Star Trek Deep Space 9

8

Antimatter

CHAPTER

1

SUNK DEEP IN A GIANT PIT was an Ambassador-class

starship, looking as if it was about to be swallowed

whole. An intricate network of walkways and

turbolifts spanned its gleaming hull, and workers

swarmed over the helpless ship like hungry ants. The

scene reminded Benjamin Sisko of the Lilliputians

who tied down Gulliver and crawled all over him. But

even if the shackles were removed, this sleeping giant

was not about to rise, not for another few days. It was

missing the most crucial element of its being, the

thing that would give it life and send it streaking

across the galaxy, the most dangerous substance ever

discovered antimatter.

"Isn't it magnificent?" said Kira Nerys beside him.

"It's so thrilling to see the Okana Shipyards open

again. You don't know it, Commander, but this ship-

yard has seen centuries of history. Songs have been

written about it, and plays. We're very proud of it."

"Impressive," answered Sisko. He didn't tell his

Bajoran first officer what he was really thinking, that

the shipyard was crude by Federation standards. It

had been centuries since Terrans had built starships

under normal planetary gravity--they much pre-

ferred moon-based or orbital shipyards with little or

no gravity. Of course, the Bajorans had once had a

state-of-the-art orbital shipyard, but it had been utter-

ly destroyed by the Cardassian invaders. With its

ravished economy, Bajor could hardly afford to build

a new orbital shipyard, so they had reopened the

surface shipyard. They were happy just to be building

a ship, even if it was under a Federation contract.

Sisko also didn't mention that the design of the

Ambassador, one of the workhorses of the fleet, was

an old one. Its construction kinks had long been

worked out. The saucer section was considerably

smaller than that of a Galaxy-class vessel, such as the

Enterprise, and its hull was cylindrical rather than

squat. The twin nacelles were also directly behind the

saucer section rather than under it. But the seven-

hundred crew-member starship was an extremely

economical vessel, and it could go farther and run

longer than a Galaxy-class ship on the same amount of

antimatter. It was a perfect choice for its missionma

long-range exploration of the Gamma Quadrant, on

the other side of the wormhole.

Most important, Sisko knew that this was the first

starship to be built on Bajor since the Cardassian

invasion over fifty years ago, and he was determined

to help them succeed. In one respect, he agreed with

Major Kira. The Okana Shipyards were a magnificent

sight--six monstrous pits spread across the vast

Okana Desert, each one crisscrossed by six gigantic

arches that curved to an apex almost a kilometer

above the ground.

He was standing on one of those archways now, and

the view it afforded was incredible, despite the intense

heat that made his neck crawl with sweat. He knew

that soon--after the antimatter arrived and was in-

stalled in the reactor--tractor beams along the arches

would be activated, and the giant starship would rise

out of the pit half a kilometer above the ground. The

ship's inertial damping and structural integrity fields

would have to be adjusted to compensate for Bajor's

gravity, but they would be returned to normal once in

space. The launch was an event he didn't want to miss.

Until then, he could enjoy the endless horizon and a

respite from the rigors of commanding Deep Space

Nine.

"You're smiling," observed Kira. "May I ask what

you find so humorous?"

"I'm just enjoying myself," Sisko admitted. "It's so

peaceful out here--like being at the ends of the Earth.

Or in this case, at the ends of Bajor."

"I knew you would enjoy it," said Kira with plea-

sure. "I came here once as a child, and I've never

forgotten it."

"Best of all," said the commander, "I'm pleased

that everything is going so well. Right on schedule.

Maybe a little bit later we can go down and take a

closer look at the Hannibal."

Kira wrinkled the ridges on her nose and muttered

something under her breath.

"Did you say something, Major?"

"It's that name. What does it mean?"

"Hannibal?" asked Sisko. "Why, he was a great

African general. He did incredible things, like leading

an army of elephants over the Alps to attack Rome.

It's also a town in Missouri."

Kira nodded glumly. "Terran history."

The commander smiled. "So what would you name

it?"

The Bajoran tightened her jaw. "I can think of

several worthy names. Okana would be nice, in honor

of the shipyards that built her. Or Kai Opaka, in honor

of her memory and her sacrifice."

Sisko touched Kira's shoulder for a moment.

"Don't worry, Major, the time is coming when Bajor

will build her own ships again. First, you must build

up your economy and feed your people. This is a big

step in that direction."

"I-know," said Kira, leaning on the railing. "Pa-

tience has never been one of my virtues." After a

moment's reflection, she stood erect and managed a

smile. "I'11 contact Director Amkot and see if he can

arrange a tour of the Hannibal for us."

But before she could tap her communicator badge,

an explosion rent the desert air and rocked the

walkway beneath their feet. Kira was thrown against

the railing, and only her strength and quick reflexes

kept her from plunging into the abyss a kilometer

below them. Sisko staggered toward her and gripped

her tunic, pulling her to the metal walkway just as

another explosion jarred the structure. With an awful

groan, the archway tilted, and they began to slide

across the slick metal into the empty air beyond.

Kira rolled to her back and slapped her comm

badge. "Emergency!" she yelled. "Two to beam off

arch three! Immediately!"

Sisko's Starfleet comm badge wasn't patched into

the Bajoran system, so he could do nothing but hang

on to Kira and try to place his feet against the railing

supports. He managed to brace one foot, but their

precipitous slide continued. With the crook of her

arm, Kira grabbed the handrail as her legs swung off,

and she dangled in midair, groaning from the exertion

required to hold on. Sisko let go of her but not soon

enough, because her momentum pulled his foot off the

support and started a headlong slide into oblivion. He

grasped at the railing as it passed over his head, and

his arms were still flailing as he sailed into the air...

And materialized in a crowded storage room,

stretched out on a transporter pad. Kira stood beside

h!m, her arms still twisted around a railing that was

no longer there. She let out loud gasp and sank to the

platform, and Sisko gripped his chest. He felt as if

his heart would pound straight out through his rib

cage.

A young Bajoran transporter operator stared at

them from behind his console. "I... I got everybody,

didn't I?"

"You did fine, son," breathed Sisko.

Kira scrambled to her feet and bounded off the

platform. "What by the holy orbs happened?"

"I don't know," the Bajoran answered. "We don't

keep any explosives near the arches. One of the pylons

just blew up!"

Kira slapped her comm badge again while Sisko

rose slowly to his feet. Maybe he wouldn't come back

here to witness the Hannibal being launched, he

decided. He could monitor it just fine from the space

station.

"Major Kira to Director Amkot," she barked. "Di-

rector, I need to speak with you. Now."

"Major Kira!" came an excited male voice. "Are

you all right?"

"We should be dead, but your transporter is at least

working. What happened to that arch?"

There was a pause before Amkot responded, "We

won't know until we conduct an investigation."

"You can't even make a guess?" asked Kira incredu-

lously.

"If I had to make a guess," said the hoarse voice, "it

would be sabotage. Our security around the ship has

been tight, very tight, but perhaps it wasn't tight

enough aboveground. Offhand, the only thing I could

imagine that would cause those explosions would be

timed charges planted inside the pylon. We are re-

viewing maintenance records to see who had access to

it."

Kira glanced at her commander to see if he wanted

to interject anything, and he nodded. "This is Com-

mander Benjamin Sisko of Deep Space Nine," his

voice thundered. "I think we should meet to discuss

this."

"Of course, Commander!" came the reply. "I want

to assure you that this incident had nothing to do with

your presence here, nothing! Arch number three is the

center arch, so it was the most obvious target. The

charges could have been set days ago, or weeks ago.

You know, there is considerable opposition to us

building a starship for the Federation, instead of

Bajor."

"Will you be able to repair it in time for the

launch?" asked Sisko.

"Yes, Commander. It will take some doing, but we

can move a center arch from one of the other bays.

They're not in use. If you would like to discuss this

further, I am headed to my office now."

"We will meet you there," Sisko concluded. He

nodded to his first officer.

"Kira out," she replied through clenched teeth.

Commander Sisko just looked away, deeply sad-

dened by Director Amkot's explanation. The planet of

Bajor could be a paradise, as it once was, but sabotage

and terrorism had become a way of life for too many

Bajorans. If only they could stop this insanity! Until

they did, the Bajorans were every bit as dangerous and

unpredictable as the antimatter that was headed their

way.

In his spartan, windowless office on Deep Space

Nine, Security Chief Odo continued to page through

various Starfleet reports and documents concerning

the shipment and handling of antimatter. For two

days, he had been boning up on the subject in antici-

pation of the shipment that would arrive by convoy in

about twenty-four h ours. Having never served aboard

a starship, the alien shapeshifter had little firsthand

experience with matter/antimatter propulsion sys-

tems and antimatter storage pods. He knew only one

thing for certain the more he read about the stuff, the

less he liked it.

In his analytical way, Odo summarized the most

important points about antimatter on his computer

screen. Thus far, everything he had learned was

troubling. For the hundredth time, he turned to his

screen and studied his notes

1. Antimatter is the most dangerous substance

ever discovered. When it comes into contact

with matter, both are annihilated in a devastat-

ing explosion.

2. Under controlled circumstances, this power is

used to drive a starship, but a warp-core

meltdown can result in total destruction.

3. When not in use, antimatter must be stored in a

special pod that contains the substance within

magnetic fields. If the pod is breached or

ruptured, the result is total destruction.

4. The danger to a starship is so great that the

warp core and antimatter pods are designed to

be ejected in an emergency.

5. Antimatter cannot be transported, except in

minute quantities. Antimatter storage pods

must be shipped and handled manually.

6. Antimatter cannot be replicated. It is generated

in a handful of major Starfleet refueling facili-

ties, all of them deep in Federation space.

7. The expected shipment, 2,000 cubic meters of

antimatter in 20 storage pods, is enough to

power a starship for two years.

8. Starfleet only ships antimatter in special tanker

craft that are protected by a minimum of two

Starfleet cruisers.

9. Antimatter is one of the rarest and most valu-

able commodities in the galaxy.

Odo couldn't bear to read any more. He shut off his

screen, leaned back in his chair, and stared at the wall.

Despite the lack of features in his oddly unformed

face, no one could have mistaken the look of concern

in his tightened jaw and pinpoint eyes. After the

arrival of the tanker and her escorts, Deep Space Nine

was to be the waystation for twenty antimatter storage

pods, until the Bajorans sent enough shuttlecraft to

take them to the shipyard on the planet. Between the

arrival of the convoy and the departure of the last

storage pod, he didn't want to think about all the

terrible things that could happen.

His door chimed cheerfully, and he scowled. "En-

ter."

The door whooshed open, and the cherubic face of

Miles O'Brien peered around the corner. "You wanted

to see me, Constable?"

Odo's scowl deepened. He despised that obnoxious

nickname pinned on him by Commander Sisko, but

he would let it pass today. He had more important

worries. "Yes, Chief. Thank you for coming."

O'Brien strode into the room and stood at easy

attention. After a moment, he said with concern, "Are

you all right?"

"I am most certainly not all right," snapped Odo.

"How would you feel if you were in charge of the

safekeeping of twenty containers of antimatter?"

"Oh, that," scoffed the chiefi "We had thirty storage

pods aboard the Enterprise. Never gave us a lick of

trouble." He frowned in remembrance. "Well, maybe

I shouldn't say 'never.' Antimatter is always tricky

stuff."

"Just how volatile is it?"

O'Brien chuckled. "How volatile is it? Well, let's

put it this way--a fistful of antimatter would be

enough to destroy half this station."

When he saw that his answer didn't do much to

lighten Odo's mood, O'Brien added, "But it's perfect-

ly safe, if it's contained. We have ships docking here

all the time that have antimatter on board."

"But we've never had any on board the station,"

Odo countered. He shifted in his seat, uncomfortable

to be exhibiting so much fear. "I've been reading

everything I can find about it, and I don't like what

I'm finding out. Do you have any recommendations?"

The chief of operations considered the question for

a moment before replying, "Only one thing. There's

quite a black market in the stuff, because almost every

ship with a warp drive needs it. And the storage pods

are self-contained--you could take one and leave the

rest alone. I'd be more concerned about thievery than

an accident."

"Thievery," Odo repeated thoughtfully. He stood

with determination. "Chief, may I buy you a drink

down at Quark's establishment?"

Despite the fact that Director Amkot said he was

headed straight for his office, Commander Sisko and

Major Kira sat impatiently in uncomfortable chrome

furniture for almost half an hour. For the dozenth

time, Sisko surveyed the room. Like most things

Bajoran, the furnishings were stylish, even if some of

them had seen better days. A double-paned window

looked out upon a pair of robotic arc welders, which

now sat quietly, their job over. Behind them, one of

the gleaming nacelles of the Hannibal was visible,

looking like a sleek silver fish. Natural light from

above filtered into the immense pit, adding to the

underwater illusion.

Amkot's desk looked like a slab of black epoxy,

although it was chipped and scratched in various

places, as if it had spent several years in careless

storage. His chair looked considerably more comfort-

able than the one Sisko was sitting in. At least it had

padding. A huge diagram of the Hannibal covered one

entire wall, and behind the desk were a number of

diplomas and citations, all etched on brightly colored

slabs. There were blank spaces on the walls, too,

where citations had apparently been removed.

More for the sake of conversation than from over-

whelming curiosity, Sisko asked, "What do you sup-

pose went in those blank spaces on the wall?"

Kira stiflened in her seat. "Commendations, I

suppose--from the Cardassians. It's well known that

Amkot Groell was a collaborator. But he managed to

keep this facility open, even if they didn't build any

ships. He maintained the equipment, waiting for this

day. We all had to do unpleasant things, Amkot more

than most. He is still resented for it in some quarters."

"How does the provisional government feel about

him?"

Kira smiled grimly. "That depends on how the

Federation feels about their new starship. If it brings

more business to the shipyards, he'll be a hero. If it's a

failure--" She didn't have to finish the sentence.

The door opened abruptly, and both Kira and Sisko

stood, relieved to finally see somebody. Amkot Groell

was a small man, with disheveled white hair that

made him look like a mad professor. He was followed

into the room by a distinguished older woman wear-

ing a finely tailored suit. The ridges on the bridge of

her nose looked like manicured hedges, and she wore

a jewel that dwarfed one entire ear.

"Please excuse me, please!" begged the director.

"Just as I was coming here, I heard that Minister

Roser was en route. Naturally, I had to meet her.

Excuse me again--I am Director Amkot Groell, and

this is Roser Issa, Minister of Public Works."

Sisko nodded. "Commander Benjamin Sisko of

Deep Space Nine. This is my first officer, Major Kira

Nerys."

"Of course, of course," stuttered the little man.

"How are you, Major? It's a pleasure to see you again.

The major was a student when she first came here on a

field trip, but that was many years ago. How do you

like seeing the yard in operation?"

"I thought it was wonderful," replied Kira, "until it

nearly killed me."

"Most regrettable." Amkot shook his head with

genuine sorrow. "We have doubled security, I can

assure you. In some respects, it's amazing we haven't

had more incidents."

"That's nonsense," claimed Minister Roser. "How

could we possibly know that anyone would want to

sabotage the shipyards? Frankly, I am stunned."

Director Amkot looked like he wanted to correct

the minister, but he screwed his mouth shut. She must

have control of the purse strings, thought Sisko. His

first officer, however, felt no such restraint.

"Aren't you being a bit disingenuous, Minister?"

asked Kira. "I can think of a dozen factions who

oppose building this ship, from pacifists to national-

ists, with every terrorist organization in between. And

what about the Cardassians? They're hoping that if

they bide their time, the Federation will get sick of

supporting us and just go away."

Minister Roser gave her a tight smile. "Of course,

Major, you would know about terrorist organiza-

tions."

From the way that Kira bounced on her feet and

balled her hands into fists, Sisko could tell that she

was about to explode, and he quickly interjected, "As

a representative of the client, let me say that I'm very

pleased with the progress you've made. Frankly, I

didn't think you would finish the Hannibal on sched-

ule, but you have. Now that we're so close to comple-

tion, let's not spoil it. We all want the same thing,

don't we?"

"Yes! Yes, we do," agreed Amkot. "Thanks to the

Federation, we have the raw materials we need, and

the work. That's what we need the most--work."

Minister Roser added, "We could also use a fusion

device and positron beam accelerator to generate our

own antimatter."

"Let's not push things," answered Sisko. "That

would be a very tempting target, and Starfleet is too

far away to protect it. We'll get you all the antimatter

you need--to power whatever you build."

Kira seized upon that small opening. "Commander,

does that mean we could build our own starships?"

Sisko smiled. "We have a saying 'All things come to

those who wait.' Now, let's get to practical matters.

What kind of explosive was it? Can we catch whoever

did it?"

Amkot sighed and shook his head. "There isn't

much left, but we found traces of sarium krellide,

which is a common detonator and casing material."

"I'11 send down a forensic team from the station,"

promis ed Sisko. "Perhaps they can help."

Amkot clapped his hands together and tried to

appear cheerful. "Commander, may I take you on a

tour of the Hannibal?"

"I'm afraid we don't have time now. We have our

own preparations to make. In addition to the antimat-

ter, the convoy is bringing the crew for the Hannibal's

test flights. I may assign some of my own people to go

along."

"Can I volunteer?" asked Kira.

"We'll see." Sisko managed a smile before he

tapped his comm badge. "Sisko to Hage. We are ready

to beam back to the runabout."

"Yes, sir," came the reply. "Locking on to you and

Major Kira."

"Energize when ready."

They barely had time to nod their gOOd-byes before

the transporter beams scrambled their molecules and

whisked them away in a blaze of colored lights.

By the time Sisko and Kira stepped from the small

transporter platform into the cramped cockpit of the

Mekong, the smile had vanished from the command-

er's face. It was replaced by a concerned frown,

matched by that of Major Kira.

"They don't seem to realize the danger they're in,"

said the Bajoran.

"No," answered Sisko, "and I'm not sure we do

either." He wondered if it was really a coincidence

that the arch was sabotaged just as they were standing

on it. He didn't like the fact that a relatively common-

place operation--the transfer of antimatter to a new

ship--should be a flashpoint for bitter hatreds. Most

of all, he didn't like his lack of control over the

Bajoran side of the operation.

"Shall I take us out of orbit?" asked Ensign Hage.

Sisko was stirred out of his troubled thoughts. "Let

me take the controls," he answered, slipping into the

conn seat. "I want to see if I can get us back in under

two hours."

En route to Quark's Place on the bustling Prom-

enade, Chief O'Brien heard his communicator beep,

and he stopped midstride to answer it. Odo waited

patiently beside him.

"Chief," said a concerned voice, "the level-three

diagnostic you ordered on cargo bay one has picked

up a few anomolies. They're probably just bad seals or

worn sensor arrays, but I thought you might want to

take a look."

"I'll be right there," muttered O'Brien. "Out." He

turned to Odo and muttered, "Bloody Cardassians

never replaced a seal in their lives. I'd better go check

this, Odo. That's the cargo bay where we're storing the

antimatter pods."

"Then by all means, don't let me detain you," said

the morph. "I am quite capable of questioning Quark

by myself."

O'Brien smiled. "Yeah, but I don't know when

you'll offer to buy me a drink again."

"Probably never," Odo answered honestly.

"Maybe you could give me a rain check."

Odo tilted his head puzzledly. "Why would I check

for rain in a space station?"

"Never mind," muttered O'Brien, starting off. "I'll

make that cargo bay the safest place on the station."

Odo offered him a slight smile. "If you do, I will buy

you that drink."

After O'Brien strode off in the opposite direction,

Odo put his hands behind his back and continued his

stroll down the Promenade. He passed a combination

grooming/tattoo salon, a gift shop specializing in

holographic wormhole ornaments, and a restaurant

that featured live food. All of the establishments were

crowded. Publicly, Odo often complained about the

rowdy lot who passed through the station, but private-

ly he preferred to see it bustling and busy than

deserted and comatose. He liked the stimulus of so

many visitors, even if each one presented a unique

security risk.

He could spot the tourists--the ones who had come

simply to see the only stable wormhole in existence.

And he could spot the adventurers--the ones who

were not content just to see it but had to pass through

to the little-explored Gamma Quadrant on the other

side. It was the others who concerned him--the ones

who came to this far-flung corner of the galaxy for

personal gain. Some were attracted by the lawless

elements of Bajor, a chaotic planet struggling to

rebuild itself while coping with the windfall generated

by the wormhole. Some came for honest commerce,

hoping to discover new products, services, and cus-

tomers in the Gamma Quadrant. Others came to

steal, pure and simple, to take what wasn't theirs and

make it their own. He couldn't tell who those people

were by sight, but he knew one thing about them

Sooner or later, they would congregate at Quark's

Place.

Odo rounded the doorway into the gaudy, neon-lit

den of debauchery and heard the usual whoops and

hollers from the gaming tables. He smelled the nox-

ious intermingling of odors from a dozen alien foods,

none of which were ever meant to be eaten in the same

room together. He heard the clinking of glasses con-

taining substances that were, to him, incomprehensi-

ble in their appeal. And he saw the Ferengi servers

hurrying about--big-eared snaggletoothed scavengers

--grubbing money from every possible source. Most

incomprehensible of all was the steady flow of cus-

tomers marching up and down the staircase, plunking

down hard-earned cash to indulge sexual fantasies in

the holosuites overhead.

Odo sighed, noticing that his presence did nothing

to curb any of this obnoxious behavior. The security

chief wouldn't care to admit it, but he probably spent

more time in Quark's Place than anyone, except the

employees and a chubby alien named Morn. His

presence had long since failed to raise any eyebrow

ridges.

He strolled over to the bar, where the proprietor,

Quark, was going over inventory on a computer padd.

Odo leaned on the bar and asked without enthusiasm,

"How's business, Quark?"

The Ferengi frowned. "Pretty good, until you came

in."

"Would that was so," muttered Odo. He glanced

around the saloon and said matter-of-factly, "How

many people here have private starships?"

Quark laughed and replied, "Almost all of them. We

can't all be privileged enough to belong to the Federa-

tion or the Klingon Empire."

Odo nodded. "How many of those starships are

powered by matter/antimatter reactors?"

Now Quark set down his padd, leaned across the

bar, and lowered his voice to say, "What are you

getting at, Odo?"

"How much is antimatter worth?"

Quark smiled. "Why, have you got some?"

The shapeshifter grimaced in disgust. "No, but the

station is getting some. Twenty storage pods of anti-

matter. But of course, you knew that."

Quark picked up his padd. "Well, it's not a secret.

At least, not much of one. If some of that shipment

were to be, shall we say, diverted--I'm sure a consid-

erable profit could be turned. We're in an excellent

position to sell antimatter, because any ship would

want to be well stocked before they enter the worm-

hole and begin a long journey in the Gamma

Quadrant."

"How much profit? Give me an estimate."

Quark smiled with the pleasure of estimating the

profit on an illegal deal. "It's a substance that cannot

be replicated or easily manufactured. Of course, stor-

age is a problem. I could probably get seven bars of

gold-pressed latinum for an empty storage pod. A full

one would net sixty, if the bidding were spirited."

Odo stood erect. That was more than he had

estimated--considerably more. He looked around the

room. "You would tell me, wouldn't you, if somebody

were planning to steal any of that shipment?"

"Steal it?" scoffed Quark. "From a Starfleet convoy

guarded by a couple of cruisers? Antimatter is valu-

able, but it's not worth getting killed over."

Odo lowered his voice. "What about stealing it

from a cargo bay?"

"That would depend," said Quark. "What cargo

bay is it going to be in?"

Odo gave the Ferengi a sly smile. "You didn't

answer my question, so I'm not going to answer yours.

I will just say one more thing If I hear of any

conspiracy to steal even a single pod of that antimat-

ter, I will throw whoever is involved--and I mean

whoever--off Deep Space Nine for good. Do I make

myself understood?"

Quark laughed nervously. "Why tell me that? I'm a

bartender, not an antimatter merchant. Now, you're

wasting my time, and I've got business to attend to."

"By all means," said Odo snidely, "don't let me

keep you from your business." The shapeshifter

strode quickly toward the door.

Odo had learned from long practice that it was wise

not to hurry away from Quark's establishment. To

attract customers, there were several gaudy blinking

signs in the windows of the place, and he had found

that he could stop just outside one of them and peer

in, with the bright lights affording him a bit of

camouflage. From that vantage point, he often saw

what Quark did immediately after one of his visits,

and that knowledge was often very elucidatory.

He could see Quark summon his brother, Rom, to

the bar and whisper something to him. Rom scurried

off and returned a moment later with another Ferengi

whom Odo didn't know. The discussion between

Quark and the strange Ferengi quickly turned into an

argument, and the customer waved his hands and

stalked off. Quark shook his head glumly, as if he had

just lost money.

Odo walked away from the window, content that he

had warned Quark off trying to pull anything with the

antimatter shipment. But Quark was only one

Ferengi, and there were scores of them infecting the

station at the moment. For sixty bars oflatinum, most

of them would do almost anything, including selling

their naked mothers into slavery. Plus, there were all

those other unsavory characters around.

The security chief would not rest comfortably in his

pail until the last storage pod of antimatter was safely

off DS9 and on its way to Bajor.

CHAPTER

2

JADZIA DAX PULLED BACK her sleek dark hair and

fastened the subdued ponytail with an ornate silver

barrette. The style revealed the intricate pat tern of

small spots that ran along her hairline and down her

slender neck and shoulders. She fastened her tunic,

noticing her nicely formed breasts, which were impos-

sible to hide in a Starfleet uniform. Dax did her best to

look plain and unassuming, but it was a losing battle.

Men's heads turned in her direction wherever she

went on the station, and some did more than look.

Quark usually licked his lips and proffered obscene

proposals, and Julian Bashir--sweet childish Julian

mkept asking her out on dates. Unfortunately, she

found men's advances to be more amusing than

seductive, and she attributed that to the fact that in

several of her host lifetimes, including the most

recent, she had been a man.

Dax seldom thought in terms of being two distinct

identities merged in one bodymone a three-hundred-

year-old androgynous scientist and the other a twenty-

eight-year-old woman--but at times one or the other

of her components would exert itself. In her last

incarnation, as Curzon Dax, the humanoid part of her

being had often taken the lead, especially in terms of

the hell-raising and womanizing he was famous for

across the galaxy. The current Trill was not at all like

that character, much to the amazement of Benjamin

Sisko. Benjamin kept expecting to see some of that old

devil-may-care attitude, but Curzon Dax was dead,

even if his memories and knowledge lived on. Jadzia,

the young woman who had volunteered at an early age

and trained all her life to be a host, was serious and

levelheaded, which was how she thought a host ought

to be.

She sighed as she considered her fair reflection in

the mirror. The more she considered the exploits of

Curzon Dax, the more she wondered if she was in

some way failing as a Trill. Curzon Dax would have

undoubtedly bedded a fair number of the female

population of DS9 by now, but she couldn't even

bring herself to bed a single man, when the candidates

were both plentiful and eager. Curzon Dax had been

able to party all night, but Jadzia Dax preferred to

snuggle up in bed with a badly written Cardassian

operations manual.

While training, she thought ruefully, she had heard

all about the scientific and humanitarian exploits of

Curzon Dax. When meeting people who knew him, all

she heard about were his romantic escapades and

death-defying adventures. Her merged memory was

full of them. Perhaps that was why she felt little need

to pursue the sensual side of life. She realized now

that it was pure luck that Curzon Dax had lived to be

an old man.

She remembered her training. They drilled her on

Trill traditions, physical stamina, adaptation tech-

niquesmall the preparation necessary to make a

smooth transition. But they didn't tell her that merg-

ing with the symbiont was the easy part. The hard part

was living up to everyone's expectations, including

her own. People expected a Trill to be some kind of

superbeing, possessed of several lifetimes of knowl-

edge and experience. But Jadzia Dax couldn't be all

those people, even if they all combined to make her

what she was. She could only be herself.

Sometimes she felt like an inexperienced person

with overexperienced memories. It was an odd di-

chotomy, thought the Trill, and she wondered how

much she could trust her secondhand memories.

Her comm badge beeped, and she blinked herself

out of her reverie. "Dax here," she answered.

"It's Kira," came the reply. "I know you're off duty.

I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

Dax smiled at the irony. "No, I'm just getting

dressed." Kira was one of her best friends aboard

DS9. Benjamin Sisko was an old friend, but he was a

friend of Curzon Dax's. Kira was the only friend

Jadzia Dax had made, if you didn't count Dr. Julian

Bashir, who wanted other things than just friendship.

"I was wondering if we could get together for a

drink, or an I'Danian spice, or something?" asked

Kira.

"Certainly," answered Dax. "How was your trip to

the shipyard?"

"Well, good and bad. Somebody tried to sabotage

the bay where they're building the Hannibal, but it

won't stop us. We're going to launch that ship."

"I'm sure you are," said Dax, sensing the worry in

her friend's voice. "Where shall we meet?"

"Quark's Place?" answered Kira. "Or any place is

okay."

"No," said Dax, "Quark's Place will be fine."

"Ten minutes then?"

"Ten minutes," Dax agreed.

Commander Sisko paced around Ops, the control

center of the station, and Chief O'Brien could tell that

he was worried. The commander hadn't gone into

much detail when he had summoned the chief, so he

couldn't tell how serious it was. But coming on top of

Odo's concerns, all of this fuss over the antimatter

shipment was getting to be a nuisance. Didn't any of

them realize that handling antimatter was a piece of

cake? A Starfleet tanker would certainly have storage

pods of the latest design, as well as automated loading

and unloading facilities. Cargo bay one was in good

shape, at least as good as could be expected for

anything built by Cardassians.

Of course, other things were going haywire all over

the station, which meant that O'Brien didn't have the

luxury of worrying about one shipment of antimatter.

"To make a long story short," said Sisko, "some-

body sabotaged one of the arches that span the bay

where they're building the Hannibal. I don't suppose,

Chief, that you know anything about planetary-based

shipyards?"

O'Brien scowled. "I've read about them in history

books."

That brought a smile to Sisko's face. "I know the

technology is outdated, but it's still fairly impressive.

They use tractor beams to lift the ship out of the pit,

and that's where the arches come in. Anyway, I want

you to take a team down there and check out the site

of the explosion. They couldn't find much, but I'm not

sure how hard they looked. I would like to catch

whoever did it before they try something else."

"Begging your pardon, sir, but the power is out in

airlock six, and I have to rebuild one of the microwave

links. Plus, I have a dozen complaints about the air

quality 9n level nineteen in the habitat ring, and..."

Sisko held up his hand to silence the chief. "I know

you've got more than you can handle already, but it

will be a disaster for the Bajorans if that ship doesn't

launch on schedule. And I simply don't have anybody

else I can trust with this matter. Actually, I want you

back in twenty hours, when the antimatter shipment

is due to arrive, so you won't be gone forever, But you

must leave as soon as you assemble your team."

O'Brien nodded with resignation. "Is nepotism

allowed, sir?"

"Nepotism?"

"In other words, could I take my wife? Keiko has

been dying to see something else besides these

damned gray walls. She's an excellent chemist, and

she always knows who in her classroom threw the

spitball."

Sisko smiled. "Certainly, Chief, it's your team. If

you find anything unusual, let me know first, before

you tell Director Amkot."

"Yes, sir," agreed O'Brien. Heading toward the

turbolift, he was already assembling his team in his

head--himself, Keiko, a Bajoran for political consid-

erations, and the best pilot he could find on short

order.

After reaching the bar, Dax and Kira had barely

alighted in their chairs when the obsequious Quark

was headed in their direction. He was rubbing his

hands in anticipation. In anticipation of what, Dax

didn't want to imagine.

"Hello, ladies," he intoned, grinning like a feral rat.

His eyes never left various parts of Dax's anatomy.

"What will be your pleasure today?"

"Just a Tellarite fizz for me," said Kira.

Dax smiled pleasantly. "I'll have some water and a

grilled cheese sandwich."

Quark blinked in amazement. "A grilled cheese

sandwich? Isn't that some sort of terribly mundane

Terran food?"

"Yes, it is," said Dax. "I've never had one before,

but I remember that I used to like them."

Quark started off, then paused to do a double take.

The Ferengi finally just shook his head and scurried to

the food replicatot.

Kira raised an eyebrow. "You never had one before,

but you know you like them?"

Dax nodded. "It's something that Curzon Dax used

to eat a lot. I've decided to try a few of the things he

liked--if they're not too dangerous or disgusting."

Kira didn't pursue the matter, because she had

more pressing concerns. "Let me tell you what hap-

pened on Bajor," she began. In concise detail, she

related the near-fatal accident that resulted from

explosive charges planted in the pylon of an archway.

Dax listened with growing alarm, because she knew

how important the shipyards were to the Bajoran

recovery program. More disturbing was the possibili-

ty that the shipyards weren't the primary target.

"Nobody else was in danger?" asked Dax.

"No, not immediate danger," answered Kira. "We

were the only ones up there. I know what you're

thinking, but I don't think they were after us. Killing

us wouldn't stop anything. I know these people and

their methods, and they'll just try again, probably

closer to the launch date."

"What can we do to stop them?"

Kira leaned forward and said, "That's what I

wanted to talk to you about." But before she could

continue, Quark appeared with a tray containing a tall

bubbling drink, a glass of water, and something flat

and oozing on a plate.

"Here are your orders, ladies," he smiled. He set

down the drinks and looked suspiciously at the gooey

sandwich. "Are you sure you want to eat this, Lieuten-

ant? It looks like something a Denebian slime devil

would drag into its nest."

Dax tried not to look dismayed. "Are you sure you

cooked it long enough?"

Quark nodded eagerly. "Oh, I'm sure of that. It

didn't look very good when I took it out the first time,

so I ran it through again. I'm afraid it looks worse

now."

"Leave it, and I'll just try a bite," said Dax.

"You'll still have to pay for it," Quark insisted.

"Understood."

The Ferengi grinned and rubbed his hands together.

"Of course, Lieutenant, we could work out a sort of

barter system. I can get you plenty of these, if you

would just consent to--"

"Thank you," said Dax, cutting him off. "Bring me

the bill."

Quark shrugged, as if there was no harm in asking,

then scurried off.

Kira sighed impatiently. "I wonder if he has a

holosuite program where I could bash his head in?

Anyway, Dax, I can tell you what I think we ought to

do. I don't think we should wait until the antimatter

arrives and the Hannibal is officially launched. I think

we should send a crew down to that starship, demand

that they raise it from the bay, and take it into orbit

right then and there. The impulse engines don't need

antimatter to work."

Dax shook her head. "But the shakedown crew is

coming with the antimatter. They're going to want to

go over every centimeter of that ship, and check the

launch procedures thoroughly. There are about six

volumes of Starfleet regulations to govern the first

flight of a new starship."

Kira slammed her fist on the table. "The hell with

regulations! If we wait that long, they're sure to strike

again. Believe me, these people are capable of any-

thing, including a suicide mission. Do you think you

could tell the commander to adopt this emergency

plan?"

"Why don't you tell him?"

"He won't do it if I tell him. But he'll listen to you."

Dax shook her head. "I'm sorry, but the chances are

nil of getting Benjamin Sisko to commandeer a Feder-

ation starship that hasn't even been checked out yet.

Unless an admiral tells him to do it."

The Bajoran's shoulders slumped. "Then we're in

serious trouble," she muttered. "I want to see that

starship handed over to the Federation--intact."

"So do I," answered the Trill. "But if we can't do it

safely, under the proper precautions and regulations,

the Federation is not going to be impressed. Your

people have to rise to the occasion. They have to

protect the Hannibal until it's officially launched.

This is a test for them, I know, but they're going to

have to be responsible."

Kira gnawed her lip and lowered her head. Dax

touched her friend's hand and added, "I will ask the

commander if there's anything we can do to help with

security. But we have our own responsibility--

keeping the antimatter safe."

From the corner of her eye, Dax saw a figure lurking

nearby. She turned to see Quark, standing within easy

earshot. He smiled and hustled forward to set a small

tray in front of her. "Your bill."

Dax mimicked his obsequious smile. "How long

have you been listening to us?"

"Listening to you?" asked Quark with alarm. "I

only stopped to... to recheck the figures on your bill.

I wasn't sure how much to charge for a grilled cheese

sandwich."

Kira gazed up at him. "What have you heard about

the launching of the Hannibal? Have you heard of

anybody who's planning to disrupt it?"

The Ferengi looked aghast. "Odo was in here today

asking very similar questions. Do I look like some sort

of repository for rumors?"

"Yes," the women answered in unison.

"Well, I'm not!" he protested. "I mean, I hear a few

rumors, but what do they really mean? I think that

most people are excited about the Bajorans building

ships again. More business for them means more

business for all of us. Get you another fizz, Major?"

Kira opened her mouth to respond, but her comm

badge beeped instead. She answered it with a curt

"Major Kira."

"Commander Sisko," came the deep-voiced reply.

"I understand that Lieutenant Dax is with you."

"Yes, she is, Commander."

"Could both of you report to Ops as soon as

possible? I want to go over our preparations for the

arrival of the convoy tomorrow."

"Certainly, Commander. Kira out." The Bajoran

stood abruptly. "I am going to tell him what I think,

even if he doesn't listen."

"That's your prerogative," said Dax. She stood and

placed a few coins on the table, then looked pointedly

at Quark. "You will tell us if you hear anything, won't

you?"

"Of course," answered the Ferengi. After the offi-

cers walked away, he smiled, picked up the coins, and

added under his breath, "If there's something in it for

me."

A sudden wind kicked up bits of the crusty sand

that covered twenty million square kilometers known

as the Okana Desert, and Keiko O'Brien pulled the

goggles over her eyes. When Miles had promised her a

trip to the planet, she had envisioned green forests,

perhaps a lake or a stream. Instead she got a barren

desert with hot gritty winds. For this, she had canceled

her afternoon class? Well, at least her reprieved stu-

dents were enjoying themselves, even if she wasn't.

With her gloved hands, the petite woman of Asian

descent continued scraping burn residue off a large

chunk of mangled metal into a small plastic pouch.

Miles and one of his Bajoran assistants were crouched

about twenty meters away, scouring the sand for bits

of the bomb casing that had scattered in the explo-

sion. Keiko tried not to let her mind wander, but this

was tedious, brain-numbing work. Still, it was a break

from her routine. One thing you could say about

Bajor, she decided, was that it was geologically di-

verse. Deserts, forests, seas, mountains--you could

find it all without looking very far, much like Earth.

She instantly regretted thinking about Earth, because

that only made her homesick.

Suddenly, her knife struck something hard, much

harder than burn residue. She peered closely at the

area she had been scraping and saw tiny formations of

crystal. That certainly wasn't supposed to be there,

and it didn't jibe with what they had been told about

the explosions. She looked up at the immense black

arch that curved off into the distance. The explosions

had damaged it and buckled it in places, but they

hadn't come close to bringing it down.

Over a kilometer away, Keiko could see a Bajoran

work crew gathered around a similar arch that

spanned an unused bay. They were painstakingly

dissassembling the pylon in preparation for moving

the arch to the active bay, to replace the damaged one.

Two Bajoran shuttlecraft sat grounded nearby, wait-

ing to lift the arch. Directly in front of her, an

immense open pit surrounded a gleaming starship

that had never flown, nor moved so much as a

centimeter. Behind it, the sun was beginning to slip

beneath the pockmarked plain.

"Miles!" she called. She had to scream his name

again in order to be heard above the wind.

He came jogging toward her, his Bajoran assistant

close behind. "Only you!" she called. "Redac can keep

working."

Miles nodded and instructed his assistant to keep

scouring the sand for evidence. He ran the rest of the

way and knelt down beside her. "What have you found?"

"This," she said, pointing to the crystallized re-

mains. "I think it's the fixative that held the charge in

place. Or what's left of it."

O'Brien squinted at the deposits. "What is it?"

"Unless I miss my guess," said Keiko, "it's bad

news. I want to take a sample and go back to the

runabout right away. I don't want to alarm anybody

until I have the computer analyze it."

"Okay," said O'Brien. "I'11 stay here and keep

looking. If you find something really strange, contact

the commander first."

"I will," she promised.

Benjamin Sisko had just lain down for what he

hoped would be a brief but relaxing nap. His head

hurt from all the conflicting theories and safeguards

his officers had proposed at the briefing. Major Kira

wanted to hijack the Hannibal to head off another

attempt at sabotage on the ground. Odo was certain

that Ferengi scoundrels would try to steal the storage

pods from the cargo bay, and he wanted the Starfleet

tanker to keep the antimatter, docking directly with

the Bajoran shuttlecraft. Dax wanted to beef up the

security at the shipyards, without any regard to the

touchy political considerations. And he could well

imagine O'Brien chiming in, telling everyone they

were crazy.

The fact of the matter was that time was running

out. The convoy was en route at warp speed, and

would arrive in less than twelve hours. It was already

night on Bajor, and there wasn't a damned thing

anybody could do, except follow Starfleet procedures

and hope for the best. Sisko would never admit it, but

he was still shaken by almost losing his life on that

swaying archway. He had instructed his officers to

make no mention of the mishap, because he didn't

want word of it to get back to his son, Jake. But that

didn't stop Sisko from worrying about it.

Just as his eyelids fluttered shut and he had almost

surrendered himself to blessed sleep, his communica-

tor sounded. The commander slapped the badge with

considerable force.

"Sisko here. I thought I left word not to be dis-

turbed?"

"I'm sorry, sir," responded Kira, "but it's Keiko

O'Brien with the away team. She insists upon speak-

ing to you immediately."

Sisko sat up, willing himself awake. "Patch her in.

Private channel." "Yes, sir."

The next voice was one that Sisko seldom heard

over a communicator. ,'Commander Sisko?"

"Yes, O'Brien. What can I do for you?"

He could hear Keiko sigh. "I'm afraid I have

disturbing news for you, sir. We were given to under-

stand that the charges that blew up the pylon could

have been set any time in the last several days."

"That is correct." Sisko felt his throat getting dry.

"That doesn't appear to be so. I found crystallized

traces of the fixative that was used to hold the charges

in place. It's an organic substance called deveride,

which the Bajorans chew for pleasure, much as

Terra ns used to chew gum, betel nuts, and tobacco. I

know about deveride, because we've been studying

Bajoran customs in my class."

"So?" asked Sisko. "I can imagine that somebody

chewed this stuff, took a wad out of their mouth, stuck

it to the charge, and slapped it in place. It only means

they were using what was at hand."

"That's true," agreed Keiko. "But after mixing with

enzymes in the mouth, deveride completely dissolves

in the air after two hours, which is why Bajoran

mothers don't mind it so much. The only reason we

found any of it was that the heat of the explosion

crystallized it. That charge was planted only a short

time before it exploded."

Now it was Sisko's turn to sigh. "Are you sure about

that?"

"Positive. The computer aboard the runabout has

made a positive identification. To be fair to the

Bajorans, we had to look pretty hard to find it, so they

may have made an honest mistake by telling you that

they found nothing."

"Thank you," said Sisko. "I'm glad your husband

insisted upon taking you along. Considering the dan-

ger, I'd like all of you to return to DS9 immediately."

"Understood, sir. Keiko O'Brien out."

Benjamin Sisko lay back in his bed, but sleep wasn't

on his mind anymore. Instead he had to cope with the

fact that somebody had tried to kill him and his first

officer. Perhaps Kira was the primary target; she had

her share of enemies. Or maybe the timing of the

bomb was still just a coincidence! What had looked so

promising--the building and launching of the first

Bajoran-built starship in fifty years--had become a

magnet for sabotage and attempted murder.

Maybe, he told himself, this was the end of it--the

last gasp of some disgruntled fringe organization.

They had failed to disrupt the launching, had failed to

kill either him or Kira, and now they would just go

away and accept the fact that Bajor was building a

starship. What was so terrible about that? Why

couldn't people accept peace and progress?

His troubled thoughts turned to his arrival on Deep

Space Nine, when he had hated the assignment, had

hated the station, and, most of all, had hated Captain

Jean-Luc Picard. He had been one breath away from

resigning from Starfleet over his combined hatreds,

and now he couldn't imagine a more demanding and

fulfilling post in all of Starfleet than DS9. He knew

from firsthand experience that peace was hard to

accept, because it meant giving up treasured hatreds.

It meant accepting the past as gone and turning one's

attention to the future.

He heard the outer door whoosh open and shut, and

he knew his son, Jake, had returned for the evening.

The adolescent certainly wouldn't expect his old man

to be in bed before he was, but Sisko felt like staying in

bed. What had started out as a nap now sounded more

appealing as a good night's sleep--a sleep with

dreams in which there were no terrorists, or bombs

going off. He would wake up, and it would be a new

day, a day in which the antimatter was transferred

from the tanker to the Hannibal without incident. A

day in which Bajor was at peace and full of pride over

the starship she had built.

He was smiling when a knock sounded on his door.

"Dad, are you in there?"

"Sure, son," said the weary commander, rising

from his bed. "Let me kiss you good night."

Ops was crowded in the minutes leading up to the

arrival of the convoy. On hand were the trio who

usually ran the control center, Commander Sisko,

Major Kira, and Lieutenant Dax, a full relief crew,

plus Chief O'Brien, Odo, and Director Amkot Groell

from the shipyards.

