnes shook her head. "No," she said. "I'm fine.
In fact, in a funny way, I'm looking forward to it. If
nothing else, it'll give me a sense of..." She
shrugged. "Of closure, I guess."
    The captain nodded. "If that's how you honestly
feel about it, all right. But remember, you can always
change your mind."
 "Thank you," she told him, smiling just a little.
"But I don't think I'll need to do that. And in the
meantime, I promise I'll try to lighten up a little."
    Kyprios smiled. "You do that. Dismissed, Coun-
selor."
    Barnes retreated from the holodeck. The captain
watched her go. And he didn't stop thinking about her
until long after the irregularly shaped doors had
interlocked behind her.

    Sisko was just sitting down behind his desk when
Dax's melodious yet efficient voice filled his office.
"Benjamin, the Zapata has arrived. Captain Ishimaki
is hailing us."
    The captain turned to his Cardassian monitor, a
vestige of the station's former occupants. "Open a
channel, Lieutenant. And clear a space for the Zapata
on the docking ring."
 "Aye, sir," came the accommodating reply.
    A moment later, Ishimaki's image appeared on the
monitor. The face looked familiar, though Sisko had
no idea where they might have met. He'd encountered
so many officers in the course of his career, they'd all
begun to blur a long time ago.
    "Captain Sisko," said Ishimaki. "A pleasure to see
you again."
    The man really seemed to mean it. What's more,
Sisko had a fair idea why that might be.
    "Likewise," he answered. "As I understand it,
you've been kind enough to bring some of my old
comrades with you."
 "I've got them, all right," said Ishimaki, stoically
avoiding the issue of just how kind he'd been. "But, as
much as I've enjoyed their company, I'm going to
have to turn them over to you."
    Sisko noted a sense of relief on the man's partma
relief he well understood, having served with Laffer
and Graal for a number of years. Still, he couldn't
resist pushing a few of Ishimaki's buttons.
    "Actually," he said, "we're having a bit of trouble
with some of the airlocks on our docking ring. You
may have to hang on to those old comrades of mine
for another day or so until we get things worked out."
    Ishimaki's eyes opened wide. With fear, Sisko
thought. Somehow, he managed to keep a straight
face.
    "I know it's not your custom to beam people back
and forth," said the captain of the Zapata, "but we'll
have to make this an exception. After all, we've got
pressing business... urn, somewhere else."
    Sisko smiled. "I'm sure you do, Captain. In that
case, Lieutenant Dax will be glad to give you the
coordinates of---"
    "She needn't bother," Ishimaki assured him. "My
transporter operator's identified an appropriate space
for their arrival."
    "I see," said Sisko. He leaned forward. "In that
case, thanks for your help, Captain."
    "Think nothing of it," Ishimaki answered. He was
gone almost as soon as the last word was out of his
mouth.
 Turning to Ops, which was visible through his office
doors, Sisko noted the materialization of three figures
to one side of Dax. Getting up, he circumnavigated
his desk and walked outside.
    There was some confusion among his station off~-
cers as to how and why the newcomers had shown up
the way they did. However, thought Sisko, he'd take
care of that in a moment. "Zar!" he called out.
    The Bolian turned to look at him. A grin spread
over his face.
 "Commander," he said warmly.
    "Captain," Sisko corrected. With pure affection, he
reached out and grasped Zar by the shoulder. "Good
to have you aboard, Lieutenant."
The Bolian inclined his head. "Thank you, sir."
Sisko turned to the doctor. "Welcome to Deep
Space Nine, Dr. Laffer. And don't worry--I have no
intention of addressing you as Miriam, even if we
have known each other for several years now."
    Laffer nodded. "Good," she said. "I'm glad to hear
that."
    Finally, the captain addressed the Craynid. "Lieu-
tenant Commander Graal. It's an honor to have you
here."
    As always, he treated the engineer with great defer-
ence. After all, she might have been his subordinate
on the Saratoga, but she was a very high-ranking
individual in her homeworld culture.
    Graal looked at him askance. "Facial hair," she
observed, "and you've shaved your head."
  Sisko nodded. "Yes. You like it?"
    The Craynid shrugged. "It is only hair," she re-
marked.
    The captain smiled. He had missed Graal's unique
perspective.
"Let me introduce you to my senior staff," he said.
With a gesture, Sisko indicated the people on whom
he depended most these days. In accordance with his
orders, they were all present on the bridge, assembled
around Dax's station.
    "This is Major Kira Nerys, my first officer. Major,
Lieutenant Zar, Commander Graal, and Dr. Laffer
ú.. all old friends and colleagues from my days on the
Saratoga."
  Kira nodded. "A pleasure," she noted.
  "And Lieutenant Daxw"
    "The Trill," commented Laffer, her voice fiat and
inflectionless.
    "Yes," replied Dax, sweetly enough. "I remember
you, too, Doctor."
    Unfortunately, their interactions hadn't always
been congenial. Curzon Dax, her previous host, had
time and again rubbed Laffer the wrong way. But
then, Curzon had been a fun-loving sort, and the
doctor was anything but.
    "As you can see," the captain pointed out, "Lieu-
tenant Dax--Jadzia to her friends--shares only some
of Curzon's personality traits."
    "That's good," remarked Zar. "Because I could
never beat Curzon Dax at dom-jot. Maybe I'll have
more luck with Jadzia."
The Trill shrugged. "You're welcome to try," she
chuckled.
    Clearing his throat, Sisko continued with his intro-
ductions. "Dr. Bashir, our chief medical officer."
    Bashir smiled his most charming smile. "I've been
looking forward to meeting you," he told their guests.
"The captain has told us a great deal about you."
    Not quite true, Sisko mused. But it was the polite
thing to say. And Bashir seldom missed an opportuni-
ty to be politeú
    "And last," the captain said, "but certainly not
least, our hardworking chief of operations--Miles
O'Brien."
    O'Brien, who had a tool in each hand, just
shrugged. "Sorry about that," he apologized, "but I
was working on some Cardassian circuitry. I dream of
the day when we've replaced it all with good, old
Federation equipment."
    Zar turned to Sisko. "What about your chief of
security? The shapeshifter I've heard so much
about?"
    The captain grunted. "You'll meet Constable Odo
in due time, Lieutenant. He would have been here as
well, except he had some... how did he put it? Some
official business to take care of."

     Odo leaned over the bar, until his nose was almost
touching Quark's. The Ferengi swallowed--hard.
  "What did I do now?" protested Quark.
    "Now," said the changeling, in a reasonable tone,
"you've made communications contact with an indi-
vidual known as Fel Jangor. A Retizian, whose deal-
ings outside the law are almost as well known as your
own."
    Odo leaned back and pretended to admire his
reflection in the polished surface of the bar. While the
reflection itself was nearly perfect, the object it re-
flected was eminently flawed.
    Despite all his skills at shapeshifting, he had never
entirely mastered the humanoid form. As a result, his
features looked rough, as if his maker hadn't quite
finished with him.
    Odo looked up again at the Ferengi. "Of course, you
could deny it all. Then I would have to drag you back
to my office, where I would show you proof of your
communications. Or you could save us both some
time and trouble and simply sever your dealings with
Fel Jangor."
  Quark sighed. "I can't," he said.
"Can't?" echoed the changeling. "And why not?"
The Ferengi looked more uncomfortable than Odo
had seen him in a long time. "I can't tell you out
here," he replied. He tilted his head in the direction of
a shadowy corner table. "Grab me and pull me over
there."
    The shapeshifter looked at him. "You want me to
grab you?" he asked.
    "Yes," Quark whispered. "Come on. You want to
know what's going on, don't you?"
    Indeed, Odo did wish to know what was going on.
Grasping the Ferengi by his upper arm, he guided him
past the end of the bar and over to the table he'd
indicated. Then he thrust Quark into a chair and
pulled another one out for himself.
    "All right," the constable went on, in a vaguely
threatening tone, "here we are. What is it you were
going to tell me?"
    The Ferengi cast a few surreptitious glances about,
to make sure they wouldn't be overheard. Then he
leaned closer to Odo.
    "I didn't want my altruism to become public
knowledge," he explained. "It'd be bad for business.
But, you see, I'm only speaking with Fel Jangor on
behalf of Major Kira."
    The shapeshifter looked at him. "You expect me to
believe that?"
    "It's true," Quark insisted. "The major asked me to
obtain some power coils Jangor has in his possession.
There's a village on Bajor in dire need of them. A
place called Karvis."
    "Why can't the village obtain the power coils
itself?." Odo inquired. "Why do they need you?"
    "Because the village can't afford them," the Ferengi
explained.
 "But you can," the constable concluded.
    "That's right. You see, I did Jangor a favor some
time ago. Kira believes I can trade on that favor to get
the power coils cheaper."
    Odo peered at Quark through narrowed eyes. "And
can you?"
    The Ferengi shrugged. "All I can do is try." He held
his hands out. "So? Do you believe me now?"
 The changeling didn't say anything. He was still
thinking about it, still searching Quark's features for a
sign of dissembling.
    "I'm as innocent as a newborn babe," the Ferengi
advised. "Check with Kira if you don't believe me."
      Odo frowned. "That won't be necessary," he said.
"Clearly, you're telling the truth for a change."
  "Good," replied Quark.
    He got up to go, but the constable stopped him. The
Ferengi looked exasperated.
    "What?" he asked. "I thought we agreed that I was
legitimate this time."
    Odo shook his head from side to side. "Not at all.
While I sympathize with the Bajorans' problems, I
still can't let Fel Jangor dock his vessel at Deep Space
Nine--or I'd be forced to seize it in accordance with
the several warrants out for his arrest."
    "Don't worry," Quark told him. "We weren't plan-
ning to conduct our business on the station, anyway.
After all, you're not the only one who knows about
those warrants." He smiled in appreciation of his own
talents. "We've agreed to meet on a world in the next
star system. That way, we can both be sure of avoiding
interference as we pursue a transaction."
    The changeling made a sound of disgust. "I don't
need to know all the details," he declared. "Just that
you'll be out of my jurisdiction."
 "Which we will be," the Ferengi maintained.
 "Which you'd better be," Odo remarked.
    With a last withering glance, he got up and left
Quark to his dealings. Despite the Ferengi's claims to
the contrary, he had a nagging feeling he would live to
regret all this.

    With an effort, Miles O'Brien managed to dislodge
the heavy bulkhead plate that covered the Cardassian
power waveguide outlet. Casting a glance back over
his shoulder, he smiled as best he could.
    "If you don't mind, ma'am, I need you to step back.
This plate is heavy, and I've got to put it down
somewhere."
    Lieutenant Commander Graal just looked at him
for a moment, her dark eyes glistening in the rounded
terrain of her alien skull. Finally, as if his request had
taken a while to register, she moved back a couple of
steps.
    With a pronounced grunt, O'Brien lowered the
bulkhead plate to the deck, careful not to lose his grip
on it. Once before, shortly after he'd arrived on the
station, he'd allowed a similar monstrosity to slip out
of his hands.
    It hadn't damaged the deck much, but he'd crushed
a few toes. The pain had been excruciating. So if it
took a little caution to avoid a repeat performance,
that was the way it would have to be. He'd be as
careful as a Cardassian with a tushpah egg.
    "Well," he said, "there it is, Commander."
Straightening, he indicated the exposed mechanism.
"A Cardassian power waveguide outlet, in all its
arcane glory--just as you requested."
 Actually it had been Sisko's idea for O'Brien to
show the Craynid around the station, and to expose
her to some Cardassian technology. But Graal hadn't
objected when the offer was made.
    "Of course," the human continued, "you'll notice
the inefficiencies. And also, how damnably incompat-
ible it is with Federation technology."
    The Craynid inched forward again. Her eyes nar-
rowed as she took in the sight. After a couple of
minutes, she nodded.
    "Yes," she hissed thoughtfully. "Inefficient and
incompatible. But you say you incorporated it
anyway?"
    "That's right," O'Brien confirmed. "It wasn't easy,
I don't mind telling you. But I found a way to modify
our circuitry so that it accommodated Cardassian
output. It was the only way I could convert the station
without shutting it down and starting from scratch."
    "I see," said Graal, still studying the waveguide
outlet.
    "Now, of course," the human went on, "we've got
precious few of these things left. Almost every one of
them has been replaced with an EPS conduit. But it
took me a good few years to get to this point."
    The Craynid turned to him. "With eighty-nine
percent of rated power," she observed.
    O'Brien frowned. "Eighty-eight percent, actually.
But that was pretty good, I'd say, considering what I
had to work with."
    Graal shrugged. "You could have achieved ninety-
two percent--perhaps as high as ninety-four."
The human looked at her. "Oh? And how's that?"
    "By employing solid-state energy transfers," the
Craynid explained.
    O'Brien wasn't sure he'd heard her right. "Solid-
state energy transfers haven't been used in almost
forty years, Commander."
    "True," Graal breathed. "But they are still stored in
Starfleet distribution centers. And you would have
found them to be much more compatible with a
Cardassian power source."
    The human thought about it for a moment. And the
more he thought, the more he had to concede it
wouldn't have been a bad idea.
 Too bad he hadn't thought of it at the time.
    The Craynid glanced at him. "I have seen all I wish
to see. You may replace the bulkhead plate now."
    O'Brien managed a semblance of a smile. "Of
course," he replied. "Whatever you say, Com-
mander."
    Apparently, his sarcasm was lost on Graal. She
didn't move a muscle as he bent down and hefted the
bulkhead plate, or as he wrestled it back into place. Or
as he grunted and cursed at the resulting twinge in his
lower back.
    It was only after he was finished, and was wiping
the sweat from his brow, that she spoke again. "I
would like to see a Cardassian transporter mechanism
next," she told him.
    The human shook his head. "We don't have those
anymore. At least, not in working order."
    "Then," the Craynid told him, "I would like to see
one that is not in working order."
    O'Brien looked at her and sighed. "Fine. It's in one
of the cargo bays. Of course, I'll have to lug a few
things around to get to it--assuming you don't mind
that."
    Graal regarded him. "No," she answered, seem-
ingly oblivious to his implied protest. "I do not
mind."
    He bit his lip. "Very well, then," he told her, leading
the way down the corridor. "This way, Commander."
    The Craynid followed with that strange shuffling
step of hers. Apparently she was warming to his little
tour.
    The captain would be pleased, O'Brien thought
with a grimace. The only question now was which
would give out first--Graal's curiosity or the chiefs
aching back.

CHAPTER
        4

"As YOU CAN see," said Bashir, indicating the entire
infirmary with a sweep of his arm, "we're not exactly
embracing the state of the art out here. However, we
manage somehow to get the job done."
    Dr. Laffer nodded as she inspected the place, look-
ing for all the world as if she were examining a patient
with only a few days left to live. Abruptly the woman
turned to him.
    "You treated a Menas Baari here," she noted.
"Didn't you?" She made it sound a bit too much like
an accusation.
    Bashir was certain she hadn't meant it that way.
Well, he thought, relatively certain.
    Of course, the Menas Baari were the scourge of the
sector--amoral beings who made the Cardassians
look benevolent. If they hadn't badly diminished
their numbers with their incessant infighting, they
might have been a bigger threat than the Dominion.
    He shrugged. "Yes, I did treat a Menas Baari. And
several thousand other patients, including a sprin-
kling of Ferengi, Cardassians, Klingons, In'taq, Pan-
drilites, Silesi, and even a Jem'Hadar--not to
mention more Bajorans than you can shake a festival
stick at."
    Laffer frowned slightly. "It's the Menas Baari I'm
interested in specifically. As I understand it, the
patient was afflicted with Goryyn's syndrome. Pallid
skin with raised green blotches, excess perspiration,
soreness in the joints?"
    Bashir smiled, though it didn't come easily. "I'm
familiar with the symptoms," he told her. "And yes, I
diagnosed the patient with Goryyn's. Fortunately, it
wasn't the virulent kind."
    "You had no trouble containing it, then?" she
inquired.
    Bashir found it a little harder to maintain his smile.
"We do have force fields here, Doctor. It really wasn't
very difficult."
  "And your cure?" she prodded.
    He chuckled. This was all textbook stuff. "A steady
diet of thoridium sulfide," he told her.
    "Thoridium sulfide?" echoed I_,after. She looked
away from him and shook her head. "Then you
haven't seen Dr. Secori's monograph on Goryyn's?"
    "Secori?" He shook his head. "I'm not familiar
with the fellow."
 His guest grunted in a vaguely derisive way. "Ainad
Secori of Muuldax Prime. He's on the cutting edge of
immunology in the inner systems. I've met with him
several times myself."
    Bashir experienced a flare of resentment. Or was it
a sudden sense of inferiority?
    "And you're saying he's developed an alternative to
thoridium sulfide?" he asked.
    "That's correct," Laffer confirmed. "A substance
called benarrh, derived from the stamen of the
Muuldaxan kras'suda blossom. It has a ninety-eight-
percent cure rate when introduced in the first two
days."
    That was six percent higher than anyone had
achieved in the past. Bashir couldn't help but be
impressed. But even more than that, he was annoyed.
    How was it this Secori had come so far in this area
and he'd never gotten wind of it? Was he really that
isolated out here on Deep Space Nine? Or was his
guest perhaps making more of the Muuldaxan's work
than she ought to be?
 "I'll have to look into it," he promised.
    Laffer didn't respond to his comment. Instead she
continued to scrutinize the infirmaryrepaying partic-
ular attention to his scalpel set, which was housed in a
transparent plastic case.
    "That was a gift," Bashir pointed out. "From my
aunt Gauri and uncle Nigel. I received them when I
graduated medical school."  "I see," said Laffer.
    She didn't say the scalpels were antiquated. She
didn't say they were ineffective. But there was some-
thing in her voice that implied those things nonethe-
less.
  "They're really quite adequate," he added.
  "I'm sure they are," Laffer replied.
    She moved on toward his surgical alcove. Bashir
tagged along, not at all eager to continue the tour--
not that he had any choice. The captain had entrusted
him with a former colleague, and he had to make the
most of it.
    Halfway to the alcove, Laffer stopped at his desk
and reached for something. Surprisingly it was his
racquetball trophy.
    "First place," she noted, reading the information
off the base of it.
    He nodded. "Yes. I got lucky, I suppose. I hadn't
even mastered the three-corner ceiling shot at that
point."
    Laffer turned to look at him. "But you've mastered
it now?" she asked.
    Bashir shrugged. "By now? I should say so. It's the
most effective shot in my repertoire." He paused. "Do
you... er, play?"
    She shook her head. "No, I was never inclined
much toward sports. Too hard on the joints. However,
I have a friend who won the Starfleet Medical tourna-
ment back on Earth."
    "Really?" He was impressed. "That wouldn't be
Marta Grindberg, would it?"
 "Actually," she replied, "it is."
    Bashir smiled. 'TII bet she makes good use of the
three-corner ceiling shot."
    Laffer put the trophy down where she'd found it.
"To tell you the truth, she never uses it. Not anymore,
I mean."
 He felt his jaw drop. "Why not?" he asked.
    "I don't really know," his guest told him. "She just
says it's out of fashion. None of the better players
resort to it any longer."
    Bashir felt his cheeks burning. "Oh," he responded
lamely. "Well, that'll teach me to be so out of touch."
    The woman's game was obvious to him now. She
was the high priestess of one-upmanship, the ultimate
contrarian. Whatever he'd done, she knew someone
who'd done it better. Whatever he said, she had some
counterargument waiting in the wings.
    It might have been out of spite or jealousy. Or it
might simply have been her nature.
    In either case, if he was going to survive the
remainder of this tour, he would do better to turn the
spotlight somewhere else. In other words, on Laffer
herself. And as luck would have it, there really was
something Bashir had been meaning to ask her.
    "Tell me something," he said, maneuvering himself
into a position between Laffer and the surgical alcove.
    She looked at him. "What would you like to
know?"
    He rubbed his hands together. "The Siskos--both
the captain and Jake--have a rather interesting resi-
due of cells in their blood." He went on to describe
them.
    "That's correct," Laffer confirmed. "They were left
over from our exposure to a rather rare disease,
during our time on the Saratoga. We all have those
cells."
    Bashir held his hands up, calling for a halt. "Actu-
ally," he said, "according to your medical records,
two of you do not exhibit those cells. More specifi-
cally, Lieutenant Lopez and Counselor Barnes."
    She frowned slightly. "And it's not clear to you why
that should be."
"Let's say I'm a little curious about it," he pressed.
"The answer is a simple one," Laffer responded.
"Neither Lieutenant Lopez nor Counselor Barnes
were on the Saratoga when the crew encountered the
disease. Lopez joined us very shortly afterward, and
Barnes a full year later." She stared at him. "But this
information is in their medical records. You did say
you'd received them, didn't you?"
    Bashir's cheeks burned even hotter than before.
"Yes," he said, regretting his oversight. "I received
them, all right. I just hadn't read them all the way
through yet."
    "Well," Laffer remarked, "if you had, you'd have
seen that we contracted a rather dangerous strain of
the disease. And that some of us, Commander Sisko
included, were close to death when I discovered a
cure."
    She went on to give Bashir the details--many more
of them, in fact, than he might have desired or found
remotely useful. And just when he thought she was
through, she went on to catalog several other in-
stances in which she rescued the crew of the Saratoga.

    Bashir sighed. He sorely wished he had never
brought the subject up in the first place.
    Sisko's laughter filled the upper level of the Prome-
nade, attracting more than a couple of looks from
passersby. He put his arm around his son's shoulders
and shook his head.
    "Dinner?" he echoed. "With both of them? At the
same table?"
    Zar, who was walking alongside them, smiled mis-
chievously as he nodded. "Ishimaki just didn't know
who he was dealing with. You should have seen his
face when Laffer prodded him to call a waiter over--
and then told him she'd already eaten."
    "That poor man," said the captain. "Now I'm sorry
I teased him a bit when he arrived with you three in
tOW."
The Bolian looked at him. "You teased him? By the
deities, you should have given him a medal."
    Sisko chuckled and turned to Jake. "Do you re-
member what those two were like together?" he asked.
    The youngster shrugged. "I thought I did. I guess
they didn't seem so bad to me--maybe because I
didn't see them very much."
    "Thank your stars," quipped Zar. "I wish I could
have said the same."
    "And now," the captain commented ruefully, "I've
asked two of my most trusted officers--men I like--
to baby-sit for Graal and Laffer. What kind of com-
manding officer am IT'
     "You had no choice," the Bolian told him. "Laffer
 made a point of asking to see the infirmary. And
 Graal would have asked to see something, if you
 hadn't suggested it yourself."
    Sisko sighed. "I suppose. Just remind me of that
when O'Brien and Bashir stage a mutiny."
    "Hey, Jake," said Zar. He pointed to an exotic
foods emporium along the Promenade. "I'll bet
they've got some mak'terama drops in there."
    The boy smiled. "They do," he said. "Big ones.
Three different flavors, too, each one better than the
last." He sobered as he looked at his father. "But my
dad says they're too sweet. They'll rot my teeth."
    "Well," remarked the Bolian, assuming an equally
sober mien, "in that case, there's just one thing to
do." He cast a sidelong glance at Sisko and leaned
closer to Jake. "We won't tell the old fellow."
    Then, with a cackle, Zar hooked the boy by his arm
and pulled him in the direction of the emporium. The
captain watched them go, unable to keep from crack-
ing a smile himself.
    Undoubtedly, the Bolian was a bad influence. But
he was a very good bad influence. Especially for Jake,
who'd looked up to Zar like an older brother during
their stint on the Saratoga.
    Those were good times, Sisko reflected. Family
times. And the Bolian had, for all intents and pur-
poses, been part of their family.
    He'd worshipped Jennifer in particular. Hadn't Zar
said, time and again, that she'd spoiled him for other
women? That he'd never settle down until he could
find a mate as beautiful and bright and charming as
Sisko's?
    With all that, it couldn't have been easy for the
Bolian to leave Jennifer behind on the Saratoga--to
countenance her crushed and broken body, and pull
her husband away from her. But Zar hadn't had any
choice in the matter.
    He had done what he had had to do. And ever since,
Sisko had been grateful to the Bolian.
    Except for the first few days, of course. During that
time, the captain had hated him. With a passion. It
was only after he'd had time to think about it that he
realized what kind of favor Zar had done for him. If
not for the Bolian, he would have been a dead man.
    So if Zar wanted to spoil Jake a little, if he wanted
to stuff him with those damned mak'terama drops,
the captain would see fit to overlook the transgres-
sion. After all, the Bolian had earned it.
Abruptly, his communicator bleeped. He tapped it.
"Sisko here."
It was Kira. "Sir," she said, "the Endeavor has
arrived. We've directed it to docking pylon two."
    The captain grunted by way of acknowledgment.
"Thank you, Major. I'm on my way."
    Kira's timing was good. By then, Jake and Zar were
coming out of the exotic foods emporium with a
couple of bags full to bursting. They were grinning
from ear to ear--a sight that did Sisko's heart good.
    "Come on," he called to them. "Hurry up, you two.
It looks like the rest of our visitors have shown up."
    As Captain Kyprios stood in the aifiock, he glanced
at Counselor Barnes, who had positioned herself on
his right flank. He sought some hint of trepidation in
her face, some indication that she had lied to him
about her determination to take part in this Utopia
Planitia thing.
    But he perceived nothing of the kind. The counsel-
or looked composed, even eager to be here.
    Barnes was such a good officer, such a good friend,
Kyprios hated the idea of letting her inflict pain on
herself. If she had shown the slightest sign of distress,
he would have found a reason to extricate her.
    But there was no sign. And, therefore, no reason to
pull her out.
    Relax, he told himself. She's a grown woman. She
knows what she's doing. He just wished he believed it.
    Turning his head, he noted the presence of Thorn
and Lopez on his other flank. If the counselor was
looking forward to this, they were downright ecstatic.
They hadn't stopped laughing and slapping each other
on the back since Lopez's arrival.
    Clearly this was a different kind of experience for
them than it was for Constance Barnes. A very differ-
ent experience. They had managed to put the tragedy
behind them and move on.
    The grinding of gears caught Kyprios's attention.
Facing forward, he saw the Cardassian-style doors
begin to part. He had a feeling he knew who would be
on the other side.
  The captain had never met Benjamin Sisko, though
he had heard a lot about him--even before the
Endeavor played host to Thorn and Lopez. After all,
the man had been in the eye of a mounting storm the
last several years, and had comported himself better
than anyone expected.
    So as the docking-bay doors continued to slide
apart, Kyprios confessed inwardly to a certain
curiosity--a certain interest in the kind of man who
could take a run-down relic of a station and make it a
key piece on the galactic chessboard. A moment later,
that curiosity was satisfied, as the aperture widened
enough to reveal three figures.
 One was a Bolian. Obviously not Sisko.
    The second was much too young to be the station
commander. Hell, he wasn't even wearing a Starfleet
uniform.
    It had to be the third one, then. The man with the
clean-shaven head and the dark goatee, and the look
of quiet confidence about him. And, of course, the
command colors. Yes, that would be him, all right.
    Kyprios took a couple of steps forward and ex-
tended his hand. "Captain Sisko, I presume?"
    The station commander smiled cordially. "Captain
Kyprios. Welcome to Deep Space Nine." He nodded
to his companions. "Lieutenant Zar of the Crazy
Horse. And my son," he said, with an unmistakably
paternal pride. "Jake."
    The Bolian nodded. A little more hesitantly, betray-
ing a typically teenage awkwardness, the youngster
did the same.
    "Pleased to meet you both," Kyprios told them. He
turned to Sisko again. "I take it you know these
three?" He indicated his companions with a tilt of his
head.
    Sisko's smile faltered a little. "Yes," he replied,
"Lieutenant Lopez and Mr. Thorn are old friends."
"Bloody right we are," chuckled the security chief.
Lopez elbowed Thorn for his breach of protocol.
"Mind your manners," he said. But he had trouble
containing a smirk of his own.
    "However," the station commander went on, ignor-
ing the other two and gazing at Barnes, "I don't
believe I knew Counselor Barnes very well."
    "That's true," she remarked evenly. "I was new on
the Saratoga when it was destroyed. But it's a pleasure
to meet you now, sir."
    Sisko inclined his head chivalrously. "The pleasure
is mine, Counselor." He turned to Kyprios again.
"Will you be staying on, Captain?"
    Kyprios shook his head. "I'm afraid not. I just
wanted to pay my respects--and to see in whose
hands I'm leaving my ship's counselor."
 'Tll take good care of her," Sisko promised.
     "See that you do," said Kyprios, only half in jest.
"I'll be back in a couple of weeks. Until then, sir."
  "Until then," the station commander echoed.
  Kyprios could see in his eyes that Sisko understood
  his concerns. Feeling a little better than he had when
  he arrived, the older man nodded to his counselor,
  turned about, and made his way back to his ship.
    Sisko watched Kyprios depart. Certainly the man
didn't pull any punches. He was concerned about his
counselor and he didn't care who knew it.
    "Pay no attention to my commanding officer," said
Barnes.
  Sisko looked at her. "I beg your pardon?"
    She smiled apologetically. It was an attractive and
strangely unexpected smile. "Captain Kyprios is
known to overdo it sometimes. He's very protective
of his people."
    So am I, thought Sisko. But I don't show it that way.
At least, I don't think I do.
    "That's all right," he assured her. "I'm sure his
heart is in the right place."
    In the meantime, Zar and Jake were exchanging
greetings with Lopez and Thorn. The big man picked
Jake up like a baby--something Sisko himself hadn't
attempted for a number of years now.
    "You used to be such a pipsqueak," said Thorn.
"Now look at you. You're bigger than Lopez."
    "So he is," the science officer agreed. "I'll bet the
ladies can't keep their hands off him."
    Jake squirmed a bit under the scrutiny of his old
shipmates. "Come on, guys. This is embarrassing."
    "Let him down," said Sisko, intervening. "And as
for the ladies," he added, casting a remonstrative
glance at Lopez, "the last thing he needs is encourage-
ment."
    "That's right," Zar chimed in, affecting a fatherly
demeanor. "He already spends more time with the
Dabo girls than he does at his studies."
    Barnes cleared her throat. Obviously she felt like a
fifth wheel at this gathering.
    "If someone will show me to my quarters," she told
the station commander, "I think I'd like to call it a
day."
    Sisko nodded. "Of course. I'll see you there my-
self."
    She held up her hand. "That won't be necessary,"
she told him. "I wouldn't want to pull you away from
your reunion."
    "No," said the captain. "I insist." He turned to
Lopez and Thorn. "In fact, I'll show you all to your
quarters. The reunion can wait until later, after I've
taken care of some things."
    The big man nodded understandingly. "Of course.
You've got a station to run. You're busy."
    Sisko grunted. "Unfortunately." He tilted his head
to indicate the direction in which they would proceed.
"This way."
    As the captain led them along the corridor, his son
and colleagues fell into line behind him. All except
Lopez, who wound up walking beside him.
    "Esteban," he said, taking advantage of the oppor-
tunity. After all, the others were conversing among
themselves.
 The science officer looked at him. "Yes?"
    Sisko smiled. "You know what I'm going to say,
don't you?"
    Lopez shook his head, his eyes full of innocence.
"No, what?"
    Apparently Thorn had been listening in. He caught
up with them in a couple of long strides.
    "You're not to terrorize the females on the station,"
the bearded man provided. "That's what."
    The science officer reigned indignation. "Me?" he
replied. He shook his head. "You wrong me, Captain.
I'm not nearly the bon vivant I used to be. I've
mellowed in my old age."
 "Sure you have," said Thorn.
     Lopez cast a reproachful look at him. "Nothing like
a character reference from a friend," he muttered.
  Sisko chuckled. "Your cover's blown, Esteban."
  "Don't worry," said the security chiefi "I'll keep
  him on a short leash, Captain. He won't get into any
  trouble while I'm around."
    "See that he doesn't," Sisko advised. "There are a
great many temptations on this station. I'd hate to see
an old comrade fall on the wrong side of a jealous
husband."
 "I hear you," Thorn assured him.
    The science officer scowled resentfully at his
powerful-looking friend. "Yes," he said. "And so did
i.,,
    "Good," the captain responded. "Then we won't
have any misunderstandings." Satisfied that he had
done his job, he headed for the Promenade.


