The BLTS Archive- Converse Symmetry 1 by Terrie H. Drummonds (TDrummonds@aol.com) --- Copyright 1997 by Terrie H. Drummonds Feedback is always welcomed. STAR TREK: DEEP SPACE NINE is the property of Paramount Pictures, Inc. Salute! But this story is mine since TPTB would never allow such events to take place (well... maybe some of it... but definitely not all of it). It does not intend to infringe on Paramount's copyright in any way. Do not change or alter in any way. RATING: NC-17 for language, graphic violence and consensual sex between two men. There's only one sex scene, but if I tell you where it is or who's in it... well... it would ruin the fun:> TIMELINE: This story takes place in the latter part of the fourth season, specifically after "For the Cause" where Eddington was revealed as a traitor and Garak and Ziyal first began associating with one another. It occurs before "To the Death" where the DS9 crew embarks on a joint mission with the Jem'Hadar to destroy the Iconian time gateway in the Gamma Quadrant. Other events to note: Odo still has his ability to shapeshift and Dukat is still hunting down Klingons. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: There's a huge list this time... but then again, this is a huge story. Special thanks to... ...Mary Knasinski who has been there from the early stages of this epic, cheering me on while pointing out mistakes; "Distant Deeps" was the first G/B story I had ever read (and provides the basis for Cardassian sexuality portrayed in this story). I've been hooked on G/B ever since. ...Kit Ramage for suffering through the drafts, providing excellent commentary, inspiring delicious plot twists, and keeping me on track for the second half of this monster by challenging my logic; "For You" and "An Emotional State" are truly inspirational. I've borrowed the Kardasi endearment "TeHua" (which means "beloved") and bits and pieces about Cardassian courtships from her stories "The Claiming" and "An Emotional State." ...Andrea Evans, for a delicious rendering of Dukat which makes visualization so much easier! She has been kind enough to provide all Kardasi used in this story (with the exception of "TeHua") as well as helping me to properly integrate the language into the story and reading the drafts. ...Sophie Masse, whose bravo web page is a MUST for all G/B fans (http://www.geocities.com/Athens/Acropolis/4755/index.htm); she has provided wonderful haven of G/B to research and has graciously given the full version of this story a home on the Enigma Tales webpage. ...Joanne Francis and Karen Colohan; "House Call" and "Set Me Free" have helped immensely in giving Julian his edge and G/B discussions have been simply wonderful. ...Ariana, for providing great feedback and encouragement, again especially in the second half. Her brilliant portrayal of Dukat and discussions of linguistics in "Halfway" helped me focus on that devious gul; details regarding Tora Naprem are based on that story. And to all those who have given me feedback on "Blasphemer" and "Hypothesis;" I think I've learned from my earlier mistakes:> RESOURCE MATERIALS: "The Star Trek Encyclopedia" by Michael Okuda, Denise Okuda, and Debbie Mirek; Tracy L. Hemenover's DS9 Encyclopedia & Lexicon website (http://members.aol.com/DS9fanfic/DS9EncLexicon.html); and The Bajoran Central Archives website (http://www.shakaar.demon.co.uk/archive/index.html). If the names of the alternate crew members sound familiar... there's a reason. Look them up in the "official" encyclopedia and on Tracy's webpage . --- He had an excellent crew. Period. It didn't matter they were one of thirteen remaining First Federation Starfleet battle ships and over 52.3 billion had lost their lives during this conflict with the Dominion. Starfleet forces had been decimated, Federation planets overrun or completely destroyed, and Captain Miles Edward O'Brien commanded the finest forty people from that severely limited pool. When the first wave of Jem'Hadar ships had blown through the wormhole twelve years ago, Kai Opaka journeyed to the Celestial Temple and requested the gates be closed indefinitely. That sacrifice enabled Starfleet to rally forces and planetary defenses, but the Dominion created another stable wormhole five months later. No matter how many times Starfleet destroyed the wormholes, the Dominion created new ones and mounted lethal attacks. The Defiant shook again. Dukat called out the damage reports with the unnerving calmness he brought to all battle situations. The Cardassian didn't panic easily, never once broke in his role as the stalwart tactical officer, and conveyed the strength which, combined with O'Brien's bridge presence, somehow managed to assuage the crew's instinctive fear and have them operate at peak efficiency. O'Brien barked out the necessary orders, Paris responding with a newly devised attack pattern and the chief engineer calling up system failures. It didn't matter most of O'Brien's crew were half his age; they acted like veterans. If this ever came to an end, his crew wouldn't be able to move from the awards Miles would pile upon them. "Type four Jem'Hadar warship decloaking!" Dukat called out. "One eight seven mark two three zero." "Evasive pattern Delta eight seven!" O'Brien ordered and kept his eyes focused on the tactical screen, his mind churning out possibilities of surviving this attack. The Defiant was woefully in need of repairs although the ingenuity of O'Brien and his very talented chief engineer had managed to keep it running. The tactical display outlined their situation: they faced two Type I Jem'Hadar ships, easily defeated with quantum torpedoes. But the Type III and Type IV ships were able to deflect the force of the blasts and consequently inflicted several more shots on the Defiant. Those blows quickly ate away at what was left of the shields. An explosion from the helm sent Paris reeling backwards, blood pouring from the gaping hole in his temple. If he had had time to curse and mourn the loss of his best pilot, O'Brien would have. Yet before the captain could move to take the fallen lieutenant commander's place, another man stepped in and began tapping in commands. "Bringing her about to one seven six mark one five two," Julian Bashir reported. Bashir was a Federation ambassador, on this ship in hopes of cajoling non-aligned forces to unite with the Federation against the Dominion. The ambassador was almost as good as Paris when it came to piloting and, best of all, always made himself useful without being told what to do. But no matter how others pitched in effortlessly, O'Brien still faced the same situation. Out-gunned and out-manned, fancy maneuvering would only delay their impending defeat. He had only one alternative and he prayed his ship could withstand the tactic. "Initiate phase sequence," the captain ordered. "Acknowledged, sir," chorused Bashir, Dukat, and chief science officer Leah Brahms. "Phase drive initiated," Dukat informed him. "Entering initial transpor. . .." The Cardassian's words were cut off as another ship magically appeared before them. "A second Type IV warship decloaking with all weapons firing!" The Defiant rocked from the impact of the disruptors and torpedoes. Phases always took at least 30 seconds. The subspace field had to be distorted to the point where the ship could pass through it. At the same time, the ship itself would fire her weapons to keep her attackers from following. The procedure required a separate engineering system from the warp and impulse drives because of all the specifications needed; the ship needed to maintain the warp static bubble for protection as she entered that field distortion. It was one of the few weapons the Federation still had left against the Jem'Hadar; intelligence reports indicated the enemy ship's engine configuration couldn't handle the enormous stress this type of space travel required. The phase drive had been a gift from the Cytherians and thanks to Reg Barclay, O'Brien had a way to save his crew time and time again. "We're already in the phase!" Bashir shouted over the scream of the engines. The Defiant jolted from left to right repeatedly, the electrical systems sparking and squealing in protest to the new onslaught. Some of the crew were thrown from their positions as the ship continued to rattle, the Defiant becoming a die in the palm of some ancient god who was shaking the cube and ready to roll it in hopes of winning the odd game of craps. Miles held onto the console the best he could, keeping an eye on the tactical viewscreen which was intermittent with static. Bashir tenaciously gripped the conn, determined to stay at his new post. An intense flash of white temporarily blinded O'Brien, as if lightning had struck too close and the burst enveloped them. For a brief moment, Miles couldn't hear a damned thing, and for a captain used to the cacophony of klaxons, shouts and equipment sputters, it was the worst sound of all. Suddenly Miles heard the howl of the red alert siren. Smoke poured through the bridge, the tactical screen fuzzed furiously, and the computer's strangulated voice ticked off the status reports of all stations. O'Brien hoped to whatever deity who could hear him that his ship and crew were out of danger. "Find out where we are!" the captain coughed, surprised his throat was raw and his eyes profusely watering. He struggled to stand, trying to figure out why his body ached as badly as it did, and made his way over to the compartment near his captain's chair. He grabbed a fire extinguisher and began putting out the electrical fires. his mind reeled, "All weapons, off line. Primary shields, three percent. Secondary shields, twenty-five percent. Long range sensors, off-line. Transporters one, three and four, off line. Transporter 2 at fifty percent. Main computer, off line. Secondary computer core operating on emergency power only. Life support systems, emergency reserves only. Short range sensors operating on emergency power only. Warp drive, off line. Phase drive, off line. Impulse engines capable of one-quarter impulse. All shuttle craft, off line. 85% possibility of warp core breach. Anti-matter containment field compromised. Hull breaches on Decks 3, 6, 7, 8, and 13," Dukat called out. Miles thought angrily. --- Crew scheduling. It was a bane of command. And when every Bajoran officer had requested the same day off for a religious festival, one which just happened to coincide with one of the few holidays the Federation celebrated, it became nightmarish. It was precisely the reason he'd passed this "choice" assignment to Major Kira. She loved challenges. Of course, she didn't mind telling him exactly what she thought of his tactic either, especially when he had innocently added that the task would be no more difficult than arranging docking schedules. The only reason Kira had not delivered a blistering speech and verbally castrated him was Captain Benjamin Sisko was the Emissary of the Prophets. Now, she stood in front of his desk, refusing to sit although he offered her the chair twice. Ben inspected the list and then handed the duty roster back to Kira as he nodded. "I'm impressed." "It meets with your approval?" The Bajoran major gave him a dubious look as she snatched the padd back, quickly checking the listing to see if he made any changes. "Of course, major." He paused and then gave her a sly smile, "*I* have the easy part." She was about to reply when the klaxon suddenly blared. They both bolted out of his office, down the stairs to the center of Ops, and looked expectantly at Jadzia Dax. The Trill switched the main viewer to the disturbance. "A subspace field distortion, captain," Dax reported, barely looking up at the burgundy colored anomaly wavering on the screen. "A bias in the subspace continuum." "Source?" "Unknown, but something's coming through." Ops fell silent as the group gazed upon the magnified view. Battered and heavily damaged, the anomaly spat out a ship which spun like a top for a few moments before it righted itself and came to a standstill. Fires clearly blazed from the warp nacelles and several decks. Ben's stomach turned. There were a few structural modifications, but he'd recognize that ship anywhere. "USS Defiant, NCC-87825." Dax dutifully read the registry and then looked at Sisko directly as she tacked on the needless, "That's the wrong number." Two explanations popped in Sisko's mind: either it was from the alternate dimension he'd been dragged to on more than one occasion or the ship was from the future. He didn't know which was worse. Yet the alternate dimension which seemed to have a penchant for kidnaping him didn't use registry numbers, at least the last time he was there. "Dax, scan for a quantum-level flux." "Yes, sir." She mercilessly tapped at the controls, knowing exactly what he was searching for. After cajoling the sensors a bit, she finally announced, "Quantum-level flux is out of synch with ours and doesn't match the one from the other reality we've encountered. There are no indications this ship is out of time either. They're simply from another reality." Ben groaned and rubbed his head. "Get the Defiant ready for launch. Sisko to Bashir. Assemble an emergency medical team and transport to the Defiant." "Acknowledged, captain." "Captain," Kira called out, "we're having a difficult time scanning their ship. It seems they're running dual multi-phasic shields. Readings are all over the place." Whoever they were, they needed help. There were hundreds of rules regarding alternate reality interactions, and dozens more added after his crew's escapades in the past three years. "Benjamin, their comm systems may be off line. They may not be able to send a distress signal. The burns on the hull are similar to those by Jem'Hadar warships," Jadzia added. "Open a channel, all frequencies." --- Dukat continued with his litany. "Communications: external, low-band audio only and internal, hard comm lines only. Turbolifts, 85% off line. Fire suppression systems operating on all decks. Internal sensors off-line on Decks 3 through 8. Environmental controls, off line. Inertial dampeners, off line. . ." "What the hell *do* we have?" demanded the captain, sweat pouring off his face. "An incoming message," replied Bashir, voice calm and collected as if he piloted Dante's Inferno through space every day. "Broadcasted on all frequencies. Putting it through, audio only." ". . .Captain. . . .United. . . Federation. . .station. . . space. . . require assistance?" "Can you clean it up?" "Working on it," the ambassador answered. "I've set up an algorithm to record and extrapolate...." "Don't explain," O'Brien barked. "Just do it. Dukat! Get me a hard line comm to engineering." The Cardassian nodded curtly and then signaled the connection complete. "O'Brien to Sisko!" "Sisko here, captain. It's bad, sir," the engineering chief said, his voice hoarse. "If we don't shut systems down completely within 30 minutes, we'll lose the ship." Miles closed his eyes, smoke obscuring his features from the rest of the crew. Bashir's hail broke his train of dismal thought. "Captain, I believe the entire message is 'This is Captain Sisko of the United Federation of Planets-Bajoran space station Deep Space Nine. Do you require assistance?' Sensors confirm a space station of possible Cardassian design positioned near the Denorios Belt, and the Bajoran defensive net is. . . nonexistent." "Mister Sisko," Miles stated, "initiate systems shut down. Brahms, find out where our CMO is and the status of the crew. Bashir, open a channel and pray the Prophets sent us to a nice alternate reality." --- A distinctly accented voice filled Ops. Static or no static, there was no mistaking that Irish lilt, "This is Captain O'Brien of the USS Defiant. We have several crew who need medical attention but our engines are severely damaged." The link hissed and snapped a few seconds before the final, "unable. . . distance. . . current. . .." The line went dead. Everyone now stared at the chief of operations whose face clearly registered the surprise of hearing his own voice. Sisko's mind whirled again. What if Dax was wrong? Just how many realties had O'Brien commanding the Defiant? "Commander Worf, you have Ops. Kira, Dax, O'Brien with me," Sisko ordered and the four clambered onto the transporter pad. "Energize!" --- Miles thought. Much better than "Empire" or "Alliance" or "Conglomerate," although the names really didn't mean anything. What one Federation was in one reality could be the complete opposite in another. "Tactical scan?" the captain called out. He'd been to three realities where their "benefactors" had tried to dismantle their ship before helping the crew. The Cardassian drily replied, "The station appears to be a converted mineral processing station, armed with Class A photon torpedoes and phaser banks and turrets, as well as additional armored shielding. " Miles cheered inwardly as the tactician in him immediately calculated the odds of them withstanding an attack from the station. He damned himself for thinking in these terms but it was out of necessity. Even in its current state, the Defiant could probably endure a short volley, but without engines, it would be a moot point. They would be space debris after two and half minutes of fire. Optimistically, these people could be helpful. Using the First Federation's technology as collateral, the captain could barter for parts. The turbolift doors groaned open and vomited his chief medical officer. Hair usually neatly swept off her face and neck now tumbled down in ragged, sweat soaked tendrils, clinging to her dirt smudged face. Medical kit firmly in hand, Doctor Kestra Troi immediately approached him and began spitting out her report without preamble and without a respectful "captain" as a prelude. "A plethora of injuries in engineering, but no casualties," she announced, pulling out her tricorder and scanning the area. She probably already knew Paris was dead. "Radiation sickness will affect most of them, but they will recover in a few days." She paused dramatically, her features clearly saying, Troi brushed past the captain to attend to Paris' corpse. Bashir had already shed his ambassador's jacket to respectfully cover the dead man's face. Miles let out a breath. "How close are we to that station?" "With a short burst of impulse power, we could use the momentum and maneuvering thrusters to arrive there in. . . two days," responded Bashir. "Brahms, take over for the ambassador at the helm," the captain ordered. Immediately, the science officer extracted herself from her console and slid into Bashir's vacated seat. The fire suppression systems had kicked in, thanks to a little coaxing from Dukat, and the smoke had dissipated. Paris' body had already been cleared away and Troi continued her rounds on the bridge. She pressed the hypo into Miles' upper arm and curtly said, "For the radiation. It's high all over the ship." Ever the vigilant security officer who preferred not having his atoms spread across some unknown universe, Dukat had also managed to get the sensors somewhat back on line. The high pitched wail alerted them again. Looking up at the screen, O'Brien watched as a ship launched from the station and headed towards them. "Turn that blasted siren off!" the captain demanded. Dukat wordlessly complied and the bridge fell silent for a few seconds before the sensors could lock on. "Gadare class ship. It seems the Benjamin Sisko here prefers to command the ships he designs. The ship bears the name USS Defiant. Incoming message." --- The new Defiant was only two minutes away at warp 5. Fingers steepled in concentration, Sisko debated his next steps. Dax reported the ship had vented high levels of radiation twice since their arrival. She and O'Brien had been impressed, mentioning something about their counterparts probably used to making repairs without the benefit of a space station, planetside help or a neighboring ship. As they approached, the magnified view of the other Defiant clearly showed the level of damage she had taken. A low whistle came from Kira, "Looks like they've been at it a long time." There was a slight pause before Ben responded, "You said they were venting radiation." "Extremely high levels, probably generated from warp engine failure and cascade reactions," the chief answered. "They have to get off that ship," Kira said flatly. "And we have to convince them our intentions are peaceful," Sisko sighed. "Open a channel." --- Ben Sisko's voice sounded as fresh as ever. "On behalf of the United Federation of Planets, we bring a message of peace and our assistance." O'Brien glanced over at Bashir who mulled the words over carefully. "Sounds like your department to me, ambassador." Bashir shook his head. "With due respect, Sisko is expecting you to respond. The standard first contact greeting should be sufficient. They want to make sure we're friendly and, well, civilized." Miles inwardly grumbled before he motioned for the link to be opened. "As representatives of the First Federation, we accept your offer and assure you our intentions are simply to tend to our crew and repair our ship." "We are ready to tractor your ship back to the station. In the meantime, medical and engineering teams are standing by to beam on board with your permission." O'Brien motioned for the comm link to be muted. "Impressions?" he asked and focused his attention completely on Troi. Aside from Betazoids, Troi's empathic ability was strongest with humans, the talent verging on pure telepathy in some cases, and a product of her half Betazoid bloodline. Her appearance was the most deceiving since she lacked the intense black eyes of Betazoids. During the decade O'Brien had served with her, he'd seen her full range of emotions and watched as Troi honed her talents to being able to detect changelings on board the ship. There were species which were immune to Betazoid mental powers, but Troi was able to sense a presence, something she had dubbed dramatically as an "aura." Changelings didn't possess auras at all. Troi's intense emerald eyes met his. "Sisko's cautious, unsure of the situation, and surprised at the sound of your voice. He recognizes the ship design and is sincere in his offer to help. I detect no malice or ill-will towards us, only blatant curiosity and a desire to exchange information." "Any changeling auras?" Dukat queried. Her eyes flicked towards the Cardassian, "I'm not *that* good." Miles turned to the ambassador and noted how Bashir's features were now set in thoughtful determination. Technically, the ambassador could pull rank and take over since this was, in a sense, a first contact situation. However, Bashir knew he would have his turn at negotiations once they were docked; O'Brien was needed far more in engineering than in the diplomacy department, so the ambassador deferred for the time being. "I suggest allowing only a medical team to come on board," Bashir recommended quietly. "That is our first priority." "Secondary shields will have to be lowered," Dukat commented. "I seriously doubt their transporters can get through them." "Allow them to keep a transporter lock on whoever they send over. I don't want Sisko thinking we've cut off his crew, but I don't want them nosing around in places they shouldn't," O'Brien stated and then turned to Bashir. "Feel like a little negotiating?" "So Sisko will have a hostage, too?" remarked the ambassador wryly. Dukat informed him, "Maintaining a transporter lock will not be a problem, even if they raise shields." O'Brien signaled for the comm line to be opened. "A medical team would be welcome relief to my CMO and we would appreciate the tow. Unfortunately, more than five people will put a strain on our environmentals. Our ambassador would like to beam over, meet with you to discuss the current circumstances and come to a mutual agreement." "Agreed. We'll exchange coordinates. Sisko out." As he ran a hand through his sweat-soaked hair, Bashir admitted, "Personally, I would love to have a shower and make myself a bit more presentable to these people. I hardly look the picture of a delegate." "If Ben Sisko is anything like the one I knew, your appearance will only help our case." --- A super-heated, smoky blast bathed Julian the moment he materialized on board this version of the Defiant and he instantly broke out in a sweat. Three people rushed around the six biobeds crammed in the dimly lit room and Bashir found himself confused. This crew was completely clad in black without any insignia, color-coded uniforms, or anything to designate rank or occupation. Julian turned to a Bajoran female in her early twenties standing a meter to his left. "Your chief medical officer, please?" he asked and offered a friendly smile. The woman looked at him confused and then pointed to the petite woman scurrying between patients. Julian nodded, "Thank you." As Bashir approached, the woman stopped, made an attempt to brush away the hairs plastered to her face, and then turned to face him. Broome and Jabara hadn't moved from their beam in positions, clearly waiting for Julian's signal. The chief medical officer glanced over at him and her green eyes widened in surprise causing Julian to wonder just what his counterpart did in their universe. "Doctor Julian Bashir," he introduced and then gestured to his two officers. "This is Chief Broome and Nurse Jabara." "Doctor Kestra Troi," she greeted them with a single nod. "Most of our people are suffering from plasma and radiation burns but there are a few broken bones and internal injuries. Please, if you would chose a place to start. I appreciate your help." A blast echoed somewhere in the ship and Troi momentarily looked around but said nothing. "Glad to offer it," Bashir responded and then signaled Jabara and Broome to start. he thought to himself. He began his work, focusing on the human female on the biobed to his right. Julian's patient didn't even bother to turn as Bashir began the rudimentary scans. She was too busy craning her neck to find out who the latest victim was. "Please," he told her, "try to stay still." Jumping at the sound of Julian's voice, the woman managed to stutter out, "Am. . .Ambassador Bashir? You. . . you have medical training too?" Julian flashed a quick, tight smile and chuckled darkly, "Jack of all trades." his mind then processed. He selected a hypo from his medkit and injected its contents into her blood stream. "There. That should ward off any infection and also side-effects from the radiation." The doctor automatically searched for rank pips for a clue of this woman's identity, but her solid black uniform was devoid of any insignia, not even a commbadge. He continued his examination, quickly scanning the woman's cranium for any sign of concussion. He stopped the scanner over her left ear. *Subdermal Transponder Implant functioning within normal parameters,* flashed on the screen. There was no time to question the device more thoroughly; patients were waiting. With an inward sigh, Julian motioned the human off the biobed. The woman was still staring at Julian, no doubt because the doctor's attire stood out among the ocean of black. "He was trying to reroute the ancillary conduits when we hit phase, to get more power," a man was explaining as the sea of patients parted and Troi dashed in. Out of the corner of his eye, Julian caught sight of the wounded crewman on the anti-grav cart and his heart tightened slightly: Nog. The young Ferengi's uniform was torn in several places and his right lobe almost mutilated. Bashir winced in sympathetic pain. He watched as Troi dispatched a few orders and then motioned Julian over. Embarrassed at his gawking, Bashir fought the flush creeping along his neck. The doctor followed as they placed the Ferengi on a freshly vacated biobed. Bashir's tricorder nearly screamed from the radiation levels and the heat pouring out from Nog's body. Troi ordered the containment fields and then turned to Bashir. She didn't have to say anything, the exhaustion so clear in her features it was remarkable. Already Bashir knew these people were operating almost on pure adrenaline and it surprised him she would trust him and his team so implicitly with treating the wounded. Someone here *had* to be empathic. It was the only logical explanation. A half smile tugged at her lips and she finally said, "Will you tend to him?" "Certainly, doctor," replied Bashir. --- The first thing Ambassador Julian Bashir noted when he materialized on board the other ship was the lighting. His Defiant had been in so many battles and the situation so uneasy in his universe, the ship operated under an almost constant yellow alert which dimmed the lights. The air was considerably cooler, so much so it chilled him slightly as he stepped down off the transporter and faced an alternate reality. Ben Sisko and Kira Nerys were standing and the differences between Bashir's world and theirs blatant. Both recognized him from the slight, pleased smiles and the momentary widening of the eyes. "Captain Benjamin Sisko," introduced the tall, goateed human and as he held out his hand. "Welcome to the Defiant." "Ambassador Julian Bashir," he responded and shook the captain's hand. "As the diplomatic envoy of the First Federation, I extend our sincerest appreciation for your hospitality." The words threw the captain a bit, obviously used to the other Bashir functioning in a different capacity, but the man recovered with ease. "My first officer and liaison to Bajor, Major Kira Nerys." "A pleasure, major," Julian smiled and nodded once. The woman returned his nod but remained silent. "I thought we should talk in the Defiant's mess hall," Sisko said and waited for Bashir to accept the plan. Once the ambassador did, they began walking out of the transporter room and toward the turbolift. "I was surprised your ship didn't transmit a distress signal given the level of damage." "Unfortunately, it has been our experience such general distress calls pique the interest of less than benevolent parties," Bashir answered. "When we first learned we had crossed over, Captain O'Brien was understandably more concerned with repairing our defense systems in case someone decided gaining our technology was more important than opening a dialogue." He deliberately shot a look at Sisko who met his gaze. "Your captain is an admirably cautious man. The Federation believes in a mutual exchange of friendship," the captain coolly responded as they entered the turbolift. "Neither side would benefit from hostile actions." "It's refreshing to meet with people who have such an enlightened outlook," Julian complimented again. "It seems our respective governments share similar philosophies. Captain Sisko, I am curious about the relationship between Bajor and your Federation. Are they two separate governing parties?" Ben Sisko internally winced, surprised at the question and dreading the answer. Despite Ambassador Bashir's haggard, war weary appearance, the man's eased eloquence lulled Sisko into relief before scoring with a touchy issue. Bashir had looked at Kira much in the manner they had stared at him, slightly surprised and then he seemed to adjust to the role she played here. Dressed in solid black, Bashir's uniform lacked any adornment whatsoever, not even a wrist communicator or commbadge. Perhaps it was worn on the inside of his tunic or cleverly hidden with the belt, but it bothered Sisko. He knew the ambassador was sent as a token reassurance of the safety of Sisko's away team, but to transport a single man over to potential enemy territory? It seemed absurd. The lack of rank insignia made Sisko take the man's declaration of his title at face value as well. Bashir could be a weapons officer or a peon sent over as a sacrifice, yet the man carried himself with the calm demeanor of one used to diplomatic situations. "The Bajoran Provisional government and the Federation are allies," Kira jumped in before Sisko had a chance to formulate an answer. It was a defensive remark, almost challenging the ambassador to make a negative comment or apologetically explain his question. Yet instead of a flustered response Sisko's Bashir might have given, this one capitalized on the opportunity to strengthen his negotiating platform. "Bajor is one of four founding members of the First Federation," he stated, the tone of voice indicating he was used to giving this particular speech and almost confirming his role as ambassador. Yet his voice lacked smug superiority or condescension Sisko had come to expect from diplomats. "Earth, Vulcan, and Cardassia are the other three. Our Federation is based on the Denorios Concordance, a peace agreement between Bajor and Cardassia over a thousand years old." "Bajor and Cardassia at peace? For a thousand years?" echoed the major. Bashir didn't look surprised at Kira's statements and continued, "When Terrans developed space flight in the 1930s, we began exploring our solar system and eventually made first contact with a Vulcan scout ship. A Vulcan delegation helped Earth settle their international disputes and bring about worldwide peace." It was then Sisko realized the ambassador wasn't speaking to him, rather to Kira, and his tone had taken on a distinct respectfulness. Whatever role Kira Nerys played in Ambassador Bashir's reality, it was one of authority. "This relationship blossomed into the Saturn Treatise of 1975 which sealed a non-aggression agreement and joint exploration by Vulcan and Earth. What it boils down to is the Terran-Vulcan delegation met with the Bajoran-Cardassian representatives, discovered they shared similar philosophies and together they forged the First Federation in 2161." "The same date as ours, but with different players," Sisko commented. The turbolift doors whooshed opened and they walked into the deserted mess hall. Bashir accepted the proffered chair and requested water when offered a drink, and settled in for what looked like a rather lengthy discussion. Sisko quickly skimmed over the history of his United Federation of Planets, citing the Prime Directive and the explorative aspects. The concepts were the same, but like so many things here, the game pieces were flip-flopped and backwards. "We have a peace treaty with the Cardassian Empire but they are not part of the Federation." <*That* is going to be a problem. Definitely a problem. Definitely a *big* problem,> Julian thought with disappointment. He then allowed himself to relax, noting how when he dropped his air of formality so did Sisko. "You refer to the Cardassians as an Empire." "Our Cardassians are not as tolerant as yours," Kira tossed in. It didn't take a warp drive specialist to figure out what was going on. The space station, Cardassian in design converted from a mining operation to this semi-military post, orbited in the vicinity of Bajor and the Denorios Belt. There was no mention of the wormhole, the Prophets, or the Dominion. First Federation policy, although free in its desire to protect all realities from the Dominion threat, was achingly restrictive when it came to how information was to be exchanged. Kira continued her explanation, "They occupied Bajor for 60 years and stripped our planet of its natural resources." Bashir caught the warning glance Sisko shot at the major, but she didn't seem to care. Just like his Kira, this woman could be diplomatic when she wanted to be. If Bajor were only allied to Sisko's Federation, Kira wouldn't be fighting for Bajor's sole rights in this mess. Yet the major wasn't pressing issue as much as she could if she didn't respect Sisko or was fully aware of the implications. Julian tested a theory, "And when they were finished and tired of fighting against Bajoran resistance forces they finally withdrew." Sisko and Kira stared at him and Bashir knew he had guessed correctly. It was Kira who added, "The Federation offered an alliance and we accepted." "Hence the joint operation of Deep Space Nine," Julian concluded and then was aware Sisko was becoming less friendly. For the second time, Julian cursed himself for forgetting Kira was Sisko's first officer and Julian should be addressing the captain. He took a swallow of water. "But if the station is a holdover from that occupation, why is it located near the Denorios Belt? Strategically, the station would be better located orbiting Bajor." Sisko idly wondered how much of the ambassador's conclusions were from pure intuition and then admonished himself slightly. His Bashir was arguably one of the most brilliant, young physicians in the Federation, there was no reason *this* Bashir could not possess that same cognitive ability in a different field. Each of the ambassador's statements and questions were cautious and it was obvious he was used to addressing Kira in an official capacity. But it was the last question paired with a look from the ambassador which clearly stated, Bashir was counting on Sisko and Sisko's crew recognizing the hull damage of the ambassador's Defiant was the result of Dominion/Jem'Hadar attacks. The ball was thrown in Sisko's court for the answer. If this other Federation was bound by similar laws as Sisko was, the Prime Directive was a major factor. Just how much Bashir could disclose depended solely on what Sisko's UFP had already discovered. It stunned Ben how much information the ambassador had gathered and put together in such a short time. The history lesson on the First Federation had come after Kira's clarification on where Bajor stood with the United Federation of Planets. Bashir had also known DS9 was of Cardassian origin and had explained the close relationship the two cultures had. Impressed, Sisko understood what Bashir was getting at: Did *this* Federation know about the wormhole, the Dominion, and the Founders? Clearly, Bashir's side did. "The station originally orbited Bajor, but with the discovery of the stable wormhole five years ago, it was moved to establish sovereignty," Sisko explained. "Your ship obviously encountered the Jem'Hadar, our sensors picked up weapon energy signatures on the hull. Are you at war with them?" "A war requires a formal declaration from both sides, captain," Julian retorted smoothly. "You've implied you have had contact with the Dominion. In our universe, they aren't too interested in talking. Officially, the First Federation is at war with no one but we are fending off attacks upon our peoples. I believe the term 'conflict' has been assigned to this issue. Then again, its all a matter of semantics." It was a candid answer. Sisko probed again, "How long have you been warding off these assaults?" "Twelve years." The succinctly reply nearly stopped Sisko's heart and he saw Kira's eyes widen. Was this a foreshadowing of events to come? Was it because of his training Bashir didn't reveal the desperateness of his reality? The words hung in the air for a few moments, Sisko unable to decide if the ambassador was going for the dramatic effect or plotting his next move. "To be frank, Captain Sisko, the radiation levels are dangerously high on our ship. The safety of our crew is of utmost importance," Bashir jumped subjects, tossing away the shadow boxing. Apparently he felt Sisko had given him enough information. "We can arrange quarters on DS9 for your use," Sisko offered. "But as you mentioned before, there will be people interested in your technology." "While the First Federation is dedicated to assisting worlds to defend against Dominion attacks, I am concerned about the balance of power. We do not want to be the match which starts the fire of war here nor do we wish to be the water which extinguishes alliances. This thin line between the two is easily crossed and will be blurred. It is clear technological advances will be different since our respective cultures have access to different resources," Bashir outlined and then paused. "Some of our officers are Cardassian and Carjoran. . .." "Carjoran?" asked Sisko. Blinking a few times, surprised anyone would question the term, Bashir defined, "A person of Cardassian-Bajoran heritage. We have several in rather high ranking positions." Sisko knew what the ambassador was implying. "There may be some uneasiness, but it should not be a problem." "Ambassador, if the Dominion have been attacking for twelve years," Kira began, then paused momentarily as if appalled to finish the sentence, "why didn't you destroy the wormhole?" "Two hours after the first wave of Jem'Hadar warships, the stable wormhole closed," Bashir said darkly. "The Dominion simply found other ways around it." "We didn't discover the wormhole until after the Cardassian occupation ended," Kira pursued. "You must have known about it for much longer. You said it 'closed,' not that it had been destroyed. What happened?" "For two hundred fifty seven years, the 'wormhole' was referred to as the Celestial Temple," he clarified, sounding much more relaxed with the Bajoran religious designation than the scientific reference. There was a bit of reverence in his voice, the influence of a strong Bajor no doubt. "Up until sixty-three years ago, entering the Gates in anything other than a Bajoran light ship was considered sacrilegious." "What about scientific exploration?" Sisko injected. Bashir's eyes met his and the captain was surprised at the passion, "Sixty-three years ago, the First Minister of Bajor allowed a Starfleet vessel to enter the Temple. The decision went against the Vedek Assembly and caused a great stir on Bajor and to those throughout the Federation whose faith was in the Prophets. The First Minister claimed the Prophets beckoned the understanding of their temple and so the Federation began sending ships through. At first, there was no indication of hostile forces and in fact, it remained relatively quiet for about twenty-five years. During the next fifteen, reports of the Dominion starting coming through at an increasing rate but the Federation faced another threat and turned our attention elsewhere." "That other threat?" "A highly evolved race whose purpose was to assimilate sentient beings." Again, the ambassador shied away from naming them, mindful probably of his own rules. Sisko filled in the name, "The Borg." Bashir closed his eyes briefly and his features started to show more exhaustion than ever. "We fought the Borg for five years and then the Dominion followed shortly thereafter. The Federation has been fighting for its existence for the past seventeen years." "We stopped the Borg before they assimilated Earth," Sisko replied. "Those events occurred over seven years ago. Subsequent events have lead to their disbandment." "Each of our worlds is fortunate in their own ways," Julian stated sagely. Kira again popped in with a query, "What about the Klingons or the Romulans?" "Klingons?" The ambassador paused for a thoughtful moment as if thinking of the best way to explain it. "There was an experimental weapons test accident on one of the Klingon home world's moons, Praxis. The Federation offered assistance but was refused. The Klingon culture was one of the first assimilated by the Borg. As for the Romulans, I'm afraid I'm not familiar with them." Bashir's gaze then encompassed both of them, "I would like to request the quarters be somewhat distanced from others, if that is possible. As I stated when we first met, we have had experience with crossovers and are fully aware of the situations which can arise. I would like your opinion on just who may be visiting us. According to Captain O'Brien, repairs may take an entire week, long enough for messages to be sent out to other governments." The ambassador had been so forthcoming with his information, although it was mostly background, Sisko had been prepared for the assault of questions. Bashir gave him an expectant look, desiring the candidness he had displayed, and Sisko relented. "As I said, Bajor, Cardassia and the Federation have peace treaties. The Klingon Empire, however, has invaded the Cardassian Empire and is currently occupying strategic points along the Federation-Cardassian border. Our alliance with them is unfortunately broken although no formal declarations have been made. We also have treaties with the Romulan Star Empire and Ferengi Alliance. Those are the delegations whom I expect will be showing up in the near future. Background information on all these governments will be made available to you." For the first time during their entire meeting, Ambassador Julian Bashir flashed a genuine, Doctor Julian Bashir smile. --- "You're more comfortable with your own instruments," a female voice commented as Doctor Bashir reached to refill the hypospray. He glanced up and stared at the young Cardassian-Bajoran woman for a few nanoseconds. "Ziyal?" A shy smile broke across her dirty features. "You know my name?" "Um. . . yes," he stated uneasily, wondering how much information he should reveal and then realizing he didn't know how to address her. "Do you have a title here? Doctor? Nurse?" "Some people are more formal than others. I prefer 'Ziyal,' since it's less confusing," she told him earnestly as she handed him the instrument. "Then Ziyal it shall be. "Julian accepted the hypo and checked the contents to make sure it was the correct one. Although her tone wasn't defensive, she told him, "I have Level Three medical training. I have been part of Doctor Troi's staff for almost two years. I would like to assist you." "I would be honored," Bashir cordially said while injecting Nog with a second dose of hyronolin. As if to prove her abilities, Ziyal plucked the dermal regenerator from his medkit and gave it to him. Somehow, the Ferengi was still conscious despite the concussion, broken clavicle and various other internal injuries. "Well, Nog, they certainly did a number on you." The Ferengi fought to focus on Julian before asking with disbelief, "You're a medic too?" The doctor chuckled good-naturedly, "Actually, I *am* a doctor." "The other ship," murmured the Ferengi, more to himself than anyone else. "The captain mentioned the other ship. The other universe." "No matter which universe you happen to be in," Julian told him gently yet sternly, "you're not going back on duty for a while." Nog instantly straightened and challenged, "I have to get back to engineering." "If you go down there in your condition, you will most certainly return dead," the doctor shot back. "I will not allow that to happen." "He's right, Nog," offered Ziyal. "You have enough radiation in your body to illuminate Sickbay." A loud ker-chuck echoed through the bay and the entire room tensed out of reflex. "They've probably docked on the station," Bashir assured both Nog and Ziyal. "Hopefully we'll be able to move everyone to the Infirmary." A few seconds later, Troi was at his elbow and again attempted to push back the hair sticking to her sweat-soaked skin. "Most of the crew have routine injuries that don't require a formal trip to your station's sickbay. But Nog, Ari, and Sito... I'd like to get them to... what is it called on your station?" "The Infirmary." "Yes, get them there to finish up. I have a feeling the captain wants to keep all of us together to minimize the security risks." "We'd better contact our respective captains," he responded and continued his work. "Already done," was the answer, except Troi hadn't spoken it. Julian looked over Troi's shoulder to find *their* version of Miles Edward O'Brien. The captain was much trimmer, and from the little he'd seen of the ship and the condition of the crew Julian knew why: they had to be in peak condition to fight off whoever decided to attack. The smiling eyes were still there and the good-natured attitude evident although the man, like the rest of his crew, desperately needed a shower. "I'm Captain O'Brien. I doubt Troi gave you the official 'Welcome aboard,' Doctor Bashir." There was a slight pause as the captain's eyes flicked down towards Julian's patient. "How is he?" "He'll live, as long as he doesn't try to resume his post within the next few hours," replied Julian, finding himself immediately at ease with the Irish captain. Was it because he was Miles O'Brien and the only difference it seemed right now was rank? Julian wasn't sure but thinking of them as separate people. . . well. . . the O'Brien in the Wonderland universe had been cowed by long years of slavery. In Sisko's subsequent visits, O'Brien had transformed into a hard-line leader, commanding the rebel forces against the Alliance. Julian could see those qualities in this version of O'Brien as well. O'Brien gave a short nod of acceptance which was followed with, "We're evac-ing the entire ship, letting it cool down and the radiation to dissipate. Let's get these people out of here and to someplace that *doesn't* remind me of Betazed during the rainy season." --- Clearly, Sisko's newest visitors could not remain on board their battered ship while they attempted to complete repairs. Although Dax hadn't been able to get a precise scan of the new vessel, Sisko saw enough indications of tell him the severity of the damage. At least Captain O'Brien shared Sisko's apprehension about O'Brien's crew staying on board the station. The captain's conversation with the ambassador had been curt, and Ben had worked long enough with Chief O'Brien to detect the unstated, in Captain O'Brien's voice. Ambassador Bashir had stayed with Sisko and Kira until the Defiant had docked and then joined his shipmates. Sisko and Kira had enough time to contact Odo and Worf to get some semblance of security measures in order. Ben Sisko watched as Doctor Bashir led the first wave of O'Brien's Defiant crew out of the airlock. Walking slightly behind the doctor was a petite woman whom Ben assumed was the Defiant's CMO and she was next to an anti-grav cart carrying what looked like the battered outline of a Ferengi. Jabara followed, escorting another anti-grav with another patient, and Broome brought out the final patient. Bashir's medical entourage stopped, the doctor turning to chat with the woman. Six more of O'Brien's crew exited the airlock; two humans, two Bajorans, one Cardassian and one (what was the term the ambassador had used?) Carjoran moved to their injured shipmates and then formed a protective ring around the anti-gravs. Neither Captain O'Brien or Ambassador Bashir had been interested in using the transporter, agreeing on some excuse about the medical condition of the three patients, and Doctor Bashir had somewhat reluctantly confirmed the captain and ambassador's reasoning. Sisko watched how the weary crew members glanced around the area, cautious yet exhausted, and none of them smiled. There wasn't even a hint of discussion amongst them. Then Ben realized something, something that nagged him since those six officers ambled over to where Bashir and the woman were talking. They were young. Except for the one with Bashir, none of O'Brien's crew looked over twenty-five. Seventeen years of war, the ambassador had said, and Sisko's heart ached. "Quarters have been set up," Kira softly reported as she assumed her position to his right. "Habitat Ring level 7. Odo agreed with the ambassador's request to put some distance between them and the rest of the station population." She didn't have to add, Worf appeared next to Kira; Odo's "preventative" security forces had assembled in a manner Sisko hoped wouldn't be perceived as threatening. The changeling had insisted he be allowed to observe their visitors, an option the captain willingly agreed to. Ben had no idea exactly where Odo was, just that the shapeshifter was somewhere in the general vicinity. Besides, if Dax was correct about the scans of the ship, the weaponry on O'Brien's Defiant was very capable of effortlessly blowing up half the station and Odo wanted to make sure these people "stayed" friendly. Sisko glanced to his left and found Dax and O'Brien, the chief's face set in a friendly yet deliberate poker face. "Well. . . isn't *that* interesting," commented the Trill and it took a moment for Ben to find what she was looking at. Interesting didn't begin to define what they saw: a imposing and muscular Dukat emerged from the airlock shoulder to shoulder with Ambassador Bashir and they were in serious discussion. None of the Cardassian military armor ever fit as snug as this Dukat's clothing did, outlining powerful shoulders and legs. The Cardassian looked menacing and lethal, which was probably the look he wanted to achieve. A chill ran down Sisko's spine and he heard Kira inhale sharply while Worf adjusted his stance. The woman, the one who had been initially with Doctor Bashir when the crew came on board, had pivoted to face Ambassador Bashir and Dukat who had stopped just outside of the airlock. She waded through her crewmates and up to the duo. Her back was to Sisko and her body almost disappeared against the taller and broader forms of Dukat and Bashir. She was gesturing and Dukat apparently made a flippant reply followed by a comment from Bashir. Then Captain Miles O'Brien exited the airlock handing a datapadd to. . . Ben's eyes widened. His son. . . no, his *counterpart's* son was as disheveled, bloodied, bruised, and sweaty as the rest of them. Ben then found himself staring into Dukat's piercing eyes. The darker side of the captain immediately thought, The Cardassian's gaze then encompassed them all before settling back on Ben. Captain O'Brien glanced over, eyes meeting Ben's, and a broad smile broke across his features. Although O'Brien was openly friendly to the point of being almost alarming, Ben noted the woman was talking again and the smile froze briefly on Captain O'Brien's face. O'Brien then said something, Bashir and Dukat exchanged glances, Dukat signalled for Jake to approach and the Cardassian told the young man something. Jake nodded once, briefly gazed at the DS9 officers but barely looked at Ben, then walked back over to where another woman was standing at the edge of the airlock and they went back on board. Finally, O'Brien's group continued their approach. Something was wrong besides being thrown in an alternate universe, but Sisko couldn't figure out what it was. The moment she stepped on DS9, Kestra was aware of *it*. In a vain attempt to keep the conversation going with Bashir, she almost stumbled over the corner of the anti-grav unit carrying Nog as she mentally searched for the black void. There was a presence; the only way to describe it was as a flat, cold surface in the midst of warm, vibrant objects or an unmoving stone in a bubbling stream. Kestra tried to focus on it again, weeding out the thousand of voices which brushed against her mind, and finally she swivelled towards where she felt it emanating from. She saw nothing. Her heart went cold. Her stomach wrenched. She knew she must have blanched by the way the doctor was now addressing her. She wasn't listening, instead placing a hand on his forearm and stuttering out, "I'm sorry, Julian. I have to meet up with the captain." Moments later Kestra realized she'd called the doctor by his first name and his emotional response was a flush of flattered pleasure, not offense. She caught sight of the ambassador and Dukat exiting the airlock and tried her best not to run over to them. With her back to Sisko's crew, Kestra said one word, "Shifter." She could feel the rush of renewed alertness flow through them both as the Cardassian scanned the area. "They made no mention of Founders?" "Captain Sisko made it clear they had encountered them, but nothing about them being on the station," Bashir replied, the edge of anger in his voice. "It is possible a changeling could be here without their knowledge." "Ambassador," Kestra tried to keep the hissing out of her voice but her nerves were on fire, "I don't know where it is. It's close to the First Minister, but I can't. . . I can't pinpoint it." "The proximity detectors have not sounded," Dukat said. "Shifters here may be undetectable." "Mind telling me what this conference you're having in front of Captain Sisko's command staff is about?" O'Brien's hushed voice cut through and immediately Bashir and Dukat parted to allow him to step between them. The captain was blatantly annoyed at their actions although to anyone else, he was in a cheery mood. As he stared at his command staff, he stopped at Troi and the smile and aggravation froze. Miles knew *that* look. "Shifter," was all the doctor would say. O'Brien's eyes flicked up and then back down to her. "Where?" "I don't know." "Mister Sisko," Dukat called quietly and Jake joined their group, "I need a full scan of this area now." "Aye, sir," Sisko acknowledged and went back towards Brahms, who was on her way out of the airlock. "Cool it down," O'Brien warned the three who remained with him. "The last thing we need is a phaser fight." The captain resumed his walk towards Captain Sisko and his command crew, Dukat immediately to O'Brien's left and Bashir to his right, leaving Troi to trail behind. The introductions were made, nods of acknowledgment exchanged, and Ben noted how Dukat hid any arrogance, smugness, oiliness, or any of the unflattering descriptions Ben normally associated with the Cardassian. Instead, Dukat seemed almost. . . tolerable. . . but definitely distracted by something. The Cardassian looked around, keeping tabs on the DS9 crew as well as his own, and almost acted as if he were sightseeing. "A security team will escort your crew to the quarters we have arranged for you," Sisko told them. "I understand your desire to maintain some privacy and distance, but you are welcome to go freely about the station." Bashir stepped forward, "Obviously, your security concerns are as much as ours and I can assure you any and all information exchanges regarding technology will be handled by the captain and myself only." "Of course," Sisko replied. Suddenly, Dukat drew his weapon, aimed and fired at the ceiling bulkhead. Everyone reacted, Sisko's crew yanking their phasers and pointing them at O'Brien's crew while O'Brien's people did the same. Dukat kept his firearm aimed at the ceiling. As the thought began in Sisko's head, a blob of molten gold dropped from where the Cardassian had scored the hit and splashed upon the deck plates. Dukat continued to follow the movements with his weapon. "Dukat! No!" Sisko shouted and lunged towards the Cardassian. A hand clamped down on his shoulder and the captain found himself held in place by Captain O'Brien. Worf, Dax, Kira and Chief O'Brien rushed forward and stood in front of the pool of shimmering shapeshifter. "Put your weapon down!" Sisko yelled again. "All of you! Put down your weapons!" Slowly, Odo reformed himself although his form seemed almost watery