Sisko didn't mind having the director present,

because it was up to the Bajorans and their

shuttlecraft to get the storage pods off-loaded as

quickly as possible. The director was in charge of

dispatching the shuttlecraft, and he had to get a feel

for the pace of the station's cargo movements. Sisko

hadn't mentioned anything to the little man about

Keiko's discovery. If at all possible, he still wanted to

treat the attempted murder as an aberration.

"Bearing sixteensmark-two-one-oh," said Dax. "It

looks like they're coming out of warp at a considerable

distance from the station. Considerable distance from

the planet and the wormhole, too. I estimate their

reentry coordinates will put them about twenty thou-

sand kilometers from us."

Kira made a wry smile. "I guess they don't want to

take any chances. Probably nobody on these ships has

ever been here before."

"They've come a long way with your antimatter,"

Sisko reminded the Bajoran. "All the way from Alpha

Centauri. So forgive them if they don't know the

territory and are a little cautious."

"They may not have been here before," said Chief

O'Brien, "but there will be a veteran crew on that

tanker, I can tell ya. And the shakedown crew will all

be senior officers."

"Expect to see somebody you know, Chief" asked

Kira.

O'Brien shrugged. "You never know."

Sisko queried, "What's their ETA?"

"Two minutes and thirty seconds," answered Dax.

Sisko looked around at faces that were intent but

calm, and he wondered what he had been worried

about. The Hannibal was nearing completion right on

schedule, and the antimatter was likewise arriving on

schedule. Two Starfleet cruisers would take up resi-

dence around DS9 until the transfer was complete,

and security had been doubled at every level. It would

take more than a couple of little bombs to upset this

applecart.

Sisko was growing more confident by the moment,

until he caught sight of Odo's seamless face. The veins

on the morph's neck were taut, like cables, as his

head swiveled from one console to another, double-

checking everyone's readouts.

The commander cleared his throat. "Constable, I

presume you are happy with your security prep-

arations?"

"'Happy' is not the word I would use," snapped

Odo. "I am satisfied that I have taken every precau-

tion available, but there are too many inherent dan-

gers with this antimatter. I'll be 'happy' when it's

gone."

"Neutrino level increasing," announced Dax.

"Neutrino level?" echoed the commander. "We

weren't expecting any traffic out of the wormhole."

Dax squinted at her readouts and shook her head.

"It's not coming from the wormhole, Commander.

The source is unknown, just a general increase."

"That wouldn't have anything to do with the tanker,

would it?" asked Amkot Groell.

"It shouldn't," said the commander. Without ap-

pearing unduly concerned, he strode slowly behind

Dax's console. "Lieutenant, check for other readings,

like plasma trails or unusual heat sources."

Dax looked up at him with her expressive eyes, and

he knew she understood what he was thinking. She

said nothing, and if anybody else suspected what was

on their minds, they said nothing. Chief O'Brien,

however, began to pace at the edge of the circular

room.

"ETA in one minute and fourteen seconds," pro-

claimed Dax. Then she bolted upright in her chair.

"Sudden influx in both heat and plasma readings!"

Sisko leaned over her shoulder. "Where! Can you

pinpoint them?"

"Bearing five-mark-two-nine." She stared at him.

"Nineteen thousand kilometers away. That's out of

our phaser range, but we might be within theirs."

"Red alert!" shouted Sisko. "Shields up! Kira, hail

the tanker."

Kira punched a few buttons on her panel; then her

eyes widened with horror. "We're being jammed!

Every subspace frequency. Massive interference!"

"What is going on?" asked Odo.

O'Brien stepped toward the viewscreen, staring at

what looked like thousands of harmless kilometers of

empty space. "Bloody hell," he muttered. "Who's out

there?"

"Somebody who's jamming us like crazy!" shouted

Kira. She slapped her board with frustration. "We

can't hail the convoy unless we boost our signal. And

we can't do that with our shields up."

O'Brien muttered, "We can't do that, anyway, un-

less we switch a lot of relays manually. Idiot

Cardassians."

"Keep trying to hail them," ordered Sisko. His face

became an ebony mask of calm control that belied the

turmoil in the pit of his stomach. He leaned over

Dax's shoulder. "How many are there? Can you tell?"

"At least two," she said. "They've stopped, so their

heat trails are becoming undetectable."

"Two what?" Odo demanded.

"Cloaked ships," answered Sisko. He stood at atten-

tion and announced in his sternest voice, "Attention,

all hands! This is Commander Sisko. The station is on

red alert. There are at least two cloaked vessels in

immediate proximity, and their intentions are un-

known. If you are in an airlock or the docking ring,

make an orderly withdrawal. Avoid those areas until

further notice. Sisko out."

"The convoy is coming out of warp," said Dax.

Sisko's jaw tightened, and he had the unpleasant

feeling that he knew why somebody had tried to kill

him yesterday.

CHAPTER

3

"I'M trying to hail the convoy!" IGra said with

frustration. "But they're still jamming us!"

Sisko prowled behind the consoles, his fists

clenched. "Is there any way we could divert more

power to communications?"

"There's not enough time," replied the Trill.

"They're coming out of warp in ten seconds--with

shields down."

O'Brien gripped the handrails. "Good God, they're

sitting ducks!"

Sisko slammed his fist on the back of Dax's chair.

"Can we do anything, Dax? What are the options?"

She shook her head glumly. "None, Benjamin.

We're out of transporter and weapon range, and we

can't move the station fast enough to do any good. We

can put it on the screen and watch--that's about all."

"We can protect the wormhole," Sisko vowed. He

slapped his comm badge. "Sisko to runabout pad A.

Which runabout is fueled?"

"The Mekong is ready, sir."

"Prepare it for launch. Sisko out." His jaw tight-

ened as he ordered, "On screen."

Panning the coordinates twenty thousand kilome-

ters away, Dax picked up three blinding streaks, which

abruptly turned into three midsize starships and came

to a complete stop. The two Starfleet cruisers looked

like silver wedges, built for speed and the ability to

escape if they were outgunned. The tanker was a boxy

construct, like a large shuttlecraft, with a complex

docking nose that could match up with just about

anything that flew or orbited. Each ship had a crew of

about twenty, Sisko knew, plus passengers, who in this

case were the test crew for the Hannibal. He racked

his brain, trying to think of something to do, while he

waited for an innocuous patch of space to turn into

something deadly.

He didn't have to wait long, as two rapacious-

looking Klingon Birds-of-Prey shimmered into view,

a microsecond before their phaser banks opened fire.

Beside him, O'Brien cringed at the onslaught and

lowered his head. The first volley raked the two

cruisers and crackled along their hulls like lightning,

and the ships teetered back and forth. But they held

together. At least, thought Sisko, the Klingons weren't

fool enough to shoot at the tanker itself; the resulting

explosion would probably obliterate all of them.

"I'm getting through!" announced Kira. "I told

them to put their shields up. They're trying to do so."

"Get me an ID on those Klingons," ordered Sisko.

"I don't see any official markings."

"Running scanners," answered Dax.

The next volley was even more devastating. One of

the cruisers was completely disabled and went as dark

as the deadest asteroid. The other one took a blast,

then blipped away into warp drive. Sisko couldn't

blame them--in a massacre, it all came down to

survival. He hoped the tanker would be lucky enough

to escape into warp drive.

"They're locking on to the tanker with a tractor

beam," announced Dax.

"Of course!" said Sisko, pounding his fist into his

palm. "That's how they're going to take the antimat-

ter. They can't beam over because the tanker has her

shields up. They have to take the whole ship." He grew

somber. "Any word from the cruiser that's out of

commission?"

"None," answered Kira. "No response, and all

channels are open."

Dax added, "The Klingon ships are renegades. The

Klingon High Council is offering rewards on the

captains' heads. Higher if you turn in only their

heads."

Sisko sighed bitterly and muttered, "It's all over.

Like that. As soon as it's safe, we have to look for

survivors."

Then his dark eyes brightened with a new thought.

"You know, I don't think even a Bird-of-Prey can go

very fast towing a tanker with a tractor beam. We

could dog them a little."

He looked around at his command officers, many of

whom he was still getting to know. He certainly didn't

know any of them well enough to send them on a

suicide mission. "I'm taking the runabout," he de-

clared. "Is anyone fool enough to want to come with

me?"

Dax nodded resolutely. "I want to go."

Sisko smiled. "All right, old man," he agreed.

"Anybody else?"

Odo put his hands behind his back and stepped

forward. "May I go?"

The commander smiled puzzledly. "Odo, I'm not

sure this is such a bright idea--chasing two Klingon

Birds-of-Prey in a runabout. Do you want to recon-

sider?"

"No, sir. I was the first one who predicted there

would be trouble over this antimatter shipment. I feel

as if this is my case. Besides, I want to see if there are

any Ferengi involved."

"Okay." Sisko nodded.

"Count me in, too," said O'Brien.

Sisko shook his head. "I'm sorry, Chief, but I need

you here. If Dax and I were--delayed--we would

need at least one ranking Federation officer here.

Besides, I don't think DS9 can operate without you."

He turned to Kira. "That's it. Major, you are in

charge until we get back. You might want to prepare

another runabout to look for survivors."

"I will, Commander." The Bajoran smiled. "Good

luck, and get our antimatter back."

"We'll try." The commander motioned to his tiny

crew and headed for the turbolift. He was almost out

when he heard O'Brien yell.

"Commander! They were playing possum!"

The crippled cruiser suddenly came alive with a

vibrant surge that lit it from stem to stern. It raked the

nearest Klingon ship with an array of photon torpe-

does at point-blank range. Because the Bird-of-Prey

had been using its tractor beam, its shields were down,

and it sparkled like a pigeon hitting a live wire. Just as

suddenly, the second cruiser came out of warp drive,

its phasers blazing. The other Bird-of-Prey went reel-

ing under the blast, and the battle was rejoined.

Sisko, Odo, and Dax dashed to the turbolift.

The runabout Mekong shot away from the dock

with Sisko piloting, but they had only gone a thousand

kilometers when they saw something that horrified

them. One of the Klingon vessels had backed away

from the main battle and was steadily emptying its

phasers into the tanker. Her shields were holding,

temporarily, but such an action was the height of

lunacy.

"Those idiots!" growled Sisko. "If even one blast

gets through to those storage pods, we'll all be space

junk!"

He opened all channels and calmly said, "This is

Commander Sisko of Deep Space Nine. Come in,

Klingon vessel."

There was no answer, so he remarked, "Klingon

vessel, if you continue firing at that tanker, our

families will be screaming the death howl tonight."

On his small screen, the brutal face of a Klingon

appeared. His bony brow was crosscut with a variety

of ancient scars, and he wheezed a sickly laugh.' "My

family screams the death howl every night, for they

have been told of my death a thousand times. By lying

scum like you? He spit in contempt. "vljonta!"

"You may not care if you die," said Sisko, "but what

about your crew? The Klingons on the other ship?"

"We want one thing, human," scowled the Klingon.

"We want the tanker to lower her shields. Tell her, or

we keep firing."

Benjamin Sisko looked to Dax, sitting beside him,

but she could only shrug. A civilized Klingon wasn't

easy to deal with, and a renegade Klingon was a

hundred times more reckless. Both of the Starfleet

cruisers were idle in space, spent by the battle, divert-

ing all their power to their shields and life-support.

The second Klingon cruiser was limping away at

impulse power, but the first one kept firing at the

tanker. It was a standoff, thought Sisko, except for the

fact that one of the participants was holding a loaded

grenade.

"This is crazy," muttered Sisko. "They're commit-

ting suicide."

"Who is committing suicide?" asked Odo, standing

behind him.

"Everybody, including us."

Dax sat forward, studying her readouts on the Ops

console. "The tanker's shields are weakening. They're

either going to have to put them down, or--"

She was cut off by a static-filled audio transmission.

"Mayday! Mayday!" came a distraught voice. "This is

the Starfleet tanker Phoenix, carrying two thousand

cubic meters of antimatter. We've been attacked near

Deep Space Nine, and we're going to have to lower our

shields or risk complete destruction!"

"Can you get us visual?" asked Sisko.

Dax shook her head. "No, only audio."

Anguished cries suddenly echoed over the speaker

system. "We're being boarded! All hands, repel invad-

ers! Repel..." A phaser pistol roared, and the cap-

tain's voice degenerated into a mangled scream. It was

followed by the awful din of hand-to-hand combat,

with shouts, screams, and blunt weapons striking

targets of flesh. The audio crackled with static, but not

enough to drown out the cries of people dying.

"Bastards!" growled Sisko, banging his fist on the

console.

Odo leaned forward. "Can we do anything to help

them?"

The commander shook his head. "I'm afraid not,

Constable. We can't fire on the tanker, and we don't

want to trade phaser volleys with that Bird-of--" A

gut-wrenching scream cut him off.

They listened as the battle subsided in intensity.

The cries faded into moans, and somebody shouted,

"Ship secured for BajorZ" That declaration was fol-

lowed by cheers, just before the transmission went

dead.

"Bajor?" asked Sisko. "What does that mean?"

Dax reported, "Both Klingon vessels are backing

off. The tanker has put up shields again, and it's

beginning to move under impulse power."

Sisko nodded glumly. "Following the Klingons, I

suppose."

"No." Dax lifted her expressive eyes and stared at

Sisko. "The tanker is headed for the wormhole."

Major Kira couldn't believe the viewscreen--the

battle had abruptly ended, and the Klingons were

breaking off. The Starfleet cruisers had fought valiant-

ly, especially in their counterattack, but they had

never recovered from the initial ambush. They were

both dead in space. So why were the Klingons run-

ning? They couldn't be afraid of the Mekong, the little

runabout from the station, because it wouldn't even

be a mouthful for a Bird-of-Prey. The counterattack

had foiled the Klingons' attempt to haul the tanker

away with a tractor beam, but that didn't explain why

they were giving up. Kira had caught bits and pieces of

the Mayday issued by the tanker, but she wasn't sure

what the final outcome had been. The tanker appeared

little damaged by the skirmish, and it was on the

move.

But why was it headed for the wormhole? She

opened the standard channels and hailed them. "Deep

Space Nine to Federation tanker Phoenix. What is

your status?"

There was no answer, so she added, "You cannot

enter the wormhole without clearance." She wanted

to explain that warp engines had to be tuned a certain

way to enter the wormhole, but this was a Federation

ship. They knew the proper tuning.

After three mo re failed attempts at contact, she

turned to the runabout, which was also streaking

toward the wormhole. "Kira to Mekong. What is

going on?"

"Dax here," came the reply. "We think that an

armed party took over the tanker in hand-to-hand

combat. Why they're headed toward the wormhole,

we don't know. Can you stop them with a tractor

beam?"

"Negative," answered Kira. "They're staying out of

range. I estimate they'll hit the wormhole in...

fifty-nine seconds."

A voice peeped up behind her. "What will happen if

the antimatter explodes in the wormhole?" asked

Amkot Groell.

Miles O'Brien took a sharp breath. "That's not

something we want to think about. Let me assure you,

starships powered by antimatter have gone through

before. The tanker just happens to be a little starship

that is packed to the gills with antimatter."

Kira leaned over her console and said, "Mekong, we

can't do anything to stop the tanker. The Klingons are

gone--at least they're out of sensor range. So we're

going to concentrate on helping those two cruisers and

getting them into our docks. What will you do?"

There was a tense moment, and Dax finally replied,

"We're going after them."

Sisko broke in. "Major, just hold down the fort

until we get back. We're going to drop down to match

their speed and trajectory, so maybe they'll think

we're just an echo on their sensors. Neither this ship

nor the tanker has much in the way of armaments, so

we won't be risking a shoot-out."

Kira exchanged a look with Amkot Groell, and they

were both thinking the same thing. "Commander,"

she said, "if you can get that antimatter back, we'll all

be very happy."

"Understood," said Sisko. "Please explain to my

son that... I'll be back."

'TI1 handle it," said Kira.

The wormhole opened up like a giant blue-and-

white iris, and the antimatter tanker was no bigger

than a speck against its swirling depths. After the

tanker was consumed, the wormhole blinked out of

existence for thirty seconds; then it opened again to

swallow the Mekong. When the wormhole closed, the

open channel to the Mekong sounded a strange hum,

and Kira knew that all contact between the station

and the runabout was overmat least until they re-

turned, or another ship went after them.

"Good luck, Commander," whispered Kira, al-

though she knew he couldn't hear her.

She turned to see a gloomy white-haired Bajoran

standing beside her. "Good luck to him?" muttered

Amkot Groell. "We have the hard jobrowe have to

explain all of this to Minister Roser, the assembly, and

the Federation!"

"Yes," agreed Kira, sinking a few centimeters in

height. "That won't be easy. Chief O'Brien--"

The chief was already headed toward the turbolift.

"I'11 grab Dr. Bashir and a runabout, and we'll see

what kind of shape those cruisers are in."

"Thank you, Chief."

After O'Brien left, Major Kira felt very alone in the

suddenly depleted Operations Center, despite the

presence of Director Amkot and an experienced relief

crew. Kira knew she could run Deep Space Nine, and

she had often resented Benjamin Sisko, despite her

respect for him, because he stood in her way. But this

wasn't how she wanted to get the job. She wanted to

earn it. She wanted her promotion to commander to

be obvious to everyone, from the provisional govern-

ment to the Federation. She wanted it to be a happy

day, a day for celebration--not a troubling day, a day

when Bajor had once again shown that it was unsta-

ble, perhaps unfit to govern itself. By her actions, she

would have to provide a contrast, to show that

Bajorans were ready to take over.

But were they?

Inside the wormhole's unearthly swirl of colors, the

little runabout was bounced and battered. Panel doors

popped open, and sparks shot out of one of them.

Sisko couldn't remember two ships ever going in so

closely together, and he wondered if that might have

resulted in the unusually bumpy ride. Well, he

thought, there wasn't anything anybody could do but

hang on and wait it out. He noted that even the stoic

Odo scrambled to find a seat.

After a handful of seconds that seemed much

longer, the turmoil ceased, and the wormhole depos-

ited them in the Gamma Quadrant with a last burst of

blinding light. Sisko grabbed the controls.

"Can you find them?" he asked Dax.

"Yes, sir. Bearing two-mark-nineteen. Traveling at

warp three."

"Good, we can match that," said Sisko, working the

conn. "Remember, we want to shadow them so closely

that they think we're an echo. Also, let's have the

computer make an automatic log of our course

changes, so we can find our way back."

On the face of it, the Gamma Quadrant didn't look

any different than the Alpha Quadrant--stars and

nebulae as far as the eye could see. But there was a big

difference, and Sisko knew it. Except for a few unre-

markable planets and solar systems near the entrance

to the wormhole, the Gamma Quadrant was virtually

unexplored, uncharted, and unknown. Several Feder-

ation, Klingon, Ferengi, and other vessels had gone

through the wormhole, but not many of them had

returned yet to report their findings. Some that had

returned were keeping their secrets.

A handful of spacefaring races from the Gamma

Quadrant had emerged on Deep Space Nine's side of

the wormhole, but most of them had taken a quick

look around and gone home. Despite the galactic

shortcut, explorations on both sides were proceeding

slowly and cautiously. Sisko glanced at his navigation-

al charts and knew why--if the wormhole ever closed,

it would take the explorers a lifetime to get back to

their home quadrant, even at warp nine.

Yet here he was, chasing a stolen tanker full of

antimatter across untold parsecs of uncharted space.

He knew perfectly well how he had gotten into this

mess, but he didn't know how he was going to get out

of it. How were the three of them, in a tiny runabout,

going to recapture a tanker that twenty crew members

hadn't been able to hold?

Odo wasn't telepathic, but he seemed to read

Sisko's mind. "Commander?" he asked. "Where are

we going?"

Sisko frowned. "Damned if I know, Constable. For

the time being, we're just following that tanker

straight into the unknown. Do you think we ought to

turn back?"

Odo's jaw jutted forward. "I don't enjoy letting

lawbreakers escape. However, it would be reassuring

to know our destination."

"I can tell you our heading," said Dax, "although

that won't help much in determining our destination.

We basically don't know where we're going."

Odo cleared his throat. "I suppose I was really

asking--how far are we going to pursue these bucca-

neers?"

"They've just shot up a Starfleet convoy," answered

Sisko through clenched teeth. "And they probably

killed everybody on board that tanker. Plus, they stole

two thousand cubic meters of antimatter out from

under our noses."

"Which I predicted would happen," Odo added.

The commander nodded grudgingly. "Yes, I know.

But you thought they might steal a couple of pods off

the station. This is bigger than that. What did those

Klingon renegades get out of it? Not the antimatter.

So we have to assume that they were paid for their

participation."

Odo sniffed with disdain. "Yes, this whole opera-

tion reeks of Ferengi involvement."

"Bajorans too," Dax reminded him. "At least one

of the attackers claimed they were doing it for Bajor."

"Well," muttered Sisko, "they've come over here

for a reason. Let's tail them long enough to find out

why. Dax, do they suspect we're following them?"

"Not by their actions," said the Trill. "That tanker

is capable of outrunning us, if they wanted to. They

haven't made any course changes for a while, so I

suspect they have a destination in mind."

"Maybe this was their plan all the time," said Odo.

"Sources of antimatter may be scarce in this quad-

rant, so they can get higher prices."

"Or trade it for something," Sisko replied. "Damn

it, why don't they stop?"

Dax leaned forward and studied her instruments.

"Benjamin, I think they heard you. They're coming

out of warp drive."

"Let's correct our course and speed to match

theirs," said the commander. His long fingers played

over the console as he made the adjustments himselfi

"They've just entered a solar system," observed

Dax.

"Computer," said Sisko, "do we know anything

about the solar system that is currently in our sen-

sors?"

"There is no record of this solar system," answered

the flat voice of the computer.

"Figures," muttered Sisko. "Dax, can you make

their destination?"

"Third planet from the sun," answered the Trill.

"We're too far away to tell for sure, but it could be

class-M. It's about the right size and clearly has an

atmosphere."

"They'll have to establish orbit," said the com-

mander. "Let's set up our orbit as far away as we can

and still be in sensor range." With consummate skill,

he adjusted the course and speed of the Mekong.

"Now what?" asked Odo.

Sisko managed a smile. "Constable, I wish you

would stop asking me questions ! can't answer. We're

going to go into orbit around a strange planet nobody

in the Federation has ever heard of. If somebody from

that tanker beams down to the planet, we're going to

beam down."

"Fine," said Odo sarcastically. "I just wanted to

make sure we had a plan."

Slowly a planet was coming into visual range on the

Mekong's viewscreen. The sphere was lime green,

with dense but not unpleasant-looking clouds sur-

rounding it. As they drew closer, gaps could be seen in

the clouds, and the planet's surface appeared to be a

dark green color, broken up by splotches of salmon-

colored seas. Or perhaps they were deserts, Sisko

thought. He would have liked to gaze at the mysteri-

ous planet, but he had to monitor th e tanker's every

movement and match it as closely as he could. Thus

far, the tanker had shown no evidence that its opera-

tors knew they were being followed, or cared. If they

spotted the runabout at this range, he decided, they

might not be too concerned with such a small craft.

"They've taken an orbital trajectory," announced

Dax.

"All right," said Sisko. "Let's match them."

"And they're not the only ones," she added.

"What?"

"There are three other ships in orbit," she replied.

"The tanker and ourselves will make a total of five

ships orbiting the planet."

"Can you get an identification on any of the oth-

ers?" he asked.

Dax spent a few seconds manipulating the run-

about's scanners. "One of them is a Ferengi Marauder

that went through the wormhole three weeks ago."

"I knew it!" crowed Odo.

"The others?" asked the commander.

Dax shook her head. "They don't correspond to

anything we know."

Sisko shrugged his large shoulders. "Well then,

what's one more? I'll take us into standard orbit, and

to hell with them if they see us."

"I can go for a space walk," said Odo, "and disguise

the Federation markings. If that is acceptable to you,

Commander?"

"It wouldn't hurt," answered Sisko. "Until then,

we'll keep our distance. And keep our shields up."

There were several moments of silence as Com-

mander Sisko piloted the compact runabout into a

standard orbit. He waited to see if they would be

hailed by any of the ships, but nobody seemed to mind

another one joining the party. Now the curve of the

planet filled the small viewscreen, and they could see

immense green continents, broken up by irregular

salmon-colored seas. The shape of the seas reminded

Sisko of the Great Lakes back in North America, but

he had no idea how they got their odd coloring. Dark

spidery blotches on the surface of the planet could be

population centers, he thought, but there wasn't time

to do a full scan.

"What are they doing?" he asked Dax.

"A small party just beamed down to the surface,"

she answered. "I've got their transporter coordi-

nates."

"Is it class-M?"

"Yes, breathable atmosphere."

Sisko stood and stretched his arms, weary from the

long chase. This was the deepest he had ever pene-

trated into the Gamma Quadrant, and he wasn't

enthused to think that nobody in Starfleet or Deep

Space Nine had any idea where they were. But there

was a secret thrill in thinking that soon he would be

beaming down to a planet that was unknown to the

Federation, a complete mystery. Given the incredible

distance they were from Federation space, there was

no mistaking the fact that they were absolutely on

their own. They couldn't count on backup or help--

they had only their wits and a tiny runabout.

"Okay," he said, "I'm beaming down. One of us

should stay with the runabout to discourage boarders

and run the transporter. Would you like to stay here,

Dax?"

"No," the Trill answered quickly. "I want to experi-

ence whatever there is to experience."

Sisko gave her a cockeyed grin. "Okay, old man, I

guess you know what you're doing. After all, this is a

volunteer mission. Constable, you stay here and hold

down the fort. I think it's a good idea to disguise our

markings."

"If you don't return?" asked Odo.

"Then go home," said the commander. "The com-

puter has analyzed our course. We'll report back every

two hours. If we lose contact and you can't raise us,

assume the worst."

"I always assume the worst," muttered the

shapeshifter, slipping into Sisko's vacated chair. "I

would like relief in approximately six hours, because I

will have to assume my liquid shape."

The commander nodded. "Six hours ought to be

enough time to figure out what's going on." He

glanced down at his Starfleet uniform and insignia

badge. "Maybe we need to remove a few of our own

markings."

Dax headed for a storage compartment. "We've got

unmarked jackets," she said, "and we can take off our

comm badges and our rank insignia."

She fished around in their stores for a large jacket

and a small one. Sisko put on the jacket and plucked

his badge off his chest, then took the three gold

buttons off his collar. He felt oddly undressed without

his rank insignia, but there wasn't much choice. He

put the badge in his jacket pocket, and Jadzia Dax did

the same.

"What about weapons?" she asked.

"Hand phasers," said Sisko. "We can hide them in

our pockets."

The Trill handed him a phaser and took one herself.

Together, they strode toward the transporter plat-

form.

He smiled at her. "Seems like old times."

She smiled back. "And new times."

Sisko nodded to Odo. "Lower the shields just long

enough to beam us down, then put them back up. Call

us if there's trouble."

"Likewise," said Odo. His slim fingers touched the

console. "Energizing."

In twin columns of blazing light, Jadzia Dax and

Benjamin Sisko left the Mekong for parts unknown.

CHAPTER

4

COMMANDER SISKO and Lieutenant Dax materialized

inside a small room. To the commander, it looked

uncomfortably like a holding cell, or perhaps a very

sturdy vault. There was no furniture in the room,

except for a desk of adjustable height, upon which sat

what was unmistakably a computer terminal. Sisko

took a step toward the computer and halted when he

noticed several large winged bugs scurrying across the

floor. At his footstep, some of them fluttered toward

the ceiling and disappeared into tiny vents. He gasped

and jumped back.

Dax smiled. "Benjamin, are you still scared of

bugs?"

Sisko gulped. "Old man, you may be a different

person, but I'm not. Besides, I seem to recall that you

don't care for spiders much."

"Spiders are arachnids," Dax observed dryly,

"which are more venomous than arthropods. Besides,

they may be keeping this area clean, or performing

some other useful function. Don't judge a creature by

its appearance."

Sisko smiled gamely but didn't look convinced.

"Right."

The computer screen blinked on, and a synthesized

voice said pleasantly, "Welcome, travelers, to the

planet of Eco, Hive Three. For your safety and conve-

nience, your transporter beams have been redirected

to this chamber. Our scanners indicate that you are

humanoid, and our records indicate that you are

first-time visitors. Do you understand this idiom?"

"Yes, we do," answered Sisko. He wondered how

these Gamma Quadrant aliens could know the Stan-

dard language, but then he remembered that the

Ferengi were already here, in addition to the hijackers

of the tanker.

"May we ask your purpose?" the computer said.

Sisko shrugged. "Business,"

"Then you have certainly come to the right planet,"

said the synthesized voice. "Eco is the home of the

Ecocids, who, in your idiom, would be called insects.

Individually, as you see us on the floor or in the

vented passageways above you, we are rather unre-

markable. But together we form a hive mind that is

every bit as advanced as your own. Probably more so.

We try to confine our movements to the overhead

passageways, but occasionally we must use the floor.

You are rather clumsy creatures, and if you acciden,

tally take the life of one of our individuals, we will

understand. But please endeavor not to step on us.

You may communicate with us through any of these

interfaces, which you will find located throughout the

hive.

"We regret," continued the voice, "that not all areas

of Hive Three are suitable for humanoid occupation.

You will be restricted to certain levels. Also, we are a

peace-loving race, and we require that you leave your

weapons in this chamber."

"Weapons?" asked Sisko, trying to sound noncha-

lant. "We only have a few electronic devices."

"Our scanners indicate that each of you has an

electronic device which is also a weapon. Please leave

it on the table if you wish to leave this chamber."

Sisko looked around the windowless vault and

decided that yes, he wished to leave it. He took his

hand phaser out of his pocket and deposited it on the

table. Dax did likewise. If this rule was strictly en-

forced, thought Sisko, it was really a benefit to them,

since they were considerably outnumbered.

"Will these devices be returned to us?" he asked.

"No," answered the voice. "We wish to purchase

them--in order to study them. Each of you will be

given ten bilbok for your weapon. Since we detect that

you are carrying no bilbok, we presume that this sum

will be useful in your stay here. Do we have a deal?"

Sisko smiled in spite of himself. No wonder the

Ferengi liked it here. "Agreed," he said.

In a flash, the weapons disappeared from the table,

to be replaced by two stacks of black rectangles, ten in

each stack. Dax walked to the table and picked up the

bilbok.

"Well," she said, "let's see what they buy."

The voice interjected, "Your most valuable pur-

chase would be a guide to the color-coded passage-

ways of Hive Three. You can obtain one here for only

twelve bilbok."

Sisko frowned at the interface. "A map costs more

than one of our weapons?"

"It has been specially translated into your native

idiom," said the hive mind cheerfully. "On the other

hand, you may prefer to explore at your leisure."

"Yes, I think we'll do that," said Sisko.

"Have a profitable visit," the voice intoned. The

table rose in the air to a height matching Sisko's

height, and a door whooshed open behind it.

Carefully stepping around an Ecocid on the floor,

Sisko followed Dax out of the chamber. They entered

a corridor that branched haphazardly into other corri-

dors, some climbing up, some trailing down. In the

distance, they could see more corridors crisscrossing

those in front of them. The only signposts were

numerous colored stripes that ran horizontally along

the walls. The junction where they were standing had

at least a dozen of these stripes, but some of the

corridors had only two or three colored stripes,

stretching off into the distance.

Sisko muttered, "This looks like... well, like a

hive."

Dax studied the colored stripes on the wall. "These

must be directional indicators," she said. "Unfortu-

nately, even if we bought a guide, it wouldn't tell us

where the hijackers went. Where do you want to go,

red, yellow, or green? How about magenta?"

The commander shrugged. "I like blue myself. That

seems to be a popular place--there are at least three

corridors leading there."

Dax nodded. "Let's go."

The blue-striped corridor led upward, which was

also somewhat reassuring, although Sisko doubted

that any of the pathways opened onto the surface of

the planet. He wouldn't be surprised if Hive Three

was entirely subterranean. He spotted a few Ecocids

scuttling along the walls, so he stuck squarely to the

center of the corridor. Except for the colored stripes,

the only distinguishing features of the maze were the

small vents in the ceiling, which carried air and also

Ecocids. The commander swallowed and plodded

onward, wondering if he could possibly get used to a

planet run by insects.

"Wouldn't it be wonderful to study this culture?"

asked Dax. "Spend a couple of years here?"

"I'd rather spend a couple of years with the

Cardassians," answered Sisko. "You know, the

Ecocids couldn't have built these corridors by them-

selves. Who built them?"

"The Ecocids must be wealthy," answered Dax, "if

bilbok is a widely accepted form of currency. The

question should be, how did they amass their

wealth?"

There was no immediate answer, just a blue stripe

that the two visitors followed through the rambling

maze. They slowed when they saw two short bipedal

individuals headed their way. The two creatures were

covered with hair and wore green smocks, and they

pushed small devices that were apparently cleaning

appliances. Sisko thought about speaking to them, but

the two creatures, who were marginally humanoid,

were so intent on their task that he didn't want to

interrupt them. They passed each other, exchanging

barely a glance.

When they were out of earshot, Dax remarked,

"Those creatures may be hired help."

"Yes," agreed SiSko. "Although they may be saying

the same about us."

He was relieved to hear the sound of voices in the

distance, and both he and Dax quickened their step.

The blue stripe blossomed into a wide triangle that

ended at what appeared to be a darkly lit restaurant.

At least there were tables and booths, with a staggering

variety of creatures sitting at them. Several of the

squat hirsute beings they had seen before were bus-

tling around, carrying trays and attending the tables.

Overheard, the ceiling blinked with a procession of

illuminated markings that crawled from one end of

the restaurant to the other, affording all of the diners a

chance to see them. Indeed, many of the diners

stopped their conversation to study the queer figures,

and a few pounded their tables in disgust.

Dax drew close enough to the commander to whis-

per, "Are they gambling?"

Sisko squinted at the endless readouts in the ceiling.

"It looks like something they used to have on Earth,

called a stock-market ticker."

The Trill gave him a quizzical expression, and Sisko

shook his head. "Never mind. Let's concentrate on

our mission. We'll take a quick look around for

Bajorans, Ferengi, or anyone who looks they came

from our neighborhood."

Dax nodded, and they made a quick tour of the

establishment, not finding any species they could

identify. Several of the aliens eyed them curiously,

especially Dax.

They soon found themselves at another doorway,

confronted by the same array of colored stripes. Sisko

was afraid they could spend days roaming Hive Three

in this fashion. A short hairy servant wandered past

with a tray of empty glasses, and Sisko held out his

hand to stop him.

"Excuse me," he said, "have you seen anyone from

the Alpha Quadrant? People with big ears?"

The servant shook his head. In a guttural voice, he

replied, "Interface." He pointed to a small alcove that

contained a computer identical to the one they had

found in the holding chamber.

Sisko shrugged and said, "Thank you." He and Dax

made their way over to the terminal.

"Well," said the commander, "it understood us

before." He pressed a button on the alien keyboard to

get the machine's attention. "Computer," he said,

"can you help me?"

"I am not a computer," came the synthesized reply.

"I am the interface to the hive mind. What is your

problem?"

"We're looking for friends of ours, people we were

supposed to meet. They are Ferengi--humanoids like

us, but with large ears. There will also be Bajorans,

other humanoids who have recently arrived from the

Alpha Quadrant."

"We welcome visitors from the Alpha Quadrant,"

the device said cheerfully. "Your friends are in the

Redemption Center. Simply follow the cyan path-

way."

"Thank you," Sisko replied. He didn't know what

else to say to a collection of insects.

Dax had already moved toward the array of stripes,

and she quickly picked out a light blue one. "You were

close when you picked blue," she said. "Does this look

like cyan?"

Sisko nodded without much certainty. "Let's try

it."

They walked downward along a meandering corri-

dor, passing several unusual species who were headed

toward the restaurant with the ticker-tape displays.

Everyone seemed to be on holiday, thought Sisko,

judging by the happy chattering from the revelers they

passed. He might have understood some of the con-

versation if his comm badge had been pinned to his

chest, thus activating the Universal Translator; but

with his comm badge in his pocket, he heard nothing

but gibberish.

Before they reached the Redemption Center, three

burly humanoids dressed in rugged leather garments

stepped into the corridor just ahead of them. Sisko

motioned Dax to stop, and they froze in place, fearing

that the newcomers would turn to look at them. From

the back, he couldn't tell for sure if they were Bajorans

--or the hijackers--but their uncertain actions iden-

tified them as strangers. They appeared weary as they

slouched down the corridor, peering at the stripes,

and one of them had a streak of blood on his sleeve.

They walked in silence, too tired to talk.

He and Dax followed them in silence. The cyan

stripe ended in a large triangle, and the corridor

opened into what might be called a store. There were

gleaming cases from floor to ceiling, containing the

most diverse assortment of merchandise Sisko had

ever seen in one place. The shelves kept revolving,

displaying tools, canteens, cushions, jewelry, clothing,

and works of art. Each item had a number posted

beneath it, which he assumed was the price in bilbok.

When he saw that their quarry had stopped to

inspect the unusual surroundings, he allowed himself

to take a closer look at one of the display cases.

Passing within view were several clear globes that

contained miniature ecosystems--delicate spiral

mountains, strange plants, oceans of different colors

within which tiny creatures cavorted--all in worlds

that were about ten centimeters in diameter. They

were unspeakably beautiful. They passed out of sight

to be replaced by even stranger souvenirs--dead

ecocids mounted and frozen in curious tableaus, such

as mating, fighting, giving birth to larvae. He gulped,

thinking it was a bizarre species that would sell its

dead to intergalactic tourists. Another shelf came into

view, displaying unfathomable objects that could be

anything from engine parts to alien sex toys.

"Benjamin," whispered Dax, "they're looking for

someone."

Reluctantly, Sisko turned away from the display

case to take in the entire establishment. Beyond the

shop were a number of tables in a smaller version of

the restaurant they had passed through before. As in

the other place, unusual symbols marched across the

ceiling, capturing the attention of the scattered diners.

One of the three leather-garbed men turned to look

around, and Sisko could see in silhouette the ridges on

the bridge of his nose that marked him as a Bajoran.

"Over here!" someone shouted.

Sisko pushed Dax back into the shadows of an

alcove, while keeping the Bajorans in sight. He saw

them stride toward a table, where two Ferengi were

waving them over. His rear end bumped against a

table, and he turned to see another one of the Ecocid

interface devices.

"I see you have found your friends," the synthe-

sized voice remarked. "Why don't you greet them?"

"I don't think that's any of your business," Sisko

whispered.

"Nonsense," replied the hive mind, "everything on

Eco is my business. Perhaps this transaction requires

delicate handling. May I be of assistance?"

Sisko was about to reply in anger when one of the

Ecocids fluttered toward his face; he gasped and

slapped at it without thinking.

"We don't require your assistance at the moment,"

Dax interrupted. "But thank you, anyway."

"Remember," the voice replied, "we offer a variety

of services--for the right price." "We'll remember," said Dax.

Sisko took several deep breaths and tried to com-

pose himself. He wanted off this buggy planet and

back to the relatively safe confines of Deep Space

Nine--with the antimatter in tow. More immediate-

ly, he wanted to hear the conversation between the

two Ferengi and the three Bajorans at that distant

table. But how?

"Benjamin," said Dax, reading his mind like the

old friend she was, "I have an idea." "I'm listening."

She took her Starfleet insignia from her pocket. "If I

activate my comm badge and drop it under their table,

we ought to be able to listen to them on your comm

badge."

"Good idea," answered Sisko. "Let's do it."

"But we need a diversion. Something to distract

them."

Sisko looked down at the beautiful raven-haired

woman standing in close proximity to him in the tiny

alcove. He smiled. "Old man, I know you haven't

been a woman for very long, not recently anyway, but

do you think you could walk like one of the Dabo girls

from Quark's Place?"

She smiled with amusement. "You mean, jiggle my

rear end back and forth?"

"Yes," he admitted, "that's the general idea. To

jiggle whatever you've got to jiggle."

"Like this?" she asked, shifting rapidly from one

foot to another.

"More slowly," answered Sisko. He tried to demon-

strate, but he was ill-equipped to jiggle. "Look, just

hand me your jacket. I think it'll come naturally once

you get started."

She took off the bulky jacket, revealing the tight

fitting uniform underneath. "Do you really think that

my merely walking by them--jiggling--can cause a

sufficient diversion?"

Sisko took her jacket and smiled. "I think so." He

took the comm badge out of her pocket. "Now, open a

channel to me."

She squeezed her comm badge and said, "Dax to

Sisko."

His comm badge beeped plaintively in his pocket,

and he took it out. "Sisko here. Keep this channel

open." He dropped his comm badge back into his

pocket and held out his hand. She nodded and

dropped her comm badge into his dark palm.

"Now," he said, "just walk past their table, very

slowly. I'll be right behind you."

Dax nodded and straightened her shoulders. "I'm

looking at this as an experiment."

She set off at a gait that was very slow and properly

distracting. Sisko had to walk slowly to keep behind

her. As she approached the table where the five

conspirators were hunched over in conversation, her

movements became even more exaggerated and se-

ductive. Sisko couldn't see Dax's face, but he could

see the faces of the two Ferengi and the three Bajorans

--their conversation was short-circuited as she saun-

tered past. One of the Ferengi actually drooled

through his snaggled teeth, and Sisko smiled to him-

self as he tossed the comm badge under their table. Of

course, none of them paid him the slightest bit of

attention. As far as they were concerned, he might

have been an incorporeal energy creature.

The drooling Ferengi rose to his feet and croaked,

"Darling, don't go away!"

"Leave it, Gimba," snapped the handsomest of the

Bajorans. "There's time for that later."

"Always time for that," agreed the Ferengi.

That was the last Sisko heard of the conversation

until they rounded the corner and stopped in a

corridor, out of sight of the hijackers.

"How did I do?" asked Dax.

"Don't you know?"

She smiled. "Yes, I do know. That effect on males is

so simple to attain. Was I that simpleminded when I

was Curzon Dax?"

"Yes," admitted Sisko. He handed the Trill her

jacket and took his corem badge out of his pocket. The

conversation was so clear, they might have been

sitting at the table with the hijackers.

"Gimba," said an irritated voice, "are you listening

to me?"

"Of course I'm listening to you," answered a snide

Ferengi voice. "But what you were saying doesn't

make any sense."

"I said, I want to renegotiate our deal."

"No!" A fist pounded on the table. "Listen, Rizo,

you got what you wanted--the shipyard is out of

business, the government is embarrassed, and the

Federation is angry. Now it's time for us to get what

we want--the antimatter."

"But we need funds!" protested the Bajoran. "The

revolution has only started."

"Funds shmunds," said Gimba. "This was a rob-

bery, a heist, nothing more. It wasn't a revolution.

Listen, we're out a lot of money to those Klingons.

The only way we can recoup our investment is to sell

the antimatter on this side of the wormhole."

"What about the tanker?"

There was a pause, and the Ferengi answered,

"That's our profit."

"Too much profit," said Rizo. "We're the ones who

lost seven lives taking that tanker. And we're the ones

who now control it. You want the antimatter, you start

negotiating."

"That wasn't our deal!" screeched the Ferengi,

banging repeatedly on the table.

"We can have a new deal," said the Bajoran, "one

that takes into account the needs of Bajor."

"Hey," drawled the other Ferengi, "I always heard

Bajorans were idealists. It turns out they're just as

greedy as Cardassians."

There were muffled shouts and the sound of chairs

scooting back. Sisko and Dax peered around the

comer in time to see the smaller Ferengi snarling like

caged rats at the hulking Bajorans. In the absence of

weapons, a fistfight seemed imminent. The last thing

Sisko wanted was for the Bajorans to pack up and run

off with the antimatter, so he strode toward them,

wondering what he was going to say.

"What's this?" he asked pleasantly. "A fistfight?

There aren't many of us from the Alpha Quadrant

here--can't we all be friends?"

The combatants were about to ignore him, until

Dax appeared at his side. "What's the problem,

boys?" she asked seductively.

At once, fists began to unclench, and Gimba bowed

as low as his pot belly would allow him. "Hello, my

fair lady. And what brings you to this side of the

wormhole?"

"You don't recognize us?" asked Dax.

"No," said Gimba, "have we had the pleasure of

meeting?"

Sisko studied the five humanoids, and he couldn't

recall any of their faces. Of course, he didn't meet

every person who came through Deep Space Nine, and

the Bajorans were terrorists--they wouldn't have set

foot on the station except to sabotage it.

"You don't know us?" he asked incredulously.

"Why, I am Marcus Garvey, and this is Jade Dixon.

We are known throughout the galaxy as accomplished

private arbitrators."

The handsome Bajoran stepped forward, looking at

them suspiciously. He reserved his longest look for

Dax. "You're human," he said finally, "but what is

she?"

"A Trill," she answered, fluttering her eyelashes.

"And what are you?"

The Ferengi guffawed. "A Bajoran," said Gimba.

"A decidedly minor race, but they do control the

other side of the wormhole. Didn't you come that

way? You couldn't have taken the long way to get here,

unless you're a lot older than you look." He gave her a

lengthy examination to make sure she wasn't older

than she looked.