CHAPTER
        5

SHUTrING OUT THE sights and sounds of Quark's as he
always did, Bashir tried to line up the dart in his hand
with the round board on the wall. However, he
couldn't seem to make himself concentrate this time.
"What's wrong?" asked O'Brien.
    The doctor turned to him, exasperated. "Wrong?"
he echoed. "Who said anything was wrong?"
    The engineer recoiled a bit. "Sorry I asked," he
responded. "You don't have to bite my head off,
y'know."
    Bashir bit his lip. "You're right, Chief. I didn't. I
apologize. It's just thaW--he looked around, to make
sure there was no one in earshot--"that Dr. Laffer,"
he finished.
    O'Brien looked at him. "Gave you some trouble,
did she?"
    The doctor grunted. "Not exactly, no. I mean, she
didn't wreck the infirmary or anything. On the other
hand, she made me feel about this small." He used the
thumb and forefinger of his left hand to indicate a
millimeter or so. "First she criticized my methods,
then my equipment, and finally even my approach to
racquetball. By the time she finished, I was seriously
wondering if I was capable of doing anything right."
    The operations chief chuckled mirthlessly.
"Sounds nearly as bad as Lieutenant Commander
Graal." He considered his own darts and frowned. "If
she'd had me move one more piece of equipment, I'd
be stretched out on one of your operating tables
now--awaiting a spine replacement."
    Bashir smiled at the notion. "You would have had
to ask Dr. Laffer for one of those. I'm neither trained
nor equipped for anything more complicated than a
splinter removal."
    His friend seemed as if he was about to say some-
thing more--but something distracted him. Follow-
ing the engineer's gaze, the doctor saw what had
snared O'Brien's attention.
    It was Lopez, the science officer from the LaSalle.
And he had just escorted Dax to a secluded table in
the back of the place.
    Bashir found his teeth grating together. He flung his
dart at the board. It missed, embedding itself in the
wall instead.
O'Brien grunted. "Feeling a little jealous, are we?"
The doctor glared at him. "Of what?" he inquired.
"Jadzia is a grown woman. What she does with her
time is her own business." He glanced again at Lopez,
who was in the process of moving a little closer to the
Trill. "Besides," he went on, "we're just friends."
    "Er, right," the chief responded, lining up his shot.
"Whatever you say, Julian."
He let the dart fly. It struck the bull's-eye dead on.
Bashir whirled on him, prepared to defend himself
against O'Brien's suggestion. Then he stopped him-
self. What was the use? Some people were just more
transparent than others, he supposed--and he was
one of them.
    "All right," he admitted. "Maybe I am a little
jealous--in a brotherly sort of way. And a little
puzzled, as well. I mean, I don't know what Jadzia
sees in the man."
    The engineer shrugged. "She must see something,"
he remarked. "Otherwise she wouldn't be sitting next
to him."
    He had barely gotten the words out when Dax
excused herself, leaving Lopez all alone at the table.
Bashir harrumphed, deriving a measure of satisfac-
tion from the turn of events. It seemed his friend Dax
had better taste than he had given her credit for.
  "She's left him," O'Brien pointed out.
 The doctor smiled. "Has she? I hadn't noticed."
    "And by the looks of it, he's decided to visit us
instead," the chief continued.
    Bashir glanced over his shoulder. Sure enough,
Lopez was headed their way, weaving his way through
the crowd. The doctor frowned. What did the man
want of them?
    "Excuse me," said the science officer when he had
gotten close enough. He smiled a rather disarming
smile. "My name is Lopez. Esteban Lopez, science
officer on the LaSalle. You know, one of Captain
Sisko's muckety-muck friends from the Saratoga,
come to disrupt things here and generally plague you
until we finally depart for the commissioning cere-
mony?"
    O'Brien laughed. Bashir couldn't help but chuckle a
bit himself.
    "I wouldn't say you were plaguing us," the engineer
lied. "At least, not yet."
    "Ah, then you haven't met Commander Graal yet,"
Lopez told him. "Or even worse, Dr. Laffer." He
turned to the doctor. "Then again, judging by the
grimace on your face, perhaps you have."
    Bashir started to protest. "That was not a grimace.
iw,'
    O'Brien put a comradely hand on his shoulder.
"Give it up, Julian. The man has got us dead to
rights." He addressed the newcomer. "How did you
ever tolerate them on the Saratoga?" he asked.
    Lopez shrugged. "I stayed away from them,
mostly."
    "Good advice," the Ops chief observed. "I'll have
to remember that."
    "Of course," said the science officer, "they're not
the only ones you have to look out for. There's also
my friend Thorn. The man doesn't know his own
strength. Don't let him pat you on the back when he's
had one too many, or there'll be a permanent impres-
sion of your face in the tabletop."
    "I'11 remember that, too," promised O'Brien,
flinching a little at the image.
    "And then there's me," Lopez went on. "Lock up
your wives and daughters, Esteban Lopez is in town."
He grinned. "And I must admit, I'm flattered by my
reputation. I only wish it was quite as well deserved as
some make it out to be."
"You mean it's not?" the doctor inquired casually.
"Oh, there's always a kernel of truth in every
rumor." The science officer sighed. "But it's just a
kernel, I'm afraid. As you no doubt noticed," he
continued, "my efforts with Lieutenant Dax were
quite futile. So, as you can see, I'm as fallible as
anyone else."
  Bashir grunted. "That's good to know."
    Lopez looked at him. "Actually, as Dax tells it,
you're the resident Romeo around here, Doctor. She
even confessed to having a soft spot for you herself--
though I'm sure that comes as no surprise to you."
    "It doesn't?" responded Bashir. "I mean... no, of
course it doesn't." He managed a smile. "What else
did she tell you?"
    The science officer looked at him apologetically. "I
think, perhaps, that's all I should say. Bad enough I'm
thought of as a gigolo, you understand. I don't want to
be called a gossip into the bargain."
 The doctor bit his lip. "I understand," he said.
 It seemed that Lopez was more of a gentleman than
he had believed. The man's stock went up instantly in
Bashir's eyes.
    "So," said the science officer, tilting his head in the
direction of the dartboard, "would you mind very
much if I joined your game?"
    The doctor and O'Brien looked at each other. Both
men shrugged.
 "Not at all," said the Ops officer.
 "Be my guest," said Bashir.
    O'Brien gestured to Rom, who was passing by with
an empty tray. "Another round, please," he called
out. He glanced at Lopez. "What can I get you,
Esteban?"
    'Tll have a beer," the science officer replied. "But
let me get this round. It's my way of apologizing for
my colleagues' behavior."
    "I can't let you do that," O'Brien insisted, holding
up a hand for emphasis.
 "No," said Lopez firmly. "I insist. Really."
    The Ops officer sighed. "Very well, then." He
turned to Rom. "You heard the man."
    The Ferengi nodded. "I'11 put it on your tab," he
told the science officer.
    "Thank you," said Lopez. He turned to O'Brien.
"Now, I warn you, I'm no pushover at this. There's a
dartboard on the LaSalle, you know."
    The doctor stifled a smile. "There are plenty of
dartboards," he remarked. "But there's only one
Miles O'Brien."
 As it turned out, their visitor was pretty good. Not
as good as O'Brien, of course, but better than Bashir
had expected.
    And that wasn't the only way in which Lopez
surprised the doctor. As they played, it became clear
to Bashir that the science officer was a regular
fellow--one who hadn't merited the doctor's jealousy
in the least.
    "Well," said Lopez, after he had come in third for
the second game in a row, "it looks like Chief O'Brien
isn't the only ringer around here." He clapped Bashir
on the shoulder. "You're pretty good yourself,
Doctor."
  Bashir smiled. "Just lucky, I assure you."
    Lopez looked at him with mischief in his eyes.
"What do you say we make the game a bit more
interesting?"
  "In what way?" asked Bashir.
    "Well," said the science officer, "we couM make a
little wager on the outcome. Even odds, winner takes
all."
    The doctor felt a bit uncomfortable at the sugges-
tion. After all, he wasn't in the habit of gambling with
friends. Hell, he wasn't in the habit of gambling with
anybody.
    Apparently the chief felt the same way. "I don't
know," he replied, looking a little queasy. "I mean, I
usually play just for fun."
    "And a wager should make it more fun," Lopez
suggested. "Unless, of course, you don't feel you can
perform under pressure."
 He had clearly found the right button to push--
O'Brien's pride. The chief laughed. "Don't feel I can
perform?" he repeated. 'Tll have you know I thrive
under pressure."
    "Then it's a bet," the science officer concluded.
"One bar of latinum, or the equivalent."
    "A bar of latinurn?" O'Brien echoed. He winced a
little. "That sounds like a lot of money."
    Lopez chuckled. "There's no point in wagering
unless it means something," he explained, then
turned to Bashir. "Are you in, Doctor?"
    Bashir didn't like the direction in which this was
headed. He almost felt as if he were being coerced.
And that feeling gave rise to an unwelcome thought.
    What if Lopez were a con man? A hustler? What if
he'd been lulling them into a false sense of security
this whole time, hoping to take them for all they were
worth--starting with a bar of latinurn and going on
from there?
    The science officer smiled at him. "You're hesitat-
ing, my friend. That's a bad sign. It means you don't
trust me."
  The doctor flushed. "It's not that," he said.
    "Then you're in," Lopez concluded. Perhaps too
briskly, he turned to O'Brien. "And you, Chief?."
  The Irishman shrugged. "I suppose," he replied.
    "Good," said the science officer. "Let's give it a go,
then, shall we? Three rounds a game?"
    Bashir had the less-than-pleasant feeling that they
had been hoodwinked. He could already feel himsella
bar of latinum lighter.
  As the first round of darts flew, the results were the
 same as in the previous game. O'Brien opened a clear
 lead, with the doctor and Lopez neck and neck. A
 second round only saw the chief widen his lead. And
 in the third round Bashir snuck ahead of the science
 officer to take second place.
     Lopez sighed. "Good game," he told his newfound
 companions. "Care for another, gentlemen? Say, for
 twice the stakes?"
    The doctor swore inwardly. It was happening just
as he had predicted. His less-than-pleasant feeling got
a good deal worse.
    "Not me," said Bashir. "I know when I'm out-
classed."
    The science officer glanced at him in a vaguely
disappointed sort of way, then turned to O'Brien.
"Looks like it's just you and me, Chief."
    The doctor hoped his friend would decline as he
had. But after a moment he could see that wasn't
going to happen. It wasn't O'Brien's style to be a party
pooper--or to imply, by dropping out, that he sus-
pected Lopez of being a crook.
    "Looks that way," the chief agreed, if a little
reluctantly.
    The second contest went much as the first one had.
Of course, their guest couldn't have come in third this
time, with the doctor out of the game. Still, the
science officer's score was lower by ten points.
    "Damn," he breathed, as he plucked his darts out
of the board. "That's two bars of latinurn I owe you,"
he told O'Brien.

    The chief made a gesture of dismissal. "Listen,
Esteban, you don't owe me anything. Let's just call it
even, all right?"
    Lopez shook his head. "I'm not a weisher, Chiefi
Give me one more shot. And we'll double the stakes
again. That'll make it four bars of latinum."
    O'Brien's lips became a thin hard line. Four bars of
latinurn was a lot of money. And as good as he was,
there was always the chance he would falter--or that
the newcomer would get lucky.
    Bashir stared at his friend--hard. Don't do it, he
thought. He's just reeling you in, Chief.
    But O'Brien was too honorable a man to back out
now. "Done," he told the science officer. "Four bars it
is."
    There was no fun in this game--for either man, the
doctor thought. It was grim and tense and everything
a friendly game of darts shouldn't be.
    The first round went to Lopez. The chief had
missed badly with his first dart, putting himself in a
hole. And the science officer took advantage of it,
coming up with what was easily his best performance
so far.
    The second round was O'Brien's, however. His eye
seemingly sharpened by his failure in the first round,
he placed all of his darts in and around the bull's-eye.
Lopez did well, too, much better than he had done in
their earlier matches--but not well enough.
    The third round would decide it. The science officer
turned to O'Brien. "How are you feeling, Chief?."
  O'Brien nodded. "Not bad. And you?"
    "Pretty confident, actually," said Lopez. "Confi-
dent enough to double the stakes again, if you've got
the stomach for it."
    He smiled, but not with any genuine feeling. It was
the smile of a cat, Bashir thought, just before he made
mincemeat of a poor mouse.
    The chief looked drawn, hollow-cheeked. He swal-
lowed. "Whatever you say," he told the science of-
ricer.
    Inwardly the doctor winced. Eight bars of latinurn?
It would take his friend forever to make that kind of
money.
    But O'Brien had already agreed to the wager. His
jaw set in grim concentration, he stared at the board
and lined up his dart. Then he drew it back and, with
a flick of his wrist, sent it flying end over end.
    It embedded itself in the dartboard midway be-
tween the center and the edge. Not a terrible shot, but
certainly not the man's best.
    The next dart was in more or less the same spot. A
thin rivulet of perspiration made its way down the
side of O'Brien's face. Bearing down, he tossed the
third dart--and stabbed the bull's-eye with it.
    But he was vulnerable, and he knew it. Bashir
sighed. He could feel his comrade's frustration and
pain. How was he going to explain this to Keiko, after
all? That he had lost all their savings and then some?
    Lopez stepped up and lodged his first dart not far
from O'Brien's, near the center. A smile tugged at the
corners of his mouth--a smile which didn't go unno-
ticed by the doctor.
    The science officer's second dart wasn't as well
placed, however. It barely caught the perimeter, elicit-
ing a muffled curse from the man. And his third toss
missed the board entirely.
    The game was O'Brien's. Bashir could see the chief
breathe a sigh of relief.
    Lopez, on the other hand, looked pale and waxy--
almost feverish in his disappointment. At least, for a
moment. Then, as the color returned to his face, he
raised his eyes to O'Brien's and extended his hand.
    "Looks like you've won," he noted, in a clear,
steady voice. "I'll make arrangements to get you your
winnings."
    The chief shook his head. "There'll be no need," he
said emphatically. "The competition was worth more
to me than any amount of latinum."
    But Lopez was just as insistent. "As I told you," he
replied, "I'm not a weisher, Chief. See you later." He
turned to Bashit. "And you, Doctor."
    Bashit nodded, still a little stunned. He watched the
science officer disappear into the crowd, then turned
to O'Brien.
    "I could have sworn he was going to hustle you," he
muttered.
    The chief managed a half-smile. "Year," he said.
"Me, too. I guess neither one of us is much of a judge
when it comes to character." He paused. "Of course, I
can't let him pay me all that latinum."
 "Of course not," the doctor agreed.
    He still couldn't believe it. What kind of a man was
this Esteban Lopez? What kind of a fool, to jack the
stakes up that way... when he had every reason to
expect he would lose?
    Bashir shook his head. There were some things he
would never understand.

CHAPTER
        6

"THE IMPORTANT THING to remember," said Kira, as
she moved her forefinger along the bright red sche-
matic depicted by the tactical monitor, "is that the
Cardassians didn't mind losing a few troops here if
they could ultimately claim victory."
    "I see," replied Zar, who was standing at her side in
Ops.
    "In fact," she went on, "they would generally rather
lose a few troops than lose no troops at all, be-
cause--"
    "Because if they didn't lose anyone," Zar inter-
rupted, "it means they didn't fight very hard."
    Kira looked up at him and smiled. "That's right.
But I thought you didn't know much about
Cardassians... ?"
 "I don't," he confirmed. "But I've heard of other
races who thought the same way. After a while, you
begin to see a pattern."
  Kira nodded. "Yes," she said, "I suppose you do."
    After all, Zar had been a tactical officer for a good
many years. He would know these things.
     A moment later, the major resumed her inspection
of the grid. Where was that damned thing, anyway?
  "Ah," she blurted after a moment. "Here it is."
  She pointed out the Cardassian shield generator on
  the grid. It was the only one on this particular
  schematic, though there had been eleven others on the
  station.
    Peering over her shoulder, the Bolian took it all in.
"And it could simply be bypassed?" he asked. "Auto-
matically?"
    "That's right," she told him. "The shield generators
were set up to draw power according to prevailing~
circumstances. The trigger was generally a percentage
of rated strength. So if the station were under attack
and shield strength dropped below, say, seventy-five
percent..."
    "Power was shifted away from the more expendable
areas and directed to the operations center," Zar
finished. "And of course, that's where the highest-
ranking officers were holed up." He gestured to indi-
cate Ops. "The shields around this facility were
restored to full strength, while other parts of the
station were left all but defenseless."
    "Exactly." Kira looked at him. "And if the bulk-
heads were breached in one of those defenseless parts,
internal forcefields would seal the place off, prevent-
ing Ops from losing air and other life-support fea-
tures."
    The Bolian grunted. "They had their priorities, all
right."
    "Hideous though they may have seemed," the
Bajoran added. "Particularly if you weren't one of the
lucky few picked to work in Ops."
    Zar grunted again. "And you learned all this when
you took control of the station?" he asked.
    "Not me," Kira said. "In the resistance, we studied
Cardassian strategy till it was coming out of our ears."
"The resistance?" he echoed.
    She could see the mixture of admiration and sym-
pathy in his eyes. But then, she had glimpsed that look
before.
    "I was part of the Shakaar cell," she told him. "We
were better prepared than some of the others."
    Zar's eyes narrowed. "That wouldn't be the
Shakaar who is first minister of Bajor?" he inquired.
Kira nodded. "One and the same."
    He smiled. "Then I'm in distinguished company
indeed," he commented. "That is, even more distin-
guished than I thought."
    The irony didn't escape her. There was a time when
she hadn't expected to be in any company at all, much
less the distinguished kind.
    "I'm sorry," the Bolian said quickly, surprising her.
"I've brought back some painful memories, haven't
IT'
    The major realized that she was frowning. A little
embarrassed, she laughed and shook her head.
    "Don't be sorry," she told him. "It's not your fault
they're painful."
    Zar seemed to be groping for something to addm
something that might ease the discomfort a little.
Finally, he could say only: "I've seen some pretty
terrible things myself."
    Kira looked at him. She wondered what he had
experienced that even belonged in the same conversa-
tion with the misery she had endured at the hands of
the Cardassians.
    And then she remembered. The Saratoga. Of
course.
    "Yes," the Bajoran acknowledged. "I guess that was
pretty terrible."
    Zar's eyes took on a faraway look. It was as if he
could see the Borg vessel closing in all over again.
    Suddenly, Kira found herself wanting to ease his
pain as he had tried to ease hers. She selected her
words carefully.
    "I've heard about it," she told him, "but I don't
really know any of the details. Except that you saved
Captain Sisko's life."
    The Bolian shrugged. "It was one of those things.
You don't think. You just act." He winced.
"Jennifer--the captain's wife--was dead already,
along with a lot of other people. The ship was a
smoking vision of hell. And the Borg were homing in
on us, intent on finishing the job they'd started."
  "Destroying the Saratoga," Kira elaborated.
    Zar nodded. "There was damage to the warp core.
It was just a question of what got us first--the enemy
or our own containment failure. If it had been up to
our friend Benjamin, in his numbed and battered
state, he would have stayed behind with his wife. He
would have tugged and pulled at the charred, twisted
wreckage that covered her, until it was too late. And
Jake would have wound up an orphan.
    "Ultimately," he said, "that was what made my
mind up. As you may have noticed, I have a real
affection for Jake. Bad enough his mother was a
victim. I couldn't see him left without a father as
well."
    "So you pulled the captain away from her," Kira
noted.
    "Yes," the Bolian told her, the muscles around his
eyes twitching. Yet his tone remained casual, almost
conversational. "I turned Jake over to a security
officer and gripped my friend with all my strength.
And I dragged him back along the ruined corridor, in
the direction of the escape pods." He shook his head
as he remembered. "Needless to say, he struggled like
a crazy person. He tried to free himself with hands
already burned and bleeding--denying the fact that
his wife was well past his help. And he screamed..."
    Abruptly, Zar paused. When he picked up the story
again, there was a tightness in his voice that hadn't
been there before.
    "He screamed until his throat was raw," said the
Bolian, "pleading for the chance to get Jennifer out of
her entrapment. But I wouldn't give him that chance.
I fought him every inch of the way to the escape pods.
And with the last of my strength, I shoved him
inside."
    Bollaris were stronger than humans, Kira knew. It
was a good thing, too, or Zar might not have accom-
plished his objective.
    Just as she thought that, he turned to her. "Mind
you," he added, "the man saved my life more times
than I can count."
    "I understand," she replied. She put her hand on
his shoulder. "But that doesn't make what you did
any less heroic. Or any less important to those of us
who came to know him later on."
    Gradually Zar smiled. "You're welcome. And
thanks, Major."
 "For what?" she asked.
 His smile deepened. "For listening."
    She shrugged. "Come on," she said, taking his arm.
"I'll show you one of the generators--or what's left of
it. The Cardassians sabotaged the system before they
turned the station over to us."
    And without another word, she ushered him into
the turbolift.

    Odo was sitting at his desk, going over the usual
collection of Starfleet security bulletins, when he saw
someone approaching his office through its transpar-
ent doors. He recognized the man as Aidan Thorn,
one of the captain's colleagues on the Saratoga.
    The shapeshifter frowned. Some of the others on
the station had granted Sisko's request that they show

his friends around. But Odo was too busy for that. He
was a security chief, not a tour guide.
    At the man's approach the doors opened. Perhaps if
I ignore him, Odo mused, he'll go away.
    But it wasn't to be. Thorn walked right up to the
changeling's desk as if he owned the place, then
stooped over to get its owner's attention.
    "Constable?" he said--using a term Odo had come
to accept, but not from the mouths of perfect
strangers.
    Not bothering to stand, he looked up at the human.
"Can I help you?" he asked dryly.
    "I just thought I'd come by," Thorn said, grinning
in his golden brown beard. "After all, we're in the
same line of work, us both being security people. And
I've never met a--" He shrugged. "You know."
    "A changeling," Odo finished for him. "You can say
it. It's not a dirty word--at least, not on this station."
    "I didn't mean to imply that it was," Thorn told
him.
    He seemed to get the idea he wasn't welcome here.
It was an encouraging sign, the shapeshifter thought.
Maybe he would take the hint and leave.
    "Look," said Thom, "we seem to have gotten off on
the wrong foot. Perhaps I ought to come back some
other time."
 "Perhaps you should," Odo agreed.
    The big man turned to go. Suddenly he stopped and
looked back over his shoulder. "By the way," he said,
"Tad Posset says hello." Then he headed for the exit.
    Tarl Posset? "Wait a minute," the changeling
snapped.
    Thorn turned around again. His expression was one
big question.
"How do you know Tad Posset?" Odo asked.
The human shrugged. "Tarl and I go way back. All
the way to the academy, I guess, though we didn't
really get to be friends till we served on Butera Five.
You know, the dilithium processing center?"
    "Yes," said Odo, "I've heard him speak of it." He
hesitated a moment. Then he indicated an empty
chair. "Please. Sit down."
 Thorn looked at him. "You sure?"
 The shapeshifter nodded. "Positive."
    The human sat. "Nice place you've got here. I have
to admit, I prefer Federation design to Cardassian.
But still, not half-bad."
    "It works for me," Odo told him. "That's all I really
care about."
    "I can see how you would get along well with Tarl,"
Thorn commented. "He's got the same attitude.
Doesn't matter what it looks like, as long as it's
functional. As long as it helps him do his job."
  "And you?" the shapeshifter inquired.
    The big man smiled. "I have some esthetic require-
ments," he admitted. "Though I'm not as demanding
as, say, Joe Simko."
 Odo grunted. "You know Joe Simko as well?"
    Thorn nodded. "I met him back at the Academy,
too. Except Joe and I, we hit it off right away. I don't
see him as much as I'd like, of course, but we try to
keep in touch."
    The constable settled back into his seat. "If you
know both Tad and Joe, you must also know how
valuable they have been to me. How, when this
station was placed under Federation stewardship, I
attempted to establish contacts with security person-
nel on other stationsmwith little success."
    "So I heard," the big man acknowledged. "They
were the only two who would give you the time of
day--and both of them are now glad of it. From what
they told me, they got more information than they
gave. At least, in the long run."
    Odo harrumphed. "Yes, I suppose they have." He
tilted his head. "And where else have you served, Mr.
Thom? Besides the Gorkon, of course, and the Sarato-
ga? And the dilithium plant on Butera Five?"
    "Several places," Thorn replied. He went on to list
them. "I've probably skipped around more than I
should have, from a career standpoint. But I tend to
wear out my commanding officers rather quickly."
  "Oh?" said the changeling. "And why is that?"
  The human grinned. "I have my little quirks," he
  conceded. "My own ways of doing things. Not every-
  one agrees with them, I suppose. But to my way of
  thinking, the job comes first. If I've kept my ship and
  my crew from harm, I've done my job. To tell with
what anyone thinks of me after that." "I see," Odo responded.
 Perhaps he and Thorn had more in common than
he had first believedú And not just in their choice of
friends.
    They talked some more, about security technology
and Bajor and even Captain Sisko. And the shape-
shifter found he didn't mind it in the least. In fact, it
was rather pleasant.
    "Anyway," said the big man after a while, "I ought
to be moving along now. Nice to make your acquain-
tance, Constable."
 The changeling stood. "Likewise, Mr. Thorn."
 "Aidan," the human insistedú
    "Aidan," said Odo. "And please, er... feel free to
stop in whenever you like."
 Thorn promised he would do that. Then he left.
    The changeling grunted. What was that human
expression he had heard once? Ah, yes.
    You can't judge a book by its cover. He was starting
to see the wisdom in it.

    When Sisko first arrived on Deep Space Nine, he
found himself walking the Promenade almost every
night, sometimes far into the morning. He would
stare out the large, majestic observation ports at the
stars, and try helplessly to imagine what a man like
him might do in a place like this.
    There was no one else around at that time of night.
Not even Odomat least, as far as the captain knew.
And Sisko had been glad of it. After all, he could find
the answers to his questions only in himself.
 In time, of course, the answers came. He estab-
lished an equilibrium here, a sense of purpose. A
feeling that this station, with all its difficulties and all
its dangers, was nonetheless his home.
    And that was the day he stopped haunting the
Promenade.
    Until now, he thought, as he strolled along the
upper level, gazing at the cold, distant stars. But then,
it came as no surprise to him that he couldn't sleep
this night.
    Tomorrow, he and his former comrades would take
off for the fleet yards orbiting Mars. Once again, he
would be forced to confront his past. And though he
had been glad to see Zar and the others, he still wasn't
certain how he would react to the sight of a brand-new
Saratoga.
 "Captain Sisko?"
    He turned at the sound of his name, spoken by a
feminine voice. He saw, at the far end of the walkway,
the slender figure of Counselor Barnes.
    The woman smiled as she approached. It wasn't a
bad smile, either. Much more appealing than the
poor, perfunctory thing he had seen her exhibit earli-
er, on her arrival.
    "What brings you out here at this hour of the
night?" he inquired.
    Not that he didn't already know the answer. He was
just doing his best to be polite.
    Barnes shrugged. "I felt the urge to roam. To be less
ú.. I don't know. Cooped up, I suppose." She paused.
"And you?"
  "The same," he said, "more or less."
    Her smile faded a little. "You look like you want to
be alone right now. Maybe I should make myself
scarce." She turned to go.
    "No," he replied, without even thinking about it. It
surprised him that he had said the word.
    The counselor turned to look back at him. "Are you
sure?" she asked. "I don't want to intrude."
  Sisko shook his head. "You're not. Really."
    Barnes peered into his eyes for confirmation. "All
right," she said at last. "As long as you're certain?'
    As he resumed his walk, she joined him. For a time,
they strolled in silence, neither of them speaking. And
yet, the captain didn't feel the least bit uncomfortable
about the silence.
    He began to understand why Kyprios valued the
counselor's services so much. Barnes exuded a kind
of calm that he hadn't noticed in her before. She
made one feel at ease--not only with her, but with
oneself.
  "The stars are lovely here," she commented.
    He nodded. "Yes, they are. But then, as I recall,
they're pretty lovely wherever you go."
    She seemed to think about that for a moment. "I
guess they are," she responded, "when you stop to
look at them. But on a ship, you seldom do. You're
always on your way somewhere."
    Sisko saw what she meant. "All you're looking at
are trails of light. Not the stars themselves, really, but
a warp-speed representation of them."
    "Exactly," said the counselor. "When our ancestors
looked up at the heavens, they didn't see light trails,
or warp-speed representations. They saw perfect little
gems."
    He had to admit, he hadn't thought of it that way.
He said so.
    "Neither had I," Barnes admitted. She grinned at
the realization. "At least until now."
    He grinned, too. He couldn't help it. There was
something contagious about the woman's demeanor.
    "So," the counselor resumed finally, "what do you
see in these stars? What kind of future do they hold
for Benjamin Sisko?"
    He looked at her. "What are my aspirations, you
mean?" He drew a breath, then let it out. "I don't
think I've thought that far ahead, really. For the time
being, of course, there's plenty to be done here. I don't
see myself going anywhere else for a good long time."
He paused. "And you?"
    Barnes laughed, as if he had touched on some secret
joke. "If you ask Captain Kyprios, he'll tell you that
I'm not going anywhere--other than where the En-
deavor takes me."
    "But you're not so sure about that," Sisko ob-
served.
      "Not at all," she confirmed. "I just don't feel as if
I've found my place yet in the scheme of things."
  "Oh?" he replied.
     "Don't get me wrong," the counselor told him.
 "Serving on the Endeavor has been a terrific experi-
 ence and all, and I've learned a lot from Captain
 Kyprios. But it's not what I want to do with the rest of
 my life."
     As she looked at him, having so easily opened
 herself up to a perfect stranger, the captain couldn't
 help but admire her courage. And that wasn't all he
 found himself admiring.
    There was a light in her eyes he hadn't noticed
before. It wasn't just a reflection of the starlight
through the observation port, either. It was a light
from within.
    Sisko found himself unexpectedly intrigued by her.
He wasn't sure in what way, thoughmas a friend or a
lover.
    What's more, he wasn't going to allow himself to
find out. He already had a good thing going with
Kasidy Yates, and he wasn't the type of man to flit
from one relationship to another.
    Suddenly, a familiar voice rang out along the Prom-
enade: "Dad?"
    The captain turned and saw his son ascending a
stairway from the lower level. His first reaction was a
fatherly one--to wonder what Jake was still doing up
at this hour.
    "I know," the boy told him, as he stopped at the top
of the stairs. "It's past my bedtime." He glanced at
Counselor Barnes. "And believe me, I wouldn't be out
here, if it wasn't for Admiral Pardee."
    Sisko felt the color drain from his face. "Admiral
Pardee," he repeated numbly. He sighed.
    The intelligence report on Dominion trade routes
in the Gamma Quadrant. In all the excitement over
seeing his old friends, he had forgotten all about it--
and he was supposed to have filed it two days ago.
    "The admiral seemed pretty insistent," Jake re-
ported. "He wanted to speak to you directly, but I
told him you were in a part of the station where you
couldn't be reached."
 Sisko nodded appreciatively. "Thanks, Jake-o."
 "Is something wrong?" asked Barnes.
    "Nothing earthshaking," the captain explained.
"Just a bureaucratic detail I've managed to put aside
much too long. And unfortunately, it can't wait until I
get back from Utopia Planitia."
    He shrugged, by way of apology. It seemed their
stroll had come to a rather abrupt end.
    "That's all right," the counselor assured him. "I
was starting to feel a little worn out anyway, and we
do have a long trip ahead of us. Good night, Captain
Sisko."
    Sisko inclined his head. "Good night, Counselor
Barnes."
    He watched her for a moment as she turned around
and walked back the way she came. Then he frowned
and descended the stairs with his son.
"I didn't interrupt anything, did I?" asked the boy.
The captain looked at him. "I have no romantic
designs on the counselor, if that's what you mean.
She's strictly a colleague."
  Jake smiled. "Whatever you say, Dad."
    Sisko wasn't sure, but he thought he heard a note of
skepticism in his son's voice. "What do you mean,
whatever I say?"
  His son shrugged. "Nothing, Dad. Really."
    The captain was about to press the issue, then
thought better of it. If there had been something more
than friendship in the way he looked at Barnes, he
didn't want to know about it.
    Hell, life was complicated enough. The last thing he
needed was to be seeing two women.