in appearance, and Dax and Kira tried to offer assistance. Odo shook them off. Sisko felt Captain O'Brien's fingers digging into his upper arm and he pulled away. "Tell your people to stand down," Sisko snarled to O'Brien, "before someone gets hurt!" "I was under the impression Ambassador Bashir *explained* our situation," O'Brien retorted icily, clearly unimpressed with Sisko's attempt to order him around. "Is this Founder a friend of yours?" "Chief of station security," snapped Ben, "and one of my *most* trusted officers." "Captain Sisko," Ambassador Bashir stepped in, using that oddly placating voice which made the DS9 officers even more uneasy, "we have been at war with the Dominion for some time. We have grown used to defending ourselves against a multitude of attacks, from Jem'Hadar soldiers to Founders themselves. Dukat was merely acting in what he presumed were all of our best interests." a voice in Sisko's mind firmly told him, Bashir paused, offering a gentle smile. "It would be most beneficial if we do as Captain Sisko requests and put away our weapons." Captain O'Brien's gaze slid towards his people near the airlock and gave a short nod. Sisko met Dax's defiant stare and jerked his head once. Both crews, except for Dukat and Worf, reluctantly lowered their weapons and reholstered them. It now became a match between the Cardassian and the Klingon as they stared at one another, almost daring the each other to make the first move. Sisko knew O'Brien wasn't about to order Dukat to stand down and the captain momentarily found himself unable to tell Worf to do the same. There was part of Sisko's mind which was registering just how fast Dukat was with that phaser (or whatever it was) and realized Worf was no match for the pure speed the Cardassian had just demonstrated. Dukat and Worf then did something utterly amazing. Both simultaneously pointed the noses of their weapons towards the ceiling, then with painstaking unison reholstered their weapons. They continued to stare at each other, shoulders squared and faces devoid of any emotion. Troi's softly accented voice seemed like a shout. "Treating our crew members in Doctor Bashir's infirmary should only take thirty minutes, sir. We will then return to quarters." Captain O'Brien ignored the doctor for a moment and his eyes blazed into Sisko's. "Odo has been chief of station security for over five years," Sisko told him. "He was appointed by the former prefect of this station, Gul Dukat. When the Cardassians withdrew, I asked Odo to remain as head of station security. It may not mean much to you, but we trust him implicitly. We do not judge a single being for the actions of his or her race." A bitter smile played across O'Brien's features. "As long as you remember that when dealing with my officers, Captain Sisko." "We will, Captain O'Brien," Sisko assured him rather forcefully. "We will." "Sir?" Troi prompted. "Lavelle and Sutter will accompany you," O'Brien said. "No risks." "Understood, sir." --- "Security protocols are in place," Dukat reported as he leaned back in the comfortable chair. Forty-five minutes after the near-disastrous confrontation with the shapeshifter and Sisko's staff, O'Brien's command crew met in the quarters the captain had claimed. "The areas designated for our use are clear of any surveillance equipment. All access tunnels, air ducts, and miscellaneous crawl spaces are being monitored by standard field units located in every room and have been cross linked in case of unit failure. These units should also prevent unauthorized transporter activity. "Deep Space Nine's population is mostly human and Bajoran," he went on. "There are four Ferengii currently on board and are located on the Promenade, which is the recreational and business section of the station." "The Promenade has two levels," Troi explained, "which have shops and restaurants and also where the security and medical offices are located. The passive tricorder scan I took places the Ferengii in a bar." "If they're anything like ours," Bashir commented. "They'll be knocking on our doors looking for a deal. Else, they'll be cajoling us while we're in their establishments." "The ambassador is correct in his assessment," Dukat confirmed. "According to the UFP database, the Ferengi share the same motivations as the ones in our universe. The security chief on this station has quite an extensive file on one in particular: Quark. He is the proprietor of the establishment the doctor referred to. However, I do not foresee them as a difficult problem. "Our scans have only detected one Cardassian and one Carjoran. Given the political situation, any contact between us and them may be deemed suspicious by our hosts even if supervised." Bashir shook his head as he walked slowly around the room. "Any conversations had between Dukat and them could be seen as an act of self-preservation: ensuring Cardassia is prepared for the eventual Dominion invasion. But the captain's, Chief Sisko's and my counterparts are all on the station as well and to the Bajoran Provisional government, the Cardassian Empire or any other non-UFP aligned government, any discussions the captain and I initiate could be seen in the same light." "There is the matter of their shapeshifter, Odo. As Captain Sisko explained, Odo has served as chief of security on this station for five years and did function in a similar manner during the Occupation." The Cardassian's face broke into a swaggering smile. "They seem to be very trusting individuals." "None of our sensors detected the Founder's sub-molecular structure." Brahms did not share Dukat's outward amusement over the changeling's apparent respect on the station. O'Brien could tell she struggled to maintain her professionalism in an attempt to follow Dukat's example of impassiveness. However, Miles understood why Brahms wasn't being successful. Here, on this station, they faced the possibility of being exactly in the same position they were three years ago, unable to detect or track a shifter. That ability to descry Founders using technology rather than depending solely on the telepathic and empathic population of the Federation had alleviated some of the paranoia the Dominion had created. It had been the first step forward the Federation had had in almost six months and had given a vital boost to their perseverance. It had given O'Brien an added edge in keeping his youthful crew focused and positive. The captain knew he'd have to deliver another passionate speech to his followers, reminding them this was not their universe and the Founders in their universe did not have the ability to thwart the tracking mechanism. Brahms would undoubtedly devote every moment, no matter how exhausted she was, to discovering just why this Odo could not be scanned. She tried to nonchalantly shrug her shoulders, to show she was just as capable of handling the situation as anyone else in the room, and she continued. "Some of this can be attributed to equipment malfunction, maybe even interference from the station's infrastructure, but I am concerned the Founder many not possess the trace elements by which we can track the changelings in *our* universe." "Captain Sisko and his staff were obviously threatened by Dukat's attack on the Founder, but also curious as to the weapon used," Troi reported. "Sisko wanted to keep Odo's origins a secret for awhile longer and the captain may have wanted Odo to observe us. Sisko will probably keep our contact with Odo severely limited and carefully monitored. They have accepted him, made him part of *their* personal realities. I cannot sense any other changelings on the station at this time, but it will be difficult to discern them from the large population residing here, unless, of course, they are within a close vicinity." Miles glanced over to his chief engineer. "Sisko, what did the 'Hadar hit us with?" "We've analyzed the sensor logs from the encounter and discovered the full spread of torpedoes detonated *before* they came in contact with our shields. The resulting energy was used to cloak the second weapon: a pulse wave of negatively charged ions meant to dissolve our shields," Jake informed them. "The 'Hadar wanted the Defiant intact, sir, that much is clear. But since the Defiant was already in the subspace field distortion, the ionic field caused a rip in the space-time continuum *inside* the distortion and pushed us through. "It did cause severe damage to the warp and phase drives," Jake let out a slow breath. "We can get them repaired, two days working all shifts at least, but that's *if* we can get the materials we need. I've scanned their Defiant and confirmed the dilithium-based warp systems. Getting our main computer and other systems besides the propulsion systems on-line is a matter of going system by system and repairing or replacing the bio-conduits. All engineering supplies were heavily stocked during our last docking at Starbase 717, but it looks like the parts which were blown in the phasing engines are the ones which require complete systems shutdown and drydock to repair. It will take about five hours to decontaminate the ship and allow the engines and bioconduits to cool off enough so they can be worked on." "Brahms, without the phase drive, do you have any ideas on how we can get back?" "If we had to send individual people back, I would recommend modifying the transporter. There is a remote chance we could reconfigure this station's transporter to encompass our Defiant and send us back that way," she proposed. "The biggest problem is it would take at least a month to do so." "So we're down to getting the phase drive online for us to get home," the captain bottom-lined. Solemn nods answered him. He paused again, ideas scurrying around in his mind, and he looked up to find Troi staring at him. He knew what she wanted. The low light levels on the Defiant helped conceal the exhaustion and bleary-eyes of his dedicated crew, but now in this brighter environment, the captain was uncomfortable with what he saw. Something was going to break soon, and Miles definite didn't want it to be his crew. His thoughts flew back to his dead pilot. Already the news had circulated and his troops had been even more crestfallen. Paris had been the bridge between the seasoned officers and the youthful crew, he had been their role model, and of all of O'Brien's command officers, the loss effected Jake the most. Miles had a rare opportunity to let himself and his crew grieve. "Have the crew gather for Tom's memorial service," O'Brien quietly ordered. "I believe these quarters are the largest and should be able to accommodate us. Oh, and ambassador, what about relaying a cleaned up version of the engineering and science reports to Captain Sisko? If I were him, I'd be worried not just about us but about the 'Hadar." --- "Comments." The word spoken by Captain Sisko focused everyone's attention. There was a moment of silence. The doctor was the first to speak, "Medically speaking, these people are on the brink of exhaustion. If the luxury of two months rest were an option, I'd enforce it. Also, instead of traditional commbadges, they each have a subdermal communications device integrated with the audio nerves." Of them all, Bashir was the one with the most contact with their visitors and Sisko prodded him to continue. "What about the lack of rank insignia? The fact the crew is so young?" "How did one of them put it? 'If the Jem'Hadar decides to board us, we don't want to give them a map to our commanders.' They are a very tightly knit bunch," the doctor explained. "As for their youth, it was explained with the same simplicity as the rank pins: during battle, what is the first part of the ship that's targeted?" "Engineering," rumbled Worf. "Precisely." "And if they've been at war for twelve years," O'Brien added quietly, "they've lost a lot of good people." "There is one other thing." The slight guilt and embarrassment radiated from Bashir as he placed a tricorder on the conference table. "I ran a scan on their chief medical officer. To look at her you wouldn't realize she is half-Betazoid, half human. She possesses a highly developed empathic skill." "Which explains why she trusted you as quickly as she did and the main reason Captain O'Brien and Ambassador Bashir have been so open in their discussions. If they have subdermal communication devices, the ambassador was probably in contact with his captain during all of our initial negotiations," Sisko thought aloud. "I guess after playing poker for seventeen years, you make damned sure you have more than one ace up your sleeve." "Speaking of aces," Dax cut in, "how much alike their Defiant to ours?" "Structurally, they're about the same," Sisko replied, although his mind was clearly elsewhere. "Ambassador Bashir made it quite clear they're not expecting to find compatible technology here." "He said he'd made more than one trip to an alternate reality," Kira offered. "I wonder if they crossover to escape from battles." "If it were to save his crew, he might," countered O'Brien. "But jumping from reality to reality is very risky. You never know where you may end up." "Unless they have some control over it," Dax reasoned. "They have made very clear the differences in political structures and the development of technologies. We can't assume just because we haven't come upon the technology, they haven't. Julian, you and your team were the only ones allowed on board. Did you get a chance to look at control panels or instruments?" Bashir cleared his throat and nodded towards the tricorder. "I had this one set to continual scan of the area. To be honest, a majority of their medical equipment remind me of the things Chief O'Brien and I have been working on to make Cardassian technology work with the Federation's," he admitted. "The displays were also a combination as well. I don't think it would be too far off our own." Sisko briefly stared down at the tricorder, "Did they notice it?" "If they did," Julian tried not to cough to hide his sheepishness, "they did not confront me. I originally brought it along to monitor the levels of radiation." "Of course," Sisko replied drily. "Good work, doctor. I'm sure the chief and Odo will have plenty to dissect." He lapsed into silence again and realized only one remaining steadfastly silent was Odo. The shapeshifter still showed the aftereffects of the phaser blast Dukat had hit him with; the constable's body occasionally rippled like the surface of a pond when the wind blew. However, Bashir hadn't even mentioned what the weapon had physically done to Odo and for an officer who had no qualms about ordering superior officers around when it came to their health, it was more than a bit unusual. Ben could rationalize Julian's seeming lack of concern to one thing: the last thing the doctor wanted in his Infirmary was a phaser shoot out. Given how Dukat and O'Brien's crew had reacted to Odo reforming himself (the gasps and wide, panicked-filled eyes had etched themselves in Ben's mind), Bashir probably realized having Odo and these alternates in the same room was about as intelligent as having Gul Dukat and a bunch of rabid Bajoran nationalists in a confined area. One just didn't do it. Gauging how the doctor was now eyeing Odo with the same look which always a prelude to, "You're going to the Infirmary now. End of story. I don't care what excuse you may have. In this matter, my word *is* the law," Ben knew his chief of security would be in Bashir's domain immediately after the meeting. Yet, it didn't explain how no one mentioned the incident. Were they waiting for Odo's permission to discuss it? That was a possibility, but in a situation which warranted a complete understanding of just what their visitors were capable of, it was unacceptable. Was the security chief humiliated Dukat could detect his presence? Was Odo genuinely worried Captain O'Brien's crew would hunt him down just because he was a shapeshifter? Was the threat of finding a weapon which could ultimately annihilate Odo's own people crowding the changeling's thoughts? Sisko mused darkly, "Constable," the captain called out but wasn't able to finish the sentence. Odo jumped in, alleviating the need to ask the question. "Dukat did not intend to kill me," he grunted, "only incapacitate. The weapon temporarily disrupted my ability to hold my shape." "They had to have accessed our databases," Dax reasoned as she faced the changeling. "That's the only way they could have known about you. Either that or they have the ability to detect shapeshifters." "Doctor, you said their doctor is empathic?" Odo asked. Julian shook his head yes. "Lwaxana Troi once told me she could feel a presence, but no emotions, much in the manner as Betazoids sense Ferengii. They cannot read their emotions, but know they are present. If Doctor Troi possesses the same capability, she could have detected I was in the vicinity." "But you were a bulkhead!" Julian protested. "How could she have discerned. . .." "Don't you recall how she suddenly went over to the ambassador and Dukat? I heard their discussion. She said, 'shifter,' but admitted she was unable to pinpoint my location. Dukat and the ambassador looked around, Captain O'Brien was angry with them for 'having a conference' in front of us, Troi informed him she sensed me, and Dukat ordered Mister Sisko to scan the area," Odo spat. "Sisko then returned to their Defiant. Captain O'Brien also told his people he didn't want a phaser fight, although it was clear he was ready for one himself." "If they have subdermal communicators," Kira said, "Jake could have located Odo and told Dukat where to shoot." "No, major," Odo corrected softly. "He knew where I was because I moved. Didn't you notice how Dukat continually searched the area? I was attempting to move closer to the airlock to find out what Mister Sisko had been ordered to do." "Could that weapon. . .." the captain began to ask. "Captain Sisko, phased energy weapons have the same effect on changelings as they do on solids," Odo interrupted harshly. "I have no doubt that weapon could have terminated my life. Perhaps their Dukat is as arrogant as ours and was simply showing off." The group fell silent again, the bluntness of Odo's statements sinking in. Captain O'Brien and Dukat had certainly accomplished something: they were a definite threat to Odo's well being and forced Ben into second guessing the use of his best reconnaissance officer. The captain decided, "Mister Worf, I want you to take over for Odo. . .." "That would not be advisable, captain," the changeling cut Sisko off for the third time, "unless you wish to encourage their feelings of hostility. I don't want these people shooting up the station just because they think every glimmer is a shapeshifter. Plus, if these people have discovered a way to track the Founders, Starfleet and everyone else in the Alpha Quadrant will want it and you cannot afford to jeopardize this opportunity." Ben steepled his fingers, angered at the way the situation had turned. He had been sincere in his desire to protect Odo; his order for Worf to assume the constable's duties was not some psychological trick to get the changeling to agree to a dangerous assignment. Odo did have a point, a very valid one and one which Ben had been subconsciously attempting to gloss over. "Captain, Odo is absolutely correct," Dax affirmed. "They are nervous enough as it is. We remove Odo from their line of sight and we only promote their paranoia, not protect the constable." "The two security personnel Captain O'Brien sent with Doctor Troi, Lavelle and Sutter I believe their names were, acted highly agitated while I was tending to their crew mates," Bashir added. "I wouldn't say they were begging for an encounter, only very aware one was possible." "I still think it had something to do with those subdermal communicators." Kira theorized, "One of them tapped into DS9's database, found out about Odo, and subsequently contacted Dukat and O'Brien, perhaps the rest of the crew." "The major could be correct in her assessment," Odo told Sisko. "Dukat did seem to hesitate after the first shot. However, it could just be Dukat's arrogance. He could have wanted to make a show about how his people could detect and protect us from Founders. He could have been using it as a test, to see how we reacted. There are several plausible explanations for Dukat's behavior." "Whatever the case," Dax said, "they have made their point clear. They have no reservations about attacking Odo." Thankful for Dax's timely summarization since Sisko and his crew could undoubtedly drive the "what if" scenarios into the ground, the captain pushed forward to the next hurdle they faced. "The Federation will most likely send a diplomatic team as will First Minister Shakaar. We can expect to hear from the Klingons, Romulans, Ferengi and the Cardassians." "What if one of their Dominion show up?" Worf's growl sliced through the room. "Ambassador Bashir has already stated the Dominion has found other ways into their Alpha Quadrant besides the wormhole. If this alternate Defiant can cross over, what will stop their Dominion counterparts?" As if on cue, the doors to the wardroom slid open and one of Odo's deputies stepped through. "Captain Sisko, Doc. . ." the Bajoran corrected himself, obviously uneasy with the doubles of command officers, "Um. . . *Ambassador* Bashir asked this be delivered to you, sir." The man held out a datapadd and Sisko accepted it with a dismissing nod. The deputy left them. Ben glanced down at the thin board, one which clearly came from the ambassador's camp, and saw the odd message. "'It's the seventh inning,'" he read aloud. "'Buy me some peanuts and. . ..'" The ambassador was clever with a faintly cryptic message. What was Bashir trying to tell him? This new group had accessed the station's databases as Kira had guessed? How else could Bashir know about Ben's passion for baseball? The captain was far from amused but noted the almost obscure chronometer in the upper left hand corner, probably an indication if the message had been routed elsewhere and not directly to the captain. Ben found himself humming "Take Me Out to the Ball Game," the traditional tune sung during the seventh inning stretch and tapped in the words "Cracker Jack." Instantly, the screen flashed to life. Like everything else associated with them, the emblem of the First Federation was a unique combination of the Vulcan, UFP, Cardassian and Bajoran symbols. What was below, Sisko shared with his crew: "It is the belief of the science, engineering, and tactical officers this crossover was a direct result of a concentration of enemy fire to engineering as the Defiant attempted to engage engines. Due to the configuration of the propulsion drives, shielding, and types of weapons used, a brief rift in the space-time continuum can occur when there are high levels of neutrinos and concentrations of energy weapons discharge. The likelihood of such an event: 9,512 to 1. "The residual radiation levels experienced moments before and after the crossover are not common for the types of weapons associated with Jem'Hadar warships. There is evidence a new weapon was employed during this most recent conflict in attempt to capture the ship rather than destroy it. Since Jem'Hadar propulsion systems are radically different from those of Starfleet, the likelihood of a Jem'Hadar warship crossing into this reality is 1,723,201 to 1." There was a side note, one which did not match the log-style entry, but Sisko kept it to himself for a moment. Either Troi's empathic ability was stronger than anyone thought, or somehow the ambassador and captain had been able to listen in on their conversation. Then Ben looked at the chronometer again and subtracted the elapsed time. The message was sent before he had commenced this meeting. --- Admiral Nechayev's icy features nearly caused Ben to shiver from the intensity as she hammered out the words. "I will personally be there to negotiate on the Federation's behalf. If we have a chance to obtain technology which will defend us from the Dominion, I don't want to lose it. I don't want another misstep like Picard made with the Borg." The reference made Ben involuntarily flinch and he hoped Nechayev didn't catch it. "Admiral, they have made it quite clear they just want to fix their ship and leave." "Your report quoted the ambassador as saying their 'Federation is dedicated to assisting worlds to prepare for Dominion attacks,'" she shot back. "Those were his exact words." "He also said he was concerned about the balance of power," Sisko replied, trying to maintain his calmness. "They have rules just like we do. . .." The admiral's mouth puckered. "I don't need a lesson on the Prime Directive, captain. Your job is to keep the line of communications open and ensure the Federation stays on good standing with them until I arrive. We cannot afford to lose this opportunity." The last sentence caused Sisko's eyebrows to raise. Nechayev sounded like a certain bartender. "And any other dignitaries who wish to welcome our guests?" Her cheeks drew in, giving her an almost skeletal look. "Monitor them." "Yes, admiral." She lanced him with a stern stare. "Nechayev out." When the Federation seal blinked onto his console, Ben allowed his head to drop into his hands, fingers massaging his scalp in an effort to relieve the pressure. The door chime rang. He raised his head to see Kira standing, arms firmly clasped behind her back. It seemed everyone picked up on that Dax-like move and with Kira, he knew exactly what it meant. "Come in." She strode in with her usual confidence although her face was set almost apologetically. "Things didn't go well with the admiral?" "Things went as expected with Nechayev. I have to make sure our guests are willing to negotiate when she arrives," he replied steadily before leaning back and steepling his fingers. "When can I expect the First Minister to be on the station?" "Three hours. The Ministers of Trade and Defense will be here as well." Sisko nodded. "You realize once word has gotten out, every government will want to get their hands on this anti-Dominion technology." "I realize that, captain. Ambassador Bashir sounded like he was expecting such a confrontation, both friendly and unfriendly." "We just have to convince him of the wisdom of trusting us first." Kira almost rolled her eyes, wondering why the captain was painstakingly spelling all of this out. "The ambassador seems to have a firm grasp of what's going on. I don't think you'll have to worry about that." "Odo to Sisko." The captain automatically glanced to the ceiling, a strange habit all Starfleet officers had when being paged, and then he realized it was something Ambassador Bashir had never done during their discussions. Either Bashir wasn't in contact with his ship during their initial meeting or he was so used to having a voice in his head he never registered surprise. "Go ahead, constable." "Our guests have been kind enough to lower the defense system surrounding their assigned quarters," the changeling snarled. "Ambassador Bashir has requested a meeting with both you and the major." Sisko glanced over to Kira who vigorously nodded her consent. "Ask the ambassador to lunch, Odo. The wardroom at 1300 hours." "Acknowledged. Odo out." "Dax couldn't even get a passive scan through those shields. They value their privacy or are trying their best to keep us out of the middle," Kira commented. "They seem to be trying *too* hard," Sisko darkly said. "Entirely too hard." He looked behind Kira to find Doctor Bashir debating on ringing the door chime before realizing the captain was watching him. Sisko motioned the man in and Bashir immediately entered, professional demeanor mixed oddly with self-consciousness. The captain guessed, "You'd like permission to check on your patients." Slightly taken aback, Bashir managed to get out, "Well. . . yes, sir. I was going to ask if I could. The three who were in the Infirmary were taken back to quarters under Doctor Troi's supervision. It's not that I doubt her skills as a physician, but I would like to offer my assistance." "Think you can sneak another tricorder through?" Kira asked, her tone halfway between mocking and serious. Julian blushed slightly and dropped his head a fraction of an inch. "I don't believe I have a good enough excuse this time, if I were caught." Sisko stopped the teasing. "We have a meeting with the ambassador later this afternoon. Unless Doctor Troi specifically requests your help, you should refrain from any contact with them. That goes for *everyone*, including civilians." --- "Damage assessments," Jake reported and handed a datapadd to the captain. Gathered in O'Brien's quarters, the senior staff met for another impromptu meeting, this one spawned by the completion of Jake and Leah's analysis of just what their latest challenge was. Even now, in the relative calm of being somewhat off duty because of the situation, they still functioned as if they were on yellow alert. Miles didn't blame them. This wasn't exactly a vacation spot, although DS9 was far more hospitable than any other alternate universe O'Brien had dealt with. Of them all, Jake was the most eager to return to the proper reality, even surpassing Dukat's blatant desire to leave. The captain understood Jake's feelings perfectly. The young man who just celebrated his eighteenth birthday held down a position normally reserved for someone at least a decade older than he. Jake had a resolute maturity about him, one O'Brien knew he couldn't take credit for. It went beyond Jake proving himself a consummate officer and being as valuable as Dukat or Brahms. The engineer never wanted to be a burden, a belief he refused to let go of despite Miles' constant reassurances to his foster son that he, Jake Sisko, was anything but a burden. Now Jake faced something Miles knew the teenager wasn't equipped to handle. It wasn't something he could fix. It wasn't something he could jettison into space. It wasn't something he could easily forget. Here, in this universe, Ben Sisko was alive and holding down a position of command. Jake refused to meet Miles' eyes as he continued with his report. "It also includes list of materials we'll need to complete repairs and bring the ship back up to 90%. I've placed them in order of importance, we can get by with the ones marked, and the availability is favorable. If we can't get them here, we're going to have to replicate them which will obviously take longer." O'Brien nodded once and glanced over at Dukat who took the cue. "Since our arrival, there have been twenty-three covert messages sent and received. Of them, two have been on officially secured channels coded to Captain Sisko's terminal and another pair to Major Kira's." "How long before we have people knocking on our doors?" Miles asked. Dukat shook his head slightly. "The Bajoran delegation arrives in about three hours and the official Starfleet group in four. The two closest non-Federation alliances are the Klingons and Cardassians and they will probably send diplomatic envoys within the next twelve hours." "If you want a clichéd saying, I know several which describe this situation," Bashir wryly added. "Especially, 'damned if we do, damned if we don't.' It won't matter to these other parties only a doctor and his two assistants came on board our ship and were confined to the medical areas except when they exited the ship. Their point will be UFP representatives were on board. We can easily deny the UFP's request for a technology exchange on a technicality. For us, to give this the information could be considered an act of treason since the UFP and Bajor, for that matter, have a shapeshifter as part of their staff. Our Federation law is quite strict in that regard no matter what the circumstances." "And this opens the door for the Klingons, Cardassians, and whoever else decides to pop in," O'Brien sighed. "No doubt they will pull out all the trumps to convince us to turn over what we have and if they can't have it, they'll fight for it." He paused and tapped at the side of his coffee mug. "Captain Sisko's invitation to lunch," Bashir continued, "gives our hosts enough time to receive their official negotiators. If Dukat, maybe even Rekelen or Hogue, were to accompany me, it would be an obvious reminder of the differences in political structures." O'Brien chuckled, "Sounds to me like you want to intimidate them." "And you don't think our hosts will try every tactic of their own so I will 'make the right choice'?" "I know, ambassador. Believe me, I know." Troi suddenly tapped her foot, getting their attention. "Captain, I do have to finish my rounds with our crew. It would be nice to have a second opinion, especially Doctor Bashir's. This Federation could have medical advances. . .." "Stop right there," O'Brien warned. "We are *not* putting ourselves in that position, medical reasons or not. The release of information goes across the board. I'm sorry, doctor, but I don't want to give *anyone* an excuse to start shooting at us." "At least allow the ambassador to deliver a report to the doctor," she protested and then held out a datapadd. "Doctor Bashir is an excellent physician and he will want to know the condition of those he treated." O'Brien fixed her with a stare, one which would send junior officers to their knees begging forgiveness for offending the captain. "Out of the question, doctor. *No one* is trouncing about this station." Troi silently implored the ambassador, her usual ally when it came to arguing with either O'Brien or Dukat. Bashir shrugged his shoulders and took the pad from the doctor, tapping it against his palm. Jake's eyes widened, obviously surprised the ambassador would defy orders, and he glanced over to Brahms who had crossed her arms and did her best to look uninterested. "I have to agree with the captain," Bashir concurred. "I can, however, pass this information along to our hosts and they, in turn, should give it to their doctor." "You're going to taunt them with it," O'Brien guessed. The ambassador grinned, "The thought has crossed my mind." "Don't provoke them," the captain warned. "I fully intend on taking this opportunity to allow everyone to rest up, if only for a day or two." "Of course, captain." --- Julian flopped down on the couch in his assigned quarters, the cushions wonderfully solid and firm underneath him, and he stared at the gracefully arched ceiling and the distinct bulkheads. It had been far too long since he had been on Cardassia. The chime rang and Julian bade his guest welcome. Dukat walked in and glanced around the quarters before sitting across from the ambassador. "Let me guess," Julian sighed as he crossed his arms, "you're here to give me the security speech." "You make it sound as if I am an overbearing teacher and you're my recalcitrant student," Dukat laughed. "Actually, I wanted to see if your furniture is as comfortable as mine. I do miss this. If the Founders knew my affinity for authentic Cardassian-styled lounge chairs and sofas, they would have disposed of me long ago. Hmm... it would make for quite an embarrassing epitaph: 'Here lies Dukat, Killed by a shapeshifting loveseat.' My titles will be useless. My rank would be forgotten. I would just be He who was Suffocated by Furniture." "I don't find that amusing," Julian snapped and glared at the mirthful Cardassian. Dukat sobered slightly, "My apologies, ambassador. You were never one for Cardassian humor, were you?" "No." Shrugging his shoulders, the Cardassian changed subjects. "It would be to our advantage to stave off any attempts at 'chance meetings' during these negotiations." "We cannot show any weakness, I know," Bashir mumbled sullenly. "I am sure they have already drawn some conclusions," Dukat remarked. "It's only natural to assume that we possess the same motivations, the same likes and dislikes, as our counterparts." They remained silent for a few moments before the Cardassian cleared his throat. "Ambassador, I realize you do not wish my counsel on this matter, but I highly suggest you...." "I know the rules," Julian replied sharply. "There's no need to reiterate them every time you think I will have a lapse in judgement." He knew he was under Dukat's careful scrutiny, just by the way the Cardassian was sitting. Bashir guessed the Cardassian had already accessed vital information concerning DS9's residents and Dukat's phenomenal memory combined with O'Brien's legendary shrewdness, those two probably had their game plan outlined the moment the Defiant docked on the station. "Ziyal's counterpart is under the watchful care of Major Kira. My alternate hunts down Klingons for invading Cardassian colonies. Quite the rogue pirate he is." Bashir snorted. "That explains their resident Carjoran. And the Cardassian is...?" "Garak." "Oh." "Come now, ambassador," Dukat lightly admonished, "it is not as if you didn't already know." "He isn't the Cardassian liaison, is he?" The ambassador asked, trying to keep the trace of hope out of his voice. "No. He lives in exile. He is a tailor." "I see." "A clever choice of professions for one in exile," Dukat commented. "Restaurants come and go, depending on people's tastes and when running that type of business, the hours are terrible. However, a clothing shop has specific hours, you must cater to the egos of your patrons, and best of all, it is rather simple to modify your merchandise to comply with the latest trends in fashion. It's also quite unassuming." "It sounds as if you have given this a lot of thought." The Cardassian coyly smiled, "Just simple musings, ambassador. Nothing more." "Nothing is simple with you, Dukat. Ever. *And* I know what you're thinking as well. Garak may use this opportunity to end his exile. After all, securing information which could and would make Cardassia a formidable power against the Dominion as well as the rest of this quadrant may be precisely what he needs," Bashir stated flatly. "Garak has to reach us *before* the official Cardassian delegation arrives. Our dilemma is if we should encourage such contact." "You are as perceptive as ever, ambassador," the Cardassian praised. The human snorted derisively but refrained from commenting. "Our behavior should be based, obviously, on how Garak presents himself, but I'm sure you already realize that. If he wishes to become embroiled in the politicking, than he is more than welcome to." "Not at the risk of his life!" Julian spat. "Ambassador," Dukat reminded him softly, "he is not the same Elim Garak you and I knew. While this *is* your first encounter with an alternate Garak, do not make the mistakes our hosts are." He paused, allowing the ambassador to calm down slightly, before resuming his commentary. "The incoming Starfleet admiral will no doubt try to bully you into releasing information because of your youth and her position as a higher-ranking officer. She may even attempt to bypass you in favor of discussions with the captain." Bashir didn't respond immediately, which was Dukat's cue to give a detailed briefing of the information which had been officially released to them and what the Cardassian had pilfered from the system. Julian listened intently, making mental notes and a few comments aloud. At 1245 hours, five minutes before DS9's escorts were to show up at the impromptu border, the two stood and walked to the door. Dukat and Bashir kept a comfortable pace as they approached the opaque forcefield separating their area from the rest of the station. Lavelle, standing guard, acknowledged the superior officers with a curt nod which Dukat returned. "Report, ensign," Dukat ordered, not worried the conversation would carry through to whomever was on the other side of the force field. The sound dampeners had been set to allow sound to travel one way, from the other side into theirs. "A human female, a human male, a Bajoran female, a Bajoran male and one. . . Klingon male are waiting," Lavelle announced. The latter species obviously impressed the younger man, who was probably eager to see a member of the notoriously xenophobic race. "The Klingon is armed with a standard phaser and the escorts have compressed phaser rifles. I am having difficulty obtaining an accurate reading, sir. I've adjusted the tricorder to compensate for possible interference. The station's conduits use two different and almost incompatible technologies, sir." Lavelle held out his tricorder so Dukat could verify his information. The Cardassian tapped in a few commands and then nodded his approval. "Did they discuss anything of interest?" Dukat queried. Lavelle seemed almost embarrassed as he reported, "Keeping an eye on you, sir." He indicated the Cardassian. "They do not believe the ambassador will be a threat. However, they believe you are the. . um. . . wild card, sir." Julian grinned and nudged Dukat's elbow, "Try not to spook our hosts too much, no matter how tempting it is." "Me? My dear ambassador, I'm not the one who suggested I be the obvious reminder of Cardassia's presence." Dukat signaled Lavelle, who lowered the defense field. Bashir and Dukat turned and stared. Lavelle muffled a gasp. The shapeshifter stood less than three meters away from them with his arms crossed and a smirk carved into his face. He met their gazes with a defiant one of his own. Julian could feel Dukat tense up, even though the Cardassian refrained from any outward appearance of being upset. "Dukat, Ambassador Bashir," the changeling sounded as if he were taunting them, "We were never formally introduced. I am Odo, chief of station security." He held out his hand towards Bashir, obviously waiting for a handshake. A strangled gurgle escaped from Lavelle and Julian couldn't blame the ensign. The thought of actually *touching* a shapeshifter with the intent of friendship was revolting enough, but it was also considered treason. Julian matched Odo's calculating look and shook the Founder's hand; however, the human's mind rebelled against any pleasantry he normally used in a situation like this. It was hardly a pleasure to meet a Founder. The only words his brain allowed him to formulate were, "Chief Odo." "Odo," the shapeshifter corrected. "Nothing else. Just Odo." "Odo," Bashir repeated, keeping his nerves steady and not recoiling at the touch of the Founder. Shifters always "felt" like they were supposed to, whether it be humanoid flesh or a burlap sack or a vole, but Julian could detect the slightest tremor, although he wasn't sure if it was himself or the changeling. They released their grips. The shifter then tried to do the same handshake trick with Dukat, but the Cardassian's lips peeled back into a smile. "Cardassians do not share that particular nuance with our Terran compatriots. We prefer this salute," Dukat tilted his head in a very formal nod, "over the clasping of hands." "Of course," Odo conceded, although there was unmistakable triumph in his voice as the shifter returned Dukat's nod. "I believe you have already met Commander Worf, the Strategic Operations Officer." The Klingon shook his head once, squaring his shoulders as his eyes roved over Dukat. The officer was clearly trying to either impress or intimidate Dukat. "There is one more thing." The shifter pointed to weapon strapped to the Cardassian's left thigh. "*That* will not be necessary. Captain Sisko sends his pledge you will be protected." Dukat's hand dropped to his holster, Worf and the militia changed their stances ready to aim and fire if necessary, and the Cardassian plucked the offending weapon and handed it to Lavelle. "Sir!" Lavelle protested hotly, refusing to accept the relinquished weapon by keeping his hands firmly at his sides. "Mister Lavelle," Dukat calmly reasoned, "there is no need for such an outburst." "But sir. . ." Lavelle began again, "allow me to accompany you, sir." Dukat lanced the ensign with a stare, "I appreciate your concern; however, I do believe it is unnecessary." Lavelle reluctantly backed down as he took the weapon. Bashir glanced over to the militia who shared Lavelle's uneasiness, except they had weapons to toy around with. He noted how most of the attention was focused on Dukat. As Lavelle had said, they were more worried about the Cardassian than they were about a Terran and Bashir knew he had to use it to his advantage. "Odo, Commander," Julian cordially said and then waved forward. "Carry on. The meeting is due to start in a few minutes and I do not wish to be late." The group seemed to notice Bashir again. No doubt they were galled by his haughty command, but the human maintained his pleasant, almost eager look. It was one Odo and Worf seemed to recognize. The Klingon commander finally said, "This way." Dukat and Bashir walked out into the middle of the security team, the militia immediately flanking either side of them, Worf stepping behind them and Odo taking the lead. "The route, ambassador," Dukat reminded Bashir. "It would be to our benefit." Falling into the young, innocent ambassador counseled by the seasoned war veteran personas the Terran and Cardassian had perfected over the last year, Bashir immediately brightened, tossing off a radiant, yet embarrassed smile. "Yes yes yes. Please, Odo, will we be traversing the Promenade?" "No, ambassador," Odo said, appraising Bashir with a more obvious eye now, and he outlined their path. Dukat made the appropriate faces, nodding where he was supposed to, and then agreed. "An excellent plan," the Cardassian approved and then tacked on a rather wistful statement. "I believe that was the same route Picard used to sneak his mistresses back and forth from the prefect's office." The comment earned a low growl from Worf, barely on the threshold of human hearing and completely out of range for a Cardassian, but Bashir's and Dukat's subderms dutifully amplified the noise. Dukat's lie had its desired effect: Bashir knew the Cardassian knew the way and Lavelle had been alerted where exactly they would be. Bashir smiled again, "Now is not the time to reminisce about old times." "Of course, ambassador," Dukat conceded and then turned to Lavelle. "As you were." "Yes, sir!" Lavelle barked, still distraught over his commanding officer being unarmed, and the shield immediately popped back on. The journey to the wardroom was spent in silence. --- Shakaar and Admiral Nechayev chatted so amicably they made Ben wonder if *he* was in the right universe. While each had advisers and officers poised to join them, the two leaders opted to leave their staffs on their respective ships to make this lunch more informal. Each had agreed that they desired to assist the wayward travelers, to acquire scientific and military information for the benefit of both the Federation and the Provisional Government, and to help the Defiant back into its own universe without causing a sector scandal. That last part was a remote possibility but always included in diplomatic rhetoric. The doors slid open and Odo straddled the doorway with a "This way," before stepping all the way in to allow the Defiant's party in. Bashir came in, looking freshly scrubbed and more like Doctor Bashir than a ragged, soot-covered diplomat. Although Bashir was still dressed entirely in black, he now had an overcoat which ended at mid-hip to cover the "standard" uniform and he sported an intricate metal pin the size of a normal commbadge. The design matched the First Federation's seal on the datapadd Bashir had sent earlier. A thin line of gold trim accented the collar, cuffs, and lapels of the coat but there was no other adornment. Bashir was followed by Dukat. Although the ambassador was the same height, the Cardassian's impressive shoulders were still much wider and accented by his thickly corded neck. His uniform was slightly dressed up as well: an overcoat reminding Ben of Starfleet's casual captain's jacket but solid black and a medallion like Bashir's, glittering like a beacon in the sea of ebony. Sisko strode over and greeted them warmly, "Good afternoon, gentlemen. Thank you for attending." Bashir's smile was dazzling. "How could we refuse such a gracious offer? You remember our chief of security, Dukat." Even though Sisko had addressed both officers, Bashir opted to reintroduce the Cardassian for the benefit of the rest of the room and again failed to attach a rank to one of the command staff. Captain O'Brien had been the only one presented with a military designation while the others only used "Chief of" and inserted their respective departments. The omission bothered the captain, mainly because his crew (and now the admiral and Shakaar) had to guess just how important Dukat was in the grand scheme of things. "Of course," the captain replied the two exchanged nods. Only Sisko and Bashir walked closer to the table, Dukat lingering behind with Worf and Odo. The captain began the introductions. "May I present Admiral Nechayev of Starfleet and Shakaar, First Minister of Bajoran Provisional Government. Ambassador Julian Bashir and Dukat of the First Federation." Bashir acknowledged each with a slight dip of his head when Sisko named them, and when the captain was finished, the ambassador opened his arms in an universal peaceful gesture. "On behalf of the First Federation, thank you for allowing us to dock at Deep Space Nine. Captain Sisko, Major Kira and their staff have been exceptionally considerate hosts. But you haven't traveled all the way here for a mere exchange of pleasantries. Shall we?" Just like their initial meeting, the ambassador established control of the situation and interjected a remark which could be taken both ironically and sarcastically. While everyone moved towards their seats, Dukat remained lurking behind the ambassador. Ben's logical voice kept repeating Dukat was Bashir's protection and was acting in the same manner Odo and Worf were doing now. However, it was damned unnerving, especially since Ben was used to verbal duels with Dukat not with Bashir. Both Shakaar and Nechayev expressed their sympathies for the loss of the Defiant's helmsman (a bit of information Doctor Bashir had picked up while on the alternate ship) and concern for the remaining crew members who were injured. The ambassador had charm and wit, fielding the minister's and the admiral's comments with a gentle ease, almost as if he were playing a lazy game of springball. After a few minutes of skirting conversations, the business of trade cropped up after a direct question regarding the Defiant. "We need a place to repair our ship," Bashir told them. "Most of the materials we have on board, but our chief engineer has made detailed list of what would greatly increase the speed of our work." Out of the folds of his jacket, the ambassador produced a datapadd and slid it to Sisko. The admiral threw a glance in the captain's direction, obviously surprised Bashir considered Sisko a negotiator since the captain hadn't spoken since the introductions. Sisko ignored the admiral and scanned the list. "It's not as extensive as I thought it would be." The ambassador laughed, "For us, having a wish list is a futile effort. We make do with what is available. The captain and the chief can be quite creative." "I'm sure they can be," replied Sisko. "Starfleet and," Nechayev cut a quick look over at the minister who gave his assent, "the Provisional Government will do whatever we can to help secure these materials. The station engineers are also very familiar with blended Federation, Bajoran and Cardassian technologies." Bashir pursed his lips for a moment, a break in his calm demeanor, before answering. Ben wondered. Instead of a pleasant, almost light-hearted tone he had used before, Bashir sounded almost bitterly disappointed. "While they may be highly qualified, only experience will accelerate our departure. The longer we stay here, the greater danger we pose to both Bajor and the Federation. Not because the Jem'Hadar will find a way here, but because there are other governments willing to forego any hard-worked peace treaties just to get their hands on more powerful weapons. Just like your Federation, admiral, we are bound by our own set of rules and principles which must be adhered to." "We recognize your concern and share it," Shakaar replied. "We also know our worlds are vastly different and there is no guarantee we will encounter or experience the same things you have or will." "We are mostly concerned with defending ourselves," the admiral added. "The reports indicate you have a dual shielding system on the Defiant, acting as a deterrent to scans or boarding parties. Also, your ship is modified from the one currently stationed here. A tour of the ship or information on upgrades would be highly welcomed." "Perhaps a way to effectively detect shapeshifters," Shakaar suggested. "Currently, we rely on blood screenings, but those can be altered. If you have developed a better way to track them, it is information which can be shared with all interested parties." Bashir clearly mulled over the options for a moment before responding, "I will to consider the proposal and have an answer for you by 2300 hours." "If you require more time to discuss it with your superiors. . ." Nechayev began to offer. The ambassador scoffed, "I *have* no superior here, admiral." The haughtily spoken words hung in the air, Ben wincing because of Nechayev's unwelcome challenge to Bashir's authority. Ben wondered what impact this would have on Bashir's decision to exchange technology. Bashir stood and everyone followed suit. "If you will excuse us," the ambassador stepped back from the table. "Everyone has said what they have needed to and there is no need to drag this out any further." Dukat had moved forward but instead of saying anything, he waited until Bashir faced him before fixing a curious stare on the diplomat. Then Bashir let out a slight exclamation as if he were forgetting something, turned towards the group again, and fished out another datapadd from his jacket. Shaking his head slightly as one of Doctor Julian Bashir's trademark apologetic grins spread across his face, the ambassador handed the item to Sisko. "I almost forgot. Doctor Troi asked if this could be delivered to your chief medical officer. She wanted him to see the follow up reports on the patients he treated." The captain glanced over towards Nechayev and Shakaar, who were both almost salivating over the temptation they thought Bashir was offering. Ben knew what both were thinking: Bashir could be giving them information in a more covert manner, a spirit versus letter of the law scenario the captain had done more than once in his career. From the outside, the ambassador had temporarily slammed the door in the UFP and BPG's faces, but the Cardassians, Klingons, Romulans and whoever else showed up at DS9's docking pylons would see the transparent action. Ben almost welcomed the bit of dramatics, another of Doctor Bashir's characteristics showing in the ambassador's smoothly polished demeanor, which meant they stood a chance at gaining the technology after all. "I'll make sure he gets it." Bashir beamed again. "Thank you, captain." "You're welcome, ambassador." Ben motioned towards the changeling, "Odo and Commander Worf will show you the way." "Good day." The ambassador curtly nodded towards Sisko, ignoring the admiral, Shakaar, and Kira, and turned to leave. Dukat followed, making eye contact with Kira and ducking his head once, and the group exited. Nechayev waited until the doors whooshed closed before snapping, "Captain?" Ben knew the unspoken question and activated the datapadd. There were no cryptic messages, no word puzzles, only three medical reports on Nog, Sito and Ari, the same ones Doctor Bashir had listed he had treated. Sisko let out a sigh of disappointment. "It looks like medical reports. I'll have Doctor Bashir go over it as well as Chief O'Brien to see if there are any discrepancies or hidden messages." --- "Now that you've shown you can throw a tantrum, what is your next move?" Dukat quietly inquired, using a butchered variation of Kardasi as he and the ambassador were escorted from the wardroom to their quarters. The Terran standard equivalent of the dialect was called "pig Latin" although this version of Kardasi also used idiomatic expressions, which would render DS9's translators almost useless. If the translator was able to discern the words and come up with the comparable translation in standard, it still would be gibberish. Odo was a few feet in front of them, trying to be oblivious to their conversation, but Dukat recognized the slight turn of the Founder's head as the officer tried to hear their words. "Oh, Dukat! You can't be serious," Julian protested. "Your pride was insulted, someone dared to question your authority, and your first reaction is to rely on the most blatant stereotypes of your profession," the Cardassian retorted. "A reflexive action," he declared as the group rounded the corner and went down the long corridor leading back to their designated area, going the same route as they had used before. Again, Odo led the group, Bashir and Dukat were flanked by the four security officers, and Worf was behind them. Dukat snorted, "At least you didn't spout off about treason. That would have certainly set them at ease. Your authority wouldn't have been questioned, only what I would do to you if you made the wrong decision." "Just as it is difficult for you *not* to bottle up our most gracious tour director, it's difficult for me to keep reminding myself a majority of the people on this station view your presence the same manner in which we view the changelings." "Perhaps my bloody corpse will serve as an incentive for remembering." "I honestly can't believe you're being so petulant about the entire situation!" "Petulance implies, my dear ambassador," cooed the nearly irate Cardassian, "I am distraught over their assessment of me personally. *My* concern, however, centers on what if *our* technology cannot detect *their* changelings." The militia, alarmed by the banter between the two, tinkered idly with their weapons. Dukat and Bashir fell silent, content to wait until they were in a private setting to continue their debate. "Lieutenant Gashini said he's here! I have to see him!" Ziyal's voice echoed from a connecting corridor just ahead of the group. Reaching up to casually tap his ear ridge with his right hand, Dukat adjusted his subderm for clarity while the Bajoran guard followed the Cardassian's movement with his rifle. Bashir must have heard her as well; Dukat could tell by the way the ambassador's lips suddenly pursed. "Ziyal," chastised another voice, distinct in cadence, "He is not your father. He is your father's counterpart from the other side." "That's not what Gashini said," the girl told him defiantly. "And you believe the word of an officer of the Bajoran militia? What else did he tell you? That Captain Sisko was arresting your father for some violation of Federation law? That your father was being held prisoner for crimes against the Bajoran people? How did he explain the fact there are *two* Starfleet vessels of nearly the same design and both bearing the name 'Defiant'? Really, my dear. As distasteful and childish as it may sound, I believe the good lieutenant was simply...." "People lie to me all the time, Garak. That's why I have to see for myself. Gashini said they would be coming this way. I have to see him." "They will be surrounded by the militia who will use any excuse to fire those weapons, I assure you," Garak tried again. "It doesn't matter!" There was sound of a slight struggle and then the fast click-clack of shoes against the carpeted metal deck plates. Ziyal bolted out into the hallway, stopping and staring at the entourage. The security officers swung their weapons up, ready to fire, and Odo brought the group to an abrupt halt. "Father?" she called, the joy and uncertainty in her voice ringing in Dukat's head. Dukat had to act surprised to see her, otherwise someone in the group would realize Bashir and he had amplified hearing and/or that they had accessed the station's computer. The young woman dressed in a prim lavender gown wasn't his Ziyal; he knew immediately by, of all things, her hair style. When Dukat automatically searched behind and around her, his gaze met that of the Cardassian tailor who had walked into the main corridor but stayed a few meters behind Ziyal. "Garak," Julian breathed, too quietly Dukat was sure, for anyone else but himself to hear. "Father! What is happening? Why have you been arrested?" Ziyal demanded and continued to approach the party. She ignored the weapons pointed at her, confusion etched in her face. Dukat moved in front of Odo and stood before his alternate's daughter, switching to standard for the benefit of his audience. "I am not the Dukat you wish for, Ziyal, but it gives me great pleasure to see my counterpart is as blessed as I am." Ziyal blinked a few times, uncertain how to react, and looked Garak for guidance. The tailor offered a fleeting smile and called out, "I believe these are our guests from the other universe." "Then he does not. . .." she couldn't get the words past her lips as she looked back and forth from Dukat to Garak. "You are not. . .." "Bajor and Cardassia have shared peace for over a millennia," Dukat stated. "Why should I not be proud of the beautiful sight before me?" The Cardassian didn't have to glance behind to know an impassive mask had slipped over Bashir's features, probably the same one Elim had coached him on endlessly. "I presume you are the Cardassian delegation?" The Founder answered before Garak could speak, but addressed Bashir instead of Dukat. "Ambassador, they are residents of the station. Nothing more." Bashir deliberately moved to Dukat's side. The human suddenly grinned, but it lacked the distinct charm and warmth of Doctor Bashir's expression. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Ziyal. I am Ambassador Bashir of the First Federation." The Carjoran became flustered and held out a shaky hand. Bashir gently grasped it while nodding slightly. She sputtered, "It is nice to meet you as well, ambassador." She paused, looking into his eyes and then noticing he was now staring over her shoulder. With a small exclamation she released his hand and turned towards the tailor. "Um... let me introduce... Um.... This is Garak." With a sharp click of his boot heels and a very dignified bow of his head, the ambassador saluted Garak. The Cardassian returned the gesture except he didn't tap his boots against each other. The ambassador's smile softened slightly. "Are you representatives of Cardassia?" "In a manner of speaking," Garak replied, matching Bashir's calculating gaze with one of his own. "He's an exile," Odo growled. "Such name-calling," Dukat sighed in the altered version of Kardasi, "is so unbecoming of these people." Bashir chuckled before he addressed the tailor in standard, "There is a meeting at 2300 hours, Mister Garak. You are more than welcome to attend." "Ambassador," the changeling warned again, "as I have said...." "I heard what you have said, Odo." Bashir bit off each word but he did not turn to face the changeling. "Then there is no need for this conversation to continue, ambassador," rumbled Worf. Dukat swivelled to meet the scathing glower of the Klingon. He had to admit it was surprising these officers were so adamant about ending this confrontation, so resolute in fact it only piqued Bashir's curiosity even more. the Cardassian mentally berated, before amending his thoughts. Although Bashir did not have the restraint Dukat or Captain O'Brien had from years of experience, the ambassador had just enough to know how to use this situation to his advantage. Worf and Odo obviously misjudged the ambassador. Did they think by challenging Bashir's authority for a second and third time that the human would react the same way he had with Nechayev by storming off in a huff? Of course, what the Klingon and the Founder had done was far worse than toe-stepping; they snubbed Dukat by ignoring the Cardassian and insulted Garak by not allowing the tailor to answer the ambassador's questions. Those two sins were something a man of Bashir's particular faith and profession could not easily forgive, much less walk away from. Annoyed that the Klingon regarded him as if he were a vole, Dukat returned the Klingon's stare with a bland, semi-amused one of his own. It had the desired effect: Worf rolled his shoulders back and puffed his chest, again trying to intimidate the Cardassian. Dukat would have found the entire situation rather amusing if a Founder wasn't standing as close as he was. "Ambassador...." the changeling began a second time. Dukat gave the Klingon a look of disdain before returning his attention to the standoff between Garak, Bashir and Odo. The ambassador's posture had become almost rigid, a sure sign of the human's ire. Bashir was not going to tolerate the way Worf and Odo dismissed the tailor for being worthless. Clearly, Sisko's henchmen were not skilled in the art of diplomacy since neither seemed to realize Bashir was not going to just walk away, not without scoring a few insults of his own. "Is there a reason for their overt concern, Mister Garak?" Bashir asked teasingly. "I am a plain and simple tailor, ambassador." "No matter." The ambassador shrugged the comment off, as if it were inconsequential, and then gave another formal nod. "My offer still stands, Mister Garak." "You are most generous, ambassador." Garak returned the salute and then called over to Ziyal. "My dear, I believe it is time for us to depart." Ziyal had remained silent, perhaps frightened by the open hostilities and realizing whatever immunity her relationship with Kira had granted her in the past was not valid here. She shook her head, acknowledging Garak's command, but her eyes were still locked on Dukat as if she feared he was going to be executed when she left. She held up her right hand, her palm perpendicular to her wrist, and stretched her arm towards Dukat. He, in turn, pressed his palm against hers, returning the salutation which was only used between family members and honored friends. Ziyal beamed as her trepidation was overshadowed by a bit of regality. "Please, if you will excuse us," the ambassador said to Garak and Ziyal. Garak nodded and Bashir and Dukat resumed their walk toward their quarters, momentarily leaving the security brigade behind. "Whatever game you're playing, Garak," Odo harshly whispered, "you'd better be careful. Just because the ambassador favors you doesn't mean anyone else does. Another incident like this and I *will* incarcerate you." Bashir stopped in mid-stride as did Dukat. Both turned and faced the changeling who stood in front of Garak. The tailor had pushed Ziyal behind him, a protective arm outstretched to prevent Odo from coming closer to her. "That overwhelming necessity for order," the ambassador commented, "is one trait I had hoped you didn't possess, Odo. These people haven't seen nor have felt the effects of Founder imposed law. They have not lived through, they have not suffered from, nor have they battled against it. I did truly desire this universe to be different somehow. I pray to the Prophets you do not become like our Founders, Odo. Perhaps I will be granted that one wish." Bashir sharply turned and marched away. The four security officers gaped, Worf growled, and Odo glared at Dukat. Ziyal remained behind Garak while the tailor favored Dukat with a curious stare. Dukat gave a short laugh. "It seems you have underestimated humans. Pity. Their insights, emotions, and intuitiveness can be most enlightening. Good day." He waited a few moments, wary to turn his back on the enraged group, and then followed Bashir whose anger fueled his pace. Neither spoke during the minutes it took to travel to the glowing forcefield which blocked the corridor and shimmered in a vast array of colors. The forcefield shut off and Dukat and Bashir crossed into their designated area. Lavelle glanced behind the two officers, obviously searching for their escort, before resetting the shield and noise dampening field to full strength. "Thank you, ensign," Dukat said as the ambassador stalked towards the captain's quarters. "Alert me if we have any more visitors." "Aye, sir!" Lavelle barked and then handed the Cardassian his phaser. "Your weapon, sir." With a curt nod, Dukat accepted the phaser and walked down the corridor. As he came to the door, he noted it was still open, probably O'Brien's way of eliminating the need to ring the door chime. He entered the room, found Bashir and O'Brien seated at the small dining table, and joined them. "The negotiations went as expected," the ambassador reported frostily, jaw set so tightly the muscles seemed to throb with each syllable. "They want technology in exchange for allowing us to repair our ship and obtaining supplies. They even spouted about sharing with other cultures. The longer we can stave them off and get our ship repaired, the better. I don't trust Nechayev or Shakaar, the Starfleet and Bajoran representatives, respectively. If I did have to go through negotiations, I will work directly with Sisko and Kira." "We will need to throw them a bone," O'Brien reasoned carefully, obviously aware of the ambassador's volatile emotional state. "Without those first five items on that list, we're going to be stuck here longer than four days." "A bone?" Bashir snorted as he crossed his arms. "They want the tracking system. They still use blood screenings." "Been awhile for those." "Yes, captain, it has. Perhaps their shifter," he spat harshly, "will be a willing test subject. Dukat has the expertise, although given their attitudes towards Cardassians, I don't know if they will welcome his help." O'Brien laughed darkly, "Julian, you know as well as I do those people out there will drop to their knees and suck him off if it meant they could have that tech." "Honestly, captain," Dukat huffed with mock indignation, "as if I would court such treatment." "The meeting is scheduled for 2300 hours. Our escort will be here at 2245 hours to ensure I don't stray from their designated path." The hostility in Bashir's words was more tangible than O'Brien had expected. The captain guessed, "You ran into some alternates?" "Ziyal and Garak," Dukat explained. "They were walking down the corridor. Ziyal believed I was her father and insisted she meet me. Commander Worf and Odo were none too pleased with the encounter, especially Odo. Given the records the Founder has kept on Garak, it is no surprise. He kept reminding the ambassador of Garak's status as an exile." "And your reaction to that, ambassador?" O'Brien prodded although he knew the answer. "I invited Garak to the meeting." "Did he accept?" "My guess is his attendance will depend solely on if the official Cardassian delegation arrives before the meeting," Bashir stated darkly. "Since the Founder was so intent on dissuading me of Garak's importance, I felt the invitation was more than necessary. It also was a reminder that we can andwill entertain other dignitaries besides the UFP and BPG. Now, if you will excuse me, I think I am going to follow your order, captain, and get some rest." The ambassador rose from the table and departed, fists clenched at his side. Once the doors were closed, O'Brien looked at the Cardassian. "That bad?" Dukat stated with a disappointed sigh, "If these people knew one of your titles was 'gul,' it would be more difficult to procure the items we need." "But Julian... he doesn't know about...." "If he did, that shifter wouldn't be alive." --- Sisko winced as Odo and Worf relayed their reports. Not only had his two security officers seemed to have insulted Bashir more than Nechayev had, the captain was now dealing with the possibility of Garak bidding on behalf of Cardassia. With the ambassador's obvious favoritism to Cardassia, for whatever reason it was, the behavior of the two officers standing before him had only made it seem that the Federation and Provisional Government weren't willing to share information. "I informed him of Garak's status and he seemed not to care," Odo harrumphed. Sisko shook his head. "He most likely interpreted your warnings as challenges to his authority, an insult to his decision making skills, or even worse, hostilities towards Cardassians. But you said Garak admitted he was an exile." "Bashir asked Garak if he was a representative of Cardassia and Garak gave his typical evasive answer," the shapeshifter grunted. "Our erstwhile Obsidian Order operative then told the ambassador he was a 'plain and simple tailor,' his usual rhetoric when it comes to his status. Of course, the ambassador was intrigued by this." "Whatever role Garak plays in their universe," Sisko mused more to himself, "it must be very important." "Or they want us to think that," Worf said. "Did Garak indicate whether or not he was going to attend?" "No. He just complimented the ambassador," the Klingon replied. "And Dukat didn't seemed bothered by any of this." "He was too busy admiring his daughter," Odo snorted. "He seemed genuine in his praise," Worf observed. The shapeshifter eyed the Klingon dubiously, "Commander, you obviously haven't been around Cardassians long enough." --- He tried to sleep. He honestly did. He got into bed, pulled up the covers, decreased the lighting, increased the room temperature, and closed his eyes. Ambassador Julian Bashir knew exactly what the problem was: the quarters were too large. On the Defiant, he had a small, single room with two bunks, a replicator, and a computer terminal, all of which were built into the walls. The only piece of furniture not bolted down or recessed into the wall was a barely ergonomically correct chair magnetically sealed to the deck. There were no shelves to display personal items or trinkets of art. Closets were considered a waste of space so a covered cubby between the two berths and another between the bottom bunk and the floor were the only places to store clothing. This suite was simply too spacious. It unnerved him. It reminded him of everything he had been forced to give up. Julian had tried to ignore the amenities of his suite: the dining table with two chairs, the sofa, the two lounge chairs, the coffee table, the colorful yet subdued paintings on the walls and the sculptures displayed on the tables and shelves. He had tried not to spend too many moments gazing out of the two portals in the main room and the single portal in the bedroom. He had refrained from hanging his clothing in the somewhat spacious closet or placing one or two articles in each of the six drawers of the dresser. Julian had to remain focused. It was the only way. He could certainly rationalize these events, invoke the "It Is Will of the Prophets" dogma, and console himself that the Prophets were merely testing his faith. That tried and true explanation for unlikely and emotionally distressing events was far too hackneyed and angst-ridden for Julian's tastes. It wasn't as if the Prophets didn't have better things to do than torment a young human whose lover had been murdered. In the grand scheme of things, Julian Bashir did not garner that kind of attention. He wasn't the Emissary. He flopped on his side, tugging the blankets over his shoulder again. After sleeping in a tomb-like berth for over a year, Julian couldn't stand the bed being in the middle of the room. His back was not against the wall as he had become accustomed to; he couldn't touch the cool metal of the bunk above him. Those factors had almost become a reassurance he was safe and that nothing could come crashing in upon him no matter how irrational the concept sounded. Here, he was vulnerable. He was not sheltered by solid duranium. The only thing comforting about his sleeping arrangements was the mattress. Julian rolled on to his back, wondering why he had thought it such a great idea to try and get some sleep. Oh, yes. It was his excuse from the meeting. "This isn't going to work," he muttered aloud and flung the covers off himself and sat up. Like a good soldier, a faithful lieutenant, and a loyal officer, Bashir had tried to set an example for their young crew, but with memories and uncertainties swarming in his head, he knew sleep, at least right now, wasn't going to be an option. He couldn't go see Dukat; the Cardassian was probably enjoying some private time with Ziyal, discussing whatever fathers and daughters talked about. O'Brien was off the list as well. The captain would be busy in his role as surrogate father to Jake, talking about whatever surrogate fathers talked to their surrogate sons about. Brahms and Bashir never spent any time with one another; he found her stubborn and close-minded and she thought he was a manipulative bastard. The only remaining crew member Julian could conceivably chat with was Troi, but the last thing Julian wanted was a "how do you feel" session from the physician who also doubled as the ship's counselor. He got out of bed, slipped on his trousers, and walked over to the portal. Leaning against the cold frame, he stared at the flat canvas of stars, a sight he rarely enjoyed anymore. He didn't have anyone to share it with. The Commander of the First Order was dead, killed in a Dominion attack over two years ago. Julian had lost his mentor, his friend, his lover... a man for whom he would have sacrificed everything. Garak had taught him the finer points of command, how to manipulate his voice to convey more than one message at a time, and the subtle art of verbal tactics. What had Julian offered the one Starfleet officer who could have had any post, any ship, and any position in the First Federation? Undying loyalty. Unswerving faith. A haven where a captain didn't have to be a captain. A wealth of affection unmatched by anyone or anything. Faith. Elim had though so little of it yet respected Julian's beliefs. It was an odd compromise. Everything between Elim and Julian had been a compromise. They balanced each other. Eloquence versus exuberance. Wisdom versus knowledge. Bold statements versus cryptic musings. Passion matched passion. Julian laughed darkly. Poor Jake wanted to leave; he wanted to escape from the reminder of what he could never have. Bashir, on the other hand, wanted to stay or at least cajole a certain "plain and simple tailor" to join him. Neither O'Brien nor Dukat would deny a request for Garak to cross over with them. Neither gul would think much of it, just bury the small detail in one of their reports and by the time someone in Starfleet Command discovered the additional crew member, Garak would be commanding an Order again, or whatever was left of one. Maybe this Elim would be content to revel in political intrigue with Julian. No. It was out of the question. Elim the Tailor, Elim the Exile, would never agree. Yet if Julian were to plead his case properly, to present it to the Cardassian in a manner which would appeal to him.... But the Elim who resided on this station was not his, the reasons for Garak's exile as murky as his past. Bashir was assuming this Elim was a perfect duplicate, a mirror image to the soul of his Chosen. For all Julian's posturing about knowing his duty, playing the game, and ignoring the dopplegangers because one must always assume alternate realities were fundamentally different from his own, he was failing. Dukat and O'Brien knew it as well. Self-control. It was all about self-control. Elim's words, his phrasings, the cadence.... they were all the same.... Julian had given away too much. Clicking his boot heels was a salute on *his* Cardassia that the person being acknowledged was of higher rank, was more prominent, and held more prestige. But who was Julian Bashir to ask for such a favor? He wasn't anyone important. He was just like a billion others whose lovers had been taken away from them. His subderm beeped. "Ambassador, sorry to disturb you," Ensign Kurland apologized, "but a vessel has just decloaked off the Defiant's port side. According to the station's computer, it is a Klingon Bird of Prey." "Thank you, ensign," he replied, "Bashir out." He quickly dressed and went directly to O'Brien's quarters. The doors slid opened and O'Brien walked out, sliding on his jacket. "Never a dull moment, is there?" The captain quipped. "Kurland's picked up a communiqué from that ship to the station. They're requesting permission to dock and come on board. Lavelle says three more security teams have been dispatched to our two borders. Mighty nervous, these Starfleets." "Lavelle to Captain O'Brien and Ambassador Bashir. Three Cardassians have just beamed over to my checkpoint, sirs. Uh... Gul Dukat is requesting an audience with you." Julian closed his eyes, balling his fists in anger at the injustice. Gul Dukat, former Commander of the Second Order or whatever designation he held now, would be Cardassia's official delegation. The opportunity for Julian to interact with Elim was annihilated. "Julian," the captain began, his voice carrying a hint of warning. the ambassador wondered, making a conscious effort to unclench his hands. Aggravated by O'Brien's coddling, Julian snapped, "Damn it, Miles, I know what the hell I have to do! If you question my competence, then you are more than welcome to handle the negotiations yourself." O'Brien held up his hands in defeat but didn't respond. Bashir forced himself to calm down. He had to be rational. He had to present the same image to Dukat as he had with Nechayev and Shakaar. "Having you and I present may give this Gul Dukat a feeling of superiority, since he probably knows only I spoke with the Federation and Bajoran delegations." "What? Am I not allowed to entertain my double?" Dukat asked with mock disappointment as he approached the two. The insult slipped out before Julian could stop it. "I didn't think one room could contain the egos of two Dukats." --- "Gul Dukat beamed directly to their checkpoint," Dax reported, "and requested a meeting." "Did the ambassador grant him an audience?" Sisko demanded, storming over to her station and leaning over her shoulder. "The shield lowered and they let him in," the Trill said. "Given what happened earlier today, I guess we shouldn't be too surprised." "Just disappointed, old man." "Nechayev is going to have a fit, isn't she?" "Between you and me, I don't think I'm going to have much of my posterior left after this is all over," Ben admitted in a low tone, "and I'm damned tired of it." "We still have three hours before the meeting reconvenes," Jadzia attempted to reassure him. "Maybe the ambassador just wants to make sure all players are involved. If he's making us wait, he'll probably do the same to Gul Dukat. He needs us, Benjamin, whether he likes it or not. They have to repair their ship and they're docked on our station. If Bashir doesn't realize this, I'm sure Captain O'Brien will remind him. Several times." "I hope you're right, old man." --- The ambassador did not rise out of his chair to greet his guest. He remained seated with his elbows resting on the armrests and his hands neatly folded in his lap. In Bashir's universe, standing and greeting Gul Dukat would have indicated they were equals. The ambassador didn't particularly care what it meant here, but he did wonder if Dukat recognized the snub. The gul had entered alone, leaving his two guards outside of the ambassador's quarters. While it seemed noble and courageous to enter a foreign diplomat's private chambers without an escort, the gesture reeked with the type of arrogance which was annoying. There were several reasons Bashir was in a foul mood, the most recent being O'Brien insisting that the Defiant's security chief be present during the gul's audience with the ambassador. Julian had thought to himself, His Dukat had stationed himself just inside of the ambassador's bedroom to observe the proceedings. "Good afternoon, Ambassador Bashir," Dukat began with a sharp nod. There was no offer of a handshake, no traditional Terran gestures of greetings, just the formal Cardassian salute. Perhaps Julian had misjudged the situation. Perhaps this Dukat was an ally of Garak's. Someone had to have relayed his penchant for Cardassian customs, and the ambassador wondered if Garak was trying to use this opportunity to get back into the good graces of Central Command. "On behalf of the Cardassian Empire, I bid you welcome. We are most pleased to have this opportunity to speak with you." Bashir returned the salute with a slight tip of his head, but chose to ignore the flowery greetings. He stared at the Cardassian before him, tallying up his odds of winning this verbal confrontation as he mentally recalled the information he had been given earlier about this Cardassian officer. "Your title is gul. Am I correct?" "Yes, ambassador," the Cardassian smiled and seemed pleased with the question. "I am Gul Dukat. When I was informed of your crossover, I immediately came here. I hope you are being treated well." "As well as I can be in an alternate universe," the ambassador replied evasively. The Cardassian clasped his hands behind his back, his armor creaking with the movement. It was a strange sound, one Bashir was unused to. One of the many reasons First Federation Starfleet uniforms were designed as such was to eliminate the squeaks and jangles which could alert an enemy to an officer's location. While gul's uniform was a fascinating piece of work -- impressive body armor which emphasized the unique scales and ridges of Cardassians -- it wasn't a uniform Bashir particularly cared for. Besides looking cumbersome, it made the wearer automatically seem more pompous and conceited, two characteristics this Dukat seem to have in spades. Gul Dukat didn't fidget or pace as he spoke or as he waited for Bashir's response. Instead, the gul stood at a respectful distance and his posture conveying he was at ease with the situation. Dukat's bandoleer, styled much like the one the Klingon sported and worn the same way, glittered in the low lighting of the quarters. Julian mentally shook himself, wanting to get this meeting over with as soon as possible. He modulated his voice to sound bland and disinterested. He couldn't allow the anger and resentment over the gul's appearance to mar his tone. "You are the official representative from Cardassia." "That is correct, ambassador." "Yet you arrived in a Klingon Bird of Prey." "The Klingons invaded the Cardassian Empire, ambassador," Dukat informed him, "and they continue to attack our colonies. I am merely protecting my people from these barbarities. The Klingon ship is a..." "Trophy," Bashir filled in. "My choice of words, ambassador, would not have been trophy," the gul corrected politely. "It is a reminder to the Klingons Cardassia will not tolerate the murder of innocents." Julian mentally repeated. He didn't laugh aloud at the contradiction; the Cardassian Empire had slaughtered millions of Bajorans during the Occupation and Dukat was obviously waiting for Bashir to bring up that particular point. "Captain Sisko was most kind to provide me with an interpretation of Cardassian politics," Julian stated. The gul merely tilted his head forward expectantly and did not launch into an automatic defense. However, the ambassador did hear the gul's breathy snort. He'd scored a point against Dukat, a feeling he savored for a few nanoseconds, and then gave the Cardassian an opportunity to launch into the glories of his Empire. "There are some similarities to the government which I represent." "Ambassador, I believe the Terran expression is comparing 'apples to oranges,'" Dukat responded. While it was an unusual answer, it wasn't an unexpected one. "I'm glad we understand each other, gul," the ambassador praised. He narrowed his eyes as he tacked on, "Your intelligence operatives should be applauded for their work. However, I am surprised that you did not bring Ziyal with you. A shame, actually, since she is a very charming woman." Dukat laughed, shaking his head as he spoke. "You are to be admired, ambassador, for your astute observations and direction of conversation. I will, of course, pass along your assessment of my daughter. She will be most pleased." "There is a meeting at 2300 hours at the wardroom. I highly suggest you attend, gul." The smile temporarily froze on Dukat's face; he was surprised he was being dismissed before even having a chance to plead whatever his case was. As Bashir was about to make a comment about Garak, his subderm beeped and O'Brien's voice pounded through his head. "Their wormhole's opened. We've got two Type One 'Hadar ships. Sisko's station and ship can barely handle them." The ambassador rocketed to his feet, startling Gul Dukat who immediately took a step back and assumed a defense posture. O'Brien continued, "The 'Hadar's weapons are powered up. The Defiant's systems are too damaged to go after them, let alone take any more hits. They'll be in range in two minutes." Bashir's Dukat then stepped out of the shadows and approached his surprised double. He relayed O'Brien's message to the gul and added, "What type of weapon systems do you use?" "Modified disruptors and photon torpedoes," the gul responded warily. "Why?" "Transport me to your ship," the security chief demanded. "Between your vessel, the station, and Sisko's Defiant, we should be able to rid ourselves of our unexpected guests. Otherwise you will have one less ship to kill Klingons with." With a sharp nod, Gul Dukat opened a comm channel, gave the necessary orders, and both Cardassians were beamed out of the ambassador's quarters. "Julian, I need you in Ops," O'Brien commanded. "Tell them what to shoot at. Tell them how to rotate their shields. I'll be on the Defiant, arguing with that Klingon. O'Brien out." --- "You are not authorized to be on this ship!" "You wanted our help, right? You want to defeat those 'Hadar? I have twelve years experience to your one. I win. Now get the hell out of that fucking chair!" Captain O'Brien roared at the Klingon. The bridge crew of the Defiant, including a very stunned Trill and a gaping Bajoran major, held their breaths. O'Brien's impromptu appearance surprised everyone, especially Worf who had initially believed the chief had mistakenly transported to the bridge. However, Chief O'Brien had never publicly challenged the Klingon and never looked so absolutely irate. Worf stood, using his height in an attempt to intimidate the shorter, stockier Irishman. "Sisko to Defiant! Why haven't you launched?" "Captain Sisko," O'Brien answered before Worf had a chance to speak, "I've beamed directly on board this ship and offer my services as a seasoned captain who battles with these bastards every damned day. Do you accept?" There was a brief pause, perhaps from shock but more than likely Sisko was listening to the shrill-toned admiral giving him an order. "Mister Worf," Sisko finally said, "transfer command to Captain O'Brien. Captain, I want my ship back. In one piece." "Wouldn't have it any other way," O'Brien grinned and then clapped Worf on the shoulder. "Strategic Operations Officer, eh? Is that a fancy name for tactician?" Worf glowered, obviously humiliated, as he stepped down from the command chair. "I hold a level five. . ..." "That doesn't mean shit to me, commander," O'Brien replied, still smiling. "Just man your post." Reluctantly, the Klingon went over to the tactical station. "Commander Dax, get us underway." --- The title of ambassador, in Julian's case, was a misnomer. Besides being a diplomat, he was also an accomplished pilot and tactical officer, two positions borne from years of being at war with one polity or another. With Dukat on the Klingon ship and O'Brien commanding the alternate version of the Defiant, it only made sense he advise those in the Operations center of this station on how to defend themselves. Bashir had ordered Jake to accompany him, and although the young man protested the interruption of his work on the Defiant, he followed Bashir's directive. The ambassador did not want to surprise Captain Sisko by beaming into the station's command center, so he and Jake arrived via the turbolift. As the turbolift stopped and he and Jake stepped off, Captain Sisko drily commented, "I suppose you're here to offer your expertise as well." Bashir smiled as he walked down to the command center. "If that is acceptable, captain." Sisko barely nodded; instead he was focused on the young man standing at the head of the stairs. The ambassador cleared his throat slightly. "Captain Sisko, this is our chief engineer, Jake Sisko." "Sir," Jake curtly acknowledged, almost refusing to look at Benjamin Sisko. "Mister Sisko," the captain replied. "I'd like the chief to man the operations console, captain, while I handle tactical," Bashir said. Captain Sisko nodded silently and Bashir and Jake went to their respective stations. The ambassador began punching up station schematics and suddenly felt the presence of the captain over his shoulder. "Get Sisko to initiate contact," O'Brien ordered through Julian's subderm. The ambassador tapped the back of his ear, realizing everyone was watching him. "Acknowledged." Bashir glanced to Captain Sisko. "Captain O'Brien suggests you open the dialogue, captain. The Jem'Hadar will be expecting you. We can't tip our hand just yet." "Hail them," the captain said. "Comm line open," Jake crisply responded. Ben Sisko steadied himself as he inwardly reminded himself the young man acting as his operations officer was not his son. "Sisko to Jem'Hadar vessel...." The ship answered by releasing a volley of phaser fire. "Incoming!" Bashir warned. The station rocked from the blasts. "Rotating the shield modulations. They are targeting the Defiant." "Reconfiguring the phaser banks to fire at higher frequencies," Jake called back. "The Defiant and the Klingon ship are returning fire," the ambassador announced. "Switching to tactical view." The Ops main view screen switched from the Jem'Hadar warship that had fired upon the station to the readout the ambassador requested. The crew watched as Dukat's ship jockeyed into position behind the first Jem'Hadar warship while the Defiant remained protectively in front of the station. Admiral Nechayev and First Minister Shakaar exited from Sisko's office and went directly to the central command station, their eyes glued to the tactical scan. Ben cursed inwardly, wondering how the hell the Jem'Hadar warships were able to get here so fast. Having his son's counterpart acting as an officer was also disconcerting, enough so that it drew his attention away from the pyrotechnics which were registering on the screen. "Yes, sir. I know that, sir." Jake sounded exasperated. "But they don't *have* those type phasers.... Three hours at the earliest, and that's with Sito *and* Nog!" "Ambassador," the captain hissed, tired of being privy to only one side of the conversation, "I want your communiques broadcasted for all of us to hear." Bashir met the angered captain's glare and then gave his assent, his hands flying over the comm controls and then he announced, "Broadcasting to Ops, audio only." Sisko didn't know which captain Bashir was addressing, but he didn't care. "Minor damage to the upper pylons," the ambassador reported. "Rerouting all auxiliary power to shields," Jake said. The four ships continued to exchange volleys as they flew around the station. Occasionally, Bashir would target and fire the station's phasers, but his attempts seemed anemic compared to Dukat and O'Brien's continual barrage of the Jem'Hadar. "Alpha is going after the NX. O'Brien to intercept," Jake relayed. "Dukat's engaging Beta." "Bashir," O'Brien's voice thundered through the comm link, "torpedo starboard aft on my mark!" "Acknowledged." "Three... two... one... MARK!" Bashir fired the weapons just as the Jem'Hadar ship Jake had termed Alpha arched over the upper pylon to chase after the Defiant. At the same moment, the Defiant released her torpedoes and scored hits on the port aft of the ship. The Alpha ship exploded, debris slamming into the station's shields which in turn caused DS9 to shudder. "Captain O'Brien," Jake called out, "these shields can't take another buffeting like that, sir!" He paused, frowned at the console. "Sir, I'm picking up a low band comm frequency emanating from Beta." Bashir glanced over to Captain Sisko. "Do you have a communications relay system on the other side of the wormhole?" "Yes." "Dukat's ship is deflecting the signal.... Attempt failed," Jake announced. "I'm accessing the comm relay... reprogramming receiver...." His eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Beta is broadcasting recon information... Standard 'Hadar coding... I've activated the diagnostic system...." Jake furiously worked the console. Muniz, the engineer who had been manning the Ops station before Jake had taken over, hovered next to Jake, paying close attention to what the young engineer was doing just as Ben was with Bashir. Even if the ambassador would refuse to share their anti-Dominion technology, the Federation and the BPG now had raw data from which to analyze the tactical maneuvers of these alternates. It was a small consolation, but one which Ben doubted anyone would complain about. "Comm blackout achieved!" Jake declared with a broad grin, but the moment his eyes met Ben's, the smile faded, and he was back to his somber self. The rejection stung. Ben tried to brush it off, but it didn't want to leave. The tactical screen was still devoted to Dukat and O'Brien's fending off the remaining Jem'Hadar, the Klingon ship effectively blocking the wormhole from the enemy vessel. Ben peered closer at the readouts Bashir had called out, impressed with the ambassador's obvious skills as a tactical officer and ease with which the man handled the equipment. Admittedly, the captain was bothered by the almost lethargic manner in which Bashir was defending the station. DS9's weapon systems had been upgraded to the level of the Defiant's but they weren't being exploited. Then he recalled O'Brien's specific order to Bashir before they destroyed the first Jem'Hadar warship. The station's phaser shots, while intermittent, had been specifically targeted to the area which had been pummeled moments before by the Defiant's torpedoes. The higher calibration of the station's phasers weakened the Jem'Hadar shields and Dukat followed up with disruptor fire. They were weakening the shields, capitalizing on three different types of weapons, and the final one-two punch from the Defiant and DS9 had destroyed the first Jem'Hadar ship. "Captain O'Brien," Dukat's voice boomed, "target the forward starboard shields! Sisko, recalibrate to configuration Sig Ep Four!" "Acknowledged," the two men responded. Jake glanced over to the ambassador, curiosity clear in his features. "The Temple?" "I know, chief," Bashir sounded as if he were amused, "I know." Ben refrained from grabbing the ambassador's shoulder and turning the man to face him so he would explain. There were a few nanoseconds while both Bashir and Jake punched in commands and then the ambassador's head jerked up, his eyes on the view screen. "Dukat will negatively charge the neutrino waves from the wormhole entrance to cause shield failure to the Jem'Hadar ship." "He could destroy the wormhole!" Shakaar protested. "No," the ambassador corrected with the tone of a schoolteacher reprimanding an errant student, "the Temple will remain intact." Ben thought. Dukat's ship shot towards the wormhole, the Jem'Hadar doggedly following, and the wormhole flared to life. Just as Bashir had described, Dukat used the neutrino waves to neutralize the Jem'Hadar shields and torpedoes from the Defiant struck the enemy vessel. "Beta destroyed!" A cheer went up in Ops as Sisko ordered the stand down to yellow alert. Nechayev marched over to the ambassador and extended her hand. "Thank you, ambassador." --- "Well executed!" Dukat vacated the command chair and faced his alternate. "An interesting choice of words." "It is appropriate," the gul smiled and clapped his hands once. "You are an splendid tactician and have an understanding of a foreign vessel which is most impressive." "You assume this is the first time I have commanded a Klingon Bird of Prey," he said with condescension. It was a lie, a blatant one in fact, but he delivered it convincingly enough that his alternate became wary. The gul nodded and then gestured towards a door to his right, "Perhaps we can discuss this in a quieter setting." Dukat refrained from sneering, but agreed, knowing the gul did not want his crew to overhear any disparaging comments he, the gul's counterpart in another universe, would make. The Cardassian crew had been taken aback when both Dukats appeared on the bridge and had been made even more uneasy when the Defiant's Dukat took command and ordered a series of recalibrations. The crew operated efficiently, acknowledging the changes even though their gul had been relegated to an observer. Now, the battle was over, victory was achieved, and this gul was now poised to make his argument for his Empire and give his speech, one Cardassian to another. They entered the small cabin, Dukat surprised that it was not a captain's office but instead a stark little room with a table and two chairs. He knew the design and layout of a ship gave a unique perspective of a culture. While his Defiant was technically a warship, the amenities discarded in favor of sleeker design, there was still a captain's office and conference room which was, at least in Dukat's opinion, quite posh. Here, the Klingons obviously didn't believe in conferences nor had this gul made any structural changes to indicate otherwise. To most, having a conversation with yourself was disconcerting. O'Brien had a few choice words about the subject and almost always included a discourse on temporal mechanics, one of the few things the Terran captain despised more than alternate realities and botched phases. The two occasions Dukat had an opportunity to engage in conversation with his doppleganger, he had found it positively fascinating. Both had been striking contrasts to himself, one a physician and another... the Cardassian inwardly smiled. The second alternate had been so unlike him that O'Brien still found the idea humorous and always seemed to make a less-than-veiled reference to that particular alternate in situations involving "miracles." Kai Dukat indeed. This version however, was a gul. He was a former commander of the Second Order. He was the former Prefect of Terek Nor and oversaw the occupational forces of Bajor. They were duties and titles Dukat could respect and even somewhat admire. However, these positions were all "former" appointments. This gul now chased down errant Klingons without official sanction or opposition of his government. Ambassador Bashir was supposed to believe Gul Dukat was the official representative of Cardassia. Of course, the vessel was probably the closest the Empire had to the station and the gul was a proven negotiator. "My compliment was sincere." Dukat waved away the comment as he sat down. "You have never fought against 'Hadar, have you?" "Not directly." "Then you do not realize how lucky you just were. Without the Defiant or DS9, you would have been utterly defeated." "I realize that. Why else would you have volunteered your services? The Empire needs commanders like yourself, who know Jem'Hadar tactics." "You will have to learn those tactics on your own. To assume both Jem'Hadars are the same is to believe we are the same, gul. We are not. They are not." "You were surprised, then, of your victory." "Your 'Hadar are not as lethal as ours." "Then the weapons you possess will...." "I am not the person whom you should be convincing, gul. It is Ambassador Bashir." "You will let your own brethren..." "You are not my brethren, gul. If you were, you would have been executed the moment you allowed that Founder to become your chief of security on Terek Nor." "Ah, so you charge us of ignorance when we did not know of Odo's true origins or of the wormhole?" "Your people have no foresight then? You had the opportunity to *study* a being who could assume any form yet you let it slip through your fingers. He could have been *your* asset. Instead, you fight this futile war with the Klingons. Do you not realize when the Dominion decides to invade the Alpha Quadrant, your private war has not liberated Cardassia from the Klingons, but has weakened your people!" "I don't need a lecture...." "But you do, gul. I am afraid you have no inkling of what awaits you. Perhaps you will be fortunate. Perhaps you will not have to constantly defend your homeland, your people, from the Dominion. The Dominion give you two choices: fight or become their puppets. If you think Klingons invading your Empire is horrific, you have never seen the carnage the Dominion is capable of. It goes beyond mere battles in space. They poison your people. They impersonate your leaders. They induce such paranoia that one can never be sure that who they meet or what they see is not a changeling. My own people have fallen victim to it. You are only facilitating the Dominion, gul, with what you are doing." "Then you will not share your technology." "To do so will be committing treason. The punishment is execution." "People may try and take the information by force." "I highly suggest you do not try that tactic, gul. You will be destroyed." Dukat rose from his seat, eye to eye with his alternate who was clenching his fists in frustration. "Good day, Gul Dukat." --- "You handled her like a..." "Professional?" Captain O'Brien filled in, meeting Dax's gaze with cool stare as they walked down the Defiant's corridor toward the airlock. "It's what I do for a living, commander." "I meant it as a compliment." "Everyone does, commander," the captain returned flatly. "If you want to be kissing up to someone, it should be Bashir. I don't know what your fellow officers did, but he's mighty angry. It's been a while since I've seem him this aggravated." "We don't get crossovers, captain," the Trill replied with a small smile. "It's hard for people to separate Ambassador Bashir from Doctor Bashir, just as it's difficult for people to remember you're a captain not a chief of operations." "I know the excuses, commander," O'Brien sighed and ran a hand through his hair. A smiled twitched at her lips as she recognized the gesture which was the chief's way of silently conveying he was frustrated or tired or both. The captain looked no better than he had when his ship had first docked and sympathy flooded her. "People always want something from you, don't they?" she guessed. "They want you to defend them, to attack the Jem'Hadar, to give words of wisdom, to share technology...." "You sound like a friend of mine," he interrupted as they walked through the airlock. "Who?" "His name doesn't matter, commander." "If it didn't, you wouldn't have brought it up." "I brought it up to change the subject, commander." The sharp, succinct comment threw Jadzia off enough for her to scramble for something to say. "Captain Sisko says you've been at war for over eighteen years." As she finished the sentence, she realized how asinine it sounded. Dax blushed, wondering why the wisdom of seven hosts suddenly vanished when she tried to make conversation with Captain O'Brien. "I've been at it long enough to know you've got an information leak on your station, commander," O'Brien shot back crisply, "beyond your usual intelligence agents too. Someone had to get a message to those 'Hadar warships. They specifically went after my Defiant. First guess would be your changeling, but I'm just an old captain who has lost a helluva lot to those bastards. Regardless, you've got yourself a problem, commander." --- Once they had rode the turbolift down to the Promenade, Jake called to be transported back to the Defiant. The ambassador declined to beam over and the chief didn't object; the young man was concentrating too much on securing his own mental safety than worrying about Bashir wandering the station alone. Julian wasn't wandering per se. He knew almost exactly where everything was: the bar, the temple... the tailoring shop. He deliberately took the most visible route back to his quarters to see who would approach him. Dukat would undoubtedly berate him for his arrogance; Julian was an easy target for anyone who wanted to kidnap him and extort information from him. O'Brien would bellow through his impressive collection of profanities before concluding with, "What you did was damned stupid, Julian." Bashir's pace was unhurried but deliberate, a cross between a military strut and a casual walk. Few people nodded towards him, but they obviously thought him to be the doctor instead of the ambassador. He found the anonymity refreshing; it wasn't often he could leisurely stroll through a port without someone flagging him down for some reason or another. With a half smile, he continued, passing by the replimat and casually looking in it. It was a mistake. At that moment, Elim Garak looked over the shoulder of his dining companion and discovered the ambassador staring at him. The Cardassian had grown used to intense scrutiny during his years in exile, yet the way Ambassador Julian Bashir gazed at him had an unusual effect: Garak felt more self-conscious than he had been in quite awhile. Perhaps it was the way Bashir's hazel eyes widened in surprise before his training and discipline erased such emotions from his face. While the ambassador's features had become unreadable, at least from this distance, he remained frozen in mid-stride. It was an odd feeling to watch Ambassador Bashir gaze upon him with haunted eyes while Doctor Bashir sat across from Garak, blissfully unaware the diplomat was behind him as he argued the merits of Edgar Allen Poe. Suddenly, the doctor stopped talking as he realized the tailor's attention had wandered, and he looked over his shoulder to see what Garak was staring at. Garak found himself momentarily stunned, for the emotion which danced across the ambassador's features was one he hadn't expected: jealousy. It was positively fascinating, even more so than the encounter in the corridor a few hours ago. There, Bashir had been in complete control, probably because he had heard Ziyal's demands before Garak and she even appeared in the main hallway. Here, however, the scene was unexpected and it clearly rattled the ambassador. Only a few seconds had passed since Garak and the ambassador first made eye contact, and the patrons in the replimat hadn't realized there were two Bashirs. The doctor stood and motioned Garak to join him. "We should thank him," Julian said with a sincere grin, "after what he did for us in Ops." Garak mused. The battle had ended 10 minutes ago, the station stood down from red alert and Julian had reemerged from the Infirmary to finish his lunch with Garak. The confrontation with the Jem'Hadar had caused the most unusual reaction from DS9's residents. Instead of shop owners quickly closing their stores and people preparing for a siege, some had gathered on the upper level of the Promenade to watch the action from the portals while others activated the viewscreens throughout the lower level. They had treated it as a spectator sport, cheering wildly when each Jem'Hadar ship was destroyed. Did these people honestly believe because the captain of the alternate Defiant just happened to be a Terran named Miles O'Brien they would be safe? Pushing those thoughts aside, Garak followed the doctor and the approached the diplomat. The doctor called out, "Ambassador?" "Good afternoon, doctor," the alternate Bashir said and extended his hand. The two Terrans shook and then the ambassador formally saluted Garak, although this time he didn't tap his heels. "Mister Garak." "Ambassador," the Cardassian replied. He noted how the ambassador's eyes took on a certain sparkle, mischievous and deadly at the same time. The diplomat was searching for an excuse, one which would explain why he had stopped in the middle of the Promenade and looked into the replimat. The ambassador addressed the doctor, "Troi wanted to make sure you received the medical report on the crew members you had treated." It was a bad lie, one which implied Sisko was untrustworthy, but also quite ingenuous in its own way. For anyone who had not been privy to the scene before their verbal exchange would not realize it had been Garak, not Doctor Bashir, who had garnered the diplomat's attention. The ambassador was also playing up a bit to his alternate's ego by giving the impression his sole purpose in traversing the Promenade was to meet his doppleganger. If Garak corrected the doctor's assumption, it would seem as if the Cardassian was reveling in the ambassador's favoritism. Ambassador Bashir was exploiting everyone's assumptions that the two Bashirs were the same. It was a well played game indeed. Garak was impressed. If Doctor Bashir realized what was going on, he gave no indication. "Yes. The captain did forward it to me. I understand the necessity of keeping yourselves sequestered, but please pass along to Doctor Troi my appreciation." As the doctor made his reply, Garak watched as the ambassador suddenly became pensive. The diplomat was not obvious, but Garak's trained eye noticed the subtle furrow of the ambassador's brow, the barely perceptible twitch to the left eye and the slight tilt of the head as if Bashir was listening to or for something. To the left and behind the black clad Bashir, Garak caught the tell-tale golden glimmer of Odo beginning to shapeshift to his humanoid form. A split second later, the ambassador whirled around, pulled a weapon from the folds of his jacket, and stepped backwards, causing both the Cardassian and the doctor to move back. The ambassador's right hand whipped out as if to protect the two. A thought dawned upon Garak: Ambassador Bashir had *heard* Odo move. It was an interesting notion, listening for the *schlosch* of a Founder coalescing into a new form. Maybe the subdermal communicators of the First Federation officers had been programmed to alert the wearer if a changeling was shapeshifting near by. What was more amazing was the speed at which Bashir recognized the sound, pinpointed Odo's location and drew his weapon. Perhaps the only reason Bashir had refrained from firing was because he knew Odo was supposed to be on the station. Starfleet and Bajoran security personnel quickly informed Ops Ambassador Bashir was threatening the chief of security and the few who were armed now trained their weapons on the diplomat. Ambassador Bashir tensed as if he realized the situation was spiraling out of control, but did not move. Garak soothed quietly, "It is Odo, ambassador." "As I have already told you, ambassador," Odo's tone was almost mocking, as if he relished taunting Bashir, "I don't allow weapons on the Promenade." The doctor huffed in frustration, strode around his other self and then stood between Odo and the diplomat. "Constable," Bashir scolded, "the ambassador is our *guest*. While having a firearm on the Promenade is against station regulations, you can hardly blame him. I would think after that first incident with Dukat you would have known better than to sneak up on him." "Doctor, station security is my job...." "And public health and welfare is mine," retorted the doctor. "Now will everyone *please* put away your weapons. I'm *not* spending this evening patching any of you up." Ambassador Bashir did not move. Neither did the security personnel. Odo remained silent. Garak's view was blocked by the diplomat who seemed intent on, of all things, protecting him. Pieces began to click together. Bashir's overly formal initial greeting. Dukat's apparent genuine respect. The protectiveness which was now radiating from Bashir. In the ambassador's universe, Elim Garak must have been a high ranking or at least a well respected officer and Bashir probably had served with him. It would certainly explain Bashir's behavior and though the ambassador had seemed to adjust to everyone else's alternate, he couldn't seem to reconcile between the two Garaks. Garak decided to test a theory simply because he knew neither the diplomat or the security contingents would relinquish their weapons. "Ambassador," he whispered, guessing the subdermal communicator would amplify his words, "I understand your hesitancy, but we will be here all evening if you do not comply." Although it took a few seconds for the words to seem to register with the phaser-wielding Bashir, the diplomat slowly reholstered the weapon and dropped his hands to his sides. The security officers reluctantly followed suit. "Good," the doctor said, pleased his intervention had worked. "Now, I'm sure everyone has something better to do that stand around gaping." The crowd murmured as they dispersed, casting wistful glances back at the ambassador, doctor, changeling and Cardassian. Bashir glared at the scowling shapeshifter. "I have the situation under control, Odo." While Odo resented Bashir's coup of authority, the constable retreated to the security office. "Odo is quite territorial," the doctor sheepishly admitted as a slight blush of embarrassment colored his cheeks. "He is known for popping up at the oddest moments." "He