The Second Beast

"All the inhabitants of the earth will worship it, all whose names were not written from the foundation of the world in the book of life, which belongs to the Lamb who was slain.

Whoever has ears ought to hear these words.

Anyone destined for captivity goes into captivity.

Anyone destined to be slain by the sword shall be slain by the sword.

Such is the faithful endurance of the holy ones."

Revelation, Chapter 13

Prologue

His name was Hetan Rowe.

From an early age, he knew he was destined for greatness.

His father had been an architect, his mother a civic engineer.

Hetan Rowe was destined to build minds.

To control them. To destroy them.

Only a chosen few had the gift of Aza. Roughly translated, it meant 'mind reader', though the term implied much more. Millenia ago Aza did not exist, the ancient texts taught, and chaos reigned. But the Progenitors brought order. They were mentally superior, touched with what they proclaimed to be the gift of Aza, passed to them from entities beyond the heavens. Their school of thought changed the course of history, for it organized the people under a set of laws for the first time. It was a time of knowledge and discovery. A time of deceit and treachery.

Hetan was a scholar, a philospher. He held advanced academic degrees in psychology, sociology, metaphysics, philosophy, parapsychology, and neurology. He taught at several universities during his earlier years in academia. People world wide sought his advice.

He had power over the people.

Over their minds.

All, but a few.

Hetan decided years before that his student did not have the traits required for a strong leader. Palin Leake's view of life centered around a universal peace. Though not a warmonger, Hetan was a practical man. Tribal rivalries ran long and deep within the hearts of his people. There could never be a universal peace. No such beast existed. Faith in a fantasy was a foolish endeavor, and peace for their people was just that.

Palin and his followers projected their fears and needs onto a transcendental entity, believing in a fate predestined by prophets, being themselves a passive force of universal peace.

Hetan was master of his destiny, creator of his own fate and the fate of others.

He was Azanoth, mind lord.

But the sociological and psychological control the Azanoth once enjoyed was in decline. Palin offered another outlet for the thoughts, concerns, frustrations and inhibitions of the people. Minds filled with an alternate agenda based on the foolish belief in Prophets and Celestial temples were difficult to dominate, manipulate. The Prophet believers were obstinate, stubborn, and proved to be a verifiable danger to the power of the Azanoth.

They had to be stopped.

The great wooden door was pushed aside with very little effort, some unseen force the cause of its movement. The underground temple was illumined by candlelight; there were few shadows in the cavernous room. The chamber was a huge limestone cavern, carved by an underground stream system that slowly dissolved the thick formations of carbonate rocks deposited by a warm eperic sea that had long since vanished. Intricate patterns were fashioned in the calcitic columns, incorporating the jutting silicious precipices and permineralized skeletal remains found naturally in the rock, depicting the myth and lore of their ancestors. The cave had been a gathering place for generations of Azanoth.

Civilizations had been born and destroyed in that room, fates determined, worlds controlled.

But this time, the Council would not convene. It would be a private hearing, later to be heralded as a landmark event; the beginning of the end to the Prophet followers.

Palin Leake was escorted into the chamber by two of Hetan's guards. He stood between them, hands tied behind his back, yet still the picture of serenity. He wore plain clothing, sandles on his feet, and a simple cloak draped across his shoulders. The only thing that was not simple about him was an ornate piece of silver jewelry hanging from his right ear. His left ear was missing, and had been so for a long time.

Though he offered no resistance, there was a distinct look of defiance in his eyes. A burning, passionate belief in his gods. His faith was strong, even if it was misplaced.

"Why have I been brought here?" Palin demanded.

Choosing to ignore his captive's question, Hetan gave his attention to an oil lamp while he studied his adversary. Palin's entire being projected calm, centeredness. In the face of imminent execution, he remained composed, collected. All the better.

Hetan picked upa knife from a nearby ledge, cautiously handling the ancient piece. The blade, an eight inch length of metal, was fabled to have been fashioned from the impact remains of a meteorite. The handle was made from the polished bone of an extinct species of felines. It reflected the light brilliantly as he turned the piece in his hands. He watched as Palin's gaze fell on the knife.

When he spoke, Hetan's voice was melodius, steady, hypnotic. "Exquisite, don't you think?"

"From the Mosquo culture, early Apaphro period," Palin said. "It is extremely rare to find one in such good condition."

Hetan was impressed. "Very good. But, then again, you were one for antiquities." He held the knife up to the light. "I found it in one of the secondary caves below, wrapped in linen. A little reconstruction, and it becomes a fine collector's piece. I keep it for its sentimental value."

"The Mosquins used it as a part of their sacrificial ritual. How can something that represents such a violent time have sentimental meaning for you?"

To his credit, Palin was not stalling for time. There was no fear in his voice. It was an admirable trait. A pity it had to go to waste.

"Palin, Palin, Palin. This weapon represents power. It represents strength. The Mosquins were an intensly forceful people. They were masterful craftsmen. Their blades have outlived the weaponry of later periods. Longevity, Palin." He paused, once again studying the face of his one time student. "Do you know the Mosquin sacrificial rite?"

Palin did not relax his stance, nor did he let any sense of anxiety pervade his staid composure. "It was believed that, as the throat was slit, the knife-bearer received the life force of the sacrificial victim. As a sign of immortality, the knife-bearer would then drink the blood of the victim."

"Do you belive in immortality, Palin?" Hetan asked, replacing the knife in its leather sheath.

"I believe in the perpetuity of peaceful intentions. The Prophets provide such a belief in peace. They are the one true form of immortality."

Hetan laughed, a loud, malevolent cackle that echoed throughout the cavern. Then, without warning, his face hardened, his eyes like piercing daggers, his mouth a thin, taut line. The room was quiet once more.

"Realism is stronger than dogmatism. The here and now," Hetan announced. "True power lies within the mind, within one's own potential. Such a wonderful instrument, the mind is, and so much of it left unused. Can you even attempt to realize the inherent ability you possess, or is your mind too clouded with your so called Prophets?"

Hetan grabbed Palin's chin with one hand, surprised to find that Palin did not struggle in his grasp. He could feel the very life blood running in Palin's veins, strong and true. Turning Palin's head, Hetan examined the ornament in the right ear. With one swift move, he ripped the piece of jewelry from Palin's ear and smashed it beneath his boot heal.

"There is no such thing as immortality, Palin," Hetan declared, "just as your faith is transitory. You will come to know the true power of the Azanoth."

Letting go of Palin's face, Hetan smiled, leaving his hand and fingers extended. A ring on his finger reflected the light of the room as an octogonal pattern on the cave's ceiling. The candlelight flickered, but there was no draft in the enclosed cavern.

Palin winced, his jaw shuddering, temples pulsing. His shoulders began to tremble, his muscles started to quake.

Hetan feigned a concerned, pained face. "Head starting to bother you?" He nodded to his men. One released Palin's hand restraints. Palin closed his eyes tightly and grabbed his head. "A little nauseous? Vision blurred? Can't find your tongue?"

Palin fell to one knee, his head dropped so that his chin hit his chest. Hetan gave no effort to assist the afflicted man. The entire right side of Palin's body went slack. His frame was wracked with spasms, and he vomitted with each convulsion. Blood tricked from his nose, mouth and ear.

"True power, Palin. I control you, your life and now your death. You were a student of Aza, you knew the potential. Now you will be an example for all those who foolishly follow the beliefs of the Prophets. The Azanoth will survive this minor insurrection."

Face down in a pool of blood and vomit, Palin slowly drew himself up to his knees, heavily favoring his right side. The tremendous strain his body was under was evident in his faltering movements, the pained furrows inset in his brow. When he spoke, his words were slurred, nearly incomprehensible.

"I am not afraid to die. The Prophets will prevail."

Hetan stood over the prone body, bent at the waist to bring his head mere inches from Palin's face. "You have died for nothing, Palin. Your faith will not save you."

Palin convulsed once more and fell to the ground. His muscles continued to spasm, though he breathed no more. Hetan stepped over him and walked over to the niche where he found the leather sheath. He carefully returned the knife to its place of honor. Turning to see his two men still standing at attention over the body, Hetan pointed at the heap on the floor. In his same monotone, he said, "Dispose of that." They complied immediately.