"Of course we came through the wormhole," an-

swered Dax. "We were in a hurry, so we didn't meet

any Bajorans."

"It was a delicate matter," Sisko assured them. "We

had to, shall I say, disappear for a while. A tour of the

Gamma Quadrant seemed a suitable diversion."

The handsome Bajoran turned away and muttered,

"That's nice, but we've got business to discuss." From

his voice, Sisko recognized him as the one called Rizo.

The commander leaned forward and lowered his

voice. "We know you've got business to discuss,

because you were discussing it rather loudly. As I said,

we are private arbitrators, and we are very discreet.

Perhaps we could be of assistance in resolving your

differences."

"Leave us alone," growled Rizo.

"Now, now, let's not be too hasty," said the chubby

Ferengi. "We obviously cannot resolve this problem

by ourselves. You say you want to renegotiate--

perhaps an objective third party could be helpful."

The Bajoran glowered suspiciously at Dax and

Sisko. "How do I know this isn't some trick? How do I

know these people aren't working with you, Gimba?

For that matter, how do I know they didn't follow us

through the wormhole--they look like they're wear-

ing some kind of uniform."

"Simple," answered Gimba, "ask the proprietor of

this place. The hive mind. It knows everyone and

everything that goes on here, believe me. We've been

here two days--ask it how long they've been here."

Rizo peered over his shoulder at the interface

terminal in the alcove, the same one Sisko had

bumped into. He nodded. "All right."

He strode toward the device, and Sisko trailed after

him, trying to appear only mildly interested. In his

mind, he was formulating excuses for how they had

managed to arrive minutes after the Bajorans, but

none of them sounded very convincing. He noticed

that Dax stayed with the other Bajorans and the two

Ferengi, keeping up her charming but saucy facade.

He stood near the alcove with a pleasant grin on his

face as Rizo approached the machine. "Uh, hive mind?"

"Yes, may I be of assistance?" asked the synthesized

voice.

"This human beside me is named Marcus Garvey,"

said Rizo, casting a suspicious eye at the human.

"And he has a female with him named Jade Dixon.

How long have they been here?"

"By 'here,' do you mean this room or Hive Three?"

"Hive Three."

"And do you wish this time interval to be expressed

in solar days, sidereal time, light-years, or some other

measurement?"

"Dammit, just answer me," growled Rizo. "How

many days?"

"Six days," answered the Ecocid collective mind.

Sisko tried not to show any surprise at the lie. He

merely smiled accommodatingly when Rizo glared at

him.

"All right," said the Bajoran, "do you know what

kind of business he's in?"

"We wouldn't care to pry," replied the voice, "but

he has offered his skills as an arbitrator and negotia-

tor."

"Yeah, he has," muttered the Bajoran. "Thanks."

"Yes, thank you," said Sisko with heartfelt grati-

tude.

"Glad to be of service."

When they returned to the table, Rizo explained,

"That thing over there says they've been here for six

days. But I still don't know if I want to include

anybody in this deal. You know, what we did isn't

exactly legal."

Sisko held up his hands. "Believe me when I say we

are the soul of discretion. We represent no power but

ourselves. Each side can submit its case to us, and we

will use our proven formulas to find an equitable

solution. That is what we offer, no more, no less."

"For our own reasons," added Dax, "we're in no

hurry to go back to the Alpha Quadrant."

The Ferengi smiled lasciviously at the Trill. "You

intrigue me, Jade. May I call you Jade?"

"You may call me anything you like." She glanced

at Sisko. "I am accustomed to using various names."

Gimba chuckled. "I bet you are."

"How much do we have to pay them?" asked one of

the Bajorans.

Sisko made a magnanimous gesture. "We don't ask

for much--just a few bilbok to make our stay here

more pleasant."

"You will be amply rewarded," promised Gimba,

looking Dax up and down approvingly.

"Don't promise them anything yet," snapped Rizo.

"I need to talk this over with the others."

"Especially Elaka," said one of his comrades, giving

the third Bajoran a knowing smile.

"Then let us arrange to meet later," offered Sisko,

"and if everything is agreeable, we can talk about how

to proceed. Do you know the restaurant at the end of

the dark blue stripe?"

"It doesn't matter where we meet," snarled Rizo.

"It's very simple--we've got something they want,

and they refuse to pay for it. They think we should do

their dirty work for free."

Gimba wrinkled his bulbous nose. "We've taken a

considerable financial risk already, and they're trying

to back out on the terms of a previous agreement!"

Rizo snorted. "As if no Ferengi ever did that."

"Now, now, boys," said Dax soothingly. "Let's not

hash this out in a public place. Marcus and I will

arrange with the hive mind for a private meeting

room. The two of you prepare your cases, with all the

particulars. Let's meet back here in four standard

hours. Will that be enough time?"

"I suppose," muttered Rizo. He pulled a Starfleet

comm badge out of his pocket, and Sisko's jaw tight-

ened with anger, knowing how he had gotten it. But he

said nothing. "Can you beam out of this place?" asked

the Bajoran.

"We have," replied Gimba. "Once the hive mind

has met you, they don't seem to care what you do."

"With the exception of carrying weapons," Sisko

added.

Rizo nodded and squeezed the comm badge until it

beeped. "Rizo to Elaka," he said.

"Elaka here," came a no-nonsense female voice.

"Are you ready to beam back?

"Yes. Can you lock on to us?"

"We can," she answered. "And we're just about

done converting more comm badges to our

frequencies."

"Good," said Rizo. "Get us out of here." He stole a

final glance at Dax before his molecules were disas-

sembled, along with those of his comrades.

Gimba grinned at Dax and took her delicate hand

in his pudgy fist. "Now, my darling Jade, we have four

hours to go somewhere and, um, get to know each

other more intimately."

"I think not," said the Trill, politely pulling her

hand away. "We are serious about the services we

offer, and we must remain objective." She smiled

flirtatiously. "But when the negotiations are overre"

The Ferengi grinned and made a portly bow. "All

the more reason for us to conclude them quickly."

"Excuse us now," said Sisko. "We must speak to the

hive mind--about that private meeting room." He

bowed formally. "Until later, gentlemen."

"Yes." Gimba grinned, never taking his rheumy

eyes off Dax. "I am a gentle man. Very gentle."

The two Ferengi reclaimed their seats at the table

and signaled a passing server, while Sisko and Dax

returned to the alcove containing the hive-mind inter-

face.

"I've got a few questions," Dax whispered.

"So do I," answered Sisko. "Like, are we crazy? We

mustn't forget that these people are as dangerous as

that antimatter they're carrying."

He stopped in front of the by now familiar terminal.

Glancing around to make sure nobody was in earshot,

he leaned over the terminal and said, "This is the

person you know as Marcus Garvey."

"Hello, Mr. Garvey," replied the voice.

"I want to thank you for, uh, lying about us."

"You're quite welcome," said the collective mind.

"You are probably wondering why we did so. You see,

we consider it our mission in life to facilitate the

conduct of business under ideal circumstances. Obvi-

ously, your two groups of friends need someone who

is offering your type of service. Your apparent aim is

to conclude the business between these two disagree-

able parties without them resorting to violence, and

that is also our aim. Simply put, the planet of Eco is a

peaceful haven for commerce. If you support that

goal, we will help you in any way we can."

Before Sisko or Dax could think of anything to say,

a small shiny object came skittering out from behind

the screen. It took the commander a moment to

realize it was the comm badge he had tossed under the

table. He wondered how it could be moving until he

saw the dark antennae sticking above the metal and

the black legs scurrying underneath it. Sisko drew

back, but Dax reached out to retrieve her comm

badge, uncovering a large Ecocid.

"Thank you," she said. "We need a private meeting

room. Can you arrange that?"

"Certainly," answered the hive mind. "The yellow

pathway leads to private conference rooms. You may

use room number nine for as long as you need it, and a

modest charge will be billed to you. May I also arrange

sleeping quarters?"

"No, thank you," said Dax. "We're sleeping on our

ship."

"If your ship needs maintenance or refueling, we

have full facilities."

"Thank you," said Dax, "I think we're all right in

that regard."

"Thank you for your help," Sisko managed to say.

The synthesized voice concluded, "Good luck in

your endeavors."

Sisko stepped away from the interface with more

questions than answers churning in his mind. He

wondered how far they could go with this charade. He

wondered how they could overcome both a shipload

of greedy Ferengi and a shipload of bloodthirsty

Bajorans. Most of all, he wondered about the Ecocids.

If they had lied so glibly to Rizo, they were quite

capable of lying to him and Dax as well.

Finally he shook his head, knowing there were no

answers, only actions. Under the circumstances, they

had very little choice but to wing it. After making sure

that the Ferengi were still occupied at their table, he

took out his comm badge and tapped it.

"Sisko to Odo," he whispered.

"Yes, Commander?"

"We're ready to beam back."

"Yes, sir. I'm locking on."

So deep in thought was Commander Sisko that he

failed to notice that the Ecocid which had fetched the

comm badge suddenly leaped off the table, landed on

his jacket, and burrowed inside his pocket.

"Energizing," said Odo's calm voice.

CHAPTER

5

Dr. JULIAN BASHIR quickly loaded another hypospray

with painkiller and administered it to the wounded

ensign lying on the deck of the bridge. He and Chief

O'Brien had already spent an hour aboard the Valor,

the more damaged of the two cruisers, and Bashir had

just beamed over to the Regal, where there were halfa

dozen wounded crew members. The only death had

been aboard the Valor--a radiation burn--and thus

far none of the others required immediate hospitaliza

tion. For the time being, Bashir had been able to patch

up their contusions and fractures. He hoped his

handiwork would suffice until they could be trans-

ferred to the station, whenever that would be.

The young doctor yawned, fighting fatigue. Every

moment since leaving the station on the runabout had

been a blur of activity. He was beginning to wish that

he weren't the only medical practitioner in this part of

space. The cruisers were too small to have their own

doctors.

"When is Chief O'Brien getting here?" growled an

angry voice.

Bashir looked up from his patient, who was merci-

fully falling asleep, to see a handsome young man in a

cranberry-colored uniform. At first, he had been glad

to meet Captain Jon Rachman, thinking their similar

ages would make them compatible, but now he was

finding the Regal's young skipper to be rather tire-

some.

"I don't know," he muttered as he cauterized the

wound.

"What do you mean you don't know?" snapped

Captain Rachman. "Aren't you coordinating with

him?"

"Not really," answered Bashfl. "I'm patching up

the people, and he's patching up the impulse engines.

I'm sure he'll be here as soon as the Valor can make it

to the station under its own power." "What about tractor beams?"

The doctor sighed and turned off his cauterizing

instrument. He stood and looked Captain Rachman

in the eyes, wishing the young officer weren't several

centimeters taller. "You came in too far away from the

station for us to be of any help," he explained. "If you

had come in closer, none of this might have hap-

pened."

Rachman's lips thinned. "So now you're telling me

my business. We were ordered to avoid the wormhole.

Why is your station sitting right on top of it?"

"To monitor traffic going in and out," Bashir re-

plied. "Listen, Captain, I have patients who need me.

If there's nothing else..."

"There's plenty," snarled Rachman. "I want to

know who attacked us, and where to find them!"

When Bashir looked past him, scanning the bridge for

more wounded, the captain's attitude softened. "Take

a look at my first officer, will you. Over here."

The doctor nodded and followed the captain to the

navigation console, where an attractive blond woman

sat, grimacing in pain. With his long fingers, Bashir

unsnapped her collar, noticing her lieutenant's but-

tons. He quickly opened his tricorder and made a

preliminary examination.

"Broken ribs," he announced. "I don't find any

internal injuries. Lieutenant, I want you to remain

perfectly still. Don't move around at all. I can giv e you

a painkiller."

"No," she said through a grimace. "I have to remain

alert." She looked up at her captain. "We're going

after them, aren't we, sir?"

"Damned right," snapped Rachman.

"Not for several days," said Bashir. "At least she's

not going anywhere, except to bed. By the looks of this

ship, I don't think the rest of you are going anywhere

either."

Captain Rachman's pink cheeks were turning red.

"Don't tell me what to do, Doctor. We were ordered

to protect that shipment ofantimatter, and I intend to

fulfill those orders. I'll pursue our attackers to the

ends of Federation space?

"You are at the ends of Federation space," coun-

tered Bashir. "All around us is the Cardassian Em-

pire, and through the wormhole is a whole quadrant

we know nothing about. Plus, this sector is full of

Ferengi and renegade Klingons who don't owe alle-

giance to anyone but themselves. I don't know what

you were told to expect, Captain."

"We weren't told this was the Wild Frontier, where

we were going to be shot up the moment we arrived!"

Bashir smiled. "Then you were misinformed."

"Starfleet will hear about this!" Rachman threat-

ened.

"I certainly hope so," answered Bashir as he strode

away.

"Minister Roser Issa would like to speak with you,"

said the Bajoran officer at the communications con-

sole.

"Soon," answered Major Kira. "Tell her to wait."

'Director Amkot is waiting for you in his quarters,"

the officer reminded her.

"Yes, I know," answered the attractive Bajoran.

"And we're being hailed by the council."

Kira nodded. "I expected that."

"They would like to see you on Bajor immediately."

"Would they now?" asked Kira. "Tell them all that I

have an urgent appointment to keep first, and then I

will contact them. In fact, why don't you tell them all

to talk to each other, if talking will make them feet

better. I've made my report, and I haven't got any-

thing to add!"

The Bajoran officer looked quizzically at her. "Shall

I tell them that?"

Kira shook her head. "No." She squared her shoul-

ders and took a deep breath. "Where is he?" she

muttered.

As if in answer, the turbolift doors slid open and a

gangly adolescent walked into Ops. She looked at him

and smiled, thinking that he looked more like his

father every day. She had often had her differences

with Commander Sisko, but she couldn't fault him for

the way he was raising his son. He was doing a

stupendous job in her estimation, and she doubted if

she could do as well, especially as a single parent.

"Hello, Jake," she said.

The boy shifted uneasily from one foot to another.

"Hello, Major Kira. I'm sorry I took a while to get

here, but we were having an exam. We had to stay late

because of the alert."

"That's all right," answered the Bajoran. "I wish we

were meeting under better circumstances."

He looked at her puzzledly. "Where's my father?"

She sighed. "That's what I wanted to talk to you

about. Would you like to go into your father's office?"

"Where is he?" the boy asked, suddenly alarmed.

"As far as we know, he's fine," Kira replied. "But

we don't know where he is. He went through the

wormhole with Dax and Odo almost two hours ago,

pursuing an antimatter tanker that was hijacked."

The boy nodded, squinting at her. He was a bright

young man, she knew, but that was a lot to take in in

one blunt sentence.

"Uh, when is he coming back?"

"We don't know," she answered. "As you know, we

can't communicate with the Gamma Quadrant. He

asked me to tell you that he will return as soon as he

can."

"Who was he pursuing?" asked Jake.

Kira's lips grew thin, and she looked down. "We

think it was Bajoran terrorists, working with Klingon

renegades."

The boy turned away from her, and she could tell he

was fighting his emotions. "Damn it," he muttered,

"why did we have to come here? Why couldn't we go

back to Earth, where we understand the people? Why

can't Bajorans stop fighting?"

Kira stepped down from the Ops command table

and approached the boy. He was already taller than

her, and she could swear that hadn't been the case a

few months earlier. She put her arm around his thin

shoulders.

"Do you want me to explain what makes Bajorans

tick?" she asked. "What makes us tick is halfa century

of brutal occupation at the hands of the Cardassians.

That's the only thing all of us have in common. Some

of us were collaborators, to one degree or another;

others were resistance members and patriots. Some of

us can't stop resisting, can't stop fighting. We're like

that antimatter that everyone is chasing--we can't

change our reactions--we explode when anything,

including peace, gets too close."

She shook her head. "I don't know how many

generations it will take before we're normal. You

study us in schoolmyou know what we were like

before the Cardassians invaded."

Jake nodded. "You were peaceqoving."

"Yes," Kira agreed. "And now we're war-loving.

We're vengeful, we're distrustful. But we're also hope-

ful. That's why we're building a starship for the

Federation, because we want to show that we can

build things again."

She managed a smile. "I've been reading a little bit

about Terran history lately, and you've gone through

all of these same stages. In your case, it was worse,

because your cruelty came from within. You overcame

it, but it wasn't easy. Your father is helping us and

trying to set a good example. Please don't hold it

against him for helping us."

Jake frowned. "Will you let me know... when

there's any news?"

"Of course," said the major. "I have a lot of faith in

your father. You should, too."

"Yeah," mumbled Jake. He smiled gamely.

"Thanks for telling me in person, Major." "That's okay."

Jake slouched toward the turbolift, and the doors

whooshed open. Kira watched him until he was gone,

then shook her head.

"Well," she muttered, "I guess if I can get through

that, I can get through the other meetings. Contact the

council, the ministers, and whoever else wants to see

me, and tell them that I'll go to Bajor as soon as Chief

O'Brien returns to DS9 with the cruisers."

"Yes, sir," answered the subordinate.

"What is your plan?" asked Odo with his usual

directness.

The shapeshifter looked well rested, thought Dax,

after spending three and a half hours as a blob of

liquid at the bottom of a portable lavatory aboard the

Mekong. Since she and Benjamin were about to return

to the planet, they had requested that he cut his rest

period short.

"I don't know," sighed Sisko. "We've got to get

aboard the tanker, but we've got to do so with a

chance to take it over."

"In other words," said Odo, "we've got to hijack it

back."

"With three people," Dax added. "Really, two

people, because one of us has to pilot the runabout. I

don't know what we're doing exactly, but I think we're

on the right track in winning their confidence." She

gave them a wry smile. "I'm using a few skills I very

seldom use."

Odo cocked his head curiously. "I see. From what

you've told me about the planet, there are no authori-

ty figures to whom we could appeal for help."

"No," said Sisko, "there's only the hive mind of the

Ecocids, and it only seems interested in business-as-

usual. Weapons are outlawed, but we haven't found

much else that is."

"I don't suppose," Odo said thoughtfully, "that you

saw anyone who might be of the same species as

myself?."

Dax shook her head. "Who knows? We saw a lot of

unusual aliens, but nobody in a liquid state."

Odo frowned. "Of course not. If I am modest about

my natural state, I suppose they would be too. I see

that we have no choice but to remain here and try to

pit the Ferengi against the terrorists, hoping they will

rely upon us for a solution."

"That's about it," agreed Sisko. He slapped the

armrests of his chair, then stood. "Marcus Garvey and

Jade Dixon have a meeting in a few minutes."

Dax smiled puzzledly. "I understand the correla-

tion between Jadzia Dax and Jade Dixon, but who is

Marcus Garvey?"

"You need to study more Terran history," answered

Sisko. "I'11 loan you some reading materials as soon as

we get back. Let's put it this way--he has something

in common with Hannibal."

Odo and Dax glanced at one another, but neither

one could enlighten the other. Odo swiveled around in

the Ops chair and ran his fingers over the controls.

"Should I return you to the Same coordinates where I

picked you up?" he asked.

"Yes," said the commander, striding to the trans-

porter platform. "Coming, Jade?"

"Yes, Marcus," she answered. Dax had been count-

ing the stack of black rectangular coins, wondering

exactly what twenty bilbok would purchase, other

than an overpriced map. She scooped up the coins and

stuffed them into her jacket pocket before joining

Sisko in the transporter. "I want to make sure we

don't run out of money," she explained.

"If there's a bill, I'll make sure you get it," said

Sisko. "Okay, Constable, energize."

Their molecules were dispersed across several thou-

sand kilometers of sunny planetary atmosphere to be

reassembled inside a dark subterranean emporium.

As before, the Redemption Center was sparsely

crowded compared to the larger restaurant they had

visited, but the odd illuminated symbols continued to

march across the ceiling.

Dax looked around the room and didn't see any of

the parties they were supposed to meet. Suddenly, her

eyes struck something in one of the display cases,

something she would not have looked at if she hadn't

been thinking about how to play the part of Jade

Dixon. Draped over a curvaceous form in the display

window was a shimmering, low-cut, golden dress. She

walked toward it, wondering how it would look on

her.

Even before joini ng with the symbiont named Dax,

the young woman named Jadzia had been a serious

person, little given to frivolity. The path to becoming

a host was demanding and unforgiving--only the

most determined were selected, fewer than ten per-

cent of the total population. That Curzon Dax had

turned into such a roustabout was still amazing to her,

but Jadzia Dax had completely different priorities. At

the moment, one of them was to try on the shimmer-

ing gold dress.

Jadzia had not been a sensual person, and she had

had no desire to be one. However, that facet of life had

been fully appreciated by Curzon Dax, and the power

she wielded over the masculine sex--just by jiggling a

little and batting her eyes--was for part of her a new

experience. It required further study, and these cir-

cumstances were ideal. No one from Starfleet or DS9

was present to witness her "study," except for the one

person who knew her best, and he would forgive her

under the present circumstances. Yes, thought Dax,

the dress must be part of this experience.

Sisko followed her without knowing where she was

headed. "Just like Ferengi and Bajorans to be late," he

muttered. "What are you looking at?"

"That dress," she answered. "I'd like to buy it."

He laughed. "You're not serious!"

"Yes, I am."

Sisko suddenly got serious too. "That's not some-

thing you would wear."

"I know," she answered, transfixed by the dress.

"But it's something Jade Dixon would wear."

"I don't think so," he grumbled.

"Listen, Benjamin, we have to keep them distracted

and off-balance. Can you think of anything that would

do it better than that dress?"

Before he could answer--if he had an answer--the

dress shifted to the right on a pulley system that

revealed another dress. Afraid it would disappear

forever, Dax reached out to touch the case, and the

glasslike substance vanished at her touch.

Touching the forcefield activated a synthesized

voice, which informed them, "The apparel costs

eighteen bilbok."

"Eighteen bilbok!" scoffed Sisko. "That's almost all

we have!"

She ignored him and reached for the dress. It

tumbled off the form into her hands.

"What if it doesn't fit?" he asked.

She smiled. "I haven't paid for it yet. You keep

watch for our friends."

"The fitting room is to the right of this case," said

the voice.

Dax gave Sisko what she hoped would be a comfort-

ing smile. 'Tll only be a minute."

Commander Sisko paced in front of the display

case, occasionally slamming his fist into his palm. He

didn't know who he was less anxious to see--the surly

terrorists and their Ferengi partners, or Dax in that

dress. He tried very hard to think of Dax as his chum

and mentor, Curzon, and most of the time that wasn't

difficult. Jadzia had all of Curzon's memories and

experience, and the levelheaded wisdom she brought

to every occasion was a reassuring reminder of who

she was. But she wasn't the old man. She was a

different person, like someone who had been through

a very traumatic experience and had been forever

changed. She was perfectly calm about being a beauti-

ful young woman, and that kept him calm about it.

Most of the time.

Sisko's traumatic experience came a moment later,

when Dax emerged from the fitting room, wearing the

revealing floor-length golden dress. His mouth hung

open, and his throat got dry, and he tried to stop his

eyes from wandering down the neckline. He knew she

had breasts, but he had never seen quite so much of

them before. Her cleavage was accentuated by the

delicate brown spots that wandered from her shoul-

ders deep into the glittering fabric.

Sisko forced himself to look farther down the dress,

but that wasn't any better. It flowed around her hips

and thighs like a shimmering coat of paint, and the

fabric was transluscent enough to reveal the shape of

her legs underneath. He finally had to look away

entirely.

"You're not wearing that dress," he declared.

"Please, don't act like my father," Dax said. "I'm

old enough to be your father several times over, and I

think this dress will be very effective."

Sisko couldn't argue with that. While he tried to

think of some good reason to forbid her from wearing

the dress, she shoved a box into his hands. "Those are

my old clothes," she said, "and I think I see our first

guests arriving."

Swaggering through the room came the Bajoran,

Rizo. He was dressed in his same rough leather

garments, wearing the same distrustful scowl, only

this time he was accompanied by two Bajoran fe-

males. Sisko felt that Bajoran women were as attrac-

tive as any other, when they tried to be, but the

contrast between these two rugged terrorists and the

shimmering apparition beside him was rather amaz-

ing. Perhaps if they had been wearing the same

dresses... No, he decided, they still wouldn't look as

good as Dax.

The contrast was not lost on Rizo either, or his

escorts. He smiled bemusedly at Dax, and the two

women glowered at her. To her credit, she looked as

calm as usual, as if she wore such exotic outfits every

day of the week.

"Welcome," she said with a smile.

"Hello," muttered Rizo. "Sorry we're late. If you

come down here with any sort of weapon at all, you

get whisked off to some damn holding cell. Even a

little knife."

"How unfortunate," said Sisko. He nodded to the

Bajoran women. "! am Marcus Garvey. It's a pleasure

to meet you."

"Elaka," said the taller and more forceful of the two

women. Her light brown hair was dirty and cut

raggedly, and her clothes were no cleaner than Rizo's.

She considered Dax with disgust. "I thought we were

coming down here to discuss business, not have an

orgy."

"Actually," said Dax, "I was thinking more of

dancing."

Rizo snapped at Elaka, "Leave her alone. We were

at each other's throats until they came along and

offered to help. Maybe we can get this resolved and get

on with the things we have to do." He leered at Dax in

a way that made Sisko feel both protective and

jealous. "I think Jade's approach will work very well

with Gimba. Put him in a good mood, if you know

what I mean."

Elaka's eyes narrowed, as if she wasn't convinced

that he was thinking about Gimba. Sisko wondered

how involved the relationship was between her and

Rizo.

"I am Petra," said the third Bajoran, and Sisko's

attention was diverted to the younger woman. "We

are freedom fighters, and we don't have many

resources," she explained. "Anything you can do to

help us will go a long way toward freeing Bajor from

oppression."

Petra reminded him of what Major Kira might have

been like, say, five years ago, before her idealism was

tempered by pragmatism. He knew he shouldn't say

anything political, but he couldn't help but state the

obvious. "I thought Bajor was free? At least, I heard

you had gotten rid of the Cardassians."

"Cardassians?" scoffed Rizo. "At least they were

honest about their intentions. Now we have a puppet

government set up by the Federation." He looked

suspiciously at Sisko. "You aren't a Federation sym-

pathizer, are you?"

"I do most of my work outside Federation influ-

ence," he answered, somewhat honestly.

"By the wonders of Zot!" bellowed a voice behind

them. "What a scrumptious vision!"

There was little doubt what Gimba and his two

retainers were staring at and slathering over. The

Ferengi rushed forward to kiss Dax's hand, and she

smiled as if she enjoyed the slobbery attention. The

other two Ferengi stood bouncing on their feet, wait-

ing their turn to get close to Dax, but Gimba wasn't

going to give them the opportunity.

"Jade," he purred, "looking at you in that beautiful

dress makes me wonder if we aren't mistaken in

keeping our own women naked. But then, one has to

maintain tradition. You are indeed a delicious vision,

and I am gratified that we made your acquaintance."

"Can we get on with this?" snarled Elaka.

Gimba surveyed the Barjoran female with disdain.

"I suppose fifty years of Cardassian rule would make

anybody coarse," he sneered.

Rizo looked torn between defending Elaka and

joining the others in their unabashed fawning over

Dax. Finally, he heaved his big shoulders and said, "I

suppose we must get on with it. Do you have a

meeting room for us?"

"This way," said Dax, pointing to the corridor. "We

must follow the yellow pathway."

The odd party made their way slowly through Hive

Three, passing a number of small doors that might

have been private quarters, then past what appeared

to be a recreation room, complete with clanging bells

and excited shouts. Gimba told his comrades to

remember what color would get them back to the

gaming room. Otherwise, he was content to make

aimless small talk with Dax. Sisko found himself

walking between the two Bajoran women.

Elaka wore a perpetual frown, but Petra seemed

genuinely excited to be on the strange planet of Eco.

"I've never seen anything like this," said the younger

woman as they passed the gaming room.

"You should go to Deep Space Nine," said Sisko.

Elaka glared at him. "I thought you had nothing to

do with the Federation?"

"I didn't say I had nothing to do with it," answered

Sisko. "I don't know how you come to be in the

Gamma Quadrant, but most ships have to stop at

Deep Space Nine before they can go through the

wormhole."

"Hmm," she grunted, granting him that small con-

cession. "One day we will control Deep Space Nine

and the wormhole, and we'll blast any Cardassian or

Federation vessels to pieces!"

It was difficult, but Sisko held his tongue. "What

possessed you to become a freedom fighter?" he

asked.

For a moment, Elaka's hateful expression was re-

placed by one even more terrifying. "You don't want

to know."

"Yes, I do," Sisko insisted.

It was Petra who rep lied, "Our comrade, Elaka, was

buried alive in a ditch by the Cardassians. The bodies

of her parents were thrown on top of her. She had to

claw her way through them to get out." She said it in a

matter-of-fact tone that was chilling, as if such histo-

ries were commonplace among their band.

A breath escaped from Elaka, like the hissing of an

aifiock. "Death is the punishment for those who

oppose us," she said. "They deserve no mercy."

Sisko nodded and could think of nothing else to say.

He was familiar with unbridled hatred--he had felt it

himself, against the Borg and their conduit, Captain

Jean-Luc Picard. But hatreds so deep had to be

treated, had to be replaced with duty that benefited

others rather than destroyed blindly. Despite his

sympathy for Elaka and her kind, he had to remember

that they had massacred the crew of the tanker and

endangered the lives of thousands of people. They

were warped and unstable, like the antimatter they

had so recklessly stolen.

It was with relief that he saw the yellow line widen

into a triangle, leading them into a circular lounge

with several numbered doors surrounding it. Dax led

the group to the room assigned them, and the door

whooshed open at her approach.

They entered a brightly lit room containing a mas-

sive table of what appeared to be natural amber, a

dozen comfortable chairs, and two food slots. At the

sound of their voices, one of the food slots began

producing delicate pastries, and the other slot pro-

duced several cups of steaming liquid.

Sisko walked over to the food slot and picked up

one of the steaming cups. He held it to his nose and

took a long sniff. "Coffee!" he marveled.

"Coffee," echoed Gimba, strolling over toward the

machine and taking a cup. "One of the few Terran

refreshments that I can tolerate."

But Sisko was frowning. "How do they know how to

make coffee?" he asked. "Or that we even drink it?"

"We don't drink it," said Rizo, looking in disgust at

the dark fluid. "I'll have a Regulan ale."

"That is not in our memory," answered the ma-

chine.

Rizo balled his hand into a fist. "You can make

coffee, but you can't make ale?" He looked as if he was

about to smash the machine; then he glanced at Dax

and thought better of it. He finally grabbed one of the

cups of coffee and took a seat at the handsome table.

Sisko sat at the head of a table. "Shall we begin?" he

asked pleasantly.

"Yes," said Gimba, who continued to pace near the

food slot, consuming pastries as quickly as the ma-

chine could make them. "The Bajorans were partners

of ours in a rather risky business venture. All the

arrangements were made in advance, and now they

want to change them."

"Lies!" snarled Elaka, slamming her fist on the

table. "It was harder taking that tanker than they told

us it would be. We deserve more!"

"Let's stay calm," said Sisko with determination.

"What was this business venture?"

Gimba smiled. "Shall we say, we relieved the Feder-

ation of several storage pods of antimatter."

His fellow Ferengi chuckled, and Gimba went on,

"They weren't our only partners--we also used cer-

tain Klingons who don't care much for the Federa-

tion. There's our problem. The Klingons got paid

hard currency for their part in the activities, currency

which we planned to recoup when we sold the anti-

matter. Now Rizo and his crew refuse to turn the

antimatter over to us."

Rizo banged his coffee cup on the table. "We risked

our lives for that antimatter! We lost many brave

people, people we can't replace. All these fat Ferengi

did was sit around and wait for us to do all the dirty

work!"

"I resent that!" snapped Gimba. He looked down at

his protruding stomach and tossed the last bite of

pastry into his mouth. "We organized and planned the

entire heist. It was our contacts and our secret intelli-

gence that made it possible."

He shook a chubby finger at Rizo. "He wouldn't

have been able to get within a parsec of that tanker

without our help. He's just an ungrateful fool!"

As fast as a Regulan eelbird, Elaka jumped behind

Gimba and whipped a cord around his neck. As her

sinewy forearms pulled tight, his cheeks bulged and

chunks of pastry shot out of his mouth. Gagging, the

Ferengi dropped to his knees and clutched at his

throat.

Sisko leaped up and started toward her, along with

the other two Ferengi, but Elaka murmured, "One

more step, and he's dead. Rizo can tell you--I've

garroted much stronger men than this weakling. You

won't hear his lies until you've heard us first!"

CHAPTER

6

ALL EYES TURNED toward Rizo, and the big Bajoran

rose slowly to his feet. His cautious movements made

it clear that he knew Elaka was capable of strangling

Gimba in an instant. That didn't keep him from

glaring at her.

"Let him go," he said evenly. "We're not here to

fight--we're here to negotiate. The Ferengi were a

help to us, and they deserve to get something. Let him

go!"

Elaka looked chastened, as if she hadn't counted on

Rizo turning against her. Sisko looked over at Dax,

and he could see through her tight gown that she was

holding her breath. He fumbled in his pocket for his

comm badge and felt better once he had found it. If

worse came to worse, they could beam out of that

stifling room.

Elaka grimaced in disgust and released the cord.

Gimba slumped forward, gasping for breath, and his

retainers rushed to help him. Elaka prowled the room

like an angry cat, until she came to rest in the comer

farthest from her victim. Despite the way everyone

glared at her, she exhibited no remorse.

Sisko knelt down beside the strickened Ferengi.

"Can you continue?"

"Yes, yes," croaked Gimba. He glanced at the

Bajoran in the far corner. "They're rather forceful

about making their points, aren't they?"

"Excuse me," said Dax, "but I don't believe this

method is going to work. Whenever one of you tries to

give his case with the other one present, we'll have an

argument. There are two of us, Marcus and myself,

and I think it might be better if we heard your cases

separately. Then we could confer and reach a deci-

sion."

"I would agree to that," said Rizo. He looked

pointedly at Dax. "I think we can tell our story to

Jade, and she would understand."

Sisko was about to protest--he didn't want Dax

alone with those lunatics--but then he realized that

she would probably be even less safe alone with the

Ferengi.

Elaka didn't look pleased by the prospect either. "I

don't want her to come aboard the ship," she de-

clared.

"Of course not," said Rizo. "Nobody gets aboard

that tanker but us."

"You can stay here," rasped Gimba. "We'll take

Marcus Garvey aboard our ship and talk to him there.

It is agreed then." The Ferengi staggered to his feet

and massaged his neck.

"May I confer with Jade for a moment?" asked

Sisko.

Both Rizo and Gimba nodded, and Sisko led Dax to

a neutral comer. "Have you got your comm badge on

you?" he whispered.

She smiled. "Yes, although it's not anywhere I

would want anybody to look for it."

"At the first sign of trouble, you call Odo and get

back to the runabout."

Dax whispered, "I may look stupid in this dress, but

I'm not. I thought, by splitting up, maybe one of us

could get aboard the tanker. Maybe that won't happen

now, but it's got to happen sometime. I'll stay here

with them, and we'll meet back at the runabout as

soon as possible."

"All right," agreed Sisko. "I suppose you'll be safe

here." He knew he didn't have to tell her to look out

for Elaka.

He gazed at Rizo as he strode past him. "I'm

depending upon you for the safety of my associate."

"Don't worry," said the Bajoran. "No harm will

come to her, I swear it."

Sisko nodded. "I'm ready to go," he told Gimba.

The Ferengi gave him a sly smile. "I trust you will

enjoy this little visit to our ship. There are some

people I would like you to meet." He touched an

ornate bracelet on his wrist and spoke loudly, "Four to

beam back istead of three. Please prepare a special

welcome for our guest, Marcus Garvey, who is stand-

ing on my right."

"Aye, sir," came a raspy voice. "Getting ready to

transport."

Sisko tried to conceal the worry in his eyes as he

gave Dax an encouraging smile. A second later, he felt

the tingle of the transporter beam along his spine, and

the conference room faded from view.

It was replaced by a garish silver-and-gold trans-

porter platform that had twin arches crossing over it,

each embedded with glittering jewels. The walls of the

room were made entirely of mirrored surfaces and

colored lights, which made the room look bigger than

it was. Eerie music and some sort of perfumed scent

wafted about the place. It reminded Sisko of one of

Quark's more obnoxious holosuite programs, and this

was only the transporter room.

He had seen a number of Ferengi Marauders, and

he knew the unihull vessel had the approximate shape

of a horseshoe crab, with its propulsion system in the

tail. He also knew the Marauder was a very sophisti-

cated starship with technologies stolen and bought

from all over the galaxy, plus a crew of several

hundred. He assumed the transporter room was in the

larger forward section, and he wondered where the

weapons were, as well as what they were.

Gimba let out a large sigh and stepped off the

platform. "I think you can see the difficulty we have

dealing with those barbarians," he told Sisko.

"Yes," said the commander, following his host,

"some of them are rather unpleasant. But that doesn't

mean they don't have a valid claim."

"They have no claim," grumbled Gimba, "all they

have is the antimatter." The Ferengi motioned to his

retainers to remain behind, and Sisko followed him

into a turbolift. When the doors closed, he found

hims elf alone with the Ferengi chieftain.

"Deck six," ordered the Ferengi, and the turbolift

lurched downward. Gimba smiled at Sisko. "You're

surprised I asked you to accompany us instead of your

lovely associate, Jade."

"Well, yes, I am," the commander admitted.

"We're reasonable men," said the Ferengi, "with

reasonable wants and desires. What are your desires,

Marcus Garvey?"

Sisko smiled. "Are you attempting to bribe me?"

Gimba shrugged. "But of course. We Ferengi have a

sayingman angry man is an enemy, and a satisfied

man is an ally."

"Satisfied?" asked Sisko suspiciously.

The turbolift thudded to a stop, and the command-

er felt his stomach sag. He was first off the decrepit

lift, and he could hardly believe the sight that greeted

his eyes. The turbolift opened into a luxurious bed-

room, with pillows piled high in every comer and

striped sheets adoming the walls. On the other side of

the room, a door opened, and the sight got even more

amazing as five naked Ferengi women strutted into

the giant boudoir.

Sisko tried to find somewhere else to look, but he

was unable to avert his eyes. The Ferengi women were

entirely comfortable with their nudity, and they took

his wild-eyed stare as a compliment. Two of them

giggled.

Though there were only five of them, they repre-

sented every imaginable shape and size. There was a

tall one with a sleek tanned body; a squat rotund one

who laughed a lot; another with mammary glands that

sagged to her navel; and a haughty creature who would

have looked presentable in Dax's new dress, despite

her enormous ears. The last one was disgustingly

young, barely older than his son, Jake, and her body

was still forming.

Sisko cleared his throat and tried to find his host,

but Gimba had stepped back into the turbolift. "This

is my harem," he explained. "And my harem is your

harem. We'll talk later." The turbolift door clanged

shut.

"No, no!" shouted Sisko. But the naked women

were already converging upon him.

"Can we get some real food out of this thing?"

muttered Rizo, staring forlornly at the food slot in the

conference room.

Dax stole a sidelong glance at Elaka, wondering

what else might send the unbalanced woman into

attack mode. Dax was beginning to regret buying the

body-hugging dress, but there was no turning back

now. She had a part to play, and the dress helped her

play it. Luckily, Benjamin had left the box containing

her regular clothes, so she could change if things got

too sticky.

She told Rizo, "There was a wide variety of food in

the dining hall we saw earlier. All we have to do is

follow the blue stripe."

"Fine," said the Bajoran. He looked pointedly at

Elaka and Petra. "Just Jade and I will go."

"No!" protested Elaka. "We all go."

Rizo shook his head sternly. "No, Elaka, not after

the trick you pulled. You're going back to the ship."

Dax held her breath, thinking that the insane wom-

an was going to attack Rizo with her bare hands.

Instead, Elaka rushed to him and hugged his broad

chest fiercely. "Don't ever leave me. Ever."

He gently but forcefully pushed her away. "You and

Petra go back to the tanker. Double the guard, and

keep the shields up. These negotiations may not work,

although I hope they will." He glanced at Dax.

Elaka looked at Dax, too, as she drew her stolen

comm badge from her pocket. Her look told the Trill

that a cord would find her neck if she tried to steal

Rizo from her. Dax returned the woman's spiteful

gaze with what she hoped was a guileless smile.

"I have my eye on you," said Elaka.

"Understood," answered Dax. "I only want what's

best for all of us."

Rizo strode toward the door, and it whooshed open.

"Come on," he ordered. Dax grabbed her box from

the table and followed him out.

As soon as they were in the corridor, the Bajoran

seemed to relax, although Dax saw him glancing over

his shoulder to make sure Elaka wasn't following.

"She is a great fighter," he explained. "Very loyal.

But she doesn't understand that not everything needs

to be won by force. If we are to succeed, we must learn

to lead our people."

"What is your goal?" asked Dax.

"A Bajor for Bajorans, not for anyone else. We've

earned the right to map our own destiny, and we don't

need that pompous Federation to tell us what to do.

Do you know what they are doing on Bajor right now?

They are building a starshipmfor the Federation! Not

for Bajorans. Not for our use or our commerce. First it

was the Cardassians, now it's the Federation. We must

expel them all."

"Is that why you stole the antimatter?" Dax asked

innocently.

"Yes. It was destined for that starship. Originally,

we did agree to steal the antimatter in order to stop

the launch and embarrass the puppet government.

But now we have both the storage pods and the tanker,

and we paid for them with our blood! Why should we

give them up to a bunch of money-grubbing Ferengi?"

Rizo chuckled, and Dax found it a pleasant sound.

She liked the way his scowl vanished and a warmth

came over his rugged features. She had to remind

herself that he was cold-blooded murderer.

"I guess I'm not presenting my case very well, am

I?" he asked. "I shouldn't say I agreed to one thing

and now want to renege. But we need either cash, the

tanker, or a good portion of the antimatter. We can't

count on Klingons and Ferengi to help usmwe have to

become stronger on our own. There used to be a dozen

rebel enclaves, until the Federation came along and

fooled most of them into laying down their arms. We

have to bring them back into the fight! What we did is

only temporary--we know the Federation will send

more antimatter, and they'll try to claim their ship.

We have to stop them. That ship was built on Bajor,

and it belongs to Bajor."

As if making small talk, Dax remarked, "The

Federation is pretty stubborn. How can you hope to

get rid of them for good?"

Rizo's eyes narrowed as he stared down the winding

corridor. "By destroying the wormhole. That's the

only reason they're around. When the wormhole is

gone, the Federation will follow."

A naked Ferengi woman towered over Benjamin

Sisko, flaunting her voluptuous body. "What's the

matter?" she sneered. "Don't you like what you see?"

Another woman had pushed Sisko onto a pillow,

and a third was insistently massaging his neckmhe

felt he was in immediate danger of being raped. Two

of the women, including the youngest one, showed

little interest in him, but the other three appeared

determined to have their way with him, or at least

have a good laugh at his expense.

"He must like boys," said the chubby one with a

snicker.

"We'll cure him of that," cooed the one massaging

his neck. Her hands worked around to his chest and

started downward.

"No, no, you don't understand," said Sisko, gently

removing her hands. "I am a... a Vulcan. And we

only mate during pon farr."

"A Vulcan?" said the statuesque nude. "You don't

look much like a Vulcan."

"Plastic surgery," said Sisko. "I didn't want to be

mistaken for a Romulan."

"Gimba will be displeased," said the woman be-

hind him.

"Why does Gimba have to know?" asked Sisko.

"Let's give ourselves a short amount of time, then

we'll contact him."

"I suppose so," the tall one pouted. "But it's so

boring here in the Gamma Quadrantwe were hop-

ing to have a little fun."

Gradually, Sisko was becoming accustomed to the

unabashed nakedness of the Ferengi womenit re-

minded him of a Betazoid wedding he had once

attended. As long as he could keep them talking, he

decided, maybe they wouldn't try anything else.

"Why do Ferengi women always go around naked?"

he asked.

The chubby gave him a toothy grin and slid her

hand along her corpulent waist. "Because we have

such great bodies."

"And our men like us this way," the tall one added.

"But do you like being naked?" he asked.

The voluptuous one stared at him puzzledly. "Do I

like being naked? What a queer question. Do you like

being clothed? Aren't clothes hot and uncomfort-

able?"

"Zot gave us skin. Zot didn't give us any clothes,"

said another.

This conversation was going nowhere, thought

Sisko, and it could take a dangerous turn any minute.

He stood and started backing toward the turbolift. "I

promise that, when ponfarr overcomes me, I will seek

out your ship. Will you please tell Gimba that I would

like to see him now?"

"What a pity," said the chubby one. She lifted a

pillow and suggestively stroked the panel underneath

it. The turbolift door opened, and Sisko hurried

inside, slumping against the wall.

"Take me to the bridge," he sighed.

The turbolift shook for a moment, then rumbled

upward. When it stopped, the door opened, and he

was greeted by a frowning Ferengi with his arms

crossed.

"What's the matter?" asked Gimba. "Didn't you

like my women?"