was testing me," the ambassador stated darkly. "Either that or your chief of security has a sincere death wish." "Oh...." Clearly, the doctor wasn't expecting such a harsh statement. "Um... that weapon you have... is it like the one Dukat used? I mean, it did temporarily disrupt the constable's ability...." "Constable?" The ambassador stared at the doctor incredulously. "Um... yes..." the doctor stammered, "it's an unofficial... um... nickname." The ambassador's jaw clenched as he spat coldly, "I see." The doctor immediately straightened, reacting as if the comment had been directed at himself instead of Odo, and explained, "I realize this hasn't been easy. From your point of view we may be the most reprehensible people alive, but Odo has demonstrated on several occasions that he does not believe in the Founder's agenda. They've exiled him and he's killed one of his own people defending us." "Let me guess," the ambassador ventured, his tone still icy, "he participates in maneuvers to see if your crew can track him down." "Yes. A phaser set at 3.5 will cause a changeling to revert to a gelatinous state." "And once in such a state, it can more easily escape," the ambassador concluded. "You've been most fortunate to have a willing test subject." "Ambassador, doctor," Garak interrupted, preventing the doctor from rallying to the defense of Odo, "as much as I would enjoy listening to this debate, I must return to my shop." His voice startled the diplomat who turned to face him. Bashir's features had become impassive, cold and distant, not even his eyes held the sparkle which was most endearing. "Please, accept my apologies," the ambassador said with a conciliatory nod of his head to the doctor and the tailor, "I've kept you from your lunch and managed to cause another scandal." The latter was said with an almost apologetic grin which did not reach his hazel eyes. "I should return before Captain O'Brien starts his lecture on the arrogance of diplomats. I almost know that speech by heart." The self-deprecating comments contrasted sharply from the professional, self-assured demeanor Bashir had projected. Yet before either Garak or the doctor could respond, the diplomat nodded again and said, "Good day, gentlemen." Garak watched as Bashir departed, noting how his pace had quickened and the observers began whispering and moving out of the way as he approached. The doctor and Cardassian remained silent until the ambassador boarded the nearest turbolift. "That has to have been one of the most unusual conversations I've ever had," Julian commented quietly as he shook his head. "And perhaps one of the most foolhardy and dangerous ones, doctor," Garak replied. The human gave him a questioning look before the tailor clarified. "He would have killed you." "Surely not, Garak." "What reason would he have not to?" the Cardassian persisted. "These people have been dealing with changelings far longer than we have. Who is to say he has never had to fire upon a likeness of himself?" Julian paused and then narrowed his eyes. "So that's it." "Pardon me?" "Why my doppleganger sounded so... familiar...." "You both have the same accent, doctor, and your voices have the same pitch." "No no no... not the *sound* of my voice but what he said... how he said it." Garak widened his eyes appropriately, his signal to Bashir to elaborate on the sudden discovery the doctor seemed to have made. "He sounded like you, Garak. He sounded like you." --- Thirty minutes before the second meeting was supposed to take place, Ambassador Bashir sent messages informing Sisko, Nechayev, Kira, Shakaar, and Gul Dukat that at 0800 hours tomorrow, information on the tracking system would be given to them. He also stated his concern regarding the 'Hadar attack and the possibility of a breech in security. He was succinct, refraining from any diplomatic rhetoric which could be interpreted negatively. Julian smiled ruefully to himself. They would undoubtedly be angry he did not meet them in person, but the ambassador knew he couldn't endure another encounter with Garak. When Julian had returned to their designated area after his stroll on the Promenade, O'Brien had been waiting. The conversation had been curt, the ambassador did not want to dwell on the confrontation he had with the Founder, and Julian had retreated to his quarters. He wanted to dwell in his misery alone. What consolation could Miles offer? Would the captain barge in, demanding an explanation of why Julian had chosen Jake to accompany him to Ops when Brahms or Sutter would have been just as good? Why had he subjected Jake to such emotional torture? Julian knew the answer and cursed himself for what he had done. He wasn't a petty man by nature, but at that moment, he wanted someone else to feel the poignant suffering he was. It had been stupid and the repercussions were enormous. Julian jeopardized his friendship with Miles and no doubt had put a barrier between himself and the rest of the crew. The story of his deplorable behavior had probably already been circulated. Brahms would take great delight in reminding him of this particular shortcoming. Troi would be knocking on his door for a counseling session. Prophets only knew what Dukat thought. Bashir ordered a glass of kanar from the replicator and trudged to the portal. He took a tentative sip, surprised at the quality of the replicated liquor, and gazed out. He sipped the drink again and then sat on the portal ledge, swinging his legs up and allowing the architecture to cradle him. "Why are You doing this to me?" Julian asked aloud, peering out to the stars. "It was bad enough You chose to call Elim to You... but this?" The Prophets, of course, wouldn't answer. They never did. --- "S-s-s-s-sir?" "Ambassador Bashir invited me to a conference at 2300 hours, however he was not specific on where it would be," Garak repeated brightly. The young Terran who stood on the other side of the forcefield continued to gape, his eyes wide in amazement while his posture was amusingly formal. It was a quite interesting combination; Garak had never been treated to such a display of shock warring with respect and confusion from a human. "But he... um... canceled it... sir," the human stuttered. Garak continued to smile pleasantly, giving no indication he knew the meeting had been called off. Odo had coldly informed him of the cancellation, tacking on a chilly, "Sorry to disappoint you." Under normal circumstances, Garak would not have rummaged through his closet to find his most splendid yet understated suit, changed into it, and then walked to the opaque forcefield protecting DS9's most popular visitors. Curiosity had overridden Garak's usual cautiousness. At first, the tailor had believed Ambassador Bashir's gallant invitation had been to annoy Odo and Worf, showing that the ambassador wouldn't tolerate the mistreatment of any Cardassians or Cardassian half-breeds. The second encounter with the ambassador, however, made Garak realize Bashir's distinct respectfulness and protectiveness went far beyond proving a point. To the ambassador, those reactions were normal, almost instinctive and Garak had to find out why. He stepped closer to the forcefield which had become translucent when he announced he was here. "You are Mister Lavelle, are you not?" The question had the appropriate effect; the Terran nodded slowly in agreement. "Well, Mister Lavelle, I received no such notification. Now, if you will contact the ambassador and tell him I am here." "He's asked not to be disturbed," Lavelle nervously responded. "I'll take it from here, Mister Lavelle," the voice of Miles O'Brien echoed slightly down the hall. Garak looked over the shoulder of the young human and found the captain standing a few meters away with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. Lavelle looked back and forth between the two before O'Brien lanced him with a particularly icy stare. "You're dismissed." "Yes, sir." Lavelle cast another look in Garak's direction before retreating. The Cardassian found himself under the appraising eye of O'Brien, surprised that he didn't find such obvious scrutiny annoying. Instead, he met the captain's wary look with an amused, expectant one of his own. A smile twitched at the Terran's lips as he walked closer to the forcefield and pulled out a tricorder. "I do not wish to be late," Garak said with a slight teasing edge to his voice. "Oh, I'm sure Bashir won't mind. Just tell him you were delayed by his overly cautious captain. He'll understand." The captain adjusted the instrument a few times, occasionally glancing up, and then he entered a code into a square box attached to the left bulkhead. The shielding dropped and O'Brien motioned Garak through. Cautiously, Garak crossed over the threshold. The moment he did, an electrical surge rushed from his feet to his head, the power from it instantly nauseating him. He could only guess what its purpose was: scanning for weapons, confirming the tricorder readings, comparing DNA scans, deactivating electrical devices/implants, or maybe it was set in such a way it would cause a Founder to lose his shape. He was momentarily disoriented and angry at himself for being foolish enough to believe these people would just let him cross their border without some type of physical search. "Bashir's in H728." Garak eyed the captain suspiciously but O'Brien simply smirked. The tailor bobbed his head once. "Thank you, Captain O'Brien." The human didn't respond, only jerked his head once in the direction of Bashir's quarters. Garak warily made his way down the hallway, occasionally glancing over his shoulder to check where O'Brien was. The captain remained by the threshold, watching him, and the opaque shielding was back in place. Garak rang the chime to H728. He heard a despondent, "Enter." The doors slid open and revealed the ambassador curled up on the portal sill looking out at the stars, but the human did not move nor look over. The room was darker than Garak was expecting and warmer as well. Had Bashir been hoping or waiting for Garak to appear and adjusted the environmentals accordingly? Garak stepped inside but remained silent. The doors closed. Bashir then caught the Cardassian's reflection. "Garak." The name was said with unabashed amazement and pleasure, a smile lighting the dour features of the ambassador before the professional mask slipped into place. Bashir unfolded his long limbs and stood, tilting his head and staring at the tailor curiously. He was still dressed in solid black, although he had shed the overcoat. Here, in the soft lighting of quarters, Garak could finally see the distinct physical differences between the doctor and the ambassador. The ambassador, while as sinewy and lanky as the doctor, was decisively more muscular. On the two previous occasions Garak had encountered the diplomat, a jacket had hidden his stronger build, but without it, Bashir's upper body strength was unmistakable. The only things similar between the two Julians were their hair was cut and styled the same, they both were clean-shaven, and their voices were identical. It was the voice which sounded almost apologetic. "I wasn't expecting you." "The meeting was at 2300 hours, was it not?" The ambassador's eyes widened as his face suddenly became flushed. The reaction was so much like the doctor's Garak couldn't help but smile yet another thought crossed his mind. As quickly as the red had stained his cheeks, it was gone. Bashir gestured towards the chairs and then offered, "Kanar?" "Yes, thank you, ambassador," Garak replied as he sat down. The diplomat ordered two glasses of the beverage, handed one to Garak, and settled into the chair across from him. "I dare say this is quite an unusual sight. I didn't know Terrans enjoyed kanar." Bashir smiled tightly, "It's an acquired taste, or so I was told." He paused. "How shall I address you? Mister? Gul?" "There is no need for honorifics, for I have none. I am Garak." "Will you honor one request, Garak?" "What request is that, ambassador?" "Please, speak Kardasi, for my ears tire of the sounds of this Federation's standard." "Your standard language is not Terran English?" "While Earth was a founding member of the First Federation, the official language of the Federation is Karjoran, a hybrid of Kardasi and Bajoran. Yet, I prefer the purer form of Kardasi. It is far less cumbersome than Karjoran." "If this is an attempt to lull me into complacency, ambassador, it certainly is an ingenious way." This was said in Kardasi. Julian held back a pleased smile. "My only motivation is personal preference." "And the wish to hear me speak the language. Or to be more precise, to hear my voice. My counterpart is dead and seeing me brings back fond memories." "Ah, yes. Find a weakness in your captive and exploit it. Bring forth what your adversary desires to remain hidden and reveal it. We could go on for hours, Garak, dancing with words, observing each other for signs of weakness to pounce upon and exploit, and teasing ourselves into ecstasy with half-truths. Yet we will be no closer to consummating your mission than we are now." "You are a protege of Enabran Tain." "As are you. We are evenly matched." "I merely recognized the arrogance, ambassador. I do not believe we are equals." "Will you use any means possible in hopes that your exile will be lifted?" "I could ask anything, ambassador, and you would give it to me. Not because you wish me to be reinstated into Cardassian society but because of who I remind you of." "If I gave you everything, would they nullify your sentence and allow you to return to Cardassia? Or do you have too many political enemies for that to be possible? You are expendable to them, Garak, which is a tragedy on their part." "Tain was not your mentor. I was." "You wish to return to Cardassia on your own terms, and the prospect of bringing weaponry which will make Cardassia a power in this quadrant again tempts you, doesn't it? You love your homeland, despite what your compatriots have done to you. You wish to be in a position of power, which is why you accepted Tain's offer of reinstatement on board that Romulan ship. The Cardassian civilian government and the military believe you will go to any length to regain your citizenship, even give in to whatever whim a Terran ambassador asks of you." Silence. "You are clever, ambassador. It is has been far too long since I've had this stimulating of a conversation." "You are not afraid of offending me, nor do you assume I, in any way, am like Doctor Julian Bashir." "I believe, ambassador, I have conceded to your earlier point." "I am merely an unruly child in your eyes, Garak. I am a youth who has learned the skills of verbal warfare and display them in a very Terran manner by openly admitting I have such prowess. That offends you. I will never be your equal, only your student, and that will never change." "I doubt you revealed this particular talent to your hosts, let alone Dukat or the rest of the station. You couldn't resist the temptation of bragging to me, in hopes of a compliment." "Compared to them, my arrogance is minimal. Because Captain O'Brien and I are human, are members of a military organization called Starfleet, and our alliance has Federation in the name, those humans and Bajorans are convinced that we are very similar to them. We have a Prime Directive, that vaulted non-interference policy this Starfleet and UFP holds in such high regard. We spout the rhetoric they wish and expect to hear." "And I will inform them that you, Ambassador Bashir, have played Starfleet, the Bajoran Provisional Government, and the entire Federation for fools." "If you wish." "How long have I been dead, ambassador?" "Over two years." "And you still grieve." "Yes." Silence. "If you choose, you may return with us to our universe." "Quite a tempting offer, ambassador. Why would I desire such an opportunity?" "While they are not the same Dominion who murdered Tain, you can extract your revenge upon them and be accepted back into Cardassian society. I offer you what this universe has taken from you." "And why should I believe your intentions are honorable? For all I know, I could be a wanted criminal in your universe. You could return to your First Federation with me as a willing prisoner and then I shall be executed for a crime I did not commit." "That's quite an interesting theory, although very inaccurate. I could no more turn you over, if that were the circumstances, than. . .." "My dear ambassador, I betrayed Enabran Tain. That is why I was exiled." "I know why you were exiled. Dukat apprised me of your situation." "I am most impressed with this, ambassador. It seems you are intent on proving yourself to me. However, you should have also realized I would never willingly travel to a universe where Bajorans are my equals. They are an inferior race, as are humans, who are best utilized when treated as such." Silence. "I understand your philosophy. I wish you would reconsider, although I realize you will not." "Ambassador, what was Elim Garak's title?" "It does not matter, Garak. He is dead." "I was more than your mentor, I gather, from the morose look on your face." "Yes." "You must have been an eager protege." "There was a certain amount of hero worship." Silence. "My complimentary words bring tears to your eyes. You still grieve for my loss. You are more loyal than I ever was." "Stop." "I believe you were the one who wanted to continue this game, ambassador." "You have won, Garak," Bashir abruptly stood and went over to the portal before murmuring, "as you always have." --- It wasn't the answer nor the reaction the Cardassian was expecting. The man who moments ago dueled so elegantly with words now leaned against the metal sill with his head bowed in dejection. Garak didn't miss the muttered comment nor the switch of the pronoun from the third person "he" to the second person "you." Pity was not something Garak often experienced. It was a terrible emotion, pathetic in many ways, but the distraught human triggered the feeling. Here was a man whose profession depended on visages and false images, word games and eloquence, and above all ruthless cunning to achieve his goal, whether it be peace or alliances. Garak realized he was witnessing the "real Julian Bashir," a side of the ambassador very few people saw. The only reason the tailor recognized this subtle change was he dined with Doctor Julian Bashir almost every week for four years. Garak could decipher each of Doctor Bashir's moods by his choice of words, his tone of voice, and his hand gestures. He had seen almost the entire spectrum of the doctor's emotions but what had piqued his curiosity about the ambassador was that *this* Bashir was an expert at masking them. Garak paused in his train of thought and then recalled the scene at the replimat. There was jealousy. There was agony. But why? The solution was stunning, so much so the words slipped out before he could stop them. "Elim Garak was your lover." Bashir tensed before placing his hands on either side of the portal as if bracing himself. "Stop. Please, for the love of the Prophets, stop." Garak couldn't. He found himself drawn to this human, the human whose shoulders were now shaking slightly, as if he were weeping. No one had ever shed tears for Elim Garak, not his friends, his lovers or his family. When he was exiled, no one cried, no one rallied to his defense, and no one wailed they were going to miss him. He had been sequestered on this dismal space station, a taunting reminder of everything he had lost, and had to wait for an opportunity to exercise his skills, even if it meant helping the Federation and Bajor. When he had declared once to Doctor Bashir that all he had to live for were weekly lunches with the physician, it was horrifying truth of a desperately lonely Cardassian whose only friend was technically the enemy. Garak recalled his statement and the ambassador's reaction. Although the Terran had paled slightly, he had forged on with another quip, parrying the blow before striking with one of his own. Their entire conversation had been exactly as Bashir had described it; they had exchanged observations and half-truths (such as, if Dukat had explained the circumstances under which Garak had been exiled, Bashir certainly would have not been surprised that Elim would be here. Yes, Bashir knew he had been ostracized from Cardassian society and both Dukats probably told the ambassador of this, but probably not the reasons). They judged each others reactions before devising another flurry of words to attack the opponent. And if Bashir had a Cardassian lover and customs and practices of Bashir's Cardassia were similar to Garak's, the ambassador was, as the Terrans called it, "flirting." A fantasy the tailor had entertained over the past few years suddenly had the potential to become a reality. "What do you want?" Bashir asked, his breathing ragged and his head bowed. "Station schematics, phaser recalibrations, maps of the Gamma Quadrant, deciphering equipment...." The words were an insult. "You believe I came here strictly to procure your technology?" "That is why everyone else wants to see me. Why not you? It's what Elim would have done. It's what I would have done." "I don't believe I'm that shallow, ambassador." "I never said you were shallow, Garak. I'm merely stating a fact." "What was my rank in your universe, ambassador?" "Are we back to that part of the conversation? Why is it so important to you?" "I'm simply curious why your crew treats me with such respect. It is not merely because I am Cardassian." "You were the Commander of the First Order." "Ah." "The most respected and honored captain in the Federation." "I see." "And when you died... let's just say it's taken almost two years to get morale halfway back to where it was before your death." The ambassador snorted and then shook his head. "Prophets only know what you saw in me. There you were... the most decorated gul in Starfleet who was the pinnacle of what a great captain should be. And I... I was a diplomatic envoy, a few years out of the Academy and fresh from my mentorship... For whatever reason, you chose me.... Oh, this is pointless." "Why is it pointless, ambassador?" "Don't even ask what I pray for every night." "Why not?" "Do you know what the last thing you said to me was?" There was a pause and then he choked out the words, "'Seize the day.' I regret I have been unable to follow your order." A hand suddenly rested on Julian's shoulder. He whirled to face Garak who had moved to within a half meter of him. "I have to dispute your assessment, ambassador. It is not often a single man has the Federation, the Bajoran Provisional Government, and the Cardassian Empire begging for information to the point of actually working together. You have made them wait until tomorrow morning for your precious technology. When I say that is quite an accomplishment, it is." "Why?" "Why what?" "Why are you doing this?" "I've grown sentimental in my exile, ambassador. It is not often I am treated with utmost respect and dignity as your people, especially you, have shown me." His hand slid up to touch the nape of Julian's neck and the ambassador grasped his wrist. "No." "No?" "It would be a lie." "But isn't everything a lie? For a few hours, why don't we forget we're not the proper versions of ourselves?" "Then you and the doctor...." "It is an impossible situation. Surely you understand. Our governments oppose each other. I am a former operative of the Obsidian Order. Besides being a Starfleet officer, he is also part of the chain of command. A more intimate relationship would not be feasible. Now, I believe my alternate self ordered you to seize the day. Why shouldn't you?" Julian froze, his hand gripping Elim's wrist which was still resting on his shoulder. He could feel the Cardassian's steady pulse, see the passion and intensity in the cerulean eyes, and knew he could not say no. Was Elim telling the truth? The thought of this Elim prostituting himself for a measly scrap of technology was appalling, Julian wanted to be revulsed, but there was something in the Cardassian's tone of voice. For a few hours, Elim Garak could forget he was in exile, forget the misery and circumstances of his life, and relish Julian's unadulterated adoration. In return, Julian could forget his Elim Garak was dead. A devilish grin broke across Julian's features as he suddenly wrenched Elim's arm down and pulled the Cardassian hard against his body. He then whispered into Elim's ear, "If you're up to it." "My dear ambassador," Garak taunted, "I wouldn't have offered if I wasn't." He wrapped his arm tightly about Julian's waist. "Actually, I'm more worried about your stamina than mine. Cardassians are traditionally stronger and have a higher endurance level than humans." "In your universe," Julian growled, "not mine." With that, he leaned down and bit one of the exposed neck ridges on Elim's left side. The Cardassian gasped in surprise as Julian expertly nibbled the ridge, swirling his tongue. The ambassador did not let go of Elim's wrist; instead he squeezed it harder as he brought his other hand up to massage the Cardassian's right shoulder. He finally lifted his lips from Elim's neck and murmured, "This tunic does not do you justice. Too conservative, too modest. You have such delectable neck ridges, Elim." Garak would have pulled away after that outlandish compliment if Julian's teeth had not sunk into another ridge and another wave of pleasure assaulted his senses. In all Garak's years, no one had ever had been generous with an assessment of his physical attributes. Even his most ardent lovers had never praised his appearance, yet from the enthusiasm Julian displayed and the pitch of his voice, Garak knew he was being sincere. "Ooohhh, Elim," Bashir purred, "you're resisting me. The stalwart gul versus the brazen human. How... delightful. I *adore* challenges." At that moment, Bashir chose to nip at the scales just below Elim's ear, underneath the ridges of his jawline. The sensation electrified Garak, jolting his entire body. His grip around Bashir's waist tightened, the human exhaled appropriately but did not stop nibbling, and Garak pushed forward in an effort to press Bashir against the bulkhead. To his surprise, the human didn't budge. This Bashir wasn't a Federation doctor; he was a well-trained, physically fit soldier who was experienced in the art of Cardassian foreplay. Passion surged through Garak and he renewed his efforts. He tried to break Julian's hold on his wrist, but the ambassador held it in such a way that it was almost impossible for him to move. The only conceivable way the tailor could stop Julian was to break the spell. He even knew what to say and the tone of voice to say it in. Yet the same logic which had driven Garak to proposition the ambassador also sternly refused to allow him to utter the words. He'd just have to suffer. He'd just have to live out his fantasy involving a certain physician. There would be no awkward explanations of Cardassian physiology, no need to coach his lover on the best way to elicit responses. Here was the man who would say and do everything Garak allowed himself to dream about. Julian suddenly stopped, his cheek resting against Elim's and his breathing irregular. He nuzzled for a few moments, as if regaining his strength, before drawing his lips across Elim's jaw and then settling on the Cardassian's lips. Julian slowly opened his eyes, gazing into the cerulean depths before him. "Going for a record? To see how long you can hold out?" Bashir mocked softly. "You always have such great endurance, except when it comes to me." The human eased his grip ever so slightly, enough so Garak could gain leverage. The Cardassian shifted his hips and then pushed against Bashir again, this time successfully driving the human against the bulkhead. Garak could see the wealth of lust shimmering in the human's eyes just before they closed; Julian forcefully pressed his lips against the Cardassian's lips. Garak returned the kiss, exerting the same pressure if not more than Julian was. Julian's lips parted and the Cardassian did the same, noting for the first time how pleasurable the human custom of the open-mouthed kiss could be. Garak could finally feel the human's lean, muscular frame against his own as he pressed Julian against the bulkhead. Julian groaned, low and guttural, and with a sudden burst of power, the human twisted his body, causing Garak to lose his balance, and the two crashed upon the floor. They struggled, rolling around on the floor a few times and slamming into one of the chairs once, before Julian successfully pinned Garak's arms down and he straddled him. Wild, primal passion flashed in Julian's eyes. With maddeningly deliberateness, he lowered his head and kissed Garak thoroughly before resuming his leisurely nips along Garak's jawline. "I think we would be a bit more comfortable on the bed, don't you?" "You have to get me there first, Elim." The taunt was too much. Garak bucked his hips sharply, temporarily dislodging Julian from his position, and used his bodyweight to roll them over until the Cardassian was again pressing down upon his Terran prey. Now it was his turn to nip and nuzzle Julian's neck as the human continued to struggle beneath him. Although the ambassador's shoulders were pinned down, his hands were now at the collar of Garak's suit. Deftly, the human unfastened the clasp and then slid his hands underneath the material of the tunic. Garak stilled, unused to such intimate contact, and found himself mesmerized by the movements of the ambassador's hands. Julian paused as if deciding something and then quietly commanded, "Stand up." Unsure why he was following the order except that his body was screaming for more stimulation, Elim peeled himself off the prone form of the human and stood. Julian then repositioned himself onto his knees and reached to unfasten Elim's trousers. The Cardassian grabbed Bashir by the wrists and peered down. "The bedroom. I will drag you there if I have to, but I would prefer to exert my energy in a more pleasurable way." Julian beamed. "Of course, Elim. Of course." The human stood and walked to the bedroom. Elim lingered for a few moments before initiating the security lockout on the door. If Bashir were to get vocal, and he had an odd suspicion the Terran would, the last thing the Cardassian needed was Captain O'Brien's phaser-toting crew to barge in and disintegrate him. When he finally entered the bedroom, Julian was standing with his shoulders rolled slightly forward as if ready for an attack. The Cardassian automatically assumed a defensive stance and his breath quickened. Julian eye's raked over him and lingered at his chest. Elim's tunic gaped open, revealing the intricate pattern of darkened gray chest scales, and Julian simply licked his lips. The stalwart gul versus the wanton human indeed. Bashir knew how to play the role to the hilt. "I know why you wore that." "Oh really? Do tell, my dear ambassador." "Besides the fact the dark indigo color emphasizes your eyes and accentuates your coloring? It camouflages your physique. As a person whose livelihood depends on such deceptions, I find it *very* stimulating. I would hate to ruin it, Elim." "My dear ambassador, you're assuming far too much." Elim stepped closer to Julian and they regarded each other for a few seconds before the Terran sprung forward, grabbing the edges of the tunic in a attempt to slam his body against Elim's for the second time. The Cardassian pivoted so he could use Bashir's momentum to swing him around and to the floor, but realized too late that movement was exactly what the human wanted. Elim's back smashed against the carpeted deck plates and he let out an "Oof!" in surprise, a sound which momentarily caused the ambassador to pause and eye his captive closely. Elim scolded himself. <*I'm* the one who keeps assuming he's a frail human!> If it had been any one else who had successfully pinned him twice to the ground, the Cardassian would have been humiliated. Instead, having the likeness of his naive dining companion best him was painfully erotic. As if satisfied Elim was not seriously injured, Julian captured the Cardassian's lips with an urgent kiss before trailing them down Elim's chin and vocal chords to the hollow of his throat. Again, Elim's body thrummed with excitement, his senses reveling in the expert stimulation the Terran was providing, but he simply wanted more. He broke the tenacious hold Julian had on his wrists and used his abdominal muscles to jackknife his body, sandwiching Julian's torso between his chest and his legs. The movement startled the Terran, giving Elim enough time to roll to the side, temporarily crushing Julian's right leg with his body before he again was laying on top of his.... Garak blinked. What was this man to him? A fantasy lover? The alternate of the only person on this entire station who seemed care for him? He was being foolish. He was allowing himself to indulge a whim which would only haunt him afterwards. His Julian Bashir would never consider such a relationship for, as he had stated to the ambassador, it would not be feasible. There were too many factors going against them from Starfleet to the Order to Central Command, not to mention the Cardassian having to endure the ribald comments from Kira, Worf, O'Brien and the others who barely tolerated his presence. The political ramifications for Julian were even worse and Garak, whose culture celebrated such subterfuge, could not subject the doctor to them. Why? Simply because Julian was willing to accept Garak for what he was in the present, not for what he had been in the past. This one evening, this flight of fancy, was all because Elim Garak decided to be selfish. He realized Julian had ceased struggling. He stared into wide, hazel eyes and found himself looking into a man whose adult life had been dictated by two of the deadliest invading forces the Alpha Quadrant knew of. A man who had found comfort and solace in the arms of a celebrated gul. A man who had lost his anchor in the chaos of the universe to ruthless killers. A man who was willing to pretend, if only for a few hours, his life was not the hell it had become. A man who realized the spell was about to be broken all because of a Cardassian tailor who wasn't willing to ignore the fact this wasn't the "real" Julian Bashir. A man who waited patiently until Garak decided what he was going to do. A man who would rather be killed right now than endure rejection. He would later rationalize his years on Terek Nor surrounded by Bajorans and humans had influenced his choice, had made him aware of the thing humans called a "conscience." He would say the kanar was more potent than he realized. He would claim he was engaging in this type of activity just to gain information. But now, he admitted the truth. He knew this was the closest he could be to consummating his lust for Julian Bashir. Elim released the Terran's wrists and slowly adjusted his legs so he could straddle Julian without pressing his full weight upon him. He began tracing the contours of the ambassador's face with his fingers, lingering on the jaw line and the gentle ridge-less slope of the nose. Julian closed his eyes and remained silent and still, as if afraid any movement he made would break the enchantment. Perhaps too, the ambassador had realized how disconcerting it was for Elim to accept such a willing and eager partner so quickly. The Cardassian slid backwards, until he was perched midway between Julian's hips and kneecaps, and he grasped the human by the shoulders and pulled him into a sitting position. Julian's eyes reflected an unexpected shyness which almost fooled Elim, but it was also a testament to just how far Julian was willing to go simply to... please him. Elim hadn't felt such power in ages. Elim's hands dropped to the ambassador's waist and he tugged the edge of the tunic from the waistband of Julian's trousers. The Terran closed his eyes and obediently raised his arms, allowing Elim to pull the tunic up and over his head to bare his muscled chest. In Elim's fantasies, Julian's skin was flawless, a caramel colored canvas of flesh, yet the ambassador bore a scar, starting from just below his left shoulder and crossing diagonally across his rib cage to his stomach. Fascinated, the tailor outlined the puckers of skin; from the rough edges and width he knew the wound had been deep and made with jagged edged blade, and he felt an irrational surge of anger. "Who did this?" Julian's eyes snapped open and he stared in confusion. "The 'Hadar. The battle at Inidrii Seven. They crippled our shields and beamed on board." He paused and added with a laugh, "Needless to say you were quite livid when you found me. It was the only time I have ever heard you curse in Terran." Elim's fingers lingered over the scar as he processed Julian's words. He imagined what his reaction would be if he found his much adored doctor bleeding from such a wound. "I thought you were going to die." "No, you yelled at me for forgetting the 'Hadar always fight in pairs. I had killed seven. I was so ecstatic, I didn't remember the eighth." "Ah." Julian looked at him quizzically before tentatively touching the edges of Elim's open tunic. "This really does suit you.... Don't look at me like that either. You've always worn black. Your whole closet was full of black. In the years that I have known you, you have only owned one piece of clothing that wasn't black. It was rust colored with copper trim. It showed off your neck ridges magnificently. You wore it to the Peldor Festival and scared half the Vedek Assembly." He chuckled and shook his head at the memory. "Those you didn't scare swooned. You even had the First Minister of Bajor blushing." "I don't ever recall being so narcissistic." "Elim, you weren't being narcissistic," Julian chided. "As I said, you always wore black. I dare say no one had ever seen you in anything else besides your uniform. Except for me of course. You hated religious festivals, thought they were a waste of time, but you lost the bet with Miles so you decided to make the best of it. Jaros thought you were sacrilegious, but what could he say?" "Next you'll be telling me I'm the Emissary of the Prophets." His eyes glimmered mischievously. "There you go, spoiling the story." Only because Elim detected the supreme amusement in Julian's voice did he realize he was teasing, even though the ambassador had schooled his features into the picture of innocence. The doctor was right. The ambassador did sound like him. Each move was well calculated, each word precisely chosen, and each syllable enunciated perfectly to convey a wealth of emotions. It was a technique that had taken Doctor Bashir almost six months to recognize and even now, especially when the doctor was tired, the tailor sometimes had to repeat himself and emphasize the key phrases. But the ambassador.... "I *did* teach you well, didn't I?" "As I said, I was a very eager protege." Julian's hands slipped past the tunic and touched Elim's chest, fingers tentatively stroking his scales. The human bent forward further, his lips brushing the pectoral muscles gently before resuming the methodical kissing and caressing. Elim felt hands sliding up to his shoulders and around the collar of his tunic, pulling it down and off of his upper body. As quickly as his hesitation had surfaced, it subsided. How could he deny this? He moved to stand and Julian followed, never once breaking contact with his hands or his lips as they stood. Julian proceeded to nibble the ridges on his shoulders and worked his way to Elim's neck all the while gliding his fingers across Elim's back and then toying with the waistband of his trousers. The Cardassian nipped Julian's collar bone and the hollow of his throat, and the sounds the human made encouraged him to bite harder, to bring his arms around Julian's waist once again, and to pull him forward. Julian became more insistent, the nips becoming sharper and quicker than before. His fingers clawed Elim's shoulder blades the same moment he forcefully bit one of the more sensitive upper ridges, just below the ear. The sensations triggered the Cardassian's primal instincts, and with a barely restrained roar, he lifted Julian and together they toppled sideways, somehow landing on the bed. Elim was now behind him as they lay on their left sides. The Cardassian's left arm snaked underneath and around Julian to hold him tightly against him, gray fingers splayed against hard abdominal muscles, as his right settled on Julian's shoulder. The human's skin... so warm... so smooth... much like brushed Vulcan satin... such a contrast to Cardassian flesh. Elim trailed his fingers over Julian's shoulder, across his chest, the touch just light enough to be arousing but not tickling. He watched the way the human responded, eyes fluttering closed, soft lips parting, head lolling back onto Elim's shoulder, exposing the neck, ear and jaw. Elim nipped and kissed all the while his fingers continued their dance on the human's chest. Muscles rippled beneath Elim's left hand as Julian's breathing increased. The human even tried to shift his weight backward, as if trying to break the Cardassian's hold upon him. Such impudence would not be allowed. It was Elim who held Julian, Elim who controlled this, not Julian. The Cardassian had to more firmly establish control. His right hand dove into Julian's trousers. The human inhaled sharply at the contact, his body trembling as Elim began firm and unrelenting strokes. The Cardassian paused only long enough to unfasten the ambassador's trousers; the human assisted by pushing down the waistband of his pants and underwear, then curling his legs up to remove both pieces of clothing. It was only then Elim realized the ambassador had been barefoot. Elim readjusted his hold, his fingertips raking along the underside of Julian's shaft; the human arched his back and pushed his buttocks firmly against Elim's own erection, the pressure more tantalizing than Elim was prepared for. Human males did not have natural lubrication like Cardassian males nor did their sexual organs possess ridges or scales or any adornment aside from sparse pubic hair surrounding them. It was a curious feeling, pleasant, unique, erotic in its own particular way. He brought his left hand down to cup and knead the human's testicles, remembering reading somewhere, in some obscure text he had obtained as part of his research of human sexuality, how this was an important part of manual stimulation. Such clinical words for such an intimate act. No, Elim simply wanted to feel Julian, to possess him, to stroke and manipulate since this may never... Elim brushed the reality from his mind. Here. This place. They were lovers. He continued to run his hand up and down Julian's penis, changing pressures and rhythms, and gently thumbed the head every third or fourth stroke. Julian had been amazingly quiet; the few sounds he made aside from his ragged breathing were soft cries of pleasure and an occasional gasp of pain, the latter when Elim forgot how sensitive human genitalia was. Elim knew he was going too fast... far too fast... as if the universe were going to end in the next few seconds yet this Julian was so responsive... so eager.... The way Julian had angled his hips, spread his legs, bent his arms, tilted his upper body, and pressed his backside into Elim all indicated he was quite familiar with this position. How often had Gul Garak held Julian in this manner, delighting in the feel of smooth skin the color of Dravaian sand pressed tightly against gray, revelling in the alien scent, and savoring the passion displayed? It was overwhelming... not at all as Elim had imagined those many nights alone in his quarters. He wanted to devour this Julian, hear the words spoken fervently in Terran-accented Kardasi, and relish every micron of control Julian relinquished to him. --- The first time. Julian remembered the first time. Elim had been so patient, sitting on the bed with his back against the headboard, pulling Julian into his arms, turning Julian so Julian's back would rest against his chest, reaching down and stroking. Elim had teased him for so long, later whispering he had simply been savoring Julian, committing each movement and sound to memory. It had been one of the few times they had hours to spend together; their trysts afterwards, while intense, intimate and passionate, had been almost always brief. Yet here... now... it had been so long since Julian had been held like this.... There was a slight uncertainty in the way Elim touched him, and Julian recalled how their first encounters were always full of discovery as each strove to find the right movement, the correct motion, the precise squeeze or pinch or rub. Maybe this Elim did not know enough about human sexuality to realize what effect the Cardassian was having upon Julian. Julian couldn't ask; he acted. The human began to thrust his hips, no longer seeming to be content to allow Elim to direct the pace. The defiance was unexpected, as if Julian was challenging him again, and the Cardassian could not accept it. To reprimand the human, Elim sharply tightened his hold only to have Julian's hand whip out to gather up a handful of bed covers; Julian's knuckles were white from gripping and his jaw set in grim determination. Even now, so close to release, Julian refused to completely give in. It was absolutely glorious. Better than his imaginations. Better than he could have ever expected. Elim continued his agonizingly slow pace, using his physical strength and position to hold the human still. His teeth scraped Julian's sweat slicked shoulder before placing tender bites along the side of Julian's neck, where the more sensitive ridges on a Cardassian male would have been. Julian's reaction was instantaneous; he surged forward as if trying to break free from the Cardassian's embrace. Elim shifted to press his body more firmly against Julian's and therefore more into the bed. It was a difficult maneuver and did limit the movement of the Cardassian's hand on Julian's sex. Julian was close to release; Elim knew by the shuddering breaths the human took and the tensing of Julian's muscles. Elim could not explain why he drew this out, why he continued this type of frustrating teasing. Was it because Elim wanted the human to totally surrender? Was it because it had been far too long since he had this power? Was it because the torment the Cardassian was administering was an incredibly powerful mental aphrodisiac? "Elim," the Terran hissed. Just his name, nothing else. Not please, not a beg to allow him to orgasm, not even a demand to be thoroughly fucked. Just his name, growled in frustration. To ask for anything more would be distasteful in a way, humiliating to be at the mercy of the mirror image of the object of desire, and Elim, oddly enough, found himself unable to insist this proud human surrender completely. The admission heightened Elim's passion, driving him to allow Julian to go over the edge he had held the human at for so long. Elim knew whatever followed, however his own lust was satiated, it would be done with a certainly level of equality, something rarely found in Cardassian sexuality. His alternate and this Julian had struck upon a balance, a way for both partners to maintain their pride and self-respect while ensuring each genuine satisfaction. "By the...!" Julian gasped, his body shaking as the orgasm surged through him. Words caught in his throat; tears burned his eyes. The last time. Five days before Elim had died. The estate of the First Minister of Bajor. The final day of the Time of Cleansing. Julian had been meditating in the private gazebo chapel which had been built away from the main house, nestled in the woods. It was one of the few places he could pray in solitude. Elim had joined him, kneeling by the prayer dias and reciting the Creed of Contrition. "I didn't think you believed." "Oh, my dear Julian, there are times when one must make peace with the Prophets." "For something you have done?" "No, my Chosen. For what I'm about to do." Their last time had been almost a whirlwind of movement, frantic and desperate, as if they knew they would never have the opportunity again and that Elim would be called away within the next few minutes. Now. Here. Wrapped in Elim's arms. Elim's lips still pressed to his neck. Instinct warred with Julian's need to remember, to indulge himself in pleasuring his Chosen. Part of him wanted to tear away the rest of Elim's clothing, to deliver erotically strategic bites which would tap into the depths of passion the Cardassian was valiantly holding at bay. The other... the other wished to cherish, to love, to revel. Fabric chafed against Julian's backside and thighs; he could feel the dampness and heat radiating from Elim's groin. His decision was made. Julian would simply relish in the delight of Elim until Elim could stand no more. Julian rolled out of Elim's arms, just enough for him to reposition himself so he would be facing the Cardassian, his body arched around the damp spot on the blankets. Julian's hands fumbled at the waistline of Elim's trousers; he fought to control the trembling of his hands and the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes. Elim's hand stretched down to assist, but Julian gently swatted him away. Slowly, Julian peeled back the fabric, then hooked his fingers along the waistband of Elim's underwear and pulled them down. Elim rolled onto his back, lifting his legs slightly to facilitate the removal of clothing. Julian placed a gentle bite on Elim's exposed right hip before nibbling the outline of the Cardassian's right thigh muscle, dragging the clothing downward as he moved and stopping only to slide his hands up and then rake his nails along the tender inside of Elim's thighs. The Cardassian gasped, the sound somewhere between a growl disguised as a moan but trumped by a shuddering sigh. Here. Now. Julian could explore again. Gone was the scimitar-shaped scar above Elim's knee and curving around his leg; it had been a futile attempt by a 'Hadar to disable the Cardassian by slicing those tendons. Still, Julian closed his eyes and traced where the outline should have been. Perhaps it was not fair to this Elim, to continue to insist that this exile was Gul Garak while Julian did not offer to assume the role of Doctor Bashir, but Julian refused to do so until Elim requested it. Tugging at Elim's right boot, Julian successfully removed the item without too much movement. The same was done with the left. With both shoes gone, Julian slid Elim's clothing off, admiring the delicious expanse of gray skin before him. It had been far too long. He grabbed a handful of the soiled bedcovers and yanked them down and off the bed, again making Elim move so the bed would be comfortable again, noting how the Cardassian took the opportunity to prop himself up on the pillows. Oh yes. His Elim always enjoyed Julian's worshipful nature. Starting on Elim's left ankle, Julian alternated between nips and kisses on the smooth scales and using his fingers to brush and tease scales as he slowly traveled up Elim's calf. Deliberately, he closed his eyes and committed every texture, every taste to memory. Elim was frighteningly quiet; his breathing, although ragged and punctuated with occasional short gasps, was more shallow than Julian could ever recall. Of course, this Elim may never have had a human "investigate" his person like this before. Their foreplay had started off more "traditional," as if they were in the early stages of courtship, but now as Julian tongued the set of ridges highlighting Elim's left knee, it was an indication of just how intimate they were. He moved, left hand grazing Elm's well muscled abdomen, left thumb settling on the ridge on Elim's hip. Garak watched as... Julian. No titles. No honorifics. He was plain and simple Julian. A smile tugged at the tailor's lips. Here. Now. Shut off from the rest of the universe, they were simply Garak and Bashir. Elim and Julian. Nothing else mattered. The reverent caress of Julian's lips, the precise pressure of Julian's teeth, and the elegant circular strokes of Julian's thumb. So different. So unique. So alien to him. The nature of Elim's life had never allowed for a lover at this level of intimacy. Yet his lover knew precisely which ridge to massage, which one to nibble, establishing such an achingly sensual pattern Elim chose not to assert himself, to see how long he could withstand such... contact. Ministrations. Manipulations. As if his body was an instrument for Julian to play. Elim's body was now pulsing, demanding, aching. Julian's tongue bathed a particular sensitive scale on the left inner thigh while the human's thumb and forefinger gently pinched the ridge along Elim's hipline. The growl rumbled somewhere in his chest, increasing in pitch as it traveled up his throat. The moment Julian's lips engulfed the head of Elim's sex, the Cardassian cried out. An unusual sound. It wasn't him. He was never one to throw his head back, digging his hands into the mattress so he would not tangle them in Julian's soft hair, holding himself back for fear of hurting his lover. Teeth grazed along the sensitized shaft ridges as Julian took more of Elim into his mouth. Fingers now toyed with the testular ridges, flicking and massaging. Elim had never felt this before, this exquisite sensation. If he died right here, right now, he would have no regrets. Julian felt a hand settle on his shoulder, gray fingers boring into his muscles. Elim tenaciously held onto his control; perhaps Julian's earlier teasing comment about the Cardassian not being able to withstand the acts of a brazen Terran spurring Elim on. Julian began teasing and taunting as Elim had done to him, and was rewarded with gasps intermixed with low growls and fingers digging into his flesh. It was an art Elim immensely enjoyed, once even saying, "I believe I would confess the darkest secrets of the Federation and sign my own death warrant while you performed this on me." Shifting his body slightly, not too much to really disturb or attract Elim's attention, Julian stroked the set of scales just below the testular ridges, flatting his tongue against the underside of Elim's sex, and then he pressed his thumb against the base of Elim's shaft. It was a technique Julian had found in the erotic Cardassian novel Riker had given him as a joke, the precise pressures somehow combining together to electrify the senses. The first time Julian had performed it on Elim, the howl had been deafening. Now... Elim bolted upright, a strangulated cry trapped somewhere in his vocal chords as he other hand latched onto Julian's shoulder. His hands automatically tightened, exerting an excruciating pressure upon Julian's collar bone and shoulder. Despite the pain searing through his upper body, Julian repeated the technique a second and third time until the Cardassian hauled him upwards until they were face to face. The glitter in Elim's eyes was primal. Julian reached down, his arm not quite numb from the hold, and teasingly stroked Elim's sex. "You could never resist that one, could you?" Oh, it wasn't fair. Julian knew his huskily spoken words would strike a prideful chord in Elim. "I will have you." Not a question. Not a demand. A simple statement of intent. "As always, Elim." --- "That was foolish." "Hmm?" "Inviting him in? Sending him to his quarters? Why not just hand over the Federation database and be done with it?" Miles gulped the last bit of coffee before glancing over to Dukat. Rarely did the Cardassian pace; the bridges of Starfleet vessels didn't have the room to do so. The sarcasm and ire lacing each word was unusual as well; Dukat prided himself on his ability to maintain emotional control. Now, he stormed around O'Brien's quarters and seethed with genuine outrage. The captain peered into the mug, making sure there were no droplets of coffee left, before casually replying, "So what was I supposed to do? Turn him down? Send him away?" "Federation policy...." "Dukat!" Miles snapped. "Listen to yourself! Since when have you been a rules-monger? You and I *both* know what would have happened. Julian would have heard Garak was turned away. Poor Lavelle... he would have been crucified for following orders! All Julian would think about is 'what if this?' and 'what if that?' How many alts has he been to?" "Three or four...." Dukat replied absently, "whenever the phase drive gets overloaded and we shift. For all its wonders, it really is more of a bane than a savior." "Precisely! You and I... we've had to deal with more alts than anyone else! I think I've made a baker's dozen with this one." He snorted and then thunked the mug on the table. "Julian's never had to deal with an alt-Garak. Can you blame him?" "And if Neela Darren were here?" "I would damn the regulations and ask her to be my fair colleen for one evening. You know you would be sorely tempted if it were Naprem." "Yet you did this despite Jake being dragged to Operations and forced to work with his dead father." "This wasn't a favor. It was a means to an end. Julian gets it out of his system. He can say goodbye, something he wasn't able to do before." "And if this Garak decides to harm the ambassador?" "What? Make an attempt on his life? No. He won't." "Captain..." "You didn't see what he was wearing. No man dresses like that with the intent to kill someone. Trust me." "I still think it is foolish." "Apparently not enough to interrupt." "I refuse to be the villain, captain." "As do I, gul." --- By the Great Gul, he couldn't move. Not that Elim wanted to; after all, his upper back rested against the headboard and his lower back cushioned by a pillow. Julian had nestled contentedly between Elim's spread legs, his head resting on Elim's breastbone and his arms draping over Elim's sides. The only illumination came from the large portal. The air was delightfully warm, heavily scented with Cardassian and human musk. The bedroom was a disaster: covers and pillows strewn throughout and the only three things besides the mattress which had remained on the bed had been one pillow and the two of them. Even in the shower they had continued to touch, kiss, and feel. Now as they rested, Elim wondering where in the Great Gul he had gotten that much energy, the Cardassian traced the thin lines along Julian's shoulders and back, curious as to how such perfection had been marred. Experience told Elim which markings were methodical, the type of wounds made by a whip or some other torture device, and which were from.... Accidents perhaps? Battles where his Julian had been thrown against a panel which had been shattered or perhaps fragments from an exploding something? Still... there were far more scars which earmarked physical abuse. Elim's hands stilled, resting lightly on Julian's shoulder blades. Such a violent past. Such a violent future. If this Julian lived to be forty years old, he would be lucky. Elim resumed gently trailing his fingers across the lines on Julian's back. The silence was comfortable, something unexpected, something enjoyable. What could they possibly talk about? They both knew this would be.... Then Julian's arms tightened around him; the human trembled ever so slightly. Elim could feel the tears spilling from Julian's eyes and trickling onto his chest scales. There was no incoherent sobbing, no wailing, no bawling. Julian grieved silently for his beloved gul. Reality was making an ugly intrusion. Would Doctor Julian Bashir mourn Elim's death like this? Doubtful. Oh, the young doctor would shed some tears, for Julian was a sensitive soul. He would probably be the only one on the entire station save Ziyal to do so, but not like this. This was the weeping of one who had lost his lover, his mentor, his beloved, his Chosen, his *TeHua,* his *narai.