He was ascending the staircase to the surface when he first heard the roar of people's voices. It began as a low rumble, gradually growing in amplitude until even the heavy wooden door began to vibrate. The entrance to the underground temple was located in the atrium of his family home. Without touching the door --at least, not physically, -- he opened it. He stepped through the entrance, and the noise of the crowd surrounding the house seemed to envelope him. He climbed the spiral staircase to a second floor balcony overlooking the courtyard.

Hundreds of villagers encompassed the house, shouting in rhythm, chanting some nonsense in an obscure dialect. The crowd continued for over two hours. Hetan watched and listened to recitations of prayer like songs of the creation of the Celestial Temple, the afterlife, wandering spirits, guardian angels and other such nonsensical drivel. Then they quietly dissipated, leaving the courtyard for their own homes.

Such foolish nonsense. The irrational nature of the Prophet followers was rather amusing. So religious, so spiritual, so absurd. They would not last, their minds were not strong. They believed in a universal family. But bloodlines were the true strength. The Azanoth would live on. If there was a sense of immortality, it was the power and strength of the Azanoth.

The Azanoth were immortal.

- -

Quark's Bar never really closed. At least, it never seemed to do so. The everlasting electronic buzz of the garrishly bright marque filled the Promenade, its sound no longer masked by the everyday noise of the now closed shops and businesses. A few bulbs flickered, casting strange shadows in the subdued lighting of the abandoned deck. But still there were stragglers, milking their last synthales, if they were not already too inebriated to lift the glass.

The Dabo girls had all gone home to bed hours before, leaving Quark and his brother, Rom, to clean up and clean out any valuables left by patrons. It was an administrative job Quark was more than happy to accept, standing over his brother in dictator-like fashion. Rom was on his hands and knees, crawling under the tables with an oil cloth in one hand and cleanser in the other.

"I want those table legs to shine," Quark continually reminded his brother.

Rom, for his part, quietly and calmly took his brother's admonishments, since theirs was a love-hate relationship: Quark loved money and hated his brother. But as long as Rom was a useful little minion, Quark had a place for him in his heart.

Rom's hand passed over a credit, half-hidden by a chair. He was manuevering around the central leg of the table when Quark noticed the metallic gleam directed from the floor.

"ROM!"

Bang. The table pitched forward as Rom sat up, surprised. Clutching his head with both hands, he gently rubbed the newly acquired sore spot. "Yes, Brother?"

Quark grabbed Rom by the back of his tunic and dragged him from under the table. "What are you, blind? Do you call this clean?" He pressed Rom's face to the glass tabletop. Rom's nose was uncomfortably flattened beneath his left eye. Quark pushed a little harder. "Do you?"

"No, Brother," Rom answered, wincing as his nose inched closer and closer to being a permanent part of his eye.

"I want to see my face in these tables within the hour. Understand?" Quark let go of him, wiping his hand on his bar rag. "Why I haven't tossed you out by the lobes through the nearest air lock is beyond me."

It was a ritual. A day did not go by without at least one threat of airlock tossing.

"Yes, Brother," Rom whimpered, cowering away as quickly as possible. No sooner was he ten meters away when he began bellowing for his own scapegoat. "Nog! Nog, where are you? You call these tables clean?"

Quark waited for his brother to round the corner before looking down, and, once catching the gleam of the mislain coin, bent over to pick it up. A rather high denomination, and a welcome find at that. He examined the coin with a scrutinizing eye, checking every minute detail. It wouldn't do to have such a valueable coin be counterfeit.

An untrained eye would have missed it. A minter might have passed over it without a second glance. But Quark recognized the small trigonal depression engraved within the laurel stems of the UFP symbol, the one that was stamped in the upper right quadrant of the coin. Some counterfeiters had the obnoxious habit of leaving a mark of their handiwork, and Quark knew them all. Snarling in disgust, he tossed the coin over his shoulder.

But the familiar ping of latinum on metal did not follow. Quark turned on his heel.

Odo snatched the coin in midflight, and with speed that would bring a con man to tears, he found the counterfeiter's mark. "Agnelian, out of Cygnus Alpha Seven."

"Someone is trying to cheat me," Quark whined.

"Really." Odo listened with an unsympathetic ear. "Hard to believe this could happen in your noble establishment."

Quark snarled again, ignoring the shape shifter's snide comments. "It will take hours to search through today's take alone. It could take all night. I don't have the time or the man power to check the till every night."

"Now, isn't that a shame. Your customers seem like such the trusting type." Odo took a seat at the bar, running a finger across the counter. Though he may have a hand in some dirty deals, Quark kept an amazingly clean bar.

Quark stepped behind the bar and pulled out his money drawer. Odo nonchalantly took a peak at its contents. "Busy night," he commented.

"Busy station." Quark groaned as he pulled three more counterfeit coins from the till. "I bet it was that Narsican. He was throwing around some heavy purses tonight. He nearly cleaned out Table Three, until his luck changed." There was a small, nearly indistinguishable gleam in the Ferengi's eye.

Odo did not let that slip past him. "Natural, or otherwise?"

Pretending to be hurt and shocked, Quark held a hand to his chest. "I'm surprised at you, Odo. Suspecting me of cheating my customers. Remember, I'm the victim here. I'm the one with lost profits because someone else decided to try their phony money here. It could lead to inflation if it keeps up. I may even have to start raising my prices."

"What a tragedy, Quark. You have my sympathies."

As an afterthought, Quark added, "I want to file a report."

Odo put on a bored face. It didn't take much effort. "Whom do you plan to file charges against?"

"That Narsican, of course. He's cheated me for the last time."

"So, he's cheated you before?" The shapeshifter casually glanced around the room to see who still remained. He decided long ago he would never understand the humanoid need to drink large quantities of some alcoholic beverage to the degree that they couldn't remember their own name.

Quark thought for a moment. "No," he finally answered, "but he'll never cheat me again, that's for sure. I want you to keep an eye on him. He may try to cheat other honest businessmen on this station. It would be unethical of me if I didn't report his indescressions to the proper authorities."

"Since when have you been concerned about ethics?" Odo asked sardonically. Never in his time aboard the station had he known his Ferengi nemesis to play by the rules of ethics or morals. If there was no profit to be gained, it didn't concern Quark.

Quark threw Odo a bitter glance. He was tired of their cat-and-mouse chase. "What do you want, Odo? This is harassment, you know. I could file a complaint against you for terrorizing my establishment with your presence."

"And I," Odo retaliated without second thought, "could shut you down in the blink of an eye. I could expose all of your illegal activities to Sisko, many of which I'm sure he's already aware."

"So, what do you want?" the Ferengi repeated. "I haven't done anything illegal."

"Today," Odo added.

Quark picked up a glass, and began polishing it with his bar rag. He nodded his bulbous head towards the Promenade. "So, is the excitement over with out there?"

"Yes," Odo replied, complacent. He held his hands, fingers interlaced, on the bar's countertop. "An awful waste, if you ask me."

"How can you call someone's life a waste?" Quark asked, shocked. "Are you really that calous?"

"Not his life, but the fact that he took it." Odo'd expression darkened. "He left a note. It was pinned to his jacket."

Quark picked up another glass and again performed his meticulous cleaning ritual. "Must have been a sight to see, a header off the upper tier of the Promenade. I suppose crowd control wasn't a problem, this late at night."

His comment went unheard. Odo stood away from the bar, and Quark searched for the Constable's focus of attention.

She was tall, thin, with shoulder length raven black hair. Her eyes were a pale, bewitching green. The distinctive ridges on her nose marked her as Bajoran. She was not someone he recognized as an inhabitant. But he had seen her face before, though he could not recall where or when. The fact that she was walking around the Promenade alone during the wee hours of the morning made her suspicious.

The fact that she stared right back at him made her down right eerie.

"Find something more interesting to harass, Odo?" Quark asked, staring greedily as the woman passed by the entrance to his bar.

Odo caught the Ferengi's lustful glare. "You're incorrigible."

"Don't I know it."

"Who is she?" Odo asked, wracking what surficially passed as a brain to find the answer to his question.