"Quite lovely," said Sisko. "And charming. It's just

that I, uh, couldn't..."

"You like boys?" asked Gimba. "I can arrange

that." He clapped his hands. "Maalo, Pixo! Come

here!"

"No, no," said Sisko, "I'm content just to talk. If

you're trying to buy my help, the use of your harem

isn't necessary. I'm predisposed to help you, anyway."

Gimba grinned. "You are?" Then he frowned suspi-

ciously. "Why?"

Sisko lowered his voice, as if revealing a confidence.

"As I told you before, Jade and I can't go back to the

Alpha Quadrant for some time. Until some trouble

blows over. We would like to explore the Gamma

Quadrant for a bit, but we don't have enough antimat-

ter to get us very far. That's what attracted us to your

conversation, when we heard you arguing over anti-

matter."

Now Gimba really grinned, and he ushered Sisko

back into the turbolift. The doors jarred shut behind

them. "Deck four," he said. The turbolift dropped out

from under them, sending the commander's stomach

swirling.

To his relief, the doors opened onto a small lounge

area that was little more than a few soft chairs, a game

table, and a food slot. He could see a corridor leading

off, presumbably to the crew's quarters.

"Nobody here now," said Gimba. "Have a seat. Tell

me what is on your mind."

"Just this," answered Sisko, improvising as he went

along. "If we could arrange for you to get both the

antimatter and the tanker, cotfid you part with, say,

four pods of antimatter? In our little craft, that would

be enough for a year or two."

Gimba smiled. "Three pods. I can't give you any

more."

Sisko shrugged. "All right. I haven't thought this

plan through all the way, so if you have any sugges-

tions, please let me know. Jade and I will work out an

agreement that is very beneficial to the Bajorans. For

example, you get the antimatter, and they get the

tanker and a few bars of gold-pressed latinum."

"What?" growled Gimba. "That's too good!"

Sisko shook his head. "Don't worry, the deal will

never happen. But it must be good enough for them to

agree to it unconditionally. The whole point of this is

to get one of us, probably Jade, aboard the tanker. We

can say it's on the pretext of inspecting the antimatter

pods before they're transferred over to you."

Sisko snapped his fingers. "Even better--to avoid

any dishonesty on anyone's part, we'll say that only

three people can be present when the storage pods are

moved from the tanker to your ship--yourself, Rizo,

and Jade. Everyone else will have to wait on the

surface of the planet."

Gimba chuckled and massaged a massive earlobe.

"I like that idea. Then we can just leave the Bajorans

on the planet and let the insects deal with them."

After a moment's thought, the Ferengi frowned.

"But how can just the three of us move all those heavy

pods, even if we really aren't going to move them?"

"Don't worry," answered Sisko, "a Starfleet tanker

is totally automated. The docking, the robotic convey-

or beltinto do any of it you just have to press a few

buttons."

Gimba narrowed his eyes. "How do you know

that?"

Sisko smiled, while thinking quickly. "I worked on

a Federation starbase for a whilemas a chef--and I

learned a great many things that have proven useful. If

you have a better way to pry the antimatter away from

the Bajorans, I would like to hear it."

Gimba scowled. "No, go ahead. So there will just be

the three of us--me, Jade, and Rizo. Since I suppose I

will have to stay on nay ship, that means that Jade will

have to overpower Rizo by herself. Can she do that?"

Sisko nodded. "Jade has hidden talents."

"Oooh," moaned Gimba, stroking his ear, "I would

like to discover her hidden talents." He shook himself

out of his reverie. "All right, then our plans are made.

For three pods of antimatter, you will propose this

simply terrible deal to the Bajorans. One of the

conditions is that Jai3nd Rizo alone will be on the

tanker when the po sdWare transferred. And we will

trust Jade to do the rest."

His frown suddenly deepened as he leaned across

the table toward Sisko. "You know what Ferengi do to

those who cheat them, don't you? We have a sort of

whip that can remove small pieces of skin, almost

surgically. But without anesthesia. Those who experi-

ence this weapon always end up begging us to kill

them. Of course, we might reserve other types of

punishment for Jade."

"You don't have either the tanker or the antimatter

now, and you don't have to give up anything. So

you're not risking very much."

"I hope not," snarled the Ferengi.

An hour later, Odo listened impassively to the

reports of Commander Sisko and Lieutenant Dax, as

they related their adventures on the planet of Eco.

Sisko's account wasn't surprising in the least--it

entailed the usual obnoxious behavior of Ferengi, who

would rather pursue a dishonest deal than an honest

one. Odo could, however, enjoy the fact that the

Ferengi had been double-crossed by their hired mus-

cle, the Bajorans, and now they had to pursue their

ill-gotten gains through the efforts of a dishonest

intermediary.

Despite any illusions the others might have held,

the security officer knew that he, Sisko, and Dax were

little better than their quarry. Through dishonest

means, they were attempting to steal back the anti-

matter. It bothered him, but there was no acceptable

alternative. There was no law in this part of the

Gamma Quadrant, at least none that recognized the

Federation and its rights.

Dax's account was more troubling, because she

actually seemed to enjoy the company of the terrorist,

Rizo. Odo wouldn't go so far as to say that she was

infatuated with him, but she could sympathize with

his motives, if not his methods. As he studied the

attractive Trill in her shimmering dress, he wondered

if the role she was playing had affected her judgment.

Perhaps, he decided, it was impossible to play the role

of a femme fatale without losing a portion of common

sense.

Odo had often assumed the guise of inanimate

objects, small animals, and species other than his

own, and he often developed an odd sort of kinship

with his subject, even if it was a rat or a painting. He

decided not to judge Dax too harshly until he saw how

this game played out.

More chilling was their description of Elaka, a

person he judged to be seriously deranged. That she

was only one of a force of similar Bajorans was very

troubling. He hoped that, perhaps, they could be left

on the planet of Eco, never to endanger the Alpha

Quadrant again.

"There you have it," Sisko concluded. He turned to

Dax. "Do you think you can get Rizo and the

Bajorans to accept our proposal? Essentially, we'll tell

them they get to keep the tanker and a little cash, in

exchange for the antimatter. But the transfer must

take place with just you and Rizo aboard the tanker."

He smiled at Odo. "Of course, you'll bring a handbag

or a jacket with you."

The spots along Dax's hairline stretched as she

frowned. "I don't know, Benjamin. They will proba-

bly accept the deal, but they're going to be very

cautious. Rizo is going to expect some sort of trick."

Odo held up a slim finger. "May I make a sugges-

tion?"

"Of course, Constable," said Sisko, leaning back in

his chair at the conn station of the runabout.

"As long as we are being disgustingly dishonest,"

said Odo, "why should we be dishonest only on one

side? Why can't the lieutenant tell the Bajorans that

she is going to rig the deal for them?"

Odo continued, "The Ferengi vessel will also have

only one person on board, and all the others will be on

the planet. So, she could promise Rizo a chance to

overpower this Gimba person and hijack their ship.

They would leave the planet with two ships instead of

one, all the antimatter, and whatever loot is on the

Ferengi ship, which is probably considerable."

Dax asked, "What do we say we're getting out of

it?"

"The same deal," answered Odo. "A few pods of

antimatter to go on our merry way."

Sisko shook his head. "It's really dangerous."

The shapeshifter gazed at the ceiling. "Command-

er, it's debatable whether it's more dangerous to

double-cross a pack of terrorists than a pack of

Ferengi. Everything we are considering is dangerous,

even if I disguise myself as a purse or a jacket. All it

would take is either Rizo or Gimba getting to the

transporter controls, and they wouldn't be alone

anymore."

"Yes," mused Sisko, running his hand over his

short-cropped hair, "the whole thing requires split-

second timing. Maybe what we're trying to do is

impossible. But what choice do we have?"

Dax took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "It's up

to me," she said. "I have to convince Rizo to get me

alone on that tanker."

Odo and Sisko exchanged a glance, and Odo knew

they were both thinking the same thing. The way

Lieutenant Dax looked in that dress, it shouldn't be

difficult to get a man to want to be alone with her.

Neither one was going to tell her what she could do, or

ask her to do it. But she undoubtedly knew. There was

also the problem of Elaka, who wouldn't take kindly

to Dax making overtures to her mate, if she found out.

Sisko smiled and sounded upbeat. "But if we do this

right, we'll have two people on the tanker and one here

on the runabout, to cover the getaway. I don't see what

can go wrong."

Suddenly, Dax leaned forward. "What was that?"

she asked, peering toward the rear of the cabin.

Both Odo and Sisko swiveled their heads in the

direction she was looking, but the shapeshifter

couldn't see anything. "What did it look like?" he

asked.

"Just something moved... along the floor." Dax

slumped back in her chair and rubbed her eyes.

"Never mind. I'm tired, and I drank a couple of ales.

I'm sure it was just a shadow."

"Yes, we all need some sleep," said Sisko, rising to

his feet and stretching his long arms.

"With your permission, Commander," said Odo, "I

would like to go below to the planet. I haven't been

there yet, and nobody has seen me. If the Ferengi or

Bajorans are still there, perhaps I can overhear their

conversation."

Sisko smiled. "Go ahead, Constable. If you meet

anybody who's like you, I hope you have a nice

reunion."

Odo would have blushed, if he were capable of

doing so. He wished it weren't such an open secret

that he was constantly on the lookout for others of his

own species, whatever that was.

He took off his comm badge and other insignia and

put them in his pocket--at least he didn't have a

Starfleet uniform to camouflage. The shapeshifter

strode to the transporter platform, as Sisko leaned

over the controls.

"Ready," said Odo.

"Energizing," Sisko re plied.

CHAPTER

7

MAJOR KIRA sat in the conn seat of the runabout Rio

Grande and monitored their progress. They would be

reaching orbit around Bajor in about half an hour, she

estimated. She glanced beside her at Amkot Groell,

who was behaving exactly as she would expect a

starship builder to behavemhe was scrutinizing every

blinking light and panel readout. He gazed up at the

viewscreen to see a far-off globe that was getting larger

with every passing second.

"That viewscreen is too small," he remarked.

Kira smiled. "I know. But we don't have unlimited

energy in these runabouts. They're only supposed to

be for short trips, you know." "Weaponry?" he asked.

"Six small phaser emitters," she replied. "Two

microtorpedoes." "Only two?"

"Listen, Director Amkot, I didn't design these

runabouts, but I would have a hard time designing

better craft for our use on the station. They have

better range and speed than shuttlecraft, but they

don't take up much docking space. That's important,

since they're docked most of the time."

Director Amkot nodded. "Yes, I can see the utility

in that. I have been very impressed with the design of

the Hannibal. At first, I thought they were giving us a

castoff when they asked us to build an Ambassador-

class ship, but it's a very flexible design, very modern.

The compact size of the space-time driver coil is quite

amazing."

"I'm glad," said Kira wearily.

"You're not having an easy time of it, are you,

Major? Tell me, has there been any word from Com-

mander Sisko?"

Kira shook her short-bobbed head of reddish hair.

"No. It's like they vanished from the universe. I sure

wish they would come back."

Amkot gave her a sidelong glance. "Do you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Kira asked

slowly.

"Nothing," replied the administrator. "I'm sure it's

a shock to suddenly be without your commanding

officer, but you're qualified to run the station, aren't

you."

"I suppose," Kira answered doubtfully. "Don't

forget, we're also missing our security chief and our

science officer, and they're about as good as you can

get."

The director smiled grimly. "But they are replace-

able. Everybody is, including me."

Kira had been wondering how to bring up the

subject of the explosions at the shipyard that had

nearly killed her and Commander Sisko. Amkot's

sudden burst of philosophy and personal prying gave

her an opening. She seized it.

"What happened down at your shipyards?" she

asked. "Who tried to kill us? And don't tell me it was

aimless sabotage, that we were just standing in the

wrong place at the wrong time. After what happened

to the convoy, I know it was more than that. If both

Commander Sisko and I had been killed, Deep Space

Nine would have been in trouble, and the hijacking

would have gone even better than it did."

Amkot brushed back his shock of white hair with a

trembling hand. "You know. You recently dealt with

them. They resent the Federation, even though they

saved us from the Cardassians. They resent the fact

that we needed the Federation, and they resent the fact

that we need them now. They don't want peace--they

want to keep fighting."

"The Circle?" asked Kira with amazement. "We

stopped them cold. They're history."

The engineer shook his head. "Did you expose

every sympathizer? Did you arrest every person who

wants to see the Federation leave Bajor? No. They no

longer have a name, but they remain--some in high

places."

Kira slapped her console with frustration. "Who?

Give me names?

"IfI give you names," rasped Amkot, "they will kill

me. They came to me after Bajor was liberated and

said, 'Amkot Groell, we know you served the

Cardassians, but we are going to let you live. You kept

the shipyards ready, and now we need them to build

ships for Bajor.' They allowed me to build the Hanni-

bal only to sharpen the skills of the workers. They told

me who to hire, who to fire. They are always present."

Kira shook her head in disbelief. "Are you telling

me that you're being threatened? That someone is

coercing you?"

Amkot lowered his head, and his voice was barely a

whisper. "I had to agree in order to build the Hanni-

bal. I had to build at least one ship before I died."

The major stared at him. "What did you agree to?

You knew they were going to kill us, didn't you? You

set us up! I ought to turn back to DS9 and throw you

into a cell!"

The little man nodded. "You could do that, Major.

At least I would be safe, but the Hannibal would never

be finished. I'm not proud of what I've done--for

thirty years I have not been proud of what I've done. I

had to convince the Cardassians I was running a

museum, a relic of the past. Now I have to convince

the Federation I'm operating on their behalf, the

government on their behalf, the underground on their

behalf. I've been pulled in so many different direc-

tions, I don't know what I believe in anymore!"

His chin quivered, but he said forcefully, "I am

proud of one thing--the Hannibal. That's my ship.

My only wish is to live to see it fly."

Kira chewed at her lower lip, but she could think of

only one thing to say. "After the Hannibal is

launched, will you tell me who threatened you?"

The little white-haired man nodded; then he went

back to studying the instruments. They spoke no more

during the last leg of the trip to Bajor.

Odo stepped out of the receiving room, still marvel-

ing at the efficiency of the hive mind of the Ecocids. Of

course, he had no weapons to surrender--he never

carried a phaser. To him, life was too precious to risk

ending it so abruptly, and he didn't trust electronic

devices all that much. He looked at the array of

brightly colored stripes lining the wall. From the

accounts of Sisko and Dax, he knew that blue led to a

restaurant, cyan to the Redemption Center, and yel-

low to the conference rooms. He chose to follow the

red stripe, even though red signified danger in most

cultures.

Odo spotted several Ecocids scurrying along the

vents over his head, and he slowed his stride to walk

beside them. Picking a few specimens from the black

stream, he studied the small creatures. How did they

communicate? he wondered. Pheromones? Low-level

electric current? Sound? Touch? Or all of the above?

When he rounded a comer, he noticed that the

Ecocids were headed in the same direction he was,

following the red line. Odo cocked his head and strode

along beside them.

He passed another of the ubiquitous interface ter-

minals, and he almost stopped to talk to the hive

mind. He knew exactly what he would ask it--were

there any other shapeshifters like him in Hive Three?

But something in Odo's nature--a desire for privacy,

an innate distrust--prevented him from revealing

himself to the collective consciousness. Odo might not

have known anything about his race or his origins, but

he knew himself and his outlook on the universe He

was honest, and everyone else wasn't. Even his closest

associates were never free from suspicion.

The black insects looked benign, but according to

Commander Sisko, the hive mind was capable of

lying. That was enough in his book to justify further

observation.

After several twists and turns and considerable

walking, he noticed that the corridor was getting

narrower. The red stripe was now the only one on the

wall, and the number of Ecocids had increased expo-

nentially with each corridor that emptied into this

one. They now swarmed all over the walls and floor,

and Odo had to tread carefully to avoid stepping on

them. He wasn't sure why he was following the

Ecocids except that, subconsciously, he had chosen

this route, and he wanted to see where the red stripe

led.

Before he and the Ecocids reached their destina-

tion, a small hairy humanoid came ambling toward

him from the other direction, carrying a pail and a

mop. He looked suspiciously at Odo as they passed

each other, but he said nothing. The shapeshifter

assumed that this was one of the servants that Sisko

and Dax had reported seeing. His presence explained

why the red stripe extended down a corridor that was

apparently used only by Ecocids.

After another tributary emptied its six-legged traffic

into the main corridor, the insects were swarming

over the floor, walls, and ceiling. Odo inched along

without picking up his feet. A pungent odor rose all

around him, and he could hear the scurrying of a

billion little legs, and the flapping of a million tiny

wings. Thus far, the Ecocids hadn't seemed to mind

his presence, but he wondered what would happen if

he stepped on a few of them. He only wonderedmhe

wasn't about to find out.

He had to crouch down as the corridor lowered in

height as well as narrowed in width, but he could

finally see the end. Unfortunately, he had to stop

before he got there for fear of killing dozens of

Ecocids with each step. Ahead of him, a monstrous

hump of insects were swarming over something, and

he thought about the servant with the mop and pail.

At the end of the corridor, he saw a number of

unevenly spaced holes, each about as big as his fist.

They were black with insects crawling in and out.

The screeching of their tiny legs was becoming

annoying. Then he heard the synthesized voice, which

seemed to come from the vents over his head. The

vents, too, were clogged with Ecocids.

"Warning," said the voice, "visitors are not permit-

ted in the inner hive. Warning, please turn back.

Warning, we cannot be responsible for your safety if

you continue."

Odo didn't need to be told twice. He turned slowly,

taking one last look over his shoulder at the mysteri-

ous lump of something at the end of the red-lined

corridor.

Major Kira surveyed the room and swallowed hard.

From their accusatory expressions, the ga thering of

Bajoran dignitaries looked more like a lynch mob

than a casual fact-finding committee. Plus, she

couldn't get the troubling words of Amkot Groell out

of her mind. How many of these people were plotting

to overthrow the provisional government, which was

already shaky enough?

She recognized Roser Issa, Minister of Public

Works, to whom Amkot Groell reported; Minister of

Commerce Tanar Maya; Minister of the Interior

Wistod Emen; council members Kawa Lerdo and

Tagen Nico; and two members of the assembly, whom

she didn't know by name but recognized by their

robes. There was even a red-robed vedek, one of the

Bajoran religious leaders. The only thing missing was

a judge and a rope with a noose in it.

Minister Roser sighed contemptuously. "When I

last saw you, Major, you and your commander as-

sured me that the antimatter would be transferred to

the shipyards without incident."

"We thought it would," agreed Kira.

"Yet it was stolen right from under your noses."

"Not exactly," answered Kira. "It was stolen at a

distance from the station of almost twenty thousand

kilometers, too great for us to do anything about it.

We sent out runabouts as quickly as we could. In fact,

one of them is still out, pursuing the hijacked tanker."

Minister Wistod frowned. "I thought the Federa-

tion was supposed to be prepared for eventualities like

this."

Kira replied. "The cruiser escorts were attacked at

point-blank range by two Klingon warships, which

entered the area cloaked. We tried to warn the convoy,

but our communications were jammed. Under the

circumstances, the best the cruisers could do was to

drive off the Klingons."

"You mean, they let the Klingons escape," said

Tagen Nico. "And they let the tanker be boarded.

From your report, I understand that the tanker low-

ered her shields, knowing she would be boarded."

"If she hadn't," said Kira, "I probably wouldn't be

standing here, and Bajor would have a new moon--of

space rubble. They were firing on the tanker, and she

had no choice. At least that's what the Federation

captain decided."

"Do you agree with that decision?" asked Tagen.

"I..." Kira hesitated. "I'm second-in-command

of Deep Space Nine, not the captain of a Starfleet

tanker. I don't think it does us any good to second-

guess what has already happened."

Tagen turned to his fellow council member. "I

warned you that we couldn't depend upon the Federa-

tion. We need our own capability for making antimat-

ter, and we need to be building our own starships?

There was mumbled agreement with that senti-

ment, and Roser Issa declared, "I told Commander

Sisko as much when I last saw him."

Kira took a deep breath and had to shout over the

officials to be heard. "Listen to me!" They blinked at

her and fell silent. "You sit around in your soft chairs

and decide this and that and the other, but it's people

like me, Amkot Groell, and, yes, Commander Sisko

who have to make things happen. Commander Sisko,

my own security chief, and another Starfleet officer

are in the Gamma Quadrant right now, risking their

lives to retrieve that antimatter."

She bowed her head and lowered her voice. "If

Bajor had the capability to build her own ships and

generate her own antimatter, we would be doing so,

instead of just talking about it. But we don't. Bajor is a

poor cripple at the moment, and we've got to depend

on somebody else to pick us up and get us back on our

feet. I don't like it any better than any of you. So, if

you can make antimatter and starships, go ahead and

make them. If you can't, let the people who can do it."

Tagen Nico narrowed his eyes at the young major.

"You are very impertinent."

Kira nodded. "Yes, I am. Every day, I deal with

hundreds of races from all over the galaxy, all making

demands on me. I was probably impertinent before I

took this job, and now I'm worse. If you want to

replace me, go ahead." She glanced at Amkot Groell,

who was sitting in the far corner of the room. He

smiled encouragingly.

"So," Kira continued, "we screwed up this time.

The Federation also screwed up, and I'm sorry that

some of you thought they were perfect." There were

chuckles, and Tagen Nico cleared his throat. "But the

Federation is giving us a chance to build something,

something of value. No, we won't be able to keep the

ship we're building, but we'll sell it for badly needed

credits. We aren't taking charity on this job--we're

earning it."

One of the assembly members suddenly lifted a

robed arm and pointed it in Kira's direction. "That

ship is an abomination, nothing more and nothing

less! We should not be building weapons of destruc-

tion for the Federation, which they could use against

us. That ship is a symbol of our oppression."

Kira bowed slightly. "I'm sorry you feel that way,

sir. I respect your opinion, but I don't happen to

agree."

The din of another argument ensued, and it didn't

end until the Minister of Commerce, Tanar Maya,

declared in no uncertain terms, "The government has

chosen this course, and we all know it! If we don't

fulfill our obligation to build this ship, no one--not

the Federation or our own people--will trust us. We

must see it through, no matter what doubts we have."

The older man turned to Kira and granted her a

warm smile. "I want to thank Major Kira for coming

here. I'm afraid we didn't make it very easy for her. I

just have one more question for the major."

"Yes?" she asked.

"Assuming the first shipment of antimatter is not

recovered, when can we expect another one?"

Kira shook her head. "I don't know. My next duty

is to contact Starfleet Command. I've sent them a

brief report, but I haven't talked to them face-to-face.

I'm not looking forward to it either."

She half-expected one of the gathered dignitaries to

offer to smooth the way with Starfleet, to offer to

contact them first. But most of them looked away and

began murmured conversations with each other.

Nope, she thought, these people were not going to do

anything but talk. Even the ones who wanted her dead

weren't worth worrying about. In this life, there were

people who demanded that things be done and people

who actually did them, and they were seldom the

same people. Kira turned on her heel and marched

Out.

Miles O'Brien wrinkled his ruddy face into a frown

and lowered his computer padd. Dr. Bashir had

warned him about Captain Jon Rachman, but he

couldn't imagine that a young Starfleet officer could

be so obtuse and annoying. Well, he could imagine

it--Bashir was sometimes annoying--but not as bad

as this pup, who kept peering over his shoulder,

complaining.

"Chief O'Brien," snapped the young captain,

"when can the Regal return to service? I must demand

that you give me a timetable."

"A timetable?" growled O'Brien. "Your flux genera-

tors are fried, the inertial dampers are destroyed, and

the driver coil assembly is smashed! If you want to

take a leisurely cruise around this solar system at

half-impulse power, you can take her out now. And I'll

see you in a few years."

Captain Rachman stiflened to angry attention.

"Chief O'Brien, your attitude is not acceptable. All of

these are simple repairs."

O'Brien clenched his fists, trying to control his Irish

temper. "None of these are simple repairs, Captain,

but they would be possible--if this were a starbase.

This is a Bajoran space station built by Cardassians.

We don't have the parts we need, and we don't have

the plans to build them. As far as qualified engineers

--you're lookin' at him."

"What about replicators?"

O'Brien chuckled. "Cardassian replicators? They

won't even make a decent hot-fudge sundae."

When he saw the crestfallen look on the young

captain's face, O'Brien tried to hit a conciliatory tone.

"Listen, Captain, I know you want to get after those

crooks, and I would love to send you off with a hearty

'Hail Mary.' But I can't. This cruiser is in bad shape,

and the Valor is worse. You put up quite a fight out

there against bigger ships, after an ambush, but you

have to accept reality. You're in dry-dock, and you're

going to stay that way until we get the right parts from

Starfleet."

Captain Jon Rachman slammed a fist into his palm.

The handsome dark-haired officer looked as if he was

about to take O'Brien's head off again. Or cry. The

chief couldn't tell which.

"When will you request the parts?" Rachman

asked.

"That's what I'm doing," answered O'Brien, "try-

ing to find out what we need."

Their attention was diverted by a short woman with

reddish hair who strode through the bridge of the

Regal as if she owned it. Captain Rachman saw her

distinctive tan-and-rust uniform and instantly got

huffy.

"Excuse me," he said, "only Starfleet personnel are

allowed on board."

"Is that right?" asked Major Kira. She turned to

O'Brien. "I've got to talk to you, Chief."

"You must leave now," insisted Rachman.

"Belay that, Captain," snapped O'Brien. "This is

the acting commander of the station, Major KirK."

"I don't care who she is," said Rachman. "She's

Bajoran, she's not part of Starfleet, and she has to

leave."

Kirk whirled around to face the young captain. "I

have had enough problems for one day. Maybe you

would like it if I pulled Chief O'Brien off this detail

and sent him to fix the airlocks on level six."

O'Brien grinned. "Sounds good to me." He shut off

his padd. "I'll get right on it, Major."

"Wait, wait," said Rachman. "She can do that?

She's your commanding officer?"

O'Brien nodded. "She's second-in-command nor-

mally, and she's in charge when Commander Sisko is

away. This station is under joint administration."

Kira smiled pleasantly at the young man. "Where

are you from?"

"Uh, Kansas."

"I believe there's an old Terran saying--you're not

in Kansas anymore."

Rachman swallowed. "I'm beginning to realize

that." He came to attention. "I am Captain Jon

Rachman of the cruiser Regal."

"Okay, Captain Rachman," said the major, "if

you'd like to be useful, I've got a report to make to

Starfleet, and you and Chief O'Brien can help me. I've

got an Admiral Nichea waiting on subspace."

"Admiral Nicheyev," said the officer with awe.

"Do you know her?" asked KirK.

"Only by reputation."

O'Brien cleared his throat and added, "Admiral

Nicheyev has a reputation for being rather tough."

Kira smiled. "So do I." She tapped her eomm

badge. "Kira to Ops."

"Yes, sir?" came a voice.

"Wait one moment," said Kira. She turned to

O'Brien. "Is their viewscreen working?"

"That's about the only thing that is," the chief

muttered.

"Ops," said KirK, "patch my communication with

Admiral Nicheyev down to the Regal in docking bay

four."

"Yes, sir. Routing communication."

The image of a spare middle-aged woman appeared

overhead on the viewscreen. She did not appear

happy.

"I am not accustomed to being kept waiting," said

Admiral Nicheyev.

"I apologize," answered Kira. "I thought you would

also like to discuss this matter with two of your

officers--our chief of operations, Miles O'Brien, and

Captain Jon Rachman of the Regal, one of the cruisers

in the convoy."

"Where is Commander Sisko?"

O'Brien glanced at Kira, wondering how she would

answer that question. The major calmly replied, "He

is in pursuit of the hijackers who stole the shipment of

antimatter."

"Is he on the other cruiser?"

"Negative," answered Kira. "Both cruisers are bad-

ly damaged. He is pursuing them in a runabout."

Before the rigid admiral could ask more questions,

Kira gave her a concise recounting of the events the

cloaked Klingon ships, the jammed communications,

the pitched battle, and the insane attack on the tanker

that resulted in it being boarded and captured. She

ended with the tanker and the runabout vanishing

into the wormhole, which was undoubtedly not the

end of the story, but it was all she knew.

Admiral Nicheyev looked even less pleased than

before, and O'Brien was glad this wasn't a face-to-face

meeting. A second later, he was glad he wasn't one of

the cruiser captains either.

"Captain Rachman," spit the admiral, "I know it

isn't mandatory to come out of warp drive with

shields up, but you were briefed on the history of

Bajor. You know this is the farthest extension of

Federation influence in this sector. A bit of caution

would have been prudent."

The young captain stood at attention and framed

his response carefully. "Begging your pardon, Admi-

ral, but we had been traveling at warp speed for

eighteen hours. I admit, we were relieved to be ending

our journeymwith a tanker full of antimatter--and

that might have made us careless. Although I do not

believe we were unduly careless. Plus, our orders

cautioned us to avoid the wormhole more than rene-

gade Klingons."

Admiral Nicheyev didn't look convinced, and

O'Brien found himself bailing the young man out.

"Excuse me, Admiral," he said, "all of us were

stunned by the attack. But Captain Rachman and

Captain Perez on the Valor did everything they could

do. Commander Sisko took off in the runabout as

soon as the attack started. When the Klingons opened

fire on the tanker, we were all holding our breath. If

the tanker hadn't lowered her shields, we would've

lost all three ships, plus Commander Sisko and the

runabout. And quite possibly the station."

The admiral's pinched face pulled tighter. "And

what did Commander Sisko think he could do in a

runabout against two Klingons warships?"

"Anything he could," answered O'Brien. "He took

Lieutenant Dax and our security chief with him."

Admiral Nicheyev looked thoughtful for a moment;

then her shoulders slumped a bit. "All right," she

conceded, "we may have failed to consider the volatil-

ity of the situation near Bajor. Major Kira, what is the

status of the Hannibal? Is she safe?"

"Yes, Admiral," answered Kira. "We could start

test flights as soon as we have more antimatter.

Nobody in the shakedown crew was injured. In fact,

our government is very interested in finding out when

another shipment will arrive."

The admiral shook her head. "After this, we can't

send just two cruisers as escort with the next ship-

ment. We'll need to pull in some larger ships, and that

may take a couple of days."

"Pardon me, Admiral," said O'Brien, "we also need

a lot of parts for the two cruisers. I can send you a

requisition."

"Send it to my attention," answered the admiral.

"I'11 ship the parts with the antimatter. I estimate that

all of this will take about five days."

"Five days?" said Captain Rachman, shocked.

"Begging your pardon, Admiral, but we've already

lost two days. We need to get our cruisers operational,

so we can go into the wormhole and chase down those

hijackers."

Admiral Nicheyev's pale eyes grew steely cold

again. "Captain Rachman, under no circumstances

are you to proceed into the wormhole to pursue

anyone. We know almost nothing about the Gamma

Quadrant, and we have no idea what happened to the

runabout or the tanker. Do we?"

"No, sir," answered Rachman with a hard swallow.

"Then we must assume that both craft are lost," the

admiral concluded. "That is a hard thing to accept, I

know, but we can't sit around waiting for a miracle to

occur. By the time a second shipment of antimatter

reaches you, a week will have passed. To be on the safe

side, we will also send along replacements for Com-

mander Sisko and Lieutenant Dax. At the moment, I

have no idea who they will be."

The admiral took a deep breath. "Chief O'Brien, I

will be looking for the parts requisition. Captain

Rachman, I will expect a full report from both you

and Captain Perez. Major Kira, I can't issue you any

orders, but I would hope that you wouldn't endanger

anyone by sending them into the wormhole after

Commander Sisko and his crew. Perhaps they will

return, perhaps not. But their fate is out of our

hands."

Her lips tightened. "Keep me informed. This is

Admiral Nicheyevmout."

The admiral's stern visage blinked off the

viewscreen to be replaced by the distinctive oval

insignia of Starfleet outlined against a light blue

background.

O'Brien flicked off the screen and scowled. "Well,

that was a cheery conversation, wasn't it?"

"Yeah," muttered Kira. "I guess she has to think

that way."

Seeing their downcast expressions, Captain

Rachman said, "I'm sorry. Here I am, worrying about

looking bad and getting my ship flying again, and

you've lost your commanding officer and two people

from your staff. I'm afraid I've been behaving like a

total ass."

"Apologies accepted," replied O'Brien. "I know it's

not fun to get your ship shot up. I'll do what I can for

you right now, but you'll have to wait five days for the

major repairs."

"Understood," said Captain Rachman. "Is there

anything I can do for you?" He looked from O'Brien

to Kira.

Kira nodded, and O'Brien could tell that she was

barely in control of her emotions. "You can come with

me," she said, "and meet Commander Sisko's son. I

have to tell him about his dad's replacement before I

tell anybody else. If you come with me... I don't

know, maybe he would enjoy seeing somebody from

Kansas."

"I'll do what I can," Jon Rachman promised.

Major Kira had lost all track of time in the unpleas-

ant events of the day. She hadn't realized until she

asked the computer where Jake Sisko was that the boy

would be in the quarters he shared with his father,

getting ready for bed. She also wasn't surprised to find

Nog there with him. In troubled times, a good friend

was worth his weight in gold-pressed latinum, even if

he was a Ferengi. She and Jon Rachman entered the

small apartment, and she put on her bravest smile.

"Hello, Jake. Nog," she said to the boys. "I'd like to

introduce a guest to you, Captain Jon Rachman of the

Starfleet cruiser Regal. He's from Kansas."

"Hello," Jake said noncommittally.

"Hi, Captain," said Nog, jumping to his feet.

"Wow, that was some battle you had out there! We

watched the visual log."

Rachman blinked in surprise. "I didn't know it

would be used for entertainment."

The Ferengi boy looked embarrassed. "Well, my

uncle has, you know, access..."

"To just about anything he wants," Kira completed

the sentence. "That's all right. It's not a secret what

happened."

"Any word about my dad?" asked Jake.

Kira shook her head. "I'm afraid not. They could

pop through the wormhole any minute. We're keeping

an eye out for them."

Nog was still excited about the battle. "That was

neat the way that one crusier pretended to be dead.

Was that you?'..'

"No," answered Rachman, "we went into warp

drive, hoping they would thinkwe,were running. Then

we warped back in and got off a couple good volleys."

"You sure did!" gushed Nog. "It was neat, wasn't it,

Jake?"

The boy nodded and hugged his robe around his

scrawny body. Kira could tell that Jake was trying

mightily to think of something elsemand Nog was

doing everything he could to distract his friend--but

it wasn't working. His dad was missing, in pursuit of

dangerous criminals. There wasn't anything that any-

body could say that would change that. And now she

had to give him the only news she had--bad news--

that Starfleet was sending a replacement for his father.

"Nog," she said, "do you think we could talk to Jake

alone for a momen It's getting pretty late, and you

should be getting to bed, too."

The Ferengi boy looked at his friend as if it would

take the Grand Nagus to order him away.

"Go ahead," said Jake. "I'll be okay."

"Fll meet you for breakfast," Nog promised, as he

headed for the door. "Nice to meet you, Captain

i Rachman!"

"You too," Rachman answered.

For his young age, Jake Sisko has been around a lot,

thought Kira. He had watched his mother die in a

Borg attack. He had been shunted with his father from

one assignment to another, like an old suitcase, end-

ing up in what might be the weirdest post in all of

Starfleet. Yet he had made the best of things, forming

at least One true friendship on DS9. Jake was young,

but he was no fool.

"Something has happened," he said. "What is it?"

"Really nothing," answered K_ira, sitting beside

him. "We had to contact Starfleet to ask them for

parts to repair the cruisers, plus more antimatter for

the shipyard. They thought it would be a good idea,

since they would be sending another convoy anyway,

to send an acting commander for the station."

Jake's eyes widened with horror. "They're replacing

my dad?"

"It's just a precaution," said Kira.

"That's trap!" shouted Jake, fighting back tears.

Kira looked helplessly at Jon Raehman, and the

young captain knelt in front of the boy. "It is trap," he

agreed. "But your dad has an important job, and

Starfleet can't leave it vacant... while he's away. I

don't know your dad, but I know he risked his life to

save ours. And I know that wherever he is, whatever

he's doing, he's trying to make a difference."

The captain shook his head. "Hey, I didn't realize

until I got here what a tough job you people have on

Deep Space Nine. I used to think escorting antimatter

tankers was hard duty, but it's nothing compared to

being out here."

Rachman held Jake's hands. "I'm too young to have

a boy your age, but if I ever do, I hope he's as brave as

you are. You've got to have faith in your dad, because

you know he wants to get back here just as badly as

you want him back. Say, what do you know about the

Wild West?"

Jake rubbed the tears from his eyes. "Wild West?"

"Yeah, the cowboy period of Earth's history," said

Rachman. "I had an ancestor who was a marshal in

the Kansas territory days. He often had to go out and

chase down outlaws for weeks, or months, at a time. I

guess his family worried about him an awful lot, but

he always came back. He died an old man at the age of

seventy-nine. That was old back in the nineteenth

century."

"They didn't know where he was?" asked Jake.

Rachman chuckled. "Naw, the prairie was nothing

but wilderness back then, full of Indians and outlaws.

You must have a library here--I bet we could read

about it. I think it will remind you a lot of life on Deep

Space Nine."

Jake nodded, and his face crept into a smile. "I'd

like that."

Kira looked gratefully at the young captain, and

she, too, wished that he would have a boy like Jake

someday.

"Major Kira," said Captain Rachman, "I don't

have any quarters assigned to me yet. Do you think I

could bunk here with Jake?" He turned to the boy. "If

that's all right with you?"

Jake nodded eagerly. "Sure."

Kira rose to her feet. "If it's okay with both of you,

it's okay with me. Jake can show you around the

station." She started toward the door and stopped,

trying to think of something else to say.

Jake seemed to sense her discomfort. "Good night,

Major Kira," he said. "Thanks for telling me in

person."

The Bajoran nodded. "I'm looking forward to tell-

ing Starfleet not to bother sending anyone. Good

night."

Kira strode out the door, and it clanged shut behind

her. She gazed down a vast corridor, empty except for

a few visitors, who shuffled along on their tentacles.

This amazing amalgam known as Deep Space Nine

was under her command, she mused, at least tempo-

rarily. It was odd how much it had changed since the

oppressive reign of the Cardassians, all for the better.

How much of that change was dependent upon the

quiet leadership of Benjamin Sisko she didn't know,

but she suspected it was considerable.

If only she could get some idea what was going on.

Snooping around was a job usually performed by

Odo, but he was also missing in action. Reluctantly,

Kira decided that it was time to pay another visit to

Quark's Place.

CHAPTER

8

BENJAMIN SlSKO sat at the conn station of the runabout

and watched white clouds creep across the lime green

surface of the planet of Eco. He would have preferred

to see the more familiar sphere of Bajor below him,

even with its pretty chieftains and strange dichoto-

mies. He would even have liked to see the cold

grayness of Deep Space Nine, with its faulty circuitry

and never-ending parade of life-forms. Most of all, he

would like to see Jake, and he hoped the boy was

holding up under the uncertainty of his absence.

Could it be that he was homesick? Sisko had never

considered DS9 much more than a way station in his

career, a place to hang his hat between more conven-

tional assignments. Though, he had to admit, it had

turned into much more than that. He supposed it was

the challenge of the job that appealed to him--never

knowing what the day would bring. Unfortunately,

with challenge came frustration, and he bridled at all

the miracles he couldn't pull off, such as bringing

rebels like Rizo back into the community and resolv-

ing questions about the mysterious beings who had

constructed the wormhole. The job was fraught with

peril, as his present circumstances demonstrated.

Thinking about his son and his unlikely home made

the commander wonder if they could pull off this

ridiculous heist. Because that's what they were doing,

trying to outfox the foxes. He hadn't seen much of the

Ferengi Marauder in his mercifully short visit there,

but he had seen enough to know that it could blow the

runabout to pieces without working up a sweat. It

could also chase the runabout down in the blink of an

eyelash. He would like to think that help was on its

way, but he doubted it. Antimatter was rare, but it

wasn't rare enough for Starfleet to risk any more ships.

They were on their own, and the slightest slipup

would mean that they would never see DS9 again. Or

Jake either.

"Are you all right?" asked a concerned voice, and

he looked up to see Dax. He was relieved to see that

she had changed back into her uniform, although it

was still stripped of Starfleet insignia.

"Oh, just thinking," he said. "I didn't hear Odo

come back. Is-he still resting?"

Dax slipped into the Ops seat beside him. "I

beamed him aboard a few hours ago. He should be

getting up soon."

Sisko smiled, thinking that "resting" and "getting

up" were interesting euphemisms for what Odo did

when he reverted to and from a liquid state.

He sighed. "Old man, are we crazy? Do we have a

chance of pulling this off'?. Or should we just get the

hell out of here?"

Dax paused in thought, then chuckled. "It's funny. I

was going to say, 'When we were younger, we wouldn't

have thought twice about stealing back the tanker.'

Then I realized that I am younger than when we used

to do a lot of crazy things. But we're both still here.

The question is, Benjamin, do you feel lucky? The

only thing we have on our side is their greed."

"It's up to you," answered Sisko. "You have the

hardest jobmconvincing the terrorists to let you

aboard the tanker. If you think there's any danger, you

have my permission to call it off."

Dax shrugged. "We knew there was danger forty-

eight hours ago, when we came after them. That hasn't

changed. But what they did hasn't changed either. If

they had done this to Klingons or Cardassians, they'd

have a death sentence on their heads. I don't know,

but I think they ought to be punished, even if it's just

making sure they don't get anything out of it."

"All right," said Sisko, "you've answered my ques-

tion. But you're the one who has to spend time with

Rizo and his playmatesmyou tell us when to cut our

losses and run."

Dax nodded somberly. "I will."

They heard soft footsteps behind them, and a

chipper-looking Odo walked into the cockpit area.

"Good morning," he said with a polite bow of his

head.

"Good morning," answered Sisko. "What did you

think about the planet of Eco?"

Odo sniffed. "If Quark ever asks me where he

should go on vacation, I now know what to tell him."

"Did you find out anything we should know?"

asked Dax.

"I found the Ecocids' entrance to the inner hive,"

answered the shapeshifter. "But I don't think it's a

place a humanoid would want to venture. Then I

stationed myself in a public place and observed the

patrons for some time. They are engaged in buying

and selling commodities at a rapid pace, but since

they never actually see or possess the commodities,

it's little more than a glorified game of chance. I'll be

happy when we leave here."

"Won't we all," said Dax. She checked the ship's

chronometer. "It's time to be going, Benjamin. I told

the Bajorans we would meet them at eight hundred

hours. Hopefully, the Ferengi won't be awake at such

an early hour."

The commander stood and stretched his long arms.

"At least we can get some coffee in the conference

room. Hold down the fort, Constable."

"Don't I always?" asked Odo, taking a vacated

chair.

"And keep the shields up," Sisko added as he strode

to the transporter platform, with Dax close behind.

Odo swiveled in his chair to face the commander.

"Be careful," he cautioned. "When I left, the price of

antimatter was going up."

Sisko nodded and tried to smile, but he didn't feel

very cheerful this morning. He had a bad feeling

about something, but he couldn't tell what it was.

Thus far, both sides had believed his and Dax's story

and trusted them, as far as they trusted anyone. Their

pl an was indeed risky, but it entailed only one crucial

elementmgetting Dax and a large Odo/handbag alone

with Rizo aboard the hijacked tanker. The Ferengi

would cooperatemthey were in no position not to.

Nevertheless, Sisko couldn't help but to feel that he

was overlooking something. A detail, an unnecessary

risk. Probably, he decided, it was just his impatience

and frustration that was spooking him. If they focused

on what they had to do, they would soon get out of

here.

"Energize," he told Odo.

Dax and Sisko materialized inside the now familiar

conference room, and Dax wasn't surprised to find

they were the first to arrive. While she walked to the

door and peered out into an empty lounge, Sisko

strode immediately toward the food slot.

"The usual," he ordered. At once, the alien food slot

produced a steaming cup of java, and Sisko looked

very satisfied as he picked up the cup and sniffed its

aroma.

After his initial sip, he remarked, "I wonder how

many bilbok one of these food replicators costs? It

sure makes better coffee than anything we've got...

you know where."

"I'11 take your word for it," Dax replied. "Benja-

min, I think we should have a code phrase for when

there's trouble but we can't come out and say it.

Something innocuous."

"All right," agreed Sisko, pausing thoughtfully be-

tween sips. "Just say, 'I drank too much coffee.'"

Dax nodded and began to pace. The Trill prided

herself on remaining calm in any situation, but the

next step of their con game was like playing a game of

Dabo in Quark's Place. Every roll of the dice brought

a new set of probabilities, unrelated to the probabili-

ties of the previous roll. Just because you had won

once didn't mean you would continue winning. Like-

wise, every lie they told the terrorists resulted in a new

set of probabilities; just because they had believed the

last lie didn't mean they would believe the new one.

As Benjamin had said, it was up to her to know when

to quit and head for the exit, and she would have to

make that decision in a split second.