* "We never married." Julian's whispered words jolted Elim. He hadn't realized he had spoken aloud the long-forgotten Kardasi affections, the ones used to designate those who had Bonded. The human did not lift his head nor wipe the moisture from his face or even sniffle. "Then you are my Chosen," Elim said quietly. "As always, Elim." The position wasn't uncomfortable; in fact, it was one of the many Elim had often entertained, wondering how it would feel to have his adored doctor nestled against him. It was unnatural for Elim to let his guard down, too many years in the Order prevented it, so he remained awake as Julian slowly dozed off. Aside from the physical release, the emotional one must have been tremendous for the human. Why else would the ambassador allow himself to be cradled in the arms of the one person on the station who could be the most detrimental to his mental health? Julian had achieved a sense of closure, perhaps, and now whatever Elim did to him didn't matter. Elim, on the other hand, still danced along that precarious line between the station, which was his home now, and Cardassia, his homeland. Many of Gul Dukat's private codes were still active on the station, the tailor had used them often enough in combination with his own to gain vital information, and Elim's long time nemesis was probably keeping tabs on him. He let out a sigh. His impromptu liaison with the ambassador would be kept secret; Bashir did not seem the type to show this type of weakness to anyone. However, the additional station security guards which had been posted near the secured area would certainly notice a Cardassian exiting said secured area and report it to Captain Sisko. He had to leave. "Who let you in?" The question startled Elim, who had believed the ambassador had fallen asleep. He replied simply, "O'Brien." "Who was standing guard?" "A Mister Lavelle, I believe." Elim then felt, rather than saw, the ambassador smile. Then Julian pushed himself up by his forearms and regarded the Cardassian with a frank look. "Do you still believe you're a wanted criminal in my universe?" "I never said I believed or disbelieved, ambassador. I merely stated it was a possibility." The human rolled his eyes and dropped his head before finally clambering off the bed. He walked to the dresser, plucked a shiny silver object from the top, and tossed it to Elim. The tailor caught and then inspected it, noting it was in the shape of the Cardassian Empire crest. "It wasn't that difficult to manufacture," Bashir admitted. "If you desire to join us, this is coded directly to my subderm." "Ambassador," Elim protested, handing the commbadge back. Julian refused to accept it and then crawled into bed again. "Keep it until we're gone. You never know what may change your mind." There. It had ended. It was over. The curtains had closed. The play was over. Julian knew Elim Garak well enough to be able to decipher the meanings of sighs and gestures and all else. It was, admittedly, unnerving to have so much of his soul bared. Before Julian could mold himself to him, Elim slid out of bed. Hazel eyes stared at him with veiled disappointment but no effort was made to draw him back. Elim probably would have done so without protest. It was most disconcerting to dress while Julian watched him. Sprawled in the bed, without a bit of linen to cover him, the ambassador monitored his every movement with an odd half-smile on his face. Elim idly wondered how many times his alternate had hurriedly slipped on his clothes in order to get to a meeting or to the bridge or whatever "the most respected gul in the Federation" did while Julian had the luxury of lounging. his mind continued to chide, Oh, but he knew the answer. His alternate had understood. Seize the day, indeed. But what had he gained from this? A fulfillment of his fantasies and nothing else. The ambassador even understood that no matter what great prize Elim would bring back to the Cardassian Empire, the tailor would still be in disgrace for what it had cost him. Not so much in public shame, neither would openly admit a tryst had taken place, but Elim would always know exactly what price he had paid. Julian had repositioned himself on the bed, back against the headboard, left leg stretched out while the right was bent towards his left knee, and arms draped over the edge of the headboard. It was a clear invitation, a sign that the Cardassian did not have to leave, that whatever arrangement had been made with Captain O'Brien included a provision if Elim chose to stay the rest of the evening. The curse of self-discipline, Tain had once said, is knowing when to say when. Garak wasn't one to believe in Fate. His destiny was self-determined. However, if circumstances were to change and Garak won Doctor Julian Bashir to his bed, he didn't want to be... spoiled. He almost laughed aloud; the concept was absurd. For a man whose entire life had been dictated by the understanding of probability and working the odds, he should take advantage of what was being offered him because the opportunity might never arise again. He was Cardassian. Not a Ferengi. He would wait. They hadn't spoken since the ambassador had insisted he keep the communications device. Even as Garak moved to exit the bedroom, he couldn't think of a single thing to say. He had just stepped to the doorway when he heard the ambassador get out of bed and approach. "Elim." No one had ever spoken his name quite like that: soft, haunted, loving. Garak would not turn around. No, he was not going to look into those eyes. Julian's hand captured his shoulder. He froze. Julian tugged slightly, clearly indicating he wanted Garak to face him. "Elim." By the Great Gul, did he have to say it like that? "Please." Slowly, Elim turned and saw the emotions rolling across Julian's face. Love. Agony. The jealousy was there too. Peace. Serenity. Grief. Julian bent his head, his other hand now pulling the Cardassian closer into arms which Elim knew would not release him until Julian could say, "Goodbye," in whatever odd custom humans bade their lovers farewell. A kiss. Different from before. Slower. More passionate. Delicate. Possessive. Wistful. Encouraging. Tender. When they broke away, Julian's eyes overflowed unashamedly with tears. His brought his hands to the sides of Elim's face and used his thumbs to gently caress the Cardassian's eyeridges before dropping his arms back to his sides. Nothing else was said. Garak left. The corridor was quiet. Had he really spent five hours fulfilling part of his desire and satiating his lust? Garak wondered who would be standing guard, who would let him out back into the bitter reality of DS9, and he continued his leisurely pace down the hallway. He wasn't expecting Captain O'Brien to be standing at the checkpoint and nursing a mug of coffee. There was no lecherous smirk, no mirthful grin, no hint of teasing or rude comments. The captain sounded neutral, as if he were commenting on the time of day. "Crossing back now, eh?" Garak gave a short nod. "Can't have you go back the way you came. I'll beam you directly back to your quarters. That's where everyone thinks you are." "Oh really?" "That scan you felt when you first came in? It's for a sensor ghost. One of my personal favorite engineering tricks, it is." O'Brien gave him a direct look of an unspoken understanding, that if Garak were to return to Julian's quarters right there, right then, nothing would be said. No comment would be made. The captain offered an odd sort of protection and the gesture so unusual, so disconcerting coming from Chief O'Brien's double, of all things, that Garak could not accept. If it were Dukat standing there, perhaps. Not O'Brien. The cautious, wary side of Garak refused to go back. Instead, he gave a slow, respectful salute, knowing this O'Brien would comprehend the meaning; there was no need for awkward words or meaningless phrases. The Terran returned the gesture. And as the transporter beam coalesced around Garak, the Cardassian could have sworn he heard O'Brien say, "Same old Garak." --- "We can't track him using this!" Brahms snapped impatiently as she handed the tricorder to Dukat. "I've taken the sensor readings you gathered, pilfered medical files from their CMO, and used all available data we have to find out why this," she pointed to the offending instrument, "can't detect him!" "And the reason is?" Dukat prompted. "The molecular distortions are missing." "Ah." "Ah?" she echoed, her voice taking on a edge of hysteria as she thumped her fists on the table they were sitting at. "That's *it?* I'm telling you that we have no plausible means of tracking shapeshifters here and all you can say is 'ah'?" "I believe, commander, you're blowing this out of proportion." "If *these* changelings can do it, *ours* can!" "How long have you been working on this, commander?" "Since we arrived." "Less than twenty hours ago." "Yes." "So in that time, you've been trying to determine the reasons why Odo cannot be detected." "Yes." "Commander, it took Federation scientists almost ten years to develop the tracking system and now in this universe, which may have a different set of physical laws, you expect to solve the problem in twenty hours?" Her lips curled back into a snarl. "With due respect, we already have the groundwork. It is a feasible time span." "You're assuming far too much, commander." "And you're not? You beam over to an enemy ship just because the gul happens to be your alternate?" "Commander," Dukat warned sharply, "I believe your are straying from the topic at hand." "Forgive me, sir," she spat sarcastically, "I thought I had permission to speak freely." "You do, but questioning Captain O'Brien's or the ambassador's or my actions during that encounter with the 'Hadar is pointless and unnecessary," he stated simply. "Now, at 0800 hours, we are supposed to meet with our hosts and explain the tracking technology. If there is a flaw, I'm sure their shapeshifter will volunteer as a test subject." "I'm supposed to help Jake realign...." "You've been temporarily reassigned, commander. Mister Sisko will not miss you for a few hours. Think of all the scientific data you can collect." --- The woman introduced as Leah Brahms, chief science officer of the Defiant, was not friendly. She regarded the DS9 command staff with unmistakable loathing, most of which was unsurprisingly directed at Odo. Ben Sisko was prepared for such a reaction from Captain O'Brien's crew, especially after Doctor Bashir relayed what had transpired yesterday on the Promenade between the ambassador and Odo. Yet Sisko had not anticipated that her attitude would go beyond his crew and Admiral Nechayev to include Gul Dukat, Dukat's two officers, Shakaar and the two Bajoran ministers. This woman despised them all and made no pretense of hiding her feelings. In fact, her hatred seemed to extend even to her fellow officer, Dukat. The Cardassian was attending the 0800 hour meeting in lieu of Ambassador Bashir. Brahms' hostility probably stemmed from the fact that giving their precious technology to people who openly accepted a shapeshifter was fundamentally wrong. The only thing probably preventing her from outright refusing to participate was the retribution for disobeying an order. Whatever the penalty was, Sisko supposed, it had to be severe enough to keep her in line. She sat to right of the Defiant's security chief, at one end of the wardroom table. Nechayev had forgone bringing any of her own support staff, deciding that the experience of Sisko's command officers was more valuable. Gul Dukat had brought Glinn Damar, whom Kira had explained was the Cardassian's first officer, and another Cardassian Dukat didn't bother to name whom the major didn't recognize. The Ministers of Defense and Technology tagged along with Shakaar. The table could not accommodate all sixteen people, so the nameless Cardassian and DS9's command staff except Sisko and Kira stood. Dukat launched into his rhetoric immediately, skipping over the perfunctory "Welcome to the meeting" and "Thank you for joining us" which the ambassador would have probably used. Instead, the Cardassian treated the gathering as a military briefing, his voice dispassionate yet commanding but again lacking the smug, overblown posturing Gul Dukat usually displayed when he knew he had everyone's rapt attention. "We have been battling the Dominion for over ten years. Only recently have we been able to develop technology which gives us an advantage over the Founders themselves, who are still our greatest threat." Dukat paused and referred to the datapadd he had brought with him. "I have been informed that you currently employ phaser sweeps combined with random blood screenings." He glanced to Sisko and the captain nodded in affirmation. "Even though we have the means to track shapeshifters, we have not abandoned any prior security measures. There are those within our Federation who are willing to tamper with our sensor systems to allow Founder and/or Dominion infiltration. The tracking system did not replace any of our security protocols; it was only an enhancement. "Except in their natural state, changelings usually emit something similar to a humanoid's natural bio-electrical field. It is believed this is the energy expended in maintaining a certain form. Even when the changeling assumes an inanimate object, this field can usually be detected." "Usually?" Dax asked, picking up on the clause in Dukat's explanation. "Does this mean you haven't been able to detect Odo?" "That is correct, commander," he replied. Brahms's eyes widened at his admission, scandalized he would give away such information, but Dukat looked perfectly calm, as if he welcomed the discussion. "But you were able to locate Odo when you first came on board the station," Kira said, trying her best not to sound challenging. He almost looked disappointed with her statement but answered, "Major, as I stated before, we do not rely solely on this particular technology. To do so would be foolhardy." Sisko sighed inwardly, knowing the game Dukat decided to play. It was the same tactic Ambassador Bashir had used during their initial meeting: he was making them come to the conclusions instead of offering them. Dukat was content to allow everyone else to reveal what they had discovered and then provide commentary. The captain addressed him directly, "If a member of your crew is empathic or telepathic, he may be able to sense a presence." "That is one method which can be used and can be very effective. Of course, you also must consider our experience." Arrogance laced his words. "There are certain things we have been trained to look for; we must be keen observers at all times. It is something which we have incorporated into our lives out of necessity, captain." "This technology you referred to earlier which cannot detect Odo," Shakaar referred to Dax's initial question, "have you been able to find a reason why?" "As of this morning," he told them, "we have no definite answers." "So what are you offering?" Gul Dukat didn't sound demanding, only a bit impatient. "You have graciously," the word dripped with sarcasm, "lectured on the importance of combined security measures, which is the most basic rule of any proper defense strategy. While your ambassador has clearly stated your Federation is, and I quote, 'dedicated to assisting worlds against Dominion attacks,' these proceedings seem to indicate a lack of... sincerity." The Defiant's security chief smiled thinly, "As I stated before, gul, there is that small matter of treason." "Because of Odo," Shakaar guessed with a slight tone of disappointed defeat. "First Minister, I am sure you understand the dilemma many of our officers face. For us to openly discuss classified technology with those who willingly work with a Founder...." he paused and shrugged his shoulders. "Perhaps it can be compared with the feeling some of your people have regarding those who collaborated with the Cardassian Empire during the Occupation. It is... execrable to say the least. As Commander Dax has so succinctly pointed out to Captain O'Brien, it is difficult for us to separate our world from yours, especially in the matters of tolerance." "Dukat, I am not in the habit of proving my loyalty or my convictions," Odo sharply said as he crossed his arms and glared at the black-clad Cardassian. Brahms automatically bristled and Sisko wondered what kind of weapon the science officer was toting. "Nor are these people deserving of your contempt. You ask us not to judge you by our standards yet you condemn us by yours. Maybe a Founder has come to your Federation in hopes of ending this conflict but your people were too short-sighted to...." "One *did*!" snarled Brahms, rocketing to her feet so fast her chair skidded backwards. She leaned forward, her left hand flat on the table top while her right hand formed a fist and pounded the surface with each word. "We *trusted* that Founder and it *murdered*...." "Commander!" Dukat barked, his voice startling everyone but Brahms and Odo. The woman's eyes blazed with pure hatred as she whipped her head to stare at her commanding officer. Dukat said nothing, but met her gaze with an icy one of his own, clearly demanding complete obedience. "Sir...." she began, harsh and fiery. "*Commander,*" he forcefully repeated. Ben's hands, which he had clasped in his lap, automatically tightened as the word burned in his head. Dukat had used Brahms' rank, not her last name, in calling her down. It was an unusual slip, something in all their meetings, none of the alternates had committed so far. If the ranking system of the First Federation's Starfleet was comparable to the UFP's Starfleet, then Brahms could either be a lieutenant commander or a full commander, since a lieutenant commander could be addressed as "commander." This meant either Dukat was a full commander or, as Dax had postulated earlier, a gul without a ship. Sisko bet on the latter, simply because this Dukat expected immediate compliance to his order. If he had been the same rank as her or even just O'Brien's first officer, Brahms wouldn't necessarily back down since Dukat may not have "the final word" on the matter. No, this Dukat was definitely a captain. Slowly, Brahms straightened and took a few steps backward to retrieve her chair. Her nostrils flared with each breath as her eyes bored holes into Odo. The constable did not seem bothered by her palpable animus against him; he regarded the alternate Dukat and Brahms in the same manner he did those in Starfleet who questioned his integrity: with indignant tolerance. As she sat down, Sisko watched how Dukat refused to look at her, not even nodding in appreciation she had obeyed his command. Instead, he reached into his jacket. Worf moved forward, his hand dropping to his phaser as if daring the Cardassian to draw a weapon. For a moment, Dukat seemed almost amused as his movements became deliberate. He pulled out a datapadd, held it up for Worf to see and even turned it a few times as if taunting the Klingon with it, before leaning forward. "Commander Dax," he motioned to her with the padd, "this contains the schematics of the tracking system which we employ and I have included research materials for your reference. Preliminary findings indicate Odo lacks the molecular distortions which are associated with changelings in our universe. We cannot be certain this is the sole reason why our sensors cannot locate him." Warily, she walked to Dukat and accepted the item. She tapped a few keys and quickly scanned the screen. "If we solve the mystery before you leave, Dukat," she told him, "we will, of course, share it." "That would be most kind of you, commander," he replied. "If you would like, Commander Brahms or myself can assist you with your studies." For the Defiant's science officer, it was clearly the last injustice she could endure. Standing, her voice wavering slightly but Sisko could not tell if it was from outrage or fear of reprimand, she spat, "I refuse to be part of this... travesty." "Surely, commander, you can overcome your racist feelings for a few hours," Dukat responded, and although his tone wasn't mocking, it was as if he were making light of her reactions. She flushed angrily. "After all, it is an opportunity...." "No. I will not." She glared at him before raising her left hand to behind her left ear and poking what Sisko assumed was the external activator for her subderm comm device. "Brahms to Sisko. Beam me back." There was, of course, no answer, but moments later the science officer dissolved in a transporter shimmer. Dukat seemed unruffled by the entire incident, almost as if he were expecting his science officer's belligerence, and Ben wondered just why he had chosen to stage such a scene. Was it to lull those who witnessed it into believing this Dukat would not intentionally harm Odo? To offer Dax a choice of research partners only to have the one she would more than likely choose to abruptly leave so Dax could only choose Dukat? Sisko wasn't comfortable with it and neither was anyone else in the room as far as he could tell. "We appreciate the offer," Dax gave him a sweet smile as she used the first person plural "we" instead of the first person singular "I" as if she were reinforcing the fact the DS9 crew was going to share this technology, "but we'll need some time to review this. How shall I contact you when we're ready to discuss this?" He didn't seem upset she had put him off temporarily. "Oh... I'm sure your comm system will relay a message to me. If not, you can always knock on our door." --- "Albert to Captain O'Brien.... Um... *Chief* O'Brien is here, sir." As he shimmied out from under the main console in engineering, Captain O'Brien called out, "On my way," before walking over to the Jefferies tube Jake was holed up in. He gave the engineer a light tap on the foot and said, "We've got ourselves some new toys." Jake grabbed his tricorder. "I hope they're giving us something compatible." "Aw, Jake!" teased the older man. "Don't like a challenge now? You can't tell me you're not the least bit interested in their tech. I saw you monkeying with the replicator last night." "The rokassa juice tasted terrible," he defended, not wanting to admit to pulling off the cover to the replicator and studying the inner workings. The captain didn't pursue the matter further, only clapped him good-naturedly on the shoulder as they made their way to the airlock. Standing guard was Josh Albert who acknowledged them both and then stepped aside as they approached. "Looks like they filled your wish list, sir." O'Brien peered through the windows and smiled. "So it seems, ensign. C'mon, Jake, let's see what we've got." Once they got past the second set of rolling doors, Chief O'Brien stepped forward. The two O'Briens stared at each other for a moment, but the thrill of meeting his alternate self had worn off long ago, at least for Captain O'Brien. Perhaps it was the same for the chief because, although the man looked a bit uncomfortable, he didn't seem overtly distracted. The chief held out a padd. Nodding to both the captain and Jake, he said, "We've been able to find most of the equipment and parts on your list. There were a few items we didn't have in stock and the replicators couldn't reproduce, so I took the liberty of tossing in a few things which... may or may not help." The captain accepted the padd and glanced over it. "Looks like we'll have most of the things to get us underway." He handed the board to Jake as he continued to speak to the chief. "Pass along my thanks. It's not often we find a friendly port." "I will," the chief replied, but watched Jake as the younger man began inspecting the pile on the anti-grav cart. Jake then picked up an oddly shaped tool and studied it for a few moments. The chief called out, "That's a modified conduit welder." He sounded almost apologetic in his explanation, as if worried he would insult Jake. Sisko suddenly grinned, "Let me guess... for that one circuit at Juncture K5B3. The one that always blows whenever she takes a shot to the aft port shield?" "You probably already have one then," the chief chuckled. "Actually, no... but this will be great! Um..." he glanced over to the captain with a hopeful look in his eyes. "Sir, could he and I... um... go over this stuff together? That is, if you," he nodded to the chief, "have time." "That's why they sent me," the chief replied and walked over to the cart. If Jake had any ill-will or uncertainty dealing with the alternate O'Brien, it didn't show in his face. He probably saw it as an opportunity to compare notes with another engineer. The two began talking, both hesitant at first, but once they focused on the actual equipment, the tension eased immediately. After Brahms' outburst in the meeting just thirty minutes ago, the chief had probably expected an icy reception. The captain stepped back, not wanting to interfere with the conference, and crossed his arms across his chest. Miles sighed, his thoughts traveling back to Brahms' formal protest of handing over the tracking technology. Already it had caused an uneasy stir with the crew; Miles had no doubt rumors that the entire crew would be court-martialed and executed because they committed "treason" were now circulating. Brahms' ranting the moment she stepped off the transporter hadn't helped matters either. Even though he had painstakingly explained at the briefing this morning that they were *not* committing treason because they were *not* in the proper universe and that they had *no* other alternative, he knew a majority of his crew didn't accept that rationalization. The sound of the airlock doors rolling open snapped him out of his internal musings. Troi exited, first giving the "all clear" hand signal to Jake to assure the engineer that there was no shifter hidden inside of the equipment, and then walked towards the captain. Chief O'Brien had caught the sign as well and glanced briefly over his shoulder to meet the captain's eyes before returning to his conversation with Jake. Troi stood by his side and watched the two engineers. Her voice was deliberately pitched low as she gave her assessment. "Mister O'Brien is slightly disoriented, a feeling directly attributable to the current circumstances and Brahms' outburst at the meeting this morning. He is understandably wary, however explaining the equipment with Jake sets him at ease. He has a genuine affection for Jake and a sympathy for our situation." She hesitated, waiting for the captain to absorb her words. "Jake doesn't harbor any ill-will towards Mister O'Brien. He can't. He sees you when he talks to him. He knows what you're doing is right." Empaths. If a commanding officer didn't start a conversation with them right away, they always thought they had to give an opinion of people's feelings, Troi especially. O'Brien appreciated her commentary; he always liked to compare his impressions of the person in question with hers. Her unrequested presence here was a clear indication she firmly believed she felt they needed to discuss something although she had disguised it as a "security check." Yes, she was certainly clever when she wanted to be. He knew what she was driving at: the crew's reaction to sharing the anti-Dominion tech. The UFP and BPG may be prejudiced against Cardassians (and to some extent Carjorans), but neither group could even match the racism O'Brien's crew felt towards the Dominion and anyone who "collaborated" with them. Having a Founder on this station and functioning in a position of command had been bad enough, but the announcement that the tracking system would be handed over had sent the more paranoid, militant factions of O'Brien's crew literally on the warpath. Before, when his crew had been divided, the solidarity of O'Brien's command staff had been the one factor which eventually led to a reconciliation, or at least a grudging acceptance of events. Brahms' dissent had been untimely as well as a striking blow against the captain's efforts to keep his crew calm and in-line; Prophets only knew how the fallout would affect them when and *if* they returned to their proper reality. In his mind, Miles really had no other alternative. Captain Sisko allowed the Defiant to dock and complete repairs, not to mention giving O'Brien's crew a place to stay while they fixed the ship. Maybe he adhered to an archaic, unspoken law of space travel that it was only polite to show appreciation to the people who, as his grandfather would say, "pulled your ass out of the fire." Dukat seemed to follow that rule as well, although the Cardassian would quickly claim his reasoning was due to an interpretation of Federation law, not some out-dated "Code of Honor" among captains. As for Bashir... O'Brien snorted to himself. The ambassador's motivations, in this case, were obvious. O'Brien pursed his lips as he watched Jake and Troi's words echoed in his mind, He huffed ruefully, "Yeah, but he may be the only one." If the doctor was surprised he had uncharacteristically kicked open the door for her to waltz in and counsel him, she gave no indication. Her voice was hushed and even. "The only one? Dukat and Bashir don't count?" she queried almost teasingly. He answered with a scowl. She shrugged her shoulders. "Hmm... Ziyal and I know this is the only way for us to secure the items we need. Nog, Sito, and Sutter are intensely loyal to you especially and Dukat to a lesser degree. But you are correct. Most of them feel this is wrong. You've done an admirable job of squelching the feelings of opposition, but you are fighting a greater enemy: time. They have time to think. They have time to feel." "How close am I to a mutiny, doctor?" "I believe 'mutiny' is too strong of a term. The discord will not result in a complete revolt against authority. They know the Federation needs you... needs Dukat if we are to defeat the 'Hadar. They will continue to follow you, but their faith has been weakened." "They're going to break." "*We* are going to break," she corrected. "Despite their feelings of malice towards the residents of this station, they desire a chance to... to forget for just a few hours. To *live* a few moments. Surely you can understand that, captain. After all, you did grant Ambassador Bashir his..." she trailed off, not wanting to discuss the matter more specifically, and then fixed him with a cool stare. "Not extending a similar courtesy to the rest of your crew will result in even more discontent." "Carpe diem." "Sir?" "It was something Garak said to me once, something he made Julian promise he'd do. Seize the day." "Sequestering the crew when we first docked was the correct choice, captain. At that time, it was best for them. Now, however... My father once said, 'In for a penny, in for a pound.'" He squeezed her shoulder. "Thanks, Kes." She patted his hand affectionately, pleased he'd used her nickname. "It's not often I can counsel you, captain." --- Ben Sisko wasn't expecting Captain Miles O'Brien. Neither was Nechayev, Shakaar, Kira. . . hell, no one foresaw the captain of the Defiant calling a quiet meeting in the corridors of DS9 twenty minutes after Dukat had joined Dax, Odo and Chief O'Brien in Science Lab Three to work on the tracking system. Ben and O'Brien walked down the corridor, the same fateful corridor where Ambassador Bashir and Dukat had met Garak and Ziyal. They didn't have a security entourage. O'Brien had been specific about the meeting, citing there was no reason for all the security hype and Ben had conceded to O'Brien's point. O'Brien still looked exhausted, though, and Ben recognized the thicker accent which always characterized the after-effects of Chief O'Brien's occasional multi-shift engineering marathons. Still, the Irish captain seemed in a relatively good mood. "You understand our hesitancy about revealing our technology," O'Brien said. "I know about your crew's feelings towards Odo." "Ah! Sharp as always," O'Brien chuckled, obviously used to addressing Sisko by the way the captain immediately dropped the formalism. "Saves time. Don't have to be explaining every little thing. Should have heard the arguments about treaties and the whole list of regulations. The biggest problem is that we can't track your security chief. Driving my engineers nuts, it is, and since they're so young and the Dominion has been able to create such paranoia in the past... Hell, I'm sure you understand about that, being a captain and all." "Somewhat." "You see, they're working themselves to death trying to get the ship fixed, so they can get back to a place where they know the rules, where they know who the enemy is. This is the first time in six or seven months at least we haven't been on yellow or red alert. They have time to think." Ben glanced over to O'Brien who was busy taking in the Cardassian architecture. "Things going that bad for your side?" O'Brien raised an eyebrow and fixed Ben with a penetrating gaze. "There are only thirteen ships like the Defiant left." He paused, as if letting the number sink in. "That's why we tote the ambassador around. It's his job to convince non-aligned governments to join our fight. Done a damned fine job at it, adding sixteen or seventeen since he became part of my crew. He's a bit brash, a bit arrogant, and damned annoying when he wants to be, but that's just part of what he does." "Sounds like my chief of operations' assessment of my chief medical officer," Ben commented, wondering just where O'Brien was going with this conversation. O'Brien laughed then turned serious again, "There are a few other odds and ends we can send you. Maybe a polaron emitter? That keeps a Founder from shapeshifting. It's a rather nasty bit of tech, but it has its advantages." "I'm sure it does." The Irishman snorted, "Captain Sisko, let me explain one thing to you: Our technology was never designed to be benevolent to shapeshifters." "I figured as much," he said drily as a thought struck him. O'Brien was appealing to him as a command officer, as a man fiercely protecting his crew against the enemy, and simply as another man. Like Bashir and Dukat, there was always a reason behind the captain's words, that certain hidden meaning which made them all sound so damned elusive it was frustrating. O'Brien sounded as if he were trying to convince himself of something, or work up the courage to ask a favor, one captain to another. He pointedly reminded Sisko that their Starfleet and Federation were *different* from Sisko's, but had also emphasized his crew reacted just as any other Starfleet crew would to the situation. Ben gave the other captain a piercing look. "You want something else, don't you, captain?" "Never could slip one by you, could I?" O'Brien chuckled quietly. He sighed and returned his attention to the bulkheads, as if he was fascinated by them. "Troi's pushing for a night on the town. You know how CMO's can be about things like this." He paused, yet still refused to look at Sisko. His voice was soft, lacking boisterousness which characterized both O'Briens' speech. He sounded exhausted, almost defeated, and as if hating himself for making the request in the first place. "Just a few hours, say two or three. With the way things are going, Captain Sisko, I need all the inspiration I can get. We have an opportunity, and damned if Troi is going to miss out on an opportunity." "We're Collaborators, captain," Ben reminded him. "At least, according to your chief science officer we are." "Perhaps," he conceded and then looked directly at Sisko. "But *you* are the Emissary of the Prophets." He said it as if it explained everything, as if it solved all the potential problems. Perhaps, for O'Brien's clan, it did. "I'll see what I can do." --- He held back a growl before tapping in a new set of commands to the computer. After four solid hours, he had accomplished nothing. He remembered his words to Brahms, how she couldn't be expected to solve in a few hours what had taken their Federation almost 10 years to figure out. However, she did not have to contend with Odo who stood in the middle of Science Lab Three with a half-mocking grin on his face. Dukat did his best to ignore the Founder but found it increasingly difficult. Each time he had attempted to scan for the shifter in a vain hope it would detect *something,* he had failed. Commander Dax worked on the console to his left while Chief O'Brien moved about the room adjusting sensors. The Trill, at least, had sense enough not to point out the shortcomings of the equipment. The chief had refrained from disparaging comments as well, but offered suggestions on boosting the power to the tricorder or modifying the lab's internal sensors to match the configurations of the tricorder. It was more than mildly annoying; Dukat could think of dozens of more productive ways to waste time than trying to detect a molecular distortion on a being who just didn't have said distortion. He couldn't take his frustration out on the Trill or the human since it would be a frightening display of poor manners and self-control, but the infernal, mocking smile that played across the Founder's face made it increasingly difficult to focus on the task at hand. Dax sighed and flopped back in her chair. "I, for one, could use a round at Quark's." "Same here," the chief agreed, but didn't look up from the sensor unit he was tinkering with. "It's a little early in the day, commander," Odo sharply replied. The voice caused Dukat to automatically look up and find the owner; the changeling crossed his arms triumphantly, as if thrilled he'd been able to attract the Cardassian's attention. "For you, maybe," the Trill shot back playfully, "but for me... I could at least go for a decent meal." "At Quark's?" O'Brien laughed in disbelief. "You must be more tired than I am to think Quark's has decent food." "The replicators on the blink again?" "Well, if Quark would stop trying to reprogram the damned things, it wouldn't be so much of a problem," the chief bantered. The two shared a chuckle before becoming somber. "C'mon, Dukat," Dax tried again, "we're not in a red alert situation. Not yet anyway. Besides, we've waited years to have this type of tech. I'm sure we can wait another thirty minutes." "Only if Odo will join us," Dukat countered pleasantly as he stood up. "After all," he nodded to the shapeshifter, "you have been most generous with your time." "If you think I'm going to let you out of my sight, Dukat," grunted the changeling, "you're wrong." Dax and Odo probably didn't hear the slight huff O'Brien made; the only reason Dukat heard it was because of his subderm, but he understood the meaning all too well. The changeling had been making remarks, almost insulting on several occasions, since Dukat had joined their group four hours ago, and the chief was clearly tired of it. Unfortunately, this O'Brien did not have the rank to back himself up if he told Odo to stop. Dax did, but the commander had obviously decided to let Dukat fend for himself. The Cardassian noted how the human seemed to linger in the room and then remembered what he had read about this O'Brien. A decorated hero from the Federation-Cardassian War. The Setlik III Massacre. If anyone in the group had justification to hurl indignities, it would be O'Brien, not a being who claimed he wished to help. Of course, Odo could still harbor resentment from their first encounter. It was, after all, possible. Dukat never claimed he understood the psychology of Founders. "I am curious, Dukat," Odo began as they exited the science lab out onto the Promenade, "as to what Commander Brahms had said." There was slight emphasis on the rank, another subtle prick at Dukat's pride. Yes, the Cardassian had "slipped" during this morning's meeting in calling down the science officer, but it was the only way to keep her outburst from being more damaging than it already had been. Dax, who had been leading, glanced back briefly. O'Brien, who brought up the rear, huffed again. Dukat simply nodded for Odo to continue. "A changeling offered to assist your Federation and you accepted. As cautious as you are, Dukat, I find it hard to believe you would trust them." "Oh, I'm sure you are familiar with the story. A diplomatic envoy from the Gamma Quadrant arrives, offers are made, treaties are signed, exchanges of worthless technology take place, and embassies are set up." "A Founder did all this?" "Yes." "And that Founder committed murder." "During a embassy invitational dinner, no less. Fifty-seven civilians, twenty-six diplomats, and fourteen Starfleet officers were killed that evening." "And you are positive it was a Founder." "It was their quite clever way of justifying their first attack on Bajor. I believe Ambassador Bashir shared with Captain Sisko the details of the initial invasion by the 'Hadar." "You didn't answer my question, Dukat." The Cardassian regarded the Founder with a icy stare. "Yes. We are positive a Founder committed that atrocity. And in response to what will no doubt be your next question, no, the Founder bore no resemblance to you. The name *she* chose to be addressed by was Kirsen Yavren." Dukat held back a malicious grin, wondering if this Odo who had served under Gul Dukat was fluent enough in Kardasi to get the joke. Yet before another argument could start, Dax intervened and introduced a safer topic. "Deep Space Nine... I guess it would be Terek Nor in your universe." Oh yes. His comment earlier about Picard's mistresses being snuck back and forth to the prefect's office had apparently been circulated. These people were phenomenally curious, desiring to know so much about the construct of his reality. Then again, Dukat had never spent an extended period of time in an alternate universe with counterparts who *wanted* to be friendly; two days had been the longest and most of that had been spent in a monastery with a kai. Well, he could play along with the lie about Picard's mistresses as well as anyone else. There was no need to clarify that Robert Picard, in fact, had commanded Empok Nor and the station was different in design from this one. "The stations which were not destroyed during the Borg Wars have either been heavily damaged or destroyed during this conflict with the Dominion." "The risk of being on the front line," O'Brien murmured. Dukat turned to the chief. "Precisely. Collapsing the wormhole is, perhaps, the solution if an invasion were to begin. It can be accomplished several different ways. In our case, the Bajoran kai insisted she directly contact the Prophets by entering the wormhole herself instead of relying on more scientific means." "Scientific means?" Dax prompted. "Surely, commander, your Starfleet has already devised numerous ways to accomplish such a task. However, I do caution against relying solely on technology as a method to seal the wormhole." "And your reason?" "Collaborators. Traitors. Those who have been offered luxury in exchange for a promise of peace and understanding by the Dominion. They can be anyone or anything; they can sabotage equipment. We live in a very dangerous time, commander." --- "He requested a night on the town." "That's quite a turnaround from, 'we have to sequester our crew,'" Kira commented as she sat in the chair across from Sisko's desk. "It came from O'Brien, not Bashir," Sisko clarified. "He's facing a morale problem. You saw how Brahms reacted when Dukat explained about their technology. Dukat said himself they were committing treason and these are two of O'Brien's command staff. From the little I've gathered from O'Brien, they're losing the fight." "I know how they feel," she empathized. "There were moments during the Occupation we never thought we'd rid ourselves of the Cardassians." "How did Shakaar deal with it?" Kira smirked, "I don't think you want to know the answer to that, captain." "Oh." "We were never sent to an alternate universe, either," she laughed darkly. "We always knew who the enemy was...." "That's what O'Brien said," Sisko added absently. "Captain, these are soldiers," she said. "All they know how to do is fight because that's all they *can* do and it's what they *have* to do. They are *young*. Now they're stuck in a place where they don't know the rules...." "Are you sure you didn't overhear my conversation with Captain O'Brien?" Kira gave a sad smile. "I know what they're going through. Every member of the Bajoran Resistance understands *exactly* what those people are dealing with. To us, the Cardassians were as deadly as the Borg and the Dominion, maybe even worse because there were people out there who refused to help us." She met Sisko's direct gaze with an unapologetic one of her own. "O'Brien has to be pretty desperate to flirt with a charge of treason. You said he even offered some type of field generator?" "It sounds like the one the Obsidian Order created to keep Odo from shapeshifting," Sisko replied. "According to the Cardassians, the prototype and the plans for it were lost during their offensive against the Founder homeworld. The Romulans claim they had no part in developing it. Speaking of them, I'm surprised they haven't been knocking at our doors." "They're waiting to see what we're given and if it works," she retorted. "I'm sure you're right, major. Right now, I have to worry about clearing the Promenade for these people." "And hoping none of them starts a fight because we're Collaborators?" "Something like that." --- "Bullseye!" Ambassador Bashir glanced down to the lower level of Quark's at the shouts of triumph, the Defiant's crew rallying behind their captain as he made his shots. Julian couldn't recall the last time they had been so relaxed and happy, their upbeat mood taking the edge off some of his depression. Even those who had spread the rumors about the court martial and possible execution when they returned home were now on their second or third drinks and laughing with the "Collaborators." Oh, O'Brien's speech had been one of the best the captain had ever given, drawing upon the Faith of those who believed and the logic of those who didn't. Even Brahms refrained from protesting, although she, Lavelle, and Bartel outright refused to join them, using the pretense of "guarding the ship" as their excuse. Julian was surprised the bar was not more crowded than it was. Perhaps Captain Sisko had drawn up a strict "guest list" which even the BPG and Gul Dukat had adhered to. There was a pleasant mix of Starfleet, Bajoran and Cardassian personnel, although the Cardassian contingent seemed content to haunt the dabo wheel. Both Starfleet crews rooted for both O'Briens as the men engaged in a feisty round of darts, although always a bit louder and more rambunctious for their respective man. Bashir's counterpart was down there too, leading the cheers as each O'Brien took his turn and earning a few looks of embarrassed exasperation from the chief. Captain O'Brien, however, clapped the doctor several times on the shoulder as if appreciative this Bashir wasn't as dour and disconsolate as the diplomat. Those who weren't paying attention to the game, like the Defiant's chief engineer and Dukat's daughter, found tables away from the main throng of the crowd. Jake and Ziyal sat shoulder to shoulder, occasionally whispering and laughing between themselves, as they dined. They weren't the only two who had paired off, nor were they the most obvious, but by far they were the ones most noted by the DS9 residents. Kestra and Worf stood by the lower level entrance, barely acknowledging one another as they seemed to guard the patrons. Perhaps that's why the Defiant's personnel seemed less edgy: they knew they had Troi to sense if a shapeshifter were to come near them. Major Kira occasionally approached the duo, made a few short comments, before drifting through the rest of the crowd. Conspicuously absent were Captain Sisko, First Minister Shakaar, Gul Dukat, and Admiral Nechayev; they were probably locked away in Sisko's office fighting over technology or rights to the research information or something inane like that. Julian twirled the glass of kanar between his fingers, wondering what possessed him to isolate himself from the rest of the party. Perhaps Garak had managed to procure an invitation to the soiree. Perhaps Elim would enter the upper level of Quark's. Perhaps Elim had changed his mind. Maybe, just maybe, the Prophets would again let Julian.... Bashir shook his head. They granted his wish last night. What more could he want? The crowd hushed slightly for a moment and Julian glanced down to find the reason: Dukat and Commander Dax had entered the bar. The Cardassian surveyed the crowd before he caught sight of Bashir gloomily staring down at him. He nodded, the ambassador reciprocated the salute, and Dukat continued his conversation with the Trill but steered her toward the staircase. She complied once she saw Bashir, and the Cardassian and Trill quickly ascended the stairs and walked over. He was forced to put on a smile and at least act like he was having a nice time. "Watching over the brood, ambassador?" Julian refrained from grimacing, annoyed at the double meaning of "brood." Still, he gamely replied, "I spend all my life talking. I thought someone would appreciate me shutting up for once." That earned a chuckle from Dax as Dukat gallantly held out the chair next to the railing, across from Bashir. She accepted it with a slight curtsey. "Thank you, Dukat." "You're welcome, commander." The Cardassian then pulled a chair over from a neighboring table and joined them. Julian bit back a teasing remark. A Cardassian, especially one of Dukat's prestige, showing deference to a lower ranking officer was almost unheard of. It was usually only done as an insult or, as was more likely the case here, a prelude to a courtship. Dukat's flourish of chivalry also hinted at his current mood; he was willing to forego the aching formality if Bashir was. Another loud cheer erupted from those who were observing the dart game. Both O'Briens were grinning, exchanging comments between themselves before sharing the conversation with their fans. Bashir searched for Kestra, wondering how she was faring in a crowd this size, but from this distance, her features were unreadable. Captain Sisko then walked through the door, pausing to talk with Worf and then shaking Troi's hand. When the crowd noticed the captain, they became eerily silent. Sisko, with Kira at his right side, said a few words, but his voice didn't carry to the upper level. Afterwards, the crowd resumed their celebration, albeit a bit quieter. Julian dragged his eyes from the gala below and found himself being politely scrutinized by the Starfleet science officer. "I want you to know we do appreciate the information you have given us, ambassador," the Trill began and then waved over the bartender who had just finished climbing the stairs. "I know you probably don't want to talk about business, but I thought you may want to hear it from someone other than an admiral or a gul or a captain." She was honoring him with diplomatic rhetoric. She was also explaining why she had been staring at him. Julian replied, "Of course, commander." The Ferengi, dressed in a maroon and navy patterned cutaway coat, clapped his hands together when he saw the trio and grinned, immediately putting Dukat and Bashir on the defensive. "Good evening, commander! Gentlemen! Another round of kanar for you, ambassador?" Dax glanced over to Bashir who shrugged noncommittally and she addressed both Defiant officers, "Would you care to share a bottle of champagne? I believe tonight is good night to celebrate." "I'm sure we can handle such an 'exotic' intoxicant," Dukat replied. The ambassador only nodded. "Oh, and Quark," she added, "bring up a round of appetizers." "Anything in particular?" the Ferengi asked. Dax looked to the Cardassian and human for some hint. "Commander," Dukat gestured grandly, "this is your station. I am sure you have already sampled the various cuisines and know which ones are the best. We are at your mercy." Julian rolled his eyes at the comment and Dax pressed her lips together to hold back a smile at the ambassador's reaction, as if she got the joke the Cardassian's behavior was over the top. She did take the opportunity to order a smattering of foods and Quark hurried down the stairs when she was finished. "I hope your daughter is able to be here, tonight," Dax told Dukat earnestly. It was an interesting tactic, to say the least, and a subject which always delighted the verbose Cardassian. Both Bashir and Dukat knew precisely why the Trill had chosen the topic; she knew it was relatively safe and neutral. Obviously, Odo and Worf had relayed Dukat's reaction yesterday to Ziyal's alternate to the rest of DS9's command staff. The Cardassian exuded the pride of a father. "I believe Ziyal is with Mister Sisko this evening, although I have to admit I did not see them when we arrived." "Down and to the left," Julian said absently and pointed. The Trill craned her neck to see where he indicated. At that moment, Jake gave Ziyal a more than friendly kiss. Dax's eyebrows shot up in surprise and she turned to Dukat. "So," she nudged him and winked, "do you approve?" Clearly, the science officer had taken Dukat's early joviality as some sign of friendship. Why else would she suddenly believe it proper to ask immensely personal questions? Trills, at least in Julian's universe, were either impish as Dax seemed to be or stolid as a Vulcan; there was no in-between. Dukat met her eyes, she drew in a slow breath as if she realized she probably stepped over the line of good manners and offended him, but his lips curved into a smile. "I approve whole-heartedly. Mister Sisko is an admirable and dedicated young man." Julian laughed to himself. Dukat would have said "yes" even if he did not accept the relationship since disapproving of the couple would undoubtedly be interpreted as a slight against Captain Sisko. He watched as the Trill accepted the answer and decided upon her next question. This time, however, she did not give the Cardassian a poke in the arm. "So, how long have they been going steady?" "Going steady?" Dukat echoed, obviously unfamiliar with the colloquialism, and looked to Bashir for an explanation. Julian opted for the informal Kardasi translation. "Sarkhret." The Trill's eyes widened, evidently her translator gave the literal meaning of the word, and she protested. "No! That's not what I mean." She fumbled for a few seconds before coming up with, "Nooretli." The ambassador inwardly winced at her pronunciation but was extremely amused at the misconception of Cardassian linguistics. She recognized the first part of the word he had used; it was the Kardasi equivalent to "fuck" in Standard. However, her word choice was more of an insult than she probably knew. Although "nooret" strictly translated as "loving couple," the "li" suffix insinuated Ziyal's relationship with Jake was nothing more than a convenience, not a long term relationship. "You mean 'nooret,' commander," Julian corrected gently and then cast a significant look in Dukat's direction. The Cardassian theatrically sighed, "Sarkhret... nooret... they are the same. The only difference is in the formality." Dax raised a dubious eyebrow at his attempt to smooth over the misinterpretation. Dukat continued, sounding fatherly and romantic at the same time as he played along with the conversation. "It is so hard to tell, commander, when relationships like this begin and end. Under normal circumstances, such a union would be frowned upon since I am the chief of security for the ship and Mister Sisko is the chief engineer. There would be concern for a certain type of nepotism and/or favoritism since Ziyal is under the command of Doctor Troi. But given the current state of affairs, it is permissible." "By the Prophets, Dukat," chided Julian, "you make it sound as if Ziyal is forbidden!" Dukat looked at him archly. The ambassador grinned. "Of course, the thought of having you as a father-in-law is enough to frighten away any young suitor." "And I suppose the prospect of having you or perhaps Captain O'Brien as one is less threatening?" the Cardassian shot back. "Think of all the Terran customs you will insist upon." "Terran customs? Surely they are no different than the wealth of Cardassian ones you'll put your foot down about," the ambassador countered. "With any luck, they'll opt for the Bajoran ones and send you into a tizzy." "Ambassador Bashir, I am not one who 'goes into a tizzy,'" Dukat retorted. The Trill, who had been silent as the two bantered, could no longer hold back the giggles. "Maybe they'll elope." Dukat looked appropriately indignant and Bashir chortled, "I can see it now. They'll knock on my door at 0300 hours and ask for the standard Starfleet, 'Do you love him? Do you love her? Boom! You're married!' ceremony. Feeling pity for the poor couple who has been besieged by everyone's insistence all *three* heritages must be honored, I perform it. Next thing I know, I'm... Hmm... I don't know quite what you would do, Dukat." "Rura Penthe." "Oh, Dukat! That's a bit harsh, don't you think? And far less creative than I had hoped." "My first choice is not suitable for explanation in mixed company." Laughter suddenly erupted from the Trill, her eyes watering as she gasped for breath. Quark, who finally came back with the champagne, glasses, and the appetizers, paused before setting the tray of food on the table between Dukat and Bashir and then handed out the glasses. He popped open the bottle and then poured modest amounts in each of the champagne flutes. "Anything else?" the Ferengi's tone was between hopeful and lecherous. "No," Bashir said as he delivered a don't-even-try-it look to the bartender, "that will be all. Thank you." Quark nodded once and retreated, a move which sobered Dax immediately. "I have to remember that expression," she nodded to the ambassador, "next time I want him to disappear quickly." Neither Dukat or Bashir commented. She picked up a glass and the two men did the same. Holding it up she toasted, "To old friends, new acquaintances, and the Season of the Mists. May we each live to give the Devil his due." "Sahneyr," Dukat and Bashir saluted in Kardasi and together they drank. "Have you ever had pipius claw?" she offered. "I assure you it is safe for both humans and Cardassians. The Klingons...." The Cardassian nodded as Dax launched into an invigorating discourse on Klingon cuisine. He asked questions, listened intently as if this were a mission briefing, and then gave his opinion. Julian, however, found himself watching the dart game and more interested in who was winning than in the conversation at his table. Was he being rude? Yes. By every definition of the term, Julian was. However, Dukat allowed him such an indulgence by maintaining the innocuous banter with the Trill. Perhaps she had recognized the truth in Julian's words earlier, how refraining from a conversation was his way of relaxing, since she did not inquire as to his opinion on Dukat's commentary. The crowd suddenly roared as people saluted Chief O'Brien by raising their drinks high in the air. Captain O'Brien nodded towards Doctor Bashir, who pointed to himself and then waved his hands as if declining. Those closest to the physician elbowed him a few times and then pushed him forward. The ambassador watched as his alternate dramatically shrugged his shoulders and shook his head, finally accepting O'Brien's challenge to a round of darts. Too bad the physician didn't know his ego was about to be sacrificed for the morale of the Defiant's crew. Julian blindly reached down for an appetizer, hoped Dukat and Dax had not devoured the entire plate, and latched onto a piece. He raised it up, barely turning his head away from the sight below, and took a tentative bite. His mind immediately identified what he was eating: keema samosa. It was one of the few Terran foods Elim favored. Julian forced himself to swallow and made himself finish the second half without choking it down, without giving any indication of the agony he had just brought upon himself. He took another sip of the champagne to cleanse the taste from his mouth. He couldn't stand this; even after last night, he was miserable. Julian wiped his fingers on the napkin by his glass and then stood. "Please, excuse me. I think will retire for the evening." Dukat slid his chair out slightly, obviously ready to escort him, but the ambassador motioned for him to stop. "I hardly think such action is necessary, Dukat. I promise to behave myself in a manner befitting a Starfleet officer." The words did not mollify the Cardassian or the Trill commander, but they heeded his request. Julian bowed formally toward Dax. "Thank you for an enjoyable evening, commander. Good night." --- He wanted to say, after almost five years, he was used to the reactions, the sudden quiet and the wide-eyed, reverent stares. He should have been prepared for their responses; Captain O'Brien had given him sufficient warning. He shouldn't have given in to Kira's badgering; she had been quite clever in how she presented her argument, appealing to his sense of command as O'Brien had done. "He said his people *believe.