Quark simply licked his lips in his normal, disgusting Ferengi way, the grimy little gears turning madly behind his beady eyes. "My next dinner date, if I have anything to say about it."

"Well, you don't. What do you know about her?"

"Why, are you interested?" Quarl baited. Odo glowered at him. "Okay, okay. I've seen her around, but I plan on knowing a lot more before she leaves," the Ferengi added, a stomach-turning glow in his eyes. "I wonder what she would look like in an Andorian silk."

"You're disgusting."

"And proud of it."

* * * * *

Major Kira Nerys stepped into her quarters and immediately flopped down on the couch. Massaging the weariness from her face, she leaned her head back and tried to wipe the face of the dead man from her mind. He had been a casual acquaintance years before, she never knew his name (it wasn't safe to know names). And though Bashir had yet to confirm it, she knew the cause of death was drug overdose. All the signs were there. She had seen too many friends and colleagues fall victim to addiction. During the Occupation, it was an escape from the cruelties forced upon them by the Cardassians. Afterwards, it was to escape the misery left behind in the rubble.

Except for a few potted plants, books and assorted odds and ends, her quarters were on the sparse side. During her days with the Resistance, there was not much time for collecting anything, which suited her just fine; the fewer things to leave behind when it was time to move on. Old habits die hard, and in the time since the Occupation ended, change had not come easy. Attitudes had to be adjusted, compromises made. It was an uphill climb, one she was not always ready to take on. At times, it could be all very frustrating.

She stared out the wide window over the desk. By some cosmic coincidence, the star spanse outside her window included Bajor, now just a pinprick of reflected light. Thinking of a time when she wasn't troubled by the woes of her world, and there was hardly a time when that wasn't the case, she remembered staring up at a starlit sky with her father. Sitting in his lap, no brothers around, safe and secure high within the limbs of the old tree that stood behind their home. He called it their special time together.

He would point out all the constellations to her, tell her all the stories behind them. Each night, they looked for the Celestial Temple through his hand held telescope, but they never found it. Despite that fact, it was probably the happiest memory from her childhood, what little of it there was.

But then the Cardassians came to their district, burned down their home and village, sent them off to the refugee camps....

She rolled her head and sighed. Even innocent memories were plagued by unpleasant ones. Depressive episodes were happening far more frequently than she liked to admit to anyone, especially to herself. The chrono on the desk gently chimed to bring her out of her reverie. Six hours until her next duty shift. But sleep would not come now; she knew that from years of experience. Once the unpleasant memories began streaming through her head, it was hard to emerge from the downward spiral of emotions that accompanied them.

She stared at the piles of reports sitting on her desk and walked over to picked one up randomly, hoping to drown in all the work that needed to be done. Only, it wasn't an equipment requisition or treaty negotiation, but a report of terrorist activities on Bajor. As the months passed with little relief provided by the government, attacks by the different factions had increased twofold.

Since the announcement that Kai Opaka would not be returning to Bajor, the attacks became more frequent. There had been a brief -- too brief in Kira's opinion, -- mourning period for Opaka, and no sooner had the monasteries closed their doors when Opaka was forgotten. If ever there was a time when Bajor needed Opaka, Kira thought, it was now.

The thought of leaving Opaka on that moon, alone, with a people who had not known peace for millenia, had frightened her. Remembering those final seconds before they beamed aboard the runabout depressed her, even now, weeks later. She couldn't help but think that there must have been some way to prevent the fatal crash, someplace else where she could have landed the runabout.

The days following the incident were blocked from her memory, locked behind some door in her head, her only reminder the slowly subsiding pain in her shoulder. Bashir warned her that excessive work habits would only aggrevate the regenerating nerve endings, like now.

Kira absently rubbed her shoulder, kneading her knotted muscles. If she hadn't been so tired, or busy, she probably would have found some way to vent off her feelings. A springball court would be nice right about now, she thought glumly.

Angry tears welled in her eyes, but she willed them not to fall. Frustrated, she threw the pad back on the desk. It wasn't supposed to happen this way; after the Cardassians left, everything was supposed to go back to normal, whatever that was. Only, the once united factions didn't see it that way, since they were too busy fighting in the ruins to rebuild them.

Senseless. So completely senseless. Those who couldn't adapt continued the fighting in the hills, some took their own lives. Everything was too confusing. She had to constantly remind herself that what she was doing on the station was for the good of Bajor. Unfortunately, some days it was harder to convince herself of that than others.

She walked by the food replicator and asked for a glass of water. The decanter appeared in the small cubby that housed the replicator circuitry. She picked it up, carefully examining the glass and its contents before taking a sip. Paranoid, maybe. But Kira could never bring herself to totally trust Cardassian technology. The entire station was a death trap waiting to be set. She should know; there was an eight page requisition and repairs report sitting a mere three meters away from her.

The water looked fine, smelled fine. It was even about the right temperature. Tentatively, she took a sip. Satisfied that it wasn't poisoned, tainted, or otherwise harmful, she finished the rest in one large gulp. Six hours seemed a long time away, and the way things were going, something, somewhere on the station was bound to go wrong since it was her turn in the rotation as--

"Ops to Kira."

-- on-call senior officer. She groaned. Tapping her combadge, she answered, "Kira here."

"Sorry to disturb you, Major, but all ports on the starboard side of the Docking Ring are reporting malfunctions in the atmospheric generators. The Andorian ship has arrived early, the Zakdoran ship will be here within the next four hours, and the Pacled freighter has finally reported for docking procedures. We have no where to put them if the at-gens are really malfunctioning."

"It figures," Kira mumbled to herself.

"Excuse me, Major. What was that you just said?"

"Nothing, nothing. Where's Chief O'Brien?"

"His quarters. Shall I call him?"

Considering that O'Brien probably was getting less sleep than anyone lately, and the running rumors that he and his wife were still having problems, she didn't want to bother him with something she was more than capable of handling herself. "No, don't. Send Oley and Raab down to Docking Port 5. I'll meet them there."

"Yes, sir."

"Kira out." She closed the connection. When it rained, it poured. With her luck, and particularly pessimistic mood at this time, the wormhole would decide to swallow them whole and spit them out on the other side, smashed into a million pieces.

"Let's not be morbid," she said to herself. "We'd probably be compressed into a ball roughly the size of a hail stone."

She placed the glass on the desk on her way out. There was no telling when she'd see her quarters again.

* * * * *

Nearly two hundred gathered under the pavillion, milling about in a dozen smaller groups around oil drum fires for warmth. A larger bonfire danced at one end, its flames licking the vaulted wooden seams above. A number of tables shoved together served as a raised platform. Torches stood at the corners of the impromtu stage.

Ten people stood on the platform, quietly talking despite the growing din of noise from the crowd. Nothing spectacular about their appearance marked them different from those milling below. But their lineages ran bluer than the oceans, a trait respected and reveered in the company.

Another man, elderly but agile, leapt onto the stage of tables. He met the others at the rear of the stage. "Is the equipment working?" he asked.

"As always," one of the others answered. "All is as you requested."

The older man nodded, and moved center stage, front. Raising his arms for silence, the crowd quieted instantly. The bonfire molted its frightening flames, providing illumination to see, barely, enough to disfigure faces and mar expressions to a near demonic state.

With his arms spread high and wide, the man stood on the edge of the platform. "Brothers and sisters! It is time. You have waited patiently as our numbers have grown. We've invited all those who tire of inactivity, poverty and no retribution to join us in our quest! Tonight it begins!"

His voice was steady, calm, as hypnotic as the flames dancing at his feet. Imperceptible to the crowd, a low hum filtered between his words. Eager faces looked upon him, drinking his every word like life sustaining water. The crowd erupted in a brief and timely wave of cheers and applause.

"As we speak, the monsters of politics that pollute this world will have a taste of our retribution. Tonight, we strike at the very heart of their pollution, we will put in the first nail of the coffin they've built. While they sit and argue over the meaningless drivel they call politics, we will make our mark on this world. We will show them what true power is; through might, through strength, through our bloodlines.

"Our ancestors once ruled this world and they provided for the people. We were strong, we were powerful. We will be that way again.

"But the blood of Bajor is impure. It is watered down by years of weakness. We will strenghten it once again. We have the means, we have the courage. We can and will provide for the people!"