The door slid open, and Rizo filled it. She was

amazed to see that the big Bajoran had cleaned

himself up and had even shaved. She wouldn't say the

clothes he was wearing were exactly clean, but they

weren't stained with grease and blood. They weren't

leather either, but a coarse handwoven fabric. He

smiled at her and swaggered into the room. There was

only one companion with him, and Dax was very

relieved to see that it wasn't Elaka. It was the other

female she had met, Petra.

"Good morning," Sisko said cheerfully. "Coffee?"

"Still no ale?" grumbled Rizo. At once, the food slot

produced a mug of brownish ale. "Ah, that's more like

it," the Bajoran said, grinning.

"Hello," said Petra, standing meekly by the door.

She was carrying one of the computer padds from the

tanker. Another piece of loot, thought Dax. They had

grown accustomed to having that tanker and the

wonders it contained, and they might be receptive to

an idea that would let them keep it.

"You're keeping notes," she said to Petra. "Very

wise. But some of what we're going to say shouldn't

leave this room."

"Oh, yeah?" said Rizo, slamming his glass of ale on

the table. "Why not?"

Dax looked at Sisko, wondering if he wanted to take

the lead. He nodded to her in encouragement and

stepped toward the door. "I want to keep an eye out

for our Ferengi friends," he explained.

Rizo yanked back a chair and dropped his muscular

body into it. "What's going on?" he asked. "Have the

Ferengi made an offer?"

"Yes," said Dax, "and a very good one." She smiled

slyly and sat on the edge of the table, draping her long

legs in Rizo's direction. "But you can do better yet."

"Oh, yeah? Tell me about it." He leaned forward,

his dark eyes making a leisurely excursion up Dax's

legs and torso to her lovely face.

Dax began, "They've offered to let you keep the

tanker if you turn over the antimatter pods. Plus,

they'll give you ten bars of gold-pressed latinum."

Rizo nodded, clearly impressed. "That will keep us

in food and drink for a while, plus we'll have a place to

call home. But this is too good--there's got to be

some kind of catch."

"There is," Dax conceded. "They don't trust you."

The Bajoran roared with laughter. "Of course they

don't! They've been dealing with too many other

Ferengi--they don't trust anybody."

"They want some safeguards to guarantee the trans-

fer of the antimatter," Dax continued. "They know

the tanker operations are entirely automated, so they

want to make sure there's only one of you aboard the

tanker when the transfer takes place."

Rizo took a swig of ale and slammed down his mug.

"Unacceptable."

"However," said Dax, "there will also be only one

Ferengi aboard their vessel. And I'll be there, as an

impartial observer, to keep you both honest."

The Bajoran looked thoughtful. "You mean, their

whole crew will beam down here?"

"That's right," said the Trill with a sly smile. She

turned to Petra. "Will you please stop recording what

I say now?"

The young Bajoran looked at Rizo, and he nodded

his approval. "Then what?"

Dax whispered, "Then you can take over their ship.

You can leave this planet with a fleetma tanker full of

antimatter and a Ferengi Marauder. There isn't much

you can't bring down with that Marauder."

Rizo leaned back in his chair, a smile spreading

across his face. He finally asked, "Why would you

help us do this?"

Dax stood and walked slowly around the table,

being sure to jiggle everything she had to jiggle. "We

actually want more out of this than just a couple bars

of gold-pressed latinurn, but we know the Ferengi

won't give it to us. We want enough antimatter to stay

on this side of the wormhole for a good long time.

We're in no hurry to go back."

"Ah," said Rizo with dawning comprehension.

"You're crooked, too."

This was the crucial moment, Dax felt. Maybe they

had been wrong to forsake the pretense of being

honest arbitrators. But her mouth had no tractor

beam that could take back words once spoken. What

could she possibly say that would clinch this unholy

deal? What would turn the probabilities of him believ-

ing her in her favor?

"You didn't think we were space cadets, did you?"

she scoffed. "We have a chance of robbing a bunch of

bloodsucking Ferengi of a whole ship and everything

it contains. I can't tell you how many times they've

cheated Marcus and me. Let's just say, we want to

come out on the winning end this time."

Rizo nodded and scratched his clean-shaven chin,

as if he hadn't felt bare skin there in many Bajoran

moons. He looked at Sisko, apparently judging the

human; then his gaze returned to Dax. His heavy-

browed eyes roamed down her slim body, and she felt

both his distrust and his lust.

He turned to Petra and said, "Go back to the ship.

You can read them the terms offered by the Ferengi,

but don't tell anyone about this other part. Let's keep

that secret for the time being."

The young woman looked frightened at the pros-

pect of keeping a secret from her comrades. "But

why?" she asked with alarm.

"Because I say so!" he roared. Then Rizo took a

deep breath and relaxed. "There are two reasons. One,

I haven't decided to do it yet. And two, the fewer

people who know about it, the better." He smiled at

Dax. "I think Jade understands that."

Sisko asked pleasantly, "Why wouldn't you want to

do it?"

Rizo gave the human an annoyed glance. "It's

awfully hard to hide a Ferengi Marauder. And if I

know the Ferengi, they'll have every bounty hunter in

the quadrant after us. That includes our Klingon

friends and probably the Cardassians as well. Still, it

might be worth it."

He looked pointedly at Dax. "Mainly, I still don't

know if I can trust you."

The Trill shrugged. "We're not the ones you should

worry about. If you don't capture the Ferengi ship, or

at least disable it, they can come after you any time

they feel like it. Remember, once the antimatter is off

that tanker, it becomes just another target."

The ridges on the bridge of the Bajoran's nose

compressed in thought, until Petra came up and put

her arms around him.

"Don't worry, Father, you'll make the right deci-

sion," she assured him.

Dax and Sisko exchanged a glance, and Dax found

herself horrified at the thought that Petra could be

Rizo's daughter. How could somebody turn an im-

pressionable child into a criminal, living hand-to-

mouth, hunted by half the galaxy? The young

woman's age had been troubling before, and now it

was doubly so. Dax wondered whether Elaka could be

Petra's mother, but she decided that was impossible.

At the most, Elaka was only ten years older than Petra.

Rizo patted his daughter's arm. "Go on back. Just

tell them what the Ferengi have offered us, and take a

poll to see if we should accept it. I'll be along soon."

Petra nodded and stole a worried took at Dax

before she touched her comm badge. "One to beam

back," she said.

The young Bajoran disappeared in the swirl of a

transporter beam. What was next? wondered Dax.

Rizo drained his mug of ale and banged the glass on

the amber table. "I don't much like humans," he

remarked, wiping the suds from his upper lip, "but

they have a saying which I have to agree with 'There is

no honor among thieves.'"

"But you're not a thief," said Sisko.

"Don't flatter me," snarled Rizo. "You know damn

well what I am, and now I know what you are. You,

me, the Ferengi--we're all the same." He took a deep

breath. "Maybe I should just take that tanker and fly

the hell away from here."

He looked thoughtfully at Dax, and for the first time

she spotted some concern--and fear--in his hooded

eyes. "I'd like to do what you two are doing," he sai d,

"just escape from it all and explore a quadrant where

nobody knows me and I don't know anybody. But I've

got too many people who still believe in me. Too many

people who still have some honor."

Then he snorted a laugh. "I used to have honor, but

after some of the things I've had to dow" He swal-

lowed hard and barked at the food slot, "Give me

another ale!"

After the food slot had produced a second mug of

brown suds, Sisko fetched it for Rizo and set it in

front of him. The Bajoran smiled lazily at him.

"Marcus, haven't you got someplace to go?"

Sisko looked at Dax, and his eyes bespoke his fears.

But the Trill was a few hundred years old, and she

knew what she was doing--she hoped.

"It's okay, Marcus," she said. "Why don't you find

our Ferengi friends and tell them that the Bajorans are

considering their offer."

"All right," answered Sisko without much enthusi-

asm. "Just let me get another cup of coffee." He did

so, then walked slowly to the door and left.

It shut behind him with a resounding thud.

"At last," said Rizo in a husky voice, "we're alone."

Dax didn't run to the other side of the table, but she

felt like doing so. She tried to keep her voice calm and

sultry as she asked, "Aren't you afraid Elaka or

somebody else in your band will beam down here?"

"They'd better not," answered Rizo, rising slowly

to his feet.

He crossed the space between them in two long

strides and grabbed her with powerful arms. His

actions were so quick that she had no time to resist,

even if she had thought resistance was a possible

course. He pulled her roughly to his thick chest and

squeezed her until she thought her rib cage might

burst, while his hungry lips sought hers. It was only a

kiss, she told herself, and she let his tongue push her

mouth open. Perhaps, without the ale on his breath, it

might have been more pleasurable; as it was, she

forced herself to return the slobbery kiss, feeling more

alarm than arousal.

The kiss satisfied him for a few moments. Then he

backed her against the table and pushed his groin into

hers, and she knew she had to do something fast. Dax

feared she would be able to slip out of his grasp only

once before he grew more forceful. After that, words

would be her only defense.

She twisted and finally ducked under his arms. This

time, she did run for the other side of the table.

"I don't want it like this," she panted.

"How the hell do you want it?" he growled.

"I've never shared a man," said Dax forcefully.

"And I don't intend to start now. You belong to

Elaka."

He snorted. "What if I don't care about Elaka?"

"Then I think you'd better have a long talk with

her."

"Are you afraid of Elaka?" he asked.

"Damn right. I think you should be, too."

Rizo scowled and slammed his fist on the table.

Then he grabbed his mug of ale and took a long swig.

Dax took a deep breath, hoping the worst was over.

"What about Petra's mother?" she asked.

"What about her?" snarled Rizo. "Cardassians got

her. I suppose they raped her to deathmthat's what

they usually do. I never really did try to find out. I was

a farmer until that point in my life. Can you believe it?

Trying to scrape a few vegetables out of a chunk of

barren earth they left us. But taking our land wasn't

enough. If they saw women they liked in the village,

those women would just never come home."

His face said the memory of the incident was still

impossible to fathom, even after what must have been

years. "So one day you've got a family and a chunk of

soil, and you think it's yours, and then even that is

gone. I asked around the village, but nobody would

tell me what had happened. They didn't have to."

He stared past her and swallowed hard. "So I

grabbed Petra--she was four years old--and we ran

into the hills. Either we were going to die, the

Cardassians were going to get us, or we were going to

find the resistance. We found the resistance, and I

killed my first Cardassian two days later." His smile

looked demented. "It felt good."

Dax opened her mouth and started to say how sorry

she was, but she held her tongue. This man was still a

murderer, even after the Cardassians were gone. He

didn't need pity--he needed treatment. Unfortunate-

ly, he would probably find death before he found any

other kind of sanctuary.

He slumped heavily into the chair and began to

drain his ale. "Go on!" he growled. "Get outta here!

You're right, I'm an animal. I deserve Elaka, and she

deserves me. The only fine thing I ever had in my life

was taken away from me, and now I don't deserve

anyone as fine as you."

His face contorted as he fought back tears. "Go on,

I said! Get outta here!"

Dax didn't wait to be told again. She slipped out the

door of the conference room and never looked back.

She walked the maze of corridors for what might

have been hours, not paying any attention to the

colored stripes on the walls or the various business

and recreational areas she passed. It was impossible to

imagine, but the symbiont part of her had lived for

three hundred years and had never encountered one-

tenth of the horror that poor man had faced. When

she had volunteered for this mission, she had been

seeking experiences that would be unique to Jadzia

Dax and no one else. Now her outlook on experience

had changed. Experience not only built character, it

destroyed it.

All the while that Curzon Dax had been having

what had seemed like grand adventures in life-

threatening situations, the real lives of many people

had been more than threatened. In an instant, their

lives had been torn apart. Dax had never really

understood what Benjamin Sisko had gone through

when he lost his mate in the Borg attack at Wolf 359.

For a Trill, no relationship could be greater than the

one between symbiont and host, and it was expected

to end, the way a journey in a starship was expected to

end when it reached its destination.

Beings of normal life span, who mated for life, felt

differently. Ironically, they never expected their

blending with another being to end. When it ended

prematurely, with so much of life left, it was a tragedy

she could never hope to appreciate. Some people, like

Benjamin, were only temporarily unhinged. Others,

like Rizo, were permanently damaged, turned into

monsters their former selves wouldn't have recog-

nized. Three hundred years of experience, she thought

glumly, and that experience was beyond her. She felt

grateful but also sobered by the fact that longevity

didn't guarantee a wealth of experience.

Without knowing where she was going, she found

herself in the Redemption Center. A new golden gown

exactly like the one she had purchased was revolving

slowly in the showcase. Sic transit gloria. She checked

to see that no Ferengi or Bajorans were in the vicinity;

then she took her comm badge from her pocket and

pressed it.

"Dax to Sisko," she said, surprised at the raspy

quality of her own voice.

"Sisko here," came the answer. "I've been looking

all over for you."

"I'm in the Redemption Center. I think it's better

you come to me. Out."

He must have been nearby, because he showed up in

a few minutes. Without giving it much thought, she

rushed to him and gave him a desperate hug.

With alarm, he asked, "Are you all right?"

"Yes," she said, rubbing under her eyes.

"You look like you've been crying."

"Was I?" she asked in amazement. "That's unusual

for me, isn't it?"

"What did he do to you?"

"I'm fine," she answered. "It's not what you think,

really." She debated whether to tell the commander

that she finally understood what he had gone through,

but this wasn't the time to bring up painful memories.

They already had enough ghosts from the past to

contend with.

"Rizo is mentally unstable," Dax said finally. "How

he got that way is a very sad story, and I'm sure you

could figure it out if you tried. The question is, how

far can we trust somebody who's unstable? I mean,

even though both the Ferengi and Bajorans are

double-crossing each other, we have to count on them

to play straight with us."

Sisko sighed. "I know. I found Gimba in the gaming

room. He was losing, so he wasn't very cheerful. He

insisted that his Marauder is such a large ship that he

could keep some people on it without the Bajorans

knowing it. Since we're acting like we're rigging the

deal in his favor, I couldn't argue strongly against it."

"Well," said Dax, "he'll still have to transport

several hundred of his crew down to the planet, if he

wants to make it look good. Our main concern is still

Rizo and the Bajorans."

Sisko nodded and glanced around the room. "Will

they let you on the tanker? Alone with him?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. We didn't part

on such good terms. Being alone with him can be

quite an adventure."

Sisko's jaw tightened, and he said decisively, "This

whole thing is too dangerous. I'm calling Odo to tell

him we're getting out of here." "Human!" barked a voice.

Despite the fact that it was a female voice, the cold

timbre of the syllables sent a chill down Dax's spotted

spine. She turned to see Elaka, staring at them from

the doorway of the Redemption Center. The hatred in

her eyes burned brighter than any of the colored lights

marching across the ceiling. She strode toward them,

jiggling nothing on her hard, compact body.

"We agree to the terms," she sneered. "Tell the

bloodsuckers that we will make the exchange tomor-

row at nine hundred hours. We will beam down our

crew, and the Ferengi must do likewise. All shields

must be lowered, so that both sides can make a sensor

sweep. Gimba is to remain alone on the Marauder,

and Rizo will pilot the tanker to it and commence

docking."

Elaka gazed at Dax with pure spite, and the Trill

made it a point not to look away. "Of course, you'll be

there, my dear. We'll beam you up from here. We'll do

a weapons scan on you before you're allowed on

board." She smiled. "And maybe a strip search."

Dax smiled. "Will Rizo do that personally?"

Elaka shoved a grimy finger in Dax's face. "Don't

press your luck."

"This is indeed good news!" Sisko chirped brightly.

"Please relay to your captain our heartfelt gratitude

that this has worked out to everyone's mutual bene-

fit."

"And you tell that fat Ferengi to have the latinum."

Elaka scowled. "There won't be any more communi-

cation between us."

Sisko nodded, and Dax tried to maintain a pleasant

smile. Elaka gave her one last unbridled glare before

she marched off.

The commander let his breath out. "What does that

mean?" he asked. "Are they expecting to take over the

Ferengi ship, or not?"

Dax shook her head. "I don't know. But we're

apparently getting our wish--I'm going aboard the

tanker."

"We'd better let Gimba know," said Sisko, heading

for the doorway. Dax followed close behind.

"Marcus Garvey! Jade Dixon!" called another

voice, causing them to halt in their tracks. This voice

was very familiar and friendly, even if it was synthe-

sized.

They looked down at the interface terminal in the

alcove by the door. "What do you want?" asked Dax.

The hive mind replied, "We are pleased that your

negotiations have proven successful. We know they

weren't easy negotiations."

"Thank you," muttered Sisko, walking away.

"One moment, Marcus Garvey," said the voice.

"Or should I call you Commander Sisko?"

That caused both of them to whirl around and

cautiously approach the device.

"Who?" asked the commander, trying to sound

confused.

"Let's not be coy," said the collective consciousness

of a billion insects. "You know who you are, and we

know who you are, even if your negotiating partners

do not. There is one negotiation which is still unre-

solved."

"What is that?" asked Dax warily.

"Our piece of the action," answered the interface.

CHAPTER

9

THE MIDDLE-AGED CARDASSIAN was short but wiry, like

a coiled eelbird. His splotchy gray complexion and the

bony protuberances around his eyes and forehead

gave him the appearance of a rotting corpse. The

moment Major Kira saw him on the Promenade, she

felt the bile rise up her throat like a volcanic eruption.

A rush of adrenaline made her want to charge after

him, but she reminded herself that the Cardassian

hadn't broken any laws. He was alone, walking brisk-

ly, but he waited patiently when a group of Bajoran

schoolchildren crossed in front of him. Not shoving

them out of the way made him exceptionally well

mannered for a Cardassian.

As part of the treaty that had seen their withdrawal

from Bajor, Cardassians had demanded access to

Deep Space Nine. They came to the station in such

small numbers that no one seemed to mind. Well, no

one but Kira and every Bajoran she knew. Every time

she saw a Cardassian, she wanted to squash it like a

bug. Their civilized veneer hid a culture steeped in the

pleasures of torture and warfare. Their disastrous

handling of the Bajoran economy made it clear, at

least to Kira, that Cardassians conquered mostly for

fun.

The old hatreds bubbled and boiled inside her until

she felt queasy. Kira forced herself to slow down and

follow the Cardassian from a discreet distance. After

all, he was headed the same way she wasinto Quark's.

The major wasn't surprised to find two more

Cardassians waiting in Quark's casino, nor was she

surprised to find them chatting with the jovial propri-

etor. She knew she shouldn't blame the Ferengim

customers were customers--but she hated Quark for

his collusion with them. He had functioned as well

under the Cardassian reign of terror as he had under

the Federation's benign but bumbling rule. Of course,

his sleazy mixture of gambling, libations, and holo-

suite fantasies would always be a draw, and it did

bring needed hard currency into the station. But it

also brought the wrong kind of customers, like these

arrogant, stiff-necked Cardassians. They were hoisting

glasses of ale like the victors in an escaped refugee

hunt.

Kira knew she couldn't be circumspect, like Odo, or

diplomatic, like Sisko--she could only be direct. She

recollected hearing about the arrival of a Cardassian

trade delegation, and she assumed this must be them.

No matter what they called themselves, all they ever

wanted to trade was their horrific brand of oppression

for your sorrow and blood.

"Welcome to Deep Space Nine," she said curtly as

she strode into their midst.

Her arrival was so sudden that the Cardassians

jumped, and one of them spilled his ale down his gray

tailored suit. The other two glared at her, as one might

look at a person who had just relieved herself in

public. Her very existence was an affront to them.

Quark didn't look too happy to see her either.

"Major Kira," he hissed, "what a pleasure it would be

to serve you at some other time."

"I don't need service," she said bluntly. "I need

information. And I would prefer to talk to you,

privately." She glanced at the Cardassians and swal-

lowed the bad taste from her mouth. "You can tell

your customers that you'll only be a moment."

The older Cardassian raised his hand. "Don't dis-

obey your keeper," he smiled. "The Bajorans always

insisted to us how peaceful and pleasant they were,

but we always found them simply rude."

"Look," she told the Cardassians, "I haven't got

time for you today. Just steer clear of me, and we'll get

along fine."

The shorter one snorted a laugh. "Yes, we heard

about you losing a shipment of antimatter to a ragtag

band of your own people. Must be quite embarrass-

ing.?' His fellows chuckled.

"And none of your concern," snapped Kira. "I need

to talk to you, Quark."

"By all means," said the elder Cardassian with a

good-humored chuckle. "Don't let us detain you,

Quark. We have to get back to our ship, anyway. A

pleasure, as always."

The Cardassians marched off, and the Ferengi

waved after them with desperation. "Come back, if

you have time! She never stays long!" Quark turned

and glared at the Bajoran. "Don't you have anything

better to do than to chase off customers?"

Kira's lips thinned. "Why were you talking to

them? What did you tell them?"

"Exactly what Odo told me to tell them," he

answered. "To leave me out of it. To keep me unin-

volved. I wouldn't trade information to them, even ifI

had any."

"You really don't know what's happening on the

other side of the wormhole?" asked Kira in disbelief.

"I didn't say that, exactly," answered Quark, pick-

ing up a glass and inspecting it. "Listen, Major, if you

promise to leave, I'll tell you the one piece of informa-

tion I know that not everyone else does."

"All right," answered Kira, leaning on the bar.

Quark whispered, "The cartel was involved in the

hijacking--as the liquidators of the merchandise. But

they're not at all happy with the way things are going.

They sent one of their best operatives over to the

Gamma Quadrant a couple of weeks ago, and he was

supposed to return with the antimatter by now. No-

body on this side of the wormhole knows what the

delay is, and the cartel is getting nervous."

"Who is this operative?" asked Kira.

"I didn't promise to tell you that," said Quark.

Then he smiled with fond remembrance. "But he has

a wonderful harem."

The major nodded. "So we know the Ferengi are

involved in a big way. What about the Cardassians?

Why were you talking to them?"

"They're dignitaries," answered Quark with indig-

nation. "Trade representatives."

"And I'm a royal princess," sneered Kira. "What

did they want?"

"Like you--information. Help. But I'm steering

clear of this antimatter business. Contrary to what

you think, Major, I don't want to see DS9 blown up. I

like it here, and that wormhole gives us a great tourist

attraction. As far as I'm concerned, the antimatter can

just stay over there."

"You sound like Odo," sniffed Kira. "This one

time, I'm almost inclined to agree with you. I'd be

content just to have Commander Sisko, Odo, and Dax

come back--without the antimatter."

Quark frowned. "It's not a foregone conclusion that

they will come back. In fact, if you really believe the

Mekong will come back in one piece with all aboard, I

can get you a wager at three-to-one odds."

Kira bolted upright and snarled, "You're disgust-

ing." She beeped her comm badge. "Kira to Ops. I

want all transmissions to and from the Cardassian

ship monitored. And keep me apprised of their sta-

tus."

"Funny you should ask that, Major," O'Brien's

voice cut in. "They just sent a message--short but

encrypted. Then they asked for permission to shove

off."

"Keep them here," said Kira. "Make up some

excuse for a delay. Can you decode their message?"

"Given enough time," answered O'Brien. "I'll get

to work on it. O'Brien out."

The Ferengi was collecting more glasses and ap-

peared not to be listening, but Kira knew how much

his gargantuan ears picked up. "So what are the

Cardassians going to do?" she asked.

"They're scavengers," growled Quark. "They can

smell the deal falling through, the rodent about to die

in the desert. If the antimatter is up for grabs, they

will be grabbing. You know, I hadn't realized how

highly prized Federation-made antimatter is. By all

accounts, it is the most pure, and they have the best

storage pods. Do you suppose they would consider

selling me a franchise?"

Kira muttered, "We already asked them, and they

said no."

"Pity," shrugged Quark. "They are losing so much

profit. Cardassians, I can understand; these do-

gooders, I cannot."

Kira's c omm badge sounded, and she straightened

to attention before tapping it. "Major Kira."

It was O'Brien, and he sounded excited. "Fourm

yes, I think it's fourmsmall cruisers headed our way.

They may be no more than one-man craft, but they

can do warp speed."

"What is their destination?"

"They're just slowing down," said O'Brien. "Their

impulse speed is impressive, too."

"Where are they going, Chief?." Kira demanded,

trying to keep her voice calm and level. She knew that

Quark and several of his customers had stopped to

listen.

"The wormhole," he answered. "I hope they slow

down long enough to get through it. We could fire on

them, but that's about all we could do to stop them.

They're spreading out--if their engines are tuned

properly, they should make it through all right."

"Where are they from?" asked Kira, the bile rising

in her throat again.

"I've never seen anything like them," answered

O'Brien, "but maybe this Cardassian computer has.

Let me try to get a match." Kira heard silence, but she

could sense the rumble growing beneath it, like the

prelude to thunder. O'Brien finally exploded, "Yeah,

this computer knows them all right! Cardassian regis-

try, and they came straight out of Cardassian space!"

Kira sighed. One thing she could count on with

O'Brien was that he hated Cardassians as much as she

did. "No need to decode that message now, Chief.

Exactly how many went in?"

"Four ships. I don't know how much range they

have, probably not as much as the runabout, but

they're small and fast." O'Brien's voice grew hoarse.

"Major, you just give me the word, and I'll go after

them. We'll find the Mekong and bring 'er home."

Tempting it was, so tempting, to send O'Brien to

rescue Sisko, Dax, and Odo. But Sisko had been

right--the station needed O'Brien where he was. And

Admiral Nicheyev had been right--there was no

sense endangering more ships to save two that could

already be lost.

"No, Chief," she said, "I'm sorry, but two run-

abouts would be almost as badly outnumbered as one.

I want you to send the Cardassians a very stern

message that if they send ships through the hole again,

without going through the proper procedures, we'll

fire on them. And we're holding the ship that's docked

here for investigation."

"Aye, sir," answered O'Brien, not hiding the disap-

pointment in his voice.

Didn't he know, thought Kira, that she would like

to do more? But decimating the command staff of

Deep Space Nine wasn't going to help matters much.

She remembered the gleam in Sisko's eye when he

had asked for volunteers to go with him on the

runabout. It was a roguish quality he had exhibited

only a few times, but it gave her confidence that he

could succeed. The commander knew the dangers,

and he knew that his opportunities would be limited.

Either things were breaking their way or not, and only

he could make that decision. Kira certainly hoped

that fortune had been with the Mekong so far, because

it had just turned against them.

Quark looked glum, too. "Zot," he muttered, "at

this rate, I'll never get anyone to bet on Sisko coming

back."

Kira scowled, "You bet on him. Jack up the odds,

and you'll win big." She turned and stalked out of the

casino.

"Hmmm," mused the Ferengi, giving it serious

thought.

Benjamin Sisko just stared at the nondescript ter-

minal, rage seething inside of him. Unless he was

having an unpleasant dream, several billion bugs were

trying to extort money from him. He hadn't asked for

the Ecocids' help, even if their timely lie--saying that

he and Dax had been on the planet for days--had

paved the way for their acceptance by Gimba and

Rizo. He knew that once you started lying, and

enlisted others to lie for you, things often went

haywire, but he hadn't expected to be shaken down by

a hiveful of bugs.

"Your... your piece of the action?" he asked in-

credulously.

"Of course, Commander Sisko," answered the syn-

thesized voice of the interface. "That is your real

name and rank, isn't it? You have many secrets,

Commander, and this would not be a good time for

them to reach the surface."

"But... but we haven't... we don't have any-

thing!"

"Marcus, you're sputtering," Dax observed.

"Please allow me."

Sisko threw his hands in the air and stepped back.

The attractive Trill smiled pleasantly at the interface,

which was undoubtedly a wasted gesture.

"If you know so much about us," she began, "you

must know that we pursued these criminals here from

the Alpha Quadrant. All of our actions have been

intended to recover stolen property, namely, a tanker

full of antimatter. Even if we're successful, we're not

going to make any profit."

"We have no such restrictions," answered the hive

mind. "We are going to make a profit, and we can

make it from you or one of the other groups in-

volved."

Dax shook her head. "That's unlikely. If you tell the

Bajorans, they'll probably become wary and just take

off with the tanker. And the Ferengi are already out a

sizable amount--they won't want to share anything

with you."

"That remains to be seen," answered the hive mind.

"We believe that you owe us something. If you don't

cooperate, we can make your stay here very unpleas-

ant."

Sisko growled, "This is pointless. The Ecocids are

demanding something from us that we don't have!"

He grabbed Dax's arm and started off. "Let's go."

The Trill followed, but her spots stretched

worriedly along her hairline. "Was that wise, Benja-

min?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "But I refuse to talk to

that thing any longer. If it tells them the truth, then it

has to admit that it lied to them. All that matters is

that we get you and Odo aboard that tanker tomorrow

morning. If we can't do that, we've failed, anyway."

Sisko's peripheral vision caught a wriggling stream

of blackness just over his head, and he sank back. He

wished he weren't prejudiced against the Ecocids, but

he couldn't repress his repulsion at their sheer number

and formidable presence. As a kid, he loved bees and

ants, but giant burrowing insects were beyond his

capacity for love. Especially when they were greedy

and dishonest. Dax seemed to have no trouble empa-

thizing with the Ecocids and treating them as an

equal, but she had merged with an alien species.

That's what Sisko had to admit--despite the fact that

he had lived with insects all his life, they were still an

alien species.

"You need some rest," Dax suggested. "We all do. I

hadn't realized how exhausting it is to be dishonest.

Plus, tomorrow looks to be an eventful day."

"Yeah," sighed the commander. "It'll be great to get

home."

Jon Rachman dangled his toes in the cool stream

and looked around at the idyllic setting of Sabino

Canyon, with its gentle currents and drooping cotton-

wood trees. Like alien soldiers frozen by a sudden cold

wave, saguaro cactus lined the rugged hillside. Multi-

colored clouds lay smeared across the big sky behind

them, reminding him of a giant's finger painting. A

little farther up the stream, Jake and Nog howled with

laughter and splashed with abandon as they tried to

catch crayfish.

"There's just one drawback about commanding a

cruiser." Jon Rachman grinned. "No room for a

holodeck. Boy, I'd like to be able to do this more

often!"

"Is this what Kansas looks like?" called Nog. "Sorta

weird?"

"No, no," said Rachman. "When we asked for

something from the Wild West, your uncle did the

best he could. By the looks of these stovepipe cacti, we

must be someplace in Arizona. What do you think,

Jake?"

"This is great!" he shouted. "I'm going to save up

my allowance to come back here. Wait till Dad sees

it." His voice trailed off in sudden remembrance.

His buddy, Nog, didn't let the moment linger. He

scooped up a double handful of cold stream water and

doused his friend. Sputtering and laughing, Jake gave

chase.

Rachman breathed a sigh of relief. Jake had finally

come out of his funk over his dad's absence--and his

imminent replacement. The captain had regaled both

boys with tales of dangerous missions in Starfleet, all

of which had turned out happily. Of course, Jake had

been there at Wolf 359, so he knew that not all

missions turned out happily. But plenty had. Then

when Chief O'Brien piped in with a couple of the

incredible scrapes the Enterprise had survived, every-

body believed that the runabout could make it back.

They believed it until they were reminded of the

alternative.

The persistence of his friend Nog had also gone a

long way toward elevating Jake's mood, and Rachman

found himself liking a Ferengi for the first time. He

certainly didn't know why anybody would complain

about Nog's uncle Quark, the owner of this remark-

able holosuite. The Ferengi proprietor had been the

height of hospitality to the young captain, giving him

the run of the holosuites plus treats from the

replicators--anything he needed to keep Jake Sisko's

mind off his dad. Rachman thought Deep Space Nine

-was the kind of place where he might settle down one

day, if he got tired of roaming the space lanes. After

all, the Bajoran women were quite attractive, and he

found himself visualizing Major Kira. Maybe a swim

in this very spot--

His communicator beeped, startling him with its

intrusion. Rachman shook off his pleasant reverie and

tapped his badge.

"Captain Rachman here," he announced.

"It's Chief O'Brien," came the Irish drawl. "Sorry

to interrupt you, but there's been a development."

"A development?" asked Rachman. He was trying

to keep his voice down, but Jake and Nog had stopped

their play with the second sense children have when

an adult doesn't want them to hear something. They

were sloshing their way toward him through the

stream, and he finally decided that Jake deserved to

hear whatever it was.

"Go ahead," he said.

"Four small Cardassian fighters have entered the

wormhole. We think this happened not long after they

found out about the missing antimatter. Anyway, we

assume that whoever comes out of there with the

tanker might have a very unfriendly escort. Major

Kira thinks we should mount a show of force, and the

Regal is about all we have. At least you have impulse

power and a few weapons. The Valor isn't going

anywhere, and our runabouts aren't going to frighten

anybody."

"What about the Regal's shields?" asked her cap-

tain.

"We can give you about fifty percent," said O'Brien,

"if you take a skeleton crew. That will let us steal some

energy from the life-support systems. You understand,

Captain, you're not really going to be able to do very

much, you just have to look like you could in a pinch."

"Understood," said Rachman grimly. He glanced at

the two boys. "But no actual word yet on Commander

Sisko and the othersT'

"No," answered O'Brien. "But it's a cinch that

somebody is going to come out of that wormhole.

We'd like to have you at the dock to tell us what you

absolutely need, and what you can do without."

"I'm on my way," said Rachman. "Out."

The young captain looked plaintively at the boys

and shrugged. "I guess playtime's over, at least for

me."

"Thanks," said Jake, extending his hand. "You

know, you didn't have to spend so much time with

US."

"Believe me, I enjoyed it," said Rachman. He

jumped to his naked feet and shook the young man's

hand. Then he began looking around for his socks and

boots. "You're good kids, both of you. And, Nog, your

uncle is a terrific guy, too."

"Yeah, he is, isn't he?" The small Ferengi grinned.

"You should see some of the programs he wrote for

this holosuite."

"I'd like to," said Rachman innocently. "You fellas

take care. I'll see you back at your apartment, Jake."

"Thanks, Captain."

"Bye, Captain!" crowed Nog.

After Rachman had been absorbed into the

holosuite scenery, Nog looked at his friend and shook

his rubbery ears in incomprehension. "They're too

brave. You have to be too brave to be in Starfleet. !

respect Captain Rachman a lot, but I'm going into

business when I get older. No offense, Jake, but I'm

not the Starfleet type."

"Not everyone is," the boy remarked.

Nog seized upon this new topic of conversation.

"What did you say you were going to be when you got

older?"

Jake gave his friend a lopsided grin. "A professional

baseball player."

"Oh, yeah," said Nog. "Sounds neat. Let's catch

some crayfish."

The two friends waded back into the gurgling water,

as the desert brooms swished gently in the breeze.

Kira looked right in the eyes of the Cardassian

seated in the investigation room.

"We don't know what you're talking about," he

sneered. It was the third time that he had delivered

that answer, and Kira was getting annoyed, despite

her best intentions to remain calm.

"What do you mean, you don't know what I'm

talking about?" she asked in amazement. "That squad

of fighters went through immediately after you sent

your message."

"Coincidence." The trade representative shrugged.

His short stature was countered by massive shoulders,

Kira noted, and old scar tissue that rimmed his bony

eye sockets. He was a soldier of some sort, that was

evident. Like most Cardassians, he was also an ac-

complished liar.

Chief O'Brien cut in. "We could decode that mes-

sage, you know. Find out exactly what you said."

The Cardassian smiled pleasantly. "You would find

it very innocuous. A birthday greeting to someone's

spouse, if I recall."

Kira let out a sharp breath. "That probably is all it

says. They would code the message, too. This is

useless, because we know he'll never admit to any-

thing. None of them will."

"Too bad we're not Cardassians," O'Brien mut-

tered, "or we could torture it out of them."

Jukal laughed with what seemed like honest amuse-

ment. "That is why we are clearly superior to both

humans and Bajorans. A culture which doesn't use the

means at its disposal--any means necessary--will

always be at hampered in its development."

Kira put her fists on her hips and glared at her

subject. "All right," she said, "you won't tell me

anything about those four small craft you sent

through. I'm not surprised. But do you have any

information about the tanker itself, or is this just a

scavenger hunt on your part?"

The Cardassian glowered at her. "Are you insulting

me by calling me a scavenger?" he bridled. "We had

nothing to do with the disappearance of your tanker.

That was due entirely to your own ineptitude, and the

treachery of your own foolish people."

Kira's body tensed, and she felt like strangling the

arrogant popinjay. Instead, she backed away from the

interrogation table and prowled around the security

room, her hands clasped behind her back.

O'Brien asked pleasantly, "So what are your scav-

engers doing over there?"

The Cardassian jerked forward with a sudden dis-

play of anger, and his eyes grew black in their sunken

hollows. Quickly, he regained his composure and sank

back into his chair. "As I told you before, I don't

know who those ships represent. However, it would

certainly be within the interests of the Cardassian

Empire to prevent a massive detonation of antimat-

ter, in either the wormhole or the Gamma Quadrant.

Since you don't seem to be able to control the situa-

tion, why should we sit idly by?"

O'Brien smiled sourly. "Just trying to be good

citizens, eh?"

"Precisely," answered Jukal. "Now, may we leave

the station?"

Kira looked at O'Brien, and the Irishman scowled,

but he didn't give her any good reason for detaining

the Cardassian ship. This was the third dignitary they

had talked to, and their story hadn't changed one

syllable. "We don't know what you're talking about"

was the answer to every substantive question.

"Make sure you really leave," said Kira. "Put some

distance between yourselves and this station. I don't

want your ship hanging around--I don't want it to be

anywhere on our sensors. Or I'll treat it as an act of

war and start shooting at any Cardassian vessel I see."

Jukal forced a chuckle. "That would be over-

reacting."

"Maybe." Kira smiled. "But Starfleet is sending a

new commander and several ships, so I don't have

much more time to be in command of DS9. Until they

get here, I'm going to do whatever I damn well please,

and firing on Cardassians is something I enjoy doing.

Do I make myself clear?"

Jukal's laughter sounded nervous. "Oh, you warlike

Bajorans. Just let us go, that's all we want."

"Go," Kira ordered, waving at the door. "But do

remember that the antimatter belongs to Starfleet,

until they hand it over to Bajor."

The Cardassian chuckled. "They already handed it

over to Bajor. Farewell."

Kira ran her hand over the security panel, and the

door slid open. Just as quickly, the Cardassian slid

out.

O'Brien muttered, "Lying sons of..."

Kira held up a hand. "I know. But when things go

wrong, you have to expect the jackals to get the scent."

"Please let me go after them," begged the chief. "I'll

be careful."

Kira considered O'Brien's offer for a moment, but

only for a moment. She shook her head glumly. "No,

Chief, going after them is not being careful. And the

Gamma Quadrant is more dangerous now than it was

a few hours ago. I'm sorry, but I need you here. How

are repairs going on the Regal?"

O'Brien shrugged. "It'll look ready for action, and I

hope that will be enough. Taking the station's grape-

vine into account, we're spreading the rumor that the

Regal is going to be fully functional in twelve hours."

"Good," said Kira. "I don't want to see Command-

er Sisko replaced, but I wouldn't mind if Starfleet

showed up with a couple of warships right about

now."

O'Brien nodded and managed a smile. "You're

doing a good job, even if you won't let me risk my

neck. If it were up to me, I'd leave you in charge. If

worse came to worse, that is."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Chief." She

touched her comm badge. "Kira to Ops. Let the

Cardassian ship go, but monitor their course."

"Yes, sir," came a crisp reply.

O'Brien shook his head, and Kira knew exactly

what he was thinking. Worry was carved all over his

ruddy face. If worse came to worse, what would any of

them do?

It was a peculiar sort of dream, one that was sensory

more than visual, but Benjamin Sisko found himself

only vaguely troubled by it. For one thing, the soft

prickling on his skin was caused by sand blowing off

gigantic dunera As far as the eye could see, dunes

undulated in every direction--a dry sea of salmon

waves that flowed ever so slowly with the wind.

The prickling was only part of it, as the desert had a

distinct odor, like burnt charcoal that had been left

out in the rain. Like an old house that had been long

neglected. It couldn't be the sun that drew this strange

odor from the sand, because the sun was only just

rising, like a vague halo, over the tallest dune. Or was

it setting? All Sisko knew for certain was that he was

asleep and dreaming of an alien vista.

Did he know this place? What was he doing here?

What was his reason to be here? A dream can't go on

long with nothing happening, thought Sisko, because

dreams are very plot-heavy. With the realization that

he knew he was dreaming, the dreamer willed some-

thing to happen, and sure enough, the dunes began to

shift rapidly. The wind had picked up, and the sand

was pummeling him with itchy ferocity. Yet he strode

knee-deep through the dunes, because the erosion was

revealing something underneath--something dark

and massi ve.

It was black sand, he thought, like the kind in

Hawaii. It was writhing under the fierce wind, and it

bit his skin and assaulted his nostrils with that pun-

gent smell. Nevertheless, he didn't cover his eyes and

run away--he drew closer, stumbling down the shift-

ing dune. He could see the black sand churning, as if it

were caught in a giant blender, and curiosity drew him

closer yet. By the time he saw the true nature of the

blackness underneath the sand, it was too late. He

grasped for the dune to halt his descent, but the sand

oozed through his fingers. In slow motion, he slid

toward the mass of writhing Ecocids.

He plunged into them, gasping and flailing his arms.

With desperation, he willed himself to wake up--to

stop this horrible dream. But consciousness brought

no relief, because the black bugs were still swarming

all over him! They were in his hair and mouth, under

the waistband of his underwear, creeping and crawling

along his naked chest. He screamed with terror as he

tried to scrape them off. But they were tenacious

creatures, and they nipped his flesh with their pincers.

"Ahhh-aaagh!" wailed Sisko, certain he was being

eaten alive.

CHAPTER

lO

TuE DOOR TO Sisko's tiny cabin jerked open, and Odo

loomed in the doorway, followed by Dax, who peered

over his shoulder. They were two of the most stoic

creatures in the galaxy, but they shuddered at the sight

that greeted them, and their mouths twisted with

revulsion. Seeing their expressions, Sisko knew that it

must be serious, that he wasn't hallucinatingmhe

really was covered by squirming Ecocids.

"Get them offi" he yelled. "Get them on"

Odo instantly stepped forward and began batting

the creatures away. But they either scurried out of

sight or began leaping onto the shapeshifter. Dax

pitched in, too, but the sheer number of the creatures

made the job impossible. Sisko tried to help them, but

he was seconds away from giving up any attempt at

control and screaming.

Finally, Odo's hands metamorphed into giant

scoops, which shoveled the insects off the commander

and threw them against the bulkhead with odd crack-

ing sounds. Sisko began to rip off his clothes to let Odo

reach the bugs underneath. When he was completely

naked and almost rid of the Ecocids, he rushed to the

high-speed shower in the back of the runabout and

doused himself with as much pressure as he could

stand. Even that wasn't enough to help him feel clean.

He stepped out, looking for a towel, and Dax

handed him one. He quickly wrapped it around his

waist.

"Sorry," he breathed. "Forgot you were here."

Dax smiled. "That's all right. It's nothing I haven't

seen before. Where the hell did those things come

from?"

"I don't know," answered Sisko, looking around

warily. All the Ecocids had taken flight and burrowed

out of sight; it was as if they had never been there. He

shuddered, "If that's what they meant about making

my life unpleasant, they succeeded."

Odo lifted his arm, and he was still holding one of

the intruders in the slim fingers of a hand returned to

normal. "They're really quite fascinating," he re-

marked. "I believe they are capable of generating

small amounts of electricity, like insects which can

illuminate themselves. Each one is like a tiny proces-

sor, and together they form a computer."

"Damn them!" cursed Sisko. "There must be hun-

dreds of them. How did they get here?"

"They might have been breeding here," suggested

Dax. "Or perhaps they brought some eggs aboard. But

how?"

Odo cocked his head thoughtfully. "The biofilter's

been malfunctioning lately. We could have gotten a

handful with every transporter trip."

Sisko scowled. "And we probably transported some

back down with us--that's how they knew about the

coffee and our real identities. We have to look at this

attack as a warning shot across our bow. Well, I got the

message."

The commander began pacing. "First, I want a

sweep of this entire ship, and I want every one of them

off. That'll be the easy part. But how do we make sure

they don't screw everything up? The hive mind is the

key. Does anybody have any idea how to distract it,

give it something else to do besides tormenting us?"

"A diversion," said Dax. "But what would work?

They can successfully screen out weapons, and the

individuals are so widespread it would be hard to

imagine that one single incident could distract all of

them."

Sisko gazed at the Ecocid in Odo's grasp. "I wonder

how much like Terran insects they really are?"

"What do you mean?" asked the morph.

"Well," said the commander, "a hive on Earth

would have one queen, no matter what size it was. It's

the queen's job to lay the eggs, and if she's threatened,

the whole hive goes berserk. It goes into chaos."

Odo observed, "I would think the queen would be

well protected."

"Not necessarily," said Dax. "I think the com-

mander has something here. The queen has to be

accessible to the drones and the helpers. The first step

is to catch the Ecocids on board and examine them. If

they're all the same sex, or no sex, that may mean they

have a single queen."

"And she's somewhere in the inner hive," added

Odo with a sigh. "I had the feeling I would be going

back down there."

"Let me ask you something," said the commander.

"You've had plenty of time to do scans of the planet.