CHAPTER
        7

Kmn STOOD IN Ops and watched Sisko enter the lift,
followed closely by O'Brien and Dax. After they were
all inside, the captain turned to her.
 "Have a good time," she told him.
    Sisko gave her a look that told her he would try,
though he had his doubts. Then he tapped the padd
in the lift that gave it its marching orders. A mo-
ment later, the trio began to descend to the docking
level.
    The last thing Kira saw of them was Dax's smile--
the Trill's way of assuring her friend that she would
take care of their commanding officer. But then, the
Bajoran had no doubt of that.
    Once they were no longer in sight, Kira turned
around and assessed her Ops contingent. While none
of the senior staff was on hand except her, they were
 all veterans. She didn't expect any problems from
 them.
     Hell, she didn't expect any problems at all. But it
 didn't hurt to be prepared, so she had her people run
 a level one diagnostic of all major systems. Just in
 case.
     They had barely finished when one of them--a
 Bajoran--raised her head. "The Defiant is ready to
 depart," she reported.
  "Retract docking clamps," Kira responded.
  "Clamps retracted," the woman told her.
  "Release tractor lock," Kira instructed.
  "Tractors released," came the reply.
    Abruptly the Cardassian monitor at the front of the
Ops facility came alive with Sisko's image. The cap-
tain looked serious--much too serious. This was just
a courtesy run, not a suicide mission.
  Sisko frowned. "The station is all yours, Major."
  Kira smiled. "Only until you get back, sir."
    The captain's frown deepened. Without another
word, he ended the transmission. His face was in-
stantly replaced by the sight of the Defiant as it
backed off from its docking pylon and then, applying
thrusters, veered away from the station.
    The Bajoran shook her head. In a way, she was glad
that Sisko had seen fit to leave her behind. Things
were liable to be much more cheerful around here, she
suspected, than alongside the captain.
    Truth to tell, Sisko could have gotten along without
Dax and O'Brien, too. Several of his former comrades
were accomplished pilots, after all. And with Graal
aboard, there would have been no shortage of techni-
cal smarts.
    But the captain had insisted on bringing personnel
who were familiar with the Defiant's idiosyncrasies.
Hence, the presence of Dax and O'Brien. And though
Kira certainly fit that bill as well as the other two, she
was also the first officer--and therefore the person
best qualified to run the station in Sisko's absence.
    As she watched the Defiant shift to impulse power
and recede into the field of stars, the major was
reminded of another departure in which she had an
abiding interest. Unless she was mistaken, Quark's
ship was scheduled to be getting under way pretty
soon.
    Knowing the Ferengi as she did, she resolved to
check with him about it. With so much at stake for
her friends in Karvis, she didn't want to have to worry
about any last-minute mishaps.
    For the next fifteen minutes or so she remained at
her post, making sure there was nothing that required
her attention. Then she headed for Quark's.
    She had barely reached the Promenade when she
ran into Rom. Literally.
    The Ferengi looked up at her, eyes wide with
anxiety, hands clenched into tight little fists. He
looked as if someone had stolen his last bar of gold-
pressed latinum.
     "Major," cried Rom, "I'm so glad to see you.
 Something has happened--something terrible."
     Kira sighed. "What's the matter, Rom? Is there a
 holosuite on the blink? Or maybe you've run out of
 those salty little beer nuts Morn's so partial to?"
     "No," moaned the Ferengi. "It's even worse than
 that. My brother has fallen into a... a coma or
 something."
     Suddenly the Bajoran felt as if someone had phaser-
 blasted her in the stomach. She looked at Rom.
    "I want you to repeat that," Kira said, trying to
keep her emotions in check. "And I want you to
repeat it slowly."
    "It's my brother," Rom whined. "He... he
fainted, just as he was getting ready to leave for his
rendezvous with Fel Jangor. And I can't revive him."
The Ferengi wrung his hands. "You've got to do
something, Major."
    Kira cursed under her breath. It sounded bad.
Tapping her communicator, she looked up instinc-
tively at the station's intercom system.  "Kira to Dr. Bashir."
    The doctor took only a moment to respond. "Yes,
Major. What can I do for you?"
    "It's Quark," the Ferengi interjected, unable to
contain himself. "He's fallen into some kind of
coma."
    "Rom may be jumping to conclusions," the major
commented. "But there does seem to be something
wrong. I'll meet you in Quark's quarters."
  "Acknowledged," said Bashir.
 As Kira headed in that direction, Quark's brother
ran along beside her, trying desperately to match her
longer strides. "Do you think there'll be any perma-
nent damage?" he asked.
    The Bajoran grunted. "Only if he's faking," she
decided.
    It didn't take them long to reach the Ferengi's
quarters. Or, with Rom's participation, to bypass
Quark's multitudinous security systems.
    "Quark's always saying how you can't trust anyone
these days," Rom noted, as the doors opened on his
brother's anteroom. "In fact, according to him, you
never could."
    "Where is he?" asked Kira, ignoring the Ferengi
philosophy.
    "This way," said Rom, scurrying past her toward
the back room that apparently served as Quark's
bedchamber.
    Following the Ferengi, the major caught sight of a
couple of boots strewn on the section of floor framed
in the open doorway. It wasn't until Kira got closer
that she realized Quark's feet were still in them. He
was stretched out as if some irate customer had
leveled him.
    No--there was a difference. If he'd been knocked
out, he wouldn't have had those faint purple splotches
all over his face.
    Turning to her, Rom gasped. "Those marks," he
breathed. "They weren't there before, Major."
    Kneeling beside the unconscious Ferengi, Kira
loosened his brocaded collar. The skin of Quark's face
felt cold and clammy to the touch--though as she
recalled, it pretty much always felt that way. In any
case, he still had a nice strong pulse.
    Peering over her shoulder, Rom grunted. "You
know," he said, "if I didn't know better, I'd say those
were gruw'r spots."
    The major looked back over her shoulder at him.
"Gruw'r spots?" she echoed. "And what in the name
of the Prophets are those?"

"It's very simple, really," Bashir explained.
"Gruw'r spots are what you get when you contract
gruw'r--a childhood disease rather common among
the Ferengi, much as mumps or chicken pox used to
be common on Earth."
    He was examining Quark in the infirmary, having
brought the unconscious Ferengi here with the help of
Kira, Rom, and a couple of station personnel. It
hadn't taken him long to run a few tests--or to figure
out what was wrong.
    "And is that what Quark's got?" Kira inquired.
"This... gruw'r?"
    Casting a glance over his shoulder at his patient, the
doctor nodded. "Yes. Of course, the vast majority of
Ferengi seem to catch it before the age of nine, and
then never again. Quark must have been an excep-
tion."
    "That's right," Rom confirmed, plumbing his mem-
ory. "I got gruw'r when I was six. But Quark never
did, for some reason."
    "Some people just don't," Bashir told him. "They
have a natural immunity. But over the years, that
immunity tends to fade. That's what happened to our
fiend here, apparently. His immunity faded."
    Quark's brother grunted. "So when he came in
contact with someone carrying the disease..."
    "He came down with it in an Andorian minute,"
the doctor said, finishing the thought for him.
"What's more, the bug could've been carried by
anybody, not just a Ferengi." He smiled sympatheti-
cally at Rom. "And the tests show it wasn't you. So
Quark will have a hard time finding someone to
blame when he wakes up."
 "That's a relief," Rom replied earnestly.
    "So how fast can you cure him?" asked Kira, clearly
more interested in that detail than any other.
    She'd already confided in Bashir about the mission
Quark was involved in, and what it meant to Bajor.
With that in mind, he knew she wasn't going to like
what he had to tell her.
  "I can't," he said simply.
  "You've got to," the major insisted.
    The doctor shook his head. "In a child, this is not a
dangerous disease. But when it affects an adult, it can
be dangerous. It's also very difficult to treat. I'm
afraid I can't allow the patient to leave the infirmary,
even when he regains consciousness."
    Kira held her hands out to him. "There's got to be a
way," she began. "Something to suppress the symp-
toms..."
    "No," he told her, standing firm. "There is no way.
If I let Quark go, he won't be in any shape to do what
you need him to. And on top of that, he could die."
    That was a difficult argument to knock down. The
major's disappointment was evident in her face, her
hands, her entire body.
    After all, Kira had been on the verge of solving her
friend's problem--on the verge of saving a lot of
people from a lot of hardship. And now, her solution
was crumbling before her eyes.
    Bashir's heart went out to her. However, as was
sometimes the case in the medical profession, there
was nothing he could do.
  "I see," the major responded numbly.
    Rom tugged on Kira's sleeve. "Wait a minute," he
declared. "Maybe we can still do what you wanted us
to."
    The Bajoran frowned. "Come on, Rom. You heard
Dr. Bashir. Quark can't be moved from this place."
    The Ferengi looked up at her. "I know that. But
Quark isn't the only one who knows how to negotiate
a deal."
Kira's eyes narrowed. "What are you saying?"
Rom heaved an impatient sigh. "I'm saying that I'm
a Ferengi, too. I studied the Rules of Acquisition just
as Quark did. And though I may not be as good as my
brother, I've made a few transactions in my day."
    The major put a hand on the Ferengi's shoulder, a
token of her gratitude. "Nice try," she said. "But
Jangor won't negotiate with you. You're not the one
who saved his life, remember? It's Quark he has a soft
spot for."
    Rom started to protest--then caught himself. His
head dropped as if he were a puppet and someone had
cut his strings. "I guess you're right," he conceded.
"Jangor will only trust Quark, and Quark's not--"
    Abruptly the Ferengi's head snapped up. There was
a light in his eyes that would normally have reflected
an opportunity to acquire large quantities of
latinum--though Bashir had a feeling that, this time
at least, it signified something else.
    "Hang on," Rom told them. "Maybe Quark can be
there."
    The doctor gave the Ferengi his full attention. This,
he had to hear.

    It never took Odo long to find out anything that
took place on the station. In fact, he prided himself on
that ability.
    So when Quark was taken to Dr. Bashir's infirmary,
the constable got wind of it rather quickly. And just as
quickly, he made his way in that direction.
    Despite appearances to the contrary that he'd
worked rather hard to construct, he felt a certain
kinship with the Ferengi. After all, they were both
square pegs in round holes around here.
    Quark, because his values differed so much from
those of the station's other residents. And Odo,
because... well, because he was a shapeshifter,
whose people were perhaps the greatest threat to the
Federation in its long history. Those were two big
reasons right there.
    What's more, the Ferengi was the only one on Deep
Space Nine who shared Odo's interest in criminology.
Of course, Quark was looking at it from the side of the
criminal, but he was nonetheless interested. Nor was
it unusual for a lawman and his prey to find they had
more in common with each other than they did with
the community at large.
    The constable was just mulling over that irony
when he saw Kira and Rom coming toward him, from
the other end of the corridor. What's more, they were
discussing something in rather animated tones.
    Apparently, Odo mused, Quark wasn't that badly
off. Otherwise, the major and her companion would
have been a lot more solemn.
    "It won't work," said Kira, making a gesture of
dismissal with her hand. "Besides, Odo will never do
it."
      Stopping squarely in their path, the shapeshifter
cleared his throat. "What won't I do?" he asked.
  The major looked up at him. Rom, too.
  Kira smiled. "Nothing," she assured him.
  "How do you know?" Odo pressed.
  "I know," said the major.
 "I think you're wrong," the Ferengi maintained.
 The constable sighed. "Wrong about what?"
    Kira and Rom looked at each other. Finally it was
the Ferengi who spoke.
    "I'm saying you'll help the major out of a mess,"
Rom told him. "And she says you'll refuse."
Kira shook her head. "It's not that simple, Odo."
"Yes, it is," the Ferengi insisted. He cast a sidelong
glance at the constable. "Either he'll help or he
won't."
    Odo straightened. He gazed at Kira, whom he held
in more than amiable esteem. In point of fact, he was
in love with her, though he would never have dared to
come out and say so.
    "I'm afraid," he said, "Rom is right in this in-
stance. If I can help, all you have to do is say the
word."
    The major looked at him, obviously a bit uncom-
fortable with the carte blanche he'd just handed her.
"You're sure?" she prodded. "I'm sure," he confirmed.
    Kira looked as if she'd have liked to say more.
However, the Ferengi interrupted her.
     "It's a deal," he announced, grasping Odo's hand
and shaking it. "And believe me, you won't regret it."
  "Oh, yes, he will," the major replied.
    And to the constable's mounting chagrin, she told
him just what he'd gotten himself into.


CHAPTER
       8

O'BRIEN WAS DEEP into his shift at the Defiant's helm
when he got the feeling there was someone standing in
back of him. Old instincts taking over, he whirled,
ready for anything.
    But it wasn't an invader. At least, not in the strictest
sense. It was Graal, her round black eyes as inscruta-
ble as ever.
    At the far end of the bridge, Dax was running some
diagnostic routines on her science console. If she
had noticed Graal's entrance, she didn't give any sign
of it.
    Frowning, the chief tried to tell himself the Craynid
hadn't spooked him on purpose. She was just natu-
rally quiet in the way she moved about. "Yes?" he prompted.
 For a moment or two, there was silence. It seemed
to O'Brien that Graal was thinking   about
something--and as usual, taking her time.
"Chieff" she rasped finally.
    He sighed. "Yes, Commander?" He did his best to
keep the impatience out of his voice.
    Fortunately there weren't any big, heavy things for
O'Brien to lug about on the Defiant. His back was still
sore from all the lifting and twisting and pulling he
had done back on the station.
    "I believe you have missed an opportunity," the
Craynid remarked.
  He grunted. "An opportunity?"
    "Yes," she hissed. "To improve the efficiency of this
vessel."
    The chief could taste the bile rising in his throat.
"Really," he responded. "Well, with all due respect,
Commander, I'd be surprised if that were the case,
seeing as how I've been over the Defiant with a fine-
tooth comb. In fact, make that several fine-tooth
combs."
    And he had, too. It was one thing to criticize the
way he outfitted Deep Space Nine, considering all the
problems he had inherited from the Cardassians. But
he knew starship engineering as well as anyone in the
fleet, and the Defiant's best of all.
     "Nonetheless," Graal insisted, "there is room for
 improvement."
     O'Brien wanted to tell her where to get off. But of
 course, he couldn't. She outranked him. And even if
 rank weren't a factor, the Craynid was a friend of
 Captain Sisko.
    So he bit his tongue and maintained his composure.
He even attempted a smile, though he didn't imagine
it worked out very well.
    "Well," the chief replied, "I'd be glad to explore
this with you further, as soon as my shift is over."
    Graal seemed to ponder his response. Then she
said, "That will be satisfactory." And without any
further ceremony, she moved off in the direction of
the turbolift.
    O'Brien turned back to his controls and chewed the
inside of his cheek. There had been times in his life
when he couldn't wait for his shift to end.
 This wasn't one of them.

  Odo gasped. "You want me to what?"
    Kira looked at him sympathetically. "I knew you
weren't going to like the idea. But it really would be a
great help to the people of Karvis."
    "And besides," Rom pointed out from under his
nose, "we made a deal."
    The constable backed him off with a glare. "That
was before I knew what you were suggesting," he
argued.
  "A deal is a deal," the Ferengi insisted.
    Odo turned to the major again, seeking under-
standing. "But the thought of assuming Quark's
form"--He shuddered inwardly.--"is anathema to
me. And the idea of participating in Ferengi-style
negotiation..."
    "I know," said Kira. "It'd send shivers up my spine
as well."
    Technically speaking, of course, the shapeshifter
didn't have a spine. Or for that matter, a musculature
with which to shiver. But he understood all too well
what his friend was talking about.
    "What's more," he went on, "I wouldn't be very
good at what you're asking of me. I'd be a terrible
negotiator. And you know I can't create precise
likenesses--not of Quark or anyone else."
    He wasn't lying, either. If he'd been able to assume
a perfect humanoid appearance, he'd have done so a
long time ago--instead of walking around with
vague, half-formed features.
    "That's where I come in," Rom interjected, step-
ping between Odo and his friend. He looked up at the
shapeshifter. "I'll guide you through the negotiation
step by step. And as for creating a precise like-
ness..." He shrugged. "Don't give it a second
thought. Jangor is half-blind. If you look even a little
bit like Quark, he won't suspect a thing."
    Odo frowned at the Ferengi. "You look a little like
Quark already. Why don't you do this yourself?."
    "Because Quark already agreed to bring me," Rom
argued. "If I show up alone, pretending to be Quark,
he'll know something is wrong."
    The constable was starting to feel cornered. It
wasn't a pleasant experience. And if it weren't Kira
who was asking this of him, he would never even have
considered such a degrading notion.
     "Listen," said the Bajoran, seeming to read his
 thoughts. She looked sympathetic. "If it weren't such
an important cause, I wouldn't ask. But Karvis really
needs those power coils."
    Odo didn't have a chance. When Kira looked at
him that way, he melted. Not literally, of course, but
pretty close to it.
    He made a sound of defeat mixed with disgust. "All
right," he agreed finally. "I'11 give it a try--though
I'm still not convinced it'll work."
    More likely, the changeling told himself, the result
would be not only failure but humiliation for all
parties concerned. And he would be the most humili-
ated one of all.

    Dax looked up from her science console on the
bridge of the Defiant. For the second time in the last
hour, she watched Commander Graal approach Chief
O'Brien. And for the second time in the last hour, she
saw the chief whirl as if some enemy were trying to
sneak up on him.
  "Oh," said O'Brien. "It's you again... sir."
    Graal had no outward reaction to the remark. "I
believe your shift is over," she observed.
    As Dax watched the chief check the chronometer in
his control panel, she glanced at her own. Sure
enough, O'Brien's tour was coming to a close.
    As if to punctuate the Craynid's comment, the
turbolift doors opened and Lieutenant Thorn
emerged. He headed for the pilot's chair with a clear
and undisguised gusto for the task ahead of him.
    The chief sighed. "I suppose you're right," he told
Graal.
    With a reluctance that looked almost painful from
Dax's vantage point, O'Brien got up from his post and
gave way to Thorn. It seemed to her that Thorn
glanced sympathetically at his fellow human before
seating himself--and that O'Brien noted the gesture.
    Then, as the chief followed the Craynid toward the
lift, Thorn acclimated himself to the helm controls. It
didn't take him more than a minute to get comfort-
able, and even to make a few small adjustments.
    Dax smiled at the man's enthusiasm, and also at his
skill. From what she could see on her monitors,
Thorn's adjustments had been good ones.
"I can see you've done this before," Dax remarked.
Thorn turned to her, his broad face suddenly split
by a big, disarming smile. It would be difficult to
dislike this man, she imagined.
    "Once or twice," he joked, his blue eyes gleaming
merrily. "You see, before I was a security officer, I was
one of the best damned pilots to come out of the
Academy."
  The Trill grunted. "Modest, aren't we?"
    "It's no brag," the man assured her. "You can ask
any flight instructor I ever had. In fact, my very first
day on the Victory, I was assigned to the conn
station."
     That piqued Dax's interest. "The Victory, you say?
 I knew someone once who served on the Victory. A
 Vulcan named Simora."
     Thorn's smile faded just a bit. "You knew Simora,
 did you?"
  The Trill nodded. "We met when she came through
here with the Wellington. Smart lady. Sort of quiet.
And one hell of a cook. By the time she left, I was
making plomeek soup with the best of them."
    The security officer shrugged. "You got along with
Simora better than I did, apparently. I think I was a
bit too--oh, I don't know--blustery for her tastes, a
bit too rambunctious. But then, she wasn't very fond
of humans in general, it seemed to me."
    Dax looked at him thoughtfully. After a moment,
she nodded. "Yup," she said. "That's Simora, all
right."
    And without further comment, she turned her
attention back to her console. But in truth, her
attention was focused elsewhere.

    As O'Brien followed the Craynid out of the lift, he
was amazed once more by her slow and almost
painful-looking approach to locomotion. It occurred
to him that evolution was more efficient on some
planets than others.
    But then, comparative biology was more Julian's
field than his own. O'Brien was an engineer. And
Graal had at least hinted there was a need for a man
of his talents down here on the life-support deck, or
he wouldn't have come in the first place.
    "Can you tell me a bit more about the problem?"
he asked her.
    She didn't turn to look at him. She just stared at the
corridor up ahead. Obviously, she was pretty intent
on something, though the human still wasn't sure
what.
 "Not even a clue?" he prodded.
 "You will see soon enough," she whistled.
    Soon enough, he echoed inwardly. Well, I can tell
you, that makes me feel a whole lot better. Nothing I
look forward to more, after a full tour of duty on the
bridge, than following some tight-mouthed Craynid
who-knows-where for who-knows-what.
    Abruptly his companion stopped and looked
around. After a moment, she seemed to find what she
was looking for. With something like a sigh, she
approached the local node for the inertial damper
system.
    It was housed in a perfectly square box mounted
onto the bulkhead. To the untrained eye, it probably
looked like all the other perfectly square boxes up and
down the corridor. That is, until that untrained eye
got close enough to read the graphic on the thing.
    "This," hissed the former chief engineer of the
Saratoga.
    O'Brien looked at her. "There's something wrong
with the damper node? Some kind of malfunction?"
    Graal shook her oversize head from side to side. No
doubt, she'd picked up the gesture from working with
humans for so long.
    "Something's wrong," she confirmed. "But it's not
a malfunction." The Craynid leaned closer to him.
"Sabotage," she whispered.
     O'Brien hadn't expected her to say that. For a
 moment, he thought she was mistaken. Then he
 remembered that business with the circuitry back on
 Deep Space Nine.
    Frowning, he removed the housing from the node
and set it down on the floor. What he saw inside was a
series of knoblike projections, permeated with tiny
emitters and connected by power cables.
    They seemed functional and untouched. But just to
be certain, O'Brien took out his tricorder and ran it
over the whole affair. Then he eyed the device's tiny
readout--and saw there was something wrong in-
deed.
    Muttering a curse beneath his breath, he looked up
at Graal. "You're right," he blurted. "Someone's
tampered with this thing. If we were to accelerate
suddenly, this section of the ship would be structur-
ally at risk. An entire piece of the hull could collapse."
    The Craynid didn't remark on his observation
directly. "It will take work to correct," was her only
response.
    He held up the tricorder so she could see the
readout. "A good deal of it," he agreed.
    But that was far from the most disturbing aspect of
their discovery. Shaking his head, O'Brien looked at
the node in a new light.
    Who on this ship would want to tamper with the
inertial dampers? And more important... for what
purpose?

    Odo hooked a forefinger around his stiff brocaded
collar and tugged--to no avail. The damned thing
was just as uncomfortable and unyielding as before.
    Of course, the rest of his surroundings were quite
comfortable--almost too comfortable. Ostentatious,
one might say. But then, this was a hired spacecraft.
The more luxurious the environment, the more its
grasping captain could charge for it.
    Glancing to his right, the changeling again consid-
ered the mirrorlike surface that decorated the bulk-
head beside him. In it, he could see his reflection. Or
rather, to his chagrin, Quark's reflection.
    "What's the matter?" asked Rom, who was return-
ing from the next cabin with a platter of replicated
delicacies.
    Odo frowned as he regarded the mirror. "It's not
quite right," he observed. "The frontal lobes aren't
prominent enough."
  "They're fine," the Ferengi told him.
  "No, they're not," the constable insisted.
    He willed them to grow a bit. Before his eyes, they
complied.
    "Stop that," said Rom, putting his platter on a
small table.
    The changeling looked at him. "Look, it's bad
enough I have to go through with this incredibly
stupid charade. At least allow me the opportunity to
do it right."
    "Doing it right," the Ferengi argued, "will be more
a matter of behavior than appearance. Now, I assume
you've memorized everything?"
    Odo rolled his eyes disparagingly. "You mean your
Rules of Acquisition? Yes, I've memorized them--as
much as it pained me to do so."
     "Good," said Rom, sitting down beside the likeness
 of his brother. "Then recite Rule Sixteen for me."
  The constable turned on him. "What?"
     "You heard me," the Ferengi replied. "If you can't
 recite the Rules of Acquisition as the occasion de-
 mands, you'll never get Jangor to believe you're my
 brother."
     Odo cursed out loud--though it wasn't difficult to
 see the sense in Rom's advice. "Very well, then. Rule
 Sixteen. A deal is a deal until a better one comes
 along."
    The Ferengi grinned. "Very good, Constable. Very
good indeed. And Rule One hundred thirty-nine?"
    The changeling sighed. "Wives serve, brothers in-
herit."
      Quark's brother rubbed his hands together eagerly.
"Yes, perfect. That's one of my favorites."
  "I'm not surprised," Odo commented.
  "Rule Fifty-nine?" Rom prodded.
    "Free advice is seldom cheap," the constable re-
sponded.
  "Forty-eight?"
  "The bigger the smile, the sharper the knife."
  "Thirty-three?"
    "It never hurts to suck up to the boss," Odo an-
swered, at the end of his rope. "And then there's Rule
Six, of course. You know that one, don't you? Never
allow family to stand in the way of opportunity."
    The Ferengi's smile faded quickly. "I never saw the
wisdom in that one myself, I must admit. But it's
good to have it at your disposal." He paused. "What
about our hand signals?"
 "Don't worry," said the shapeshifter. "I've memo-
rized those as well. Palms up, I'm to agree with
Jangor. Palms down, I'm to disagree. And--"
    Abruptly the door to their cabin opened again.
Their pilot, an Yridian, walked in unannounced.
    "I hope you're enjoying the trip," he said, though it
was clear he didn't give a damn one way or the other.
    Odo cleared his throat. "You'd better hope so," he
said, doing his best impression of Quark. "I'm not in
the habit of paying for top accommodations and not
receiving them."
    Of course, the Yridian didn't know Quark very
well, having spoken to him only once or twice, so he
wasn't much of a critic. But to the changeling's relief,
he seemed fooled.
    "Whatever you say, Ferengi. If you like, you can
contact your friend now. We're in communications
range of his vessel."
    "Excellent," Odo replied. "But I think I can
wait--"
    "What my brother means," said Rom, "was he'd be
delighted to speak with Fel Jangor."
    The Yridian looked from one to the other of them.
"What's it to be?" he asked.
     Taking the hint, the shapeshifter sighed deeply.
 "Go ahead and contact the fellow," he confirmed.
     Their pilot nodded, then left them to themselves.
 Reluctantly Odo stood and turned toward the elabo-
 rately decorated pentagonal viewscreen that graced
 one of the bulkheads.
     A moment later, he saw a thickset, almost globular-
 looking figure appear on the screen. His pale, mottled
 skin and blunted features told the changeling this was
 a Retizian. And the length of the black quills that
 protruded from the fellow's chins, denoting advanced
 old age, told him this was very likely Fel Jangot.
     As Rom came to stand beside his "brother," the
 Retizian squinted at the two of them. Apparently his
 eyesight was every bit as bad as the Ferengi had
 indicated.
    "Fel Jangot," said Rom, in his most ingratiating--
and therefore annoyingintone. "It's so good to see
you again."
    The Retizian nodded. "Is that you, Quark? You
don't sound like yourself."
    Odo drew himself up to his full, albeit diminutive,
height. It was now or never, he told himself.
    "No, Fel Jangot. That's my brother, Rom." The
constable affected a smile. '7'm Quark, over here."
He waved, for good measure.
    The Retizian looked him up and down for what
seemed like an eternity. Odo began to wonder if he'd
missed something important. But how could that be?
If Rom hadn't noticed anything, how could Jangor?
    Then, much to his relief, the Retizian smiled back.
"Yes, of course," he replied. "My old friend Quark. It
seems my sight gets worse and worse every cycle.
That's not good, when you're a wanted man."
    The changeling shrugged, as if that didn't matter to
him. "We're a//wanted somewhere, aren't we?"
    Jangor laughed--a sound more like barking than
the kind of laughter Odo was used to. "You always did
have a way with words," the Retizian said. "But..."
He squinted again.
 "Yes?" the shapeshifter responded.
    "Now that I think about it, you don't look so well,"
Jangor observed. "You're not ill, are you?"
    In fact, he felt ill. The whole idea of impersonating
Quark made him more than a little queasy. But of
course, he couldn't say that.
    "I've caught some sort of virus," Odo explained.
"Nothing serious, mind you. It's good of you to
notice."
    "A good businessman can't help but notice," said
the Retizian.
    "How true," the changeling returned. "And you are
a good businessman. You know," he continued,
changing the subject, "I'm looking forward to this
negotiation. In fact, it may be just the cure I need."
      Jangor grunted. "I hope so, old friend. I'll make
arrangements to have you beamed aboard my vessel."
  "Excellent," Odo told him.
    A moment later, the viewscreen went blank. The
constable turned to Rom.
  "How did I do?" he asked.
    The Ferengi nodded. "You did well--better than I
expected, in fact. I don't think Jangor suspects a
thing."
    So far so good, thought Odo. He tugged again at his
collar. Now if I can just loosen this blasted thing...


CHAPTER
       9

As SISKO ENTERED the turbolift on his way to the
bridge, he saw that Lopez was already inside. The
science officer smiled.
  "It's about time you showed up, sir."
    Entering the lift, the captain cocked an eyebrow.
"Insubordination, Mr. Lopez?"
    "Perish the thought," his old colleague replied.
"Bridge," he commanded. "And don't spare the
horses."
    The doors closed. In a matter of moments, they
opened againmthis time on their destination. Lopez
indicated with a sweep of his arm that Sisko should
exit first.
  "Rank has its privileges," he remarked.
    "I see you've learned something since the Sarato-
ga," the captain quipped, emerging onto the bridge.
 "Ouch," said Lopez, following him out.
    As Sisko headed for his captain's chair, the science
officer made his way to the helm position. Dax, who
had manned that post for the last few hours, turned at
Lopez's approach. So did Thorn.
    "I hope your watch is as pleasant as mine was," the
big man told his friend.
    Lopez looked at the Trill as he answered. "How can
it be?" he remarked pointedly.
    Smiling at the compliment, Dax got up to give the
science officer her seat. But before she could be on her
way, Lopez caught her gently by the hand.
    "It seems we're like two ships passing in the dark of
space," he observed, "coming close but never quite
meeting."
    Dax looked impressed. "I like the metaphor," she
admitted.
  "I hoped you would," he told her earnestly.
    "Of course," she went on cordially, "some ships
never do meet. They just keep on passing each other."
    Withdrawing her hand, she left him openmouthed.
A moment later, she entered the turbolift.
    As the doors closed, the captain used his hand to
cover the lower half of his face, so Lopez couldn't see
him chuckling. Thorn, on the other hand, didn't
bother to conceal anything. He laughed out loud, until
the bridge was ringing with it.
  "Go ahead and laugh," declared the science officer.
    "All right," said the big man, "I will." And he
laughed some more.
  The captain couldn't help but enjoy Lopez's dis-
 comfort. "I'11 bet it's been a long time since anyone
 turned you down, Esteban. And not once but twice, as
 I understand it."
     Lopez shrugged. "It's a long trip, sir. Anything can
 happen."
     Sisko smiled. "I admire your attitude. But you'll
 find Lieutenant Dax isn't the sort to--"
    Before he could complete the sentence, he felt
himself catapulted out of his seat. For the fraction of a
second that he was hurtling forward, he wondered
what had happenedmwhat had gone wrong.
    Then he hit the hard surface of the deck, slid, and
slammed with bone-jarring force into the base of one
of the bridge consoles. It left him stunned, with the
metallic taste of blood in his mouth.
    For a moment the bridge went dark, the only light
that of a geysering shower of sparks from one of the
control consoles. Then, with a flicker or two, the
illumination returned.
    Struggling mightily to clear his head, the captain
looked up and saw his friends had been tossed about
as well. Fortunately neither of them had been
knocked unconscious.
    "What the hell was that?" he demanded, gathering
his feet beneath him. As he made his way back to the
captain's chair on legs too wobbly for his liking, he
noticed the viewscreen had gone black.
    "I wish I knew," replied Lopez, dragging himself
back up to a standing position, despite some nasty-
looking bruises on the side of his face. He began
tapping at the control padds on the nearest console,
trying to make sense of things.
    "It felt like we hit something," said Thom, who had
by then made his way to the helm controls.
     Sisko looked to the intercom grid concealed in the
ceiling. "Dr. Laffer, I want a casualty report."
  Silence.
 "Dr. Laffer?" the captain repeated.
 Again, no answer.
 He muttered a curse. "Zar?"
 "Here, sir," the Bolian replied.
     "Put together a casualty report, Lieutenant. And
find Dr. Laffer. She's not answering my call."
  "Aye, sir," said Zar.
    Sisko turned to the console on his right and re-
quested a damage report with a few quick touches.
The response was instantaneous.
    The majority of ship's systems had been jolted to
one degree or another. Some of the sensors had been
damaged, which explained the lack of an image on the
viewscreen. And the Defiant's cloaking capabilities
had been lost, at least for the time being.
    However, propulsion was clearly in the worst shape
of all. Both impulse and warp engines were off-line,
and would require some attention before they could
be of any use.
    Also, the escape pods had been wrecked rather
thoroughly. The captain shook his head, wondering
how that could be. After all, the escape pods had been
thoroughly secured prior to departure from Deep
Space Nine.
    He called up some further information, which
unraveled the mystery. Apparently the inertial damp-
ers in that section of the Defiant weren't working. So
when the impact came, there was nothing to stop the
pods from getting banged around.
    But it was highly unusual for a set of dampers to
conk out like that. They were usually among the last
pieces of equipment to go off-line. Sisko wished he
had more time to contemplate the situation, to try to
puzzle it out. However, he had more immediate
concerns.
    Turning to Lopez and Thorn, he was about to ask
them if they had figured out the cause of the impact.
But before he could get a word out, Zar's voice rang
out across the bridge.
  "Zar to Sisko. Come in, Captain."
  "Sisko here. What's happening, Lieutenant?"
    "We have Dr. Laffer, sir. She's unconscious, the
result of a head injury."
  "How bad is she?" asked the captain.
    "We don't know yet," the Bolian replied, his voice
taut. "Dax and I have stabilized her, but we're not
physicians. It's going to take a while to develop a
prognosis, I'm afraid."
    Sisko shook his head. It was a terrible irony. If
anyone else but Laffer had gone down, they would
have had the services of a doctor. But with Laffer
hurt, they didn't have that luxury.
    "I think I've got the viewscreen working," Thorn
announced. He made a few more adjustments to
circumvent the damaged sensors. "Here goes."
    In the next instant, the screen went from black to a
blinding, coruscating blue, shot through with twist-
ing, writhing cylinders of red. As the captain watched,
the image changed. The blue became orange, the red
cylinders a series of green spikes.
    He had seen something like it on Earth once, during
a summer vacation in Alaska. Their guides had called
the phenomenon the northern lights. But of course,
what Sisko saw now was much more vivid, much
more beautiful.
    And much more frightening, considering what it
had done to them and their ship. With an effort, the
captain tore his gaze from the screen and turned to
Lopez.
 "Esteban, what is it?"
    The science officer didn't turn around. He just
shrugged.
    "Hard to say," he answered. "But whatever it is, it's
sucking us into its center. And from what I can tell,
the forees that tossed us about just now are even more
tumultuous the deeper you go."
    Sisko didn't like the sound of that. "Continue your
investigation," he told Lopez. "I'11 have Dax give you
a hand as soon as she's done below."
    He had barely completed his instructions when the
turbolift doors opened and spit out the Trill. "Coun-
selor Barnes and Lieutenant Zar are looking after Dr.
Laffer," she announced, heading straight for one of
the control stations. "I thought I'd be more help up
here."
    "I've asked Lieutenant Lopez to determine what
we're up against," the captain said.
    It was all the explanation she needed. As she set to
work just a few feet from Lopez, the man glanced at
her.
    "I certainly chose one hell of a way to get close to
you," he joked.
    Dax looked up for a second. "It wasn't your fault,"
she pointed out.
    "It was my turn at the helm," Lopez insisted. "I
should've seen it coming, whatever it was."
    The Trill frowned. "There'll be plenty of time to
beat yourself up later," she told him. "Right now,
we've got a job to do."
  "Exactly," Sisko joined in.
    At the sound of his voice, Dax glanced over her
shoulder at him. He saw something strange in her
eyes.
    A need to speak, he realized. A desire to share some
valuable bit of information. But the Trill's expression
said it could wait awhile, just like Lopez's self-
recriminations.
    The captain looked up at the viewscreen, where the
phenomenon danced and whirled in hues so rich they
hurt his eyes. How could anything so lovely have
placed them in such a bind? he wondered.