The diatribe ended with a loud clap of thunder, as if nature itself was under his control. It excited the crowd even more. The man let his hands fall to his side, and the flames of the bonfire jumped once again. The flickering of the flames had the effect of a strobe light, animating the motions of the people so that they seemed larger than life.

The man descended from the stage, followed by the others than stood with him on the platform. They encircled him as he walked away from the pavillion. He checked the chrono in his pocket.

"The bombs have already gone off," he said, straightening the cuffs of his jacket. "Take care of the delivery men."

"Of course, sir," one replied.

The man climbed into a waiting land car and smiled serenly at his brethren. "Patience is a virtue, and we will be rewarded for our wait."

* * * * *

Baryl Kay ducked back through the access tunnel between the central core and the habitat ring. She had double-backed at least three times before turning down the corridor that led to the quarters her people appropriated earlier in the week. After their next meeting, they would abandon that room for another.

The security officer had seen her from his perch in the Ferengi's bar, and he was the reason for the extra caution as she made her way back to the habitat ring. The shapeshifter was a strange sort, rather hard to read. He hadn't followed, but she had to make sure. There was too much at stake to lose it all at this final stage. They had been on DS9 off and on for five weeks. learning the layout of the station, personnel schedules, shipping and docking procedures, and all possible escape routes.

But her stroll through the Promenade had another purpose. As the advent of their campaign neared, it was important that secrecy remain the highest priority. Several decoy meetings had been established and areas of the station sufficiently sabataged to keep prying eyes busy. The starboard docking bays were the chosen target tonight, planting a few bugs to keep the Starfleet officers busy for hours.

Three firm raps on the bulkhead as she neared the door to their hideout, a five second pause, and then five more knocks. The door opened and Baryl slipped through. The room was held in darkness, an extra measure of caution against accidental exposure. A curious neighbor might be attracted to a light under the door of a suite that was supposed to be abandoned. It took only seconds for her eyes to adjust.

The one who had opened the door for her came out of the shadows. In his hand, he held out a flask of Bajoran whiskey for her. "Did you have any problems, Captain?" His words were a bit slurred, and his eyes glassy.

Baryl pushed away the flask. He lost his flimsy hold on it, and the flask tumbled to the ground, its contents spilling out onto the carpet. Afraid to kneel down to pick it up, Cer Rowell did his best to pay attention to her.

"None," she replied. "Everything is ready. If the need should arise, the docking clamps will be under our direct control."

There was a knock at the door, coded to mark the presence of their absent member. Cer clumsily operated the door as Malk Po entered. He waited until the door was securely locked before speaking.

"We've secured a ship, an old Klingon freighter. It's being refitted right now. There's enough hull space to hold at least half a dozen smaller fighters."

Baryl smiled. "How long?"

"Three days. There's some structural problems, but she's capable of warp speed. And a note from our fearless leader; no witnesses."

"That shouldn't be a problem." Baryl grabbed a canvas bag, and checked the pockets for a set of phony travelling papers. "I have to return to Bajor to take care of a few things. There's a transport leaving in half an hour. I'll be back by mid-day."

Cer's shoulders sagged as he let out his breath and walked over to a chair to sit. Baryl grabbed Malk's arm and pulled him to her side. "Make sure he stays dry. We need him sober during this."

"Yes, Captain."

- -

Commander Benjamin Sisko held a semiwarm cup of coffee in one hand and a report of the evening's happenings in the other as he entered the turbolift for Ops. He was half an hour early for his duty shift, and intended to use that time to make a quick perusal of planetary newscasts before he started in on his daily barrage of Federation diplomacy and Bajoran red tape. In the past, he had always made sure he kept abreast of what was happening outside the sector he was stationed. However, during his six months on DS9, keeping up to date was becoming increasingly difficult.

Deep Space Nine was close to becoming a fully operational station, but there were still bugs to be worked out and holes that required mending. For example, the replicators in his quarters. His spare time, what little of it there was, was used to read the headlines. A minute here, a minute there, but it all added up in the long run.

He was about to take a sip of his coffee when the turbolift jerked and came to a stop. Luke warm coffee spilled down his uniform top, staining and seeping its way to his skin. The lights dimmed and then flickered out. Rolling his eyes, he tried to wipe away the droplets of liquid that had not found their way into his shirt front.

It had to happen, he realized; the morning had gone by without incident. According to Niner's Law, Jake's modified version of Murphy's Law, 'if it hasn't gone wrong yet, it will.'

He tapped his combadge. "Sisko to Ops." Pulling the wet areas of his uniform, he tried to keep the cold, clamy and clingy material away from his chest.

Kira's voice came over his communicator. "Ops."

Sisko smiled. It never failed to amaze him that Kira always seemed to arrive in Ops before everyone else. First to arrive, and one of the last to leave. He even wondered at times if she slept at all. But she ran on a different internal clock, one based on twenty-six hours rather than twenty-four. It was a change he himself had problems with initially, and still did whenever he was run down from exhaustion. Sort of like the turbolifts.

"Major, power has been disrupted to turblift one, with me in it."

"Did you try giving it a good, swift kick?" There was a pause, a mumbled curse, and then, "Rerouting power through auxilary circuits now... It may be a while."

Sisko sat on the floor of the turbolift. 'Awhile' could mean anything. In this case, a good forty minutes. The lights flickered and motors ground to life. With a jolt, the turbolift began its ascent once more. He stepped onto the deck before the 'lift came to a complete stop. Holding mug, report in one hand, and his shirt in the other, he walked towards his office door, in the process nearly tripping over Major Kira.

Kira was lying on her back underneath one of the consoles, with isolinear chips surrounding her on all sides. Another Bajoran crewman was in a similar position under another one. "This one's all clear, Major," he announced.

Kira sat up from her work, looking exhausted, and gave the officer a nod of acknowledgement. Then she saw Sisko, the dangling coffee mug in one hand and its contents on his uniform. "Nice shirt," she commented, setting back to work.

Sisko did not know a whole lot about Cardassian computers, and even less about the hodge-podge system Chief O'Brien and his merry band of technicians had built to replace the sabataged equipment. However, he could recognize that several of the isolinear rods on the floor belonged to some of the primary power systems, including the turbolift circuit array.

"I suppose I have you to thank for this," he remarked, stepping over her legs to get to his office.

"Sorry." Kira replaced several isolinear chips and closed the hatch. Wiping her hands on her trousers, she picked up several of the burnt-out chips on the floor and dumped them in the disposal. She sat down at the console. "Computer, reroute power through the EPS waveguides and bring all disrupted systems back on line."

A few seconds passed without reply. When a few more passed, she slammed the heal of her hand against the hatch. "Computer, reroute power through the EPS waveguides and bring disrupted systems back on line now."

"Confirmed. All systems back on line," the computer replied.

"That's more like it," Kira mumbled, closing the tool kit at her feet. She leaned back in the chair, stretching cramped muscles.

"Computer, what time is it?" When the computer didn't answer, she hit the console again. Then, "08:23."

She mumbled something under her breath, rubbing her face and eyes when she heard, "What was that, Major?"

Kira looked up. Sisko walked out of his office, straightening a clean uniform shirt. She watched as he examined one of the chips she had forgotten. and almost, almost, smiled at his mild amusement. She was too tired to find anything funny.

"Damn Cardassian computers." She went back to massaging her temples.

Sisko headed for the replicator and ordered two cups of coffee. Mercifully, they were steaming and actually contained coffee. He passed one to her. "You've been busy this morning."

Thanking him for the coffee with a tired smile, Kira replied, "You mean it's morning already?" She took a long sip.

"How long have you been here?"

"Oh, I don't know. Five, six hours." He didn't have to tell her that he wanted an explanantion; she could read it in his face. "Docking Bay 5 registered some faulty readings in the atmosphere generations. Somebody tampered with the integrity field. Part of some smuggling scheme."

"That doesn't take six hours to repair."

"No, but we ran into a few other bugs, literallly." She pointed at the isolinear chip still in Sisko's hand. "Yosem mites. They've nested in one of the ODN trunks along the Docking Ring and found their way into several of the coprocessors within the core. A few found their way to Ops."