What are those salmon-colored areas down there?"

"Vast sand dunes," answered Odo. "Oceans

sand."

Sisko shivered. "That's what I thought."

Using tricorders to locate them and phasers to stun

them, it had proven surprisingly easy to round up the

stowaway insects. Pressing a medical tricorder into

service, Dax had managed to make a detailed exami-

nation of one hundred Ecocids before she reached the

conclusion that they were all sexless soldiers. They

had even found a cache of egg sacs that had been

secreted aboard, which accounted for the number of

stowaways. Both of these discoveries made it likely

that the hive had a single queen to handle its repro-

ductive needs.

Six hours before the antimatter exchange was

scheduled to take place, Odo found himself strolling

along one of the meandering corridors of Hive Three.

He was following the red stripe, but he wasn't in much

hurry to reach the teeming entrance to the inner hive.

He had to meet somebody first. Finally, he spotted

him--one of the hirsute servants who did the grunt

work in Hive Three. Were these humanoids natives of

the planet, he wondered, or had they been imported

for this work? Quite possibly, they performed similar

work on other planets in the Gamma Quadrant.

"Excuse me!" he called to the creature, who

stopped and gazed at him with polite disinterest. The

servant was carrying a silver tray piled high with

brightly colored packages. "Could you give me direc-

tions, please?"

Odo came as close to the being as he thought his

sense of personal space would allow, and he studied

him intently, imprinting every shank of hair and pool

of sweat into his memory. It wasn't so much memory

as a mold, a vessel he filled with impressions of a thing

he was about to become.

"What, sir?" growled the creature, as if he didn't

like to talk. Perhaps, thought Odo, he didn't like the

new language he'd had to learn since visitors had

shown up from the Alpha Quadrant.

"Is it this way?" asked Odo, pointing in both

directions at once like a confused tourist. "Which

color is it to get to the laundry?"

"Purple," snarled the creature through uneven

teeth.

Odo looked at him, absorbing a few final details,

such as his musty breath and the length of his bare

toenails. He stepped back to get a sense of height and

proportion. "Thank you," he said.

The thing grunted and scurried away, and Odo

turned to pick up the red stripe on the wall in earnest.

He soon found himself in the final corridor, the one

the others emptied into on their way to the inner hive.

Without losing a step, his body started to mutate.

Odo's skin went as sleek as the surface of a pond for

just a moment before it hardened and grew swaths of

coarse brown hair. His face melted, then wizened into

a hairy simian countenance. He had to take quicker

steps as his legs shortened, and he stepped cautiously

for a few meters, learning how to move in this

unfamiliar form. Finally, he mastered the shape and

moved forward cautiously, encumbered by his own

fatigue and the surging influx of black insects.

They swarmed all over the walls, floor, and ceiling,

and Odo studied them. Aboard the Mekong, he had

stared for an hour at the stunned Ecocids, and he

knew their dimensions. Now he wanted to know the

way they moved.

As the flow of insects became dense and noisy with

the scraping of billions of legs, Odo slowed to a

deliberate shuffle. Thus far, he felt, his disguise was

working. He remembered the lump he had seen in the

corridor his first trip down here, and he assumed that

an intruder wouldn't last long if the Ecocids attacked

him en masse. Getting in, he thought, wouldn't be a

problem, but he was concerned about how he would

get out, if he had to revert to his normal size.

Even in the smaller humanoid shape, Odo had to

bend over as the corridor constricted around him, the

walls black with rippling waves of insects. He could

see the mass of fist-size holes along the final wall, each

teeming with chaotic traffic. He shuffled slowly to-

ward it, passing the place where he had heard the

audio warning, then past the place where he had seen

the lump on the ground. The chirping/scraping sound

of the insects was almost overwhelming, and he could

sense their disturbing smells. Holding his breath, he

reached out to touch the highest opening in the wall.

Where Odo's finger lit on the fist-sized entrance, the

rest o f his hand began to pool. His entire body

stretched like taffy as it glommed onto the wall and

sucked his mass off the floor. Soon, he was a pulsating

mass of jelly at the edge of the hole, and the surround-

ing insects gave him a wide berth. Odo's only thought

was to make the transition as swiftly as possible,

before they decided he was an intruder.

Suddenly, he had arms and legs again. Lots of them.

And he ducked into the hole before the other Ecocids

could scrutinize him. He couldn't move very quickly,

but neither could any of the others, so closely packed

were they in the tiny opening. Beyond the entrance, he

found himself in a chute, one that curled downward at

a remarkable angle, and he was thankful for the sticky

surface of his spindly legs. The chute meandered

downward into the inner hive, into utter darkness.

This wasn't a complete surprise for Odo, but he wasn't

looking forward to using touch and smell as his only

means of navigation. He had to figure out quickly

what clues to use to find the queen.

Pressed as he was against a mass of insects in the

tunnel, he soon sensed the differences among them.

The majority were stalwart soldiers, like those who

had sneaked aboard the Mekong. Others were smaller

and less numerous, and he categorized them as the

helpers, or nursemaids. Their place was with the

maggots, and he didn't really want to go there.

Members of the third class were rare, at least in this

part of the hive. They were slow in their movements

and somewhat imperious, and Odo probed his mind

for the information given him by Sisko and Dax. He

decided that these were the drones, the queen's con-

sorts, and he snuck up behind the legs of one of them,

prodding him with his pincers. Perhaps, Odo hoped,

he was headed for a little tryst with the queen.

As he crawled along, Odo decided that he could see

his surroundings a bit. It wasn't sight in the normal

sense--the winding passageway was still pitch black

--but radar or some sixth sense gave him a feeling of

the dimensions of the passageway and the occasional

openings. With six tactile instruments at his disposal,

Odo probed the walls of the passageway, trying to

determine what it was made from.

The tunnel was an amalgam of materials it was

mostly packed sand, hardened by some type of excre-

tion, but there were also slivers of metal beneath his

tiny claws. And he could feel the metal imparting a

mild sort of charge, a sensory flow of information. Of

course! The metal slivers in the passageway were the

contacts to the hive mind's interface, the means by

which it became a sentient being that communicated

with others. Every single Ecocid within the inner hive

was a component of this biological computer. When

the insects ventured into the outer hive to mingle with

their customers, they became scouts, bringing back

information. Whenever there was an exchange over

the interface, each of them shared the information as

well. This was a natural form of distributed comput-

ing and parallel processing.

This information was crucial, felt Odo, because it

meant that no single Ecocid--not even the queen--

was sentient by itself. Only together, flowing like

electrons through these charged passageways, did the

Ecocids achieve consciousness. Of course, each indi-

vidual still had its basic instincts and its unique

function within the hive, and that included protecting

the queen. At his present size, each one of them was

dangerous.

Odo continued to stick close to the drone in front of

him, aware of time running out and the effort it

required to maintain this shape. He was encouraged

when the drone he was following turned off onto a

side passage that was inhabited mostly by drones and

nursemaids.

Odo had assumed the soldier shape, and he tried to

bustle along so as not to call attention to himself. He

left his sluggish drone to catch up with a faster one.

They passed a major intersection, where most of the

nursemaids branched off, leaving the passageway rela-

tively uncrowded. With great relief, Odo allowed his

segmented body to expand a bit and his legs to stretch.

Now the darkness worked in his favor, because he

knew he no longer looked much like an Ecocid. But he

was doing the best he could.

Two things happened simultaneously. His radar

sense told him that he was entering a much large

cavity; at the same moment, two nursemaids latched

onto his legs with their heavy pincers.

Odo came as close to screaming in pain as an insect

could, and he knew he had been found out. He could

sense the other Ecocids in the vicinity converging

upon him, and he realized that if he didn't act fast,

they would tear him apart. An image flashed through

Odo's mind--that of a daugu, a phosphorescent

reptile native to Bajor. It was a cave dweller and

provided its own light, which was exactly what the

shapeshifter needed at that moment.

He morphed into a snakelike creature with stubby

appendages and skin that glowed milky white, espe-

cially near its upturned snout. He dragged the at-

tached Ecocids with him as he lumbered through the

cavity in search of the queen. A gathering of cowering

drones gave her away, and the glowing reptile galloped

toward her, flicking his tongue at the threatening

insects.

The queen was impressive--she had a regal golden

color and was three times the size of the biggest drone.

Plus, she stood her ground to meet his attack head-on

and protect the egg sacs that were awaiting transport.

She snapped at him with immense pincers, and he

could imagine her using them to grip her helpless

suitors until she was through with them. But Odo was

already changing into something else--he needed the

dexterity of his human hand. As the hand stretched

toward the queen, he assumed the humanoid form he

presented to denizens of Deep Space Nine.

His delicate fingers engulfed the queen while his

expanding shoulders pressed against the sand that

enclosed the hive. He had no idea whether it would

crumble at his touch or entomb him, or how deep he

was. So he ducked when the sand and metal caved in

all around him. It was stifling, but it didn't crush him.

Likewise, he kept his grip on the queen light, so as not

to crush her, ignoring the way she nipped and dawed

at his palm. At least he couldn't feel the gnawing of the

Ecocids at his extremities anymore.

With his free hand, Odo clawed through the sand

until he had loosened an area around his face. The

sand was just too heavy to allow him to claw his way to

the surface, no matter how far away that was. Besides,

he was terribly weakened from his various transfor-

mations, and it was all he could do to keep his

customary form together, He turned his collar out-

ward, revealing his Bajoran communicator badge. He

squeezed it with what little strength he had left.

"Odo..." he breathed. A moment later, his body

transported from its premature burial plot.

The queen was not of that genus, but she was as

mad as a hornet inside the laboratory jar. She kept

trying to claw her way up the smooth sides of the jar.

When that didn't work, she thudded around on her

heavy wings until she dropped, exhausted, to the

bottom. Dax didn't think it was possible for insects to

pant, but that's what it looked like this one was doing.

She shut off her tricorder. "We can't keep her long,"

the Trill announced solemnly. "She's weakening, she

won't eat, and she'll die soon."

"Terrible," said Sisko, not sounding like he meant

it. "They must have other females."

"Not like this one," said Dax. "A proven producer.

Females may be born spontaneously, but they're prob-

ably killed or driven from the hive as long as this one

is healthy. More likely, they have to produce a queen

by feeding royal jelly to the larva--a process that

could be very uncertain. I don't mind what we did for

expediency, but we have to return her fairly soon. If

another one isn't born to replace her, the hive could

die."

The commander straightened up and put his hands

behind his back. "All right, Dax, go down and talk to

the interface. I'd go with you, but Odo is resting and

one of us should stay on alert. Tell the hive mind that

we'll return their queen as soon as they stop interfer-

ing."

"They'll probably want to know exactly when that

will be," said Dax.

Sisko frowned in thought. "In four hours, just

before we pull out of here. I'll beam all of the Ecocids

back then. If they've cooperated, that is."

Dax went to the storage closet to fetch her un-

marked jacket. "There will be no negotiating," she

promised. "I'11 tell the Ecocids they'll get their queen

back in four hours if they keep quiet and don't

interfere."

"Exactly," answered Sisko.

Dax slipped into her jacket and heard something

jingle in the pocket. She reached in and smiled at what

she found. "I've got two bilbok left," she announced.

"Anything you want me to buy before we leave here?"

"Bug spray," said Sisko.

Dax transported to the Redemption Center, which

had become their unofficial headquarters on the plan-

et of Eco. She glanced at the display cases, wondering

what two bilbok would buy. Of course, she already

had a dramatic souvenir from this mission--the

golden gown--and it was unlikely she could top that.

Unfortunately, Benjamin would probably court-mar-

tial her if she tried to wear it again.

She saw a bulky creature standing by the terminal,

shaking both his heads. As she drew closer she saw

what he was unhappy about--the interface screen was

blank. One of the heads swiveled to look at her, and

the other one looked at the ceiling, rolling its three

eyes. The other row of eyes regarded her with pity;

then the being shrugged his mighty shoulders and

shuffled off, muttering in two voices.

Dax stood at the interface, waiting for it to greet her

in its familiar synthesized voice. But it said nothing. It

did indeed appear to be turned off. She glanced

behind her and was relieved to see that the familiar

scrawl of figures was still lighting up the ceiling.

"What's the matter?" she asked. "Lost your

queen?"

At once, the terminal blinked on. "Jade Dixon,"

said the voice. "Famous abductress. We were wonder-

ing when you would come crawling around."

"You began this," said Dax. "We came here for the

sake of justice, not profit. You helped us once, and

now all we ask you to do is to stay out of the way. Stay

neutral in our affairs."

"Our queen--have you killed her?"

"Of course not. You had information about us, and

we needed something equally important to bargain

with you. This is your game we're playing. We would

like to finish it in approximately four hours."

"And you will," said the cold synth voice. "We will

remain neutral from this point onward, saying noth-

ing to anyone about this matter. We will even wipe out

your bill and make your stay complimentary. When

can we expect to have our queen back?"

"In four hours."

The interface said nothing. What could it say? Dax

felt bad about using such desperate tactics, but they

had been left little choice. She turned to go. "Thank

you."

"One moment," said the somber hive mind. "I was

instructed to leave a message for you. A representative

from the Bajorans is waiting in your conference room

to discuss some of the arrangements."

"Was this message for me or Marcus Garvey?"

asked Dax.

"It doesn't matter," answered the machine. "Fare-

well." The screen went blank.

Dax shook her head, thinking that someday she

wanted to make amends for this visit. She wanted to

come back to Eco as what she was, a representative of

the Federation, not just another con artist. But that

visit would have to wait.

She set off following the yellow stripe, even though

she barely had to glance at it, she had been there so

often. The Trill decided that she should take a cup of

coffee back to the commander. Benjamin would be

appreciative, because the replicator in the conference

room was the only thing he had liked about Eco.

She strode across the lounge, and the door

whooshed open at her approach. Without pause, she

stepped inside the familiar room. The lights were

lower in brightness than normal, but she attributed

that to the late hour.

"Hello!" Dax called, squinting into the dimness.

She heard the food slot slowly filling a cup of coffee.

The door banged shut behind her with a finality that

made her jump, and she turned around to see some-

body rising from behind the table.

"Hello," yawned Elaka. "Excuse me, I had just

dozed off. I wondered when you would be getting

down here."

Involuntarily, Dax backed up. "I didn't think we

were supposed to meet for four hours."

"But we have to decide where to meet," said Elaka,

circling the table. "We forgot to decide that. Rizo said

you should be beamed aboard as soon as all the rest of

us are beamed down here."

The Bajoran motioned around the room. "We're

going to bring all of our people right here--I think

we'll all fit. I hope the Ferengi weren't planning to use

this area."

"No," said Dax, relaxing a little. "They've got

hundreds of people, so they've taken a banquet room.

And some of them are going to the gaming room.

When everybody is down--except for the three of

us--we'll run the scans."

Elaka nodded. "Good. Then you should meet us

here. I'll be glad to get this over with." "Me too," agreed Dax.

Elaka stopped in front of the food slot and looked

inside. "Oh, you probably would like this cup of

coffee." She reached in and pulled it out. "Here you

are."

Dax took a few steps forward to retrieve the cup

from Elaka's outstretched hands. As her hand was

about to grasp the cup, Elaka heaved it forward, and

the scalding liquid struck her in the face. When Dax

shrieked and staggered backward, the stocky Bajoran

leaped like a mugato and went for her throat. Snarling

like a beast, she wrestled Dax to the ground and tried

to strangle her with her bare hands.

Dax's face was searing with pain, and her breathing

had stoppedrebut the Trill's self-preservation was

just kicking in. One didn't live to be three hundred

years old without having quite a bit of it. Even though

the host's brain might short out after a few seconds

without oxygen, the symbiont deep in her torso had its

own brain, one that was quite capable of commanding

this youthful body in a ruthless fashion. Dax formed

two fists and brought them together on Elaka's head

like a cymbal player doing the 1812 Overture.

The Bajoran screamed with pain and loosened her

grip just a little. Dax beat on her forearms mercilessly

and kicked her long legs upward like a bucking

bronco. All of this finally worked, and Elaka lost her

grip on Dax's throat and was tossed off. Unfortunate-

ly, the air assaulting her throat made the Trill gasp for

breath, and Dax could barely roll over and get to her

knees before Elaka buried her head in her chest.

Dax groaned and fell onto her back again. The wind

she had struggled so hard to get was knocked out of

her, but the symbiont still commanded her hands.

Those hands gripped Elaka by the close-cropped sides

of her head and pulled with all their might. Elaka

whimpered but kept on trying to get another grip

around the Trill's neck.

Dax's eyes burned bright as all rational thought left

her brain and the self-preservation instincts of the

symbiont took over. She plunged her thumbs into

Elaka's eyes, and the Bajoran screamed with terror

and was forced to go on the defensive. Squealing,

Elaka peeled Dax's fingers off her eyes, but it took her

several seconds to regain her vision. Before she did,

the Trill snapped her right hand back, formed a fist,

and smashed the Bajoran in the nose.

Blood spattered over both of them as the women

struggled to their feet, grunting with the effort. Elaka

kicked viciously, trying to smash Dax's kneecap, and

the Trill jumped back just in time. Elaka kept coming,

like a boa constrictor. Without thinking, the Trill

grabbed the terrorist's collar and pulled their heads

together in a crunching blow. When Elaka battered

Dax's hands away and staggered backward, her entire

face was awash in blood.

Elaka spit out a tooth and snarled, "Bitch!" She

wiped a sleeve across her oozing face, then pulled a

gleaming cord from her pocket. Slowly she wrapped

the ends around her hands and smiled. "I'm going to

hang your head on the bridge of that tanker."

CHAPTER

11

DAX REACHED FOR her comm badge, but it was inside

her jacket pocket. That moment of forgetfulness near-

ly cost her her life when Elaka lunged across the room

and wrapped the cord afound her neck.

At the last microsecond, Dax got her hand to her

throat, and the thin muscles of one hand had to battle

the brawny forearms of the Bajoran woman. Elaka

yanked for all she was worth, trying to tighten the

cord; Dax staggered, just trying to stay on her feet.

This bizarre dance continued around the table until

Dax got enough wits about her to remember her legs.

In a fundamental judo move, she wrapped her leg

behind Elaka's and punched her in the chest with her

free hand.

The maneuver worked better than expected, be-

cause Eiaka not only lost her balance but fell against

the wall and struck her head. Dax was instantly in her

face with another right cross that snapped her head

around and sent her sinking to the carpeted floor.

Dax staggered backward, massaging a hand that felt

as if it had been mangled by farm machinery. Her

neck was raw and swollen from all the abuse, and she

could only swallow with great pain. With her better

hand, she reached into the pocket of her jacket for her

comm badge; then she thought better of it. If she

didn't somehow make peace with Elaka, she would be

at her throat again the next time she saw her, and the

entire caper would be too risky.

So Dax grabbed a chair and threw it on top of the

Bajoran. She threw her weight across the chair, leaned

over the edge, and peered into the terrorist's face,

waiting for her to revive.

She did a second later, sputtering and squirming.

"Why don't you just kill me? You beat me--you

deserve it. Or let me go!"

Dax's voice was hoarse when she replied, "No. You

tried to kill me, and I want to know why."

'Elaka snarled, "You mated with Rizo!"

"No!" shouted Dax. "Whoever told you that is a

liar." She shook her head and began to cough; then

she paused to catch her breath. "I know who told you

that... those blasted bugs!"

"Then it's not true?" asked Elaka in amazement.

"You flirted with him enough."

"I flirt with everyone," muttered Dax. Actually it

was Jade Dixon who answered that one.

"Why would the Ecocids lie?" asked the Bajoran.

"Because they want a piece of this deal, and we

won't give it to them. That's the whole thing. They

don't mind lying if it's to their gain."

"Are you lying?" snapped Elaka. "If you are, I will

find a way to kill you."

"There's nothing between me and Rizo, except

business," answered Dax, being specific in her denial.

"Look, in a few hours, you will never see Marcus and

me again. I promise."

Elaka pouted, but Dax could see the fight drain out

of her, along with a lot of blood. "I never thought you

would defend yourself like that. You're a fighter."

"Thanks," said Dax. "But I don't enjoy it, like you

do."

"Something in you enjoys it," said Elaka. "Let me

go. I'll leave you alone, I swear by the revolution."

Every muscle in her body aching, Dax staggered to

her feet and pulled off the chair. She certainly hoped

that Elaka wouldn't renew the fight, because she felt

unable to defe nd herself against a stiff breeze. Elaka

looked worse than she did, but the Bajoran sprang to

her feet with a reserve of energy. Warily, she studied

the Trill.

"Remember," she said, "there had better be no

lies."

At this point, Dax was too weary to tell anothcCr lie,

so she merely shrugged. Elaka cast her a final glare,

unmindful of the blood drooling down her face; then

she marched out the door.

Jadzia Dax sank into a chair and lifted her right

hand to pull her comm badge out of her pocket. It was

the hand that had stopped Elaka's cord, and it was

shaking so badly that she doubted if she had any

control over it. She had to use her left hand to fish out

the badge and beep it.

"Dax to Mekong," she said. "Beam me up. Better

get out the medkit."

"Medkit?" said Sisko with alarm. "What hap-

pened?"

The Trill rubbed her bruised neck. "Another inter-

esting experience."

Commander Sisko was seething. "That woman

needs to be taught a lesson!"

"I think she learned a few things," said Dax. She

grimaced in pain as Odo flattened out her hand on the

treatment table.

"Supposedly, this machine will speed up the heal-

ing of your ligaments," he said, gazing doubtfully at a

silver tubelike device. "But I would be careful with

that hand, if I were you."

Dax smiled gratefully. "Just do the best you can."

"Look at that neck," muttered Sisko with alarm. He

shook his head miserably. "I shouldn't have let you go

down there alone."

"It turned out okay," Dax assured him. "I accom-

plished my mission, and the hive mind will stay out of

it. We just have to hope that Elaka was the only one

they told."

"But what if she tries it again, or somebody else

goes crazy?" asked Sisko.

Dax shrugged. "We'll deal with it when the time

comes, like I did with Elaka. I think I made my peace

with her. But these are unstable people, and that

includes the hive mind."

"There," said Odo, lifting the instrument and turn-

ing off its vibrant green beam. He craned his long neck

to study the Trill from stem to stern. "I don't think

there's anything we can do about the bruises on her

neck, except some cold packs and a hypo for pain. You

need to rest, Lieutenant."

"I will, Odo. Thanks." She craned her neck to check

the time, then groaned slightly with the pain. "What

time is it?"

"We have less than three hours," said Sisko. He

turned to Odo. "You'd better rest, too, Constable."

"And what will you do?" asked the morph.

"Worry." He patted Dax on the shoulder and

smiled. "When things start popping, I hope I have

time to beam those insects back."

"You've got to," Dax insisted. "We can't deprive

them of their queen."

"I'd have to lower my shields to do it," said Sisko.

"This whole thing will require split-second timing."

Odo growled, "And a lot of luck."

"That, too," agreed the human.

"Then if luck is the deciding factor," said Dax, "a

few seconds won't make any difference. I gave them

my word we would return their queen to them."

"You're awfully forgiving," said Sisko, "considering

how they set you up."

Dax coughed. "I think the hive mind is another one

who has learned a lesson."

Odo cut in, "Commander, she has to rest. If you

insist, I will, too."

"I insist," said the commander. "Leave the worry-

ing to me."

Captain Jon Rachman manned the conn of the

Starfleet cruiser Regal as she disengaged from the

docking ring of DS9 and eased into space. Chief

O'Brien sat right beside him at the Ops console,

monitoring ship's systems. The crew was extremely

skeletal--rounding out the bridge crew were an engi-

neer and two lieutenants, one on weapons and the

other on communications. Life-support was cut off

everywhere except for the bridge and Engineering,

which had a crew of two.

"Half impulse," ordered Rachman.

O'Brien punched in the command and nodded with

satisfaction. "Half impulse is totally stable. You can

alway fall back to that."

"Setting a course for Bajor," said the captain,

entering the coordinates himself. "Let's try full im-

pulse."

O'Brien gave him a hopeful smile. "Nothing ven-

tured, nothing gained."

A few seconds later, the chief was satisfied, but the

engineer at his station called out, "Twenty-percent

drop in fusion rate. I wouldn't want to keep this up

more than a minute or two."

"Blast it," muttered the chief. "I thought it would

hold better than that."

"That's okay, Chief," said Rachman. "Drop to half

impulse. Shields up."

Everyone held their breath for a few seconds, until

O'Brien announced, "The shields are holding steady

at seventy percent. Any power loss?"

"None," said the ship's engineer. "We could keep

this up all day."

"That's better than I expected," said the captain.

"Congratulations to you, Chief."

"Oh, it's a pretty good craft," O'Brien responded

modestly. "Don't get me started with the things I

wasn't able to do."

"Weapons status?" Captain Rachman called out.

"All systems functioning," answered the lieutenant

on the weapons console. "Photon torpedoes 1oaded

phasers powered."

"But the phasers could be erratic," said O'Brien,

"and a real power drain."

"That's okay," answered Rachman with a smile.

"As long as we're in this sector, we're not lowering the

Shields except to dock. Maybe not then," he joked.

"I'll stick with the torpedoes."

"But if you get into a toe-to-toe--" O'Brien started

to say. He didn't need to finish.

"I understand," the captain said grimly. "We'll just

look tough. No slugging it out." He turned toward the

communications station. "Open a channel to Deep

Space Nine. Tell them we're coming home."

"Yeah, home," mused O'Brien. "Who would think

you could call a place like that home?"

"I'd like to spend some time on Deep Space Nine,"

said Rachman. "Maybe I'll request a transfer. I like

being on the frontier."

O'Brien wrinkled his face. "Do it while you're

single. I'm not so sure if this is the place to raise a

family."

Rachman scratched his dimpled chin. "Speaking of

which, does Major Kira have a steady, er, arrange-

ment?"

O'Brien laughed out loud. "Now you are getting

ambitious. Why don't you stick to something easy,

like making admiral before you're thirty."

"A challenge never discouraged me," said he

young captain. "Computer, what are my chances with

Major Kira?"

"I do not understand the question," said the com-

puter bluntly.

"Okay," said Rachman with a deep intake of

breath. "We're ready."

The transporters worked overtime, especially those

on the Ferengi Marauder. If anyone on Eco thought it

was odd for an entire ship's complement of several

hundred people to beam down all at once, they didn't

say so. Dax watched with awe as a banquet room on

Hive Three filled with Ferengi of every description,

including young children, grizzled crew members,

aged retainers, and several cadres of naked women.

Dax didn't want to think of them as harems, but that's

what they had to be. Food and drink were being

served by the ubiquitous servants of Hive Three, but

several of the Ferengi snuck off to explore the under-

ground metropolis.

Dax set her heavy handbag on the floor and hoped,

for Odo's sake, that he wouldn't have to maintain that

shape for a lengthy time. As far as the Ferengi were

concerned, the evacuation was going as efficiently as

possible, and they had twenty times more people than

the tanker. Dax didn't want to see the Bajorans again,

but she couldn't avoid it if she was going aboard their

ship. She left the Ferengi fiesta to head to the confer-

ence room and check on the Bajorans.

Minus their leader, the rest of the terrorist band sat

around the conference table or slumped against the

walls. A few were quietly sampling treats from the

food slots. She had met only a handful of the hijack-

ers, and the impoverished condition of the other

dozen or so troubled her. For the last two days, they

had been eating regularly, but she doubted if many of

them had before that. Several of the terrorists were

sick or nursing wounds. One woman was in a litter

and had to be carried from place to place. About half

of them were wearing captured Starfleet uniforms,

and she kept her jacket zipped up so as not to reveal

her own.

The age of the terrorists also troubled her--Rizo

had to be one of the older ones, and they ranged down

to the early teens, mere children. Petra was a typical

age, and she probably wasn't even twenty. Dax sup-

posed that rebellion was an activity for the young, and

she wondered how many of their parents had died

trying to cast off the Cardassians. She wanted to tell

them that it was time to rebuild, not tear down, but

that would be the same as admitting who she really

was.

It dawned on her that--if they were successful--

they were abandoning these lost souls on the planet of

Eco. What would their fate be at the whims of the hive

mind? She didn't want to think about what might

happen to them, but then Eco was a large planet and

there were undoubtedly other cultures and other

hives, perhaps more scrupulous. They might end up

working for a hive, as did the hirsute creatures; or

perhaps the Ferengi would find some use for them. At

any rate, the punishment for their crime was exile

from their homeworld to a world ruled by insects.

It was hard to feel pity for these murderous thieves,

but she only had to look at Elaka and Petra to see the

two extremes. One psychologically damaged and pos-

sibly beyond redemption, and another who simply

knew no other life. In Petra's case, Dax hoped, the

exposure to the Ecocid culture would be positive.

Whatever happened, it could scarcely be worse than

the way they were living now.

"Jade!" said an angry voice.

Dax whirled around to see Elaka , and she instantly

tensed for an attack, even though they were sur-

rounded by people.

"I kept calling your name," said Elaka. "Are you all

right?"

Dax pulled her collar up around her throat, to hide

the bruises. "Thanks to you," she muttered, "I didn't

get a lot of sleep last night."

"So sorry," said Elaka. "A little fight is good for

you--keeps your battle skills honed. We're both still

walking today, aren't we? Say, why are you bringing

that purse aboard?"

Dax was ready for this question. "We're picking up

a little gold-pressed latinurn, too." She still didn't

know whether Rizo or Petra had taken Elaka into

their confidence about hijacking the Marauder. The

absurdity of the idea made Dax cringe, and she

wondered whether anybody was really believing their

crazy stories. The hijackers were supposed to fall into

their trap, but what if it was the other way around?

"I don't know about that bag," Elaka was saying.

"You can scan it, search it manually--anything you

want," Dax responded. "Look, I'm a little tired this

morning, but everything will go okay."

"It had better," warned Elaka. "We're all down,

except for Rizo, of course. How are the bloodsuckers

doing?"

"They were doing quite well a few minutes ago,"

said Dax, relieved to be headed toward the door. "Let

me check on them again."

The Ferengi captain assured her that the entire

ship's complement was on the ground, except for

Gimba. Dax knew this wasn't the truth, but it would

have to do. She could see in the captain's eyes that he

knew the fix was in. Just going through the motions in

order to dupe someone--nothing out of the ordinary

for him. She could only hope that the Bajorans

weren't trying similar tactics. Dax herted the heavy

bag, thankful to have a secret weapon.

The Trill returned to the conference room and the

motley collection of Bajoran terrorists. Petra smiled

at her trustingly as she entered.

"The revolution will remember you," said the

young woman.

Dax wanted to tell her to get a shower and get away

from these people, not necessarily in that order,

but she held her tongue. She sought out Elaka, who

was overseeing medical treatment of the wounded

woman.

"They have medical facilities here," she said, hand-

ing Elaka her two leftover bilbok. "See if that will get

her some treatment."

The Bajoran women stared at her, as if her act of

charity was both a miracle and an affront. Elaka said,

"You act like you're not coming back."

"I've had enough of this place," said the Trill. "As

soon as Marcus and I get a little antimatter for our

reactor, we're leaving here."

"We'll soon have our own latinum," said Elaka

proudly.

"But you have this now," insisted Dax, wrapping

the other woman's fingers around the rectangular

coins. "On Eco, gold-pressed latinurn may not buy a

bucket of warm spit."

That argument struck home, and Elaka pocketed

the bilbok. "Fare thee well, fighter," said the Bajoran.

"If you ever care to fight for more than your life, come

find us."

"I will," Dax promised, thinking she would bring

an army of counselors with her when she came to look

for them. "The Ferengi are in the hive, so I think we

can proceed."

"All right," said Elaka. "Hand me the bag."

Dax hesitated. "You can scan it. Besides, the

Ecocids wouldn't let me carry a weapon down here."

"I want to look inside," the Bajoran insisted. "If it's

empty, I'll give it back."

So as not to reveal the bag's unusual weight, Dax

opened it and held it open for Elaka's inspection. The

Bajoran reached inside and felt around for hidden

objects, but she never removed the bag from Dax's

grasp.

"Nice bag," Elaka said. "Supple leather." She

slapped her stolen Federation comm badge and an-

nounced, "It's me. Jade Dixon says the Ferengi are all

down, and she's ready to go up."

Rizo answered, "Tell her to go outside the door of

the conference room, and I'll lock on."

Elaka quickly added, "She's clean, Rizo, no need to

search her."

Rizo grumbled something and signed off. Elaka

pointed to the door and said in a whisper, "Remem-

ber, Jade, he's my man."

"I know," said Dax. "Take care of your people."

Elaka gave her another strange look, but Dax wasn't

about to explain her comment. She strode out the

door, trying to look comfortable carrying the heavy

bag. As soon as she reached the deserted lounge area,

she felt her body tingle in the distinctive way a

transporter beam affected it.

Dax materialized, along with her handbag, in the

transporter room of the Starfleet tanker Phoenix. It

was very cramped and utilitarian, mostly for person-

nel, because antimatter cannot be transported. The

docking bay of the Phoenix was probably much more

impressive, thought Dax.

She wasn't surprised that Rizo wasn't there to meet

her, because he was alone on the Starfleet tanker. Or at

least, he was supposed to be. The knowledge at the

Ferengi Marauder was somehow keeping people back

didn't sit well with Dax either. This was like a

convention of snakes with no one to be trusted or

predicted.

She found a turbolift and entered it, saying merely,

"Bridge." The hijackers must have rigged it by now to

accept commands from virtually anyone, she thought.

Sure enough, the turbolift rose swiftly.

As the door opened, she hoisted the bag, trying to

make it look light. Dax smiled as she strode onto the

compact bridge of the tanker, and she saw the broad

back of the hijacker as he sat hunched over the

navigation readouts.

"Take Ops," Rizo ordered. "I can't do every damn

thing by myself."

Dax almost set the bag on the floor where she stood,

but she decided she had better keep it close. She

hauled it to the Ops station and carefully set it on the

floor beside her. Then she slipped into the seat and

looked at an array of familiar instruments.

"Docking is almost automatic," she said. "At least

that's what Marcus told me. Just select the ship you

wish to refuel, and the computer and gyrostabilizers

will take over."

"Yeah?" scowled Rizo. "All right, then. Let's start

that scan of the Marauder, and I'll be looking over

your shoulder."

Efficiently, Dax responded, "Both ships are sup-

posed to contact each other first. That's what we

agreed to."

Rizo stopped for the first time to look at her, and he

gave her a lopsided grin. "Well, we wouldn't want to

break an agreement, would we? Contact them."

Dax hoped that Rizo wasn't watching her too

closely, because she couldn't entirely hide her profi-

ciency at the Ops station. She hoped he wouldn't

notice that she was routing most of the command

functions of the ship, including communications and

weaponry, into her console.

But Rizo was busy pacing, staring at the viewscreen.

"What are those bastards up to?" he muttered. "Are

they really off the ship?"

"You never told us," said Dax, as her fingers sped

across the colored panels. "Are you going to try to

take the Marauder?"

"No, I'm not," rasped Rizo. "I can't put my people

through any more of this. We already have a Starfleet

tanker, and what good does that do us? We need to go

someplace and hide out, rest, get our bearings. We'll

probably end up selling the tanker for a little peace

and quiet. I don't want to have to worry about a

Ferengi Marauder, too."

Dax shifted in her seat, uncomfortable with the way

she was cheating Rizo. He deserved punishment, but

he deserved honesty, too. He deserved to have some-

one treat him fairly, and she was upset that it couldn't

be her. She was also sorry that he wasn't going to be

one of the terrorists who got a fresh start here in the

Gamma Quadrant. He was a casualty of the

Cardassian invasion, and he would remain so.

"Jade Dixon to Ferengi vessel," she said in a sultry

voice. "Do you read me, Gimba?"

The viewscreen lit up, and a chubby Ferengi

grinned lasciviously. "Read you, Jade Dixon? I'd like

to smother you with... Oh, hello, Rizo. I was hoping

I could talk to Jade privately for a moment."

"On your own time," scowled the Bajoran, "not

mine. Let's start these scans, and they had better come

out clean."

"Yes, they had better," Gimba agreed pleasantly.

Rizo strode behind Dax's back. "You seem to know

how to operate that thing. I won't ask you where you

learned it. Start the scan."

Dax bit her lip to keep from saying too much. If she

was found out now, at least she was aboard, and her

secret weapon was only a few centimeters away.

"Starting scan," she said, directing the tanker's

impressive array of sensors at the Marauder. This step

was actually necessary, because the tanker's computer

needed to know what type of vessel it was dealing

with.

On the viewscreen, Gimba leaned over and prod-

ded his panel with stubby fingers. "I'm starting

mine," he announced.

Rizo leaned directly over Dax's shoulder, so close

she could feel the heat of his breath and the hardness

of his chest. "What have you got?" he said hoarsely.

"Scanning all decks," answered Dax. "Looking for

life-forms. None registering, except for Gimba on the

bridge."

Rizo was smarter than he looked. "What's that

blinking area?" he asked, pointing to an abnormal

section of the readout.

She swallowed. "An area inside their engine room

cannot be scanned. Some sort of interference."

"What the hell kind of interference?" growled Rizo.

He glared at the viewscreen. "Gimba, why are you

interfering with our scan? What have you got in your

engine room?"

But the Ferengi was barely listening. His eyes kept

widening as he punched his console and scanned

through the screens. "What are you braying about?

You are trying to cheat us! I make a number of possible

life-form readings in cargo bay two."

Rizo shrugged. "Those are dead bodies you're

reading. We never had time to dispose of them."

Dax's lips thinned, knowing whose bodies they

were. Former crew members, people she had met in a

hundred Starfleet installations, part of her family. She

said nothing, because the deal was already teetering

enough.

"Well, yes," conceded Gimba, "there is something

wrong with them. But a living person could be hiding

in that mass of tissue."

"Not likely," answered Rizo. "There's no atmo-

sphere in cargo bay two. Jade can tell you."

The hijacker looked at her expectantly, and Dax

had to admit by her actions that she knew the controls

well enough to run a status report on cargo bay two.

"It has no atmosphere," she reported.

"What about that spot in your engine room?"

countered Rizo. "What's in there?"

Gimba shook his floppy ears. "I have no idea what

you're talking about. Now that we have all the crew off

the ship, we are running some low-level tests for

radiation leaks, and that might be affecting your

instruments. That's all I can think it would be."

Dax held her breath, waiting to see what effect this

lie would have. When no one spoke, she told Rizo,

"Their engine room is eight decks away from their

main cargo bay. I don't think this should be a deal-

breaker."

Rizo cocked his head and smiled. "Expert opinion?

Go ahead, Jade--you're in command. Start up the

docking procedure."

That had been what Dax was waiting for. As the

tanker drifted toward the Marauder to dock, Gimba

would be off his guard, and a phaser blast might

cripple the Ferengi warship long enough for them to

get away. If they didn't delay the Ferengi, they would

hunt them down in the wink of an eye. She entered the

docking sequence and turned over control of the

Phoenix to the computer. The ship began to move out

of orbit, setting its course automatically.

"I need to go down to our cargo bay," said Gimba.

"How long before we dock?"

"Hold on a minute," said Rizo, circling behind

Dax. "Gimba, there's somebody I want you to meet."

"Who?" said the Ferengi, showing his anger.

"You're supposed to be alone!"

"Except for Jade Dixon," said the terrorist. Brutal-

ly, he gripped her ponytail and snapped her head

back. "You've met her--now meet Jadzia Dax. A

Starfleet lieutenant!"

Dax started to protest, but the pain and the threat

of more pain quieted her. She glanced at her handbag.

It was as still as she was.

Gimba laughed. "A Star fleet officer? Believe me,

I've met Starfleet officers, and they don't look like

Jade."

Abruptly, Rizo let go of her hair, and Dax slumped

forward. When she swiveled in her seat to look at the

Bajoran, he was aiming a phaser at her.

"Tell him," Rizo ordered. He moved the weapon

slowly up and down her body. "I wouldn't want to

burn any holes in that pretty body. Tell him."

Dax managed a sneer. "You don't believe that

stupid hive mind, do you? It's been causing trouble for

me since the beginning. What does it matter who I

once was--you're getting what you want, aren't you?"

The rugged terrorist shook his head. "Not good

enough."

A blue beam stretched between the phaser and

Dax's chest, and she bolted backward in her chair.

With a moan, the Trill toppled to the floor.

CHAPTER

12

ODO REMAINED PERFECTLY STILL. AS much as he wanted

to leap up and throttle the hulking Bajoran, he didn't.

With Rizo holding a phaser and Gimba looking on

from his warship, it was wiser to be a handbag than a

hero. The mission was in jeopardy, but as long as Odo

kept his true nature hidden, there was still a chance

for success. He hoped Dax wasn't dead or badly

injured, but what could he do about it if she was?

After he revealed himself, the element of surprise

would be gone forever.

Odo sat still and waited. Gimba, in shock, was the

first to speak. "By Zot, you haven't killed her, have

you?"

"No," said Rizo, lowering the phaser. "It was set on

light stunmshe'11 be out only a few minutes. That

should give me enough time to tie her up. Believe me,

what I told you is true. The hive mind showed me

proof."

"This shouldn't change our arrangement," Gimba

said pleasantly. "We're still going to make the ex-

change, correct?"

Rizo scratched his stubbled cheek with the tip of his

phaser. "That depends. You weren't in league with

her, were you?"

Gimba chuckled. "With the Federation? Please,

we're not that desperate. In fact, we could make a side

deal for... whatever her name is. I'll give you anoth-

er ten bars of gold-pressed latimum for her."

Now Rizo laughed. "She's worth a lot more than

that just in ransom from the Federation. And for what

you want to do with herintwenty bars."

"Fifteen."

Rizo looked down at the unconscious figure and

grinned. "Maybe I'll keep her for myself. You don't

find one like this every day."

"Sixteen! Not a credit more."

Rizo held up his arms. "Okay, Gimba. I'm in a

generous mood. That means you will have twenty-six

bars of gold-pressed latinum waiting for me. Nothing

funny, all right? I'm not in the mood. And I know all

the other settings on this phaser, too."

"Agreed," said Gimba. "I'll get the latinurn and go

to the cargo bay. I'll route my communications down

there."

Rizo glanced at Dax's screen and reported, "Esti-

mated docking in four-point-four minutes."

Gimba nodded, and the viewscreen went blank.

Rizo scrounged around in the pockets of his leather

vest for a length of cord, and Odo wondered whether

this was the moment to make his move. He was about

to do so when he heard a moan coming from the floor.

Rizo sneered and leveled the phaser at her. "Hello,

Lieutenant Dax. You must have the constitution of a

pugabeast. This phaser is still set on stun, but the

instructions say it's not good to stun someone

repeatedly."

Dax groaned and lifted herself up. "I'11 behave

myself. But if I don't check in with my ship in a

minute or so, Marcus is going to start firing."

Rizo smiled. "You mean Commander Sisko."

She shrugged and lifted herself back into her chair.

"If you think he's a Starfleet commander, then you

know he can aim a torpedo."

"He won't blow up the tanker," said Rizo confi-

dently.

"If I don't check in soon, he's going to think I'm

dead," said Dax. "Then he won't give a damn what

happens. He's funny like that."

idzo waved the phaser nervously. "What are you

going to tell him?"

"That the docking is proceeding as planned. No

matter what you think, we just want to get out of here

with a chunk of antimatter and our lives."

Rizo held the phaser at the back of Dax's head,

where it would be unseen by the viewscreen angle. He

clicked up the phaser setting several notches. "Say the

wrong thing," he warned, "and it'll take a month to

clean you off this bridge."

Dax swallowed and rubbed her head. "I under-

stand." A few seconds later, she announced, "This is

the Phoenix calling the Mekong. Marcus, this is Jade."

The face of Benjamin Sisko came on the view-

screen, and he gave them his chipper Marcus Garvey

smile. "How good to see you," he chirped. "Is every-

thing proceeding as planned?"

Dax took a breath and rubbed her hands together.

"It seems to be going well. I'm a little nervous, that's

all."

"Why are you nervous?" asked Sisko pleasantly.

"Yes, why?" echoed Rizo.

Dax smiled. "I don't know--guess I drank too

much coffee. But we have started docking procedures

with the Marauder, and that's going well."

"Understood," said Sisko calmly. "If you cannot

pick up our fee at this time, I'll understand. Do you

still have your bag to bring back the latinum?"

"Yes," she answered.

"Just keep me posted," said Sisko. The viewscreen

went blank.

This was the time to act, thought Odo. They had to

do it while they were out of contact with the Ferengi

vessel, and Sisko had just been notified. If there were

only some way he could communicate with Dax--

The Trill sensed the same urgency. "May I stand up

and walk off this headache?" she asked.

"I'm keeping my eye on you," Rizo warned her.

"And this phaser is still set to do some damage."

When Dax stood up, she did the best thing possible

by walking away from Rizo and forcing him to turn

his back on the handbag. "Was that true," she asked,

"about you wanting to get away from the fight to rest

and evaluate your life?"

"It's a nice idea," said the terrorist wistfully. "But

somehow the fight always comes after me."