 "Please," said Jangor, "sit down."
    Odo complied, choosing a spot on a long, low couch
covered in soft, dark fabric. As he sat, he sank several
inches into the thing, so that his feet didn't quite
reach the floor.
    The expression on Rom's face told the constable
how foolish he looked. But still, it wasn't polite to
refuse a seat from one's trading partner. And Jangor
himself was occupying the only other acceptable seat
in the room, a big, high-backed wooden throne that he
had no doubt pilfered from one of the more primitive
worlds in the sector.
    So the Ferengi sat down next to Odo--and sank in
just as much. It was a source of perverse and unex-
pected satisfaction to the changeling that Rom's feet
didn't reach the ground either.
    "This is, er, a very nice place you've got here," Odo
observed. After all, that's how Quark would have
opened the conversation. Or so he believed.
    "Thank you," Jangor replied. "Though, really, it's
furnished much the same as my old ship. As you will
recall, I am a creature of habit."
    "Yes," Rom chuckled knowingly. "Very much a
creature of habit."
    The Retizian responded with the kind of look a
Klingon might give a dull blade. Apparently he only
tolerated Quark's brother. But then, it wasn't Rom
who had saved his life all those years ago.
    "May I offer you something to eat? To drink?"
asked Jangor, turning to the being he thought was his
old friend.
    "No, thank you," Rom answered, speaking for both
himself and Odo. "Perhaps later."
     "Very well, then," Jangor said, leaning forward to
 emphasize his desire to converse with Quark. "So,
 you old dust devil, it appears you're interested in my
 power coils."
     Rom set his hands on edge in his lap, palms
 together. That meant Odo was neither to agree nor
 disagree, but to act circumspect.
  "You could say that," he told their host.
    Jangor looked at him askance. "You're interested in
something else, perhaps?"
    Rom turned his hands palms down. The signal to
disagree.
  "No, not really," Odo replied.
    "Then you are interested in the power coils," the
Retizian concluded.
    Rom's hands turned palms up. He pretended to
inspect them.
  "Yes," Odo said. "I am interested indeed."
    He was getting the feeling their system of hand
signals might end up hampering the negotiations.
However, it was too late to change it now.
    "I see," Jangor remarked. "And you have a market
for these coils?"
  Rom's palms remained up.
  "That's correct," the changeling said.
    The Retizian's eyes narrowed. "And might I ask
what it is?"
 Palms down.
    "Now then," Odo responded, "I don't think that
should be of any consequence. Particularly between
old friends."
    Jangor grunted. "Perhaps not. The only thing of
real consequence, I suppose, is the price of the bar-
gain."
 Palms up.
The changeling nodded. "I agree completely."
"Good," said the Retizian. "Then let's get down to
the nitty-gritty. The coils are ten bars of gold-pressed
latinurn apiece, ninety if you buy all ten. And believe
me, that is not a deal I would offer just anyone."
  Palms down.
    "Unfortunately," Odo told him, "I had a slightly
different figure in mind."
    He wasn't sure what that figure might be, of course.
But with luck, Rom would find a way to tell him.
    "Different," Jangor repeated thoughtfully. He
leaned back in his chair and tapped his fingers on the
wooden armrest. "How different?"
    The shapeshifter shrugged. "How different do you
think?"
  The Retizian eyed him critically. "For all ten?"
    Odo didn't need Rom to provide the answer to that
question. "All ten," he confirmed.
  Jangor stroked his chin. "Eight and a half bars."
  Palms down.
    The constable sighed. "I was thinking of a some-
what greater difference."
    "Greater," their host echoed. Jangor seemed to
have lost much of his good humor.
     Apparently the fact that Quark had saved his thiev-
 ing hide counted for only so much. In that regard,
 Odo suspected, Retizians and Ferengi had a great deal
 in common.
  "Eight and a quarter," Jangor decided.
    Rom's palms remained down. The changeling bit
his lip. He could imagine few things more painful
than this petty niggling.
    Nonetheless he maintained his composure. After
all, he reminded himself, he was doing this for Kira.
    "I was hoping you could do better than that," Odo
told the Retizian.
    Jangor leaned even farther back into his seat.
Clearly, he was finding this negotiation more nettle-
some than he had expected.
    "Better," the Retizian remarked dryly, managing to
make the concept sound inherently unreasonable.
    Rom turned his hands palms upward. It wasn't
necessary, of course. The shapeshifter had recognized
the remark as a rhetorical one.
    Suddenly Jangor rose from his chair. One of his
eyes was twitching, indicating the rise of volatile
emotions within.
    "Is there something wrong?" he asked Rom, his
voice seething with pique.
    The Ferengi looked up at him with the innocence of
a newborn babe. "What do you mean?" he inquired.
    "What I mean," said the Retizian, "is you've been
fidgeting with your hands ever since you walked in
here. I find it more than a little distracting to have to
watch you."
 Rom was clearly at a loss as to what to say. And
judging from the tone in Jangor's voice, there was a
potential for things to get even worse.
    "I agree," Odo said, getting to his feet to draw the
Retizian's attention to himself. "My brother can be
distracting, at times. Unfortunately, this quirk of his
is neurological--and quite incurable." He turned to
Rom. "Isn't that right, Brother?"
    The Ferengi nodded meekly. "Yes, quite incur-
able."
    The constable turned back to Jangor. "I apologize,
old friend. The last thing I wanted to do was cause
you discomfort."
    The Retizian looked at him intently. Only after a
while did his features begin to soften, then soften
some more. Finally, taking a deep breath, Jangor
receded into his high-backed chair.
    "It's I who should apologize," he said. "There was a
time when that sort of thing wouldn't have bothered
me at all. Now..." He shook his head miserably.
"Never grow old, my friend."
    For a moment, there was silence in the wake of the
Retizian's remark. In the end, Odo was the one who
broke it.
    "I have a suggestion," he declared. "Why don't we
rest up and try this again tomorrow? I think we'll all
be in a better frame of mind."
    Jangor thought for a moment, then nodded. "I
believe you're right, Quark." He managed a smile.
"You always were the voice of reason, weren't you?"
The changeling fashioned a smile of his own. "Now
that you mention it," he said, "I believe I was. And a
good thing for you, Fel Jangor."
    The Retizian chuckled. "Yes, a good thing for me.
Tomorrow then?"
  Odo nodded. "Tomorrow it is."
    With a perfunctory wave of his hand, Jangor started
to leave the room. Then he looked back at his visitors.
    "Where are my manners?" he asked. "That ship
you came on can't be very comfortable. Why don't
you spend the night on my vessel, so we can get an
early start in the morning?"
    Out of the corner of his eye, the constable could see
Rom starting to turn his hands palms upward. Fortu-
nately the Ferengi thought better of it. Instead, he just
stared at his "brother," as if hoping to get the message
across by means of telepathy.
    Not being telepathic, however, Odo could only
guess at the right response. What's more, he didn't
have a great deal of time in which to do so.
    He looked up at the Retizian. "We... would be
delighted."
    "Good," said Jangor. "I'll have one of my servants
see to your accommodations." Then he left the room.
    Once he was certain that their host was gone, the
changeling turned to Rom. The Ferengi held his hands
up in an appeal for forgiveness.
 "Sorry," he whined, for good measure.
 "Sorry indeed," muttered Odo.
 Clearly they would have to find another way to
make this work, or Kira's friends could forget about
their power coils.

    In the wardroom of the Defiant, Sisko sat back in
his seat, surveyed those assembled around the table,
and sighed. He was just beginning to get a handle on
how bad things really were.
    "So Dr. Laffer's condition may be even worse than
we thought?" he asked Counselor Barnes.
    "It seems that way," she confirmed. "Without a
doctor on hand, it's hard to tell for certain. And if she
takes a turn for the worse, none of us here is really
qualified to deal with it."
    The captain nodded. "I see." He turned to O'Brien
and Graal, who sat next to each other. "And the
propulsion system?"
 The chief scowled. "It's a mess."
    "How long to get the warp drive working again?"
Sisko inquired.
    O'Brien glanced at the Craynid, then shrugged. "A
couple of days, maybe. Certainly not less than a day
and a half."
    The captain grunted and looked to Zar. "Lieu-
tenant?"
    "I got a distress call out," the Bolian reported. "But
we're pretty far from any other Federation vessels.
I'm not optimistic that we'll receive help on a timely
basis."
    Sisko made a pyramid of his hands and turned his
attention to Thorn. "What about the shields?" he
asked. "Don't tell me there's bad news from that
quarter as well."
    "I won't," replied the security chief. "Fortunately
the shields are working fine. We're fully protected
from any and all radiation hazards--at least for the
time being."
    The captain smiled. "Thank you, Mr. Thorn. I
could always count on you in a pinch." Finally, he
eyed Dax and Lopez. "Well? Any idea what it is we've
blundered into?"
  "We have a theory," the Trill began.
    "Yes," said Lopez. "Our sensor information indi-
cates we're situated at the nexus of two sets of energy
waves--each one generated by a supernova in the
area."
    "I know how unlikely that sounds," Dax added
quickly. "Nonetheless, it's the truth."
"Why didn't we detect this sooner?" asked Sisko.
"We would have," Lopez answered, "if we'd been
traveling at sublight. But, of course, we weren't. And
this nexus is virtually undetectable at warp speeds."
    "The worse news," Dax remarked soberly, "is that
we're being drawn deeper and deeper into the thing--
even more quickly than we first suspected. In ten
hours, maybe less, the stresses on the Defiant will be
great enough to tear her apart."
    Her announcement was met with an oppressive
silence. The captain surveyed the faces of his col-
leagues, old and new. None of them looked very
happy about the situation.
    But then, they had all been in worse spots than this
one. Somehow they would find a way out of it.
    "Clearly," he said, "we've got to escape this phe-
nomenon before we reach the point of no return--
and we don't have time to repair the warp drive." He
looked to O'Brien. "Any chance of repairing those
escape pods, Chief?."
    It was Graal who replied first. "That is not an
option," she noted. "The damage is too severe."
    Sisko cursed inwardly. "All right, then. What about
the impulse engines? Can we get them working in the
next several hours--say, at even partial effective-
ness?"
 The chief frowned. "I don't know, sir."
    "We will make the attempt," the Craynid elabo-
rated. "But there are no guarantees."
    "I wasn't expecting any," the captain told her.
"Take Mr. Thorn with you. Maybe he'll see something
you've overlooked."
    Judging from O'Brien's expression, he didn't think
that was very likely. Nonetheless, he nodded. "Aye,
sir."
    Sisko turned to Zar and Barnes. "You two will have
to look after Dr. Laffer. Take turns, two hours apiece
or whatever you're comfortable with. But stay alert in
case her status changes."
    The Bolian would have liked to be more involved in
the rehabilitation of ship's systems. The captain knew
that. But he also knew that Zar would follow orders,
no matter what they were.
 "Aye, sir," said the Bolian. Barnes just nodded.
 "What about me?" asked Lopez.
    Sisko looked at him. "See what you can do about
repairing the sensor array, Esteban. We may need it at
full capacity before we're done."
    The captain was about to ask Dax to work along-
side the science officer. But when he saw her expres-
sion, he thought better of it.
 "You're with me," he told the Trill.
    There was a spark of gratitude in her eyes. "Aye,
Captain."
    No one wondered where Sisko and Dax were going
or what they were doing. After all, everyone had his or
her own assignment to attend to, and that was more
than enough to worry about for the time being.
    But the captain wondered. Fortunately, he thought,
it wouldn't be long before he found out.

CHAPTER
      lO

JAKE COULDN'T HELP but be aware of how empty his
quarters felt without his father around. He had hoped
having Nog over for a Fretillian fizz would change
that. Unfortunately Nog wasn't very good company
lately.
    "He's in trouble," said the Ferengi, leaning back
into Sisko's couch. "I know he is."
    Jake shook his head. "You don't know that. Your
father might be doing a great job."
    Nog grunted. "I know my father. And I tell you, he
is not doing a great job at all. Despite his good
intentions, he may throw a..." He paused, searching
for the right idiom.
 "A what?" asked the human.
    "You know," said the Ferengi, looking annoyed.
"An implement used by animals or something--
small, hairy animals with bowlegs. You said they were
your ancestors, though I think you were joking."
    Jake thought for a moment. Finally it came to him.
"A monkey wrench," he announced triumphantly.
    "Yes," said Nog, pointing at him. "A monkey
wrench, exactly. That is what my father will throw
into the negotiations."
    The human sighed. "You've got to have confidence
in him, Nog--the same way you would want him to
have confidence in you."
    The Ferengi peered up at him. "You don't under-
stand. My father is putting his career on the line--
maybe even his life."
    Jake looked at him askance. "His life? What do you
mean?"
    Nog scowled. "I mean my father hasn't exactly
impressed anyone with his ability to transact busi-
ness. And a Ferengi without a head for business has
no future. He might as well be dead."
    The human scowled back at him. "You really
believe that?"
    Nog gnawed pensively on one of his knuckles.
"No," he said at last. "Not really. But all the rest of
my people believe it, so what difference does it make
what I think?"
    "It makes a lot of difference," Jake insisted. "I
don't think your father cares all that much what other
Ferengi think. But I think he'd be hurt if he thought
he'd disappointed you."
 His friend pondered the advice. After a while, it
seemed to comfort him. "I suppose you're right," he
said, "in a hu-man kind of way."
 Jake smiled. "That's the only way I know."
 "You know," said Nog, cheering up visibly, "I think

I could use another
 The boy nodded.
    The Ferengi held
on me."

fizz. How about you?"
"Sure. I'll get us a couple."
his hand up. "No. This round is

    He looked scared for a moment, as he realized what
he'd said. Instantly he amended it.
 "That's a figure of speech, of course."
 "Of course," Jake assured him.
    He watched Nog enter the cooking area. The
Ferengi didn't often offer to serve anyone--he always
said he did too much of that in his uncle's bar. So this
was a rare occasion.
    And maybe, the human thought, a small expression
of Nog's gratitude. Not that it was necessary. Jake
wasn't looking for thanks. Seeing his friend's spirits
improve was reward enough.
    Besides, talking about Rom's predicament made
the captain's seem petty by comparison. Nog's father
was involved in a tricky situation, with his reputation
hanging in the balance.
    Jake's dad was only coping with a difficult
memory--and from the looks of things before he
left, it wasn't as difficult as Jake had feared. In fact,
his trip to Mars might even have turned out to be
fun.
 The boy shook his head at the irony. Here he'd been
worried sick about the captain's reaction to his old
colleagues--and it was Rom who was turning out to
have all the trouble on his hands.
    It just goes to show you, he mused, as Nog finished
mixing the fizzes and brought them over. Things are
hardly ever what they seem.

    Sisko waited until the door to his quarters had slid
closed, leaving him alone with Dax. Then he turned to
her.
    "So?" he prodded. "What did you want to see me
about, Old Man?"
    Dax frowned. "What happened to those escape
pods wasn't just bad luck. We've got a saboteur on our
hands, Benjamin."
  He nodded. "Yes, I know that."
    She looked at him, surprised. "You know?" she
asked.
    "I know," the captain confirmed. "O'Brien and
Graal came to me a little while ago. They said that
just before we fell victim to the wave nexus, they
found a sabotaged damper node."
    Dax grunted. "You might have shared that with me,
Benjamin."
    Sisko shrugged. "I would have if the opportunity
had presented itself. But we've been too busy until
now."
    The Trill took a breath and let it out. "All right, I
forgive you."
    "Thanks," the captain replied. "Now, we ought
to--"
    She held up her hand. "Hang on a minute. I'm not
done."
    "Oh?" he responded. What else did she have to tell
him?
 "I think I know who the saboteur is, "Dax went on.
    Now it was his turn to be surprised. "Really," he
said. "Well, don't keep me in suspense, dammit."
    Dax folded her arms across her chest, as if she
weren't entirely comfortable with her conclusion.
How could she be?
 "It's Thom," she told him.
    Sisko swallowed. It had hurt to know that one of his
former colleagues was up to no good. But to hear a
name put to the crime...
 "You have evidence?" he asked.
    The Trill pressed her lips together, then shook her
head. "Not exactly. Remember, I said I think I know
who it is. But it's not conclusive."
    Inwardly the captain felt relieved. "Why don't you
tell me about it anyway, and let me judge for myself?."
    "All right," she agreed. "When we were on the
bridge together, Thorn lied to me. He said he'd served
on the Victory. Well, as it happened, I knew someone
else who'd served on the Victory. A Vulcan named
Simora, who came through Deep Space Nine on the
Wellington."
Sisko recalled the Wellington's stopover. "Go on."
Dax did as she was instructed. "When I asked
Thorn if he knew Simora, he said yes. But he went on
to describe her as unfriendly to humansmnot an
uncommon appearance when it comes to Vulcans.
After all, most of them are rather standoffish with
regard to other species."
  "But?" the captain provided.
    "But Simora was an exception," she told him. "She
got along fine with everyone, humans included. And
Thorn would have known that--if he was telling the
truth."
    Sisko absorbed the information. "I know for a
fact," he said, "that Thorn served on the Victory. It's
in his service file. So why would the man lie about
knowing this friend of yours?"
    "I don't know," the Trill told him. "But there's
more, Benjamin. You see, it was Thorn who laid in
the course that brought us to the nexus. If he had
varied even a fraction of a degree, we would have
missed it." She looked at him. "You see what I
mean?"
    The captain couldn't help but see it. However, it
was still hard to believe. Aidan Thorn was one of the
finest, bravest, most trustworthy men he'd ever
known. At least, he'd always thought so--until now.
    "But why would he have done all this?" Sisko
asked, posing the question to himself as much as to
Dax. "What did he have to gain? I mean, we're all in
this together. If we perish here, Thorn will perish,
too."
    His friend shook her head. "I'll admit," she re-
marked, "it's a mystery why he or anyone else would
want to see us stranded. But someone is responsible.
And it looks to me like Thorn's the one."

    The captain sighed. He hated this. He wanted to
deny it with every fiber of his being. However, he
couldn't let his personal feelings get in the way of his
crew's survival.
    "If you want," Dax offered, 'Tll keep an eye on
him. With any luck, he'll give us some idea of what
he's up to--before our ten hours are up."
    "That won't be necessary," Sisko told her. "I've got
O'Brien and Graal on the case already." He indicated
the corridor with a tilt of his head. "Now let's make
ourselves useful before we're missed."
    "We need to implement a change of strategy," Odo
decided, pacing the length of the quarters that Jangot
had assigned to them.
    "I'm ashamed of myself," said Rom, cradling his
head in his hands. "I'm more than ashamed, I'm
mortified."
    The constable stopped. "Did you hear what I said?"
he asked.
    "My brother's right," the Ferengi went on. "I'm a
third-rate negotiator, a disgrace to my family and
everyone I've ever been associated with."
    Odo rolled his eyes. He had no intention of listen-
ing to this drivel. Not when they had to figure out a
way to salvage their operation.
    "Try to get hold of yourself," he told his compan-
ion. "We made a mistake, that's all. Now we're going
to do better."
 But Rom seemed determined to flagellate himself.
"My brother told me over and over," he moaned. "I
just don't have the knack that he has. I'm a failure at
business."
    The shapeshifter sighed. Now he tells me he's a
failure. Why couldn't he have said that in the begin-
ning? Why couldn't he have warned me that he would
crack under the pressure?
    Unfortunately Odo was stuck with him. If he didn't
want to disappoint Kira, he would just have to make
the best of it.
    "I have no right calling myself a Ferengi," Rom
complained. "A Ferengi without profit..."
    "Is no Ferengi at all," the changeling finished,
without really thinking about it.
    Rom looked up at him, momentarily halted in his
chant of self-deprecation. "The eighteenth Rule of
Acquisition. Very good."
    Odo scowled. "As I was saying, we need to try a
different approach--one that doesn't rely on hand
signals. Or, for that matter, any other kind of signal."
    The Ferengi seemed puzzled. "But without signals,
how will you know what to do? What to say?"
  "Simple," said the constable. "I'll wing it."

    O'Brien looked at Graal, then Thom, and frowned.
"All right," he said. "You heard the captain. We need
to get this vessel up and running in the next several
hours--or else."
    Tapping a padd on one of the consoles, he brought
up a schematic of the impulse engines on the monitor
directly above. As he had indicated in the wardroom,
the things were a mess.
    "This is what we've got to work with," he told his
colleagues. "And these are in good shape compared to
the warp drive. As you can see, we've got our work cut
out for us."
    At his right shoulder, the Craynid made a whistling
sound. Thom, looking over O'Brien's left shoulder,
just grunted.
    "I'm no propulsion expert," the big man remarked,
"but it seems several engine components went com-
pletely undamaged."
    "That's true," the chief agreed. "Unfortunately
several other components were turned to junk--
especially the smaller, more delicate parts. And we
need all of them to get ourselves moving again."
    Thorn scowled. "If they're as small as they look,
why can't we simply make more of them with our
replicators? Surely their patterns are in the ship's
computer somewhere."
    O'Brien thought for a moment. "Interesting idea,"
he conceded. "But there's a bit of a problem. To
replace all the parts, we'd need more raw material
than we have on board."
    "Then why not replicate the most crucial compo-
nents," Graal suggested, "and replace the rest with
parts from other systems?" She pointed to the screen.
"This, for instance. The wave modulation spur. With
a little work, we can substitute a graviton inverter
from the tractor assembly."
    The chief looked at her. "You might have some-
thing there," he told her. Turning to his control panel,
he did a few quick calculations. Then he smiled. "You
might indeed."
    "I will seek out the necessary specifications for the
replicators," the Craynid volunteered.
  Thorn looked at her. "I'll give you a hand."
    O'Brien nodded. "Good." He tapped his communi-
cator badge. "Engineering to Captain Sisko."
    "Sisko here," came the reply. "What have you got,
Chief?."
    "An idea," O'Brien began. "But it'll be a while
before we know if it's going to work. Basically we're
talking about replicating replacement parts for the
impulse engines--and jury-rigging the rest."
    There was a pause. Apparently the captain had his
doubts about their approach. But on the other hand,
he seemed to respect their opinions.
 "Keep me posted," he told O'Brien.
 "Will do," the chief responded. "O'Brien out."

    In the room they'd been given on Fel Jangor's ship,
Odo watched Rom's jaw drop. It was not the most
attractive thing he had ever seen.
    "You'll wing it?" echoed Quark's brother. "But
how? You're not a Ferengi. You haven't been trained
in the delicate art of negotiation."
 "Then train me," the constable told him.
 Rom looked appalled. "Here? Now?"
    "Why not?" asked Odo. "I've already memorized
the Rules of Acquisition."
    The Ferengi shook his head sadly. "The Rules of
Acquisition are only the most basic guidelines. To
negotiate a deal effectively, you need style. You need
panache."
 "Like Quark?" the shapeshifter inquired.
    Rom nodded vigorously. "Oh yes. My brother has a
great deal of style."
    "All right," said Odo. "Then it's just a matter of my
adopting it. If you can tell me how Quark operates,
I'll take it from there."
     The Ferengi looked hesitant. "Quark wouldn't like
my telling you about him. Not at all."
 "Why not?" asked the constable.
    Rom's lips pressed together tightly. "He just
wouldn't. It's kind of..." He shrugged. "Kind of
personal."
    "I see," said Odo. "And how personally will Quark
take it if I shut down his bar for a few weeks? Say,
because of some minor health code infractions I've
seen fit to overlook until now?"
    The Ferengi swallowed at the prospect. "You
wouldn't."
 The shapeshifter smiled. "Oh, wouldn't I?"
    Rom sighed. "Then again," he replied, "perhaps
my brother would understand if I gave you a few
small pointers."
 "Such as?" Odo prodded.
    "Well," said the Ferengi, "according to my brother,
the key to being a good negotiator is acting as if you
don't care if the deal falls through." For emphasis he
made a gesture of dismissal.
    The constable looked at him uncertainly. "But I do
care," he explained. "These power coils are very
important to Kira and her people."
    "Of course they are," Rom told him. "But Quark
would say to forget all that, if you want to succeed."
    Odo harrumphed. "Maybe that works for Quark,
but it's not going to work for me. Maybe I should
learn some other style of negotiation--something
more suited to my temperament."
    Rom grunted uncomfortably. "Pardon me for say-
ing so, but I don't know any Ferengi with your
temperament."
    The changeling scowled. "All right, then. Forget my
temperament. Just run through some classic strategies
and I'll pick one."
    His companion thought for a moment. "Well," he
said at last, "there's the Moxon Maneuver. That's
often effective."
"The Moxon Maneuver? What's that?" asked Odo.
"It was named after my father's uncle Moxon,"
Rom explained. "When he would enter a negotiation
with someone who didn't know him, he would pre-
tend to be stupid." The Ferengi made loops in the air
around his ears and crossed his eyes. "You know,
mentally incapable."
    The shapeshifter regarded him. "And this was an
asset?"
    Rom nodded enthusiastically. "Oh yes. It caused
whomever he was dealing with to lower their guards.
They were so eager to take advantage of Uncle
Moxon, they ended up agreeing to a bad transaction.
Bad for them, that is--not for Uncle Moxon."
    Odo shook his head. "I don't think I'd be very good
at playing dumb. And also, Jangor knows Quark. He
wouldn't know what to make of it if I began acting out
of character."
 The Ferengi frowned. "That's true."
"What else is there?" the changeling inquired.
Again Rom gave the problem some thought. Fi-
nally, his eyes lit up. "There's always the Pluboi
Ploy."
    "Pluboi?" Odo repeated. "Another uncle, I sup-
pose?"
    "A distant cousin," the Ferengi told him. "On my
Moogie's side, bless her tiny lobes."
    "Charming," said the constable. "And what's his
angle?"
    Rom smiled. "Information overload. Pluboi makes
a point of having prodigious amounts of data on any
subject you can name. And when a deal comes up, he
makes it available to whomever wants it."
    Odo's eyes narrowed. Actually, he thought, it was a
rather clever approach. "The other negotiators are so
flooded with information, they don't know what to
believe. Then your cousin moves in and capitalizes on
their confusion."
    The Ferengi snickered and rubbed his hands togeth-
er. "Exactly. So, er... what do you think?"
    The shapeshifter shook his head. "It's a little too
late to start accumulating data on power coils. And
even if we could get our hands on some, I've got a
feeling Jangor wouldn't fall for it. He seems too sure
of himself to be swayed by that sort of tactic."
    "You know," said Rom, "I had a feeling you were
going to say that. Unfortunately it doesn't leave us
much else." Suddenly, his eyes opened wide and he
snapped his fingers. "Except the Krechma Offensive!"
  Odo eyed him. "And what's that?"
  "Krechma--who, I regret to say, is not at all related
  to me--was one of our most brilliant negotiators
  until his life ended several years ago in a strip-mining
  accident." The Ferengi paused. "It was suspicious,
  too--the way he died, I mean. To this day, there are
  those who insist he wasn't checking the treads on that
  vehicle at all, but--"
  "Rom!" the changeling snarled.
    The Ferengi stopped dead in his tracks. "Sorry," he
said earnestly. "I guess I get carried away sometimes."
    "You don't have to apologize." Odo sighed. "Just
tell me about this Krechma person, will you?"
    "Right," Rom replied, waxing serious. "You see,
Krechma's strategy was to instill fear in his adversar-
ies. He would do it any way he could--by making
them think their goods were substandard, by implying
there was a competitor entering the market, whatever
he could think of."
"Fear," the constable echoed. "And it worked?"
"Like a charm," the Ferengi swore. "In a matter of
minutes, Krechma could find your worst fear and
amplify it. Before long, your nerves would be so
jangled, you would give him whatever he wanted--
and thank him profusely for taking it." He grinned.
"You can see why Krechma is one of my heroes."
    Odo didn't respond to the remark. He simply
considered the possibilities--and ultimately rejected
them.
    "Too idiosyncratic," he concluded. "It would take a
special sort of personality to elicit that kind of result.
And as I noted before, Jangor is a seasoned negotia-
tor. I believe even someone like Krechma--were he
alive today--would have a hard time with our host."
    Rom shrugged. "I can't think of anything else. Oh,
there are plenty of other approaches, I'm sure--but
when it comes to negotiation, my people don't gener-
ally advertise their tactics."
    "No," said the shapeshifter, "I don't suppose they
would. That leaves only one other option open to
me."
  "And what's that?" asked his companion.
    Odo lifted his chin in a show of determination. "I'll
have to develop a style of my own."

    For two hours, Zar had assisted Lopez in his
attempts to repair the Defiant's hobbled sensor array.
While they had made some progress, there was still a
long way to go.
    The Bolian would have liked to stay with his old
colleague, to see their efforts through to completion.
Unfortunately that wasn't in the cards. Captain Sisko
had asked him to take turns with Barnes watching
over Dr. Laffer, and Zar never disobeyed an order.
 Except that once, of course. But if he hadn't, Sisko
would have fallen victim to the Borg--and by that
time, there had been plenty of victims already.
    As he entered sickbay, Zar found Barnes standing
beside Laffer, arms folded tightly across her chest.
The counselor appeared helpless, frustrated. When
she looked up at him, there were shadows beneath her
eyes--and not from lack of sleep, he intimated.
The doctor, of course, looked worse. Much worse.
"Anything to report?" the Bolian asked softly.
Barnes shook her head. "Everything's the same."
"It's my shift," Zar reminded her. "Why don't you
go lie down for a little while? Or see if there's
something you can do up on the bridge?"
    The counselor nodded. "I guess I could use the
change of scenery."
    "Go ahead," he told her. "The doctor and I will be
fine."
    That got a smile out of her, albeit a sad one. "I'm
sure you will," she replied.
    With obvious reluctance, she made her way around
Laffer's biobed and headed for the exit. But a moment
later, she was gone.
    The Bolian turned to his old colleague, whose
pallor was hard to ignore. He sighed. "I don't mind
baby-sitting for you this once," he told her. "Just let's
not make a habit of it."
    Laffer had never responded much to his jokes. She
didn't respond now, either. Sighing, Zar found a chair
and settled into it. He could see it was going to be a
long vigil.