He examined the chip closely, noting the small, almost microscopic burrows in the tripolymer sealant, a coating so strong that a low powered laser could not penetrate it. A mental shiver ran down his spine. He tossed the chip to Kira. She caught it easily with one hand. "How did they get in there?" he asked.

"Those Cardassian voles we've been trying to chase down are infested with them. They're attracted to the natural resonance frequencies of the optical cables running throughout the station, like the voles." A sly smile crossed her face. "I suppose this means the little beasts are dying off if the mites are looking for new homes."

Sisko grimaced. He didn't like the idea of finding six-legged rats lying dead all over the station. He had never seen a vole, but he had been told of the damage they could do if left to breed at their own discretion in an enclosed environment. "We had better check all ships in dock for possible infestation. Are there any scheduled to leave today?"

Moving to the situation table, Kira consulted the docking schedule. "Two. I'll inform their captains of the delay." Stifling a yawn, she programmed the delay beacon into the automatic communications buoys.

Instead of going to his office, Sisko stepped down to the center of Ops, taking a seat opposite Kira at the situation table. Kira glanced up and without straying from her work, she asked, "Anything else, Commander?"

Sisko leaned over the table. Though he admired her tenacity, he was concerned. Ever since the crash on the prison moon, Kira had been out of sorts, pensive, working extremely long hours and getting very little sleep. Second guessing was not part of her nature, and he noticed that she had been doing that a lot lately, minor things, and criticizing herself more than normal. And, frankly, he was beginning to miss their not infrequent squabbles over policy.

From the darkened circles under her eyes, he guessed that she had not slept in these three weeks since the accident. He knew that haunted look.

"Why don't you take the morning off. We can run this station without you at the helm for a few hours," he said, trying to invoke a smile. It didn't work. He tried another approach. "I heard about the suicide. I can tell you haven't slept a wink."

"Thanks, Commander," Kira said, a little too defensively. She dropped her head and went back to work. End of discussion. "But, no."

"All right then." Sisko knew when he was licked, and Kira Nerys' stubborn streak was nothing to contend with. "News on the relief shipments?"

"Delayed two days. One ship in the convey had a reactor core break down. I've notified the directors at the Deccor Province Relief center about the delay. They said it shouldn't be a problem."

Sisko noticed that her coffee mug was empty. He picked it up to take to the replicator. "That's your home province, isn't it?"

Kira nodded, and from the way she turned to another console, back to him, he knew she didn't to talk about it. Luckily he was saved by the arrival of the turbolift.

Chief Miles O'Brien and Lt. Jadzia Dax were deposited onto the Ops deck. Sisko met them at the bottom of the stair.

"Good morning, Benjamin," Dax greeted him, smiling warmly. "Is there something wrong with the turbolifts? We were waiting at least half an hour down on the Promenade," she added.

"It's a long story, but you two are just the people I was looking for."

O'Brien, unusually chipper this morning, did not frown at the opening line of the 'we have a problem' speech. Quickly acknowledging a murmurred hello from one of his technicians with a smile, he answered, "What can I do for you, Commander?"

"People, we have a problem. Major-" He held out his hand.

Kira turned away from her computer screen and tossed him an infested chip. Sisko, in turn, tossed it to Dax. "That is our problem," he explained as his science officer examined the chip.

"Yosem mites," she observed, giving the chip to O'Brien to inspect. "Where was this found?"

"Right here in Ops. Several more nests were found on the Docking Ring."

O'Brien stared at the small bore holes with amazement. He whistled under his breath. "Bloody little buggers. They could be just about anywhere by now."

"Have you checked all docked vessels for infestation?" Dax asked, crossing towards the science station. She ran an internal sensor sweep. "It doesn't look like the port docking bays or pylons are infected, however, I am picking up a high concentration within the core." A wry smile wound its way around her lips. "I don't think Quark will be very happy when he tries to use his replicators."

"Now all we need is an exterminator," Sisko stated, folding his arms across his chest. "Any ideas?"

Dax quickly ran through a few calculations in her head before attempting any scenerios on the computer. "It should be possible to change the radiation frequencies within the power conduits to drive them out, sort of like souring the milk. Then we can dispose of them humanely. There shouldn't be any significant drains on any of our systems."

"Whatever you have to do, Dax," Sisko said. "Mr. O'Brien, I want a full diagnostic--"

"Commander," Kira called from her console along the back wall. "We are receiving a priority one communique from Bajor. Minister Kur has asked to speak with you."

Sisko turned towards the viewer. "On screen."

A blurry, snowy image appeared on the gigantic oval view screen above Ops. The picture flickered in and out of focus until an unsteady equilibrium could be established. Sisko hoped the distortion was a result of the little visitors within the circuitry.

"Minister Kur, how can I be of assistance?" Sisko asked, putting on his diplomatic face.

The audio portion of the transmission was not any better than the visual. On the screen was a young, intelligent looking Bajoran male, with expensive clothes and an haughty air about him.

"Commander Sisko, thank you for your quick response. I only wish my call could be under better circumstances."

Sisko was not the only intrigued listener. Kira joined him at the situation table, as did Dax and O'Brien. Standing slightly ahead of his officers, Sisko replied, "How so, Minister?"

"As you are well aware, anti-Federation sentiment has been building since the Kai's ... resignation. At approximately 2 o'clock this morning, five reclamation plants, all partially staffed by Federation personnel, were destroyed. Several generators exploded under suspicious circumstances. We have reason to suspect that an anti-Federation group is behind these...attacks.

"I'd like you to send a Federation team to aid in the investigation. If Bajor sees that the Federation is not the enemy, that you are just as interested in stopping the violence as we are..."

Sisko shook his head. "I'm afraid I can't do that. This matter is internal to Bajor, Minister," he replied, watching Kur's smile grow larger on the viewscreen.

"I've already spoken with Admiral Rollman. It is in the best interest of all parties involved if the Federation acts as an intermediary between the government and this faction, maybe begin negotiations so that everyone is happy."

"This is outside our jurisdiction ," Sisko maintained.

"It's been arranged."

"Report coming in now, Commander," O'Brien reported after returning to his station. "Possible sabatage of the hydro purification equipment at the Tulane Reservoir in the southeastern district of the capital. Twenty-five workers missing, presumed dead. Thirty-eight critically injured. All equipment is off line until an investigation is conducted and cause of the explosion is determined."

"I'll be inspecting the Tulance Reservoir site later this morning," Kur replied. "I'd like your input about this investigation, and I hope we can bring this whole ordeal to a quick and easy end. Good day to you, Commander."

The viewscreen blanked.

Sisko slammed the heel against the situation table. "Chief, get me Admiral Rollman on subspace."

"Sir, message coming in from Admiral Rollman," O'Brien reported as he put it up on the viewscreen.

Sisko had known Rollman since his time at the Academy as a fourth year cadet taking her class in border dispute diplomacy. Her striking stare still sent him wheeling back to his days as a student and a public reeming he was none too fond of remembering. A simple clerical error during a mock negotiation situation led to the mock execution of all members of his mock negotiation team. She still looked as formidable today.

Before he could speak, she was holding up her hands, a look of apology on her face.

"I'm sorry, Ben. Under any other circumstances I would have never dumped any of this on you, but--"

"But we've come too far to let it slip through our fingers," Sisko finished for her. He smiled. "I guess this means I have permission to play fast and dirty with the Prime Directive."

He vividly remembered a recent meeting with Starfleet Intelligence and several members of Command, including Rollman. The topic of discussion was the practicality of the Prime Directive and the political climate on Bajor, its strategic position in the quadrant, both political and military. When pressed, heads would look away.

"I didn't say that, but, off the record, the resurgence of anti-Federation campaigns in recent weeks on Bajor is a little more than disturbing. The aid packages aren't getting where they are really needed, and maybe a little Federation presence could help. The people want the violence stopped. Hopefully, this will give the cause a little push."

"I'll see what I can do. Sisko out."

"Nothing like a friendly little bombing to bring the gang together," O'Brien said. A frown from Sisko silenced any further comments from him, sarcastic or otherwise.

Sisko walked up the metal stairs to the turbolift. "Major, Lieutenant, you're with me."