* They're not expecting a sermon. They don't need a service. You don't have to preside over anything. Just *be* there." Captain O'Brien had used the word "inspiration." Kira understood, perhaps better than Ben Sisko could, what those alternates were going through. Fighting against the odds. Resisting a greater force. Protecting what little they had left. O'Brien was a savvy enough captain to use whatever resources available to keep his troops going, even if it meant asking an odd favor from people he didn't quite trust and facing a multitude of charges when he returned to his universe. Ben had to admire it. He'd probably do the same thing. He entered Quark's. At first, he thought there would only be a mild reaction to his presence; Doctor Troi treated him with the respect one gave a higher ranking officer, even if the officer was of a different military organization. She smiled, shook his hand, and thanked him for his generosity. Then the other members of O'Brien's crew spotted him; the noise level dropped to an embarrassingly low decibel. The only ones who continued talking were the Cardassians from Gul Dukat's ship and DS9's Starfleet personnel, but even they quieted down. Sisko smiled tightly and oddly enough was unsure of what to say. During his tenure as station's commander, he had refrained from as many religious ceremonies as possible in accordance with Starfleet's wishes (not to mention his own personal preference). It was the expression on their faces which tore at him: joyful the Emissary was here yet angry theirs had been taken away. "A blessing, captain," Kira whispered matter-of-factly. Captain O'Brien and Chief O'Brien watched him, sharing the exact same look: "What now? You have everyone's attention." "May your journey be filled with triumphs," he told him, barely raising his voice above his normal speaking volume, "and your path be guided by the Prophets." The crowd murmured. Nechayev would be displeased, Gul Dukat would probably make a snide comment, and Shakaar... Ben wasn't quite sure what the Bajoran minister's reaction would be. The words did have an affect; Captain O'Brien nodded appreciatively and almost as quickly as the party had died down, it began again. Kira simply beamed at him. However, his attention locked on the sight diagonally from him. Jake. No... it wasn't his Jake. The boy carried himself differently. Ziyal. No... it wasn't Gul Dukat's Ziyal. Her hair was drastically different. But they were together. Sharing dinner. Holding hands. *Kissing.* Sisko again found himself at a loss. His mind told him over and over they were the alternates of his son and Dukat's daughter, but it didn't help. "They've been like that the whole evening," Kira said quietly. Of course, she probably had time to acclimatize herself to the sight. "According to some of O'Brien's crew, they're due to get married." He idly wondered what Gul Dukat's reaction would be if such an event would happen in their universe. He had to chuckle. "I wonder what kind of ceremony it will be." She shrugged her shoulders. "Trying to imagine yourself with Dukat as an in-law?" "I try not to," Sisko replied with a sharp smile. "But you have to admit they make a handsome couple." "That they do, captain." At that moment, Ziyal glanced over and saw he was watching them. Her eyes widened and her features immediately brightened. She tugged at Jake's arm and pointed; the young man's eyes met Ben's and his features sobered. Ziyal whispered something, and he shook his head in protest but never broke eye contact with Ben. The Carjoran then stood up and practically dragged Jake to his feet. The chief turned to her, argued briefly again, but lost. She grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the captain, beaming the entire time. Kira glanced up at the captain, wondering why Ziyal had insisted the obviously reluctant Jake meet the alternate of his dead, or at least despised, father. When they came to a halt a scant one and a half meters from Sisko and Kira, Ziyal cleared her throat a few times, obviously nervous, and then spoke. "Emissary...." Ziyal's features became almost worshipful. "The Prophets have spoken of an Emissary for many years, but they have never revealed him or her to us. It is...." she trailed off, unsure of how to formulate the sentence, and looked to Jake for guidance. "It is...." "... a great honor to meet you," Jake finished for the now completely awe-struck Ziyal. He looked ready to shoot himself out of the proverbial photon torpedo tube. "Likewise," Ben replied. The Defiant's engineering chief gave him an ambivalent look before almost shrugging his shoulders. The captain recognized the expression; it was the same his Jake had whenever someone stressed just how important DS9 and his father were in the Federation's grand scheme. "If you will please excuse us, sir," Jake's voice was painfully formal as he gave Ziyal a slight push. "Of course," murmured Ben. The two moved away, leaving the captain even more uncomfortable than before. Kira remained silent, as if knowing her commentary would not be appropriate or appreciated at the moment. The captain turned on heel and found Doctor Troi a few steps behind him, her features set in the classic Starfleet counselor pose. "In our universe, captain," she told him softly, "seconds feel like days, days seem like years, and years feel like eternity." In other words, Chief Jake Sisko's father had been dead a significantly long time. Alive long enough for Jake to have some good memories; dead long enough to harbor justifiable resentment towards a universe where he was still alive. It was better to escape than remember. "My god," Ben whispered to himself, "*he*... is *me.*" --- "Do you always follow him around," the Trill asked as they exited the upper level of Quark's, "even when he asked you not to?" Dukat lanced her with a less than favorable stare. "Commander, security is my responsibility. To have such a prominent officer in a vulnerable position is not acceptable." "You don't trust him." "I realize your scientific curiosity demands you question my motivations," he said flatly, "but your inquiries are becoming quite tedious." "If you would answer my question the first time, Dukat, I wouldn't have to keep repeating myself." The Cardassian rolled his shoulders back, mimicking the Starfleet Klingon. If she recognized the posture, she said nothing. "Commander, Ambassador Bashir is a well respected and consummate officer. However, we are on a foreign station. Surely you can understand my concern." "He doesn't have a personal vendetta against Odo, does he?" "Commander, if this is an attempt to impress upon me the virtues of your Starfleet over mine, I do ask you discontinue." He searched the upper level of the Promenade before catching sight of Bashir below, slowly walking past the deserted kiosks. Dukat moved to the closest staircase and the Trill followed. He paused, realizing she wasn't going to drop the subject so easily, and then gave her a hard stare. "I will state this only once. You are not at war with the Dominion. We are. You do not understand the sacrifices we have made. You cannot comprehend our situation. I sincerely hope you never have the opportunity. My people have set aside their opinions for these few hours. I ask you do the same." She wasn't the least bit intimidated. "You didn't answer my question." Of course these people would challenge him. If Captain O'Brien had given such a response, they may have accepted it because O'Brien was human and a captain. Being Cardassian was already a strike against Dukat, but they saw Dukat as O'Brien's subordinate and would treat him as such. Dax reached out and grabbed his elbow. His glare was lethal. She released him. "Commander, I have no reason to doubt Ambassador Bashir's earlier declaration: he will conduct himself in the manner of a Starfleet officer and a representative of the First Federation. For us, such a proclamation is considered a binding oath. For me to suspect his intentions are disreputable is unacceptable. He has given his word." Dukat watched the Trill's face twist in barely hidden disgust and then he gave a dismissive shake of his head. "I see our blended culture has again baffled you. Our tendency is to explain the reason for our answer, not a simplistic yes or no. For your benefit, I will reply to your question in terms which you can understand. No, Ambassador Bashir does not have a 'personal vendetta' against your chief of security. However, the same may not be true of your shapeshifter. After all, he has challenged the ambassador twice since we have arrived. To paraphrase the astute observation by your insightful Doctor Bashir, I would think after that first incident your changeling would have known better than to 'sneak up' on the ambassador." He was about to congratulate himself on such a fine speech, one which had achieved his goal of pointing out the failings of Dax's Federation while venerating his own, when he realized what he had said. The shapeshifter *should* have known better. Plain and simple. Granted, no changeling in Dukat's universe had either survived or stayed around long enough to make a second or third attempt at mocking; he had no basis upon which to formulate his theory. However, he reflected on the time he had spent in Science Lab Three. Odo had continued his campaign to annoy Dukat, tossing out sharp comments, trying to incite the Cardassian's anger. The Founder didn't even react to the somewhat vulgar slur of "kirsenyavren" even if Dax had interrupted before Odo could respond. Yesterday, Bashir had declared Odo had tested him with that incident on the Promenade. Yesterday, Odo had deliberately stood in front of the opaque shielding, waiting for the shields to drop. He probably had done it not only to startle Dukat or Bashir, but to see if the newcomers could *detect* him. The handshake trick. The smugness. Was it a death wish? No. According to the ambassador's report about what happened on the Promenade, Doctor Bashir had brashly defended Odo. The doctor stated clearly how the Founder had killed one of his own kind in order to save the Starfleets and that action had resulted in Odo's exile. If the Founder had chosen to live among the "solids" and participated in exercises designed to train personnel on how to effectively search for and disable a shapeshifter, would he continually attempt to intimidate a group of people who could ultimately help this Alpha Quadrant? The solution was as obvious as the ridges on his neck. Dukat clenched his fists; a collection of profanities which rivaled O'Brien's pounded through his head. He suddenly stared at the ceiling, willing his temper to cool. The Trill was appropriately alarmed. "Dukat?" "It seems, my dear commander, our arrogance has again been used against us." --- He wished the kiosks had been allowed to remain open; their absence somewhat dispelled the illusion the crew of the Defiant under Captain O'Brien's command had a night of freedom. His people had one evening of carefully controlled revelry, but it gave Julian the impression of imprisonment. Of course, everything felt like a prison nowadays. He had so little joy in his life. The time spent here on this station full of Collaborators was oddly enough one of the few bright moments of the past six months. It wasn't often he had the opportunity to scandalize a joined Trill. It was a habit he had picked up during his mentorship with Kyle Riker and now Julian fully appreciated Riker's addiction to it. Nothing beat a sudden rush of power as centuries of wisdom were defeated by simple knowledge and a quick wit. Julian lingered by the Temple which was almost directly across from Quark's. He wondered whose sense of irony had devised that particular arrangement. He glanced towards the bar and found Troi standing almost outside of the establishment. She met his curious stare, gave the hand signal for "shifter," and then gestured toward the security office. He signed his thanks and continued his unhurried pace as he approached the tailoring shop. As Fate would have it, Garak exited his shop, typed in the command to close the door, and as it slid shut, he entered his security code. Had the Cardassian been waiting for the ambassador? Or was Julian simply indulging in a whim that this particular Garak had some sort of affection for him? The tailor caught sight of him out of the corner of his eye, turned, and nodded once. "Novetse terneyri, Legat Bashir." Garak remembered. Then again, that small detail of Bashir's preference for Kardasi rather than Federation standard was a hard one to forget. Julian tilted his head slightly and responded in the same language. "Good evening, Garak." The two maintained eye contact, obviously waiting for the other to continue with the conversation. Julian drew a blank. What was he supposed to say? Thank Elim for last evening and invite him back tonight? The ambassador was desperate for something clever to say, but his mind stalled and his mouth grew dry. The only thought he could conjure up was so obscure that it would show Julian's weakness. Perhaps... that was a good thing. Not subtle by any stretch of the imagination, but it showed an obvious vulnerability, how much Julian truly wanted/needed/desired/craved Elim, even if it wasn't the best tactic. It was the only one he could think of. Bashir forged on, "You know, for all the Vorta's claims of understanding us, they don't seem to quite get the fact a majority of Federation peoples will resist to their dying breaths." Garak blinked in surprise then narrowed his eyes, waiting for the explanation of why Julian had chosen such a topic. "Triumph over adversity," Julian's voice almost shook, but he forced himself to calm down. "What was that one quote? We will fight for many things, our spouses, our children, our family, our homeland, our people... Take those away and you have a much more dangerous adversary, for the person has absolutely nothing to lose." "A very interesting observation." Julian was about to continue when he heard Dukat's voice from the upper level of the Promenade and the door hydraulics from the direction of the security office. He turned and immediately located Odo; the shapeshifter had exited his office and was striding purposefully toward him. Dukat was now standing at the top of the spiral staircase, but Julian had not readjusted his subderm after he had turned it down in Quark's, so he could not hear what Dukat was saying. The ambassador then looked for Troi, but she had gone back inside Quark's. Including himself, there were a total of five people on the Promenade that he could see. Odo continued walking toward him and Garak. "Ambassador," the Cardassian's voice was exceptionally calm, as if he sensed the turmoil in Julian, "there really is no need to have a repeat performance of yesterday. Although, I have to say Odo's persistence in this matter is perhaps foolish." "Repeat performance? Are you implying my reaction to his appearance was unjustified?" "No, ambassador. Simply unnecessary." Odo was now less than twenty meters away. Julian heard two sets of footsteps clanking against the metal of the staircase, but he remained focused on the shifter. Garak stepped away from the entrance of his shop and stood to the left of the ambassador. "Good evening, Odo!" the Cardassian called in Standard, when the shapeshifter was only seven meters away. "I believe the expression is 'Are you out walking the beat?'" The changeling didn't respond. Instead, he launched forward, his body reforming into a thin column of molten gold, a spiked tip which spread to five centimeters in diameter, and aimed himself directly at... "GARAK!" Julian shouted. He pulled out his phaser, unceremoniously pushed the Cardassian to the ground, and aimed. Unfortunately, he was too late. Dukat broke into a run. He was only thirty five meters away when his instinct told him the shifter was going to attack. He already had his phaser ready and fired at the base of the shifter as it morphed into the columned spike and arched itself at the ambassador. He couldn't afford to aim anywhere else; he risked obliterating Bashir and Garak. The shifter pulled itself off the deckplate nanoseconds before the blast hit. Dax began yelling that he shouldn't be trying to kill the thing she thought was Odo. Cold fury descended upon Dukat, encasing his emotions in glacial ice. He was too much a soldier, far too disciplined to allow the memory of a similar attack superimpose itself upon this scene. No... they were not in the Badlands. No... this was not Margo IV. No... he had not traveled back in time two years, three months, six days. No... this was not the last defiant act of a shifter. No... it was not Garak who was the target. Remorse and damnation did not intrude upon his thoughts. He did not allow himself to lament withholding from Julian the exact details of Gul Garak's death. Dukat refused to dwell upon the fact that, had the ambassador known what precisely had happened to the gul, Bashir would not have been so trusting when the being which claimed to be Odo approached him. Guilt was a distinctly un-Cardassian emotion. Yes, he shouldered a majority of the blame. He should not have allowed Bashir to wander far. He should have recognized the pattern of events. The shifter had continually tested the ambassador and to some extent Dukat himself, making both accept the fact there was a Founder present at all times. In the interest of returning to their own reality, they could not kill the shifter, no matter how tempting it was. It had to have known Julian was distracted by Garak's presence; it understood the preferential treatment the tailor had been given was more from habit and affection than just because Garak was Cardassian. From a tactical standpoint, the plan was well executed. Lightning, as the Terran phrasing went, was about to strike twice. "Shifter!" Dukat yelled, in a vain attempt to distract the changeling. Subconsciously, he knew it would not work but he still did it. The shifter impaled the ambassador's midsection. Bashir's weapon toppled from his grip as he was lifted upward by the shifter. Blood erupted from his lips as he attempted to scream. Dukat ordered Troi to the Promenade and didn't wait for her acknowledgment. He fired again, this time scoring a hit on the shifter, but his weapon was set too low for the shifter to completely lose its shape. A second shot from a new direction hit; Garak had retrieved Julian's weapon and joined in the fight. However, he was concerned with the ambassador's fate as well. The weapon had been set at the standard 3.5 setting. Enough to cause the shifter to lose its shape but not enough to kill it. Since it was already in a gelatinous state, their efforts were almost useless. It released its hold on Julian. The ambassador dropped to the ground, gasping and clutching his wound. The shifter darted away from the group as Dukat and Garak opened fire. It was faster and more agile than Dukat had expected. A third barrage of fire joined the Cardassians'; Jake charged head-on toward the slithering shifter. The engineer must have been on his way back to the ship for that was the direction from which he came and his weapon was set at the highest setting. With the precision and accuracy of a security officer, Jake targeted the offending creature and fired his weapon. The Founder exploded in a cascade of molten gold and fluorescent orange blobs. Garak pulled himself closer to the trembling human, gently cradling the ambassador's head in his lap. Bashir's skin was now ashen, so pale against the garnet red of human blood, and his eyes were wide and frantically darting, but it was obvious he could not see. Easing the human's hands from his bleeding midsection, Garak used his own fingers and palms to press down in a feeble effort to staunch the wound. "I'm afraid my knowledge of human physiology is somewhat lacking," Garak said with a sad smile, his words in Kardasi. "But you must not worry! I can hear your O'Brien swearing like a freighter captain. Ah! He's dragging your counterpart along with him. And look! Doctor Troi is going to join them. You are going to be treated with the best of both worlds, my dear ambassador." "Elim..." the words were slurred. "Hurt?" "My dear ambassador, I am unscathed, thanks to your heroic efforts," he soothed, bending his head closer to whisper the final comment in Julian's ear. "No wonder I am smitten by you, my Chosen." A bubble of laughter escaped from the ambassador, followed by an unhealthy amount of blood flowing from his lips. Doctor Bashir was shouting orders about immediate transporting as he knelt at the ambassador's side and inspected the damage. "My god!" the doctor breathed as he placed his hands over the Cardassian's. Troi skidded to stop behind him. Then the doctor yelled, "Energize now!" Troi, Garak, and both Bashirs dematerialized. --- Dax, Worf, Chief O'Brien, Kira and select DS9 security personnel searched for the real Odo. The Defiant's crew had returned to their secured area except for Captain O'Brien, who insisted he remain in the Infirmary, and Doctor Troi, who assisted Bashir. Ben chose to wait in Ops for news on Odo and the ambassador. Sisko had been in the middle of the bar when he had heard the shouting on the Promenade. Troi and Worf had moved away from the door, closer to the Dabo tables, and had been engrossed in conversation. Captain O'Brien had been waiting his turn in his game against Doctor Bashir and joking with the spectators, especially the chief. When Dukat had bolted past the entrance of Quark's firing a phaser and shouting out "Shifter" at a volume which could only be described as "at the top of his lungs," chaos had broken loose. Captain O'Brien had barreled past him, wielding a phaser in one hand and dragging Bashir by the front of the doctor's uniform with the other. When people had gathered by the door to gape at what was going on, O'Brien had bellowed, "Get out of my fucking way now!" The patrons had immediately parted, giving O'Brien a clear path to the Promenade. Worf had ordered the people in front of him to move as well, although the Klingon had refrained from using profanity, and had allowed Troi to dash out to join O'Brien. Worf and Ben had followed. Kira and the chief had remained behind to control the crowd. Ben had arrived on the Promenade in time to see his son... no... no... it had not been *his son*... It had been *Chief* Jake Sisko aiming a phaser at a fast moving gelatinous golden glob, firing the weapon, and killing Odo. Ben had been too shocked, too devastated for those few moments to say anything. Jake hadn't even looked toward him; instead the engineering chief's attention had been focused on the commotion in front of Garak's shop. Ambassador Bashir had been lying there, blood seeping from his mouth and pooling around his body. His head had been pillowed in Garak's lap, the Cardassian's hands pressing on the obvious belly wound as the scarlet of Bashir's blood stained his gray skin. Captain O'Brien had let go of Doctor Bashir and had begun snapping out orders for the Defiant's crew to return to their secured area immediately. His crew did not protest. It had been the first time Ben had ever seen an open display of Dukat's anger. He'd seen the Cardassian outraged, incensed, but never livid enough to spit explanations out with such passion as to make a joined Trill pale. "That shifter," Dukat had snarled at Dax, looming over her and radiating unadulterated fury, "replaced your chief of security!" Worf had stepped dangerously close to the arguing pair, enough to catch the Cardassian's attention. Dukat's blue ice eyes bored into the Klingon. "Your shifter is somewhere on the station. Either you find him, or *I* will." The hunt had then begun. That had been one hour, fifty-seven minutes and twenty-three seconds ago. Sisko had to face the distinct possibility Odo had attempted to assassinate Ambassador Bashir. Dax confirmed Dukat's claim Odo attacked the diplomat. Nechayev, Shakaar, and Gul Dukat had been surprised, but opted to wait for an update from Sisko before they reconvened to discuss this latest disaster. Ben, however, was still reliving the moment Jake had killed Odo. His boy... his boy had committed murder. His boy had killed Odo. Odo... one of Ben's "most trusted officers." Ben remembered the coldness in Jake's eyes, the grim determination set in the boy's features, and the almost casual way he put away his phaser. At eighteen, his boy was a bona fide soldier. The attitude Jake had displayed made it seem like this wasn't the first time he'd had to defend himself. That boy was a Sisko. There was no doubt. He was more like Ben than the captain dared to admit. "Kira to Sisko!" Her sharp voice broke his thoughts. "Go ahead, major." "We've found Odo. They put him in a container similar to the one when Verad tried to hijack Dax's symbiont. They placed it in a holding compartment at the assay office." Of course the Founders wouldn't kill one of their own, even if Odo had taken the life of one of them. Sisko immediately remembered the device Kira referred to, the octagonal metal box rigged with magnetic seals preventing Odo's escape. Sisko rubbed the bridge of his nose. "How is he?" Kira seethed, "We're going to have to get Chief O'Brien down here to unlock this thing. It has an encryption code." "Major, has Captain O'Brien been notified?" "No, sir. I called you first." "Good. I'll tell Captain O'Brien and you alert the rest of the teams. When the chief gets Odo out of there, I want round-the-clock security for the constable. " "Yes, sir!" Ben left for the Infirmary. --- His clothing was soaked in blood. It had seeped up the length of his sleeves, saturated the material covering his thighs and knees, and splattered across his chest. He supposed the only reason he was not literally dripping in blood was because Tarkalean wool was particularly absorbent. Upon materializing in the Infirmary, the doctors whisked the ambassador to surgery, leaving Garak kneeling in the middle of the main room. Those of Bashir's mostly Bajoran staff who had not gone to assist the doctors made no effort to inquire as to his health. They favored him with curious stares mingled with disgust as they busied themselves with their inconsequential tasks. He stood, ready to leave, when Captain O'Brien charged in. The medical staff immediately perked up. They peppered the Terran with questions, asking if he was hurt, if he'd like something to drink, and if he'd like to wait in Bashir's office until the doctors had some news. O'Brien waved them silent and stared directly at Garak. "I would like to hear what happened on the Promenade from your perspective, Mister Garak." It was a request, not a demand. O'Brien understood he had no jurisdiction here, he could not order Garak to answer his questions, so he chose instead to ask politely. Garak nodded once, "Of course, captain." They proceeded directly to Bashir's office amid gasps from Bashir's staff. The captain asked a few uninspired questions: "What had happened? How many shots did you fire? Did you notice any part of the shapeshifter breaking off?" The last inquiry had been unnerving as had O'Brien's subsequent explanation. "Sometimes, we get shifters that are like Terran earthworms. You can slice them in half, but they can function as two separate beings." The conversation only lasted fifteen minutes before O'Brien seemed satisfied enough with Garak's account, thanked him, and lapsed into silence. Ninety minutes passed. Garak couldn't quite figure out why he had chosen to stay here, sitting next to this Terran captain, reeking from the foul smell of human blood, and pondering what had happened. He wanted to say Bashir was not his responsibility. He wanted to say he felt no obligation to the ambassador. He was not afraid to pass by his shop, walk over the deckplates where the incident had occurred, and shed these ruined garments, the fibers now hardening as the blood dried. Captain O'Brien had not asked him to leave. He hadn't dismissed him. He hadn't even asked why Garak was still here. Bashir's injuries had been grisly, grotesque in the sense Garak had never witnessed anything quite like them. Abdominal wounds on humanoid species were perhaps the sloppiest of all and the commingling of digestive fluids and blood made for a most unappetizing odor. Yet it had gone beyond the sense of sight and smell for Garak. It was the way Julian had shouted his name, unselfishly hurling himself in front of the shifter and fully believing he, Elim Garak, Exile of Cardassia, was the Founder's target. No one had ever sacrificed himself for Elim Garak. He wanted to be disappointed that Julian had been so short-sighted as to not realize attacking a First Federation officer would be the Founder's primary goal. Perhaps the changeling had decided the assassination would jolt Captain O'Brien into surrendering all of his Federation's precious technology and intelligence reports. What better way to protect the Dominion than to possess the same knowledge as one's enemies? The Obsidian Order trained part of him respected the strategy. If only his Obsidian Order training had served him better.... The ambassador had instincts. Excellent ones, in fact. The moment the doors to the security office had opened, Bashir had turned around searching for Odo. Garak, who had not wanted another standoff, had persuaded the ambassador to remain calm, not to draw his weapon, not to be prepared. Whether it was because of the sound of Garak's voice giving him an order or complacency which had held back the ambassador, he did not know. He didn't care to find the answer either. The tailor glanced at the captain, who had closed his eyes as if in meditation. Chief O'Brien would never have remained in the same room with a Cardassian unless it was absolutely necessary; this O'Brien seemed to welcome his company. In an odd way, Garak enjoyed the companionable silence as well. The ambassador had implied Gul Garak and Captain O'Brien knew each other; there was simply no other way to interpret "you lost the bet with Miles," unless Bashir was just making up a story. "You're fidgeting." O'Brien's eyes were still shut, his hands folded neatly in his lap. "I was unaware I was disturbing you, captain." "I didn't say you were. I just stated a fact." "You wish me to leave." "Didn't say that either. Just said you were fidgeting." Was this a prelude to the "Ambassador Bashir thought you were the target" discussion? Chief O'Brien was relatively easy to read; this O'Brien was almost unfathomable. Or was the captain wondering why Garak had stayed after he had answered all the questions? Before the tailor had time to postulate another reason to O'Brien's observation, Captain Sisko walked into the room. The Irishman opened his eyes and stood, perhaps in recognition that he and Sisko held the same rank. The angle he was at, however, did not afford Garak a view of the man's features. Sisko focused on Garak first then turned to O'Brien. O'Brien shrugged his shoulders. "Been asking him what happened on the Promenade." "For almost two hours?" Sisko asked. "Ever get a straight answer from *him* before, captain?" To Garak, it was disconcerting to have O'Brien defend him, even if the last comment had been a bit of an insult. He did not particularly wish to witness this exchange but since Sisko blocked his exit and O'Brien had implied his company was welcome, Garak had no choice. He remained seated. Sisko ignored the comment and instead announced. "Major Kira has located Odo." O'Brien nodded but did not say anything. "Will your crew retaliate?" The captain straightened. "The shifter who attempted to kill my officer has been dealt with. My crew is a bit more civilized than you give them credit for. They don't possess the lynch mob mentality." "I'll be more specific then, captain. I don't want any of your people...." "I guess you didn't hear my earlier orders, *captain,*" O'Brien said coldly. "My people will be busting their asses to get our ship repaired. Odo doesn't merit their attention." "And yourself?" "I won't be hunting him down, Sisko. Frankly, he's not worth it." "Yet earlier you said...." "Earlier, your changeling friend was getting off threatening my officers. If he's stupid enough to try it again, we will neutralize him." "Neutralize him in what way?" "Whatever works, Captain Sisko." "We *both* made mistakes." "Yes. We did. I was too eager to believe that maybe the Prophets sent us to a place where They would smile upon us. I missed all the warning signs of the switch-up. You'd think a man with my experience would realize Odo should still have been recovering from the effects of that blast Dukat gave him. And you... well, you were so damned busy proving to us about your implicit trust in Odo, you didn't question his actions, especially after that bit with Bashir on the Promenade yesterday." "Point taken, captain." "I'm glad it is. Now because we both made these errors in judgement, I may lose one of my best officers. It doesn't put me in a good mood." "I understand." "No, captain. I don't think you do." O'Brien paused. "The deal's off." Sisko stared at him. "What do you mean, the deal is off?" "You get the tracking system and that's it." His eyes flicked towards Garak. "We should discuss this elsewhere, perhaps at a better time." "You mean I should wait until I find out one way or another about Bashir and make my decision based on that? Sorry, Sisko. It isn't going to happen. You have your laws, I have mine. Exchanging technology for equipment is one thing. You asked us to trust your security chief. We did. He attempted to assassinate an ambassador of the First Federation who also happens to be a Starfleet officer." "Captain," Sisko said reasonably, "we both know the Founder who attacked the ambassador was not Odo." "Do I now? The shifter Kira has found *claims* to be Odo. Can you say with absolute certainty that *that* shifter is, in fact, *your* Odo? Or will you have to meet him, talk with him, and test him somehow to make sure he's yours? Your own officers firmly believed the shifter who attacked Bashir was the same one they'd been working with for years, as did you. I cannot accept your testimony as valid, captain." "I see." "I doubt it, captain. I really do." Sisko briefly looked at Garak. O'Brien crossed his arms over his chest, as if he refused to acknowledge Sisko's implication that Garak had filled the Irishman's head with lies. The Cardassian, however, grew weary of the implied accusations from Sisko and decided that while he would accept partial responsibility for the ambassador's grievous wounds, he would not tolerate being blamed for Captain O'Brien's decision to rescind the offer of technology. He got to his feet, tugged at the blood-caked cuffs of his tunic, and approached the two men. "Gentlemen, while this conversation has been most enlightening, I believe my presence is really unnecessary." "You should have said something earlier," Sisko bit the words off, flashing a sharp smile. "And interrupt?" he queried as he feigned wide-eyed disbelief. "That would certainly be a breach of etiquette, now wouldn't it? Ah, but I see such a discussion on manners is, perhaps, unwelcome at this time. Good evening, captains." --- "There's nothing more we can do now." That was perhaps the most hated phrase in a doctor's repertoire: "There's nothing more I can do." It was an admission of defeat. It declared one had reached an impasse. Every time Doctor Julian Bashir used it, he despised it. With all the phenomenal equipment and detailed knowledge Doctors Troi and Bashir possessed, there were still limits, still boundaries, still obstacles that they could not conquer. It was frustrating. "Computer, elapsed time?" Julian called out as he stripped off his surgical hood and stretched. "Four hours, two minutes." Troi rubbed her eyes and stifled a yawn as she trudged out of the main operating room to the small changing area. "I've only done one multi-organ replacement operation in my life... and that was in medical school." He chuckled sympathetically, "I think this is my third or fourth, but," Julian paused until he had her attention, "but this is the first time on myself. Quite disconcerting when you look over and see yourself lying there." She snorted good-naturedly, but he could see the weariness in the way her shoulders slumped and her head drooped. "Doctor... you need to rest. I can take care of things here." "I have to report to Captain O'Brien." Julian crossed his arms. "Doctor...." She glanced over at him with bloodshot eyes. "You're going to use your position as chief medical officer of the station to invoke some order, aren't you?" "If I have to, I will." Troi sighed and peeled off the surgical gown. "Not even a report to O'Brien?" "Not even a report to O'Brien," he confirmed. "You're more than welcome to use the quarantine area. It's quiet, away from the bustle...." "And away from my crew...." "If you'd like." A smile barely lit her features. "I want to stay close to the ambassador." "Of course, doctor." He pointed to another offshoot of the main operating room. She tilted her head toward him in silent thanks and then walked to the quarantine room and closed the door behind her. Julian let out a breath, relieved she'd actually followed his advice without too much of an argument, and then removed his own gown. Surgery had been brutal. There was no other way to describe it. Multi-organ repair/replacement operations were difficult under normal conditions and positively nightmarish when the patient had been impaled by.... Julian closed his eyes. He'd seen a multitude of injuries, ranging from scrapes to knife wounds to charred husks. He added a 7 centimeter in diameter puncture wound to the abdomen to the list. Organs were simply not there, arteries and blood vessels ripped away, and nerve endings severed. Troi knew all the shortcuts, procedures which immediately stabilized the patient so the more delicate work could be done, but he had performed the intricate organ replacements. All she had said was, "You have more experience." With clinical detachment, he operated, refusing to acknowledge his patient was actually an alternate of himself. There were differences: scar tissue and highly defined muscles. The latter made him realize he wasn't as physically fit as he thought he was, but he had pushed it aside. He wasn't going to let himself die. Troi probably sensed that dedication. It was another reason she had stepped aside, content to be his assistant. After splashing a few handfuls of cold water on his face and toweling off, he headed toward his office, wondering how to go about locating Captain O'Brien. Julian stopped at the threshold. O'Brien sat there. He wasn't snoring nor did his head loll to one side; he emulated a near-perfect meditative trace. His hands rested in his lap, his eyes were closed, and his features were peaceful. not slack. For the first time, Bashir noticed how much older this O'Brien looked compared to the chief. How many years had these people been at war? Ten? Fifteen? Twenty? O'Brien probably had served in Starfleet all those years as well. No wonder the lines around his eyes and mouth and the gray tufts of hair at his temples were more pronounced. He looked at ease, sitting there and waiting, and Julian was hesitant to wake him. This O'Brien looked the type to wake up swinging, and judging from the sheer power with which he had dragged the doctor through Quark's and almost thrown him toward the fallen ambassador, Julian did not want to be on the receiving end of a blow. Quietly, he edged over to his desk and stood, typing in commands instead of verbalizing them. "I'm awake, you know." Startled, Julian looked over his shoulder to find O'Brien staring at him. "I-I didn't want to disturb you." "Then the ambassador's still alive?" The comment struck Julian cold, his hands froze over the keypad, and he forced himself to fully turn and sit down in the chair to face the captain. There were a lot of factors mulling through Julian's mind: the fact this O'Brien apparently cared enough for Ambassador Bashir to wait for four agonizing hours sitting in what was not one of the more comfortable chairs on the station and that this O'Brien was so... blunt. "The surgery was a success," Julian said slowly. "H-he's stabilized for now." O'Brien nodded and then closed his eyes again, leaving Julian at a complete loss. It was an obvious "end of conversation" gesture; clearly the captain did not want to hear the gory details of what Bashir and Troi had accomplished during those four hours. A few moments passed before the captain asked, "Troi taking a rest?" "Yes... in the quarantine area. She wanted to stay close to the ambassador." Again, there was the silent acceptance. Finally, O'Brien roused himself, moving his neck around to elicit pops from the joints, and then settled his forearms on his knees and leaned forward, expectantly. He shrugged his shoulders. "Troi's been my CMO for over a decade. A captain can get spoiled by that." Of course. She was empathic. O'Brien was used to her sensing his thoughts and providing a report based on those impressions. Julian floundered for a moment, trying to think of an appropriate response, but O'Brien beat him to the apology. "If I were Captain Sisko, you would know exactly what information I wanted to hear. With Troi being empathic and all... hell... she usually tells me what I don't want to *admit* I want to know." He shook his head with a laugh. "Sorry about that, doctor. I've been making a lot of assumptions these days... should know better by now." "It's no one's fault." Another few seconds of silence passed. "I wasn't looking for absolution, doctor," O'Brien said but it lacked the biting sarcasm or harshness Julian expected. "I want to know the odds. How bad is he?" "It depends on if the ambassador's body rejects the replacement organs," Julian responded. "Even if they are accepted, he faces a long convalescence. Three weeks complete bed rest at least followed by six weeks of light duty. He won't be one hundred percent for at least 6 months." O'Brien's face remained passive. "Botched him up real good then." "Yes." A smile twitched at his lips. "You know, I do outrank you." "Oh...." Julian realized he'd been addressing the captain as if he were the chief, forgetting to insert the "sir" that Chief O'Brien adamantly refused to be called by his subordinates. This man, he was a captain, and he probably expected to hear at least some deference to his rank as a commanding officer. Julian winced. "I didn't mean..." "Prophets, doctor! I was just teasing! Hell... I thought *we* were the serious ones." He snorted at his own joke. "I'm glad I haven't offended you." O'Brien waved off the comment. "Well..." he stood up and stretched again, rolling his shoulders a few times. "They found your chief of security locked up in some contraption in the assay office." He then looked directly at Julian and then extended a hand. The doctor stood and they clasped hands. This O'Brien's handshake was stronger, more authoritative, than the chief's. "Sorry about dragging you through Quark's. Used to an empath, you know." He tapped his temple and then smiled sincerely. "Thanks for what you've done, doctor. You're a good man." The praise caught Julian off-guard, the flush of pleasure from this O'Brien's assessment making him pause before responding. Yet before Julian could say, "You're welcome," the captain released his hand, gave a Garak-like nod, and departed. Suddenly, Bashir understood. The Cardassian salute. Troi had done it as had O'Brien. The only reason why Julian recognized it was because Garak, in one of his more playful and instructional moods, had explained the subtleties of Cardassian body language. The nods Troi and O'Brien had saluted him with were more informal, an unspoken appreciation for his efforts. The one Garak usually favored meant "Good day/evening." At least, that's what the tailor had always told him. Garak. The scene on the Promenade came rushing back. Garak had cradled the ambassador. The soft words the Cardassian had spoken in his native language had been in a tone the doctor had only heard him use once, when Garak had asked for forgiveness lying on that bed in the Infirmary after telling all those lies about why he was exiled. Julian dropped into his chair. The tailor was never one for public displays; Julian fully believed the embarrassing drunkenness in Quark's two years ago was Garak's way of asking for help. Yet there he had been, holding the ambassador with a sort of protectiveness almost in a direct contrast to the flippant but enigmatic image Garak usually projected. Was it that Elim Garak actually cared about the welfare of Julian Bashir? Or was it, perhaps, an unspoken repayment for the business about the implant? Still, that particular ordeal had earned Julian what he perceived as the trust (somewhat) and admiration (possibly) of the tailor. For how often did a Starfleet officer sail into Cardassian space, barge into the home of the former head of the Obsidian Order, and demand information to save the life of an exile? The ambassador and Garak had been in front of Garak's shop. They must have been talking when Odo... no it wasn't Odo but another Founder posing as Odo... attacked. And Garak had gathered the wounded ambassador to him, shamelessly thrust his hands into the bleeding body in an attempt to staunch the wounds, and spoken to him in such a gentle, coaxing tone that only now sent shivers up Julian's spine. What did those words mean? And why did the ambassador seem to calm down after Garak said them? Cardassia was part of their Federation. For the past two days, the command staff had been dropping comments about the ambassador's "Cardassian mannerisms." Had Garak performed some Cardassian Rite of Death, the words spoken to an officer when he was grievously injured in the line of duty? That type of ritual was not uncommon; several cultures incorporated such ceremonies, informal or not. Why would Garak care? It had nothing to do with *Doctor* Julian Bashir. It had everything to do with *Ambassador* Julian Bashir. What was the difference? The diplomat had not spent countless hours reading and then debating literature with Garak. The ambassador could not have possibly risked his life to save.... Oh... but he had. Yesterday. On the Promenade. Odo coalesced behind the ambassador who in turn, placed himself protectively in front of Julian and Garak and drew his phaser. And while Julian had intervened, he had heard Garak mutter something. A few seconds later, the diplomat lowered his weapon. Julian remembered more of the details. The ambassador had been standing *in front of* Garak the entire time. There was no concern for himself or Julian, just for Garak. Julian concentrated harder, trying to recall movement which would give him a clue to Garak's role in the diplomat's universe. The salute. The ambassador's had been slower, more reverent than either Troi's or O'Brien's, even Garak's nod in return. His mind made a connection: the gesture had been similar to the one Ziyal had favored when she and Garak first began associating with one another. It was formal. It was the one given by a student to a teacher. Elim Garak was Ambassador Bashir's mentor? It also would certainly explain the similarities in speech patterns and the way the diplomat almost mirrored Garak in tone and facial expressions. Julian had noticed that yesterday. And Julian knew that he himself always picked up a habit or two from his own mentors. Well, *there* was an interesting notion. With the subtleties of Cardassian manners, the ambassador had probably relayed all this information to the tailor without having to say a word. Astonishing. But why would the ambassador reveal such a thing? Wouldn't such a disclosure be seen as a vulnerability? Were these people so arrogant as to believe no one else could interpret Cardassian mannerisms? If he were the ambassador, why would he tell the alternate of his mentor what role he played in the other universe? What purpose would it serve? Or had it been something so automatic, so ingrained in the ambassador's behavior he didn't realize he was doing it? But it still didn't explain why Garak did what he did. "Sisko to Bashir." The page rocketed him back to reality. "Yes, captain?" "Jabara said the surgery was a success." Sisko's tone was even, without a hint of anger or indignation. Julian winced. He'd told Captain O'Brien but he hadn't informed his own commanding officer of the ambassador's condition. Maybe the captain would chalk the mistake up to Bashir having to perform critical surgery on the likeness of himself. Maybe not. "Yes, it was. I'm working on the report now." Okay... so it was a lie, but until Captain O'Brien had given that salute, Julian had had every intention of putting together a written report to give to Sisko. "I'd like to hear it in person, doctor. Oh. And bring up a portable medkit. I have a security officer who requires your attention." "Right away, sir." He grabbed his kit, told Jabara where he'd be, and sped to Ops. --- The structural integrity field grid located in the captain's quarters of the Defiant sparked and sputtered in protest as Miles made the adjustment. He wasn't paying close enough attention to what he was doing. It was becoming a habit. He must be getting old. And tired. And worn out. He wondered if Troi had sensed his perverse desire to stay here, to bungle the crossover so they were forced to remain in this universe where they could actually... Rest? Relax? Do some good? Hell, with the attitudes this Federation displayed, these Starfleets would be lucky if they lasted six months. There had to be more to these people than sheer luck. Defeating the Borg in only... what had Dukat said? A week? By the Prophets, these people were blessed! The feeble weapons of these Jem'Hadar ships! Did this Starfleet know with one simple phaser modification that they could.... O'Brien sighed. Poor Doctor Bashir. Forced to perform surgery upon his own likeness. Then Miles had fully expected him to give the run down of the ambassador's condition without having to ask a question. Prophets! No wonder he had missed the shifter switch. Jake's latest update had the Defiant up to 85% complete in repairs within the next three hours, which was the crew's way of stating quite clearly they wanted to leave. They were more scared than they ever had been. Why else had they spent the last six hours since the Founder attacked fixing the ship? Had they really grown that reliant on the simple fact they could detect a shifter? Troi wasn't on board. That was a huge factor. And until the empathic doctor made her return, inspected the ship, and declared it "all clear," O'Brien didn't have a prayer in the universe to calm his people with. The attack had spurred his young crew into frantic action. O'Brien would have to perform a full engineering inspection, concocting some captain's lie about this being one of the few times he could actually do such a thing. At least Dukat had been on board to oversee the work which meant the likelihood it was done correctly and short cuts only taken when absolutely necessary was very high. Even if the Defiant wasn't his ship, Dukat wasn't about to allow shoddy engineering to be their downfall. As hard as his people were working, it didn't stop the whispered rumors. "Y'know what I heard? It was *inside* him... if Dukat hadn't have blasted it when he did... it would have gone in him and then..." the pause was dramatic as the voice became low, "*exploded.