CHAPTER
      11

QUARK OPENED HIS eyes, looked around, and groaned.
He was in the infirmary on Deep Space Nine, of all
places. And he felt absolutely awful.
    His head felt as if it had been packed with sand.
Aside from being very uncomfortable, the sensation
made it dreadfully hard to think. He groaned a second
time, even louder than the first. "Nice sound," said Bashir.
    Craning his neck, the Ferengi saw the doctor ap-
proaching from the other side of the medical facility.
He had a tricorder in his hand.
    "If I didn't know better," Bashir continued, "I
would have thought I had a pregnant mugato on my
hands."
 Quark looked at him. "A mugato?" he echoed.
"What in the hallowed name of the Grand Nagus is
that?"
    "The mugato," said the doctor, as he ran his
tricorder over the Ferengi, "is a primate on--"
    Quark interrupted with a wave of his hand. "I've
changed my mind," he declared. "I don't really want
to know. Just tell me what the hell I'm doing here--
when just a moment ago I was on Risa." He recalled
the place with infinite longing. "It was a pristine
beach, with white sand and sighing soja trees and the
most exquisite turquoise sea. I was setting up a
consortium to turn the place into a lithium-cracking
station. ~ ."
    The doctor smiled that insufferable smile of his.
Quark frowned. Ferengi physicians didn't bother with
such pleasantries. Why bother when no one wanted to
pay extra for a bedside manner?
    "Well," said Bashir, "I see you're ahead of sched-
ule. You weren't supposed to wake up for another
couple of hours yet." He picked up Quark's hand and
examined it. "The spots are fading as well."
    The Ferengi looked at him. "Spots? What spots?"
Withdrawing his hand, he inspected it himself--and
gasped. "Gruw'r!" he gasped.
    "So it would seem," the doctor agreed. "Of course,
it's in its latter stages. You're no longer in any real
danger."
    Quark breathed a sigh of relief. He'd always known
the disease would catch up with him sometime.
Apparently it had done just that.
 But then... what about the beach on Risa? Had
all that been a dream, brought on by the ravages of the
disease?
 "How long have I been here?" he asked.
    Bashir shrugged. "About twenty-four hours. Your
brother found you unconscious in your quarters and
called for help."
    The Ferengi smiled. "That Rom. Always around
when I need him." A dark and disturbing thought
came to him. "Wait a minute. He's not robbing me
blind while I lie here, is he?" Quark tried to sit up, but
found he was too weak and plunked back down again.
"Stop him, Doctor," he breathed. "Please--while
there's still time!"
    Bashir shook his head. "Rom's not robbing you. I
can assure you of that. In fact, your bar's been closed
ever since he left."
    Quark looked at him. "Since he left? Where in
blazes did he go?"
    The doctor regarded him. "You don't remember?
The power coils for that village on Bajor? The meet-
ing with your friend Fel Jangor?"
    Suddenly it all came back to him, flooding his mind
like a swarm of darting jinga wasps. Not the black
kind, either, but the white ones--whose stings hurt
for days.
    "Major Kira is going to kill me," the Ferengi
moaned.
  "I wouldn't worry about it," said Bashir.
     Quark grasped him by the arm. "You don't under-
 stand. My brother doesn't know the first thing about
 negotiation. He'll fall right on his face."
     "Perhaps," the doctor replied. "But as I understand
 it, Rom isn't the one doing the negotiating."
  The Ferengi looked at him. "Then who is?"
  "It's Odo," Bashir told him.
     At first Quark didn't believe him. Then, even
 through the fog brought on by the disease, he realized
 what must have taken place.
    In fact, he realized even more than that. Because if
the constable was away, impersonating him, and most
everyone else in authority was gone with the captain
to Mars...
"I've got to open the bar," the Ferengi announced.
He tried to sit up again. However, the doctor placed
his hand on Quark's chest and prevented him from
doing so.
    "Not now you're not," Bashir informed him. "You
may be well on the road to recovery, but you're not
there yet."
  "But every minute I stay here--"
    "Is a squandering of potential profits," the doctor
noted. "I'm well aware of that. But if I release you too
early, there could be complications, and I'm sure
neither of us wants that."
    Quark cursed beneath his breath. "You don't call a
loss of business a complication?" He moaned. "How
am I supposed to get my health back when everything
I care about is in jeopardy? How am I supposed to
convalesce when my mind is in such awful turmoil?"
    The doctor looked at him askance. "There's noth-
ing I like better than a little hyperbole, my friend
and once again, you've proven your talent for it.
However, that talent notwithstanding, you're going to
remain here until I tell you otherwise. Case closed."
    The Ferengi bit his lip. "I demand to see Major
Kira. She understands tyranny. She'll get me out of
here."
    "Perhaps," Bashir said amiably. "But last I looked,
the ranking physician on a Federation facility has the
last word in matters of health." He smiled sympathet-
ically. "I'm afraid you've no recourse but to remain
here, Quark. You might as well accept it."
    The Ferengi tried to get up a third time, but it was
clear he didn't have the strength. In fact, he found
himself getting light-headed from the effort. Settling
back, he did as the doctor had advised.
    He accepted his confinement--at least for the time
being. But by the Nagus's great and glorious lobes, he
wouldn't accept it much longer.
    Constance Barnes tried her best to negotiate the
corridor outside the Defiant's sickbay, but it wasn't as
easy as it should have been.
    The bulkheads seemed to buckle, spewing clouds of
sparks like demons out of childhood fantasies. Flames
leapt ahead and behind her, lashing her skin with
their unholy heat. Even the deck beneath her feet
became shifting and unreliable, aquiver with deep
rumblings from the bowels of the ship.
    No, she told herself, holding her hands out to either
side for balance. She closed her eyes as tightly as she
could, shutting out the sight of the sparks and the
flames. It's not real, she insisted. None of it is real. It's
just another waking nightmare.
    Barnes had had lots of them on the Endeavor. At
first, they were just spikes of anxiety, eerie and
unexpected echoes of the terror she had felt on the
Saratoga. Then they became progressively worse--
darker, more vivid, more disturbing--until she was
afraid to sleep for fear they'd overwhelm her.
    She had been able to get some sleeping medication
from the Endeavor's chief medical officer--a friend of
hers. But that hadn't helped her when the attacks
came during the day. And despite the horror and the
insanity of her episodes, she was forced to pretend
everything was all right--or the captain would have
stripped her of her responsibilities as ship's coun-
selor.
    And she couldn't abide that--not at all. She had a
duty. She had a mission, for god sakes, grim as it
might be. And she couldn't let anyone or anything
turn her away from it.
    Opening her eyes, she saw that the flames and the
sparks had gone away. The bulkheads were no longer
buckling and the deck had been restored to normal.
Everything was as it should be again.  Safe. Familiar. Unthreatening.
    Taking a deep breath, she started down the corridor
anew. One step at a time, each with a little more
assurance than the one before it. Soon a spectator
would have believed there was nothing wrong with
her.
    It was important for everyone to believe that. It was
important that she fool them as she had fooled
Captain Kyprios.
    Certainly the captain had sensed her discomfort
with the idea of a reunion with her former shipmates.
But he had failed to understand the depth of her pain,
or the nature of it.
    It wasn't dread she felt when she got wind of the
christening of the new Saratoga. It was a need, an
emptiness she had to fill--a yearning so powerful she
could barely tolerate it.
    Finally, after all these years, she had a chance to
free herself of her raging, shambling nightmares. And
she wouldn't blow it. She promised herself that with
feverish intensity.
    Not that it would be easy. In fact, it was already the
most difficult thing she had done in her entire life. But
she swore to herself she would find the strength to see
it through. She would--
    Suddenly the deck pitched beneath her feet again.
As she fought for balance, darkness fell. Structural
supports shrieked like souls in hideous torment all
around her.
    A section of bulkhead blew out into the corridor,
releasing an angry confusion of electromagnetic ten-
drils that writhed like emerald wraiths. The air grew
thick and stifling with the stench of blood and charred
flesh and metal grinding on metal.
    No, she thought. It's happening again, worse than
before--worse than ever. Just like on the Saratoga.
Fear clutched at her throat, at her heart, and
squeezed until she could barely breathe. Closing her
eyes, clamping her hands over her ears, she lunged
forward, unable to bear it any longer.
    Somewhere up ahead was a turbolift, and the
promise of deliverance from her madness. If I can
only reach the bridge, she told herself, I'll be all right.
If I can only reach the bridge...

    Dax checked her monitors, worked at her controls,
and scowled. It wasn't easy working with a sensor
array at less than seventy-percent efficiency--and the
sense of urgency around her made the job doubly
difficult.
    Nonetheless she had made good progress, accumu-
lating a great deal of data via extended sweeps of the
phenomenon. What's more, she was transmitting the
information at intervals, trying to punch her way
through the forces that roiled around them--so even
if they perished, there was at least a slim chance their
findings would survive.
    Some people would have taken cold comfort in
that, but the Trill was a Starfleet officer. One of her
most important jobs was to expand the Federation's
knowledge and understanding of celestial phenome-
na, and this nexus they were caught in certainly
qualified.
    Not that Dax would have chosen to give her life for
such data. But if her life was going to be forfeit
anyway, she was going to try her damnedest to leave
something behind.
 "How are we doing, Old Man?"
    Turning, she saw the source of the question. It was
the captain, of course, standing behind her. No one
else in the galaxy called her "Old Man."
    She basked in the familiarity of his presence. "I
must're been pretty absorbed for you to sneak up on
me, Benjamin."
    Sisko shrugged. "I've snuck up on some of the best
in my day. And that includes Curzon, if you recall."
    She recalled, all right. It had been a training drill.
Tough, demanding--and absolutely mandatory at the
time for anyone who expected to be dealing with the
Klingons.
    "Doesn't it count that he was hung over?" the Trill
asked.
    "I was hung over myself," the captain reminded
her. "I don't see that as much of an excuse."
    Putting his hand on her shoulder, he leaned past her
to check her monitors. The results were reflected in
his eyes.
  "Not bad," he said, "even for you."
      Dax smiled grimly. "Thanks. I just hope it doesn't
turn out to be my legacy, if you know what I mean."
  "I do," he assured her.
    Up on the viewscreen, the phenomenon's colors
had actually intensified. For a moment, waves of
purple and yellow predominated, only to be upstaged
by a pattern of green blossoms--or anyway, what the
Trill couldn't help but think of as blossoms. As they
unfolded and grew, they turned orange and then red,
then gave way to a series of blue oscillations.
  "Not only fascinating," she said out loud, "but
 esthetically pleasing as well. I doubt there's a race in
 the Federation who wouldn't appreciate this sight."
   He nodded. "No argument here."
     "Any sign of a response to our distress call?" the
 Trill asked.
    Still intent on the screen, the captain shook his
head. "Not any more than you'd expect. Even if it
reached someone, it's too soon to hope for a return
message. And before long, the energies swirling
around us will cut off communications altogether."
He glanced back at her. "As if you needed me to tell
you that."
    Dax regarded her friend. Despite the terrible gravi-
ty of their situation, despite the immense pressure on
all of them, he seemed to be the very picture of
serenity.
    But then, that was the man's greatest strength--his
rock-solid steadiness, his ability to keep his head in
the midst of chaos. It was a quality much in demand
right now.
    "Well," said Sisko, "carry on. And if I hear any-
thing, I promise you'll be the first to know."
"I'm going to hold you to that," the Trill told him.
Before he could straighten, however, the lift doors
opened behind them. Out of casual curiosity, Dax
turned to see who was joining them. After all, her
shift wasn't over yet.
    As it turned out, it was Counselor Barnes. But the
woman looked angry, somehow. Or scared. Or both.
And she was looking right at Dax.
"What the hell is the matter with you?" the coun-
selor rasped, her eyes wide and red with reproval.
    "I beg your pardon?" said the Trill, genuinely
confused.
    "What are you, some kind of monster?" Barnes
demanded.
    Dax shook her head. She still didn't get it. "Is this a
joke?" she asked, thinking it wasn't very funny.
    The counselor's mouth twisted with disgust. "We're
all going to die in a few hours, don't you know that?
And you sit there calmly gathering your data, like
nothing's going on. Don't you have any feelings?
Don't you care?"
    Sisko frowned. "The lieutenant has just as many
feelings as anyone else," he replied evenly. "What
she's doing is valuable work--especially when her
data may help others steer clear of such phenomena."
    The counselor shook her head without even looking
at him. "No," she said. Still fixed on Dax, her eyes
were hollow, accusing. "That's scientific claptrap.
You're no better than the Borg, you hear me? No
better than the damned Borg!"
    The Trill had heard just about enough. She under-
stood that Barnes was under pressure. But hell, they
were all under pressure--and no one else was getting
quite so testy about it.
    "Listen," she snapped, "I'm in no mood for this. If
I were you, I'd find a nice, secluded seat somewhere
and cool off."
  She hadn't intended to make things worse into
throw fuel on the fire. But the tone of her voice said
otherwise. Barnes's eyes opened even wider as she
advanced on Dax.
    "Or what?" Barnes asked, leaning forward and
planting her hand on the Trill's console. "Is that a
threat, Lieutenant? Because if it is, you can be sure I
won't back down from it."
    "Take it any way you like," Dax told her, anger
rising in her like an inexorable tide. The counselor
was getting much too close for comfort. "Just get out
of my way and let me do my job."
    "Now just a damned minute here!" the captain
barked. Interposing himself between the two women,
he glowered at one and then the other. "This is the
bridge of a starship--my starshipmnot an anbo-jytsu
arena. If you want to chew each other out, do it
somewhere else!"
    Immediately Barnes's expression changed. Her eyes
softening, her forehead smoothing over, she went
from rampaging hostility to almost childlike regret in
less than a heartbeat.
 "Well?" Sisko demanded.
    "I--I'm sorry," the counselor said, visibly shaken.
She seemed as if she were trying to gather control of
herself. "I'm so sorry."
    Seeing her pain, the captain relented. "Are you all
right?" he asked.
    Barnes nodded. "I just lost my head. I don't know
where all that anger came from." She regarded the
Trill repentantly. "And unfortunately Lieutenant Dax
was the nearest target."
    Taking a breath, the Trill turned to Sisko. "It was
my fault as well, Benjamin. I could've had a little
more patience--been a little more understanding."
She looked at Barnes and managed a smile of truce. "I
guess we're all under a lot of strain right now."
    "We are," the woman agreed. She looked
mortified--a complete turnaround from her earlier
demeanor. "But I'm a ship's counselor, for god sakes.
I should be working to reduce the strain, not contrib-
uting to it."
    The captain put a hand on Barnes's shoulder. "Go
back to your quarters," he told her. "Get some rest."
    The woman held a hand up to decline the offer.
"It's all right," she assured him. "I'm fine now,
really."
    Sisko shook his head, his eyes hard and unyielding.
"That wasn't a suggestion, Counselor. It was an
order."
    Barnes hesitated for a moment, as if she was going
to put up a fight. Then she gave in. "If you say so, sir."
    Something seemed to soften in the captain. "I do,"
he replied sympathetically. "What's more, I'm going
to escort you there myself." He turned to Dax. "You
have the conn, Lieutenant."
 The Trill nodded. "Aye, sir."
    The counselor looked a little embarrassed as Sisko
guided her toward the turbolift. But she didn't resist.
    Dax watched them disappear into the lift. Then she
took a breath and turned back to her monitors.
    It was strange how Barnes's tirade had seemed to
come out of nowhere. Of course, she had been watch-
ing over Dr. Laffer, and that had to be a grim detail.
But still, the woman was a ship's counselor--she had
said so herself. She wasn't supposed to crack so easily.
    Shrugging, the Trill turned back to her sensor
investigation. If there was some other reason for
Barnes to blow a gasket, Dax certainly wasn't aware of
it.
 Maybe the captain could figure it out.

CHAPTER
      12

TRYING TO IGNORE the usual bustle around her in Ops,
Kira regarded the image on her compact station
monitor. The face that looked back at her wasn't at all
a happy one.
 "The Ferengi is sick?" Obahr echoed.
    The major nodded. "Dr. Bashit is looking after him
in the infirmary even as we speak."
    The city administrator shook his head ruefully.
"Then we've got no hope of acquiring those power
coils, Nerys. We may as well start laying out our
evacuation plans now."
    "Not necessarily," Kira told him. "Quark's brother
is on the job. And so is Odo, our chief of security."
    Obahr eyed her. "Your chief of security is dealing
with a Retizian? And that's going to get us our power
coils?" He looked skeptical. "I must confess, I don't
get it."
    The major smiled. "It's a little complicated, I
know. But our security chief is a shapeshifter."
    Her friend raised an eyebrow. "You're joking,
right? Aren't the shapeshifters the ones we're sup-
posed to be looking out for?"
    "A friendly shapeshifter," she added. "In any case,
he's made himself up to look like Quark, so we would
still have a shot at acquiring those power coils. That's
why I wouldn't start making evacuation plans just
yet."
    Obahr turned away as he absorbed the information.
Finally he looked back at her. "You think he can pull
it off, this shapeshifter of yours?"
    Kira shrugged. "I'm not certain even Quark himself
could have pulled it off. But Odo has done the
impossible before, Obahr. I'm just hoping he can do
it again."
    The administrator frowned. "So am I, Nerys.
Pernon out."
    As his image faded from her monitor, the major
sighedmand wished she were as confident in Odo as
she'd led Obahr to believe. If this were a firefight,
there was no one she would rather have had at her
side than the constable--even if he didn't use fire-
arms personally.
    But when it came to negotiating a business deal,
Odo was out of his element, and Rom wasn't much of
an insurance policy. And from what she understood,
Fel Jangor was as crafty as they came. In fact, the
more Kira thought about it, the more pessimistic she
became.
    Abruptly her communicator badge emitted a beep.
Tapping it, the major said: "Kira here."
    "It's Julian," came the reply. "Major, I'm having
some trouble with Quark. He seems to have disap-
peared."
    Disappeared? The notion was almost comical. "Do
you have any idea where he's gone?" the major asked.
    "I do indeed," said the doctor. "According to the
station's computer, he's at his bar--probably trying
to open it for business."
    She grunted. "That sounds about right. I'U take
care of it immediately, Julian. Kira out."
    Securing her station, she made her way across Ops.
With Captain Sisko and Odo both absent from Deep
Space Nine, she had to play security chief as well as
commanding officer.
    Fortunately it was only Quark she had to deal with,
and a sick Quark at that. Barring any unforeseen
circumstances, she'd have him back in the infirmary
in a matter of minutes.

    Barnes didn't say much on the way to her quarters.
She couldn't. She was too beleaguered by the terrors
of her imagination, despite the presence of Captain
Sisko right beside her.
    Alarms sounded in her mind, over and over again,
jolting her each time. Flames rose and flickered
behind her eyes. The ship seemed to lurch and come
apart at the seams, and the ghosts of the dying
reached out to her.
    But she managed to keep her companion from
knowing what was happening to her. After all, she had
gotten good at covering up her madness. She had
gotten very good.
    Finally they reached her quarters. Forging ahead of
the captain, Barnes tapped the padd beside the en-
trance. The doors opened and she entered, relieved to
be able finally to sit down.
    As she plunked herself on her bed, she breathed a
sigh of relief. But Sisko wouldn't know what it was
for, she told herself. He would think she was simply
enervated by her experience on the bridge.
    And embarrassed, of course. That would be only a
natural reaction after the scene she had made, and the
things she had said to Lieutenant Dax.
    The captain regarded her for a moment, giving her
a chance to settle herself. Then he folded his arms
across his chest.
    "All right," Sisko said. "Do you want to tell me
what the hell went on out there, Counselor?"
    Barnes looked up at him. She had waited a long
time for this moment. But now that it was finally here,
she found herself daunted by it, afraid to do what she
had set out to do.
    "I told you," she said softly, in answer to his
question. "I just lost it, is all."
Even as Barnes uttered the words, she hated herself
for doing so. What was the matter with her, anyway?
Why couldn't she do the thing that would finally set
her free?
    The captain shook his head. "No, Counselor.
You're a professional--and by all accounts, a very
accomplished professional. Sure, we're in a tough
spot, but you're trained to deal with that." He paused.
"There's more to it. There's got to be."
    Barnes considered Sisko for a moment. Clearly the
man was more perceptive than she had given him
credit for. He had already seen deeper into the heart
of her problem than Captain Kyprios ever could have.
    Sighing, the counselor looked down at her hands.
She had to tell him the truth, she thought, no matter
what came of it. If he had come this far, he wouldn't
stop until she emptied her heart to him.
    Besides, that was what she wanted to do. What she
needed to do. "You're right," she told him.
    Barnes was intensely aware of her breathing, the
pumping of her blood, the feeling of Sisko's eyes on
her. And why not? This was conceivably the biggest
moment of her life.
    "There is more to it." She took a moment to lick
her lips. "I know I shouldn't feel this way, but... I
can't help seeing the destruction of the Saratoga.
Over and over again."
  Sisko recoiled a little. "The Saratoga?"
    The counselor nodded. "Yes." Theretoshe had
taken the first step. It had to be easier from here on in.
  The captain's eyes screwed tight. "But that was a
different situation entirely. We were under attack,
facing a hostile force. And there were all those civil-
ians on board..."
    Her optimism faded. It might not be so easy after
all.
    "Of course it's different. I didn't mean to imply
otherwise." The counselor leaned forward. "Please
understand, what I'm feeling--"
    "O'Brien to Captain Sisko." The chief's voice was
loud in Barnes' small, cramped quarters.
    "Sisko here," said the captain, gazing apologetically
at Barnes. "I'm in Counselor Barnes's quarters, Mr.
O'Brien. What's up?"
    "We're just about finished here, sir. We've repli-
cated all the engine parts we could--and as luck
would have it, that was nearly all of them. The others
have been replaced with close equivalents."
  Sisko grunted. "Do you think it'll work?"
    "Only one way to know," the chief replied. "And
that's to put them through their paces."
    The captain smiled hopefully. "I'm heading up to
the bridge now. Brace yourself. Sisko out."
    The counselor looked at him beseechingly. This had
been her chance to escape her demons, at long last--
her chance to be free. And suddenly it was slipping
away from her.
 "Don't go," she begged.
    "We'll talk later," the captain promised her. "For
now, we're wanted up on the bridge."
 Barnes looked into his eyes. Was that mistrust she
saw there--brought on by her confession, or at
least, the beginnings of it? Had she for once given
away a hint of her madness?
    No, she thought. Not mistrust. Just urgency, born
of what O'Brien had told them. Just the call of duty.
    Still there was time to finish what she had begun.
Time to say what she needed to say. "But there's
more," she insisted. "I need to--"
    "Counselor," he said, this time in a noticeably
sterner voice, "there's a lot at stake. We've got to go
now." His eyes were hard and unyielding, the eyes of a
man who was already somewhere else in spirit.
    Barnes bit her lip. The opportunity was gone, she
told herself. She could only hope there would be
another one somewhere down the line.
    But the line might not be very long. And while she
wasn't afraid of dying per se, she was very much
afraid of dying before she had liberated herself from
her burden.
 "All right," she told him. "I'm coming."
    Reluctantly she got up from her bunk and followed
Sisko to the bridge.

    Kira found Quark just where the computer had
placed him--at his bar. He was standing on the
Promenade, announcing in a loud, ingratiating voice
that the place was open for business.
    Well, the major thought, she would have to put a
stop to this. As she approached Quark, he caught a
glimpse of her.
  In that moment the battle lines were drawn.
    By the look in his eyes, Kira could tell the Ferengi
was going to do everything in his power to stay out of
the infirmary. But as the Law around here, at least
until Odo came back, the major was going to do
everything she could to bring him back there.
    "Please," Quark bellowed, opening his arms wide
to the stream of passersby, "come on in--everyone!
Sample the wares of the best entertainment establish-
ment in three star systems!"
    "I thought the place was closed," a corpulent
Bajoran merchant called out. "Something about not
paying your rent..."
    "I pay my rent religiously," the Ferengi retorted,
though in fact Captain Sisko hadn't asked him for any
since he had arrived a few years ago. "We were closed
only temporarily." He smiled, showing an abundance
of teeth. "For... er, renovations, so we at Quark's
Place can lavish our patrons with even more luxury
than before."
    The merchant peered past the Ferengi at the bar
and its environs. "Doesn't look any different to me,"
he noted. "Just what did you renovate, Quark--your
price list?"
    There was a great deal of laughter in response. The
Ferengi waved it away. "For your information,"
Quark said, "our holosuites have been upgraded to
the state of the art and then some. Of course, it's not
possible to tell that from the outside, but--"
    Kira laid a hand on his shoulder and bent down to
whisper in his ear. "Give it up," she told him.
    The Ferengi turned to her with a scowl on his face.
"You're keeping me from my livelihood, Major. Every
minute my bar is closed is a tremendous loss of
potential profits--and worse than that. If I don't get
my clientele back immediately, someone else will."
    Kira looked at him askance. "Quark, there are no
other bars on the Promenade. Who do you think
you're going to lose customers tomthe Klingon eat-
ery? Not everyone can stomach heart of targ, you
know."
    "That's not the point," the Ferengi insisted, "and I
really don't have time to explain it to you. Now if you
don't mind, Major, I'm in the process of attracting
some business."
    Quark made his way around Kira to continue his
spiel. But by then, whatever crowd he had gathered
had petered out. And despite the bar's obvious open-
ness, there was still no one inside.
    The Ferengi looked up at her. "You see what I
mean, Major? Close your doors for a day or two and
people forget you exist."
    Kira shook her head. "If you don't get back to the
infirmary, we're liable to forget you exist--and with
good reason. Nowre"
    Quark frowned and held a hand up. "Hold on,
Major. Let's talk this over." He tilted his head to
indicate the bar. "Inside. Over a nice Bajoran wine,
perhaps." The Ferengi snapped his fingers. "Some-
thing from Ducrain Province, I think. We've been
getting some excellent wines from that region."
  Kira smiled warily. "It's me, Quark--remember?
Do you think I'm dumb enough to let you get me
drunk? Or to forget why I came here?"
    The Ferengi regarded her with a sincerity she had
never seen in him before. Either his acting had
improved or he was pretty serious about something.
    "All right," he told her. "No wine. Just a raktajino,
if that's what you prefer. And it's on the house."
    The Bajoran's eyes narrowed. Now she knew Quark
was acting strangely. "Fine," she said. "A raktajino.
But only for a few minutes."
    "That's entirely up to you," the Ferengi replied
reasonably.
    Still leery of what Quark might be up to, Kira
followed him into the bar and took a seat on one of
the stools. As he had promised, the Ferengi made her
a raktajino and set it before her. Then he came
around the bar and climbed up on the stool beside
her.
    For a moment Quark didn't say anything. He
seemed to be gathering his thoughts, putting his
argument in order. Finally he spoke.
    "Let me present you with a hypothetical case," the
Ferengi began. "What would you do if Captain Sisko
gave you a job to perform--an important job, mind
you--and you came down with a little virus? Would
you report to the infirmary? Or would you continue to
discharge the responsibility the captain had given to
you?"
    The major frowned. "I see where you're going with
this, Quark--but it's different. In one case, the wel-
fare of the station could be at stake. And in the other
case, all we're talking about is--"
    "--is a bar," he said. "At least, in your estimation.
But to a Ferengi, it's a place of business. And that
makes it every bit as important, every bit as holy,
as... well, as that temple you Bajorans have got on
the Promenade."
Kira smiled. "That temple is a place of worship."
Quark leaned forward and tapped his forefinger on
the bar. "So's this place, Major. I worship it. And so
would any other Ferengi who derived profits from it.
Just because you don't see it that way, don't denigrate
me for doing so." He straightened on his stool. "And
in return, I won't denigrate you for what you believe
in."
    Kira considered Quark's argument. She had to
admit, he had a point. As much as she professed a
tolerance for other races, a respect for what they held
dear, it was easy to dismiss Ferengi behavior as
something petty and reprehensible.
    And maybe it was. But it was also the way their
culture operated. And like any culture, it had a right
to value whatever it liked, as long as no one else was
hurt by it.
    "I see what you're saying," she conceded. "I have to
admit, I don't understand it, but I respect it." She
sighed. "Unfortunately it doesn't change anything. I
still have to take you back to the infirmary."
    Quark held his hands out to her. "Why? Because
that quack of a doctor says you do?"
    The Bajoran nodded. "That quack of a doctor, as
you put it, has the last word around here. Those are
the rules on every Federation facility from Earth to
the Romulan Neutral Zone."
  "But I feel fine," the Ferengi insisted.
    "That may be," said Kira, "but I've still got to take
you back with me."
    "Because of the rules," he spat, his voice dripping
with disdain.
  "Because of the rules," she confirmed.
    "And what about my sacred beliefs? My cultural
imperative?" Quark bit his lip. "Look," he told her,
holding out his fists in an appeal for understand-
ing, "when you needed help getting those power
coils, I was willing to lend a hand. Not eager, I'll
admit, not thrilled about it--but I was still willing to
help."
"Because I threatened you," she reminded him.
The Ferengi shook his head. "I would've done it
anyway. I was just trying to see what kind of deal I
could cut first."
    Kira considered him for a moment--and found to
her surprise that she believed him. "What are you
saying?" she asked. "That because you were willing to
help me with my problem, I should help you with
yours?"
    Quark shrugged. "I'm not endangering anyone else,
Major. Only myself. And I doubt I'm doing even that.
The only reason Dr. Bashir insists on keeping me in
his torture chamber is because he doesn't grasp my
cultural orientation." He paused. "At least, not the
way you do."
    The Bajoran leaned back in her chair. For a while
she didn't say anything. She just tried to put herself in
the Ferengi's shoes--to imagine what he was going
through.
    Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, Kira caught
sight of someone standing forlornly outside the bar.
And she got an idea.
    "All right," she told him. "You want to keep your
bar open? Fine."
    Quark grinned in a way that bordered on affection.
"Really?" he said.
    She nodded. "Really. The only catch is, you'll have
to let someone else run the place--because you're
going to the infirmary."
    The Ferengi's expression became a pained one.
"Someone else? But... but that's crazy. Who knows
this bar the way I do?"
    The major tilted her head to indicate the figure
waiting outside the bar. "He does."
    Following her gesture, Quark saw whom she was
referring to. "Morn?" he replied. "You must be jok-
ing. He'll drink up all the profits."
    "Then make it Nog," she suggested. "Or anyone
else who'll agree to tend bar in your absence. That is,"
she remarked archly, "if keeping this place open is as
vitally important as you say it is."
     The Ferengi regarded her sourly. "I thought we had
 an understanding."
    "Well," said Kira, smiling magnanimously, "I
would say we do now."
    Raising her raktajino to her lips, she drained her
mug. Then she jerked a thumb in the direction of the
exit.
  "Shall we?"
    Grumbling the whole time, Quark locked up the
bar again and allowed her to escort him to the
infirmary. En route, the Bajoran had a pang of guilt
over the way she'd put the Ferengi in his place. Not a
big one, but a pang nonetheless.
    After all, there had been some sense to his argu-
ment. He really was a product of his culture.
    Then she thought about all the bills Quark had
padded over the years, all the drinks he had watered
down and all the Dabo games he had fixed--and
suddenly she didn't feel that bad.