"No Federation team, Benjamin?" Dax asked sarcastically. She wasn't intimidated by Sisko's stare.

"You're looking at it, Old Man." As he passed O'Brien, he gave the chief a friendly pat on the back. "Chief, run a level one diagnostic on all primary systems, and see what you can do about our little bug problem." He herded Kira and Dax towards the turbolift.

"Welcome to a new day, people."

* * * * *

Thinning clouds of black smoke hung low over the complex of buildings known as the Tulane reservoir. The dam, normally obscured by the rush of following water, stood tall and majestic, blocking thousands of cubic meters of water behind its concrete masonry.

In the middle of the complex, the ruined remains of the building that housed the hydro-purification center still smoldered, hours after the incident. Several Bajora, carrying video recorders and other photographic equipment, catalogued the crime scene. A fairly sizable crowd gathered behind police lines, straining and stretching above the wall of security personnel guarding the site.

Sisko and Kira materialized in an open area of the complex, armed only with tricorders. The acrid air, still heavy with the smell of smoke, stung their eyes as they neared the bomb site.

The director of the capital's Hydrological Survey met them outside the bomb blasted building. Sisko had known many field scientists during his tour with Starfleet, and the Bajoram geologists seemed no different. Her face, neck and forearms were slightly sunburned, covering previous tan lines on her wrists and upper arms. The knees of the tan pants she wore were threadbare and other areas bleached nearly white from long periods of use in all types of weather. She walked with a measured, precise stride, despite the rather rocky terraine.

Greeting them with a smile and handshake, she introduced herself. "Good morning. Mora Terick, district CHS director. Excuse my attire," she added, patting dust from her shoulders, "but we have a lot of field inspections to make as a result of this mornings... unforntunate accident, and we are currently very short handed."

Sisko smiled back. "No problem. I'm Commander Benjamin Sisko." He indicated Kira at his right side. "Major Kira Nerys."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Mora replied, leading the way to the bomb site. "I can take you inside, if you like. Don't worry, we've made sure it's safe." She steppped through an archway that had once been a window. The rest of the building seemed in similar disrepair. A large gaping hole was in the center of the room, whatever equipment that had been standing there now part of the rubble two floors down. A similar crater was in the ceiling.

"Let me give you the grand tour," Mora continued. She pointed to the taped off crater before them. "That was the secretaries' station and the reception lobby. The main desk is now part of the west wall in my office, one floor up. The bomb squad investigators have found the focus of the blast, down in the sub-basement. Very professional. We've only just begun our study of the wreckage. It took us longer than we expected to put in the support beams."

Carefully choosing a path through the debris, Mora led them to an emergency stairwell in the rear of the building. Construction crews crowded in the hallways, securing support beams along weakened areas. The tour through the delapidated corridors took almost an hour due to the damage.

They stepped over ceiling remnants that covered the wide staircase near its base. The stairs ended in a set of large double doors, slightly off hinge. Sisko held it open for the women. "Nice fire door."

Mora shrugged. "It did its job. That's all I care about."

"Why sabatage this facility?" Sisko asked, following behind his first officer.

"The Tulane Reservoir houses enough generators to provide power for the capital district and surrounding areas, plus the means necessary to purify one of the largest natural bodies of drinking water left on Bajor. Before the Cardassians left, they poisoned the wells and contaminated the groundwater supplies, but the real damage occurred during the Occupation."

Mora paused, stopping before another set of double doors, barred with a sign that said, 'no entry'. She tapped on the glass window. The forensics team, dressed in cleanroom gowns, gloves, and masks scoured the cavernous room. A technician saw her at the window and motioned that they should not come in. Mora continued with her account.

"Heavy strip mining ruined the natural aquifers. Solution cavities beneath brine wells were not monitored properly, and several are in danger of collapsing. Some already have, resulting in sinkholes and landslides, disrupting natural feeder streams and outlets to many of the lakes and ponds. Now the water in them lies stagnant and have become bredding grounds for disease. Non-contaminated groundwater reserves are near zero because of the increased runoff, and it can only get worse if dysentary finds its way here."

The fire doors opened from the inside. A Bajoran technician took off his gloves and pulled down his face mask. "We're done now. You can come in." He proceeded to prop the doors open with some of the debris so that his technicians could carry out their equipment and evidence boxes.

"What did you find?" Mora asked.

The techie handed his report to Mora. "There wasn't much left of the device itself. The blast seat was the main reclamation pump. There isn't much left of that either. Chemical residues, nitrate, plastique, timer parts, circuit boards, everything is catalogued there in my report."

Mora handed the PADD to Sisko. He glanced over it quickly and then gave it to Kira before asking his own questions. "Who placed the bomb?"

"That, we won't know until after the lab work is done. No recognizable bomb signatures were found that correlates with known anti-government groups. Any fingerprints were all but obliterated during the blast. We're hoping that we may find traces of DNA on the pieces we've recovered. The timer parts have already been sent out for analysis. The results should be ready within the hour." He gave a curt nod and left the room.

Kira shook her head. "There's not much to work with," she observed, returning the report to Mora. "Have there been any threats previous to this attack?"

"None," Mora answered, crossing her arms. "Tell me, Commander, what interest does the Federation have in this investigation? Aren't you outside of your jurisdiction?"

"I can answer that."

All heads turned towards the double doors. Minister Kur stepped over the debris, careful to keep the cuff of his pant leg from touching anything dusty or dirty. The expression on his face clearly indicated his distaste at having to walk among filth and ruin his fine leather shoes.

There was no place to stop without standing shin deep in rubble. Sisko had to keep himself from laughing as he watched the minister try to keep his footing on top of all the garbage, and failing miserably. Kira rolled her eyes, Mora glowered at him.

Kur dusted off his suit while he spoke. "The Provisional Government believes that an organized incursion against the Federation presence in our system has begun in earnest. Several unidentified groups have voiced their opinions against membership in the Federation. As you know, attacks against government officials, both verbal and physical, have become more frequent. More people are prone to believe we have made a terrible mistake. This whole business with the Kai's resignation... it has only amplified their anger. Several blame you, Commander, for taking Opaka through the wormhole in the first place."

Sisko folded his arms impatiently. This was nothing he had not read or heard before, and what was past was past. There was nothing he could do about it. Bashir had come up with a way to bring the Kai back, but Sisko denied him permission to take a runabout back to the prison planet. Even Kira agreed with his reasoning; Opaka was following the destiny proclaimed to her by the Prophets, and Opaka would not turn from that path.

"That doesn't answer the director's question," Sisko rebuked.

"Jurisdiction or not, these new developments concerns you and your organization. At great cost, we have come across information that an underground movement has been receiving supplies and weapons from the outside. Some of the cargo we've confiscated comes from Federation member planets. Though we are taking steps to patrol the sector, we simply do not have the facilities to do an active search of all ships coming into the system. The space station does. We also believe that whoever planted the bombs may have left the planet's surface on shuttles for the station. There were a number of unauthorized launches soon after the bombings."

Controlling his temper was becoming an art form for Sisko. He hoped that only he could hear the grinding of his teeth. "You could have told me this earlier. Withholding information will only hinder this investigation."

"It was only just communicated to me."

"Minister, the Federation is not here to police your borders."

"Nevertheless, the Council has contacted Starfleet and they fully agree with me, and have authorized an investigation into this matter. You can contact Admiral Rollman for confirmation, if you wish."

Mentally checking any response he might make, Sisko reminded himself that belting the man would not be good for his career, nor would Rollman approve. Applaud him, maybe, but not approve.

"There is no need, Minister," Sisko conceded, against his better judgement.

Kur smiled with his victory. "I'm glad we agree." He turned around, looking for another way out of the complex so that he would not have to step over anymore rubble. "The Council expects a report on your findings, and of course we will provide any information that you require."

Mora stepped forward. "I'll show you the way out, Minister." She made a deliberate show of climbing over the wreckage and waited impatiently near the door.

After they were gone, Sisko turned to his first officer. "You still have connections with the Underground?" It wasn't a question.

Kira swung her arms. "I know what you're going to ask. I've heard talk of anti-Federation groups, but I don't know who they are or where they might be."