*" Kurland always had a flair for dramatics. He loved to spin tales, as much as Paris used to. But at least Tom had had the sense of decorum not to spout off such exaggerations within earshot of the captain of his ship. Kurland had paled appropriately and immediately went back to work, leaving Sito, Rekelen and Hajar to gape in embarrassment for listening in the first place. Miles had said nothing and walked away. What could he have said? Something like that had never happened before? But it had. And now Julian was near death. "There is a way." Miles turned away from the grid he'd been staring at for the past five minutes and faced Dukat. He hadn't even heard the doors open. The Cardassian took a few steps in, allowing the doors to shut behind him, and then moved so he could lean against the wall. O'Brien fixed him with a tired stare. "How d'ya mean?" "Oh... Their Starfleet will never listen to such an idea. It is against their principles. But there is one person, however, who will consider the option." The captain almost smiled to himself. Dukat loved being cryptic, testing a person to see if he or she could follow the impossible path of logic the Cardassian sometimes chose. O'Brien, however, knew exactly what he was implying so he skipped over the needless explanation. His only question was, "You or me then?" "You. Simply because he... may give credence to your words." he laughed to himself. No. That wasn't it. Dukat had other plans. O'Brien tossed the tool he had been using on the bunk and went onto the next subject. "Julian'll be down for three weeks. At least. That's Doctor Bashir's opinion." "And Doctor Troi?" "Sleeping it off right now." Silence. "We seemed to have let our guard down." It was the Cardassian way of admitting to screwing up. Dukat wasn't looking for absolution any more than O'Brien had when he said the same thing to Doctor Bashir. It was simply a statement of fact; neither wanted sympathy or understanding. "Among other things," O'Brien chuckled darkly. "Bet those boys," he thumbed in the general direction of the station as he referred to Captain Sisko's crew, "are getting a perverse pleasure from knowing we're not as infallible as we'd like to think." Dukat nodded and the captain tacked on, "I'm surprised Brahms and Lavelle haven't relieved us of duty." "Oh... they're content to be smug about being 'right,' nothing more. They know they cannot lead the ship. They know they do not possess the abilities. Brahms will only remind you on occasion that you have made a misjudgment." "Remind me occasionally? Hell, she'll have it tattooed on my hide if it were her choice." "Actually, she would have it done to me." Dukat sounded almost amused. "You know how much she despises me." "Still blames you for her man's death?" "Irrationally, yes." Pause. "It does help that Jake neutralized the shapeshifter." "Neutralized. Such a polite word. I would have said, 'Blown to fucking bits.'" "There is no Kardasi or Karjoran translation for 'blown to fucking bits,' captain." "Pity. Another shortfall of your language." "Hmpf." "Troi's still over there, with him. They're not going to calm down until she's back." "True. But the ship has been phaser-swept." "And if one of those bastards is masquerading as a damned bioconduit, we're fu...." "Ah. Mister Sisko *was* correct." "Beg your pardon?" "You can conjugate any profane word and use it in a sentence." "Hah-hah. It's a talent." "I'm sure it is." "Ziyal holding up?" "After causing a scandal for appearing on DS9 in Mister Sisko's company? She is fine. Apparently, the thought of my alternate being an in-law to Captain Sisko is a nightmare." "Wonder where they get *that* attitude." "And Jake?" "Revenge always soothes the soul." "Ah. I see." "One less threat to them is how he sees it." "A commendable attitude." Pause. "He's saying six hours." "Julian will not be sufficiently recovered to endure a crossover." "Put him in stasis. The quantum level oscillation delays won't affect him. We can't stay here longer than that." "Has Brahms completed the computations?" "Half hour ago. Surprised she didn't thwack you in the neck with it when she was done." Dukat gave him a scathing look. O'Brien attempted a light-hearted chuckle but it came out flat as a short, "Hah." He scratched the back of his head. "Been thinking. Brahms says the bias in the subspace field is still there. That's how we're getting back. Only problem is, it may not close when we leave." "You want to collapse it, so nothing from our side comes here and vice versa. An excellent precaution." "But it is going to take one hell of a blast to make sure nothing gets through." "I see." "Only problem is, we just got done with fixing this ship. The last time this type of thing had to be done...." "Please, I'd rather not dwell upon those events." Silence. The Cardassian lifted his hand to his temple, dropping his gaze to the floor as his fingers gently rubbed the side of his eyeridge. It was a silent admission of weariness, of guilt, of sorrow, of self-beratement. As much as Cardassians like to think they were immune from Terran influence, that one gesture signified that they, indeed, had absorbed those particular emotions into the Kardasi collective. "We trusted them," was all Dukat said. --- "I retired to my quarters after Doctor Bashir had examined me for ill-effects from the phaser blast. When I was attacked by another changeling, I was too weak to adequately defend myself and I was forced in to..." Odo nodded towards the octagonal box on Sisko's desk, "*that*." It had taken Chief O'Brien fifty minutes to break the encryption code and deactivate the anti-theft mechanisms which had been built into the device. It had taken another thirty minutes for Odo to regenerate enough to compose his shape. Sisko regarded him carefully, noting the small warbles in the constable's appearance. Whatever the other Founder had done to him combined with the after-effects of the phaser blast two days ago, it was going to take Odo awhile to recover. "Was there just one changeling?" "As far as I could tell, yes." The constable's face rarely conveyed emotion; he seemed to prefer vocal inflections over grimacing or smiling or smirking. From the tone of voice, Sisko could tell Odo was embarrassed -- his professional reputation damaged by what had happened -- and humiliated -- another one of his people had infiltrated DS9 under his watchful eye. Also thrown in the mix was self-recrimination -- he couldn't fend off the attack by another Founder. Sisko was ready with the "you couldn't have known" speech, but the constable silently informed him such sympathy and absolution would not be tolerated. The captain could read the message in the stare and held his tongue. Kira broke in, "Why didn't Doctor Troi sense your presence on the Promenade? If you were there the entire time...." "Major," Odo sighed gruffly, "you said these people sequestered themselves. The only times Troi was on the Promenade was when she first arrived and then when her crewmates were at Quark's. From my understanding of Betazoid telepathic powers, proximity is a key factor. Even if she is a highly skilled empath, she may not have been able to detect two separate changelings." The captain looked up and found Bashir poised to enter his office. Waving the doctor in, Sisko returned his attention to his chief of security. "You seem sure of this, constable." "Lwaxana Troi is considered one of the more powerful Betazoid telepaths," the changeling reiterated, his tone becoming harsher. "If I had assumed the form of a chair, she could sense my presence but could not necessarily *locate* me. This Doctor Troi, as Bashir has already explained, is only half-Betazoid." Sisko nodded, noting the succinctness with which Odo had answered. Julian was still standing, obviously unsure of what to do next. He looked tired, his eyes were puffy, and his face was set in an odd, grimly contemplative look. "Doctor, how is your patient?" "Stable but in critical condition at least for the next few hours," he told them, sounding slightly distracted as if he were trying to puzzle out something else while delivering his report. "Due to the nature of the wounds, Troi and I had to perform multi-organ replacement aside from neural and vascular restorations. Given the size and location of the injury, the motive was more than likely to ensure a graphic death." "Doctor Troi is still there with him." It was a statement of fact, not a question. The Infirmary had been placed under strict security surveillance and Sisko had been alerted when Captain O'Brien had departed. "What are the chances of the ambassador's survival?" "If he were to remain here, I'd say almost one hundred percent." Bashir met his eyes with a steady gaze. "But given what we've seen of the lifestyle our alternates lead...." he trailed off, unwilling to complete the sentence. As if to compensate for his inability to admit the ambassador didn't stand much of a chance once the alternates crossed back, Bashir busied himself with rudimentary scans of the constable. "Captain," Odo pushed aside the doctor as he leaned forward in his chair, "you have a bigger problem than wondering if the ambassador is going to live or not. The Dominion will be expecting a report from the Founder who was killed. We don't know how he was communicating with them, but when they realize the reports have stopped, they're going to wonder why." --- The silver crest glittered in the low light. Had it been difficult for the ambassador to manufacture? Perhaps not, but the fact the ambassador actually had the gadget already made *before* Garak had shown up at the ambassador's quarters was almost chilling. The gesture reeked with premeditation. Just as foolish and naive as Doctor Bashir, the ambassador had offered Garak passage to that other universe. The universe where Garak could be reinstated in a position of power. Where he was no longer an exile. Where he would be masquerading as the "the most decorated gul in Starfleet." Being a tailor did have its merits. The role was much easier to play. He was unobtrusive. People only scrutinized his work, not his personal habits. They left him alone. There, in that other universe, he would be under constant supervision. It was something he could not tolerate, even if it meant having an adoring lover in the mirror image of Julian. Elim sighed. Unlike Gul Garak, he preferred the shadows in which to accomplish his tasks. Always behind the scenes and the whisper of his name striking a chord of terror amongst those in his ranks. Not because he was some brash and daring gul, much in the manner of Sisko or Dukat, but because he was subtle and that characteristic he fully believed was the epitome of being Cardassian. As tempting as it was, to have the power and the prestige... to have Julian... the life of Gul Garak was not for him. If Garak was going to live a lie, he at least wanted the ability to choose exactly which lie he was going to live. The door chime rang. Unusual for so late in the evening. Unusual for it to ring at all. He rose from his chair and cautiously approached the door. "Computer, identify the person standing outside of my quarters." "Chief O'Brien." Well, these past two days had been very peculiar, events happening which only seemed to happen whenever Starfleet was involved. Things like this never took place on Cardassia. Alternate universes. Subspace anomalies. A man created by a transporter accident. And now, the hero of Setlik III, the man who still referred to Garak's people as "Cardies," was visiting. Garak stepped back, making sure he could dive to safety if tonight the chief decided he was tired of having a "Cardie" on the station. "Enter." The doors slid open. Garak conjured up his most pleasant facial expression. "Chief? What a pleasant surprise!" O'Brien didn't look comfortable. Then again, calling on one's former enemy never set anyone at ease. "Is there something... wrong?" O'Brien held up a padd. "Work order." And then Garak understood. He should have seen it when he first looked at O'Brien. It was patently obvious. He gestured for the imposter to enter and waited until the doors slid shut. The Cardassian smiled enigmatically, "You really should allow me to make the proper alterations to your uniform...." Captain O'Brien held up a hand. "The only reason I didn't beam directly in here is because you'd probably blow my head off. I already have one officer down. We don't need another." "How considerate of you." "A piece of advice." That was a surprise. "For me to give to you or vice versa?" "You have to prevent it." "Prevent what, captain?" "If you have the opportunity, you must take it." "Captain, while I appreciate your ambiguousness on an aesthetic level, I really have no clue as to what you are referring to." "In our universe, there was a stratagem originally called the Tain Offensive. It was so named because Enabran Tain, much like here, knew that destroying the Founder homeworld would cripple the Dominion. The plan was carried out, somewhat successfully, by the Commander of the First Order. It's why we're still alive and kicking against the 'Hadar. The tactic has since been renamed in honor of the gul who completed the mission. If you have a chance to rid yourself of a planet full of Founders, take it. It's the only way you'll survive." The look on Garak's face must have been amusing. Of course, there were few things which could cause Garak's jaw to drop open; Miles O'Brien telling him genocide was the only way to incapacitate the Dominion was now one of them. O'Brien's eyes flicked around the quarters before settling on the silver crest Garak still held in his hand. The captain quirked an eyebrow. "He offered you a berth on my ship?" The Terran didn't sound surprised or annoyed. He was simply confirming a hunch. Garak nodded once, but found he couldn't speak. "We're shipping out in about eight hours. Let me know by then." It wasn't the reaction Garak was expecting. He asked cautiously, "Then you approve?" "I never said I approve or disapprove, Garak. Most people I know, given this situation, wouldn't have given you a choice. You'd be trussed up somewhere. Better yet, they'd throw you in stasis to make sure you couldn't escape until we'd crossed over. But Julian isn't like that." "Are you?" "You're not my type." O'Brien snorted and shrugged his shoulders. "The ambassador will need a new uniform. Think you can have it done by the time we leave?" Maybe, just maybe, Garak could live with people like this. It certainly would never grow dull. "I'll do my best, captain." "And Garak? Remember what I said. Take the opportunity if you have it." O'Brien tapped behind his left ear and disappeared in a shimmer of transporter. --- The last two hours had been grueling, almost as bad as the surgery. First, while still in Sisko's office, Julian had to answer all of Sisko's questions and examine a recalcitrant Odo (who incidentally refused to admit anything was wrong with him aside from the need to regenerate). Then Nechayev had charged in, called a staff meeting, and fired question after question at DS9's command crew once they had assembled in the wardroom. After they had been dismissed, everyone had gone back to their quarters except for Julian because he had to check on the condition of his patient. "The ambassador is stable, but unchanged," Jabara announced, handing him a padd as he walked into the Infirmary. "Doctor Troi woke up about an hour ago and checked on him. She asked me to give you this preliminary update and then went back to sleep in the quarantine area." "Thanks," he said, accepting the padd and activating the screen, as he wandered into his empty office. Julian looked around, half-expecting the alternate of Dukat to be lurking there, especially after what Jadzia had reported. "He's very protective of the ambassador. They seem to be good friends; I don't think Dukat would tolerate the ambassador's teasing if they weren't. Maybe that's why he's more fanatical about the ambassador's safety than anyone else's, including his own captain's." So when Julian found his office deserted, the doctor immediately wondered how long it was going to take for Captain O'Brien to send someone here to "guard" the ambassador from the Collaborators. Julian yawned and mentally shook himself. He slumped into his chair and began reading Troi's progress report Jabara had given him. Despite the plethora of drugs and equipment to help stabilize him, the ambassador's body chemistry remained out of sync as it tried to adjust to the new organs. So far, everything had gone by the book. Blood pressure, pulse, temperature, white blood cell count, red blood cell count.... All within normal parameters. Troi's report was impeccable, giving the precise details of what Julian needed to know, but he wanted to check on the ambassador himself. He couldn't explain why. Perhaps he wanted to see how surrealistic such an experience could be. Perhaps because, while he did trust Troi to a certain extent, he was the type to be paranoid enough to want to run the scans himself. The doctor left his office and entered the ICU. The only sounds were the equipment beeps monitoring the ambassador's vital signs. Julian sighed as he began the second set of post-operative exams. Troi had made some notes about healing minor bruises along the ambassador's neck, upper shoulders, elbows and knees. She stated the injuries were more than likely from helping repair the Defiant. "Let me guess. You took engineering extension courses at the Academy, too?" the doctor murmured, wondering what type of training the ambassador had. Given what little Bashir knew about the alternates, a proficiency in multiple disciplines was probably essential. After all, the ambassador had proven himself a skilled negotiator as well as a competent tactical officer. Suddenly, the doctor recalled the reaction of the alternate crew when he had first beamed over. Both the first woman he had treated as well as Nog had said almost the same thing: "You have medical training *too*?" If the alternate Garak was anything like Garak the tailor *and* the ambassador was/had been Garak's protege, then knowledge of, if not an expertise in, several areas was probably expected. Garak would have insisted. At least, the Garak Julian knew would have. He continued the scan, filling in the odd blanks Troi had left. Julian blinked and redid the scan. Maybe Troi wasn't exactly truthful about how the ambassador received those bruises, believing the diplomat's private life was no one else's business. Was it relevant to the ambassador's current injuries? Perhaps not. But still, it was a surprising find. Different universes. Different political structures. Different professions. Different lives. But... Gul Dukat? No. Julian had never entertained any thoughts about himself and Dukat. Gul Dukat, after all, had been the Prefect of Bajor, the Commander of the Second Order, military advisor to the new Cardassian Government, and now the rogue, ruthless killer of Klingons. There was part of Julian that could, on some level, respect the new turn the gul's career had taken. Still... it was disconcerting. Of course, Julian *was* jumping to the conclusion that Dukat was the ambassador's lover simply because of association. The two, with the exception of the time on the Promenade when Julian and Garak had met with the diplomat, were always together. came the prim voice of professionalism. True. It was none of his business. Before he could continue his musings, Jabara dashed in. "Doctor, we need you in the quarantine area." --- "I am in no mood for arguments, doctor." With her fists settled on her hips, Troi regarded the looming Cardassian with an insolent stare. Dukat knew she was still tired; her exhaustion made her more irritable than normal and that always led to direct challenges of his authority. They stood in the middle of the Infirmary's quarantine area, facing each other. When he had woken her up and told her he would stand guard over Bashir, she had bristled and told him no, citing the usual doctor's rhetoric. He had cut her off once already, her belligerence unwanted especially when it could be overheard by the nosey DS9 medical staff. Her voice was rough from sleep but tinny with outrage. Her cheeks were flushed, nostrils flared, and lips pursed so hard they formed a thin white line. "Listen, Dukat...." "Your presence is needed on board the Defiant. Don't make me explain the obvious." The words were hissed, angry, and sharp. His display of anger did not intimidate her. It rarely did, but it should have been a large enough hint that this was not the time nor the place to have such a discussion. They could not show a weakness, not to these people who had only allowed him into the Infirmary because he bullied his way past two of the larger Bajoran medics. "I am concerned about his safety...." "I learn from my mistakes, doctor." "Not well enough, it seems." Dukat froze, the unexpected humiliation slamming into his chest, and he watched the triumph light her eyes. She knew. His skin flushed a murderous storm gray, his face twisted into a harsh sneer, and his hands flexed until his knuckles popped. "If you wish to insult me, doctor," his voice was soft, deadly, "then choose a more appropriate location. There is no need to drag this out for eavesdroppers." "That damned Cardassian pride of yours, Dukat," Troi snapped back, "is why he's almost dead. I wonder what the Board will say to this one?" Her voice became louder, almost shrill, and attracted the undivided attention of the DS9 medical staff. He could hear them gathering outside the door, murmuring amongst themselves, obviously enjoying this indignity. "You're the reason the commander of the First Order is dead." He swiftly grabbed her chin, pulling her close as he peered directly into those blazing green eyes, not caring that none of the station's medical staff had the courage to enter this den of humiliation and stop him. "Doctor, you are treading on very dangerous ground. If you are as skilled an empath as you would like us to believe, then you realize this course of action is unwelcome." "You had to relive it, didn't you? All those reports... they were falsified!" she shouted. "He never knew what happened! He should have known and you didn't tell him!" "This is not the place." "But it is, Dukat. It *is*! You know I'm right. If you would have told him, he would have known!" "That is *enough*!" Doctor Julian Bashir's voice boomed through the small quarantine area as he stormed up to the pair. "Dukat, let her go NOW. Take this argument elsewhere. I will not tolerate this behavior in my Infirmary!" Dukat released Troi's chin immediately, his hands dropping to his sides. Gathering up what little dignity he had left, he nodded slowly at Bashir. "My apologies, doctor. I did not wish to disturb your patients or your staff. It seems our disagreement has done so." "Save your pontification for someone who gives a damn," Bashir growled. "Of course, doctor. Now, Doctor Troi, the captain has requested your presence," the Cardassian smiled, glossing over his obvious ire with a perfected, affable expression. He stepped away, putting a few meters distance between himself and Troi. "After all, we cannot change what has happened." She belligerently glared at the Cardassian and then stormed off, without so much as a good bye to Doctor Bashir. The station CMO looked appropriately offended and ordered his staff to return to their duties. Then he focused his attention upon Dukat. To the Cardassian's amazement, the doctor's expression softened. "I don't take kindly to people arguing in my Infirmary." The reprimand was a far cry from the hard edge the doctor had spoken with just moments ago. It did make Dukat uneasy; he had no idea of the reason for the doctor's sudden change in attitude, as if the argument in front of his staff had just been for show. Interesting to find a UFP Starfleet officer sympathetic toward a Cardassian. Then again, this one did spend a lot of time with the exiled Garak, at least according to the station security chief's logs. Still, to have one tip his hand.... The Trill had been cordial, right up to the point when Dukat stopped being the "Congenial Cardassian" and resumed his role as a security officer. Once his attitude had changed, so had hers, and he could still hear the Trill's tone of disappointment, as if saying, "And I thought you were going to be different," without actually speaking the words. "I apologize for the commotion." Dukat carefully modulated his voice to sound sincere as he watched Bashir's reaction. It wasn't the one he was expecting. The doctor had an odd sparkle in his eye, the type which, whenever the ambassador had it, meant he had a pretty interesting secret and he was debating on whether or not to share it. The doctor even flushed slightly. Dukat tried not to sound impatient. "I would like to see the ambassador." "I figured as much. Actually, I'm surprised you weren't here earlier." "Doctor Troi was here to tend to the ambassador. However, since Captain O'Brien has requested her presence on the ship..." "I know, I know. You're here to take her place." "That is correct, doctor. There are other reasons as well...." He deliberately trailed off, noting with surprise how relatively easy it was to read the human's emotions. Then again, this Julian Bashir hadn't spent an extended period around Cardassians either. No. There was something else. Something about the way the doctor was staring at him, almost in disbelief. Dukat smirked to himself. He might as well completely scandalize the doctor, taking another hard swipe at the human's misconceptions about just what Dukat, chief of security of the Defiant, was like. When the doctor did not prompt for Dukat to continue, the Cardassian carefully held his hands at his sides, assuming the most neutral and non-threatening pose he could. "The ambassador *is* of the Faith...." "Faith?" Bashir echoed curiously. "He believes in the Prophets, doctor." "Oh." "Are you familiar with any of the Bajoran religious customs?" "Not many, actually." Bashir coughed, embarrassed, and was probably trying to figure out exactly where Dukat was going with the conversation. Clearly, it wasn't the response the doctor had been waiting for. "I'm sure if Bajor had more of a hand in shaping your Federation, you would have many more believers," Dukat replied. "But that does not matter here. Since the ambassador is of the Faith, there are certain rituals which must be performed. You are more than welcome to join me." "Rituals?" Bashir's attention was now focused completely on him. "What kind of rituals?" "Simple prayers. That is all." The Terran's eyebrows shot up skeptically, but he sounded intrigued. "Ones which only *you* can perform." "My dear doctor," Dukat stretched out his arms in a supplicant gesture, "do you not also serve as a counselor as well as a physician? Do your duties not also include aspects which may not be directly associated with medicine?" "Well... yes...." "There. You see?" "I'm supposed to appreciate the irony of a security officer who is also the chaplain?" "The ambassador does find it quite amusing. Now, please. May I attend to him?" "There are vedeks on board the station." Then Bashir's eyes widened, as if realizing the stupidity of his statement, but before Dukat could disagree, Bashir held up his hand. Again, the sparkle of unnamed understanding shone in the doctor's eyes. "I know, I know. Their religion may not be the same as yours. How long will it take?" Dukat met the doctor's gaze. "I wish to stay until he regains consciousness. It is a tradition among our people, and by 'our,' I mean our collective peoples. He will be disoriented when he wakes. I do not wish this to be more traumatic than it already has been." "Under normal circumstances, it would not be permissible." The words were spoken slowly, as if they were only a token protest. "But, doctor, these are hardly normal circumstances. Surely you can appreciate the security issues." A smile barely quirked across Bashir's lips. "To a certain extent." The doctor gestured toward the ICU. "There's only a chair, not a comfortable one at that, and you must understand you will be monitored at all times. The ambassador is in critical condition." "I realize that, doctor." They walked to the ICU, Dukat aware of how the station medical staff gawked at him and they murmured racial slurs. It had been quite awhile since the Cardassian had heard the insult "spoonhead." He ignored them, tuning out their harsh comments. Slowly, the Cardassian approached the bed, looking down at the ambassador and trying to remember the Psalm of Serenity in pre-Denorios Bajoran when Bashir's voice broke through. It startled Dukat; it was quite disconcerting to be staring down at the peaceful yet pale features of the ambassador and then hear him speak. The Cardassian glanced over, noting how the door between the ICU and the rest of the Infirmary had been closed, and the doctor stood in front of the door, watching him warily. "I take it you don't need a book." "No, doctor. I simply place my right hand to his temple and pray. Would you like me to teach you the words?" Bashir looked at him disbelievingly, almost shocked that the Cardassian intended to do precisely what he had stated: pray. "I don't believe in the Prophets, Dukat." "Then may I continue?" Bashir nodded once. The Psalm of Serenity was perhaps one of the most beautiful prayers in the Faith, especially in pre-Denorios Bajoran. Dukat's fingers brushed the ambassador's temple gently; he bowed his head and recited the words Naprem had taught him. Just as he had done that other day.... //Garak stumbled forward, gasping awkwardly for air and clawing at his throat. Blood poured profusely from his nose, his left eye swollen shut, glorious ridges gashed and gaping, uniform shredded. Naprem rushed forward only to be stopped by a translucent security field. Dukat furiously worked the controls, trying to break through the Dominion shielding which had somehow activated in the corridors of the storage facility on Margo IV. How the shifter had kidnaped Gul Garak was inexplicable; how Dukat knew where to look for the missing gul even more mystical. The Kai's vision had actually been helpful and understandable. The shielding. It meant the 'Hadar had been on this outpost before. How else could they have set up the controls like this? The forcefield was one of the few technologies Starfleet hadn't quite figured out how to overcome, simply because when the 'Hadar employed it, they executed their target and then left, taking the technology with them. The sensors buzzed in Dukat's ears that a shapeshifter was near, Naprem's frantic hand signal confirmed them, but just where the thing was didn't register. Suddenly Dukat's stomach turned as he realized where his enemy was. In all his years as a military officer, in all his encounters and training, he had seen the most horrifying things possible. Pathetic Klingon raiding parties pillaging Federation outposts, diseases running rampant and making their victims insane, grotesquely mutilated civilians left as signposts of Dominion handiwork. He'd watched as 'Hadar soldiers butchered families with the only witness a security camera. But never had a shapeshifter ever entered a humanoid. All things were possible, Dukat knew it was only a matter of days weeks months before a shifter would go that far. The Dominion had been very effective in terrifying the masses and the Founders still searched for a way to break the bonds each member of the First Federation had with the other. The grisly execution of a vaulted Federation captain would certainly destroy morale. After all, Garak seemed immortal. It had been Gul Garak who had led the Wolf 359 offensive against the Borg and had miraculously remained unscathed. It had been Gul Garak who had led the Tain Offensive against the Founder homeworld. So important and respected was Garak that Dukat himself had beamed down to Margo IV to search for the missing captain. Dukat looked into the captain's eyes. Garak knew his fate; there was no preventing what was about to happen. Strangely enough, there was a certain amount of serenity in his eyes mixed with satisfaction. Garak knew Dukat and Naprem would explain what had happened to Julian, the entire Starfleet clan would avenge his death, and they would not stop until the Dominion was completely wiped out. The forcefield reflected any phaser fire and nullified the equipment which prevented shifters from changing forms. Comm/transporter signals had been scrambled the moment Dukat's team had materialized here. Dukat and Naprem had gone down to the furthest level; they were the only ones here. The doors to the only turbolift, the one exit from this level, had slammed shut behind them. They were trapped until his crew found them. Dukat and Naprem were the only witnesses to this.... They and the shifter which had violated Garak. Garak stumbled sideways and Naprem cried out. Garak's ear had been severed, probably to get at the subdermal communicator. There was so much blood, all pooling at the Cardassian's feet, but the captain refused to simply lay down and die. Cardassians never died without a fight. Garak offered a salute, Naprem pounded on the forcefields and screamed, but Garak did not answer. Dukat continued to work, wondering if the Prophets would grant him his singular wish to lower the shields and prevent what was about to happen, but the Prophets had gone away for some time now, at least for him. Elim righted himself and stood perfectly still, a perfect military stance he mercilessly teased Julian about. Dukat looked over. Elim mouthed the words, "Tell Julian. . .." And then his body exploded. Naprem's agonized shriek pierced Dukat's eardrums. Flesh and bones flew from the spot where Elim had stood, slamming into the forcefield so hard it caused it to sizzle as it slid down to pile on the floor. The Prophets suddenly decided to work with Dukat, although as always, their timing was completely off. The forcefield dropped, Naprem sunk to her knees, palms flat on the floor and surrounded by what had been Elim, sobbing and praying. Dukat focused on the shifter reforming into its smooth faced, humanoid appearance. The Cardassian recognized this Founder, the diplomat... the one who, at Gul Macet's suggestion, had taken the name "Kirsen Yavren." The word "kirsenyavren," from which the Founder's name had been taken, literally translated from Kardasi meant "body which moves like water." Colloquially, it meant "to urinate." Only Macet could have such a crude sense of humor. The Founder had fled Bajor five days ago, somehow abducting Captain Garak from the Starfleet training center on the Bajoran moon Jaros II. Anger boiled up in Dukat, inflamed by Naprem's wails and the death of someone too proud too honorable too brilliant to deserve such a brutal death. Kirsenyavren cackled with glee. All vows and oaths and promises and morals dissolved from the Cardassian's body at that precise moment. Dukat tossed the containment shield at Kirsenyavren's feet, the Founder continuing its cawing as it watched the field surround it. "Fool!" the Founder shouted. "This cannot hold me!" Dukat flipped the polaron emitter on. Kirsenyavren was frozen in mid-shift -- its arm gelatinous while the rest of it remained whole. Dukat glanced down at the tricorder which showed the changeling's aura nulled. A sadistic smile spread across the Cardassian's face. "Think of it, changeling, as a going away present." Dukat joined Naprem in gathering Elim's remains; it was the only way Julian could properly grieve, the only way Elim's adoring human lover could ever hope to endure the pain of Elim's death. It was, perhaps, the only way any of them could come to terms with the murder of one of the Federation's finest captains. She chanted the ancient Cardassian Rite of Vengeance, her distinct Netapka dialect curdling her Kardasi vowels, as she stared at the enraged changeling. "With the honor of Guls past and by the power of Great Gul, I take thy name. With the spirit of those fallen and by the might of the Great Gul, I take thy soul. With the fury of those no longer living and by the passion of the Great Gul, I take thy body. With the heart of our devoted and by the blood of the Great Gul, I declare thee nothing. So it has been said, so shall it be: *Oro odoital*... You are nothing." Dukat ignored the rants of Kirsenyavren, and after two hours of painstaking effort, he finished his task, all the while knowing he could never reveal the precise events of what had happened. No one needed to hear this. No one needed to know exactly how Gul Garak died. That he was dead, that Dukat's hands were bathed in Elim's blood, was painful enough. No. The story would not leave these walls. Dukat and Naprem then sat. While Elim was not of the Faith, Naprem insisted on the Psalm of Serenity and since Dukat was of equal rank, it was he who said the prayer. He could not press his knuckles to Elim's eyeridges.... It was a wonder Dukat was not overwhelmed by the stench of carnage. He finished, and together they began the Rite of Celestial Passage, watching as the shifter decomposed in front of them. It took seventeen hours./// "... for the Prophets shall carry you..." ///"Why can I not see him?" "Ambassador...." "The 'Hadar... those... those bastards! They... They... desecrated him...." "He is with the Prophets now, ambassador. We have performed the rituals, there where he was. I asked for Serenity, she declared Vengeance, and together, Naprem and I conveyed his pagh to the Prophets." "But... he doesn't believe..." "Julian, it was his wish." Pause. "Gul... Captain... Dukat... Tell me again how he died."/// Tain had insisted on the truth. While the head of the Federation Security Council had appreciated Dukat's discretion in the official account of Gul Garak's death, Tain demanded full disclosure of events. The hearing had taken place in closed chambers with Tain presiding, Naprem as his witness, O'Brien as his peer, and T'Pan as his advocate. The records had been sealed. The public had been told Gul Garak had been killed in an explosion as he escaped from imprisonment by the Dominion. It was somewhat the truth. Julian had asked for the story at least forty times during the first year. Dukat and Naprem retold it exactly the same each time, never adding or subtracting a detail. She had been so kind to the ambassador, going so far as to insist Julian become part of Dukat's crew. "You know the ache he feels, *sahneshta,*" Naprem had said to Dukat, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and setting her chin on his neck ridges. Her lips were close to his ear as if she knew her next comments would be unwelcome but necessary. She always knew precisely what to say to convince him. "You were like that when your wife died... when the Borg took your children. He has no home." So Julian had been reassigned to Dukat's ship, the ambassador's status allowing them to dine frequently together without causing outcries of favoritism. As he stood over the deathly pale ambassador, Dukat despised himself for lying so convincingly to Bashir. He knew O'Brien felt the same. And if Naprem were still alive, if she had not been brutalized by those 'Hadar soldiers, she would have agreed. Doctor Troi's announcement about the falsified reports infuriated him. These Starfleets, they were a curious lot, and if Doctor Bashir had heard any part of the conversation, he would be asking questions. Perhaps not now, but before Dukat retreated back to the Defiant, he was sure the doctor would question him about the argument. Damn Troi. She had used her empathic ability to glean information from Dukat. It was distasteful. It was a violation. Oh, he knew why she had done it. She decided to play counselor with him, to throw this at him so he would release his anger. Had it worked? He did not want to think about it. That particular discussion would wait. He would allow O'Brien to deal with Troi. She was much more terrified of the Terran captain than of him. O'Brien knew all her dirty secrets. "O Prophets, how shall Ye reply? Thy wise words, from the Temple on high Deliver us, blessed Divinity And grant your Faith serenity." --- After Dukat spoke the first three or four verses, Doctor Bashir had moved to the side of the door, close enough to so that it would only take two steps to leave the area, but far enough away not to trigger the door opening mechanism. The sight before him was simply unreal. There was no other way to describe it. Still, Julian felt as if he were intruding. It *was* a private moment, albeit fascinating. How many times did one witness a Cardassian, especially the alternate of Gul Dukat, praying in Bajoran at the side of a Terran ambassador? The Cardassian's voice was so different from the clipped, almost leering tone which Gul Dukat normally used; perhaps it had something to do with the translator which did not render this Dukat's Bajoran into flat, Federation standard. Plus, unlike other Bajoran prayers, those repetitive chants Julian had heard during his tenure as CMO, this one sounded more like poetry. That, combined with the smooth cadence of Dukat's tone, almost set Julian at ease. Then Julian noticed it, the look on the Cardassian's face... His heart froze. He recognized it. Garak had the exact same look during his ordeal with the implant: shame. What did Dukat have to be ashamed of? The fact that he had blustered so much about being observant only to have a Founder take such arrogance and literally slam it back into Dukat's face? Brahms' words echoed, "We trusted that Founder and it murdered...." Which was exactly what the Founder impersonating Odo had almost done: murdered one of them. Julian could understand the shame, the embarrassment, from all this. Cardassian pride must be a multi-universal characteristic. He had only limited contact with Cardassians; he could hardly judge an entire race just by Garak nor use Garak as a benchmark for all Cardassian behavior. Still, the two he dealt with most often, Garak and Dukat, had the pride and the arrogance that Julian had seen in the universe he'd visited with Kira and now with these people. The only mistake those alternates, this Dukat without a rank, had made was to... trust Captain Sisko. Trust the command staff of DS9. Trust Shakaar. Trust Gul Dukat. Details from Starfleet security briefings six months ago regarding the Dominion came back to Julian, especially how the Dominion used paranoia as a tool to conquer. The Klingon invasion of Cardassia was proof of just how effective such an instrument could be. But for three days, a brief moment compared to the decades of war these alternates had endured, Captain O'Brien, Dukat, and the ambassador had given in to their desire to trust people who they believed to be like themselves. It was phenomenally unfair. Their one night of celebration... ruined. Julian recalled how thrilled those alternates had been just to be in Quark's, how they had cheered lustily during the dart game, how quickly they had set aside their fears and reservations and enjoyed themselves, and how they had laughed, smiled, and relaxed, only to have it come to a gruesome end. No one deserved to have that happen to them. No one. Captain O'Brien and Dukat, who had orchestrated this "gift" to their crew, would share the blame. What was supposed to improve morale had perhaps destroyed what little was left. In the end, no matter if Captain O'Brien eventually decided to hand over the tech, the Dominion had won. When the Cardassian stopped speaking, Julian stared at him again, noting Dukat's eyes were closed. Julian had never heard the Psalm of Serenity before so he didn't know if silence was part of the ritual or not, but he approached Dukat. Immediately, icy blue eyes were upon him. No tears. No self-pity. Remorse, perhaps. Garak had the same expression when he had apologized for attacking Julian during those hours of withdrawal. There were plenty of emotions dancing in Dukat's pale eyes; the doctor did not want to venture a guess as to exactly what they were. "I hope I didn't interrupt," Julian said sincerely. "No, doctor. I... simply lost my place...." Dukat looked down at the ambassador. "It has... been a long time since I've spoken pre-Denorios Bajoran. Most of the Faith's prayers have been converted to our Federation standard." "Oh." What else could be said? Julian didn't claim to have an understanding of the Bajoran faith to begin with, let alone an alternate version of the Faith (as Dukat had termed it). Pre-Denorios Bajoran? Obviously it was an older form of the language, perhaps akin to Middle English or even Latin. Dukat gave a half-smile, as if remembering something. Then he was staring at Julian again. His skin was a paler gray than normal. His eyes were bloodshot. He simply looked weary. And the longer Julian stayed with the Cardassian, the more the doctor felt compelled to extend some type of courtesy. "May I get you anything? Something to eat? To drink, perhaps?" "Thank you, Doctor Bashir, but no." Dukat paused as if a decision were being made. "We will be leaving soon. Our journey back will be... difficult. We will have to place the ambassador in stasis if he is to survive the crossover." "So you've done this before." "This is not the first time nor will it be the last. It is the bane of technology, doctor. We do not do this on purpose, but we must live with the possible outcomes." The Cardassian laughed ruefully, "This is the first alternate reality I have journeyed to where I have not had to... where *we* have not had to constantly defend ourselves." "Then you do have the means to return to your reality." "Yes." "And not one of your people wishes to stay here?" Dukat paused, watching him carefully before responding, "Such an interesting question, doctor. You're implying this place, *your* universe is an ideal. I'm sure your Federation has its merits, but it is not ours. We may find what we have lost, yet it will not be the same. It is close, but not close enough. Even the ambassador would agree." The Cardassian closed his eyes again, concentrated for a few moments, and then the corner of his mouth lifted into a bare smile. "Ah... I found my place." He resumed praying. To witness any more felt as if the doctor were being sacrilegious, an odd emotion for him, since Julian had spent over four years among the religious Bajorans. Did Dukat worship the Prophets as well? Did it matter? Julian knew the monitors would detect any change in the ambassador's status and his staff would alert him immediately if anything happened. The doctor left the ICU, telling Jabara he was going to his quarters for the remainder of the morning and instructing the rest of his staff not to harass Dukat. The looks they gave him said it all: they truly thought he had lost his mind. Perhaps he had. But if prayer and belief in the Prophets was something that kept those alternates going, who was Doctor Julian Bashir to bar them from practicing their religion? He walked out to the deserted Promenade. Apparently, security wasn't letting anyone roam freely in the early morning hours. Julian could hardly blame them. Trudging past Quark's, Julian couldn't help but glance inside. As tired as he was, he wanted to talk to someone. He didn't know what about. He didn't know why. He just wanted company. He was even willing to subject himself to listening to Morn's stories about his brothers and sisters if it meant spending a few hours not talking about alternate universes. Why he had decided to pass by Quark's, close enough to the open "window" that he could call to someone inside, he didn't know. He just did. The lights were considerably darker inside, as if Quark was ready to close down for the night, but Julian saw a familiar, solitary profile sitting at the bar, nursing an electric blue drink. "Garak." Julian didn't even realize the name had slipped out until the Cardassian turned, blazing sapphire eyes locking onto him. "Care to share a drink, doctor?" the tailor called affably, holding up his glass and tilting it toward Julian in a silent toast. "I'm sure Quark won't mind another paying customer." The doctor nodded and hurried into the bar, noting how Garak's attention had returned to the liquor in the glass in his hand. Julian hopped onto the stool next to the Cardassian and flagged Quark over. "Single malt whiskey, straight up." "Difficult evening?" Garak inquired. He snorted, "One could say that." "So what are the odds?" Quark piped in as he filled the drink order. "Don't tell me you've started a *pool* on the man's life!" Julian snarled, outraged. The Ferengi threw up his hands in defeat. "It wasn't *my* idea, doctor. People just started making bets and you know the rules in my bar. I *always* get a piece of the action." "My dear doctor," Garak soothed as he patted Julian affectionately on the forearm, "you can hardly expect him to break a habit of a lifetime. I guess now wouldn't be a good time to reveal the elaborate betting schemes which occur every time the Defiant goes out on a mission. Really, Quark... I hardly think 'how many times Chief O'Brien says 'bloody hell' during the course of the assignment' is appropriate." Quark thunked the beverage in front of Bashir. "Well, it certainly is more profitable than the ones placed on you, Garak. Now if you gentlemen don't mind, I need to count my latinum." "By all means, Quark. We'd hate to interrupt such a *monumental* task." Garak's voice had become almost sing-song in tone, clearly mocking the bartender. The Ferengi hissed and then left for his office. Julian and Garak sat in silence for a few moments, nursing their drinks, until the tailor sighed. "You never did answer his question, doctor." Julian blinked, startled out of whatever private reverie he was in, and turned his tired eyes to the Cardassian. "I'm not quite sure. He's alive now. But when he goes back with them.... who knows." "Ah." "'Ah?' That's it?" "Doctor, we both know the reason for your current mood. Despite your surgical skills to save this man's life, you and I both know once he crosses back...." He trailed off. "A sad thing, really. I quite liked him." "You hardly know him!" "Perhaps." Silence. Julian glanced down at the glass between his hands, forcing himself to relax. His mind, however, refused to obey. Now that he was sitting next to Garak, all those earlier musings started to resurface in his head. Images from the Promenade. Snippets of conversations. The discovery in the Infirmary. Dukat praying over the ambassador. They all swirled together, becoming a confused jumble of thoughts. He wanted to talk about what he had been through, what he had seen and had experienced. Speaking the words aloud would somehow make everything clearer, as if hearing the words from his own mouth would help him get his thoughts in order. Dax had suffered through his indignant rantings on several occasions. She'd become his emotional sounding board. And Miles, despite their occasional difference of opinion, had also been a "Voice of Reason" when Julian needed him. It was too late to bother either of them; Julian didn't want to wake them up as he babbled on endlessly about Cardassians (a subject which made both officers roll their eyes when they thought he wasn't looking). He snuck a glance at Garak, noting the contemplative set of the tailor's features. Again, images popped up in his mind. Yesterday's incident on the Promenade, how the ambassador protected Garak from the pseudo-Odo. What happened this evening... the ambassador sacrificing himself to save Garak's life. Garak, in turn, comforting the grievously injured ambassador. But why had the tailor done that? Why had Garak pulled the ambassador close to him? Because Garak's alternate was the ambassador's mentor and the tailor felt some obligation to his alternate? No. That didn't make sense. Why would Garak place himself at such a risk? Why? "Garak...." "Yes, doctor?" The tailor didn't look over. He knew the questions the doctor was going to be asking. Bashir was an excellent physician. There was the slim possibility the doctor had overlooked certain forensic details regarding the ambassador; the comment "you hardly know him" gave credence to that. Perhaps Doctor Troi had erased the evidence from last night's tryst. Those alternates didn't like to give away details about themselves. Maybe that was one of the ones they chose to keep hidden. "What... what happened out there? I mean, why did...." No. The amount of latinum needed to keep the Ferengi silent would be astronomical. The embarrassment to the doctor would be phenomenal. Garak smoothly interrupted. "My dear doctor," the tailor cut in before Bashir could finish his sentence, "the ambassador was window shopping. As I was closing up for the evening, I noticed he lingered in front of my store... it is nice to have someone appreciate your merchandise... and I merely commented upon his uniform. Between you and me, doctor, I believe *they* have the better design. Honestly. Lavender turtlenecks! What were your designers thinking? Black, on the other hand, is simple. Elegant." "Well... most of our uniforms *are* black," mumbled the doctor and Garak smiled to himself. Yes, the poor physician was just tired enough to be easily sidetracked. "The trousers... the sleeves...." "Ah! But it says so much about your people. One could say your Starfleet is proudly complacent." "I beg your pardon?" "Their uniforms are borne from functionality. If the Jem'Hadar, or any invading force for that matter, were to board *this* station, and had *any* intelligence reports, they would know teal is science and medical, mustard is engineering and security, and cranberry is command. That's hardly a Federation secret, much like the meaning of your rank pips." "A map to our commanders...." Julian murmured. "Precisely." There. He'd redirected the doctor's thoughts to something innocuous. He sipped his drink. "Garak, you haven't answered my question." Had he forgotten how tenacious the doctor could be, especially when he was tired? "Which question is that, doctor?" "He... the ambassador," Julian needlessly clarified, "He thought Odo... I mean that other shapeshifter... was going to kill you." Ah. So they were starting at the events from yesterday, the time when the doctor had astutely (and surprisingly) observed how much Garak and the ambassador sounded alike, and then building to what happened this evening. Garak teased, "That is a statement, doctor." Julian's voice took a rougher, more insistent edge. "*Both* times." Garak paused, the rim of the glass touching his lips, and glanced over. The doctor sat slightly hunched over his drink, bad posture for a man who usually held himself with such dignified grace. Of course the doctor was exhausted; the puffiness around the eyes and sunken features were a testament to that. He looked so much like the ambassador now.... And he had begun piecing the puzzle together. Garak did not reply. He couldn't. He had no idea what Julian knew and if there was one thing Garak was particularly good at, it was parceling out information to find out just what his opponent knew. But was Julian his opponent? An opportunity. An opportunity to reveal his feelings. How fitting if it would happen in a Ferengi bar. Garak couldn't. He wouldn't. He knew he just had to wait and eventually the doctor would explain his line of reasoning. Garak only had to wait a few minutes. "At first," Julian began, his voice soft, "I thought the ambassador had listened to my reasoning, had been impressed with my 'take charge' attitude yesterday. I know, I know. Very arrogant. Very human. Very me. Trying to impress my own doppleganger! How foolish! Then I began thinking... about what you said, about what he said.... He didn't shoot Odo yesterday not because *I* intervened, but because *you* told him not to." Julian's eyes sought his. Garak shrugged. "Now why, dear doctor, would a diplomat of the First Federation listen to a plain...." Julian waved him silent. "You said something to him. I don't know what it was, but I *heard* you. And then this business with the nodding, those Cardassian salutes. They all do it! Their doctor... him... even their captain! It wasn't until *Captain O'Brien* did it that I realized what had been nagging at the back of my mind. The ambassador... his was different. When he addressed you... it was more formal. And then the way he phrased his sentences...." Hopeful understanding glimmered in his hazel eyes, as well as a challenge for Garak to deny his next statement. "He wanted you to know." Vague. Deliberately vague. Unusually vague. The doctor had been far more observant than Garak had given him credit for; however, the tailor wasn't quite sure what conclusions Julian had drawn. He knew it would only irritate Bashir more, but such a tactic given the doctor's current state would give him the results he wanted. Raising an eyeridge in an innocent expression, he queried, "'Know,' doctor?" Julian didn't scowl. He didn't grimace. He just gave Garak a frank stare, the same one he used whenever delivering a bit of medical news a patient didn't want to admit to, and stated quietly, "You are his mentor." "No." Anger blazed in Julian's eyes and he was about to spit out a terse comment when Garak looked away. "*Gul* Elim Garak was, not me." "Is that why when you spoke to him, he calmed down?" "When?" "Out on the Promenade. After that Founder did that to him... I saw the way you...." "Surely, doctor, you don't think I am *that* heartless! He was injured. I offered my assistance until you could tend to him." "But you said something to him then, too. I heard you." The sigh was theatrical, almost disdainful. "Doctor, you should be pleased. These years on this station... your Federation morality and sense of duty have infiltrated the blackness of my Cardassian soul...." "Damn it, Garak! I'm being serious." "So am I. I believe I was complimenting you on your efforts to make me into a better person, a better person, that is, from a Federation viewpoint." "But..." Julian sighed heavily, as if the question pained him to ask, "what were you thinking?" The tailor blinked. Garak forced himself to prod, "When, doctor?" "When... then... as he...." Bashir's voice was distant. So curious. Elim waited long enough so Julian was looking at him, searching for an answer to a question the doctor couldn't bring himself to ask. Exhausted, terrified... the human was desperately trying to make sense out of everything. Why else would he pursue this conversation so doggedly? Ice blue eyes locked on to hazel ones, and the hushed truth spilled from Elim's lips. "I told you once how I felt about our... conversations.... How much I enjoyed them." The words flowed faster. "How I much looked forward to them. I am selfish when it comes to a few things, quite possessive about others. You have treated me with a respect, albeit misguided, that few people do. So yes, doctor, I am concerned for your welfare." The doctor did not respond. Elim wasn't expecting a reply. The doctor knew the truth when he heard it, he understood how difficult it had been for Elim to confess it, and perhaps the doctor felt the best way to recognize the privilege bestowed him was to remain silent. They resumed their quiet vigil over their half empty glasses. Julian was stunned. The revelation was unexpected. Welcomed, but unexpected. If Garak wanted to shock Julian with the truth, he'd done a damned fine job of it. "Concerned for your welfare." Just like Miles, Garak would never openly admit he valued Julian's friendship. Julian wasn't offended... well... at first he had been. But once he realized that the silent appreciation was perhaps the greatest testament to their friendship, Julian had stopped prodding for the verbal confession. Well... almost had stopped prodding. He only did it to Miles to annoy the chief. The doctor twirled the glass between his fingers. Had the scene on the Promenade affected Garak so deeply he did not want to return to his quarters? That he wanted to see Julian emerge from the Infirmary to reassure himself the doctor was alive and well? He again stared at the tailor's profile, his thoughts now directed at the Cardassian. "Would you go?" The question was so unexpected, Garak looked sharply at the haggard features of the doctor. Had the ambassador said something before he had been anesthetized, calling out Garak's name and begging him to go with him? Was that the reason for those questions, those distasteful inquiries about emotions? The tailor forced his voice to sound baffled yet amused, "Go where?" Julian rolled his eyes. "Garak... please." The thought momentarily froze Garak's vocal chords. He was becoming soft... unprofessional... to think that particular revelation would be so important to him. The Cardassian again made himself sound light-hearted. "Ask me a question I can answer, doctor, and I will." The doctor stopped fidgeting with his glass but refused to look over. "If you were given the opportunity to leave with them, go to a place where you're respected..." "... go to a place, to a universe," Julian continued shakily, "where you don't have to...." "No, doctor." This was not the time. This was not the place. They were both too emotionally worn out to confront such feelings. Again, Garak resorted to the absolute truth... no matter how much it hurt to say it. "Their Cardassia is not *my* Cardassia." Was that relief he detected in Julian's features or just surprise? He'd revealed far too much... the attack on the ambassador had affected Garak more deeply than he expected. Julian was treading on unfamiliar ground, which was the reason the usually garrulous doctor now talked in partial sentences. What was Garak supposed to do? Confess his