CHAPTER
      13

Smi~o wooi~r) ~IAVE liked to stay in Barnes's quarters
and hear the rest of what was on her mind. Unfortu-
nately there were other matters at hand--and as the
captain of the Defiant, he had to put those matters
first.
    Emerging from the turbolift onto the bridge, Sisko
saw that Dax was no longer alone there. Lopez was
hovering over the tactical console. On seeing the
captain, the science officer turned and smiled.
    "I've got the sensors pretty much back to where
they should be," he reported, not without a certain
amount of pride.
    Sisko regarded him. "Good work, Lieutenant.
You'll be pleased to hear O'Brien's team has made its
repairs to the impulse engines." He turned to the
Trill. "They're ready to try them out."
  Dax nodded. "I'll take the helm."
     As his friend crossed the bridge to the conn station,
 the captain looked up at the intercom grid hidden in
 the ceiling. After all, there was one member of the
 crew who hadn't been apprised of the latest develop-
 ment.
    "Captain Sisko to Lieutenant Zar. We're about to
restart the impulse engines. I thought you would want
to know."
    A moment later, the Bolian replied to the an-
nouncement. "Sickbay is secure, sir. And confident."
      Sisko smiled. "Acknowledged, Mr. Zar. Chief
O'Brien... you may begin reactivating the engines."
  "Aye, sir," said O'Brien.
    The captain eyed the viewscreen. The phenomenon
was spawning cascade after cascade of color, mostly
blues and yellows and purples. Sisko could almost
imagine the thing staring back at him, confident in its
power, daring the captain and his people to beat it.
  "Here goes," O'Brien added.
    At first nothing happened. Then Sisko felt a famil-
iar vibration in the deck under his feet. It wasn't
anything the captain would have noticed if he hadn't
been concentrating on it--but he noticed it now.
    Checking his console, he saw that there was activity
in the impulse engines. What's more, it was steady
activity, without any significant spikes up or down.
    It was a good sign, he told himself. Of course, they
still had quite a long way to go.
 "They're up and running," O'Brien reported, just
for good measure. "And well within rated parame-
ters."
    "One-quarter impulse," Sisko said, glancing again
at the gaudy display on the viewscreen. "On my mark.
Engage."
    He could feel the applied thrust. Again it was the
sort of thing he might easily have overlooked if his
attention had been drawn elsewhere, or if it had been
the first time he had set foot on the Defiant.
    But this was his ship. He knew it as well as he knew
himself. And right now, his attention was right where
it was supposed to be.
Dax looked up. "They're responding, Benjamin."
Lopez chuckled from his position at the tactical
controls. "We're not falling into the nexus as quickly
as we were before. Our descent has slowed by nearly
thirty percent."
    Out of the corner of his eye, the captain saw
Barnes's face. The counselor seemed encouraged by
what she had heard.
      So far so good, he mused. But they would have to
do better than that if they were to escape this thing.
  "Up to half impulse," he ordered.
    At the conn station, the Trill complied. The shud-
der in the deck plates got noticeably worse--and not
just as a result of engine vibrations. The Defiant was
feeling the stress of its struggle with the phenomenon.
    "We've slowed again, sir," Lopez told them. "We're
falling only half as fast as we were originally."
  Sisko peered at the thing on the viewscreen. It was
 mostly red now, spawning startling bursts of orange,
 pink, and powder blue. An endless symphony of
 color, but still deadly as a viper's nest. The captain
 couldn't let himself forget that.  "Full impulse, Dax."
     This time Sisko didn't watch his offricer make the
 necessary adjustments on her control padds. He
 didn't have to. A moment later, the whole ship began
 to shiver like a string in a Vulcan lyre.
    But the engines seemed to be holding up fine. The
captain turned to Lopez for a progress report.
    The science officer instantly noticed the scrutiny.
"We're fighting it to a standstill, sir. We're not making
any headway, unfortunately--but at least we're not
losing ground."
    Sisko nodded. "All right, then. We seem to have
bought ourselves some time. Now let's see if we can't
capitalize on it." He glanced at Dax. "Lieutenant, try
the--"
    Without warning, the deck lurched savagely be-
neath him. Latching on to his armrest, he was able to
remain on his feet--but Barnes, who had been stand-
ing next to him, went careening into the captain's
side.
    To keep the counselor from sprawling when the
deck pitched again, he wrapped an arm around her
midsection. But there was no "again." The ship
seemed to have righted itself.
    For a second or so, Sisko found himself staring into
Barnes's face--into her deep, dark eyes, full of an
anxiety he hadn't quite plumbed yet. There was
something disturbing in those depths, no question
about it. But there was also something eminently and
undeniably appealing.
    He was aware of the nearness of her, of her body
pressed against his, perhaps more than he should have
been. And he knew by her expression that the counsel-
or was aware of it as well.
    This isn't the time, the captain told himself. And
even if it were, there was Kasidy to think about.
    Flushing with embarrassment, Sisko disengaged
himself from Barnes. Then, putting the incident be-
hind him, he moved purposefully toward Dax.
    "What happened?" he asked--though, of course,
he already knew the answer.
    The Trill sighed as she looked up at him. "The
engines couldn't take the strain. They're not re-
sponding."
    The captain cursed softly. "Mr. O'Brien," he called
out. The bridge rang with his summons. "What's
going on?"
    The chief didn't sound happy as he replied. "Ap-
parently a couple of the replacement parts didn't have
the integrity of the originals. They cracked under the
strain--and we're out of replicator material. Looks
like we're back to square one, sir."
    And with a couple of hours' less time to do some-
thing about it. Sisko noted the disappointment of
those around him.
     "It was a good try," he told O'Brien. "You'll just
 have to come up with something else, Chief. Sksko
 out."
      Barnes didn't say anything. Her mouth a tight line,
 she turned and headed back toward the turbolift.
   "Counselor?" said the captain.
    She stopped and looked back over her shoulder, her
eyes still as deep and dark and mysterious as ever.
"Sir?"
  "Are you all right?" he asked her.
    After a moment, Barnes nodded. "I'm fine. I think
you were right--I just need some rest." Then she
entered the lift and the doors closed behind her.
    Sisko regarded the turbolift. Apparently the coun-
selor wasn't quite so eager to unburden herself as she
had been before. Just as well, he thought--though he
was curious as to what she would have said.
    Swinging himself into the center seat, he looked at
Dax and then Lopez. The science officer was trying to
hide his frustration, though he wasn't doing a very
good job of it. And Dax? After living so many lives in
so many different bodies, she had learned to keep her
thoughts to herself.
    Resting his elbows on his armrests, Sisko made a
steeple of his fingers and confronted the viewscreen
anew. The colors of the wave nexus twisted and broke
like a rainbow surf on invisible rocks. Blues and
yellows folded into one another and emerged as
streamers of orange-red.
    Chaos. Utter chaos. The kind one encountered only
in nightmares, where the rules were suspended and
the unconscious took over.
    But this was no dream. It was as real as life and
death, and it was dragging them deeper into itself by
the minute. If there was a way out, it seemed to say,
the captain and his people would have to find it
soon--or suffer the horrific consequences.

    As Odo and Rom entered Fel Jangor's parlor again,
their host smiled at Odo from his wooden chair. The
shapeshifter smiled back as best he could. After all,
that was the hardest expression for him to emulate.
 "I trust you had a good night's sleep," said Jangor.
 "Excellent," replied Odo.
 "Most wonderful," effused the Ferengi.
 "And an ample first meal?"
 "Quite satisfying," said the constable.
 "And tasty," Rom added.
     "Good," their host responded. "Then we can re-
sume our negotiations immediately." 
"I would like that," Odo told him.
    Reluctantly he settled into the long, dark couch. As
before, his feet dangled over the front of it. It was still
a humiliating feeling, but he did his best to put it
aside.
    "As I see it," the changeling began, "this is really a
very simple matter. You have the power coils. I want
them."
    The Retizian's eyes narrowed with interest. "Go
on."
    "Now," Odo continued, "you and I could dance
around the subject for hours if we wished, wheeling
out every bargaining tactic in our considerable
arsenals--and they are considerable, I think you'll
agree."
  "Without reservation," Jangor conceded.
    "Or," said the shapeshifter, "we could come right
to the point. I am prepared to pay you seven bars of
gold-pressed latinum apiece. That's seventy bars for
all ten. And I hope you will not be offended when I say
this is my final offer."
    Rom sat in his seat, saying nothing. He hadn't been
at all comfortable with this approach back in their
quarters, but eventually he had agreed to it--
knowing he really had no other choice.
    The Retizian chuckled. "There's no such thing as a
final offer, Quark. We both know that."
    Odo shook his head slowly from side to side.
"Normally, that would be true. It would merely be a
starting point. But not in this case, my friend. Seventy
bars, take it or leave it."
    Jangor looked at him. Then he tilted his head and
looked at him from a fresh perspective. "You're
joking," he concluded.
  "No joke," the constable assured him.
    The Retizian's mottled skin turned darker, except
for the mottles. Odo recognized it as a sign of wari-
ness. For all he knew, Jangor would get up and walk
out of the parlor, insulted by the severity of the offer.
    But Jangor didn't get up. Slowly, very slowly, a
smile spread across his face. He stroked the black
quills protruding from his chin.
    "Very clever," he mused out loud. "I should have
known I couldn't put one over on you, Quark."
 Put one over... ? Odo did his best not to make his
surprise manifest. "Why, whatever do you mean?" he
asked innocently.
 "You're not insulted?" the Retizian asked.
    "Of course not," remarked the constable. He still
had no idea what they were talking about. "Business
is business, even among friends."
    Jangor grinned. "I've often said so myself. But tell
me, how did you find out I was having trouble
peddling the power coils?"
    Ah, thought Odo. So that was it. "Word has a way
of getting around."
 The Retizian sighed. "So it does."
    "Then you'll accept our offer?" Rom blurted,
barely able to control himself.
    Jangor looked at him. "I thought I already had," he
noted.
    "Though not in so many words," Odo observed,
more for the Ferengi's benefit than that of their host.
"We can work out the delivery details later, of
course."
    "Of course," said Jangot. He tilted his head to the
other side. "You know, Quark, you've changed."
"I have?" asked the shapeshifter, a little nervously.
"Indeed," the Retizian replied. "The old Quark
would never have made a take-it-orqeave-it proposi-
tion, no matter how many cards he held in his hand."
    Odo shrugged. "It seemed like the right thing to do
at the time."
    "Actually," Jangor told him, "I like the change. At
my age, I don't have time for bobbing and weaving.
I've come to prefer the straightforward to the circum-
spect."
    "In that case," said the changeling, with unquali-
fied sincerity, "I'm glad to have been of service."
    The Retizian's eyes narrowed. "Of course, if your
price hadn't been what I had in mind to begin with, I
would still have turned it down--straightforward or
not."
    Odo smiled at Jangor, despite the difficulty of doing
so. "Of course," he replied. "That's why you're a
legend in this sector. No one pulls the wool over your
eyes."
The Retizian looked at him. "The wool... ?"
"It's just an expression," the shapeshifter assured
him. "It comes from spending too much time in the
company of humans."
    Jangor grimaced as if he were in pain. "Humans.
Eucch. They make my quills stand on end."
    "Mine, too," Rom responded. "That is, they would
if I had them." He paused. "Quills, I mean--not
humans." Another pause. "That didn't come out the
way I intended. What I was trying to sayre"
    Odo slid forward off the couch, concerned that
Quark's brother would yet find a way to wreck the
deal. "I'm afraid we must be going now, my friend. I
have a bar to see to, as you know. But I hope we'll be
able to do business again sometime."
    The Retizian nodded. "Yes, Quark. And soon." He
squinted mischievously. "Perhaps I'll even pay you a
visit on that station of yours."
 The changeling eyed him. "Aren't you worried that
our constable will nab you? You are a wanted man,
you know."
    Jangor dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand.
"The lawman hasn't been invented who can keep up
with the likes of Fel Jangor."
    Odo smiled again. Somehow, it was less difficult
this time. "In that case," he said, "I look forward to
seeing you there."


CHAPTER
      14

IN ENGINEERING, THE mood was a decidedly somber
one. But then, failure had a way of putting a damper
on things, especially when people's lives were on the
line. And in the half hour or so since that failure,
neither Chief O'Brien nor either of his two colleagues
had come up with anything even resembling a usable
suggestion.
    O'Brien watched Lieutenant Commander Graal
pace from one end of the room to the other. For a
Craynid, it was a very long, slow trip.
    Thorn, on the other hand, barely moved. He just sat
there in his chair, his tiny blue eyes squinting as he
pondered the problem.
    The chief couldn't take the silence. "There's anoth-
er way out of this soup," he insisted. "It's just a
question of finding it."
    The bearded man nodded. "And if we can't, who
can? I mean, are we or are we not some of the best
minds in Starfleet?"
    O'Brien looked at him. "Damned right we are. And
it's not the first time we've been in a jam, either."
    "You're not kidding," Thorn agreed. "I can think of
a dozen worse scrapesmand that's just since I left the
Saratoga. Or to be more accurate, since the Saratoga
left all of us."
    "The point," said O'Brien, "is this shouldn't be
that hard. We should have had a brainstorm by now.
We should have had this thing licked."
    Suddenly the Craynid stopped pacing. Turning to
the two humans, she spoke in her strange, whistling
voice. "I have an idea," she said.
    The bearded man breathed a sigh of reliefi "Well,
let's hear it, Commander. It's got to be better than
what we've come up with so far."
  O'Brien grunted. "By all means."
    Graal looked at him, seemingly oblivious to the
humans' sarcasm. "The Defiant has several probes,
correct?"
    "That it does," O'Brien told her. "Seven of them, to
be exact. And all in good shape, from what I could
tell."
  "That is good," she replied.
    "What did you intend to do with them?" asked
Thom.
    The Craynid shrugged. "Shoot them out of the
nexus."
  O'Brien regarded her. "What for?"
    Graal blinked a few times. "If we shot them out, we
could use our tractor beams to latch on to them."
    The chief saw what she meant now. "You're saying
we could hitch a ride on them. Use them to haul
ourselves to safety."
  The Craynid nodded. "Precisely."
    O'Brien and Thorn looked at each other, pondering
the possibilities. Graal had something there, all right.
They both knew it.
    The big man turned to her, trying to contain his
enthusiasm and doing a bad job of it. "But can a
bunch of these probes haul a mass like the Defiant's?
That's no mean feat."
    O'Brien did some quick computations. "Possibly,"
he said at last. He rubbed his chin. "Of course, there's
a way to find out for certain. We can run a computer
simulation of the commander's plan."
    "But that'll cost us precious time," argued Thorn.
"Why not just try it in the real world, before we get
pulled any deeper into the nexus?"
    Certainly that would maximize their chances for
success, O'Brien conceded. Nonetheless, it was his
duty to advise caution.
    "We can't waste the probes," he decided. "They
may turn out to be useful to us in some other
way."
    The big man shook his head. "With all due respect,
Chief, we haven't got much time left. What in blazes
are we saving them for?"
    O'Brien shrugged. "One never knows. And since
there's still enough time to run a simulation, I say we
do it." He turned to Graal for a tiebreaker. "What do
you think, Commander?"
    The Craynid stared at him with those round black
eyes of hers. "I prefer to run a simulation," she
replied.
    "There we go," said O'Brien. "And since it's your
idea, would you care to set it up?"
 "As you wish," Graal responded.
    Rising, she moved to the computer table and went
to work. O'Brien and Thorn went with her. After all,
they had something of a stake in whatever she found
out.

    The changeling sat back in his plush seat and eyed
the pentagonal viewscreen across the room. On it,
he could see Fel Jangor's ship slowly receding from
view.
    Actually, the Retizian's vessel wasn't moving at all.
It was the ship carrying Odo and Rom--the one they
had hired to transport them from Deep Space Nine
and then back again--that was withdrawing from the
rendezvous coordinates.
    The shapeshifter couldn't help but feel a certain
satisfaction with what he had accomplished. Despite
his misgivings, despite the shame that had accompa-
nied his transformation, he had triumphed.
    More important, Odo had performed a valuable
service. Kira's friend on Bajor would have the power
coils he required. His city would be protected from
floods for another decade at least.
    That is, unless something else went wrong with the
water pumps. And if they did, that would be someone
else's problem.
    In short, things could have turned out a lot worse.
And that, as Quark himself might have said, was the
bottom line.
    Abruptly Rom entered the room. As on the trip out,
he had loaded a large tray with replicated delicacies
and was all but drooling at the prospect of consuming
them.
    The constable shook his head. Food. Outside of its
being a biological necessity, he had never understood
the attraction it held--nor why someone as small as a
Ferengi would wish to ingest such prodigious quanti-
ties of it. But then, he concluded with uncharacteristic
generosity, to each his own.
Rom looked at him. "What's so funny?" he asked.
Odo returned the look. "Funny? What do you
mean?"
    "You're smiling," the Ferengi observed. "Of course,
I'd be smiling too, if I'd consummated such a profit-
able deal."
    The shapeshifter glanced at the reflective surface on
one of the bulkheads. Rom hadn't lied. He really was
smiling--and with Quark's face.
    Strange, he thought, how a leer made him look even
more like the Ferengi than before. Shuddering, he
eliminated it.
    Bad enough he was forced to maintain Quark's
appearance until they returned to Deep Space Nine;
resembling the bar owner too much was an unneces-
sary source of discomfort.
    Rom thrust the tray full of delicacies at him.
"Would you like one? I can always get more."
    Odo shook his head. "No. Thank you. I don't
eat."
    The Ferengi looked disappointed. "That's right,"
he said. "You don't, do you?" He shrugged. "Not that
I really mind eating by myself. Quark makes me do it
all the time."
    The shapeshifter sighed. In the end, he supposed,
Rom had been a less onerous companion than he had
anticipated.
    Certainly the Ferengi was inept in many respects,
annoying at times, and occasionally even incompre-
hensible. But Rom had provided Odo with a valuable
perspective. Without it the transaction with Fel
Jangor would never have been completed for the
desired sum.
    "On second thought," said the constable, feigning
an interest in the delicacies, "I believe I'll have
something after all."
    His companion looked at him. "I thought you
didn't eat."
    "I don't," Odo confirmed. "Not usually, that is. But
once in a great while, I make an exception."
    Rom beamed at him. "Excellent. Try one of the
Flavanian beetle canap6s. They're my favorites."
    The changeling picked up one of the canap6s and
considered it more closely. Something inside it--
presumably, a Flavanian beetle--was still wriggling.
 The things I do for my friends, he thought.

      As the door to sickbay slid aside, Sisko peered into
the room. The lights had been turned down low.
  "Zar?" he called softly.
    The Bolian had pulled a chair up to Laffer's biobed
and was sitting by her side. He acknowledged his
friend's entrance with a glance.
    "For a moment, I thought you were Barnes," he
said soberly. "But she's not as tall as you are. And as I
recall, she doesn't have a beard."
    The captain shook his head, amazed at his friend's
resilience. "Leave it to you to joke at a time like this."
    Zar shrugged. "Some would say this is the best time
for it."
    Crossing sickbay, Sisko joined the Bolian at their
colleague's bedside and made a quick survey of her
readouts. "She's no better," he noted.
    "But no worse," Zar pointed out. "On the other
hand, it may not matter in a few hours."
    "Pessimism?" Sisko gibed. "From you? The man
who pulled our bacon out of the fire at Guldammur
Four?"
    "Let's call it realism," the Bolian suggested. "Un-
less we're really barreling our way out of here and no
one's bothered to tell me."
    The captain put a hand on his friend's shoulder. "I
wouldn't do that to you, Zar. But on the other hand,
I'm not ready to give up, either. O'Brien and Graal
are two of the best engineers in the businessmand
Thorn's as resourceful as they come. I still have faith
in their abilities."
    The Bolian grunted. "I only wish Graal didn't need
so much time to ponder a problem." A smile spread
across his face. "Remember that time in the lounge,
when Captain Saros tried to teach her to play chess?"
    As the memory came to the surface, Sisko laughed.
"Yes," he said, "as a matter of fact I do. She took half
an hour to move her first pawn."
    Zar looked up at him. "Then, halfway through the
captain's second move, she wanted to take her first
one back. And for the life of her, she couldn't under-
stand why he wouldn't allow it."
    Sisko nodded. "The captain didn't want to lose his
patience with her--especially in front of the whole
crew. But even a steadfast Vulcan like Saros had to be
getting a little testy. It's a good thing that priority
message came through from Starfleet Command, or
he might have been stuck there with her for hours."
    The Bolian's eyes narrowed. "You're kidding me,
right?"
 "About what?" the captain asked.
    "About Starfleet Command. I just made that mes-
sage up."
 Sisko looked at him. "You what?"
    Zar grinned. "I made it up. I saw the captain
squirming, so I went up to the bridge and comman-
deered the tactical console. Then I summoned him to
his quarters for an eyes-only communique from Ad-
miral Quinn."
    "But Quinn never sent it?" Sisko was stunned.
"And you never told me about this?"
    "I thought I had," the Bolian responded sheepishly.
"I guess I never got around to it."
    "Remind me to put you on report." The captain
harrumphed. "Impersonating an admiral is a court-
martial offense."
    "So it is," Zar countered. "You can bring me up on
charges if we get back." He turned a darker shade of
blue. "I mean when we get back. A little slip of the
tongue, I guess."
    For a moment, there was an uncomfortable silence,
as the reality of their situation intruded on the
conversation. Then Sisko recalled another incident,
only a bit more recent than the first. "Mariphasa Four," he said.
    The Bolian smiled. "That run-in we had with the
Cardassians, where they captured our away team?"
    The captain looked at his fallen colleague, her skin
pallid and clammy-looking. He nodded. "You and me
and the doctor here, facing the prospect of torture if
we didn't reveal the nature of our mission."
    Zar chuckled. "And Laffer got into an argument
with the Cardassian commander over what effect
their weapons would have on us. He said it would take
him over a minute to fry us to death--"
    "--and she insisted it would take a lot less." Sisko
shook his head, finding it hard to believe even now.
"Something about Cardassians shedding heat more
efficiently than humans or Bolians."
    "And she wouldn't back down," the lieutenant
recalled, "not even when he threatened to make a test
case out of her. Of course, as it turned out, her
stubbornness was a good thing."
    "Uh-huh." The captain looked at his friend. "It
gave you a chance to disarm one of the other Cardas-
sians, and turn the tables on them."
    Zar looked at him a little dubiously. "I thought it
was you who disarmed that Cardassian."
    Sisko thought about it, then shook his head. "No,
I'm pretty sure it was you. Unlessm" Suddenly he
remembered. "Thorn."
    The Bolian threw his hands up. "Of course. There
were four of us in that landing party originally. But
Thom separated from us for some reason."
    "Still," said the captain, "regardless of who made
the move, it was Laffer who bought us the time we
needed."
    As before, there was a moment of wistful silence.
This time, it was Zar who ended it. "Thetalian
Prime," he declared.
    Sisko knew just what he was talking about. "The
doctor's just saved the crew from an epidemic of alien
organisms. You and I wake up in sickbay, hungry as
wolves."
    "We demand something to eat," the Bolian remem-
bered. "And I_,after tells us we're not really hungry--
we're thirsty."
  The captain couldn't help but laugh. "I say I can tell
the difference between hunger and thirst, and she
argues with me."
    "And me, too," said Zar, laughing along with him.
"But the worst partre" He began laughing even
harder. "The worst part--"
    Suddenly, Sisko was giggling so hard he couldn't
speak. Hell, he could hardly breathe. He bit his lip,
but it didn't help.
    Zar was out of control, too, by then, shaking in the
grip of it and not caring a bit. Tears began to roll
down his pale blue cheeks.
    Maybe it was the strain of what had happened to
them here on the Defiant, or the incredible absurdity
of the memory, or a little of both. It didn't matter, the
captain thought. It felt good--damned good.
    Clamping a hand on his friend's shoulder, he tried
to speak--but he couldn't. All he could do was
sputter.
    "The worst part," Zar finally squeezed out, "was
that she was right. We weren't hungry after all."
    "That's right," the captain confirmed through
clenched teeth. "That bug we picked up had mangled
the connections in our brains. What we thought was
hunger--"
"--was actually thirst!" the lieutenant finished.
And they laughed some more, long and heartily,
until sickbay echoed with the sound of it and their
faces were streaked with tears. Finally it subsided,
and they took a couple of deep breaths.
 "Oh my," said Sisko. "Oh my, oh my."
 "We've got to do this more often," Zar noted. He
wiped away some tears. "Though not necessarily
under these circumstances."
    "I know what you mean," the captain agreed. He
looked at Laffer again, feeling her plight even more
strongly than before. "You know," he said, "this
woman used to irritate me something fierce. But I
would give anything to see her get up from that bed
and do it again."
    The Bolian smiled sadly. "I'm no doctor," he
replied, "but I wouldn't hope too hard. We've only got
a few hours left, and I doubt she'll regain conscious-
ness in that time. But then, maybe she's luckier than
we are."
  Sisko looked at him. "What do you mean?"
    Zar shrugged. "Odds are we're all going to die here,
Captain. The only difference is, Laffer isn't worried
about it."
    Abruptly an intercom voice flooded the room.
"O'Brien to Sisko."
    "Sisko here," said the captain. He looked up at the
intercom grid. "Tell me you've got something, Chief."
    O'Brien hesitated. Sisko knew the news wasn't
going to be what the crew was hoping for.
    "Sorry, sir. We're done with our computer simula-
tion of the probe-and-tractor-beam approach--and it
didn't work. The probes' engines burned out before
they could pull us free."
    The captain sighed. "I'd like to pat you on the back
for all your hard work, Chief. Unfortunately we're
running out of time. You've got to come up with
something else, and quickly."
    Again O'Brien hesitated. "Actually, sir, we already
have come up with something else."
    Sisko darted a glance at Zar. The Bolian shrugged.
"What are you waiting for?" said the captain. "Fill
me in."
     O'Brien did as he was told. Before he had gotten
very far, it was clear why the chief had hesitated.
  "Not an easy plan to carry out," Zar observed.
  "But it's an option," the captain reminded him.
  "And under the circumstances, it might be the only
  one we have."

CHAPTER
      15

SISKO STOOD IN front of his center seat and considered
his officers. They looked back at him with varying
degrees of curiosity.
    O'Brien, Graal, and Thorn knew what he was going
to say, of course, since it was their efforts that had
made the meeting necessary. And though Zar was still
sequestered with Dr. Laffer in sickbay, he also knew
what would be discussed, having heard about it when
the captain did.
    But Dax, Lopez, and Counselor Barnes looked at
Sisko expectantly, having little or no idea what was
going on. Of course, that deficit would be erased in
the next couple of minutes.
    The captain looked to the intercom grid in the
ceiling. "Are you with us, Lieutenant Zar?"
    "I'm here," the Bolian replied, as cheerful as ever.
"You can get on with it anytime, sir."
    Satisfied, Sisko eyed the others. "Our engineering
team has come up with another strategy," he ex-
plained.
    "That's good," Lopez commented dryly. "I was
beginning to fear we'd be in this nexus forever."
    The captain ignored the attempt at black humor.
Turning to the head of his engineering team, he
nodded. "Go ahead, Chief."
    O'Brien took it from there. "Back when I was
serving on the Enterprise, "he explained, "we received
a Klingon emissary who had crossed vast stretches of
space in nothing more than a specially equipped
probe."
 Barnes looked at him. "A probe? Really?"
    The engineer nodded. "Her name was K'Ehleyr.
And she had a lot of guts, let me tell you--Klingon
probes aren't built nearly as well as ours are. Which
brings me to my point." He looked around. "With the
help of Lieutenant Commander Graal and Mr. Thorn
here, I believe I can equip the Defiant's probes for
humanoid occupation. That is, we can use them to get
us out of here."
 Lopez grunted. "Brilliant idea, Chief."
    O'Brien frowned. "There's only one problem with
it."
    Sisko already knew what the problem was, but he
let his people figure it out for themselves. Finally Dax
said it out loud.
 "There are only seven probes," she pointed out.
"And according to my calculations... there are nine
of us."
    "That's right," the chief confirmed grimly. "Which
means two of us will have to stay behind on the
Defiant."
    Where they would face certain death. As the cap-
tain looked around, he could see no one had missed
that little detail.
    O'Brien took a deep breath. "Since it's my idea, I
volunteer to be one of the two who stay behind."
    Sisko shook his head. "You shouldn't he penalized
for not being able to save everyone, Chief. Besides,
you've got a wife and daughter."
  "And you've got a son," O'Brien countered.
    "He's right," Zar remarked over the intercom sys-
tem. "Think about Jake, sir. He still needs you."
    "He's not a baby anymore," the captain declared
for the Bolian's benefit. "Not like Molly. He can learn
to live without me."
    "This is all quite irrelevant," the Craynid whistled.
"I have no less than one hundred and thirty
offspring--a healthy brood even by my people's stan-
dards. Yet I would stay if it meant others might
survive."
    Sisko had never thought of Graal as particularly
courageous. But then, maybe he hadn't known her as
well as he thought.
    "I hate to he the one to point this out," said Thorn,
"but Dr. LatTer probably won't survive a journey in a
jury-rigged probe. As far as I can tell, there's no point
in saving one for her."
 "We don't know that," Barnes replied.
    "Yes, we do," he insisted. "And since I've got no
real ties to anyone, I'll stay here with her."
    The captain scrutinized the security chiefi Interest-
ing behavior for a man who'd been accused of sabo-
taging the ship.
    But in the end, he shook his head. "No," he told
Thorn. "There's no fair way to determine who stays
and who goes."
"But we can't all stay," Lopez reminded them.
Sisko turned to him. "Then we draw straws."
Dax's brow wrinkled. "Straws, Benjamin?"
"Figuratively speaking," the captain amended. He
looked to the viewscreen. "Computer, place eight
Federation symbols on the main viewer. Then hide a
small representation of the Defiant behind one of
them. I leave it up to you to decide which one."
  "Acknowledged," the computer responded.
    A moment later the Federation symbols appeared.
As Sisko had requested, there were eight of them.
    "Hang on a minute," said Lopez. "There are nine
of US."
    Sisko nodded. "That's right. I'm invoking the cap-
tain's privilege--some would say responsibility--to
go down with his ship."
  "But, sir--" O'Brien began.
    Sisko silenced him with a glare. "I'm not inviting
any further discussion on the point. Case closed,
Chief."
 Reluctantly O'Brien shut up. In fact, they all did.
 The captain pulled down on the front of his tunic.
"All right, then. Whoever picks the symbol with the
Defiant behind it stays. The rest take the probes.
Understand?"
 Zar said he did. Everyone else just nodded.
    "I'll go first," Thor told them. He faced the screen,
where the eight symbols were hovering in three tiers
against the wildly beautiful background of the nexus.
"Computer," he said, "show me what's behind the
symbol in the center."
     A moment later, the symbol disappeared. There
was nothing behind it but empty space.
 "What happened?" asked Zar.
    Thor told him. They could all hear the sound of
relief in the big man's voice, no matter how much he
would have denied it.
    Next, it was O'Brien's turn. "Give me the symbol in
the upper-right-hand comer," he said.
 There was nothing behind that one either.
    Dax went after him. Then Graal. Neither of them
drew the dreaded "short straw."
    That left Lopez, Laffer, Zar, and Barnes. The ten-
sion in the air was almost palpable. It throbbed in
Sisko's temples.
    Lopez gestured for Barnes to go ahead of him.

"Please," he said gallantly.
    But the counselor shook her head. "No," she told
him. "Go ahead. I'll go last."
    The science officer turned to the screen. "Very
well," he muttered. Then he spoke in a louder voice.
"Computer, I'll take the bottom tier, in the center."
 The response was instantaneous. The Starfleet sym-
bol vanished--leaving nothing in its wake. Lopez
glanced at Barnes, then the captain.
    "I guess we should give Zar his shot now," he
suggested.
    Noting the counselor's preference, Sisko nodded.
"Ready, Zar?"
    "Ready," the Bolian confirmed. "Has anyone taken
the middle tier, on the left?"
    "Not yet," the captain informed him. "Is that what
you want?"
 A beat. "Yes," said Zar. "That's the one."
    Sisko looked up. "Computer, delete the symbol in
the middle tier, on the left."
    The computer complied. "Well?" asked the Bolian,
who couldn't see what was going on. "Is it you and I,
Captain?"
    "No," said Sisko, his eyes on the viewscreen.
"You'll be on one of those escape pods, Mr. Zar." He
glanced at the counselor. "Your turn," he advised, as
gently as possible. After all, Dr. Laffer could hardly
choose for herself.
    Barnes nodded, the muscles in her jaw fluttering.
There were only two symbols left, both in the top row.
One was in the center, the other to the left of it.
    "The one in the middle," she announced, her voice
surprisingly strong.
    "Computer," said the captain, "delete the symbol
in the top row, center."
    The symbol disappeared--and revealed the tiny
Defiant lurking behind it.
  "My god," whispered Lopez.
    But if the counselor was devastated by the result,
she didn't show it. She just blinked a couple of times
as someone informed Zar of the result.
    Sisko felt a hand on his shoulder. Turning, he saw
that it belonged to Chief O'Brien. The man's expres-
sion was one of great sincerity.
    "Sir, I wish it had worked out differently," O'Brien
told him.
    The captain acknowledged the gesture. "Thanks,
Chief. So do I."
    He turned to his officers again. This time, it wasn't
curiosity he saw on their faces. It was either pity or
regret--or in Thorn's case, perhaps a combination of
both.
    Only Barnes showed no emotion. She was still
looking at the viewscreen, seemingly unable to absorb
the significance of what had happened. Sisko's heart
went out to her, but he had orders to give.
    "O'Brien, Graal, Thorn," said the captain. "I'11
need you to outfit those probes for passenger trans-
port. Dax and Lopez, download as much information
as you can from the computer banks."
     "Aye, sir," the Trill responded dutifully, only a thin
strain of sentiment insinuating itself into her voice.
  "Aye," Lopez chimed in.
    "Counselor Barnes will remain with me on the
bridge," Sisko announced. "Everyone else is dis-
missed."