"That wasn't what I was going to ask," Sisko replied, though he would have asked it eventually. "Is there any chance that some of the smugglers' routes are active?"

"It's a possibility," she answered. "There were routes that I didn't know about for years. Even so, we could slip past Cardassian border patrol ships easily without them noticing, with a good enough pilot."

"Do you know of anyone who would know which routes are still in use?"

Kira almost laughed. "Commander, I'm not exactly on anyone's A list of people to talk to about anything," she told him bitterly. "Some would just as soon turn themselves in before talking with me."

"It's the only lead we have right now, Major," Sisko pointed out.

They stared each other down for agonizing seconds of silence, until Kira let her eyes fall. "I'll see what I can do. I know some people who owe me a few favors."

Sisko smiled. "That's all I ask." He was headed for the door when his communicator chirped.

"Rio Grande to landing party."

He stopped in his tracks and tapped his combadge. "Sisko here."

"Benjamin, the Minister's Court has just sent the results of the DNA analysis to the runabout. I can have the results relayed to your tricorder."

Kira unfolded her tricorder as Dax spoke and prepared it for transmission. She nodded when ready.

"Go ahead, Dax," Sisko said. "Standby."

Scrolling through the information, Kira stopped at a list of names. Sisko read them over her shoulder, using the advantage of his height so as not to seem hovering over her like a nosy neighbor. "I don't recognize any of them. Do you?"

She read each of the names carefully. The last struck a chord. She physically tensed. "Soren Paggio. He was a bomb specialist during the Occupation."

Sisko noticed her tightened voice, as always happened when she spoke of that time of her life. But this time, it was different, more controlled. "For which side?"

Kira continued to stare at the tricorder's tiny screen. "Not ours." She took a deep breath and looked him straight in the eye. "He worked for a man called Tareste Dern. Tareste ran one of the several puppet governments set up by the Cardassians in the mining villages. He had this habit of taking care of Bajoran dissidents for the Cardassians. Soren would rig the cells, Tareste pushed the plunger, and it was all neatly explained as an accident. But we knew better."

"We?" Sisko asked, knowing full well who she meant.

"A small goup of Shakaar were living there when he took over. They were executed within the month."

"Why hasn't this man been arrested, or exiled? He was a collaborator, wasn't he?"

"Old money goes a long way," she answered, dropping her eyes as she closed the tricorder.

When she looked up again, Sisko recognized an inextinguishable fire return to her eyes, and he could not help but be reminded of the countless times when she jumped into a situation half-cocked, and sometimes her feet got burned.

"He's responsible for this." There was such conviction in her voice that he almost believed her.

"You have no evidence to prove that, Major."

"Then I'll find it. Soren Paggio worked exclusively for Tareste Dern during the Occupation. I wouldn't be surprised if he still does, and I'm sure these other names do as well," she said, waving the tricorder. "There's a connection, and I'm going to find it."

Sisko knew there would be no deterring her now; if he didn't authorize an investigation, she'd go ahead and conduct one anyways. He crossed his arms, thinking of all the possible ways this whole incident could blow up in their faces. "What about motive?" He could at least try to make this a plausible and convincing investigation.

"He has plenty of motive," Kira exclaiend, her voice rising in intensity. "Once the Cardassians left, he was out of a job. People were no longer afraid of him, and he lost his power and his position as a head of state. He's been against the Provisional Government from the start."

"So have you," Sisko reminded her.

Kira glowered at him. "But I didn't try to blow up the reservoir this morning."

"We don't have proof that he did, Major." He could see that he stil had not made his point clear with her. He changed tactics. "Listen, I understand the basis of your accusations, but if you...we...don't come up with any corroborative evidence, I'm afraid he'll slip through the system."

"Give me two hours," Kira asked in more civil tones. "Two hours. I'll have all the evidence you need to jusitfy an interrogation, if not arrest."

Sisko let his arms fall to his side. "Two hours, Major. I'm going to have a talk with Minister Kur and the Council about previous attacks on government facilities. I'll be back on the runabout when I'm finished."

Kira made a curt nod. "Yes, sir." Activating her combadge, she said, "Kira to Rio Grande. One to beam up."

Sisko stepped back as the transporter enveloped Kira, careful not to get in the way. After she was gone, he clapped his hands together, hoping to return some feeling to them and maybe get rid of some of the ever present dust that had collected on them and everything else on his person. Shaking his head, he walked for the doorway.

- -

Business had slowed when the replicators went down, much to Quark's dismay. Next to the Dabo tables, the replicators were the backbone of his establishment, and when they went down, so did his bar. He already was not looking foward to counting the day's take.

He was wiping down the bar for the third time when the mysterious woman from the night before walked in, with two other Bajorans. They headed for one of the back tables, secluded in a corner.

Quark, ever observant for a profitable opportunity, grabbed one of his special centerpieces (special since it contained a recording device; simple, but also very effective) and an ordering PADD. He headed over to their table.

"Good morning, lady and gentlemen. Welcome to Quark's." Thankfully the centerpiece at their table was looking a little on the wilted side, so his ruse just might work. He replaced the old centerpiece with his special one, and put a small napkin at each place. "I'm afraid I can't offer you much in terms of food or drink. Those darn replicators, always on the blink. But I am happy to offer you choice from my private stock." He offered his PADD to the woman.

She didn't look at the PADD, never even touched it. "Three Romulan ales."

Quark smiled to cover the grimace that would have crossed his face. Finding the identity of this woman was going to be harder than he originally anticipated. "I like a woman who knows what she wants."

"Just the drinks, little man," one of her companions said.

Quark stepped back, arms outspread. "Of course, of course. I'm here to tend to your needs to my fullest capacity." A nervous laugh escaped his lips, and he grinned like a fool as he quickly retreated behind his bar.

Grabbing three glasses previously wiped clean of any incriminating fingerprints and ripe for the acquisition of more (and surrepticiously activating his surveillance cameras with the toe of his boot), he filled the glasses with the pale blue liquid ordered. Checking to see that the cameras were on and working, he walked back to the table.

Leaning over to place the tray of drinks on the table, he didn't see the blade coming towards his gut, nor the hand that grabbed his tunic. Caught by surpirise, Quark dropped the drinks and froze. The two men forced him into the chair opposite the woman.

The woman fingered the centerpiece. "You seem to have some interest in our business, Mr. Quark." Quickly she found the planted recording device and crushed it between her fingers. Quark jumped at the popping sound the device made as it was destroyed. From a pocket inside her cloak, she procurred a small electronic device. A red light began blinking. "You Ferengi are so predictable. You will find that your surveillance cameras will need a little repair after this meeting. Did you honestly think you could hide your petty toys from me?"

Quark smiled, feigning innocence. "Of course not. You can't blame me for trying, can you?" he asked nervously.

"But I can," she answered, and Quark felt his stomach drop like a lead ball as she continued, "and if I didn't have use for you, right now you'd be dead."

Quark shifted in his seat. "How can I be of service?" He looked behind his shoulder. Both of her goonsstood behind him, one with a dagger to his neck.

"For now, you will keep your mouth shut. I prefer to keep my anonymity. It would not do for my plans to be ruined by a simple slip of the tongue. Such mistakes will be payed for; an eye for an eye, a tongue for a slip. Understand, little man?"

Quark bobbed his head up and down furiuosly, anxious to leave. "If there's anything you need, just ask. I have many contacts you might find useful."

"Since you've offered, I need you to find some people for me. Last known locations. I have reason to believe some of these friends of mine may have come here," she informed him, indicating to her two goons that they should sit down. They did, and Quark breathed a sigh of relief.

Quark smiled. "No problem. Piece of cake. When did they arrive? What kind of time window are we talking here? A week, a month?"

"Three months at the most," one of the goons answered.

The woman grabbed his shirt front. "And no one is to know about this. I value discreteness. The faster you find them, the more I will pay you." She dangled a velvet purse in front of his face. "The names are in here."

The three Bajorans left, but not after dropping the purse in the pool of spilled Romulan ale. Quark quickly snatched up the purse and counted its contents: five bars of gold pressed latinum. That was enough to keep his mouth shut, for now.