At that moment, a slender figure was looming

behind the Bajoran. Dax tried to show no reaction,

except to stare at the phaser that was leveled at her.

When she saw the shapeshifter's hands rise above

Rizo's head and form a large mallet, Dax poised to

dodge. The mallet came crashing down, and she

leaped out of the way--just as a phaser beam ripped

through the air. The science console burned and

sizzled until Rizo lost his grip on the phaser, followed

by his grip on consciousness. He slumped to the floor.

At once, Odo grabbed the cord from his out-

stretched hand and began to tie him up. Dax rushed to

the Ops console and punched the panel that put the

Ferengi Marauder on the screen. The distinctive crab-

shaped vessel almost filled the viewscreen.

"We're too close," said Dax, "to fire on the Ferengi

ourselves. We'll have to get the commander to do it."

Odo continued to wind cord around Rizo's hands

and feet. "I heard his explanation about the dead

bodies in the hold. Do you really think they're all

dead?"

"I don't know," admitted Dax, plying the controls.

"I can't get the internal sensors to work--a lot of the

circuitry was destroyed. The best I can do is to seal off

the cargo bays. Just in case, you had better keep an eye

on the turbolift."

Odo nodded and finished tying up Rizo. With

distaste, he picked up the discar ded phaser and

handed it to Dax. Then he stood at attention, swivel-

ing his head slowly from the Trill to the unconscious

prisoner to the turbolift door.

"Are we taking him back with us?" asked Odo.

"We should, shouldn't we?" said Dax.

"Yes. Murder, hijacking, terrorism, kidnapping--I

believe we have enough charges to hold him."

"We've got to get home first," added Dax. She gazed

from her instruments to the viewscreen, but the

information was the same. Under computer control,

the tanker was making a cautious but inexorable

approach to the Ferengi Marauder.

Thinking out loud, she muttered, "If Gimba is

alone, or nearly alone, maybe he won't have time to

monitor our transmissions. We have to hope so,

because we've got to contact the commander. If

Gimba hits us with a tractor beam, we belong to

them."

With determination, she plied the controls. "Jade to

Marcus. Come in, Mekong."

Sisko's grave face burst upon the viewscreen. "Mar-

cus here. What is your status?"

"Better," said Jade, "since our last message. Our

captain is indisposed at the moment, and we are right

on top of the Marauder. It should happen soon."

"I understand," answered Sisko. "I took us out of

orbit and headed your way after our last conversation.

I suppose it will be up to me to say our final good-

byes."

"I'm afraid so," Dax answered calmly. "Did you

send our visitors back?"

The commander scowled. "Yes, right after I talked

to you. I was relieved to see them go."

"Then we can get on with our business," said Dax.

Sisko's jaw clenched. "Whenever you wish."

Dax stroked the panel, and the tanker stopped dead

in front of the foreboding Ferengi Marauder. She

punched in a rough course toward the wormhole and

sent the ship into impulse power. The boxy craft

couldn't make an elegant maneuver, but it did a slow

about-face and lumbered toward the stars.

Sisko's face was immediately replaced on the

viewscreen by an angry Ferengi, standing in an empty

cargo bay. "What do you think you're doing?" raged

Gimba, shaking his fists. "Where's Rizo?"

Dax just stared at the Ferengi, counting the seconds

until the runabout showed up. As Gimba was about to

demand an answer, the Marauder was rocked by

phaser blasts. Gimba staggered from the impact, and

she could see other Ferengi rushing from their hiding

places--crew members who weren't supposed to be

there.

"Weapons!" he yelled. "Shields up! Get to the

transporter room! Get our bridge crew back!"

His ship was rocked again, and the screen degener-

ated into a mass of crackling interference. There

wasn't much Dax could say to Gimba, anyway, and

she knew the runabout couldn't permanently cripple

the big ship. If they'd had a full crew and people

manning the bridge, the runabout would probably

have been blown to space junk by now.

"Going to warp four," said the Trill.

Odo nodded and slipped into the chair beside her,

but his attention was riveted on the unconscious

Bajoran and the turbolift door beyond.

Commander Sisko saw the Phoenix elongate slightly

and streak out of sight, and he knew it was time for

him to make his getaway. He had been firing his small

phaser emitters so rapidly that he hoped he had

enough power left to reach warp drive. The Marauder

had put her shields up by now, so he cut off his attack

and cruised away. He realized that the lack of a crew

was the main reason the Ferengi ship wasn't coming

after him immediately.

His viewscreen blinked on, and a truly disgusted-

looking Ferengi glared at him.

"I congratulate you," muttered Gimba. "You fooled

us completely, you and your lovely accomplice. But

business comes before revenge, we Ferengi always say,

and I am just as willing to negotiate with you for the

antimatter as I was with the Bajorans. In fact, I'm not

terribly disappointed to see them replaced in this

deal."

"I don't own the antimatter," said Sisko. "It be-

longs to the Federation, and I'm just returning it."

"By Zot!" snapped Gimba. "You are a Federation

sympathizer! You can never trust humans. Listen,

human, you have a long way to go to get back to the

Federation, and our bridge crew has just beamed

aboard."

"Then I had better get going," answered Sisko. He

saluted and broke off communications.

Warp four was close to the limit for the runabout,

but they couldn't chance getting away at a slower

speed. The Marauder was capable of warp nine and

would be on them in a thrice. He plied the controls

and forced the tiny ship into warp drive, hoping his

attack had bought them enough time.

Rizo howled in anger, and the big Bajoran strained

and twisted against his bonds like a shark thrashing

about on the floor of a boat.

"I'11 kill you!" he screamed. "I'11 kill you!"

"If he doesn't shut up," said Dax, "we'll have to

stun him."

Odo gazed sternly at Rizo. "I'11 leave that pleasure

to you, Lieutenant. You know, after he stunned you,

he tried to sell you to the Ferengi." Dax smiled. "For how much?"

"Sixteen bars of gold-pressed latinum. To his credit,

the Ferengi originally offered ten." "I'm flattered," said Dax.

Rizo muttered, "I was just toying with them. I

wouldn't have sold you to the Ferengi. You're too

valuable as a hostage."

"Am I?" asked Dax, never taking her eyes off her

instruments. "I'm afraid I'm not your prisoner. It's

the other way around."

"For now," said Rizo. "But you're running, just like

we were. And you'll never make it back."

"Perhaps you should stun him," suggested Odo.

"He hasn't exactly shut up."

"No," said Dax. "We have several hours before we

reach the wormhole, so we might as well make the best

of it. Besides, I'm interested to know who will stop

US."

Rizo laughed. "The Ferengi, for one. And you don't

know who else might be out there. The resistance has

a lot of friends, you know."

"Do your friends have a ship?" asked Dax.

"Why not?" snarled Rizo. "Until a few minutes

ago, I had a ship. Plus, we have friends who have

ships."

That thought gave Dax pause, because she remem-

bered the ruthless tendencies of the Klingon rene-

gades. They had gladly allied themselves with the

Bajoran terrorists in the past.

"It doesn't matter," she said. "We've gotten this far,

and we can't turn back. You should be more con-

cerned about yourself."

"Me?" scoffed Rizo. "I'm a dead man. But I've been

dead for years. I'll kill myself before I let you put me

in a cell for the rest of my life."

"I would think you could get treatment," Dax

suggested.

"Treatment? Is that the new punishment for murder

and hijacking?"

"Not on Bajor, it isn't," said Odo. "We have several

interesting penal colonies, most of them built by the

Cardassians. They're fairly empty, so you'll have lots

of room to relax."

Rizo growled, "That's great. The Federation can

give me treatment, and the puppet government can

lock me up for the rest of my life. I'll be the most

well-adjusted prisoner you ever saw!"

Despite being tied up on his stomach, Rizo shook

his head angrily. "Kill me now, because I'm not going

to rot in a cell. Kill me! Kill me!" he screamed, and

continued screaming until it grated on Dax's nerves.

She shook her head sadly and picked up the phaser.

"We'll see you in a few minutes, Rizo."

Commander Sisko looked at his sensors and

grunted with alarm. No, it wasn't a phantom--a

photon torpedo was right on his tail, launched by a

Ferengi Marauder that wasn't far behind. He braced

himself as the torpedo overtook him and shook the

small craft with a near miss. At once, his power began

to drop, and the runabout shuddered as it came out of

warp drive.

He banged on his comm panel. "Mekong to Phoe-

nix/I'm under attack!"

Dax's concerned face appeared on his viewscreen,

but her image wavered when he put up the runabout's

shields. "Benjamin, we have a fix on you--we can

double back. Is it the Marauder?"

"Yes. But keep on going! Don't come back."

"Interference in that last part," said Dax, cutting off

communications.

Sisko didn't have time to scold her or worry about

the tanker, as he could see the Ferengi Marauder glide

out of warp drive, not ten thousand kilometers away.

He threw the runabout into full impulse and began

evasive maneuvers. Such a stratagem had saved his

life at Wolf 359, and Sisko was in complete charge of

the small craft. The Ferengi vessel opened with

phasers, but Sisko dodged out of range and took only a

peripheral hit. They were forced to give chase through

an expansive solar system, with only three small

planets as guideposts.

After a few tense maneuvers, the commander took

the time to wipe the sweat from his lofty brow and

short-cropped hair. As quickly as they had come after

him, he figured the Ferengi still had only a minimal

crew, and the Marauder wasn't designed to be flown

solo like the runabout. The Mekong was small but it

was responsive--he could zig while they were still

zagging. At full impulse, he was gradually pulling

away from them.

That was the good news. The bad news was that he

would run out of fuel, or fall asleep, long before they

did. And warp drive was a death trap, not a means of

escape. Time was on their side.

The Marauder soon lagged far enough behind him

that he wondered if he could turn and get off a shot of

his own. As long as Dax had insisted on joining the

fight, he might as well give her a stationary target. He

had only two microtorpedoes, but they wouldn't do

him much good if a Ferengi torpedo caught him first.

Then he would be a cosmic cinder.

The Ferengi captain tried to hail him, but Sisko

ignored his angry pleadings. There was nothing left to

negotiate. He turned swiftly while checking to make

sure torpedo bay one was ready, and he caught the

Ferengi vessel making a slow turn to reach his last

position. He locked in on his target and launched the

torpedo without hesitation. It streaked toward the

sluggish starship.

The explosion lit the starscape like a nova, and

Sisko leaned forward eagerly. His joy was short-lived,

however, when it became evident that the Marauder

had its shields at full effectiveness and had sustained

minor damage at best. The Ferengi were not known

for being great warriors, but they were known for

having excellent shields.

Sisko braced himself to be obliterated, and he was

surprised when there wasn't an answering torpedo.

Maybe the Marauder was more damaged than it

looked, he thought hopefully. His hope was dashed a

moment later when the Ferengi began hailing him

again.

He put the smiling image of Gimba, who was still

stationed in the empty cargo bay, on the viewscreen.

"If that's the best you can do, Marcus Garvey, then

you had better surrender yourself. We have no desire

to destroy you--just to reclaim what is ours."

Sisko answered calmly, stalling for time. "If your

wish is to see the tanker returned to its rightful

owners, then let us go."

"We are the rightful owners," snarled Gimba. He

quickly replaced his anger with his usual superior air.

"Why do you insist upon making this difficult? Tell

Jade to return with the tanker, and we'll conclude our

business, as planned. You can receive the latinum we

promised the Bajorans, and we'll leave you with the

ship you have. What more could you possibly ask?"

"You won't try to hold us?" asked Sisko.

The Ferengi chuckled. "What do I look like, an

Orion slaver? Trust me, it is the antimatter and the

tanker we have always wanted. This entire deal has

been more trouble than it's worth, I can tell you, and

we'll be lucky to turn even a minuscule profit."

"Poor thing," said Sisko with mock sympathy. He

suddenly had an idea. "Put down your shields, and I'll

beam over to talk about it."

Gimba smiled pleasantly. "You put down your

shields, and we'll transport you over."

Despite his bravado, Sisko was worried. He had no

options, and he had no idea what good Dax could do

in the tanker once she showed up. The tanker proba-

bly wasn't armed much better than the runabout, and

neither one of them could outrun the Marauder. It

appeared, at best, that only one of them could get back

to the Alpha Quadrant.

The commander resolved to make sure it was the

tanker that got back. He readied the self-destruct

sequence for the runabout and plotted a suicide

course straight into the Marauder. Then he aimed his

second--and last--torpedo at the Marauder's main

cargo bay.

"We are waiting," said Gimba. "Put down your

shields, disarm your weapons, and we'll behave as

partners again."

Sisko thought about the whip Gimba had described

at one of their meetings, and the way it was used on

people who double-crossed them. He scanned his

sensors for the arrival of the tanker, and he saw it at

the same time that somebody came running forward

to alert Gimba. Sisko launched his torpedo just as

Gimba's eyes widened at the news.

The Ferengi vessel shuddered at the impact, and

sparks burst from a flaming control panel behind

Gimba. The crew ran for cover, and Sisko wondered if

the cumulative effect of his attacks had been greater

than he had imagined. He put a wide view of the

starscape on his screen, and he saw the tanker lumber

over his head and get offa phaser array of its own. The

Marauder teetered in space and lit up like a crab-

shaped Christmas-tree ornament.

There was no time to gloat, however, because the

Marauder would soon be getting off shots of its own.

One misplaced hit on the tanker could end it all rather

quickly. Sisko hit his communications panel. "Me-

kong to Phoenix. Bypass our first rendezvous point

and go straight to the second."

"Acknowledged," answered Dax.

Sisko waited to leave until he saw the tanker streak

into warp drive; then he took off on its tail. He

realized the rear of the convoy was the more danger-

ous position, especially since he had used up all his

microtorpedoes; but Sisko had brought them here to

save the tanker, and save it they would. The goal of

self-preservation was also on his mind, and that was

another reason to keep the tanker from being the first

one hit.

Without torpedoes, he still had his phaser emitters.

But he had already emptied them into the Marauder

without much effect, so he didn't hold much hope for

the phasers as a deterrent. With a sigh, the command-

er canceled the self-destruct sequence on the run-

about. He knew that Gimba would be happy to

perform that service, free of charge.

For her part, Dax was also deep in thought, wonder-

ing how they could extricate themselves from this race

they couldn't win. She had no illusions that the

Marauder was out of it. In fact, her long-range scan-

ners picked up the fact that the starship had moved

from its last position. If it could manage even half of

the warp drive it was capable of, it would easily catch

them again before they reached the wormhole.

Something thudded beyond the turbolift. "What

was that?" asked Odo, rising to his feet.

They heard wheezing laughter coming from the

ground. "Ghosts," answered Rizo. "Coming to get us,

to make us atone for our sins."

"You're awake," said Odo with disappointment. "It

might be harmful to stun you again s soon, but I am

perfectly willing to put you in the hold with the dead

bodies."

"Fine with me," answered Rizo. "I have more in

common with them than with you. Besides, we all

share the same future."

Dax ignored him and warned, "Somebody could be

trying to climb down the turbolift shaft, to avoid the

forcefields I put in the corridors."

"I can go look for them," offered Odo, "but I don't

know the design of this craft very well."

Dax sighed. "Yes, and it's bigger than it looks. I'd

better be the one to go."

"Look how brave you are!" crowed Rizo. "You

really are a Starfleet lieutenant. That's amazing. I

never thought we could trust you, but I didn't think

that was the reason. You should feel very proud of

yourself."

"I'm not proud of using subterfuge," answered Dax,

rising to her feet. She picked up the phaser. "Call me

if you see anything unusual on the readouts."

"I would prefer to go instead," said Odo. "Perhaps

if I took a moment to study the schematics of the

ship--"

Dax wasn't a coward, but it wasn't fair to make Odo

take over the unfamiliar controls of the tanker under

these conditions. At any moment, a Ferengi torpedo

could catch up with them. She set the phaser back on

the Ops console and returned to her seat.

"I'll bring up the schematics on your screen,"

offered the Trill, "with an emphasis on the cargo bays

and the turbolifts leading to them. And I'll show you

which corridors are sealed off. We ought to check on

the antimatter pods as well. But for the moment, let's

just keep an eye on our passenger."

"Absolutely," said the security chief, fixing his most

dour gaze upon the Bajoran.

"Ghosts." Rizo grinned. "They're out there all

right. All the ghosts of the crew we killed, and our own

brave comrades as well. Most of them murdered on

this very spot, right where you're sitting."

Against her will, Dax looked down, and she did see

the smeared stains on the deck. Someone had tried to

wipe them up, but there had been a lot of blood.

The bound prisoner wheezed a laugh. "They

couldn't escape, and neither can you."

CHAPTER

13

BENJAMIN SISKO had a bad feeling, the same feeling

he'd had just before the Ecocids revealed themselves

as extortionists. By all rights, things were going better

than they could expect. In a few minutes, they were

due to rendezvous near a giant asteroid belt they had

passed on their initial dash across the Gamma Quad-

rant. They had been able to skip their first rendezvous

after the unscheduled stop with the Ferengi. Since

then, the Ferengi vessel had remained out of scanner

range, if it was behind them at all.

It was too early to say if the Marauder had broken

off its pursuit, but there was at least a chance it had.

Of course, the Ferengi knew the position of the

wormhole as well as anyone, and they could be trying

to do an end-around, to get there first. That prospect

was real, yet it wasn't the cause of Sisko's apprehen-

sion.

Real, even likely, obstacles Sisko was used to han-

dling. It was the unseen, the unreal, the unexpected

that bothered him. By that token, the absence of the

Marauder was troubling, because Sisko knew that the

Ferengi never let go of money. The antimatter repre-

sented cold cash to them, including expenses uncol-

lected. If the Marauder was able to fly at all, it should

be right on their tail.

He pressed his communications panel. "Sisko to

Dax. Do you see any sign of that Marauder?"

"No, Benjamin," answered Dax. "She was on the

move last I got a reading. I thought she had gone into

warp, but there's been no sign of her. The Phoenix has

excellent scanners, but we're out of range from where

we left her. Maybe we hit her harder than we thought."

"This may sound crazy," said Sisko, "but I'd like to

go back and see what happened to them."

Odo had remained silent until that point, but he

jumped up and filled Sisko's viewscreen. "That's very

humanitarian of you, Commander, but we aren't on a

rescue mission. To say that Gimba deserved what he

got is putting it mildly. Their ship didn't look so badly

damaged that they couldn't make it to Eco or some

other port of call."

"That's the point," said Sisko. "If they're not badly

damaged, why aren't they after us? Look, Constable, I

don't have to go all the way back, just far enough to get

them in sensor range. Maybe they're still wh ere we left

them. They might also be trying to go around us,

trying to reach the wormhole first."

"Odo," said Dax, "the commander is right. Either

they are too damaged to come after us, they have

broken off, or they are planning an ambush. Whichev-

er it is, we need to know." She smiled. "Besides, it is

the humanitarian thing to do."

Odo bowed his head and said nothing more.

Sisko remarked, "You can keep going to the worm

hole. Perhaps we don't need to rendezvous sooner."

The commander saw Dax glance at Odo; then he

heard laughter coming from off the screen.

"The tanker is haunted, Commander!" called a

voice from the floor. "There are bumps and thurfips in

the night. I say it's the ghosts of all those bodies in the

hold--what do you think?"

The computer located the source of the voice and

widened the angle to include the hog-tied Bajoran.

Sisko muttered, "I had almost forgotten about you,

Rizo. Are you so desperate that you have to make up

imaginary allies?"

"They may not be imaginary," said Dax. "We feel

there could be someone else aboard. The internal

security on the tanker has been destroyed, and we'll

have to go out with tricorders to check the ship. We

also need to check on the antimatter pods, so we

would prefer to stop at the asteroid belt as planned.

The computer says the pods are all right, but--"

"I understand," said Sisko, "you need to eyeball

them. I don't blame you--we have gone to an awful

lot of trouble to get them. I'm going to backtrack just

enough to find out the status of the Marauder, while

you continue on to the rendezvous. I don't suppose

there are any detention cells on that tanker?"

"No," said Odo.

Rizo began to laugh. "Don't you understand, Com-

mander?" yelled the Bajoran. "That stuff is cursed!

Everybody who handles that antimatter is going to

die. We're not going to make it back."

"Have you stunned him?" asked Sisko.

Odo sighed. "Yes, and cracked him on the head for

good measure. That's another reason for stopping--

to find a secure area to put him."

"Proceed," ordered Sisko. "I'll let you know as soon

as I locate the Ferengi. Sisko out."

After the screen switched back to the slightly

blurred starscape of warp drive, Odo looked with

disgust at his prisoner. He expected even captured

criminals to act somewhat dignified, which didn't

include ranting about ghosts and haunted spaceships.

Of course, the prisoner was the only one who knew if

the tanker had any stowaways. Odo didn't imagine

there could be more than one, but one more terrorist

made the odds even--two against two.

Having taken the craft once by force, the Bajorans

wouldn't be averse to trying it again. Plus, they would

get desperate as they realized their only alternative

was probably life in prison.

"Constable?" said Rizo, gazing up at him. "Is that

really what they call you? That was a neat trick,

coming aboard as a handbag. How do you do that?"

Odo cocked his head and looked annoyed. "I don't

wish to hold a conversation with you, especially about

matters that are none of your business."

"Oh, touchy," cooed Rizo. "But look at me,

Constable--I'm not shouting and screaming now. I'm

merely trying to pass the time. What kind of species

are you?"

The shapeshifter shrugged. "Does it matter? Have

you ever seen any like me?"

"No," admitted the Bajoran. "But you would be

invaluable to us, if you decided to have a little

excitement in your life."

Odo gazed around the unfamiliar bridge of the

tanker, and his eyes came to rest with distaste upon

his prisoner. "I've got quite enough excitement in my

life, thank you. Besides, your days are going to be

considerably less exciting from now on."

Rizo closed his eyes and struggled to find a comfort-

able position. "If you really find a room to put me in,

are you going to take off these ropes?"

"Eventually," said Odo, "I'm sure they will come

off."

"Maybe we can rig up something with forcefields,"

Dax suggested, "and monitor him on one of the

viewscreens."

"Are you two really from Deep Space Nine?" asked

Rizo, suddenly friendly. "I've only heard about the

station--my life doesn't lend itself to taking vaca-

tions."

"I'm the science officer," said Dax, "and Odo is the

chief of security. DS9 was built by Cardassians, so, in

case you were wondering, it has plenty of detention

cells."

Rizo scowled. "I liked you better as Jade Dixon.

Both of you are being wasted in Starfleet."

"I'm not in Starfleet," Odo added. "I work for

Bajor."

"So do I," snapped Rizo.

Odo shook his head. "I don't think so. The Bajor I

work for is trying to build upon its hard-won freedom.

It's trying to stop fighting and make peace with itself,

and its neighbors."

The Bajoran muttered, "Does that include

Cardassians?"

"I'm afraid so," said Odo.

"Then the puppet government is weaker than I

thought," Rizo decided. "It's a wonder anyone sup-

ports them. You know, we only stole the antimatter to

keep that new starship for Bajor."

"All you did was to delay its testing," countered

Dax. "If you want to stop fighting and live peacefully,

now would be a good time to start."

"Yeah," scoffed Rizo, "as we run from a starship

fifty times our size. Save me your platitudes, Lieuten-

ant. You did what had to be done to recapture this

tanker. You opened fire on the Ferengi and left hun-

dreds of innocent people down there on that bug-

infested planet."

"We can go back for them," said Dax.

Rizo shook his head. "You won't. Nobody will.

Because nobody will ever know where they are--after

this tanker blows up, and we all die."

Dax flashed anger only briefly before she grit her

teeth and announced. "Coming out of warp drive.

Going into synchronous orbit with the largest aster-

oid, G-One, for lack of a better name."

Odo asked worriedly, "You're not going to orbit an

asteroid in the middle of an asteroid belt, are you?"

"No," said Dax. "We're coasting along beside it, at

a safe distance, orbiting whatever it's orbiting. I

imagine it's taking a leisurely trip around that red

giant in the corner of the screen. This position should

be safe, and it has the advantage of shielding us from a

casual scan."

The Trill entered some final commands on her

console, grabbed the phaser, and stood up. She

checked the setting, took a few steps back, and leveled

the weapon at Rizo.

"Go ahead, untie him," she ordered.

"All right," said Odo, bending down to undo his

handiwork.

"Hey, friend," said Rizo to the shapeshifter. "Don't

you ever carry a phaser?"

"Never."

"How come?"

"For one thing," answered Odo, "if you don't carry

a phaser, it's impossible for a prisoner to take yours

away from you."

Odo finished untying the Bajoran and stepped back,

unarmed but ready to react quickly.

Dax pointed to the turbolift with the phaser. "You

go first."

Rizo grinned. "You want the ghosts to get me first?"

"Move it," ordered Dax. "How you act will deter-

mine the kind of holding cell we put you in. There

may be some spare antimatter pods, and we could seal

you up in one of those."

Rizo laughed nervously. "She's just joking, right,

Constable?"

"I haven't known Lieutenant Dax to joke," an-

swered Odo. "You had better follow instructions."

Humming loudly and off-key, Rizo swaggered to-

ward the turbolift doors, which flew open at his

approach. "It's just me--Rizo!" he announced. "Do

your worst, ghosts. I know we're not going to make it

back to Bajor."

Odo looked at Dax and shook his head in disgust.

The more he thought about it, the better he liked the

idea of sealing the terrorist inside an empty antimat-

ter pod. But first, they had to make sure there weren't

any more of his playmates around.

The shapeshifter entered the turbolift immediately

after Rizo. When Dax entered, he stationed himself

between her and the Bajoran, knowing that Rizo

might try something in the confines of the turbolift.

"Deck three," said Dax. "We should check on the

antimatter first."

"Are the forcefields still up?" asked Odo.

"I turned them off on deck three," answered Dax.

"So we can move around. This ship has only three

levels, and the bottom one is nothing but cargo bays.

That's where they keep the antimatter."

"And the bodies," Rizo whispered.

The turbolift came to a stop, and the door

whooshed open. Odo stepped out, dragging Rizo by

the arm, and pushed him a safe distance away from

Dax and her phaser.

The Bajoran ignored the rough treatment and kept

his attention focused on Dax. "Which one are we

going to see first, Lieutenant, the antimatter or the

bodies?"

"First we have to find some tricorders," answered

Dax. "You wouldn't happen to know where some are,

would you? I couldn't find any on the bridge."

The Bajoran laughed. "I knew where some were, but

we handed them out to everyone. I think some were

traded to the Ecocids for bilbok."

While this conversation was going on, Odo stole a

moment's attention from Dax and Rizo to look

around the anteroom of the cargo bay. It was like a

miniature bridge, with its own viewscreens and work-

stations, one for each of the three large doors that

surrounded them. The doors were marked One, Two,

and Three, and a thick-paned window on each did

little to reveal their contents. He could see vague

white shapes beyond door one, but cargo bays two and

three looked dark and dismal.

It was very quiet in the hold of the deserted tanker,

and Odo wondered if the earlier sound they heard was

just an aural mirage. But, no, he thought. The Ferengi

captain had also been suspicious, but he had been

playing the same game and couldn't complain. Rizo

had at least entertained the thought of taking the

Marauder, and he certainl y had no scruples to prevent

him from keeping another killer on board.

The shapeshifter turned to see Rizo take a threaten-

ing step toward Dax. "Keep your distance," he

warned.

"It's all right," answered Dax. "He was walking

past me to show me where there might be a tricorder."

"I'll go," offered Odo. "Where is it?"

"A bit touchy, aren't we, Constable?" sneered Rizo.

Nevertheless, he pointed. "In that panel under the

console for bay one. There was some stuff in there

before."

Odo opened the panel but could find nothing in it

except for wads of bloody bandages. A human might

not have been able to search through the soiled

bandages, caked with bodily fluids, but Odo had no

such compulsions. His only disappointment was that

there were no tricorders in evidence. "Anywhere else?" he asked.

Rizo shrugged. "What can I tell you, we're pirates,

and we sacked the ship. I'm sorry we didn't treat it as

nicely as you would, but we're not used to many nice

things."

Dax frowned. "Rizo, if you can't be of any use to us,

I'm going to find a place to put you. Any ideas,

Constable?"

"Yes," replied the shapeshifter. "If cargo bay one

holds the antimatter pods, and bay two holds the

bodies, what's in bay three?"

"That would be the smallest of the cargo bays,"

answered Dax, moving behind its controls. She

punched in some commands, gazed at the readouts,

and frowned. "All the logs have been erased and

disabled. We'll never know who came in and out of

these cargo bays, or what they were carrying."

Rizo grinned. "Sorry, Lieutenant. We didn't know

what we were doing."

"I think you knew exactly what you were doing,"

muttered Dax. "There's nothing left to do but fill

them with atmosphere and go have a look. I'm filling

bay three with atmosphere."

She moved to the center console. "Filling bay two."

She glanced at the controls for the largest bay. "Bay

one already has atmosphere. I hope you didn't disable

the automated docking systems, too."

"No," said Rizo, sounding hurt. "The idea is to get

rid of the antimatter, remember? We're simple people,

and we trust each other. So we shut down a few

security systems."

Dax moved back to the controls for cargo bay three

and pressed the button that opened the door. It slid

open with a gasp of fresh atmosphere, and the lights

blinked on, illuminating the auxilary cargo hold. Odo

strolled a few meters into the chamber. It was empty

now, except for assorted robotic arms, belts, and

bumpers that guided antimatter pods toward a freight

turbolift. Odo imagined that the turbolift took the

pods straight out the docking module in the nose, or

perhaps to the other cargo bays. An efficient setup, he

observed--also a means of escape from the ship.

Nevertheless, they couldn't drag Rizo around with

them everywhere they went. It was simply too danger-

ous, considering the constant demands on their atten-

tion. Besides, outside the ship was nothing but cold

space and asteroids.

Odo returned to the doorway. "I'm going to search

for an intruder, or weapons. If this bay is clean, I

suggest we put our prisoner here. Can we disable the

controls?"

Dax shrugged. "Why not? Everything else has been

disabled."

Odo nodded and went back into the empty bay. The

storage area struck him as small, but he reminded

himself that this was the most auxiliary of the cargo

bays on the Phoenix. The dull yellow walls bespoke a

utilitarian existence for the room. The only features of

interest were the robotic mechanisms that moved the

storage pods in their inexorable journey to a matter/

antimatter reactor. Without pods to move, they

looked like frozen monuments to tasks uncompleted.

He wandered between two big arms and a viselike

pincer, and he was reminded uncomfortably of the

Ecocids. This was a machine an insect might appreci-

ate.

With no sensors or weapons at his disposal, Odo

perused every centimeter of the silent chamber. He

crouched down and looked into dark crevices, and he

opened storage and equipment panels. He was on the

lookout for tricorders as well, but everything of value

had been stripped by the scavengers, replaced by

bandages and soiled clothes. He wondered if they had

slept in here, too, but then he decided that they would

have taken over the crew's quarters on the second

deck. That thought hiked Odo's threshold of anger for

a moment, but he quickly shook it off and returned to

his search.

The emptiness of the cargo bay made his investiga-

tion easier, and he was soon convinced that cargo bay

three was empty.

"Come in, Rizo!" he called. "And go to the far

corner, where the scale is."

The Bajoran did as he was told, shuffling into the

empty room and taking a sullen position near a floor

scale in a remote corner. Dax entered and went

straight to the control panel, which duplicated the

console outside the door, except for its lack of a chair

and a viewscreen.

Rizo grinned and looked around the room. "So this

is to be my grave? My tomb. You'll leave me here to

die, just like you left my comrades on Eco, just like

you left the Ferengi vessel."

"We won't be able to hear him in here, will we?"

asked Odo.

"Not likely," said Dax with a smile. "They've

disabled all the password protection, so I'm going to

do what they did--destroy the circuitry."

She reached into a panel and pulled out an isolinear

chip, which she set on the floor. She proceeded to reset

her phaser, take aim at the chip, and strike it with a

pinpoint blue beam. After a second, the chip was a

wisp of smoke.

"We just ground them with our heels," said Rizo.

Odo backed slowly away from the terrorist, expect-

ing him to make his move. But something within Rizo

was beaten down--despite his bravado and crude

energy, he seemed weary. He sat on the floor, testing

the scale with his hand. A digital readout was a blur as

it registered the changes in weight.

"Lieutenant," said the Bajoran. "I wish you well,

truly I do. This isn't a fight you should be involved in.

Bajor must be just for Bajorans. We don't know the

Federation very well, but we know how a conqueror

can start off with promises and aid, only to turn into

an occupying army. We let ourselves be conquered

once--it can't happen again."

"I have sympathy for your feelings," answered Dax.

"And the suffering you can't get over. There's been

nothing in my life to compare to it, and I'm eight

times your age. But many of your people have put the

horror behind them in order to get on with their lives.

I might remind you that the Federation also fought the

Cardassians."

"It was the resistance!" insisted Rizo.

"Both," admitted Dax. "Nevertheless, we have

earned your trust. The Federation could keep a much

greater presence on Bajor, but we don't." She mo-

tioned around the empty cargo bay. "And sometimes

it gets us into trouble."

The Bajoran shook his head. "I doubt if everyone in

your Federation is as noble as you, Lieutenant." He

glanced at Odo. "There are too many alien Species on

Bajor already."

Odo scoffed, "We're wasting time. We may have to

search this entire ship."

Dax lowered her head and nodded. "I'm afraid

you're right. Rizo, we'll bring you food and water

later."

He waved at her. "Good-bye, Jadzia Dax. And Jade

Dixon."

Dax hurried out, quickly followed by Odo, and the

door clanged shut behind them. While Dax stopped at

the controls to make sure the makeshift cell was

secure, Odo strode to the massive door marked One

and gazed through the thick window. He could see the

storage pods--hexagonal cylinders each about the

height of a man but much widermstacked end to end

in neat rows. Not only was this bay twice as large as

bay three, but it had an intricate network of thick

tubes crisscrossing its high ceiling.

"What are all those tubes for?" he asked.

"Under normal circumstances," said Dax, "the

storage pods wouldn't leave the cargo bay during

refueling. Using those shielded conduits, the antimat-

ter would be moved directly from the full storage pods

into the empty pods on the starship. But the Hannibal

is a new ship without any storage pods of its own, so

the pods themselves are going on board."

She moved to the controls for bay one and an-

nounced, "I'm opening the door."

Odo stepped back as the door drew open. He braced

himself for a possible attack, although he thought it

unlikely that their stowaway, if they had one, would be

hiding among the antimatter. It wasn't the kind of

place a person would want to stay for hours on end.

There was something distinctly foreboding about the

large white canisters, emblazoned in red letters that

issued severe warnings in several languages. They

looked like rows of alien coffins.

He moved into the room in a crouch, glancing into

the corners and low places. Bright overhead lighting

dispelled most of the shadows and made his search

easy. Like the other cargo bay, this was a big room, but

it didn't offer many hiding places. Three-fourths of

the space was taken up by the storage pods and their

support mechanism. The rest was simply vacant, and

he figured there was room for ten more pods.

Dax stopped at the closest pod and bent over to

study the readouts on its tiny screen. Odo recalled

from his research that each storage pod was a self-

contained unit with its own computer and monitoring

systems. The internal systems had to be good, because

only the stability of the magnetic field stood between

safety and total annihilation.

Odo heard a gentle chirping noise and whirled

around to face an offending pod. "What is it doing?"

he asked.

Dax smiled as she moved from pod to pod, inspect-

ing their readouts. "They're quite remarkable, these

pods. Each has its own diagnostic system set to start at

a dif ferent time. The beeping means a pod has com-

pleted its diagnostic sweep. It will sleep for several

hours and do it again."

"Is the tanker equipped to eject these pods?" asked

Odo.

Dax shook her head. "Not in the way a starship can.

Of course, we can shoot them out the space dock, but

they're not plugged into an ejection system here, like

they will be on the Hannibal."

She chuckled. "I think Benjamin once referred to a

Starfleet tanker as a giant gas can. He's not far from

wrong."

Pressing flat against the wall, Odo maneuvered his

way around the storage pods and made a complete

excursion of the cargo bay. He peered into the freight

turbolift, under the conduits and pipework, and be-

tween the gigantic robot arms, but he didn't find

anything amiss. Still, the somber storage pods made

him uneasy, and he stood outside the door as Dax

completed her inspection of each individual con-

tainer.

She stepped out, and the door shut automatically

behind her. "The pods appear in order," she an-

nounced. "At least Rizo and his friend didn't tamper

with them."

Dax drew her phaser and motioned toward the

middle door. "I'm afraid this next one will be a

chambers of horrors."

"I don't have a weak stomach," said Odo, gazing

through the window into the forbidding darkness of

cargo bay two. "In fact, I don't have a stomach at all."

"You're lucky," Dax remarked. She went to bay

two's console and punched in some commands. Not

even the lights came on.

"This bay is badly damaged," she said. "It now has

an atmosphere, but I'm going to have to override the

circuits to get the door open and the lights on. They

didn't want anybody just wandering in here."

Odo watched the three cargo bay doors while Dax

worked on the controls. The impatient part of him

thought they should forgo this search in order to make

it back to the Alpha Quadrant as quickly as possible,

but the cautious part knew they had to be thorough.

The middle of the wormhole was not the place for a

sneak attack from within. Besides, Commander Sisko

was off on an errand of mercy, or at least curiosity,

and maybe this was a good time to take stock of their

situation.

They had managed to wrest the tanker away from

the criminals, and they had at least one prisoner to

show for it. A couple of dozen prisoners would be

more to his liking, but Odo was willing to settle for

their success so far. Unfortunately, he had a feeling

that this adventure was not finished yet.

The lights came on in cargo bay two, and the door

whooshed open. Odo stepped inside to be greeted by a

grisly sight, which brought home the full impact of

what the terrorists had done. Twenty-one bodies of

young Starfleet officers in their prime lay before him,

mostly human, about evenly divided between male

and female. Their bodies were bloodied and burned,

but they had benefited from being stored in an airless

cargo hold. He could detect no unpleasant odors or

pools of blood, and their skin had started to mum-

mify.

Neatly separated from the Starfleet bodies were the

bodies of seven Bajoran terrorists, also bloodied,

burned, and mummified. Except for their clothing, it

would have been difficult to tell them apart from the

larger group.

He heard Dax enter behind him, and he was glad he

had a Trill with him instead of a human. Humans

would have been uselessly emotional at this sight,

although it was difficult for him to suppress his anger.

He wanted to go next door and throttle Rizo.

Dax let out a heavy sigh. "Any sympathy I had for

them just went away."

"Good," said Odo. He studied the rest of the cargo

bay, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Like

cargo bay one, bay two had a full complement of both

magnetic conduits and robotic devices, to move the

antimatter either alone or inside its pod. It wouldn't

take much, he thought, to eject the bodies into space,

and he marveled that the terrorists had the considera-

tion not to do so while in orbit around Eco.

"Look there!" said Dax, pointing to one of the

thickest pipes snaking across the ceiling.

Odo saw nothing out of the ordinary, except for a

wadded bit of yellow cloth hanging over the conduit.

But the cloth evidently meant more to Dax, because

she stood under it, staring at it. "Can you get it?" she asked.

"Certainly," said Odo. He reached up, and his arm

stretched double its normal length to snag the yellow

cloth. To his surprise, there was considerably more of

it stashed behind the pipe than he had thought, and he

ended up pulling an entire spacesuit from its hiding

place. A helmet tumbled on the floor after it.

"With that," said Dax, "you could hide in here

without atmosphere."

"We are not alone," breathed Odo.

They heard a rumbling sound, and they whirled

around to see the heavy door shutting behind them.

Commander Sisko rubbed his eyes and stared at the

sight before him. He was at a distance of tens of

thousands of kilometers, but the small shapes on the

viewscreen were unmistakable. So was the ferocity of

the battle, with phaser blasts streaking silently across

the blackness. The scanners confirmed his eyesight--

four small craft had the Ferengi Marauder surrounded

and were blasting the hell out of it.

The Marauder tried to escape, but it was like a bear

cornered by a pack of dogs. Wherever it turned, a

smaller craft zoomed to cut it off, while the other three

nipped at its heels with phaser fire. When the Maraud-

er turned to stand and fight, the four sleek craft broke

off and fell back. They were trying to surround it,

thought Sisko, to keep pounding away from four

different directions. But the Ferengi captain didn't

panic--he calmly picked one of the retreating ships

and unleashed a torpedo at it. The smaller ship

sputtered like a wet candle and went dark.

"Good for you!" Sisko found himself saying. He

wished he hadn't done so much to cripple the Ferengi

ship. They were greedy and dishonest, but they didn't

deserve to be blasted out of the sky.

He racked his brain to think who the attackers could

be. His first thought was that they were Ecocids, but

he didn't recall seeing any ships like that while

orbiting the planet. Who had small one- or two-person

fighters? In the Gamma Quadrant, it could be any-

body. Coming from the Alpha Quadrant, it could only

be a handful of races. Who hated the Ferengi, or had a

score to settle? That could also be anybody.

The Marauder changed course and was on the move

again, this time headed toward Sisko. Had he been

spotted by the larger craft's sensors? Would they think

he was enemy or foe? As desperate as the Ferengi

probably were at this point, they didn't care. They saw

another ship, and they were going to try to get some

help.

Could he help the Marauder? The answer, sad to

say, was no. He had no torpedoes left, and his phasers

weren't capable of stopping the sleek craft the way the

Marauder's torpedo had. An unarmed runabout and a

badly damaged warship just weren't going to defeat

three fresh fighters, even if the fourth one was out of

it.

Sisko's only question was When should he run? If

the mystery fighters caught him in their sensors,

would they come after him, too? He really didn't want

to find out.

The commander was about to reverse course and

head back into warp drive when a distress signal

blinked on his console. He thought about the delay it

would cause if he listened to the Ferengi, but he

couldn't ignore their plea. He put the transmission on

the screen.

He saw a smoke-filled bridge and a dead body

draped over the navigator's chair. The Ferengi captain

rushed toward the screen, waving his arms frantically.

"You can't help us! Go away!" he howled. "These

are Cardassians--"

A direct hit rocked the Marauder, and the captain

screamed and tumbled out of sight. The image broke

up, and Sisko reached for the controls. Before he

could go to warp, a tremendous explosion lit up the

cockpit like a strobe light; and he was forced to cover

his eyes. He opened them to see the Marauder streak-

ing across the starscape like a giant Roman candle,

until it exploded into chunks that glimmered and

grew dark, like the entrails of fireworks.

He also saw that the three fighters were changing

course and picking up speed.

Damn, he thought, they've seen me! Sisko punched

the runabout into warp drive and began to pray.

CHAPTER

14

LIEUTENANT DAX whipped out her phaser, adjusted the

setting, and drilled the doorway that was shutting

behind them. With pinpoint accuracy, she fried the

seals and the sensors, then she swerved her fiery beam

to the controls on the wall and reduced them to a

shower of sparks. Odo was already running for the

door, and he dove under it as it lurched to a stop.

Dax turned off her phaser and paused to assess the

damage. Cargo bay two was even more disabled now,

because the door wouldn't even shut. Perhaps, she

thought, it was fitting that the door be left open and

the bodies visible to all.

She crawled out from under the partially closed

door into the anteroom, expecting to find Odo holding

the culprit by the scruff of the neck. Instead, she found

him hunched over the controls for cargo bay one.

"I think our visitor went back into bay one," he

said. "And unless I miss my guess, he's activated the

freight turbolift."

Dax rushed to Odo's side. "Is there any atmosphere

in there?" She gazed at the screen. "Yes, there is. They

can move between the cargo bays." "Rizo!" barked the shapeshifter.

In tandem, they rushed to the console for cargo bay

three. Dax bent over the controls and was relieved to

see that nothing else had been disabled. She keyed the

command to open the doors and drew her phaser

again.

Odo tensed beside her and began a slow approach to

the auxiliary cargo bay. Dax didn't know if Rizo had

joined with his confederate to fight or escape, but she

was prepared for the worst. She set her phaser to

heavy stun and waited to see what Odo encountered.

He was in a spidery crouch as he rounded the open

door and gazed into the hold. Then he froze, and she

started to rush to his side. Before she reached him she

saw Odo relax and assume his usual stiff-backed

posture, so Dax lowered her phaser and rounded the

corner of the door.

Inside was Rizo with his arms wrapped around

Petra, his nineteen-year-old daughter. He was trying

to calm her, and Dax could only imagine from her

wild eyes the kind of experience she had been through.

Hiding in a spacesuit in a dark vacuum full of dead

bodies, then dodging their determined pursuit, while

trying to mount a final attack. The poor girl had a

right to look exhausted and crazed.

"I told her it was no use," said Rizo hoarsely, as he

cradled his daughter. "We have reached the end.

When the Federation is this determined to stomp us

out, they will do it. You're a different kind of foe to us,

Lieutenant Dax, because you turn our own people

against us. For all their ruthlessness, the Cardassians

were never able to do that."

Dax didn't know what to say. She didn't want an

innocent to be tarred with the same brush as the

guilty, but how many of those Starfleet officers had

Petra killed? Her fate had long ago been corrupted

and sealed.