CHAPTER
      16

SISKO TURNED TO the freestanding control panel beside
his seat and glanced again at the chronometer in the
corner of it. According to the projections he'd gotten
from Dax, they had less than an hour to go before the
nexus pulled the Defiant apart.
    For a long time, the ship had remained steadfast
against the energies swirling around it, only a subtle
tremor in the deck plates betraying its struggle. But
that was no longer the case.
    Now, despite her inertial dampers, the Defiant was
pitching and rolling like an ancient schooner on
Earth's whitecapped waters. And it was going to get
worse, the captain knew. Much worse.
    Tapping his communicator, Sisko established a link
with O'Brien. "Chief, how much longer before the
probes are ready?"
    "Not much longer," O'Brien replied. "Just a few
minutes, sir."
The captain scowled. "Keep me posted. Sisko out."
He surveyed the bridge. It was just he and Barnes,
and the counselor was sitting at the Ops console.
Sensing Sisko's scrutiny, she swiveled around to face
him.
      "I'm done," she told him. "I've initialized the
launches. All you need to do is give the order."
  He nodded. "Thanks, Counselor."
    Barnes smiled a faint smile. "You're welcome,
Captain."
    He was reminded of the conversation they'd had in
her quartersrathe one they'd never finished. At the
time, she had confessed that their plight recalled the
Saratoga's destruction for her.
    Sisko hadn't quite seen the analogy--or maybe he
hadn't wanted to see it. But he saw it now with painful
clarity. The details weren't the same, but they didn't
have to be. It was the sense of utter helplessness, of
imminent death, that bound the two situations to-
gether.
    He thought about saying something about it to the
counselor now that fate had thrown them together--
tying up the loose end, as it were. However, Barnes
seemed to have gotten a grip on herself since then.
Maybe it would be smarter not to bring it up.
    O'Brien's voice interrupted the captain's reverie. "I
believe we're ready, sir," he reported.
    Sisko leaned back in his chair. "We're ready, too,"
he replied.
    There was a pause on the other end. "Sir," said the
chief, "there's a lot I'd like to say. And I'm not the
only one."
    The captain nodded. "I know, Mr. O'Brien. Unfor-
tunately we don't have time for that sort of thing."
    The engineer was stubborn, as Sisko knew he would
be. "Begging your pardon, sir, but we're not likely to
have another chance."
  "I know that, too," the captain assured him.
    He saw Barnes glance at him, as if to advise him
that a moment or two wouldn't hurt. Sisko frowned.
    "It's been an honor working with you, Chief. And
you as well, Old Man, and Zar and Graal and Lopez
and Thorn--the whole lot of you. And I know you
feel the same way. Now it's time for you to tuck
yourselves in, and to leave the rest to myself and
Counselor Barnes--and that's all the good-bye you're
going to get." He grunted. "Sisko out."
    As if to underline the urgency of his directive, the
ship lurched and shuddered violently. The shields
wouldn't hold much longer under this kind of punish-
ment. They would have to move ahead with their
plan.
    The captain turned to Barnes. "It's time," he told
her. "If you don't mind, I'll execute the launches
myself."
 "Of course," she answered.
    He thought he heard a tremor in her voice. A slight
one, but a tremor nonetheless. Nor could he have
blamed her for it, given the apparent hopelessness of
their situation.
    He leaned forward, the probes forgotten for the
moment. "Counselor?"
    Barnes didn't answer. She just sat there, her back
turned to him as if she was merely intent on her
control panel. Then, slowly, her head drooped onto
her chest.
 "Counselor?" he said again.
    Her hands rose to cover her face. Still she made no
sound, but it was clear she was caught in the grip of a
powerful emotion. Before long, her shoulders were
shaking with the force of it.
    Apparently Barnes hadn't recovered from her fears
after all--she had only submerged them for a while.
Getting up out of his seat, Sisko approached the Ops
station.
    He wished the woman hadn't had to go through
this. He wished there had been another way--but
time was running down like sand in an hourglass, and
another way hadn't presented itself.
    "Counselor?" he said a third time, when he was
standing right in back of her. "I know how hard this
has got to be."
    Barnes turned to look at him. Suddenly the captain
realized he had been wrong about her. Dead wrong.
The counselor's tears hadn't been caused by grief or
terror. If they had been, she wouldn't have been
smiling through them.
    And there was no question she was smiling--with a
transcendent joy that nudged him off balance. Sisko
shook his head.
 "I don't understand," he said simply.
     "I'm not afraid," the counselor told him with a
certain pride in her voice. "Not of dying, anyway."
  The captain looked at her. "Then of what?"
    The tears made her eyes look liquid and beautiful,
like droplets of distilled darkness. "I was afraid,"
Barnes went on, "that I would die without ever telling
you."
    "Telling me?" he repeated. What was she talking
about? Why was she being so mysterious all of a
sudden? Unless...
    ú.. unless the counselor was the saboteur, and this
was her confession.
    Instinctively Sisko took a step back, wary of her.
But she had no weapons in her hands, nothing with
which she might hurt him.
    Barnes got to her feet. "Yes," she replied, wiping
away a tear. "Telling you. About my crime."
    The captain's eyes narrowed. He had been right,
apparently. The counselor was the one to blame for
their predicament.
    As Barnes came closer, he could feel himself recoil-
ing inside--and not just because she had placed his
friends and his vessel at risk. There was something
strange about her, something unfocused.
    Something a little insane, he thought. Yes, that was
it. He wondered now why he hadn't seen it before.
    "Please," she said, hands held palms out as she
closed the gap between them. "Don't be afraid." Her
eyes opened wide, pleading with him. "Can't you see,
Benjamin? Can't you see... I'm in love with you?"
    Sisko shook his head, genuinely surprised. "In
love... ?" he echoed.
    "Yes," the counselor confirmed. "In love, since the
moment I first saw you on the Saratogaú" Her eyes
glazed over as she revisited the memory. "You were
tall, handsome, firm and gentle at the same time. Was
it any wonder you took my breath away?"
    The captain fought to regain his equilibrium. One
puzzle at a time, for god sakes. "You said something
about a crime," he reminded her.
    A shadow fell over Barnes's face. "Yes," she said.
"But I only did it for you, Benjamin."
    "Did what?" Sisko insisted. "What did you do for
me, Counselor?"
    She looked away from him, as if distracted by
something. Her features took on an almost childlike
expression.
    "I could have saved her," moaned Barnes. "I couM
have."
    The captain was going to ask who the counselor was
talking about. Laffer, maybe? But the doctor wasn't
dead--at least not yet.
    Then who? What "she" could Barnes have meant?
And then, with stunning certainty, he knew.
    "She was pinned under all that wreckage, half-
crushed by it," the counselor continued. "But she was
still alive. Still struggling. I could have gotten help,
Benjamin."
 My god, he thought. My god.
 She looked up at Sisko, her eyes red-rimmed and
full of tears now. "Part of me wanted to. But another
part thought if she were dead... if she were out of
the picture..."
    The captain felt as if he'd been hit with a sledge-
hammer. His stomach tightening painfully, his senses
reeling, he reached out for the nearest bulkhead to
steady himself.
    "... if your wife was no longer around," Barnes
went on, "I would have a chance with you. A chance
to be happy."
It can't be true, he screamed silently. It can't be.
"And by the time my good half won out," the
counselor finished, "it was too late, you see? She was
dead already, poor thing, all the life squeezed out of
her. Just like all the others the Borg had slaughtered."
    Sisko could see his wife lying there under a hideous
pile of debris. Eyes staring, mouth open as if she
wanted to scream. Jennifer, he thought with a jolt of
pain. My beautiful, sweet Jennifer.
    The counselor averted his gaze. "She was beyond
anyone's help, Benjamin. And I couldn't stay there.
You understand that, don't you? I was ashamed, but I
had to run away."
    The captain reeled with the significance of Barnes's
confession. The woman could have prevented his
wife's death, he told himself. She could have given
Jennifer a chance to survive.
    But she hadn't done it. The counselor had walked
away and left Jennifer to die in agony--because she
loved him. Because some dark, maniacal part of her
hated the competition Jennifer represented.
    Barnes looked up at him, her eyes full of pain.
"Please, Benjamin. It's too late for her, but not for us.
We can still be together in the time we have left. It's
not too late, I swear it."
    Sisko shook his head. It was too much for him to
bear. If Barnes had never seen him on the Saratoga,
had never developed these feelings for him, his wife
might be alive today. She might have been saved.
    "Don't be angry with me," the counselor implored.
She touched her fingertips to his chest--lightly, like a
lover. "Please, Benjamin. I only wanted us to be
together. I only wanted it to be the two of us."
    Enraged, Sisko slapped her hand away. He wanted
to make her pay for what she had done--for what she
hadn't done. He wanted her to feel the kind of anguish
he was feeling.
    Then he looked at herinlooked into her eyes. In the
darkness of them, he could see a tortured and guilt-
twisted soul, who in her own way had borne a burden
of pain as heavy as his own.
    He couldn't hate Constance Barnes, not any more
than Jennifer would have hated her. He wanted to,
but he couldn't. Like water in a sieve, his anger
gradually drained away.
    "There's so little time," the counselor entreated,
raising her fingers to his face. "So little time..."
    For what? he asked himself. A relationship? Even in
her madness, even as she framed the words, she had
to know that was impossible.
    Then abruptly, he realized what she really wanted
of him. Not romance--not really. It was something
else she needed. And he alone had the power to give it
to her.
    Submerging his bitterness, the captain reached out
to her. With unfeeling arms and hands, he embraced
her. And slowly, with infinite sadness, he drew her to
him.
"It's all right," he told her. "It's all right now."
The counselor looked up at him, hope shining
tentatively in her smile. "Oh, Benjamin. I've waited
so long to tell you this. So very long."
    "I know," Sisko told her, stroking her hair. "And
I.. 2' He swallowed. "I forgive you."
    Resting her head against his chest, she began to sob
again. In fact, Barnes trembled with the force of it like
a leaf in an autumn storm. Finally, after all these
years, the woman had found some measure of relief
from her awful burdenmsome respite from the de-
mons that haunted her.
 She had found... forgiveness.
    And if she was slated to die scant minutes later, that
didn't seem to matter to her. All that mattered was
she had confessed her sin to the one man who could
give her absolution.
    Gently the captain guided Barnes to her seat. Then,
taking one himself at the conn console, he checked the
status of the probes preparatory to launch~
    His monitors were supposed to show him that all
systems were functioning. But they didn't. They
showed him that something was wrong.
 The probes were fine, apparently. But the launch
mechanism was off-line. Running a quick diagnostic,
he saw why.
    "What's the matter?" asked Barnes, still in a
daze--but not so much that she couldn't tell there
was a problem.
    Sisko glanced at her. "We're having a problem. I
can't get the launch mechanism to respond."
    The counselor's brows met over the bridge of her
delicate nose. "But if the probes aren't launched--"
    "They won't leave the nexus," he said. "And no one
will be saved."
    Purposefully he punched a padd on the console,
then got up and took Barnes's hand. She looked
surprised.
 "Where are we going?" she asked.
 "You'll see," was all he told her.

    Sisko waited for the turbolift to take them to deck
four, where the computer diagnostic had pinpointed
the trouble with the probe launch. When the lift doors
opened, he emerged and took Barnes with him.
    "Where are we going?" she asked for the fifth or
sixth time--he had lost count. But he had no time to
provide explanations.
    Instead he pulled her along the corridor behind
him. They turned right and then left, following the
contours of the hull. Finally the captain caught sight
of his objective.
    At first it looked only like a shadow among all the
other shadows in this minimally lit space. Then he got
closer, and he could see the shadow was shaped like a
man.
    What's more, on the deck beside it, there was a
section of bulkhead lying on its side. The elaborate
command circuitry underneath it had been exposed,
and it was this the man-shaped shadow seemed to be
working on.
    Clearly someone was sabotaging the launch, and
the captain had a pretty good idea who it might be.
One of his former colleagues on the old Saratoga. One
of the few people in the galaxy he would have trusted
with everything he held dear.
    And he would have been wrong to do so. Because
this particular former colleague had sold him out,
along with all their other old friends. His mouth
twisting with anger, he called out a single name.
  "Lopez.t"
    The corridor rang and echoed with the name,
though in this case it was more of an accusation. The
science officer turned around. Even in the meager
light, there was no mistaking his features.
 "In the flesh," Lopez confirmed.
    He was holding an engineering tool--one he could
have obtained in any one of a dozen places. What's
more, the science officer would have been familiar
with all of them, since most ships were alike in that
regard--and the science and engineering sections
often worked hand in hand.
    Sisko nodded. "I should have known. You were the
one piloting the Defiant when we ran into trouble.
You could have taken us right into the nexus, regard-
less of whatever course Thorn had plotted for you."
    Lopez smiled grimly. "Could have and did, I'm
afraid."
    Barnes turned to the captain. She was trying hard to
grasp what was happening, even in her madness. "You
mean this is all Lopez's fault? He was the one who got
us stuck here?"
    "That's correct," the science officer informed her.
"But not before I'd disabled the inertial dampers on
the pod deck, so there wouldn't be any easy way out
for us."
    She shook her head, obviously puzzled and con-
illsed. "But why? Why would you do such a thing?"
    "A good question," Lopez agreed. "And while
we're at it, here are a couple more. Why have I not
used one of the probes to escape? Why have I lingered
here, to face certain death along with the rest of you?"
    "Why indeed," said Sisko, thinking it through,
"unless... we're not going to die, after all."
    The science officer chuckled. "Very good, sir. Your
reasoning is impeccable, as always."
    Barnes looked more disoriented than ever. "How
can that be? We exhausted every way we could think
of to help ourselves. The probes were our very last
chance."
    "To help ourselves, yes," Lopez advised her. "But if
you were to consult the ship's long-range sensors, you
would find that outside help is on the way."
 The captain looked up at the intercom grid. "Com-
puter, is there a vessel approaching us? And if so,
what kind of vessel is it?"
    "Sensors indicate the approach of three Retizian
trading ships," the computer responded. "All are
equipped with Starfleet analog warp engines and
level-three tactical systems."
    Sisko frowned. With level-three armaments, they
might be a match for even a healthy Defiant. "I still
don't understand," he confessed.
    'Tll spell it out for you," Lopez offered magnani-
mously. "At this point there's no reason to keep any
of it a secret, is there?" He shrugged. "As you know,
I'm a man of rather extravagant vices."
    The captain grunted. "Your obsession with women,
you mean."
    "That is my primary vice, yes," the science officer
replied. "But I have another, which comes in a close
second. And that, my friend, is gambling--on any-
thing and everything. I won't bore you with the
details, but it got me into trouble recently. Big trou-
ble, actually, because I became indebted to the
Retizians--who don't take such things lightly."
    "You could have come to me," Sisko noted. "I
could have helped."
    Lopez shook his head. "My losses were huge. You
couldn't have made a dent in them. And of course,
neither could I--at least, not with legal tender. How-
ever, I did have one thing of value to bargain with:
your blood."
 "My blood?" the captain echoed.
 "That's right," the science officer responded. "As
you'll recall, every one of our old colleagues aboard
this vessel--with the exception of myself and Coun-
selor Barnes heretowas on an away team sent down to
Thetalian Prime some years ago. You were there.
Thorn was there. So were Lieutenant Commander
Graal, Dr. Laffer, and Lieutenant Zar."
     Sisko recalled the incident. It wasn't a pretty one.
And what came after wasn't pretty either.
 "We contracted a disease," he said.
    "So you did," Lopez agreed. "A particularly vi-
cious disease, as I understand it. You almost died. If
not for Dr. Laffer, you most certainly would have. But
you survived, all of you--though you still carry the
microscopic organisms responsible for the disease in
your blood."
Sisko was beginning to figure it out. "Corlandium."
Barnes was still in the dark. She said so.
"Corlandium," the captain explained, "is a mineral
found only on Thetalian Prime. It's worth a million
times its weight in gold-pressed latinum. And the
organisms we still carry in our blood secrete codan-
dium on a regular basis--even if it's only in trace
amounts."
    Understanding dawned on the counseloffs face. She
stared at Lopez, incredulous. "You're paying off your
debts with this stuff?."
    "Not the stuff itself," said the science officer.
"Rather, the organisms that create it. Unfortunately
the tiny things are exceptionally fragile. Particular,
one might say, about where they live."
 "They're partial to humans, Bolians, Klingons, and
several other races," Sisko pointed out. "But not
Retizians."
    Lopez nodded. "Unfortunately for the Retizians.
And the organisms absolutely detest any kind of
artificial environment."
    Sisko glared at his former colleague. "So we're
going to be habitats for the organisms. Places where
they can continue to thrive--and more to the point,
where they can produce corlandium."
    "My god," said Barnes, her features pinched with
disgust.
    "You'll be more than habitats," Lopez told him.
"You'll be breeding grounds. The Retizians think they
can make the organisms multiply again, despite the
antibodies in your systems. If so, they can step up
corlandium production exponentially--and with the
judicious use of drugs, still keep you healthy and
viable."
  "Healthy zombies," Sisko corrected.
  "If you prefer," Lopez conceded amiably.
  "You're a monster," the counselor rasped.
    The science officer turned to her, his expression
deadly serious all of a sudden. "No," he insisted. "I'm
a desperate man."
    Sisko believed it. Lopez had never done anything
even remotely like this in his stint on the Saratoga.
    "Believe me," said the science officer, "I wish
things had turned out otherwise. I had no desire to
hurt anyone, much less my old friends. But I love life
too much to let it go without a fight."
  "So do we," said a deep, angry voice.
    Lopez's head snapped around. He stared at the
source of the voice, his mouth open, his face losing
color by the second.
    Sisko turned, too--and saw Aidan Thorn striding
down the corridor to join them, his mouth twisted
with barely bridled fury. He wasn't alone, either. Zar
was right on his heels.
    "A-Aidan," the science officer stammered. He tried
to smile. "You don't understand. All I was trying to
do--"
    Before Lopez could finish his explanation, Thorn
landed a crushing blow to his jaw. The science officer
bounced off the bulkhead behind him and sank to the
deck, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.
    The captain got between the two of them in a hurry,
but it was all he could do to keep Thorn from belting
Lopez a second time. After all, the security officer was
every bit as strong as he looked.
    "Come on," said Zar, using his Bolian strength to
aid Sisko in his efforts to restrain Thorn. "That's not
going to accomplish anything, Aidan."
    "It'll make me feel better," Thorn snarled. He
pointed an accusing finger at his old comrade, who
was only now dragging himself to his knees. "You're
scum, Lopez. You're worse than scum. If I'd known
what a low-life bastard you were, I never would have
saved your life so often."
    The science officer wiped his mouth with the back
of his hand and placed his other hand against the
bulkhead for support. Then, with something of an
effort, he got to his feet.
    "Yes," he said, glancing at the big man. "I suppose
those seem like errors in judgment now, under the
circumstances."
    "To all of us," Sisko commented. He turned to Zar.
"You heard everything, I take it?"
    The Bolian nodded. "Everything. Just as you in-
tended when you opened a link to the probes' corem
systems. I'm assuming you punched a communica-
tions padd up on the bridge?"
  "You're assuming right," Sisko confirmed.
    Lopez nodded. "Clever, my friend. But in the long
run, it doesn't matter. The Retizians are on their way.
And as far as they're concerned, the bargain is
sealed."
  Zar looked to the captain. "Any ideas?"
    As if on cue, Sisko was paged over the intercom
system. It was O'Brien.
  He smiled. "Go ahead, Chief. I'm listening."
    "Dax and I have effected repairs," O'Brien re-
ported. "We're ready to take the Defiant out of here."
    "Do it, Chief," the captain told him. "I'll meet you
on the bridge as soon as I can."
    A moment later, he could feel the reassuring hum of
the impulse engines through the Defiant's deck plates.
His old comrades looked at him quizzically. The last
either of them had heard, fixing the propulsion system
was an impossibility.
    "The engines," said Thorn, his eyes widening.
"Either I'm crazy or they're back on line."
    "You're not crazy," Sisko assured him, a part of
him secretly enjoying the look on the big man's face.
    "Then we can leave the nexus under our own
power," the Bolian concluded, obviously caught be-
tween surprise and amusement.
    He had barely gotten the words out when they felt
the ship move. It was a subtle sensation, even with
some of the inertial dampers out of commission, but
there was no mistaking it.
"I guess that answers my question," said Zar.
Lopez, meanwhile, was white as a sheet. He'd
obviously expected to come out on top, even after
Thorn and the Bolian arrived. Now he saw his victory
wasn't nearly as certain as he'd believed.
    The science officer shook his head. "I don't get it. I
thought the engines were damaged beyond repair."
    "They were damaged," the captain confirmed, "but
not beyond repair. Oh, at first, we were in a genuine
bind, no doubt about it. Then our engineering team
came up with the idea of replicating those damaged
engine parts."
    "An idea that failed," said Thorn. He looked at Zar,
then at Sisko again. "At least, that's what I thought."
    "Actually," Sisko told him, "I asked Chief O'Brien
to hold a key component back--and replace it with
junk. Hence the appearance that we were still dead in
the water."
    "But why?" the big man pressed. Then he answered
his own question. "Unless you suspected sabotage--
and wanted to give the one responsible a chance to
reveal himself."
    Sisko nodded. "Exactly, Mr. Thorn. Chief O'Brien
and Lieutenant Commander Graal found Lopez's
handiwork on the pod deck shortly before we hit the
wave nexus. At the time, we didn't know quite what to
make of it, of course. But when we hit the nexus, we
knew."
    Zar shook his head. "Then the whole time, you and
O'Brien and Graal were deceiving us--making us
think we were doomed so you could flush out the
traitor among us."
    "As it happens," said the captain, "Lieutenant Dax
was in on it, too. But we can discuss all this later." He
jerked a thumb in the direction of the nearest turbo-
lift. "Right now, we've got some Retizians to deal
with, and I don't think they'll take no for an answer."

CHAPTER
      17

AS SlSKO EMERGED onto the bridge, leading his former
colleagues, he saw the viewscreen was still a confusion
of bright colors. Also, that O'Brien and Dax were at
Ops and Conn, respectively.
    He acknowledged them with a nod. They nodded
back.
    "Mr. Thorn," he announced, looking back over his
shoulder, "keep an eye on our friend Lopez, will you?
Make sure he doesn't try anything."
    The bearded man, who had armed himself with a
phaser on the way up to the bridge, nodded enthusias-
tically. "With pleasure, Captain."
    "Thank you," said Sisko. "Mr. Zar, you've got
Tactical."
    "Aye, sir," said the Bolian, crossing the bridge with
the alacrity of a starving man at a Benzite buffet.
    The captain smiled. Zar had maintained his vigil
over Laffer without once complaining. But now that
Graal was free to keep an eye on the doctor, the
Bolian seemed eager to make a real contribution.
    Besides, next to Sisko himself, Zar was the best
tactical officer they had--even better than O'Brien,
who had served in that capacity on the Rutledge. And
in a pinch like this one, they needed all the expertise
they could bring to bear.
    Barnes took up a position near the lift doors, out of
everyone's way. No doubt, thought the captain, she
wanted to be of help, too. But in her muddled state, he
didn't trust her to handle any of the control panels.
    As Sisko sat down in the center seat, he looked to
Dax. "What's our speed and heading, Lieutenant?"
    "Our heading is two-four-two mark eight," Dax
replied. "And we're proceeding at full impulse--
which is, of course, all we've got."
    The captain leaned back in his chair. There would
be no outrunning the Retizians--not on impulse
power alone. And the ship's Romulan-designed cloak,
which would have come in handy at a time like this,
was still completely useless. Pity, he thought.
    Sisko wished now that he had devoted some of his
resources to the cloaking system's repair. But until the
Retizians had entered the picture, he hadn't expected
there would be any real need for it.
    The captain frowned. Neither speed nor illusion
would get them out of this fix. Apparently they would
have to win a decisive victory before they could even
think about escape. That meant they would have to
make up for their obvious disadvantages--and
quickly.
    Zar turned to him, all business now. "Sir, the
energies in the nexus will affect phaser and photon
torpedo accuracy. I suggest we refrain from firing
until we've emerged from it."
    Sisko nodded. "Agreed, Lieutenant." He glanced at
Ops. "Where are the Retizians now, Mr. O'Brien?"
    "Just outside the phenomenon," the engineer re-
ported. "And I'm reading a great deal of sensor
activity, so they must know we're coming."
    "I wonder what they make of us," Thorn said. "One
minute we're helpless, ripe for the plucking. And the
next, we're moving again under our own power--
even if it is only impulse."
    A good question, thought the captain. If the Defiant
could muster impulse speeds, the enemy had to be
wondering what else they could do. Maybe they could
use that element of uncertainty to their advantage.
  "What's their range?" he asked O'Brien.
    The engineer consulted his instruments. "Eighty-
six million kilometers and closing, sir."
  Sisko nodded. "Red alert. Shields up."
    An instant later, the bridge was bathed in a lurid
red light. If any of them hadn't appreciated the
seriousness of their plight, the captain was certain
they would appreciate it now.
    Sitting back in his chair, Sisko rubbed his temple
with a forefinger. He was starting to generate some
ideas, but he didn't know if they would work--and
even if they did, whether any of them would be
enough to take out all three of their adversaries.
    "Mr. O'Brien," he said out loud. "Can you bypass
the damage Mr. Lopez did to the command cir-
cuitry?"
      The chief turned to him and nodded. "Aye, sir. It
shouldn't take more than a minute or so." 
 "Do it," the captain told him.
    Sisko saw Dax dart a glance at him. She was smiling
as she uttered a single word: "Decoys."
    The captain didn't respond. Instead, he turned to
the Bolian. "Mr. Zar, open communication with the
probes as soon as they're launched. Speak to them as
if there were someone actually aboard each one of
them."
    Zar grunted appreciatively. Apparently he'd figured
it out as well. "Acknowledged, sir. Opening comm
link."
  "Clever," remarked Lopez. "Very clever indeed."
  "No one asked you," said Thorn.
    The traitor ignored him. "Being warp capable," he
went on, "the probes will be past the Retizians before
they know what's happened. They won't have time to
analyze the situation--only to react."
    "Of course," the Trill added, "they might be sur-
prised by the appearance of passengers on the probes,
but they don't dare let them get away--or they take a
chance on losing their living corlandium mines."
    "The damaged command circuits have been by-
passed," O'Brien reported. "Ready to launch any
time, sir."
    "Program them for a variety of headings," Sisko
ordered. "We don't want to make it too easy on the
Retizians."
"Various headings," the engineer confirmed.
Sisko tapped his fingers on his armrest, waiting for
the right time. Reds and blues stabbed at one another
on the viewscreen until they drowned in a yellow-
orange tide. Then that gave way as well, to a webwork
of dark greens and purples.
 "Launch probes," he said at last.
    On the screen, the captain could see the probes dart
forward at the speed of light, four times as fast as the
Defiant herself. They were gone before he knew it.
    A few seconds later, the image on the screen
changed. The roiling colors thinned and faded, giving
way to a field of slowly moving stars. Finally, with a
last, mighty surge, the Defiant tore itself free from the
nexus.
    What's more, they were in luck. As Sisko had
hoped, the Retizians were in visual range--still in the
process of wheeling about to pursue the unexpected
probes, their warp engines as yet unengaged.
    Perfect, the captain thought, just perfect. They
couldn't have asked for a better target.
    "Mr. Zar, lock on to the vessel to starboard. Fire at
willmphasers and photon torpedoes."
    The Bolian did as he was instructed. Just before the
Retizian could take off at light-speed, the Defiant's
barrage hit it in its port quarter, spattering light
through the void.
  The impact must have jarred something in the
 Retizian, because it didn't go to warp alongside its
 sister ships. And when it began to come about again,
 presumably in an attempt to face its tormentor, it did
 so more slowly than it should have.
    But before it could complete its maneuver, Zar
raked it a second time with the Defiant's firepower.
And then a third. As always, the Bolian's marksman-
ship was a work of art.
    "Their shields are down," he announced. "Consid-
erable damage to their weapons and propulsion sys-
tems."
    Sisko nodded. That was one Retizian they wouldn't
have to worry about for a while. But there were still
two more, and his ruse wouldn't keep them occupied
for very long. Once they realized the probes were
empty and unmanned, they would be back--with a
vengeance.
    "Lieutenant Dax," he said, "withdraw to a point
one thousand kilometers inside the nexus. Chief,
ready tractor beams."
    O'Brien looked back at him, a question in his eyes.
But he didn't voice it. He merely followed the cap-
tain's orders.
    His friend the Trill had to be wondering, too. But
like her colleague, she kept her inquiries to herself.
    They had barely ducked back inside the nexus when
the other two Retizians returned. They wouldn't be
very happy about the condition of their sister ship,
Sisko mused. He hoped it wouldn't make them too
cautious.
 A moment later, his wish was granted. Latching on
to the Defiant with her targeting systems, one of the
Retizians peeled off for a strafing run.
    Of course, the Federation ship's position in the
nexus would make accuracy a problem, as Zar had
indicated earlier--but at close quarters, it wouldn't
be a big problem. In fact, it would be rather easy.
    "Brace yourselves," the captain warned. "You espe-
cially, Mr. Thorn. This is going to be as rough as it
gets."
    His colleagues secured themselves as best they
could. Heeding Sisko's advice, Thorn kept an extra-
wary eye on Lopez.
    The captain took the time to warn Cnaal as well.
After all, she had to brace both herself and Dr. Laffer.
And knowing the Craynid, she would need a few more
seconds than the rest of them.
    Precautions taken, Sisko applied himself to the task
at hand. "Mr. O'Brien, target the Retizian. On my
mark, activate those tractor beams."
    The engineer fiddled with his controls. A couple of
seconds later, he looked up. "We're locked on target,
sir."
  "Ready phasers and torpedoes," Sisko told Zar.
  "Ready, sir," came the reply.
     The captain's eyes fixed on the viewscreen, where
 the Retizian was gathering speed for an oblique
 approach. What he had in mind would require split-
 second timing and absolute disciplinerebut he be-
 lieved his ship and his personnel were up to the task.
     On the screen, the Retizian was beginning its run--
 but at what seemed like a greater speed than Sisko had
 anticipated. A much greater speed.
     Checking his monitor, he confirmed the observa-
 tion. It would make it that much tougher to do what
 they had to do. Suddenly he had a sick feeling in the
 pit of his stomach.
    Unfortunately it was too late to back off now.
Everything was in motion. All they could do was
persevere--and hope.
    Jaw clenched, the captain waited until the Retizian
was right on top of them. Then he barked his com-
mands, the bridge resounding with them.
  "Activate tractor beams! Zar--fire!"
    What happened next came too fast for the human
eye to follow or the human mind to comprehend. The
bridge tilted almost on its side, deck plates shivering
and bulkheads shrieking, as if giant hands were trying
to tear it apart.
    Sisko himself went spinning out of his seat, though
he managed to grab the base of his control board
before he could go very far. Sparks erupted on the
opposite side of the bridge, signaling the demise of an
empty console. There were curses and cries of pain.
    But when it was all over, he shot a look at the
viewscreen and realized his plan had worked. The
Retizian was withdrawing at half-impulse, its weap-
ons ports charred and fused, only one of its naceltes
generating any kind of plasma trail.
    The captain tapped his communicator badge.
"Sisko to Graal. Are you all right, Commander?"
    The Craynid's reply was unusually prompt. "Dr.
Laffer and I have sustained no injuries as a result of
the impact. In fact, she is beginning to show signs of
emerging from her coma."
    An unexpected benefit, the captain mused. Still, it
was good news--and he would take as much of that as
he could get.
    Grimly he congratulated himself. He had taken a
calculated risk and it had paid off. As he dragged
himself to his feet, he replayed the sequence of events
in his mind.
    First, the Defiant's tractor beams had latched on to
the hurtling Retizian, creatingwif only for an
instant--an inelastic bond between the two. If the
Retizian vessel had been a top-of-the-line Federation
starship, it might have had enough power to drag the
Defiant indefinitely.
    But as formidable as its tactical systems might have
been, the Retizian's propulsion system had been
nothing to boast about. Snared by the Defiant, it
simply dropped out of warp.
    And before the Retizian could recover from that
development, Zar had implemented the second part
of the plan, unleashing the fury of the Federation
ship's weapons. And what a fury it was.
  The result? One crippled Retizian vessel.
    Of course, the Defiant had taken its lumps as well.
Laboring under the strain of a burden they hadn't
been designed for, the tractor generators had been
wrecked beyond repair. The structural integrity sys-
tem had been badly stressed and half the sensors were
off-line again.
     On top of that, the bridge crew had been roughed
 up. O'Brien had suffered a cut to his cheek, and Thorn
 looked to have broken his wrist, causing him to switch
 his phaser to his other hand.
    Nonetheless they had been lucky. The situation
could have been worse--much worse--and the cap-
tain knew it.
    But they weren't out of danger yet. There was still
one more Retizian out there--and after what its
commander had seen, he wasn't going to give them
any room to maneuver. Sisko had scarcely slipped
back into the center seat when the last of his adversar-
ies went into action.
    As it happened, the captain had planned for this as
well. But of all the unorthodox tactics he'd put to use
in the last couple of minutes, this one would be the
toughest to implement.
    Turning to Zar, he said two words: "Guldammur
Four."
    The Bolian almost smiled--but there wasn't
enough time. His fingers flying over his tactical board
like a flock of demented birds, he accomplished what
he had to do. Finally he looked up.  "Ready, sir," said Zar.
    By then, the Retizian was descending on them the
way a hawk might descend on a field mouse. Of
course, they could have used their impulse capability
to make themselves a more difficult target--but Zar's
job was tough enough as it was. Going to impulse
would have made it impossible.