soul? How he and the ambassador pretended... how Garak had never pursued his feelings because it would be detrimental to Julian's career not to mention ruin the one friendship he had cultivated on DS9? Was he supposed to lean over and.... No. He motioned toward the now empty glass in front of the doctor. "Another round?" "No." The word was spoken slowly, drawn out as the doctor stared at him. "Thank you, Garak." The tailor wasn't quite sure what he was being thanked for but nodded once all the same. "Jabara to Bashir. Please report to the Infirmary immediately." --- O'Brien was right. They were growing old. Ten years ago Dukat would have never dozed off while standing in the middle of enemy territory, especially while praying. Ten years ago Dukat would have never permitted alternates to tend to the injured ambassador as they had here. Ten years ago they never would have even docked on DS9. Ten years ago... He still had Naprem. He had his own ship. He had his own crew. He had just promoted Damar to be his first officer. He missed those days. What woke him was the change in beeps from the medical equipment. When his eyes snapped open and the first thing he focused on was the diagnostic dome, he gripped the side of the bed. No. She was dead. She died six months after Garak had. This was Julian. The man he had failed to protect. "Step away from him!" the Bajoran nurse, the one the doctor had referred to as Jabara, ordered harshly. He glanced up, half-expecting her to be aiming a phaser at him. Dukat then caught sight of the two burly medics, flexing their fingers... eager for a fight. The Cardassian obeyed her command, moving away from the bed but in the opposite direction of the medics; Jabara's eyes widened, obviously shocked he would actually listen to her, much less comply with her request. Then, her attention returned to the ambassador. "Status?" Doctor Bashir called out as he breezed into the ICU, quickly surveying the scene before turning to face Jabara. The nurse spouted off medical information as the doctor tapped the controls on the dome. Dukat understood what they were saying; after all, he did have medical training although they hardly compared to this doctor's capabilities. "He's coming 'round," Bashir announced and then waved Dukat over. The doctor glanced up to Jabara and then to his medics. "You're dismissed." The three Bajorans looked as if the doctor had just committed the most heinous act imaginable. The doctor's voice took on a harder edge, "Now." They departed, leaving Dukat and the two Bashirs in the quiet of the ICU. The doctor had moved to the left side of the ambassador as the Cardassian approached. The diplomat's eyes fluttered slightly as he tried to speak. Dukat placed his knuckles against the ambassador's right temple and gently hushed, "Ambassador, you are safe." "The... captain...." The ambassador wheezed. "The captain is well. He... he was most impressed with your efforts." "Du--kat...." "Yes, ambassador?" "The... shifter...." "That Founder will harm no one else. Chief Sisko has made sure of that." "The... other... one." "You need not fear him, ambassador. You have my word, my oath of honor." "Doctor... Bashir... here?" Dukat watched as the startled physician spoke. "Yes, I am, ambassador." The ambassador's eyes suddenly opened and focused with wide-eyed fervor upon the doctor. "Know... him...." "Know him?" the doctor repeated with confusion, searching Dukat's features for an explanation. When the Cardassian did not answer, the doctor leaned closer to the ambassador. "I don't understand." "Know him... as I have...." and the ambassador drifted back into unconsciousness. For a moment, Dukat expected the doctor to grab a hypo and revive the ambassador, but Bashir only stared uncomprehendingly at the now-sleeping ambassador before dragging his gaze to the Cardassian. The uneasiness was plain in the physician's face. The doctor was now running a tricorder over his alternate, making minor adjustments to the equipment before pointing toward the corner where Dukat had retreated to earlier. "I know I can't pry you out of this room, Dukat, but I would like to know what he meant." "Of course," the Cardassian obliged and they both moved away from the ambassador. They did not look at each other, content to watch over the unconscious diplomat. In truth, Dukat did not want to remember. His voice was rougher than he wanted it to be, laced with more emotion than he cared to reveal. Yet for whatever odd rationalization Doctor Bashir had come to in allowing Dukat to remain at the ambassador's side, it seemed as if the doctor was also offering himself as a listener. After all, who would care about the personal life of the alternate of a despised Cardassian military leader who had fallen from grace? "Have you ever read, 'Shades of a Thousand Steel,' doctor? It is a collection of Cardassian poems, written by Kell." "No. I haven't." But Dukat owed it to Bashir. It had been Bashir who prayed over Naprem... Bashir who had declared Vengeance against the 'Hadar for what they had done to Dukat's beloved... Bashir who had conveyed her pagh to the Prophets.... "I will make sure you receive a copy before we leave." Hopefully, his voice didn't sound as desolate as he thought it did. It was obvious that Dukat did not want to continue the conversation; Julian could tell just by the tone of the Cardassian's voice. Instead, Julian thought about what the ambassador had said. Concern for his captain. Fear of the shapeshifters hurting anyone else. Both sentiments were admirable, things which only heros would say after surviving a brutal assault. But Captain O'Brien had been no where near Ambassador Bashir when the shapeshifter had attacked. Why would the diplomat be worried about O'Brien... unless the ambassador had thought... Wait... Garak had said his alternate was a gul. But how did the tailor know that fact? The ambassador had to have told him. When? On the Promenade. Of course. What had Troi and Dukat been arguing about earlier? He recalled what Troi had shouted: "You had to relive it, didn't you? All those reports... they were falsified! He never knew what happened! He should have known and you didn't tell him!" Dukat had said something, too low for Julian to hear, but Troi's response had almost echoed throughout the Infirmary. "But it is, Dukat. It *is*! You know I'm right. If you would have told him, he would have known!" What had Dukat relived? An attack by a Founder on a Starfleet officer. No, it was more specific. It had to do directly with the ambassador. Garak was involved somehow as well. The ambassador's protectiveness of Garak. Garak... his mentor.... "You witnessed the death of Gul Garak," Julian said slowly, not quite sure why he was confronting Dukat with this. "Doctor..." Dukat warned. "Did a Founder... kill him?" The Cardassian's skin flushed a darker shade of gray, the same color as when he was arguing with Troi. The answer was obvious. "And if the ambassador had known a Founder had killed Gul Garak," Julian continued, knowing he was thoroughly enraging Dukat but he could not stop the words once he had started, "he would have not allowed Odo... I mean that other Founder... to approach without drawing his weapon first. The ambassador would have killed the Founder." "Your ability to jump to conclusions, doctor, is absolutely amazing." The harshness of Dukat's voice betrayed the truth. Julian *had* guessed correctly. He faced the Cardassian. "I overheard your conversation with Troi. It was difficult not to. I also know that you and the ambassador are very... close. If you," he paused and forced the words out, "care for the ambassador, he deserves to know exactly what happened to his mentor. The ambassador would want to know. I know I would." What was the old Terran saying, "being blind-sided"? Dukat stared in open disbelief at the doctor, trying to figure out how the doctor had come to the preposterous deduction that he and the ambassador were.... For the first time... for the first time in many months, Dukat began laughing. "Oh, my dear doctor... you do have a vivid imagination!" Bashir looked somewhere between mortified and indignant. It was a quite charming expression. Then again, humans were so expressive when they wanted to be. The doctor began stammering, "I-I..." Dukat waved him silent, clasping the doctor on the shoulder as he continued to chuckle. A fond smile broke across the Cardassian's features. "We have served together for a little over two years." Dukat looked distant for a few seconds before adding, "We have seen our share of battles. The ambassador and I have a lot in common, but not that. There is no need to be embarrassed that you have jumped to that conclusion. Given the circumstances, I suppose it is logical." The Cardassian's full attention was now directed at Julian with an intensity the doctor wasn't expecting. The grin faded from Dukat's features as he studied Julian more closely. "As to who the ambassador entertains..." Dukat was about to complete his sentence when he abruptly stopped. His eyes moved as if were listening to something, probably an update via his subderm, and his mouth snapped shut, lips forming a thin line. He was unhappy, extremely unhappy by the set of his shoulders and the way his hands now balled into fists. He looked up, anger which was not directed at the doctor simmering in his eyes. There was something else, something else Julian Bashir would have never expected to see in Dukat's features: genuine fear. "The 'Hadar have followed us." The Cardassian's voice was rough, full of outrage. "Four attack cruisers. We need to transport the ambassador to our ship." "No!" Bashir protested and quickly approached the ambassador's bed. Dukat followed and the doctor turned to stand face to face with the Cardassian. "Fight your battle with the Jem'Hadar and *then* come back here. I will not release him." "You don't understand!" Dukat thundered as he took on the air of authority. It was a startling transformation, something Julian had never witnessed, and the Cardassian spoke with the voice of command, the tone which Julian automatically responded to. "These are *our* 'Hadar. They will scan this station for subdermal communicators. If there is so much as a dampening field, they will board this station! Prepare him for transport now!" The sudden howl of the red alert klaxon startled Julian, even more than the outraged Cardassian seething in front of him. "He will die, Dukat." "The needs of the many, doctor, outweigh the needs of the few." The words were now softer, more persuasive, as if Dukat knew how to appeal to him. "This is our battle. Are you willing to sacrifice the lives on this station for an enemy that is not yours? You have seen what they are capable of doing. They want *us* for the same reason your captain, Shakaar and that gul do: technology. The new weapon they used? The one which caused us to crossover, doctor? It was designed to leave the ship *intact.* Starfleet still has a few tricks the 'Hadar have not figured out yet." Bile burned at the back of Julian's throat. A coldness washed over him as his mind forced him to concede Dukat was right. "Five minutes." Again, Dukat's voice was uncharacteristically compassionate, "I'm sorry, doctor. We only have two minutes before the 'Hadar arrive at this station." He paused, cocked his head, furrowed his brow, and then stared at Bashir again. "Doctor Troi is ready. We're initiating transport now." The distinctive red-gold cascade enveloped the ambassador and then he was gone. Dukat had not broken eye contact with the doctor as he clasped the doctor's hand firmly. "Thank you again, my friend, for your efforts." Then, he too was gone. Julian placed a call to Ops. --- Captain O'Brien thought sourly as he read the results of the long range scan. Four of the five 'Hadar ships they had escaped from two days ago now approached DS9. Tension among his crew, however, had disappeared. They were about to fight an enemy they knew in an environment which perfectly suited them. They had regained their equilibrium. They seemed almost happy to be in a red alert situation. Albert announced that Bashir and Dukat had been beamed on board so the captain gave Lavelle the order to launch from DS9. Maybe some of the UFP's luck would rub off. One could always hope. Plus... they had received a blessing from the Emissary. O'Brien heard the doors swish open and he turned to watch as Dukat strode in, immediately taking over tactical from Rekelen. "Raise shields!" Dukat ordered. "Battle stations!" "Lavelle, use approach pattern Alpha One Five," O'Brien called out as he punched up the tactical view on the screen. "Brahms! How did they find us?" "There are residual subspace field fluctuations due to the rip in the space-time continuum. That pulse wave of negatively charged ions they used which we thought were meant to dissolve our shields must have left some type of trail. They could have used that to create a stable wormhole. That's my best guess." "Like bread crumbs," the captain murmured to himself. So much for the odds of 1.7 million to one the 'Hadar could find them. Louder, he asked, "Status of enemy ships?" "Type One Alpha, shields at 75%; Type One Beta, shields at 70%; Type III, shields at 82%; and Type IV, shields at 85%," Dukat announced. "The trip through the wormhole must have been more detrimental to their defense systems than they initially estimated." He tapped a few more controls. "Long range sensors have detected one Klingon Bird of Prey and one Klingon Vor'Cha class cruiser. They are cloaked. DS9 has raised shields. The Defiant has not launched. The Cardassian Bird of Prey has departed the station and is at stand-by." --- Every bit of Ambassador Bashir's briefings flooded back to Ben. The Jem'Hadar creating stable wormholes. The disclosure a new type of weapon had been used on them prior to crossing over. The odds of the Jem'Hadar following them through. Was it like this all the time for Captain O'Brien's crew? For those officers of the First Federation's Starfleet? Never knowing when a wormhole would appear and a fleet of enemy ships waltz in? One thing was for certain: Captain O'Brien was very unlucky. "Captain, all communications have been jammed," Kira announced. "The Defiant is ready to launch." "And Gul Dukat?" Sisko prompted. "He's departed from the station but taken a position near upper Pylon 3. I don't think he's going to join in unless the Jem'Hadar go after him." Nechayev stood at Sisko's side in the center of Ops. "The Malinche, Portland, and Prokofiev are twenty minutes away, but they are being called in strictly to protect this station and Bajor. As Captain O'Brien said, this is his fight. Unless those Jem'Hadar fire upon us, we will not...." "Admiral, they assisted in defending us two days ago when our Jem'Hadar decided to pay a visit." Sisko's voice was deceptively calm. "We should at least return the favor." "Once the Defiant leaves this station, we won't be able to communicate with the crew." "I realize that, admiral. But your orders are quite clear: we don't join in until the Jem'Hadar engage us." Reluctantly, she gave in. "Oh, and Captain Sisko. I want to make sure the officers of the Defiant fully understand my orders. You'll be commanding the Defiant." --- "We're in weapons range, sir!" O'Brien gripped the armrests of his chair. "Lavelle, pattern Beta Two Two. Let's get them close together." "Aye, sir!" "Captain, all the 'Hadar ships are firing their torpedoes. Eight total!" "Evasive maneuvers, Lavelle!" The ensign did his best to anticipate the assault, but two torpedoes clipped the port warp nacelle, sending many of the bridge crew tumbling from their stations. "Damage to shields... down to 95%," Dukat called out. "Port stabilizer is at 85%. Enemy torpedoes detonated. Captain, they emitted high levels of neutrino waves." "Nice to know they still want our ship," muttered O'Brien as he realized what the 'Hadar's objective was. Louder, he said, "Bring us around, Lavelle. Pattern Beta Four Three. Dukat, return fire." "Aye, sir!" "Captain," Dukat announced, "another wave of torpedoes have been launched. Same configuration as last time." "Evasive maneuvers!" O'Brien ordered. "Targeting incoming torpedoes... firing phasers... torpedoes destroyed!" the Cardassian reported. "Sir, neutrino waves don't have the same effect on our shields as they do on the 'Hadar's," Brahms stated as she turned to face the captain. "All this is doing is placing a high amount of neutrinos out there." "Alpha is breaking off, captain!" Dukat interrupted. "Lavelle," barked O'Brien, "follow that ship! Dukat, launch torpedoes at the other three." "Torpedoes away! Direct hit on 'Hadar Beta... shields down to 50%... Type III, shields at 82% and Type IV, shields at 85%. Alpha is in range... firing phasers. Direct hit to port thrusters." "Close in on them, Lavelle." "Aye, sir," although it wasn't as crisp as before. O'Brien looked over to the ensign manning conn. Lavelle was competent, but he wasn't Paris. He wasn't Bashir. He didn't have the experience. He wasn't a natural pilot. O'Brien knew just by the way Lavelle's hands slightly paused as he plotted a new course, every demon that ever haunted the ensign was now paying a visit. Lavelle was a security officer. He was used to wielding phasers, targeting ships, and hand-to-hand combat. He only had two months of helm experience, and that had been under Paris' direct supervision. Paris was dead. Killed in the line of duty. Killed while manning that station. Killed just two days ago fighting against the same ships in almost the exact situation as they were facing now. Lavelle was spooked. There was only so much O'Brien could ask of his crew, only so much he could ask from this ensign. The captain did the only thing he could; he sent Lavelle to engineering. There was no explanation why. The ensign didn't protest. He didn't scowl. He simply scurried from his spot and allowed the captain to fly the ship. O'Brien began tapping in coordinates. "Bringing her about, pattern Delta Two." "Targeting 'Hadar Beta." The Cardassian's hands flew across the console. "Firing torpedoes. Direct hit to Beta engineering! Shields at 20%. Hull breach to Beta. Alpha firing. Incoming!" "Evasive maneuver Omega Six." "Beta destroyed. Locking on to Alpha.... 'Hadar Delta and Gamma regrouping... They are firing all weapons...." "Evasive maneuver Gamma Three!" the captain shouted, forcing his ship to make an incredibly tight turn, and he hoped the inertial dampeners could take the pressure. "Direct hit... aft port shield failing." Dukat reported. "Alpha is in range... FIRING! Alpha destroyed." This was wrong. Something was definitely wrong. The Type III and VI ships were barely firing their weapons when normally they would have been pounding on the Defiant. O'Brien read the readout again. According to sensors, those ships should be able to fight back more viciously than they were. Either the 'Hadar had figured out how to fool Starfleet sensors or.... "One of them is carrying their new toy." --- "The Defiant... our Defiant..." Kira paused, trying to figure out how to differentiate the two ships. Crewman Muniz, again manning the operations console, offered helpfully, "When the Jem'Hadar attacked yesterday, Chief Sisko referred to our Defiant as the NX. Maybe theirs could be the NCC?" "Thanks, Muniz," Kira smiled and then continued her report. "The NX has taken a position halfway between the station and the battle. Dukat has done the same." Nechayev hunched over the display terminal, shoulder to shoulder with Kira. "What type of weapons is the... NCC using?" The major shrugged her shoulders. "Modified quantum torpedoes, approximately five times the firepower of standard quantum torpedoes. Their phaser array is channeling an awful lot of power for a ship that size." "Major," the engineer called out, "I'm detecting high levels of neutrinos around the battle." "So am I," Kira confirmed. "But they are not coming from the NCC. The Jem'Hadar... their torpedoes are releasing the neutrinos. During the last attack, Dukat used the neutrino waves emitted when the wormhole opened to overload the Jem'Hadar's shields," Muniz explained. "Do you think they're trying to create another wormhole?" Nechayev asked, turning to face the engineer. Muniz, unused to being questioned directly by an admiral, paled slightly and stammered, "I'm not sure, admiral." "That new weapon..." Kira snapped her fingers, drawing the admiral's attention back to her. "The preliminary report Ambassador Bashir gave us? They mentioned a new weapon the Jem'Hadar had employed. Maybe this is part of it." --- "Incoming message, sir!" Lieutenant Riley Shepard announced from communications. "Broadcasting on all frequencies." "Captain Miles Edward O'Brien, Commander of the First Order, surrender the USS Defiant and your crew or aggressive action will be taken against the inhabitants of this universe." O'Brien, recognizing the tinny voice of the Vorta, glanced over his shoulder and grinned at Dukat, "That demand sound familiar?" The Cardassian shrugged his shoulders. "Perhaps the Board will believe your story better than they did mine." "See what they're hiding on their ships, Brahms. Shepard, open a channel, audio only." "Channel open, sir." "Well... good morning, Eris! I didn't know you were hosting this particular little party." "Captain O'Brien, you will surrender your ship to the Dominion. Your crew will be released into the custody of the Wadi since they will not be held accountable for Starfleet's actions against the Founder homeworld. However, you and Gul Dukat will stand trial for those crimes against the Founders. In addition, Gul Dukat will be charged in the death of the Founder named Kirsen Yavren. You will comply with our demands..." "Otherwise you'll send an invasion fleet here?" the captain guessed. "That is correct, Captain O'Brien." Miles motioned for the link to be closed. His science officer looked at him, features pale. "Sir, that new weapon? It's on both those ships. It seems to drain a lot of power, which may be the reason they haven't fired at us much." "The sub-space field fluctuations are still there, captain," Dukat advised, "as is the bias in the space-time continuum." "Have they sent over any cloaked vessels?" "According to our scans, no." ////"You know, Garak, you live life once, but if you do it right, once is enough." "An interesting phrase, O'Brien." "I'd thought you'd appreciate it, Mister Carpe Diem. Oh, by the way... You'll love the Peldor Festival. Trust me."///// "Hajar, do you have that probe ready to launch through the anomaly?" "Yes, sir. It should scan the other side of the anomaly for enemy ships, relay our message to Starfleet, and then send any information back to us." "Good. Standby for my order." "Yes, sir!" O'Brien flexed his hands against the console. "Open the channel, Shepard." "Channel open, sir." --- On the bridge of the USS Defiant NX-74205, Captain Benjamin Sisko, Lieutenant Commander Jadzia Dax, and Commander Worf whispered the same two words: "Kobayashi Maru." The no-win scenario. Either way, Captain Miles Edward O'Brien was going to lose. And everyone witnessing this showdown knew it. "I believe the warning of 'aggressive action will be taken against the inhabitants of this universe' constitutes as a direct threat to the United Federation of Planets," Sisko said evenly. "As Strategic Operations Officer and first officer of the Defiant, I agree," Worf rumbled. "As second officer of the Defiant, I concur," Dax stated. Sisko didn't need their permission; he didn't need their confirmation either. The captain glanced to the other bridge officers who met his eyes as he looked to each of them. No, Dax and Worf were simply voicing the opinions of every Starfleet officer on this ship, perhaps every officer on the station as well. They did not want Captain O'Brien to face the Jem'Hadar alone. O'Brien was a captain. A Starfleet officer. He was an *O'Brien*... the alternate of the chief... and whatever protective feelings any of Sisko's officers had toward the chief, it now extended to the man who, last evening, had proven to them all just how much their two universes were alike. Captain O'Brien's voice echoed on the bridge of the NX-74205. "You want my ship? You want my crew? If that's the case, Eris, then you have to come and get us. The hard way." "Commander Dax," Sisko's voice was soft, "take us in." --- "Moving within 2,000 kilometers of the anomaly," O'Brien called out as he maneuvered the Defiant past the two 'Hadar ships. "Hajar! Launch the probe!" "Probe launched, sir!" Hajar called back. "The probe has entered the anomaly," Brahms confirmed. The Types III and IV 'Hadar ships remaining, now termed Delta and Gamma by Dukat, reacted immediately as they charged toward the Defiant as the Starfleet ship bolted away from the anomaly. Another barrage of torpedoes were exchanged. The Defiant shook hard again. Dukat alternated between firing the weapons, calling out the Defiant's damage reports, and relaying ship positions. The Defiant's bridge began to spark, consoles suddenly erupted in flames, and officers were thrown from their stations. Worst of all, Captain O'Brien couldn't use the phase drive. He couldn't retreat. He couldn't leave DS9, Captain Sisko... even Gul Dukat in his Bird of Prey... fighting against one Type III 'Hadar warship and one Type IV 'Hadar warship. O'Brien had seen enough battles and sat in the center seat long enough to know the outcome of this. So did Dukat. Maybe they would get lucky. Dukat had faced a similar situation. Granted, the Cardassian had lost his ship in the process, but maybe Hajar's probe would relay a message to the ships Starfleet had hopefully sent to investigate the two day-old skirmish. That's what had happened with Dukat. A torpedo from the 'Hadar Gamma detonated just off the port nacelle and O'Brien forced the Defiant to roll hard away from it. Dukat targeted the Gamma and fired the phasers; the 'Hadar warship reeled from the intensity. It had been far too long since O'Brien's ship had that much power packed into the phaser array. "Gamma has lost shields. Torpedoes away! Gamma has been destroyed." Miles could feel the confidence surging through the bridge. "'Hadar Delta is firing weapons!" "Executing evasive maneuver One One Seven." "Direct hit to forward shields! Shields at 50% and dropping. Rerouting auxiliary power to shield generators. Targeting Delta... Torpedoes away. Direct hits to engineering and port nacelle. Their shields are down to 20%. Delta is breaking off. The NX moving to intercept." "Captain!" Brahms called out, "A second Type IV ship emerging from the wormhole." O'Brien thought to himself. "Type IV launching torpedoes! Direct hit, port nacelle, structural damage. Hull breach, Decks Fourteen, Eight and Seven. Transporters, off-line. Warp drive, 40%. Shields at 20%, long range sensors 50%, short range sensors 75%, main power at 63%, starboard phaser array overloading. Shutting down." "Throw everything we have at them." "Direct hit to Type IV, aft section. Their shields are buckling. Incoming torpedoes! Starboard warp nacelle, structural integrity at 15%. Fire suppressants, off line. Captain! Type IV is firing the new weapon." --- "Mister Worf! Status!" "The Jem'Hadar's shields are at 20%." "Find a weakness, Mister Worf, and fire a full spread. We may not have the same power as our counterparts, but we do have quantity." "Aye, sir. Targeting port nacelle. Torpedoes away. Firing phasers. Direct hit. Jem'Hadar shielding has failed." "Captain," Dax called out, fingers dancing across her console, "I'm detecting a massive build up in the ship's engineering section. Their warp core may be overloading." "Mister Worf, fire again!" Sisko ordered as he leaned forward in his chair. "Aye, sir! Torpedoes away. Direct hit on the port nacelle." --- "The NX has destroyed Delta. They are on an intercept course," Dukat announced. "ETA?" O'Brien asked as he entered another course change. "Forty-five seconds." The Cardassian then called out, "Torpedoes locked on target. Firing! Type IV has lost shields. Captain, they are firing their new weapon again." "Evasive maneuver O'Brien One Two Eight." "The weapon has detonated. The NX's shields have been compromised. They are moving off. The weapon has no effect on our shields." "Thank the Prophets for small favors," O'Brien smirked. "Thank them indeed, captain," Dukat replied. "Targeting engineering sections. Torpedoes away. Direct hit. Target destroyed." No one cheered. No one ever did anymore. No smiles were exchanged. No shouts of triumph echoed on the bridge. Another battle fought. Another ship destroyed. By the Prophets, no wonder morale was so low. Even *he* didn't cheer. They had won, and... "That's for Tom Paris, you fucking bastards," Shepard growled. O'Brien glanced over. The lieutenant straightened, unsure of the captain's reaction to his vehemence. The rest of the bridge looked on curiously. "I think, Mister Shepard," the captain said casually, "it starts with, 'With the honor of Guls past and by the power of Great Gul, I take thy name.'" There was a moment of silence. Then came an almost inaudible, irritated sigh. Miles laughed to himself; Dukat hated when people hesitated, especially when it came to certain things. Rites of Vengeance, for example. The Cardassian spoke the second line. "With the spirit of those fallen and by the might of the Great Gul, I take thy soul." It wasn't much. It was something. Normally, they didn't have time for such a rite. Now... "With the fury of those no longer living and by the passion of the Great Gul," Hajar's voice sounded a bit shaky, as if unsure it was her place to say the third line, but after Dukat looked directly at her and smiled, she became confident, "I take thy body." "With the heart of our devoted and by the blood of the Great Gul," Brahms said, surprising the bridge crew by participating, "I declare thee nothing." Shepard looked over to the captain. O'Brien gave a slight nod. The communications officer finished, "So it has been said, so shall it be: *Yeri odoital*... They are nothing." Miles could feel the comraderie returning to the bridge and grinned to himself. He'd enjoy it for just a few more seconds. "Sir?" Brahms suddenly paled. "The probe is sending back information. Ten 'Hadar ships, various classes, are heading toward the anomaly. ETA... 4 minutes. According to the probe, there are no Starfleet or Federation vessels within two parsecs." The news temporarily stunned O'Brien. Eris hadn't lied. The Dominion had planned on invading this universe after all. "The neutrinos..." Brahms added, fighting to keep her voice calm, "are strengthening the tear in the space-time continuum. They're trying to make a permanent gateway." One choice. There was only one choice. A command officer didn't make this type of announcement from the pilot's chair. It was a captain's statement, which had to be delivered as a captain. The captain motioned Hajar over and indicated she take over the helm. She was afraid; they had just barely escaped being annihilated by five 'Hadar ships, but pride radiated from her as she accepted his vacated seat. It was time. There was no escaping this. Miles reclaimed the center seat, knowing his bridge crew was sneaking looks at him. They had to know what was coming. "Attention all hands, this is the captain speaking." O'Brien drew in a deep breath. "As officers of Starfleet and representatives of the First Federation, we have taken oaths to protect all peoples from possible Dominion invasion. It is our duty. It is our privilege to do so. These people, this Federation, this Bajor, this Cardassia... they cannot fight our battles for us. A probe sent through the anomaly has detected 10 'Hadar ships on their way to this side. We have to collapse the bias in the space-time continuum to ensure they do not crossover. "In all my travels and in all my years," he paused and stood, looking at each of his bridge officers in turn, "I have yet to serve with a finer crew. I thank you for that honor. May the Prophets protect us, may the Great Gul give us strength, may the Goddesses grant us salvation, may God bless us, and may all the Deities watch over us." His bridge crew bowed their heads or glanced away, each probably saying their own private prayers. Miles... he thought of his son... he'd always thought of Jake as his own since the moment Benjamin Sisko had named Miles as the godfather of Jake... his son... down in engineering... maybe... someway... sometime... Jake would hopefully understand. Miles thought of Neela. He looked at the tactical screen. It was time to go home. "Prepare to collapse the anomaly." "Aye, sir," his bridge crew acknowledged. They had no fear. O'Brien's subderm beeped. "Sisko to O'Brien." Hopefully, his voice didn't catch. This could be... this probably *was* the last time. "Yes?" "Could you send Shepard down? I'm going to need him to help launch the mines in the anomaly when we go through." The communications officer was looking over his shoulder at the captain as if he knew the request was being made. O'Brien gave a half-smile. "You're needed in engineering, Shep." The lieutenant nodded once and then left the bridge. "He's..." Damn. Miles choked on the word. Smoke. Yeah. It was definitely because there was smoke on the bridge. "He's on his way down." "Thanks. Oh, and Dad? Cool speech. Sisko out." --- "The Defiant is heading into the anomaly, captain," Jadzia reported. "Incoming message. Text only. It reads," her voice broke, "'Keep your shields up.'" "No..." Ben whispered as he slowly stood up. "He couldn't be...." He stared at Dax. The only way to keep more Jem'Hadar ships from coming through was to collapse the anomaly. "Hail them!" "Channel open." "O'Brien, I know what you're going to do! You don't have to do this! We can close the anomaly from here! We can modify our deflector arrays. Respond!" --- Ben Sisko's voice rang in Captain O'Brien's head. It took a few seconds for the captain to realize the message had not been broadcasted on the bridge comm line, only to O'Brien's subderm. The captain turned toward Dukat. The Cardassian tilted his head slightly, confirming O'Brien's suspicion that he had routed the message directly to O'Brien. Dukat then spoke. "The NX is moving to intercept us." Damn. They had no shields. The force of the blast... those mines Jake and Nog had cooked up... Without shields, Sisko's Defiant wouldn't stand a chance. "Dukat... send a copy of the probe's findings to Sisko. I don't want him to think we're doing this just to be theatrical." "My pleasure, captain." --- "No response to our hails, captain," Dax told Sisko. "Bring us around, then! Cut them off!" "We're too far away." "Damn it, NO!" Sisko raged and surged forward until he was over Dax's shoulders and stabbing the helm controls. "They don't have to do this!" "We don't have any shields." Dax placed her hand over Sisko's. "It's too late. They've already entered the anomaly." The captain whirled around and stormed back to his chair, trying his best to contain his emotions. Dax was right... they didn't have any shields, and whatever Captain O'Brien planned to do probably involved a lot of firepower. "Move us to a safe distance, commander." Dax nodded once. "Yes, sir." "Godspeed, Captain Miles Edward O'Brien," Sisko murmured, his eyes riveted to the screen. --- "What are they doing?" Nechayev demanded. Starfleet admirals. The extra pips on their collars must drain their common sense. "They're going to collapse the anomaly," the major snapped impatiently. The realization of just what that meant hit her. She murmured, "By the Prophets, no...." "Shields are at maximum strength," Muniz reported, far from the crispness he had spoken with earlier. He knew as well. "May the Prophets protect you," Kira whispered. --- The explosion that followed hurled the USS Defiant NX-74205 backward; all of the ship's sensors went off line. The explosion that followed caused the two cloaked Klingon ships, which had been undetected by the USS Defiant NX-74205, DS9 or by Gul Dukat, to be destroyed. The explosion that followed overloaded the shields and sensors of Gul Dukat's Bird of Prey. The explosion that followed burned out one shield generator and the long range sensors on DS9. --- "They are true warriors. They died with honor." "They had faith in the Prophets. May the Prophets grant them eternal peace." "They swore to protect those they could against Dominion attacks." "... and that is... that is exactly what they did." "My God... they sacrificed themselves for us...." "They didn't have a choice." "They were damn fine people. Something should be done for them... they have to be remembered for what they did." --- He could have salvaged the suit. One quick run through the sanitation device and all the blood would be removed from the material. It was that simple. The smell would be eliminated. The colors would return to their former vibrancy. Garak chose not to. For the same reason he discarded the suit, he had finished Julian's... No, the tailor mentally corrected, it was the *ambassador's* uniform. Black Incarian wool was the same material the finer Bajoran militia uniforms were made of. To use an inferior cloth would have been unacceptable. The ambassador deserved the finest Garak had to offer. The tailor even constructed a formal jacket like the one the ambassador had worn during their first meeting, complete with expensive gold trim made from Bolian silk. Garak didn't even have measurements; he had just began cutting and sewing. He didn't even sketch out a pattern. He just began. It was so unlike him. He wasn't the type to mourn over his losses. Oh, he had fooled himself into believing fashioning a suit without proper measurements was a challenge, but he knew the truth. He wanted an excuse to remember; it had simply been too long since.... No... it hadn't been "too long." The truth pained him. No one had ever treated him as the ambassador had. Such loyalty. Such respect. Such devotion. Such passion. Such love. Garak tucked the silver Empire crest between the folds of the tunic. He had been lying in bed, lulled almost to sleep by one of Ariakak's symphonies, when O'Brien's voice had boomed from the commbadge Ambassador Bashir had given him. "Is the ambassador's uniform ready?" The station's red-alert klaxon had sounded. "I'm afraid not, captain. Please pass along my apologies to the ambassador." "Of course. O'Brien out." He didn't know which had surprised him more: the fact Captain O'Brien would even consider allowing an exiled Cardassian with a mysterious past on board his ship to travel to another *universe,* or that O'Brien had contacted him prior to leaving. Perhaps the captain owed something to the ambassador. Perhaps the captain knew, if he had been in a similar situation, he would be doing the exact same thing as Bashir. O'Brien had said anyone else would not have given him a choice. Garak would have been kidnaped, put in stasis, and revived once on the other side without being asked. "Garak?" Julian's voice... The *doctor's* voice.... There were differences. They were not noticeable except when certain words were pronounced. Garak's name, for example. The tailor dragged his eyes from the pile of cloth to his right on the cutting table and found Doctor Bashir standing in the doorway to the back room of the shop. It was evident the doctor was still depressed over what had happened. Two days ago, Captain O'Brien and his gallant Starfleet crew had sacrificed themselves. According to the report Garak had acquired, the First Federation captain had had no choice. Ten Jem'Hadar warships had been poised to attack the woefully unprepared Alpha Quadrant. Perhaps this would spur the complacent Starfleet into more aggressive weaponry and Dukat into giving up his one-ship fight against the Klingons and strengthening Cardassia. Yesterday, the station had been in mourning, to recognize what those alternates from that other universe had done. Garak had locked himself in his quarters. He knew his emotions would betray him. The Cardassian forced a smile across his face, no matter how much he wanted to.... "Ah! Doctor Bashir! I didn't hear you come in." "I've been practicing my stealth technique." It was meant as a joke, but the words fell flat. Only when Bashir ventured further into the room did Garak notice a leather bound book tucked under the doctor's arm. "Another piece of Terran literature?" Garak inquired and pointed to the tome. "Oh! This...." A shadow passed across the doctor's face as he pulled the book from the crook in his arm and stared at the cover. "It... it's a gift.... >From Dukat... Not *our* Dukat... Theirs... No... actually, it's from the ambassador. At least, I think it's from him. Dukat said the ambassador wanted me to have it. How he knew that, I don't know... The ambassador only regained consciousness once and said nothing about giving me this. All he muttered was something about 'know him as I have' and Dukat seemed to understand what the ambassador was implying. Dukat then told me he would forward a copy to me, but I never thought he would forward an actual *paper* volume. Then again, Dukat probably already knew they were going to die and the ambassador would have no use for it ever again. I'm surprised Dukat even sent it... When did he have the time? One minute we were talking about the ambassador then Dukat was shouting about the Jem'Hadar... they called them the 'Hadar, you know... sort of the like the chief calls Cardassians... oh... well, you know what I mean... well, then he and the ambassador beam out of the Infirmary.... Then... then.... You heard what happened." Bashir's words were a babbled blur; Garak followed along the best he could as the doctor's voice rose and fell in emotional pitch. However, the last sentence which Bashir had mumbled almost as an afterthought immediately caught the tailor's attention. Garak gently replied, "Yes, I did. They were brave souls. They understood what they were doing. And somehow, I have the feeling they would not have had it any other way." The doctor did not respond right away, so Garak waited. Slowly, almost reverently, Bashir opened the book and gently turned the pages. "It's all in Kardasi, or at least that's what the computer says. I can speak a few Kardasi phrases, the ones I've learned from you and from that linguistics program, but the only words I can read are 'Stop,' 'No access,' and 'Danger.' Oh... there are a few others... the ones on the station signs that haven't been converted yet...." Bashir glanced around the room, his uneasiness becoming more apparent with each moment he stood there. "Um... Have I interrupted you?" "I was just finishing up for the evening." To prove his point, Garak stood and brushed a few idle threads from his lap. Quickly, Bashir closed the book and held it closer to his chest. The movement intrigued the tailor; obviously there was something the doctor did not want him to see or perhaps was not prepared for Garak to view just yet. What? Did it have illustrations? "Um..." The doctor's confidence was clearly rattled. It reminded Garak of the first few times he had engaged the young Starfleet officer in conversation outside of the Infirmary. Anxious... Nervous... a bit fearful but phenomenally curious.... "Would you... um... like to have... um... dinner? That is, of course, if you haven't already eaten because if you have I understand perfectly and...." The Cardassian held up his hand and Bashir abruptly stopped, his mouth closing as he began shuffling his feet. It was quite an endearing move, actually. "No, I haven't already eaten." Was that relief the tailor detected in Bashir's hazel eyes? The next question, however, would definitely set the stage. "Quark's, perhaps?" The doctor suddenly developed a keen interest in the carpet. Ah. Maybe the doctor did know about Garak's liaison with the ambassador. Then again, Garak could be jumping to conclusions again. "Actually... um... this is... um..." Bashir was still focused on the carpet. "The replicator in my quarters is much better than Quark's. The chief just fixed it last week. He said it didn't make a proper Dutch pretzel to go with his Irish stout. Um... It may not have many Cardassian dishes, but um... I've noticed you really don't eat Cardassian cuisine that much...." A request for privacy. Interesting. And Bashir wanted to feel safe, hence the desire to meet in his quarters. "Of course, doctor. Why don't I meet you there at say... 1900 hours?" There, that should give the doctor adequate time to either calm down or become more nervous. Plus, they wouldn't be seen walking to and entering the doctor's private chambers which would at least fend off the embarrassing questions for the immediate moment. "I do have a few things I must tend to before I leave for the evening." "That sounds... fine... 1900 hours is fine.... I'll... um... see you then." --- Sisko forwarded the formal protest from the Cardassian civilian government for botching the exchange of anti-Dominion technology to Nechayev. Let her and her group of diplomats work with that mess. Ben was simply too tired to deal with it. As unusual as it was, Gul Dukat had not stormed into Sisko's office, demanding an explanation of why Captain O'Brien had rescinded his offer to share technology. The logical conclusion, the one Nechayev and Shakaar, not to mention the rest of the command crew, feared was Gul Dukat had been given the information which had been denied Starfleet and the BPG. Still, it was odd for Dukat not to gloat. The gul had left without any parting message almost immediately after Captain O'Brien destroyed the anomaly. If O'Brien hadn't given Dukat something, than perhaps one of O'Brien's crew had. There had been at least eight Cardassian officers, besides the chief of security, on board the Defiant. Tora Ziyal had been part of O'Brien's crew. Maybe she wanted to make sure the alternate of her father was suitably prepared for a Dominion attack. It was logical. It was even understandable. Nechayev seemed obsessed about that point. She didn't even seem to care that two Klingon ships had been destroyed during the blast and no demand for explanation from the Klingon High Council had come down. Plus, the Romulans had not made an official appearance yet. The alternates had been there for almost three days and not a single word from either government. Perhaps the Romulans had been lurking around DS9 in their cloaked warbirds as well, waiting to see what happened. In the end, the only ones who seemed to care that Captain O'Brien and his crew had made the supreme sacrifice had been those stationed on DS9. Oh, and Shakaar. At his suggestion, the station temple had held prayer services for the thirty-nine officers who had died. After all, he had said, they had faith in the Prophets. Dax and Chief O'Brien hadn't given up on the tracking system. They were determined to get it to work, even if it meant a multi-shift marathon. Nechayev only encouraged them. Ben stared out of the portal in his office, tossing his prized baseball lazily between his hands. Jake was making dinner this evening. His son had to endure more hugs in the past two days than he had had to in the past two years. Jake had not protested either. He understood. The captain placed his baseball back on its perch and was almost out the door of his office when Chief O'Brien stepped off the turbolift and headed right toward him. "Sir," the chief glanced around Ops, tapping a padd impatiently against his leg, "can we discuss a few things?" "Of course." Once seated inside the captain's office, Sisko noted how uneasy the chief was. "Is there a problem?" "Well... Keiko said Jake dropped by our quarters two nights ago. The only reason she was still up was she was finishing some reports for a conference she's speaking at in two weeks. Anyway, he gave her this," the chief held up the padd, "and told her to make sure I get it as soon as possible. She asked him why he couldn't give it me personally, and he said his father would be mighty angry if he knew he wasn't where he was supposed to be." "So she brought it you right away." "Well... not exactly.... The station went on red alert and she put it with her other padds. Honestly, sir, I haven't seen my wife in the past two days, with the repairs to the Defiant and all." "I see." "But when she did get it to me... well..." The chief handed it to Sisko. The captain activated the screen. What he saw stunned him. "Phaser modifications?" He then remembered the first battle with the Jem'Hadar and how Jake protested that the station did not have a particular type of phasers Captain O'Brien or Dukat (Sisko hadn't been too sure which one) had asked for. If it had been the polaron emitters Captain O'Brien had mentioned earlier, Sisko would have known the information came directly from the captain. However, this... the captain again looked at the specs... this was something specific to the station. Had his son... no... *Chief* Jake Sisko wasn't his son.... "Sir," the chief interrupted, "I have a feeling he didn't clear this with anyone. Being their chief engineer, if he had wanted to beam someplace and beam right back, he could have done it without anyone knowing." "But why?" The soft-spoken words were meant to be rhetorical. "Why would he have risked...?" O'Brien gave a cough of embarrassment. "The supplies we sent over? I took the liberty of adding a few things that weren't on their list." Sisko shot the chief a look. O'Brien only shrugged, but it wasn't as apologetic as the captain was expecting. Then the captain realized he was staring into the features of a former soldier. Of someone who had lived through and understood war. Of a compassionate man. Of the one person on the station who had used his position as operations chief to forge an alliance. The chief wasn't normally the one to pull such a stunt; Doctor Bashir was. Yet whatever the chief had done, whatever he had given them (and Sisko really didn't want to know), it had spurred Chief Jake Sisko into breaking a slew of laws, going against his own captain's orders, to repay a kindness shown. "This was his way of thanking you?" The chief didn't even smile. "Officially, I prefer not to think of it that way, captain." --- Plates had not been set out, neither had placemats nor eating utensils nor glasses. Oh, the dining table had been cleared off, but not prepared for two people to share a meal. The book was in the middle of the table. To say Garak was curious was an understatement. To say Doctor Bashir was nervous was also an understatement. The physician paced around his quarters after the tailor had arrived as if working up the courage to ask... Ask what? Confirm medical findings? Talk about... Ridiculous. Unless.... Garak hadn't moved from behind the chair in the main living area, the place he had stopped at when he had first entered Bashir's quarters. Normally, he would have preferred to stand closer to the door, giving himself a convenient and unblocked exit. However, given the doctor's erratic behavior, such a tactic would only make the doctor more unsettled. Garak wanted to present himself as a listener... among other things. "The book..." Bashir began without preamble but refused to stop pacing, "it's a collection of poems by Tavor Kell." "Kell? The architect?" The doctor suddenly halted and stared at Garak. "Architect?" "My dear doctor," Garak said pleasantly, "Tavor Kell designed this station. It is quite pleasing to the Cardassian eye, I must say, but I do fear some of the more intricate nuances of the station have been lost on those unfamiliar with traditional Cardassian architect. The 'Nor' stations, as they have been termed, are perhaps the boldest constructions of the Empire. It is unfortunate he died shortly after completing this work." "Someone wasn't happy with the archways?" Bashir asked, a half-smile touching his lips. "He wasn't assassinated or had some ill-fated accident. Kell died from a neurological disorder." "Oh...." "But it is rather interesting, though. Both Kells were creative in their own way." Bashir looked over toward the table. "The book..." he breathed but did not elaborate. "Doctor, what is the matter? You're hardly acting like yourself," Garak observed, but made sure his voice sounded concerned yet neutral. Normally, he was patient. Normally, he would allow Bashir to attain some level of comfort before the tailor began searching for information. Yet Garak knew unless he pushed Bashir, the doctor would never make his point. "I realize how disconcerting it must be to receive a gift from your alternate under such distressing circumstances...." "It's not just any collection of poems, Garak." "Then what, my dear doctor, is it about?" "I had the computer translate the text yesterday. I read it last night." "And...?" The doctor suddenly walked to the portal. "They are sonnets... odes... hymns...." "And what, my dear doctor, is so upsetting about those types of poetry? I believe I have endured many penned by your esteemed William Shakespeare, Tennyson, Keats, and Wordsworth, among others. I do have to admit a certain fondness for Edgar Allen Poe. Such delightful images." Julian blew air between his lips, an unusual gesture of frustration, as if angry with himself for being unable to bring himself to the point. He then walked to the table, picked the volume up, and approached Garak. "What is... what is odd is that *this* particular copy... it has notes written in the margins." Ah. So that was it. But... so obvious? Bashir opened the book, turned a few pages and then edged closer to the tailor. "Here." He held out the book and pointed to the elegant swirls and symbols across the paper. "There are two distinct handwritings... both in Kardasi script. I... um... I found my... um... name written here and... yours... there." His hand was steady as he indicated two sets of characters; the rest of his arm trembled. "Well, um... given what we know about our alternates, a good guess would be that they... um... that this was the ambassador's." "Yes... it is a likely conclusion." "I..." Julian took another step closer. "I didn't ask the computer to translate the written notes. It would have been... too... impersonal." Garak didn't challenge the lie; Bashir was skittish enough as it was. However, it was doubtful the doctor could have deciphered their respective names unless he had that first page translated. Whatever he had found there.... Carefully, with the same reverence displayed before in the shop, the doctor held out the book; Garak accepted it. The tailor looked over the page Bashir had opened the book to and stopped when he saw the notation along the bottom left page: "Envoy. No doubt you studied Kardasi literature while at the Academy. However, one must keep learning. If you are to impress those new to our Federation, a splash of culture always makes a good introduction." It had been signed "Gul Garak" followed by numbers which looked like a date but it did not conform with the Cardassian, Terran, or Bajoran calendars or the Federation's system of "stardates." The tailor wished he could have read this in private so he could at least prepare a proper response to what would no doubt be embarrassing questions. "The other Garak is dead, isn't he?" Garak kept his gaze focused on the page. "Yes, doctor." "The ambassador must have been..." Julian faltered, "he was *pleased* to see that in some other universe, we were... are... also friends." Garak said nothing, wondering if he should correct the doctor's choice of words. What should he say? How should he phrase it? He glanced down at the elegant script and realized precisely what this volume of poetry meant to the ambassador. It had been the beginning. And whether or not the alternate-Dukat had misinterpreted the ambassador's request, the quote had meant enough to Dukat that he recognized the importance of it and had forwarded such a personal item to the alternate of the ambassador. Carpe diem. Seize the day. The words now sounded foolish. Childish. Distastefully naive. Complete and utter tripe. Aware Julian was watching every movement and scrutinizing his every expression, Garak thumbed through the pages of the book and glanced at the titles of the poems. Most of them had to do with the Cardassian state or the Federation (political poetry... at least Kell had some taste). They were the pages most filled with underlining of phrases and notations in the margins. Then, he found what he had been looking for: the brittle page which looked as if it had been sprinkled with water and allowed to dry. It was the only page in the entire volume to be in that condition. The tailor read the opening stanza to himself: "If you know him as I have, you will understand his words Beyond the precious glimmer of innocent meanings. The truest meaning can be found in the purest form of the ancient language. If you know him as I have, you will understand his words For they are faceted like finest jevonite. The truest meaning can be found once you listen for what is not. If you know him as I have, you will understand his words." By the Great Gul, he hoped the rest of Kell's poems were better than that. Otherwise... what? Would Garak turn down this chance? He noticed Julian was now holding his breath as the tailor lingered over the page. There were no handwritten notes to accompany the text; it was the only poem Garak had seen so far without such markings. "We both know our alternates were mentor and protege," Garak stated slowly, allowing Julian to absorb his words. Of course, no matter what he said now, Julian would dissect them to find a double meaning. "It appears this... served as the catalyst between them. Perhaps... perhaps when the ambassador saw us dining in the replimat together, in obvious discussion, he... he remembered." The silence was immeasurable. "We don't have to... um... talk about it tonight," Julian's voice was now hushed. "It looks like they traded the book back and forth." Garak looked up and found the doctor's wide hazel eyes staring at him, trepidation and fear of rejection mixing in their depths. "Perhaps... we could... um... I wouldn't be averse to the...." Poor Julian. He couldn't even say the words. Did he even know what he was asking? Did he know that two nights ago, Elim Garak had been loved (there was simply no other term to describe it) by the ambassador? Did it matter? Perhaps. But not here. Not now. "Doctor, I would enjoy discussing this particular work with you," Garak gave a genuine smile, one which the doctor recognized and then returned. "It would be positively fascinating." Not to mention, a beginning. --- The End