"You can stay here until we arrive at Deep Space

Nine, "said Dax. "I'm going up to the crew quarters to

fix some food and drink for you, and I'll beam it

directly here. We don't want to harm you, but this

shipment of antimatter has to be returned to the

Federation."

"And us?" Petra asked meekly. "We only wanted to

go someplace where there wasn't any war."

"I'll help you find that place," Dax promised. "But

I can't help you avoid your rightful punishment,

whatever that will be."

Dax nodded to Odo, who stood by the door and

waited until she had left the cargo bay. When Odo

came out, she rushed to the controls to shut the door

and disable the freight turbolift.

"I think they'll stay where they are," she said. "The

fight seems to have gone out of them."

"They're murderers," Odo reminded her.

"I know."

Commander Sisko cursed himself for his own stu-

pidity, good-heartedness, or whatever foolishness had

brought him back to search for the Ferengi Marauder.

Her killers were on his tail, at a respectful distance,

but nevertheless on his tail. The sleek fighters were

faster than the runabout and could have caught him in

a matter of minutes, but they seemed content to

follow him. That was more frightening than if they

had just come after him, because then he would be

forced to fight and get it over with. If he was going to

be blown to bits, he wanted it to happen before they

found the tanker.

If they really were Cardassians, he thought glumly,

the hijacking was public knowledge on the other side

of the wormhole. Sisko shivered, thinking this could

be only the beginning of the task of defending their

hard-won prize.

He estimated his rendezvous time at the asteroid

belt to be less than half an hour, and he hadn't decided

what to do yet. If he kept going to the wormhole, they

might follow him all the way through, and the tanker

would be spared. At least temporarily. If the

Cardassians were doing sensor sweeps, they might

detect the tanker and go after it--no matter what he

did. The Ferengi Marauder had probably been putting

out a distress signal, and it had cost them their lives.

Sisko knew he couldn't leave his comrades in the

dark about this new threat. He would have to tell

them, and they would have to obey his orders. But

first, he would have to make certain of the

Cardassians' intentions.

He opened a standard hailing frequency and an-

nounced, "This is the runabout Mekong from the

United Federation of Planets, hailing the ships that

are following me. This is Commander Benjamin

Sisko--please respond."

A young Cardassian female appeared on the

viewscreen. She was surrounded by an impressive

array of instruments in her cocoonlike cockpit. Her

brown hair was pulled back severely, and she had an

arrogant gleam in her sunken eyes.

"Commander Sisko, we assumed that was you," she

remarked. "This is Gul Nerwat of the Yaro, an experi-

mental vessel. Would you please stop so that we can

come aboard and search your vessel?"

"What business do you have to search my vessel?"

asked Sisko, getting huffy. "The Gamma Quadrant

doesn't belong to you."

The Cardassian smiled, because she was in a posi-

tion to do so. "We have learned that a rogue shipment

of antimatter is endangering the Gamma Quadrant

and the wormhole. We are pledged to find this ship-

ment and safeguard it."

"Like you safeguarded the Ferengi ship?" asked

Sisko.

The Cardassian's smile faded a little. "We don't

believe that is any of your concern. The Ferengi were,

shall we say, belligerent. We know they were in league

with you, but we don't know where the tanker is. Can

you tell us?"

"No," Sisko lied. "I don't know what you're talking

about. I'm on a routine mission from Deep Space Nine

to open trade with a planet called Eco. You can check

all of this out. In fact, I think you should go to

Eco--maybe you'll find what you're looking for."

"No, thank you," answered the fighter pilot. "You

have ten seconds to stop and let us board you. One--"

Cursing under his breath, Sisko flicked the

viewscreen off. He opened up an audio channel that

was little used, except for Starfleet emergencies.

"Sisko to Dax," he said. "Come in, Phoenix."

"Dax here," came the reply. "Benjamin, I've got

something to reportw"

"Listen to mine first," he ordered. "There are three

Cardassian ships on my tail--one-man, experimental

craft. They've already destroyed the Ferengi Maraud-

er, losing Gimba and all hands, and they want the

antimatter."

He could hear Dax swallow. "What do you want to

do?"

"Proceed to the wormhole. I'll hold them off."

"With what?" asked Dax. "You haven't got any

weapons to speak of, so you couldn't delay them more

than the time it takes to blow you up."

The commander's lips thinned. "I gave you an

order."

"Lure them into an ambush here," answered Dax,

"in the asteroid belt."

Sisko shook his head with frustration. "You haven't

got enough weaponry to take out three ships either.

Maybe one, if you got real lucky."

Suddenly, his short-range scanners began to flash,

and Sisko nearly jumped out of his seat. "I can't

believe it! They'x/e launched a torpedo after me!"

For the third time that day, Sisko took evasive

action. He dropped the ship out of warp, hoping the

torpedo wouldn't be able to accomplish the same feat.

The fighters were sophisticated but small, and they

probably had simple torpedoes, he hoped, like the

microtorpedoes on the runabout. Sure enough, his

sensors tracked the torpedo as it whizzed by him. But

the Cardassians had accomplished their objective--

they had gotten him to slow down. He went to full

impulse power and began more desperate maneuvers.

He checked his readouts and saw that the antimat-

ter in his warp reactor was getting dangerously low.

He didn't have time to appreciate the ironywrunning

out of antimatter while guarding a full tanker of the

stuff. Besides, the Cardassians would probably oblit-

erate him before he had a chance to run out of fuel. He

glanced over his shoulder, although there was nothing

to see but the back of the cockpit area. But he could

feel them breathing down his neck.

The three fighters came out of warp at a consider-

able distance, but they instantly hit top impulse and

spread out to surround him. When he zigzagged, one

kept on his tail, another tried to cut him off, and the

third tried to anticipate his next maneuver and beat

him to it. There was none of that leisurely pace that

had saved his life when the Marauder was chasing

him. He took to mixing vertical and horizontal course

changes, but the third fighter began to anticipate those

moves and gain on him at an alarming rate.

The Cardassians tried to hail him, to say, he sup-

posed, that his ten seconds were up. Sisko began to

wonder if perhaps he should let them board the

runabout as a delaying tactic to let the tanker escape.

A second later, a phaser blast rocked the runabout and

reminded him that he was not the one making the

decisions. The Cardassians had stopped hailing him.

Commander Sisko made his sharpest turn yet and

came around hard. They had attacked him, and that

made up his mind what he had to do. He wanted to

contact Dax and order her to escape, but he didn't

dare try another transmission with the Cardassians so

close. Besides, there wasn't any time. He picked the

center fighter and fired up all of his phaser emitters;

then he leaned forward and punched a fist in the air as

the phasers raked the target. It blinked and swerved

off course, although Sisko knew that its shields de-

flected most of the damage.

The other two fighters swerved hard to meet him

head-on, and he gripped his chair as their combined

phaser fire pounded the runabout. The tiny ship

bucked like an angry bull, and the lights in the cockpit

ran through a spectrum of colors before the emergen-

cy reds came on. Behind him circuits were burning

and raining sparks on the back of his neck, but Sisko

remained at his post, staring at his instruments

through acrid smoke.

He tried the helm and discovered that he had no

control. This was it, thought Sisko--death in an

unknown sector of the Gamma Quadrant. It might as

well be the Gobi Desert.

Suddenly, a bulky vessel streaked out of warp drive,

sending the two undamaged f ighters scurrying. Sisko

shook his head and tried not to blame Dax too much.

Where old friendships were concerned, the Trill had

always had more loyalty than sense. But she knew a

sitting duck when she saw it--she picked out the

crippled fighter and hit it with full phasers.

The small craft shuddered and fizzled like a wet

firecracker. Then it went completely dark. Another

fighter zoomed in and unleashed a phaser barrage

upon the tanker.

Sisko punched his comm panel and opened hailing

frequencies. "Gul Nerwat," he warned, "do not fire

on that tanker--unless you want to blow us all to

kingdom come!"

The Cardassian's face appeared on his viewscreen,

and she scowled, "Our sister ship does not respond.

Tell the tanker to drop her shields and prepare to be

boarded. Or we will retreat to a safe distance and blow

it up."

Sisko heaved a sigh. He could stall for time, but

what good would it do? The normal running lights

flickered on in the cockpit, and he was thankful that

some of the runabout's systems were coming back

on-line. However, a quick check of his instruments

showed that both his shields and phasers were

inoperative--the computer had assigned all available

energy to the helm and life-support.

"Let me confer with the captain of the tanker," he

told the Cardassian. He didn't want to reveal the fact

that her crew were all dead and she was being piloted

by two of his staff.

"Five minutes," sneered the Cardassian. "Then we

destroy you first, as an example."

Taking out the battered runabout shouldn't be too

difficult, thought Sisko glumly. He went back to the

emergency audio frequency. "Dax," he said, "I told

you to make a run for it."

"You didn't order me," the Trill replied calmly.

"Besides, we're in this together."

"We're deep in it," Sisko muttered. "The runabout

has no weapons or shields left."

"Then you're out of it," answered Dax. "They don't

want the runabout, anyway, so you should make a run

for it."

"But you can't hold out," Sisko answered. "If you

don't let them board you, they'll back off to a safe

distance and just keep pounding away."

Odo's voice cut in. "Pardon me, sir, but we're

sitting on more raw explosives than ten photon torpe-

does combined. Isn't. there anything we can do with

it?"

The commander frowned mightily for several mo-

ments; then he snapped his fingers. "Depth charges!"

"Pardon me, sir?" asked Odo.

Dax answered, "It's an ancient Terran weapon used

by seagoing vessels against submarine vessels."

"To great effect," added Sisko. "Dax, is there any

way to eject a storage pod and set it to explode at a

given distance?"

"Not at a given distance," answered Dax, "but at a

given time, yes. You simply program the pod to shut

down its magnetic field at a given moment. The

antimatter is released and hits the pod--and

kaboom!"

"I can't be any help," Sisko murmured. "For this to

work, they'll have to be chasing you."

"You should go now," said Dax. "Somebody has to

get back to DS9 to let them know what happened. Tell

the Cardassians to give us a few minutes, then we'll let

them board us. I have to do some calculations and get

set up. We can't eject a pod at warp speed, but we

should be able to do it at full impulse."

Sisko said hoarsely, "I don't want to leave you out

here, old man."

"You haven't got much choice," said Dax in her

usual businesslike manner. "Besides, we've been

through worse scrapes than this." She paused. "Al-

though I really can't remember any."

He shook his head, thankful that they were on audio

only. "I don't remember ever leaving you behind. I'm

not going to do it."

"Yes, you are," answered Dax. "I hate to use

clich6s, but I've led a long, full life, and you've got a

son who needs you. Please get going, Benjamin."

"Odo," said the commander, "I want to beam you

over."

"I'm afraid not," answered the shapeshifter. "With

the state of the controls over here, I'm sure it will

require both of us to eject a pod. Rest assured,

Commander, I will not volunteer for any more rescue

missions."

"We'll be right along," Dax assured him.

Sisko gulped. "You'd better be. Out."

He cut off communications and stared at the

Cardassian ships on his viewscreen with an over-

whelming mixture of hatred, grief, and frustration. A

shred of hope was somewhere in that muck, but he

feared giving it too much credence. Best to act as if

Dax, Odo, and the Phoenix were gone. At least he

would get back to DS9 and try to prevent the

Cardassians from bringing the antimatter back.

He opened a channel to Gul Nerwat and reported,

"The tanker needs five minutes to prepare for board-

ing."

"Why?" snarled the Cardassian.

"There are safety precautions to disable," answered

Sisko, hoping that sounded plausible. "My life-

support systems are failing. Do you mind ifI try to get

back to the wormhole?"

The Cardassian woman paused in thought, and she

finally asked, "This isn't a trick, is it?"

Sisko shrugged. "I have no shields and no weapons.

Your own scanners probably tell you that. I couldn't

do anything to you even if I wanted to. Plus, if you

destroy me, the tanker will fight to the end, and you'll

have to destroy it. You'll go back to Cardassia having

lost two ships from your squadron, with nothing to

show for it."

Sisko was quite content to talk all day and give Dax

as much time as she needed, but the Cardassian

captain was decisive. "Go," she ordered. "Tell your

people that Cardassians are merciful."

No one would believe him if he said that, thought

Sisko, but he smiled pleasantly. "You are indeed

merciful. I bid you good-bye."

"May we meet again," answered the Cardassian

woman with a smile that could only be called lascivi-

ous. "Under more pleasant circumstances."

Sisko hid his repulsion. "Perhaps," he answered. He

cut off the transmission and slumped back in his

chair.

It was all up to Dax now. With his fingers crossed,

he put the battered runabout into low warp drive and

headed for the wormhole.

When Dax entered cargo bay two, Rizo was just

finishing a drumstick of fried chicken. Petra was

asleep beside him on the barren cargo bay floor.

Rizo licked his lips appreciatively. "How did you

know I liked this dish called 'fried chicken'?"

"Lucky guess," said Dax. "I notice it's popular

among humans, and Bajorans are a lot like humans."

"I'm not sure if that's an insult, or not," muttered

Rizo. He stood to his impressive height and wiped his

hands on his shirt. "Have we gone through the worm-

hole? It didn't feel like we went very far."

"We haven't," answered Dax. "We're surrounded

by three Cardassian ships. They've already destroyed

the Ferengi ship, killing Gimba and all aboard, and

now they're after us."

Rizo's face twisted into a frightening mask of

hatred. "Cardassians," he hissed. "You must destroy

them."

"We have a plan," answered Dax, "but it will take

three of us. Odo doesn't want to trust you, but I don't

see that we have any choice. Will you give me your

word, by whatever philosophies you hold dear, that

you won't turn on us?"

The Bajoran brushed back his hair and stared at her

in amazement. "Do you think I want to be captured

by Cardassians? What do you think they would do to

me? Or you! They don't want to destroy us--they

want to take us alive. Let me die fighting them, and I

will die happy."

"You may be very happy," muttered Dax. "If what

we have planned doesn't work, we're out of options.

Come." She started to the doorway.

"One moment," said the big Bajoran. He leaned

down and stroked his daughter's rough-cut hair off her

forehead; then he kissed her.

"Daughter," he said, "I don't wish to wake you, but

I have to go with Lieutenant Dax."

The young woman sat up, confused and alarmed.

"Where are they taking you?"

"Nowhere," he said. "I'm going to help them. You

stay here and sleep. Eat."

"Yes," agreed Dax. "We may need your help, too.

For now, you should try to get some rest."

"It will be over soon," Rizo promised her.

Dax strode out the doorway, motioning Rizo after

her. He was rubbing his eyes as he came out. "I've

been no fit parent," he admitted, "but we are no better

than the mold which forms us. If we die killing

Cardassians, it will be worth it."

Dax shook her head and walked to the turbolift.

"Remember, our mission is to recover the antimatter.

Not kill Cardassians."

"My mission is always to kill Cardassians," an-

swered the terrorist.

She explained the plan briefly to Rizo on the way up

the turbolift. When they reached the bridge of the

tanker, Odo gave them a dour expression and leaped

to his feet, assuming a defensive posture. Rizo tight-

ened his fists and glared at the security chief.

"At ease," ordered Dax. "You'll have to trust each

other for the next few minutes, or you'll die as

comrades, no matter what. Odo, you will take over the

conn. I've set the course, but you'll have to relay to me

the exact distance and speed of our pursuers. Rizo, I'll

need you below on the controls for cargo bay one. I'll

be inside the cargo bay, adjusting the program on the

pod we're going to eject."

A beep sounded, and Odo glanced at the controls.

"They're hailing us," he reported.

"Put down our shields," answered Dax, "and tell

them to start making their approach. When I give you

the word, go to full impulse. Our shields have to be

down, anyway, so we might as well do it now. Any

questions?"

"Will you let Petra go?" asked Rizo.

Dax shook her head. "That's a question for a

tribunal, not me. If you don't help us, she'll be dead,

or a Cardassian prisoner."

Rizo nodded grimly. "Lead on."

Dax could hear Odo speaking to the Cardassian s as

the turbolift doors shut between them. She tried to

relax, but the idea of turning antimatter storage pods

into deep-space depth charges was not a relaxing

notion. Suicidal was more like it.

When they reached the cargo bay anteroom, Rizo

rushed directly to his post like an eager Starfleet cadet.

He smiled at her. 'Tll help you kill Cardassians all

day long. What do you want me to do?"

"Open the door and leave it open," she answered.

"When you hear me shout 'now,' eject the first pod in

line through the docking nose. You'll need to use the

manual override, but I think you know how to do that

already."

"I do," promised Rizo. "Count on me."

He opened the door for her, and Dax entered the

cavernous chamber. She was unable to suppress a

horrible feeling of dread. The pods looked like what

they suddenly were--enormous bombs. Conduits

snaked across the ceiling like hungry vines, and robot

arms dangled like the legs of giant spiders. Dax shook

her head and tried to concentrate on her mission.

She was squeezing between pods on her way toward

the freight turbolift when a noise sounded. She leaped

back, startled, before she realized that it was just a

nearby pod signaling the end of its diagnostic cycle.

The Trill swallowed hard and scrambled toward the

first pod in line.

She touched the panels to activate the pod's internal

programming. After studying the readouts on its small

screen, she was satisfied that she knew how to turn off

its internal magnetic field at a given microsecond. Of

course, nobody ever did that when the pod was full of

antimatter, so she had to disable several safety fea-

tures, too.

Finally, she touched her comm badge. "Odo, I'm

ready."

"Good," he answered, "because the two Cardassian

ships are at five hundred kilometers and closing fast."

"Are their shields down?"

"Still up," answered the security chief. "There is no

point in firing at them. Shall I escape?"

"Do it," she ordered. She called to Rizo, "Ready

yourselfl"

"I'm always ready," he shouted back, "to kill

Cardassians!"

The ship pitched slightly as Odo plunged them into

impulse drive. Dax brought up the subsystem that

regulated the magnetic field inside the pod, and she

saw that the timer read IND for indefinite. She readied

her fingers to change the setting. The Trill had already

done a batch of calculations, and she had a set of

rough equivalents in her mind. One second for every

two thousand kilometers. Adjust for speed and add

four seconds for the ejection process. This wasn't

going to be very accurate, she knew, but an antimatter

explosion didn't require great accuracy to do damage.

However, an explosion that happened too soon

would catch the tanker as well. An explosion that

happened too late would miss its target. Her fingers

tensed in readiness.

She jumped when her communicator beeped. "Odo

to Dax. They are demanding we stop, or they will

open fire."

"Distance?" she asked.

"They fell back to eighteen thousand kilometers.

Now seventeen. Bearing, sixty-three-mark-four. Full

impulse. Now sixteen thousand."

Awfully damned close, she thought, and the longer

they waited the closer they would come. Knowing that

one second's mistake could cost them their lives, her

fingers were a blur on the controls. Allowing for her

own actions, she set the timer to shut off the pod in ten

seconds. It was a nice round number.

"Now!" she screamed, leaping back.

The robotic arms lurched into action, lifting the

pod as if it were a pillow and shoving it out the

turbolift doors, which shut immediately behind the

robot. She should run, thought Dax, somewhere! But

she knew that there was no place to hide on a tanker

full of antimatter.

She slapped her comm badge and announced. "Dax

here. The pod is away!"

"Putting up shields!" barked Odo. Apparently not

a second too soon, as the ship was jolted by a phaser

blast.

"Was that it?" yelled Rizo from outside in the

anteroom.

"No!" Dax shouted back. She was frozen while

mentally counting down the seconds. Four, three, two,

one ....

Matter met antimatter and ripped the fabric of

space open for a blistering moment. The light that

burned was whiter than the newest star, but it was

gone in seconds, leaving nothing in its wake.

Dax was knocked completely off her feet between

two huge pods. The ship pitched again, and she could

hear the groaning of the giant pods against their

restraints. She feared she Would be crushed! Suddenly

strong arms were lifting her and dragging her into a

clear area.

She looked up to see Rizo towering over her,

panting and grinning. "Did we kill 'em?"

"I'll check," she breathed. She tapped her comm

badge. "Odo, what about our pursuers?"

"Gone," answered Odo with satisfaction. "Not a

trace."

Dax lay back on the cold floor and spread her arms

in blessed relief. "Go to warp drive," she said. "I'll be

right there. Out."

When she started to get up, Rizo stuck a beefy palm

in her chest and pushed her back down.

i "Sorry," he said, pulling a phaser from the back of

his belt. "You,re not going anywhere."

CHAPTER

15

BEFORE RIZO COULD STUN HER, Dax whipped up her

legs, curled her back, and gave him two heels in the

stomach. The Bajoran staggered backward, gasping

for breath but trying to aim his phaser. Dax rolled,

and the brilliant beam flashed pa.st her shoulder.

Before Rizo could steady himself to aim again, she

made a dash into the sea of pods and crouched behind

them.

She yelled, "Don't shoot phase/rs in here! You

idiot!"

Holding his stomach and gulping with anger, Rizo

staggered along the row of antimatter Pods. 'Tin not

the idiot!" he snarled. "You showed me how valuable

this antimatter is--as a weapon! I can't let you take it

back!"

"You have to," she insisted. "You have to end this

way of life. What are you going to do with this ship

and the antimatter? You've seen how it attracts noth-

ing but trouble. Isn't that what you told me?"

Rizo looked away, anger being replaced by confu-

sion and weariness. "What will you do with Petra?"

"I personally will try to help her," answered the

Trill. She rose from her hiding place. "I can't speak for

anyone else, but I'll do whatever I can. Listen, you

cannot try to prove your points with death and

destruction anymore. That time is past. Other

Bajorans feel much like you, and they speak openly

about it. The war for independence is over. You can

see from what happened here that it's not the Federa-

tion who's in control. It's the Bajorans. They are in

control of their own destiny."

Rizo muttered, "That ship they are building--it

should be for Bajor."

"Perhaps the next one will be for Bajor," said Dax.

"The shipyards are up and working. Perhaps the next

shipment of antimatter will be for a Bajoran ship, the

first one built in generations. Come back with us and

see that happen."

Rizo scoffed, "I'11 be in a cell."

"Voices from cells have been heard before," said the

lieutenant. Her comm badge beeped, and she an-

swered it. "Dax here."

"You said you were coming right up," Odo said

with concern. "Is everything all right?"

Dax looked expectantly at Rizo, and he lowered the

phaser. "Yes," she nodded, "I was just having a

discussion with our prisoner. It will take me a minute

to escort him back to the cargo bay. Is our course

locked in for the wormhole?"

"Locked in," said Odo. "Estimated arrival at the

wormhole in thirty-two minutes. We will probably

overtake Commander Sisko before then."

"Give hima report," said Dax. She looked at Rizo.

"And tell him our prisoner distinguished himself

under fire."

"I'm glad I was wrong," admitted the shape-shifter.

"Out."

She strode up to Rizo, and the hulking Bajoran let

out a long sigh as he dropped the phaser into her hand.

"Have any more of these hidden around?" she

asked.

"No," he murmured, "that was the only one." He

gave her a wry smile. "Don't take this wrong, Lieuten-

ant, but you're the first woman I've admired in a long

time. Since Petra's mother."

Dax shook her head sadly. "I wish your lives had

been different. As I said, I have no basis to imagine

what you went through."

He shrugged his big shoulders. "It's over now. I

knew this would be the end--one way or another."

Captain Jon Rachman lifted his glass of synthehol

and said suavely, "I'm having a wonderful time."

Major Kira Nerys looked at a chronometer and

grumbled, "I'm not."

"Relax," he told her. "They'll let you know if

something happens. You're a minute away from the

bridge, and I'm a minute away from my ship. If duty

calls, we'll answer. Meanwhile, relax."

Kira tried to slump back in her chair and relax, but

her shoulder blades refused to loosen up. She rubbed

them against the back of the chair, trying to make

them relax. She finally had to admit that she didn't

want to sit back, so she sat forward and tried to relax.

"Couldn't you have picked some other time to ask

me for a date?" she muttered. She glanced around

Quark's Place with mild disgust.

"I'm sorry that your people are still missing," said

Rachman soberly. "But after they come back, I'll be

leaving. If not sooner. So you see, Major, this is the

only time. There are a lot of poets who think the

present should be lived as if it were the last moment of

creation."

"Are there?" asked Kira mockingly. Grudgingly,

she took a sip of her fruit punch. "I'm truly not averse

to you as a person, Captain Rachman--" "Jon, please." He smiled.

"But I can't think about, er, what you would like me

to think about at the moment."

"What exactly would I like you to think about?"

asked Jon Rachman, resting his chiseled chin in his

hand and leaning forward.

Kira shifted in her chair and finally met his stare

head-on. "You would love to seduce me."

Rachman looked thoughtful. "Actually I would

prefer that you seduce me. But for the moment, I'm

content to just get to know you. What do you want out

of life?"

"Bajor," she answered immediately. "I want our

homeworld to be free and secure and on her way to

prosperity. Then maybe we can pay back the people

who have helped us."

Rachman shook his head in amazement. "When I

first read the report on Deep Space Nine, I couldn't

understand what we were doing here."

Kira bristled, and her dark eyes flashed.

"Don't get me wrong," added the young captain, "I

didn't object to being here. It's just unusual for the

Federation to have coadministration of a space sta-

tion with another party. Now that I've gotten to know

you and your people, I can see how both sides needed

this arrangement--to form a bond of mutual trust. I

really admire what you're doing here. I mean that

sincerely."

Kira took his hand and gave him a warm smile. Her

shoulders suddenly felt very relaxed. "Thanks. I know

how much the Federation has risked for us, and I'm

grateful. I'm sure we can coexist."

Rachman laid his other hand on top of hers. "We

can test that theory in a sort of microcosm. Just two

people, say, on a long weekend down to Bajor--"

The major's comm badge beeped, and she shrugged

an apology as she tapped it. "Kira."

O'Brien's voice had none of its usual playfulness.

"Major, the neutrino level from the wormhole is very

high. Something is coming through. Perhaps more

than one ship."

She jumped up. "Any other unusual readings?"

"Other?" asked O'Brien. Then it dawned on him.

"You don't think those Klingon ships went away?"

"They could be close enough to monitor the worm-

hole," answered Kira, already dashing toward the

door. "Scan for all anomalies. I'm on my way!"

Captain Rachman rushed after her, but he turned

the other way on the Promenade. "The Regal is

ready," he assured her.

Kira paused on her way to the turbolift and gave the

captain a glancing smile. "Maybe we'll have some-

thing to celebrate."

Quark ran after them both, shouting, "Who's going

to pay this bill?"

When both the captain and the major ignored him

and dashed out of sight, the Ferengi saloonkeeper

stroked his earlobe and smiled. He could smell money

changing hands, very soon now. Then he frowned.

Which way would the money be going?

"Please be alive, Commander Sisko," whispered

Quark earnestly. "Please come back... alive."

Chief O'Brien frowned at the shifting readouts on

the Ops table. Where was Dax? he wondered; she

would be able to make sense of these mysterious

fluctuations. Then he remembered where Dax was,

and that he'd gone too many bloody hours without

sleep.

He gazed up at the main viewer and the endless

expanse of stars, expecting any moment for the worm-

hole to erupt in an orgasm of swirling colors. Sudden-

ly it did, swirling outward like a giant rainbow turned

inside out. He momentarily forgot about the unusual

readings in the vicinity and stared at the screen, as did

everyone else on the bridge. He heard the turbolift

doors swish open as the first ship emerged from the

wormhole.

"The tanker!" he shouted.

Kira rushed through Operations, pointing to the

communications offcer. "Hail them!" she ordered.

"There's a second ship!" shouted O'Brien. He

pointed at the viewscreen, although it was hardly

necessary. All eyes were riveted upon it. A smaller

vessel was suddenly spit out, and the wormhole

vanished.

"The runabout!" gasped Kira.

"Damn," muttered O'Brien, slamming his fist on

the operations table. "Two Klingon Birds-of-Prey

uncloaking at fifteen thousand kilometers!"

On the viewscreen, two vulturelike warships shim-

mered into view.

"The tanker does not respond," said the communi-

cations officer, "but the Klingons are hailing us."

"On screen," snapped Kira. "What business do you

have here--" She started to say more, but she was

stopped by the sight of a young Bajoran man smiling

at her from the screen.

"Prepare to die," said the Bajoran. "We have had

enough of Cardassian space stations and Federation

meddling. With the help of our Klingon friends, we

will put an end to all of it now. That includes the

wormhole."

The screen went blank, and Kira and O'Brien stared

at each other. The chief was almost afraid to look at

his instruments, for fear of what he would find. When

he did, his worst fears were realized.

"They're dropping their shields," he breathed.

"Powering up phasers. The tanker is headed straight

toward them!"

"Where's the runabout?" asked Kira.

"It's headed for the docking ring," reported

O'Brien. "But if those crazy Klingons do what I think

they're going to do, we'll all be chipped beef on toast!"

"They won't blow themselves up," said Kira hope-

fully.

"They're far enough away to avoid the worst of it,"

answered O'Brien. "But we're not." "Hail them!" ordered Kira.

The communications officer shook his head.

"They're not responding."

O'Brien took a gulp of air and changed the setting

on the main viewer to show the Klingon warships.

There were gasps all around as they unleashed a broad

band of phaser fire. He changed the view to show the

tanker, streaking to its doom in total oblivion.

"Brace yourselves!" yelled O'Brien.

An explosion ruptured the starscape, but it wasn't

the cataclysmic end of the world that O'Brien ex-

pected. It was just your normal starship being blown

to smithereens, a sight he had witnessed too many

times in his long career with Starfleet. The station

didn't even tremble.

"Where's the antimatter?" asked Kira in amaze-

ment.

O'Brien shrugged, but a smile began to creep across

his ruddy face. "If it ain't there, it must be someplace

else."

The communications panel beeped, and Kira an-

swered, "Ops."

"Major, this is Ensign Pertwee at docking port

three. I just want to report that the Mekong is docked

and Commander Sisko, Lieutenant Dax, and Chief

Odo are safe."

Kira looked at O'Brien and puffed up her chest,

before expelling a long sigh.

Ensign Pertwee continued, "But the runabout is

packed to the gills with antimatter pods, and we're not

sure how to handle them. Could you spare us Chief

O'Brien?"

"He's on his way," answered Kira. And he was, with

a big grin on his face.

The major would have liked to savor the moment,

but there were still two Klingon Birds-of-Prey within

striking distance--and they had just been cheated out

of their big kill.

She hit her comm badge. "Ops to Captain

Rachman. There are two Klingon ships in the area. Be

careful, but get rid of them."

"Aye, sir," the captain answered crisply. "Leaving

spacedock."

Kira took over control of the Operations table, and

she changed the angle on the main viewer to watch the

Regal pull away from the station. The cruiser went

quickly to full impulse and bore down on the Klingon

warships. They hadn't come any closer, but they

weren't backing off either. Kira widened the view to

include all three ships, and she held her breath,

knowing that Rachman had a skeleton crew and a

dysfunctional ship. Yet he plowed straight toward

them, as if he could wipe them out with a snap of his

fingers.

She monitored communications frequencies, but

there were no transmissions. The Regal was acting like

the bouncer in an Orion nightclub, throwing out a

couple of unruly bullies. It muscled closer and closer

to them--five thousand kilometers, four, three...

Finally, the Klingon ships blinked. They made

graceful pirouettes in space and were already going

into warp drive when the Regal reached their former

position and stopped.

With relief in his voice, the communications officer

announced, "Captain Rachman reports that the area

is secure. He requests permission to return to Deep

Space Nine."

Kira finally took a breath and permitted herself a

wide grin. "Yes," she agreed. "Let's get everybody

home."

CHAPTER

16

"MORE WINE?" asked Quark, brandishing a bottle

under Commander Sisko's nose. "Trefethen from

Napa Valley, California, 2361, which I understand is a

very good year."

"Replicated?" asked Dr. Bashir.

Quark shot him a glare. "Of course not. I've been

saving this for a special occasion."

Benjamin Sisko was beaming. "Absolutely. In fact,

take it to your replicatots and make a bunch of bottles.

I want everybody to have a glass of wine for a toast."

Quark snapped his fingers and handed the bottle off

to Rom. He had converted his largest holodeck suite

into a palatial French dining hall modeled after one

owned by some Terran geezer named Louis XVI.

Dr. Bashir leaned forward eagerly. "Commander,

whatever gave you the idea to put the antimatter on

the runabout?"

Sisko shook his head in amazement. "From the very

beginning, that tanker was like a giant bull's-eye. We

knew we couldn't protect it from another assault,

especially with the condition of the runabout. So after

we got away from the Cardassians and stopped on the

other side of the wormhole, we decided to move the

antimatter. We had a bit of luck in that the Mekong

had an empty cargo module. Still, those nineteen pods

were crammed in everywhere, even the cockpit. We

had to turn off the artificial gravity to maneuver them

around."

"Nineteen?" asked Bashit. "I thought there were

twenty?"

Sisko grew somber. "We had to use one. Anyway, we

didn't know what we would find in the Alpha Quad-

rant, so Dax plotted a course for the empty tanker and

we beamed her off before it went through the worm-

hole."

Rom and several other waiters were suddenly at

everyone's elbow, pouring white wine. Only Odo and

young Jake Sisko declined, but they held up their

glasses of water.

Quark bowed gracefully and gushed, "Your wine is

served, Commander, and the appetizer is on its way."

Sisko looked puzzledly at the Ferengi. "I'm glad to

see you too, Quark, but I must say I'm overwhelmed

by this welcome. We were only gone a few days."

The Ferengi rubbed his hands together. "A few

profitable days."

"I'm glad it was profitable for someone," said the

commander. "I should tell you that Gimba and his

Marauder will not be coming back."

Quark lowered his head. "Our esteemed colleague

would be relieved to know that somebody profited by

his death."

The commander nodded. Then he stood and lifted

his wineglass. "I would like to propose a toast."

Everyone stood and lifted a glasS. They were still

laughing and chatting amiably until they saw the look

on Commander Sisko's face. Quark was issuing orders

to his waiters when he glanced at Sisko. He instantly

drew himself to attention.

The commander held up his glass and Said, "To the

brave men and women of the Phoenix. They went

down with their ship."

The glasses were hoisted and drained in silence.

"I'm sorry, Admiral Nicheyev," said Benjamin

Sisko to the small viewscreen on his desk. "But you

see, I'm alive. There's no need for a replacement."

The stiff-necked admiral bristled and cleared her

throat. "Of course not, Commander. I didn't mean to

say that we were disappointed you were still alive, only

that your replacement will be disappointed. But we'll

find another suitable post for Commander Shelby."

Sisko was in an unusually jovial mood, and not

even an admiral could bring him down. "If she's a

good officer, send her along! We can always use her."

"I'm afraid not," said the admiral. "Commander

Shelby needs a command post to function at her best.

Of course, you have recovered the antimatter as well,

so we can recall the entire convoy, except for the

escort ship which is carrying the parts for the cruis-

ers."

"Whatever you wish," agreed Sisko.

Dax stopped in the doorway of his office and caught

his eye. He motioned to her to stop. "It's been a

pleasure, Admiral. I'm sorry we've caused you so

much trouble, but I believe we can get the launch of

the Hannibal back on schedule."

"Thank you, Commander. I look forward to seeing

what sounds like a most interesting report." The dour

admiral signed off.

Sisko motioned Dax to come forward. "What hap-

pened at the hearing?"

Dax entered the room, looking a little embarrassed.

"I made a strong plea for some sort of clemency,

especially for Petra. She is being sent to a hospital for

psychiatric evaluation, which is a good first step.

There's no way to avoid punishment for Rizo, but he

came up with his own unique sentence." Sisko smiled. "Which is?"

"One of the old Cardassian prisons has several

empty buildings, and he wants to turn them into a

factory to make ship components. He's proposing that

convicts of a free Bajor have to be given the right to

work for Bajor, even if it's prison labor. The council

may go along with him. At any rate, Rizo will be given

a life sentence."

The commander stood at his desk and nodded

thoughtfully. "We were lucky this time. Very lucky.

We could have ended up like all the others, dead or

trapped on Eco." He shuddered at the thought and

began to rearrange objects on his desk. "Do you want

to go with Major Kira and me to the launch? I hear it

could be as early as tomorrow."

Dax shook her head slowly. "I don't think so. I

believe I need to keep my own company for a few

days."

"You earned a rest, old man. I'm glad you were

there with me."

Dax nodded. "So am I."

Sisko chuckled but didn't look up. "1 think I could

even stand to see you in that dress again."

Dax smiled. "You should be so lucky."

The Hannibal, an Ambassador-class starship, re-

mained imprisoned in a giant pit, where Commander

Sisko had last seen it. But now the Lilliputians were

on a far hill, watching the launch from bleachers, and

only a few chosen VIPs were at ground level, staring

into the pit. The commander and Major Kira were

among them, along with dignitaries, such as Bajoran

ministers and Federation envoys.

Unlike his earlier visit, no one was crawling over the

gleaming hull of the ship, and no one was watching it

from the six gigantic arches overhead. He looked

down to see steam escaping from couplings surround-

ing the ship, and he knew that these couplings would

soon let go and release the Hannibal from its earthy

bonds.

The commander nodded and smiled at the digni-

taries. He was in a magnanimous mood, having

thought more than once that he would never live to

see this day. Now, to have a starship named after

Hannibal taking off from these historic shipyards,

which had been in use since before airplanes flew on

Earth--it was wonderful! Plus, he had the satisfaction

of knowing that he had made his own small contribu-

tion to the proceedings. Other antimatter could have

powered the Hannibal on its maiden voyages, but it

was the antimatter they had rescued that would be

doing the job.

Despite Sisko's delight in the proceedings, he

couldn't help but notice that Major Kira looked

pensive and suspicious. The way she studied some of

her own government officials, such as Minister Roser,

made him wonder if they might be wanted criminals.

He wondered how to broach the subject, and he

decided to come around to it slowly.

"Major," he said, "I wondered why you didn't

request to be assigned to the shakedown crew. They

would have welcomed you, even as an observer, and I

would have agreed."

"I didn't want to be gone for so long," answered

Kira. She shrugged, trying to make light of her lame

excuse. "After everything that's happened, I didn't

think it was appropriate."

"Yes," said Sisko, lowering his voice. "I forget what

it must have been like here. These people put you

through a lot, did they?"

"Some," answered Kira. She lowered her own voice

to say, "Actually, Commander, I can explain it all

much better after the launch, when we go to see

Director Amkot."

"Director Amkot," echoed Sisko. "I wonder why he

isn't here?"

"Probably in the control room," she answered. As

Sisko had hoped, conversation was beginning to relax

Major Kira, and she gave him a smile. "I have to tell

you, Commander, I've been reading up on Terran

history. You know, when Hannibal led those fantastic

creatures--the elephants--over the Alp Mountains

to attack Rome, he was defeated."

"After taking two-thirds of the country," said Sisko,

"and only after Rome mustered every able-bodied

soldier she had."

"But they were defeated," Kira mused with plea-

sure. "It makes me think fondly of your culture that

you would memorialize a general who was defeated,

even though he was courageous and visionary. It gives

me hope that our people can make mistakes and learn

to appreciate them."

"Oh, we've made lots of mistakes," said Sisko with

a chuckle. "You've got to learn from them, or keep

making them."

Kira shook her head. "I know revenge is a powerful

emotion and victory is an aphrodisiac, but we have to

stop fighting, every one of us. After the Cardassians

conquered us, we learned to be warriors. But how do

you learn peace?"

"Practice," answered Sisko. "We had a captain in

Starfleet who used to say that being civilized doesn't

mean you'll never fight, only that you're not going to

fight today."

"Not today," said Kira thoughtfully. "Do you mind

if I pass that saying on? I don't think we can ever go

back to being pacifists--not in my lifetime--but we

have to know that peace is an option. It's the prefera-

ble option."

Before Sisko could give his heartfelt approval, there

was a buzz of conversation, and they looked up to see

the arches overhead starting to glow with a greenish

light. A weird humming sound pierced the air, and

people began to step back from the giant pit. Not

Commander Sisko. A full-sized starship taking off

from a planet was a sight that hadn't been seen on

Earth in hundreds of years. He didn't want to miss

this launching.

Kira stood at his side, and he could see the concern

on her face dissolving into pride. This starship had

been built on Bajor, and wherever it went, it would

serve as a monument to their recovery.

The tractor beams on the arches locked on, and the

mammoth ship gave a palpable shudder. The steam

stopped shooting from the couplers, and their hydrau-

lics yanked back to release the twin nacelles, the

cylindrical hull, and the gleaming saucer section. The

Hannibal rose gracefully into the clear desert air, and

Sisko felt his feelings soaring with each meter it rose.

The hole in the ground was no longer a mysterious

ruin but a mother giving birth, and the arches were the

calm midwife.

The Hannibal was securely cradled inside the mas-

sive archways before the crew took over. Shuttlecraft

hovered nearby like anxious pilot fish, but the Hanni-

bal was going to leave the forcefields under her own

power. Sisko could see the lights ripple on along the

length of her hull, and they were brilliant even in the

bright sunlight of the Okana Desert. He could hear the

oohs and ahs, and knew he was saying them, too. So

enraptured was he by the magnificent sight that Sisko

lost track of time--he had no idea how long the

starship remained tethered inside its metallic cocoon.

When its thrusters finally came on, it shot off like a

butterfly bursting free. He was amazed that such an

enormous object could grow so small so fast, because

it was soon the merest blip in the sky to the naked eye.

Beside him, Kira nodded with satisfaction. "This is

a good day, a very good day."

"Yes," saidSisko with a smile. "I can hear the

admirals calling up now, placing more orders."

Kira tapped her comm badge. "Major Kira to

Director Amkot."

There was no response, and she frowned puzzledly.

"Major Kira to Director Amkot."

Again the response was nil. She tapped her badge

and requested instead, "Major Kira to the control

room."

"Chief Engineer Daken here. What can I do for you,

Major?"

"I was looking for Director Amkot, but he doesn't

respond. Is he with you?"

"He was here until the launch started," answered

the engineer. "Then he said he wanted to watch the

rest of it in his private office. Do you know where that

is?"

"Yes," answered Kira. "But why doesn't he respond

to his communicator?"

"I don't know. We leave him alone when he goes

there."

"Thank you." Kira turned to Sisko and said with

alarm, "Let's go find him."

The door to his office was closed, and a middle-aged

Bajoran in coverails was trying to override the circuits

to gain entry.

"Hello," he said, slightly out of breath. "You must

be Major Kira. I'm Chief Daken. We spoke a moment

ago."

"Yes," said Kira. "What's the matter?"

"Right after I talked to you, I tried to contact the

director, and he didn't respond. The computer says

he's. in here, but he doesn't answer even when I bang

on the door!"

Sisko stepped forward. "What about transporters?

Can we beam inside?"

Chief Daken shook his head. "No, all transporters

are on emergency standby in case there's some mal-

function with the Hannibal. That doesn't seem likely,

but we can't use them until the Hannibal establishes

orbit."

Kira drew a small phaser from her pocket. "With

your permission?"

"Yes, yes!" agreed Daken.

"Major," asked Sisko with disapproval, "do you

always arm yourself when you come to Bajor?"

"Lately, yes." Kira took aim at the controls of the

door and fried the instruments with a pinpoint blast.

The door slid halfway open, and she was the first one

through.

She froze in shock, as did Sisko and the engineer a

few steps behind her. Slumped over his expensive but

chipped and weathered desk was the director of the

Okana Shipyards. Under a thatch of thick white hair,

just above his right temple, was a small blackened

hole. A phaser was lying close to his curled fingers,

where he had dropped it. There was no way in or out

except for the door that had been locked.

Chief Daken pounded on his communicator and

shouted for help, while Sisko strode to the desk and

lifted the man's wrist. He could feel no pulse--the

man was dead. He touched Amkot Groell's neck and

reached the same conclusion.

"It's too late," said the commander, shaking his

head in astonishment. "Why the hell would he kill

himself?. On the day of his biggest triumph."

Kira looked dazed. "Guilt," she muttered. "Or

maybe just weariness. I was going to tell you,

Commander--the last time we came here, he set us

up to be killed." "Why?"

Her voice was hoarse as she answered, "Because he

had to make unholy alliances to keep the shipyards

open. Because he had to sell his soul over and over

again to build that ship. His silent partners never let

go of their hold on him."

"The Circle?" asked Sisko.

Kira shrugged. "What does it matter? He's free of

them now."

The commander glanced around the room, and his

eyes came to rest on the empty spaces on the wall,

where commendations from the Cardassians had once

hung. Sisko had suffered his share of tragedy and

sacrifice, but they paled beside what the majority of

Bajorans had gone through. He turned to ask what

Engineer Daken thought, but the middle-aged

Bajoran had retreated to the corridor. Sisko couldn't

blame him.

He put his hand on Kira's shoulder. "Someday the

casualties will stop. There will be whole generations to

whom the Cardassians are nothing but ancient his-

tory."

The Bajoran stared down at the lifeless body, and

he could tell she was fighting back tears. "As long as

we keep building--like he did--we'll make prog-

ress." Her jaw tightened with resolve. "We have to

break this news to many people, but let's remember

that this is a victorious day, especially for Amkot

Groell."

"I agree," said Sisko, and they walked out together.