    So they sat. And waited. And despite the calm he
was trying to effect, despite his appearance of confi-
dence, Sisko could feel a bead of sweat making its way
down the side of his face.
    Meanwhile the Retizian was looming larger and
larger on the viewscreen. Sisko could see the details of
its design, almost down to the texture of its duranium
alloy hull. He could read the Retizian designation on
its flank, appreciate the artistry in the insignia just
below it.
    That was when Zar chose to fire. The Defiant
emitted four simultaneous phaser beams, each one
aimed at a different point on the enemy vessel. But
they were narrow-gauge beams, incapable of doing
much damage even if they made it through the
Retizian's defenses.
  Suddenly  O'Brien cursed. "The shields.
They're--"
"It's all right," the captain assured him, holding up
a hand for emphasis. "At ease, Chief."
    He had noticed the lapse in the Defiant's deflector
shields himself, but it hadn't worried him a bit. In
fact, it was all part of the plan. And anyway, the
shields were up again a second later, the Federation
ship none the worse for it.
    The Retizian didn't launch a return volleymat
least, not right away. It just kept coming closer and
closer, until it was on the verge of filling the view-
screen with its bulk.
  The ships were forty thousand kilometers apart.
Thirty thousand. Twenty. Ten. Surely, the captain
thought, if the Retizian was going to open fire, she
would do so now.
    But she didn't. Instead, at the last possible second,
she veered off. And instead of coming back for a
second pass, she took up a position by one of her
crippled sister ships.
    "I don't understand," said O'Brien, peering at his
monitors. And then, abruptly, he figured it out. Eyes
narrowing, he turned to Zar. "You dropped our
shields so you could effect a transport."
    The Bolian nodded. "It was something Captain
Sisko and I pulled off once before, on the Saratoga.
We were in a bind that time, too."
    "I remember," Thorn joined in. "We were up
against the Breen. Zar fired a narrow-gauge phaser
spread to poke a few holes in the enemy's defenses.
Then he dropped our shields for an instant and used
our transporter to sabotage their weapons banks."
    "By beaming over a bunch of junk to clog up their
ports," Dax observed. "And thanks to all the engine
parts we had to scrap, we had junk to spare." She
quirked a smile. "Nice work, Mr. Zar." 
O'Brien grunted. "Very nice."
The Bolian inclined his head. "I aim to please."
Sisko glanced at the Trill. "Set a course for Deep
Space Nine, Old Man. It looks like Mars is going to
have to wait awhile."
 "Aye, Captain," said Dax, implementing his order.
 From his place by a bulkhead, Lopez shook his
head. "Damn," he whispered, clearly bitter about the
way things had turned out.
    Sisko didn't look at him--not right away. First he
made sure the Retizians didn't make a move to stop
them as they cruised past at full impulse. Apparently
they were every bit as whipped as they looked.
    Lopez laughed a disappointed laugh. "You know,"
he said, "I didn't think even you could get out of this
one, Captain. But again, it seems I managed to
underestimate you. Seems I'm not much of a gam-
bler." He glanced at O'Brien. "But then, I suppose I
should have known that already."
    Sisko turned a disapproving glare on him. "You'll
have plenty of time to express your admiration before
a court-martial, Lieutenant." He tilted his head to
indicate the turbolift. "Mr. Thom--throw our former
colleague in the brig. I believe his shift on the bridge is
over."
    The big man smiled despite the pain of his broken
wrist. "Aye, sir. Now that you mention it, I believe it
is."
    Yet as Thorn escorted Lopez into the lift, the
captain derived no pleasure from it. Once, the science
officer had been his friend, and it never felt good to
lose one of thosereno matter the circumstances.
    Out of the corner of his eye, Sisko saw Barnes
approaching him. He would have almost preferred to
face another batch of Retizians than see the look on
her face. But he turned to her nonetheless.
  "Benjamin?" she said, her eyes pleading with him.
Though she had remained quiet, she must have been
very frightened. "Is it over now?"
    He nodded. "Yes, Counselor. It's over. We're going
home."
    Barnes regarded him for a moment. She looked as if
she was on the verge of asking another question, but
she never asked it. Apparently, even in her muddled
state, she had figured out what the answer would be.
    Looking terribly sad, the counselor turned and
made her way toward the turbolift. The captain felt
badly for her, but he knew it would send the wrong
signal if he got up and went after her--and the
woman had been through enough misery for one
lifetime.
    He was about to ask Dax to assist Barnes when the
Trill held her hand up, signaling that it wouldn't be
necessary. Slaving her console to O'Brien's, she hur-
ried after the counselor and caught up with her just as
the lift doors were opening.
    Barnes looked at Dax for a moment, but without
the rancor the counselor had exhibited earlier. In fact,
there wasn't even a flicker of recognition. The Trill
put her arm around the other woman's shoulder.
    "Come on," she said. "You seem to have a lot on
your mind, and I can be a pretty good listener."
    Barnes nodded, her eyes wide and chillingly child-
like. "Thank you," she replied gratefully.
    Then they too vanished into the lift. Sisko sighed.
The counselor was going to need some therapy before
she could even think about returning to duty. Captain
Kyprios was going to be terribly disappointed.
    Abruptly he realized Zar was looking at him.
O'Brien as well. Neither of them understood what
had happened to Barnes. But then, neither of them
had been on the bridge earlier when she made her
bizarre admissions.
'Tll fill you in later," he told them. "I promise."
Right now he just wanted to sit here. To gather his
thoughts, as they limped back to the station as best
they could. And to try to heal the wounds the counsel-
or had reopened.
 He swallowed. Jennifer...


CHAPTER
      18

JAKE SISKO STOOD by an airlock in the upper docking
pylon and peered through the transparent portion of
the inner door. Beside him, his friend Nog did the
same thing.
    Somewhere out in space, the Defiant was headed
their way--battered and beaten up, but still in one
piece. Anyway, that's what he had heard.
  "Can you see them yet?" asked the boy.
    "No," said the Ferengi, squinting as if that would
help. "Can you?"
    Jake shook his head. "They were supposed to be
here by now. At least, that's what Major Kira told
me."
    "And she wasn't lying," said a feminine voice from
behind them.
 Turning, they saw it was Kira herself, no doubt here
to welcome her commanding officer back to the
station. And she had Dr. Bashir with her.
    "Apparently," the doctor explained, "there was a
little trouble with the warp drive Mr. O'Brien cobbled
together en route. And since the Defiant was already
so close to home, Captain Sisko decided to shut it
down and not take any chances."
    "Just what I would have done," Nog commented
sagely.
    Bashir smiled. "In any case, they shouldn't be
delayed more than a few minutes. They were only
traveling at warp factor one to begin with. Appar-
ently, after what the Defiant had been through, that
was all the strain her structural integrity field could
take."
    Jake wasn't exactly comforted by the comment.
Structural integrity fields were serious business. With~
out them, a ship's hull would be left to its own
devices--and those weren't nearly sufficient to stand
the incredible stresses of warp-speed travel.
    Deep down, the doctor had to be worried as well.
But for the boy's sake, he was doing his best not to
show it.
    Abruptly something out in the void caught Jake's
eye. Leaning closer to the transparent barrier, he
focused on it. Concentrated on it. And before long he
found himself grinning.
      "It's the Defiant, "he announced, unable to keep the
 mounting excitement out of his voice.  "So it is," Kira confirmed.
  The starship was moving at only a fraction of
impulse speed as it approached Deep Space Nine. But
then, that would be the case no matter what shape its
warp drive was in. As the boy looked on, the Defiant
switched to its thruster array.
    After what seemed like much too long a time, the
Defiant nudged up against the docking pylon. A
tractor lock was established and clamps were applied.
And an eternity later, the outside door on the airlock
rolled aside.
    The first ones out of the airlock were Dax, O'Brien,
and Dr. Laffer. The Trill and the engineer were
positioned on either side of the doctor, who still
looked pale and a little shaky after her ordeal.
    Bashir came forward to take Laffer's arm. "Come,"
he said. "I'll escort you to the infirmary."
    His colleague made a sound of contempt. "And
who said I needed to visit the infirmary?" she asked.
    Bashir's eyes narrowed purposefully. '7 did, Doc-
tor. After all, you suffered a severe head trauma, you
were unconscious for several hours, and your biosigns
dropped so low they at one point could barely be
detected. The only reason you're up and about is
you've pumped yourself full of tropazine or some-
thing equally insidious."
    Laffer opened her mouth to speak, but Bashir held a
finger up. When he continued, his voice was even
more stern and unyielding.
    "You have two choices, Doctor. You can come to
the infirmary under your own power or I can toss you
over my shoulder and carry you there--and don't
make the mistake of thinking I won't do it."
    Laffer regarded him with a mixture of surprise and
curiosity. For the very first time since Jake had met
her, the doctor didn't have a caustic response at her
fingertips.
 "If that's how you feel about it," she said.
 "It is," Bashir confirmed.
    Taking Laffer's arm, he led her down the corridor
toward the turbolift. What's more, she didn't utter a
sound the whole time.
    O'Brien scratched his head as he watched them go.
"How about that?" he said. "I guess no one had ever
gotten firm with her before."
    "I guess," Dax echoed. "Although she's probably a
little more docile when she's recovering from a
coma?'
    Jake saw Graal come up quietly behind O'Brien and
tap him on the shoulder. Instantly the human
whirled. Then he saw who it was. Taking a deep
breath, he contained his temper.
    "For the love o' Mike," grated O'Brien, "I asked
you not to sneak up on me like that, Commander."
    The Craynid eyed him for a moment with those
round black eyes of hers. Then she replied in her slow,
whistling way, "I only wished to compliment you on a
job well done."
    Now, apparently, it was O'Brien's turn to be sur-
prised. "Well," he said, "thank you. I appreciate that.
Especially when it comes from someone whose opin-
ion I've grown to respect."
  Graal nodded. "See you later," she told him. Then
she moved past him and followed the doctors down
the corridor.
    Kira looked at Dax. "It must have been an interest-
ing trip."
    The Trill grunted in response. "If that's interesting,
I wouldn't mind taking a boring one once in a while."
She turned to her friend. "Incidentally, have you
heard anything from Odo?"
  "Not yet," the Bajoran answered.
    "Odo will do just fine," Nog assured the women.
"After all, he's got my father with him."
That's what they're afraid of, Jake thought.
However, he was only listening to their conversa-
tion with one ear. The rest of him was still intent on
the Defiant's open hatchway, where someone else was
making his exit.
    As it turned out, it was two someones. Chief
Thorn--and Lieutenant Lopez. The big man was
holding a phaser on the science officer as they made
their way through the airlock.
    Catching sight of the boy, Lopez stopped for a
moment, as if he wanted to say something. But he
couldn't seem to find the words--couldn't seem to
come up with anything even approaching an explana-
tion.
    He just shrugged, as if by way of an apology, and
resumed his journey. And Thorn stayed right behind
him, taking no chances.
    Jake sighed. He'd liked Lopez a lot. It was hard for
him to understand how one of the good guys could
suddenly become one of the bad guys. It was probably
one of those lessons his father was always talking
about--the kind a person could learn only from
experience.
    Then someone else came out of the airlock. Coun-
selor Barnes, the boy thought. But she looked differ-
ent somehow. Hollow-eyed, distracted, as if she'd
taken more of a beating on the Defiant than the
others.
    Gently, Dax took the counselor's arm and led her
away. Barnes looked around, but she didn't say a
word. Not one.
    Kira looked at O'Brien. "You think she'll be all
right?"
The engineer shrugged sadly. "In time, I suppose."
Then the two of them glanced at Jake and Nog, and
clammed up like Ornathian winterblossoms in a cold
spell. Apparently this was one of those things teen-
agers weren't supposed to hear about.
    Still, the boy had seen the counselor's eyes. He had
an idea it was something bad.
    It made him even more concerned about his father.
Kira had said the captain was all right, but "all right"
covered a wide range of possibilities. Biting his lip,
Jake peered deeper into the airlock.
    A moment later, his vigilance was rewarded. Sisko
himself appeared, with Lieutenant Zar right behind
him. When he saw his son waiting for him, the
captain's eyes lit up.
    Jake felt a lump in his throat. The whole time his
father and the others had been in danger, he'd been
hanging around the station with Nog. He hadn't
known about the wave nexus--no one had.
    Then Zar called to tell Kira they weren't going to
Mars after all, and a few minutes later Kira passed the
information to Jake. At the time, he'd felt funny about
it. Off balance, somehow.
    Sure the problem was over, and he was relieved.
But deep down, where the irrational rules, the boy
was still worried--still chilled to the bone with fear.
And he knew he would have to see his father before he
could get past that fear.
    He was past it now. His father was hale and whole,
just as he had hoped. The captain came forward and
wrapped his arms around his son and hugged him.
Jake hugged just as hard.
  "Welcome home, Dad."
    Over his father's shoulder, he could see Zar looking
on approvingly. The Bolian winked and the boy
winked back.
  "Thanks," said the captain. "It's good to be home."
    Abruptly a voice filled the corridor. "Ops to Major
Kira."
    The Bajoran tapped her communicator badge.
"Kira here. What can I do for you, Mr. Leskanic?"
 "Major, we're in contact with Security ChiefOdo."
    Kira looked to Sisko, then O'Brien. She looked
positively grim.
 "Patch me through," she said.
    There was a pause. Then the familiar voice of the
shapeshifter replaced Lieutenant Leskanic's. "Odo
here."
 The major frowned. "How did it go, Odo?"
    Of course, Jake knew exactly what she was asking
about. Half the personnel on the station knew--and
they had all been rooting for the constable to get those
power coils.
    Again there was a pause. Then Odo gave Kira her
answer.
    "It appears Karvis will be dry this spring, Major--
and for many springs to come. The power coils are on
their way."
    Kira broke out into a smile. "That's wonderful
news," she told the constable. "Just wonderful. I don't
know how to thank you, Odo."
    The shapeshifter grunted. "You can thank me," he
replied, "by never--and I mean never--asking me to
do anything like this again."
    Jake laughed. So did his father and Major Kira and
Chief O'Brien. In fact, their laughter filled the corri-
dor from one end to the other.
    Nog harrumphed. "I don't see what's so funny," he
insisted.
 But he was the only one.
    Dax sat down across from Thorn and deposited
their drinks on the table between them. His was a
synthale, hers a Modvaarian tonic.
 "Cheers," she said, raising her glass.
    "Cheers," he agreed, and downed the synthale at a
single swallow. A little of it trickled into his beard and
he wiped it away with his hand.
    The Trill was far from demure when it came to
imbibing, but this time she just sipped at her drink.
"So," she said, "I understand the commissioning of
the Saratoga will be delayed a few days."
    Thorn nodded. "Until Dr. Laffer fully recovers.
Now that Counselor Barnes won't be joining us and
my good friend Lopez is headed for a penal colony, we
need every old colleague we can lay our hands on."
    The mention of Lopez clearly made the security
chief uncomfortable. But then, he and the science
officer had been close for years. It must have been
jarring for him to find out how wrong he'd been about
the man.
  Dax smiled. "I see your point."
    Thorn considered his empty glass. "You know, I've
been a security officer for a long time. After a while,
you develop a sense about peopleman intuition, if
you like."
    She saw what he was getting at. "And while you'd
love to think I invited you for a drink to hear your war
tales, you've got a feeling that's not the case. Is that
it?"
    He looked at her with his tiny blue eyes. "In a
nutshell, yes."
    The Trill shrugged. "I have to admit, I was wonder-
ing about something--something you told me on the
Defiant." She could feel herself blushing a little. "In
fact, Mr. Thornre"
  "Aidan," he insisted.
    Dax began again. "In fact, Aidan, to tell you the
truth, it made me suspect you were the saboteur."
    Thorn's eyes opened wide with surprise. "Me?" he
replied. "A traitor to my friends? You've got to be
joking."
    She shook her head from side to side. "Not at all.
After all, you charted the course that brought us
smack up against the wave nexus. Or at least, that's
what I thought."
    The bearded man grunted. "Except it was Lopez
who advised me how to navigate that leg of the
journey. He said he knew that part of space a bit
better than I did. And I've had told you that, too, if I'd
had an inkling someone was suspected of sabotage."
    "Which you didn't," Dax agreed. "Unfortunately
we had to keep our suspicions a secret."
    He stroked his chin. "Is that why I was teamed up
with O'Brien and Graal? So they could keep an eye on
me?"
    The Trill nodded. "I'm afraid sorethough now that
we know what we know, I feel kind of foolish about it.
Still," she said, leaning forward, "I'd like to know
why you lied to me."
    The big man looked at her askance. "Lied? About
what?"
    "About our mutual friend," Dax explained.
"Simora--the Vulcan you'd met on the Victory? You
said she didn't take kindly to humansmwhen she
seemed to me to be very happy to be among humans."
  Thorn's expression became one of embarrassment.
"Ah," he replied. "That. I guess it's my turn to
apologize now."
    The Trill's eyes narrowed. "Then you did lie to
me?"
    He sighed. "Yes. And don't think I don't regret it.
But I think you'll agree I had a good reason."
 And he went on to tell her what it was.

    It was good to be back, Odo thought, sitting down
at his desk and leaning back in his chairmand it
wasn't just because he felt a duty to the station.
Ultimately the shapeshifter was a being for whom
travel held no particular appeal and faraway places no
special allure.
    In short, he was a homebody, and he had no regrets
about it. Let others encounter unknown races and
civilizations, he thought. He liked it right here on
Deep Space Nine.
    Abruptly the doors to his office slid aside and
Quark walked in, completely recovered from his
malady. At any rate, that was the effect of the report
Dr. Bashir had issued in Odo's absence.
    "Quark," said the constable, eyeing the bartender.
"I'm glad to see you're looking fit again."
    "So am I," the Ferengi told him. "Though, as I
understand it, my health was no impediment to a
little transaction with Fel Jangor."
    Odo grunted. "If you're referring to my masquer-
ade, that's true. Rom and I obtained the power coils
for Major Kira's friend. I guess you could say we
accomplished our mission."
    "Mind you," said Quark, "I was concerned about
that. In fact, it was the first thing that crossed my
mind when I woke up in sickbay."
    "I'm sure it was," the constable told him. "And I'm
certain Major Kira appreciated your level of con-
cern."
    "I hope so," the Ferengi responded. "After all, we
are a family here. And as in any family, a little
gratitude goes a long way."
    "You'll have to work that out with her," Odo
advised.
    "Of course," said the Ferengi. No doubt he was
already making a mental note of it.
    "Will there be anything else?" the constable asked.
"Some of us have work to do, you know."
    "Actually, there is something," Quark confessed.
He assumed a strangely conspiratorial expression.
"Tell me, what was it like?"
 Odo looked at him. "What was what like?"
    The Ferengi leaned forward, across the constable's
desk. "You know. To be the galaxy's most clever
businessman."
    Odo's first impulse was to throw the bartender out
of his office. Then he remembered what he had done,
and he smiled.
  "Actually, I rather liked it," he said.
    Quark looked surprised. "You did? I mean, of
course you did. Who wouldn't?" He tilted his head.
"What, exactly, did you like about it?"
  Odo considered the question. "I don't know. The
power, perhaps. The sense of opportunity. The feeling
that I could get anything I want, if I was inclined to be
devious and underhanded enough."
    The Ferengi's eyes narrowed in disbelief. "That
appealed to you? To you?" There was a note of
skepticism in his voice--to put it mildly.
    The constable nodded. "Believe me, I was as sur-
prised as you are. But I was so taken with my
newfound freedom that I exercised it again. That is,
just before I returned to the station."  
Quark's brow furrowed. "Oh?"
    "Oh yes," Odo told him. "While your brother was
gorging himself on the buffet, I received a communi-
cation from another old friend of yours. I wasn't sure
how he tracked me down--or rather, tracked you
down--but it seems he had his ways."
Quark regarded him. "An old friend, you say?"
"That's correct. A Tyrhennian named Norslat, as it
happens--though I recall thinking he was rather
slender for a Tyrhennian. In any case, he was inquir-
ing about a supply of machine parts he thought you
might have in stock."
    "Machine parts?" the Ferengi echoed. He produced
a handkerchief and used it to dab at his forehead.
"Which machine parts?"
    The shapeshifter pretended to think. "Ah," he said
after a moment. "I remember now. They were vec-
tored resistance nodules. The duranium-coated kind,
rated for deep-space applications."
 Quark seemed relieved. "You sold Norslat my re-
sistance nodules? I've been trying to get rid of those
things forever."
    "Well," Odo explained, "you did seem to have
them in great abundance. I didn't think it would hurt
you to part with a few."
    "I see," said the Ferengi, brightening even more.
"And Norslat didn't question your appearance? The
vagueness of your--I mean my features?"
    "Certainly he questioned it," the constable replied.
"But I blamed it on the quality of the transmission.
He seemed to accept that. And before long, we'd cut a
deal."
    "For how many?" Quark inquired, unable to con-
ceal his eagerness.
    "All of them," Odo said. "I tried to hold some
back, but he wouldn't settle for less than the entire
supply."
    Quark rubbed his hands together. "I see. And how
much did you get for the little thingamajigs?"
    The constable leaned back in his chair and affected
a look of pride. "Ten bars of latinurn," he announced.
    The Ferengi's jaw dropped in joyous incredulity.
For a moment, he seemed speechless. "Apiece?" he
exclaimed at last. "Why... that's incredible!"
    Odo shook his head. "Not apiece, Quark. All to-
gether."
    Suddenly the bartender's expression changed. The
fire left his eyes and the color went out of his cheeks.
    "All together?" he giggled nervously. "You're kid-
ding, right?"
"I've never been more serious in my life," the
constable assured him.
    Quark shook his head. "But ... I paid a hundred
bars of latinum for those resistance nodules. You only
got ten percent of my investment back."
    Odo pretended to think again. "That's not good, is
it?"
    Seeking a means of escape, Quark's eyes darted
about like those of a cornered animal. "I know," he
blurted. "I'll tell Norslat the truth--that it wasn't me
who cut the deal. I'll tell him it was some meddlesome
shapeshifter, who had no idea what he was doing."
    "I wouldn't advise that," said the constable. "Your
friend Jangor might get wind of it and start to wonder
with whom he was negotiating--you or a meddle-
some shapeshifter. And if he reneged as a result,
Major Kira's friends wouldn't get their power coils."
    "The hell with their power coils," Quark squealed.
"I'm out ninety bars of latinum!"
    He started out of Odo's office, no doubt to fall on
Norslat's mercy as quickly as possible. However, the
shapeshifter turned himself into a liquid stream and
rematerialized at the door--blocking the Ferengi's
way.
    "Let me go," cried Quark, his fingers balled into
little fists. "I've got to squelch that deal!"
    "Not so fast," Odo said sternly. "You may not care
what happens to the major's friends--but I do."
    The Ferengi started to say something elsemthen
stopped. No doubt he'd noticed the changeling's lack
of flexibility on this point.
    Quark made a sound of frustration deep in his
throat. "You're a cruel man, Constable."
"It's part of my job," Odo reminded him.
Muttering something colorful beneath his breath,
the Ferengi turned and walked out. The changeling
watched him go with some satisfaction. After all, he
had been aware for some time that Quark had ac-
quired those nodules illegally. Unfortunately, he had
been unable to prove it.
    Now, he wouldn't have to. Justice had already been
served.
 Sisko looked at Zar. "Disappointed?" he echoed.
 The Bolian nodded. "Uh-huh."
    They were walking along the upper level of the
Promenade, looking down on the milling throng that
had just arrived via a Pandrilite-Tarquinian trading
vessel. The Pandrilites were blue-skinned, not unlike
Zar--but much larger. The Tarquinians were small,
pale, and mousy4ooking.
 "You mean in Lopez?" the captain asked.
    Zar shook his head. "No, that's not what I'm
talking about."
    "Then what?" asked Sisko. "I mean, we all got out
of our predicament with our skins, didn't we?"
    "You don't understand," said his companion. "I'm
disappointed in you."
    The captain smiled defensively. "Me? For god
sakes, why?"
    The Bolian returned his gaze. "Because you didn't
trust me as you trusted Dax and O'Brien. After all
that time on the Saratoga, after all we'd been through
together, I should probably be offended."
    Sisko put a reassuring hand on Zar's shoulder.
"Don't be," he recommended. "I would have loved to
confide in you."
The Bolian harrumphed. "But you couldn't."
"That's right," said the captain. "Just as I couldn't
confide in Graal or Thorn or Lopez. Hard as it was to
imagine, one of you was playing fast and loose with
the lives of the others. I couldn't let my friendships
keep me from finding out which one."
    Zar frowned at him. "You're going to tell me you
really believed I could be the culprit? Even for a
second?"
    Sisko shrugged. "For several seconds. The only one
I had a really hard time distrusting was Graal. There
hasn't been a recorded incident of Craynid duplicity
in several hundred years, you know."
    "But you didn't tell her, either," the Bolian ob-
served.
    "That's right," Sisko confirmed. "Because she
might have given something away unintentionally.
Bad enough there were already three of us who could
have done that. A fourth ..." He let his voice trail
off, his point made.
Zar sighed. "I see what you mean--I think."
Down below, the captain caught a glimpse of their
friend Thom. The man was dickering with a tall, lean
Rythrian over some trinket.
 "One thing still needs to be resolved," Sisko noted.
 "What's that?" asked the Bolian.
    The captain pointed to Thom. "Aidan lied to
Dax." He went on to describe the nature of the lie,
and the circumstances surrounding it. "I still don't
get it."
    Zar grunted. "If he didn't know the Vulcan, why
pretend that he did?"
 "Precisely," Sisko replied.
    "Well," said the Bolian, "that's one mystery I can
clear up for you. You see, Thorn confided in me
recently." He cast his friend a sidelong glance. "At
least someone does that from time to time."
    The captain shook his head ruefully. "You're never
going to let me forget this, are you?"
  "That's true," Zar told him. "I'm not."
    "All right, then," said Sisko. "I'm just going to have
to live with it. Now, about Thorn... ?"
    "It's simple," the Bolian explained. "He's suffering
from memory losses. Some big, some little. Some
recent, some from a long time ago. And the worst part
is, they're irreversible."
    The captain felt a wave of compassion for his
former security officer. "How did this happen?" he
wondered.
    "A few years back," Zar responded, "the Gorkon
encountered an unidentified derelict. It seemed to
have been disabled a long time ago, though it wasn't
clear why. And since the atmosphere was intact, the
crew had rotted away to almost nothing. Starfleet still
doesn't know whose ship it was.
    "In any case, Thorn was part of the away team that
investigated. While he was tinkering with one of the
vessel's control consoles, he received some kind of
shock. It knocked him out. By the time he reached
sickbay, he had pretty much recovered. The chief
medical officer couldn't find anything wrong with
him .... "
"But he'd begun to forget things," Sisko offered.
The Bolian nodded. "Of course, Thom was the only
one who knew it. It didn't show up in any of his
routine physicals, and he himself chose not to speak
about it."
    The captain understood. "Because it would have
forced him to give up his commission on the Gorkon.
And he didn't want that to happen. He wanted to
remain in space."
    "For a while, anyway." Zar smiled wistfully. "Oh,
he knows he'll eventually have to retire and do
something else with his liferebut in the meantime,
he'll enjoy a few good months with the fleet he's
always served so proudly." He paused. "That is, if we
keep his secret."
    Sisko thought about it. There was no way he could
see Thom's condition endangering anyone. Whatever
the security officer forgot, he could look up with the
help of the ship's computer.
    It was only the nuances of life, the flavors and
textures and poignancies of each event that would be
lost to him. But then, that's where his comrades came
in.
    To remind him of these things. To tell him what
they had been like.
    Zar looked at the captain. "We are going to keep his
secret, aren't we?"
    Sisko nodded. "I think so. After all," he asked
soberly, watching Thom continue along the Prome-
nade, "isn't that what friends are for?"


Epilogue

SISKO STOOD IN front of the spacedock's immense
observation window and eyed the vessel that loomed
before him out in space. A Miranda-class ship, it
displayed all the usual characteristics.
    A short, barrel-like hull. An almost painfully com-
pact aft-sensor array. And a pair of low-slung,
squared-off plasma nacelles, which were themselves
almost as big as the rest of the ship.
    Not the most elegant vessel ever designed, the
captain mused. But then, esthetics weren't the pri-
mary consideration when it came to ships that could
span the galaxy.
    It was the technology inside the thing that counted.
And perhaps even more important, it was the crew
that manned it.
 Sisko turned to his right, taking in Zar and Thorn at
a glance. Like him, they were intent on the Miranda-
class vessel, on its every corner and curve. Turning to
his left, he saw Graal and Laffer were likewise en-
gaged.
    Starfleet had had a somewhat larger contingent in
mind for this event. Unfortunately it hadn't worked
out that way.
  "She's a beauty," said Thorn.
 "Just like her predecessor," Zar confirmed.
    Chief O'Brien had expressed a similar opinion just
a little while earlier, as they were entering Mars orbit
in the Defiant. Dax, aware of the captain's reserva-
tions about the commissioning, had remained silent
on the subject.
    Sisko's eyes were drawn to the designation on the
nacelles--the only detail that set the ship apart from
the one on which he'd served. It read NCC-31911-A.
    His Saratoga had been NCC-31911 reno suffm It
had been the standard, the template--the original.
    "Sorry I'm late," said a voice that echoed from the
other side of the observation lounge.
    The captain turned and saw Commander Vincenzo
approaching them. The commander, a friendly man
with dark eyes and a neat black beard, had served as
supervisor on the Saratoga-A project.
    What's more, he was slated for a promotion--to
take command of the vessel whose construction he
had overseen. But then, good officers never stayed at
Utopia Planitia for very long. It was usually more of a
stepping-stone to something else.
    "We had a little problem with the dock's tractor
beams," Vincenzo explained, "but everything's in
working order again."
    Sisko managed a smile. "That's all right. We're not
in any hurry."
    He shook the commander's hand, acknowledging
the bond between them. After all, one had served
aboard a Saratoga and the other was about to. If they
had nothing more than that in common, it was still a
lot.
    Talk about your ironies, the captain thought. After
the disaster at Wolf 359, he had spent nearly three
years building ships at Utopia Planitia. Had he re-
mained at the fleet yards instead of reluctantly taking
the job at Deep Space Nine, the construction of the
Saratoga-A could have been his project.
    Taking up a position next to Thorn, Vincenzo
cleared his throat and tapped his Starfleet com-
municator. "We're ready, Lieutenant. You may pro-
ceed."
    Sisko was familiar with the procedure, having wit-
nessed it so many times before. Somewhere on the
spacedock, a small airlock was opening and a cham-
pagne bottle was being expelled.
    "Can you see it yet?" breathed Laffer, tilting her
head toward the Craynid.
  Graal shook her head. "No, not yet."
    But a moment later the bottle drifted into view,
caught now in the grip of a finely tuned tractor beam.
Its flight pattern dictated by the ebb and flow of
directed gravitons, the champagne flew end over end
toward its objective.
    As Sisko observed its flight, he remembered Dax's
words. "Don't do it for all those others--do it for
yourself, Benjamin. Because you're alive. Because you
gave everything you had to that proud old ship. And
most of all, because deep down inside, you really want
to."
    Here was the test of that advice--a test that could
be made only in the face of the experience itself.
While the champagne bottle made its slow, graceful
journey through space, the captain examined his
feelings.
    They were like alien life forms he had never met,
with the potential to be either hostile or friendlyreit
was difficult to know which right off the bat. And like
actual aliens, he approached them with patience and
an open mind and a healthy helping of caution.
    People and events flooded his mind. Captain Saros
frowning at his chessboard... Laffer befuddling the
Cardassians on Mariphasa 4... Graal repairing a
damaged plasma conduit... Thorn making short
work of a drunken Nausicaan on a long-ago shore
leave...
    By the time the bottle completed its voyage and
smashed into the saucer section, spraying champagne
and glass fragments in every direction, Sisko had
come to understand the aliens within him.
    They were friendly, all right. Friendlier than he ever
would have dreamed possible. He remembered so
many good times on his Saratoga, so many coura-
geous times, the ship's destruction seemed only a part
of a larger tapestry.
    A tapestry of hope. Of enlightenment. And ulti-
mately, despite everything, of victory.
    Dax had been right, he realized. He was glad to be
here. In fact, he had never been gladder--or
prouder--to be anywhere in his life. If Jennifer had
been standing here beside him, she would have felt
the same way--he was certain of it.
    Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Vincenzo lean
forward and smile at him past Zar and Thorn. "May
she acquit herself half as well as your Saratoga,
Captain."
    Sisko turned to him. "My Saratoga is just a memo-
ry, Mr. Vincenzo." He smiled back. "Now it's your
turn. Go make some memories of your own."