There was crash above him in the spiral staircase. He looked up to see Rom bounce down the stairs on his rear end. "Brother, Brother, I saw the whole thing! Who are they? Are they dangerous? Should I call O--"

"No!" Quark leapt towards his brother and clmaped a hand over his mouth. "Turn your brain off, Rom. Do not say anything, especially not to Odo."

Just as quickly he searched the bar for his shapeshifting nemesis. "Alright, Odo, where are you? I know you are here."

None of the furniture moved, or changed shape. But to be on the safe side, "Computer, location of Security Chief Odo?"

"Security Chief Odo is in the security office."

Quark breathed a sigh of relief. Turning to his brother, he said, "You saw nothing, Rom. Our lives could depend on this. You did not see three Bajorans here this morning. You did not see them leave any money."

Rom smiled and laughed pitifully. "What Bajorans, Brother?"

Quark patted Rom's cheek. "Good, Rom, good. Now, I've got work to do."

"Do you think five bars was enough?" Cer asked after they left the bar.

Baryl Kay weeded her way through the on coming traffic of people. "It will keep him interested. We need only worry about the shape shifter. But I have a surprise for him should he cross our path.

Malk Po was not convinced. "Can we trust that Ferengi?"

"We don't have to trust him," Baryl answered. "The Ferengi are in the business of keeping secrets. Unless he gets a better offer, he won't say anything. I think his life is reason enough." She stopped, and ducked into a side corridor. "But just in case-- Malk, since you seem to distrust him the most, I want you to set up a little surprise, to remind him we mean business.'

"Yes, Captain."

* * * * *

Much of Capital City had been rebuilt since the last time Sisko set foot within its limits. he knew the same could not be said for many of the outlying districts, especially in the rural areas where profitable businesses were not the mainstay. New commerce in the system due to the wormhole had helped levy some of the financial burdens, but most of the funds meant as relief were tied up in red tape, established by the Provisional Government in an effort to make an easier transition from Cardassian rule, or so they claimed.

Well aware of the current debates within the walls of the Minister's Court, Sisko was not surprised to find hoards to lobbyists crowding the foyer. It was common practice to connect relief care packages with other pending bills and budget requirements that were unlikely to pass the preliminary voting stages. Referendums lived and died within hours as lobbyists jockeyed with legislators and other politicians to get their packages presented before the Court. If the Provisional Government had a handle on anything, Sisko thought dismally, it was bureaucracy.

Minister Kur was standing among a group of journalists and minor government officials when he spotted Sisko. He pointed out the Commander to those around him and led his merry troupe of followers over to the Starfleet officer.

"Ah, Commander Sisko."

He warmly shook Sisko's hand, clearly for show. Sisko played along, as if oblivious to the countless pictures taken of him and the minister. Kur posed for several seconds, then stepped back into the alcove of people.

"Let me introduce you to Benjamin Sisko, commander of the former Cardassian mining station, and lead investigator of those unfortunate bombing incidents this morning. So, tell me, Commander how goes the investigation?"

"Well, thank you," Sisko answered. "However, there are a few itmes that I would like to discuss with you, privately." He patiently waited for the polite admonishment he had already anticipated for requesting a private consultation.

"Nonsense, Commander," Kur said, trying to maintain control control of the situation with a friendly attitude. Already, whispered comments were flying among the reporters. It was bad form to admit secrecy before the press. "I'm sure whatever you have to say can be said in front of my friends here." Turning to the journalists in the group, he added, "The Provisional Government does not want to keep secrets from the people of Bajor."

Sisko seriously considered bringing up the subject of Tareste Dern in front of everyone, thus sending Kur into an embarrassed silence and the reporters into a feeding frenzy. Though Kur deserved it, Sisko kept the possible political repercussions in mind. "I'm afraid I must insist."

Kur gleared at him, but quickly recovered. "Of course, Commander." He excused himself from the group and led Sisko to his office on the second floor. Kur picked up several memos from his secretary, said his perfunctory hellos to his staff, and closed his office door behind the Commander.

"You have put me in a very awkward position, Commander," Kur reprimanded causticly. "Even the notion of a government cover-up can set off another wave of protests, and my office is flooded enough as it is."

Sisko stood at ease, hands held behind his back, a pleasant, yet slightly mocking, smile on his face. "I'm sorry, Minister. However, a private meeting is in your best interests."

Kur slowly sat down, his demeanor nothing but congenial, but his words had a biting, sarcastic tone. "I don't believe you have a single clue as to what my best interests are, Commander. Not only do I have to answer for continued Federation presence to a group of blood thirsty reporters that like to quote disparaging opinion polls, but now there could be charges of an alleged government conspiracy."

"You overexaggerate, Minister," Sisko suggested.

"Do I?" Kur pulled several PADDS from a desk drawer, fanning them across the desk top. "The number of protests, aggrevated assaults charges and vandalism has increased since the Kai stepped down. Many blame you and your people. I don't think this is an exaggeration at all. This is very real."

"Then tell me what you know about a man named Tareste Dern," Sisko posed.

Kur furled his eyebrows. "Tareste Dern? He's one of our largest industrial and military contractors. He has played a major role in the rebuilding of Bajor."

"From what I understand, he was a collaborator."

Fingers steepled in front of him, Kur leaned back in his chair. "That too."

"I'm wondering why your office hasn't issued a warrent for his arrest for sedition against the state. Another well kept secret, Minister?"

To his credit, Kur did not explode into a tirade. "Some things are better left unsaid, Commander," he replied calmly. "For instance, the case of Tareste Dern." He indicated that Sisko should take a seat.

"I have to know."

"Yes, of course."

Kur pressed his fingers to his lips, in search of the proper way to defend his position. Sisko crossed his legs at the ankle, hands resting on the arms of his chair.

Kur began, "The Tareste family name is very old, with an ancestral tree dating back before the Age of Awakening. The name carries weight for that reason. The Tarestes have had high and powerful political affiliations for thousands of years. The same is true today. Tareste Dern is a very powerful man. We can't simply exile him. The government is too weak to go up against his family."

"And so you let a criminal evade capture because you are afraid of his family's influence."

"The exile of Tareste Dern would have far greater political repercussions that his presence in society. People that have crossed paths with him have never returned, if you catch my meaning."

"What exactly did he do?" Sisko asked. Though he trusted his first officer explicitly, he knew that Kira tended to overstate the case, and all records of the existence of Tareste Dern were protected from casual access.

"During the Occupation, Tareste Dern was placed into the governorship of one of the processing villages. He did the job he was told to do: keep the people productive and under control."

"By killing members of the Bajoran Resistance."

Kur nodded. "Sometimes. But he kept several Bajorans from being sent to the labor camps by working them in the villages. In the long run, he may have saved more lives than he had taken."

"Semantics," commented Sisko.

"Here, semantics happen to be the reality. Millions died at the hands of the Cardassians, either through outright murder or death in the labor camps. That number could have been significantly higher."

Sisko pursed his lips. "What about now? Does he have reason to hate the Provisional Government?"

"The Provisional Government has many opponents, Commander, including your first officer. Everyone has a motive, but many do not have the means."

"Does Tareste Dern?"

Kur thought about his answer. "Financially, yes. Logistically, I don't believe so. At least not directly. He may have a few politicians on his payroll without our knowledge, but he can't control them all."

"Has he made any overt actions against the government, maybe to ruin its integrity with the people?" Sisko asked.

"He doesn't have to. I may work for the government, but I am not blind to its problems."

The grudge wall between them dropped with that line. Kur's face fell, the political facade replaced with the face of a very tired man. Sisko almost didn't recognize him.

Kur rubbed his face. "The ministers are doing more to destroy this government than preserve it. We can't agree on anything. Tareste Dern need only point that out to the people if he wanted to take over. Only a minority of my people were involved in the Resistence. Those that weren't may look up to him because he was a leader during the Occupation in a time of dissillusionment. He kept a lot of people out of the labor camps. Tareste doesn't have to move against the government; we've done it to ourselves."

"If Tareste Dern did not do it, then who? Someone must be responsible for the bombings this morning."

Kur uncovered the pad to the desktop access to the mainframe computer. He called up the forensic data on his terminal. "I assume you've seen the DNA records recovered from the timer parts."

"It's what led us to Tareste Dern's name."

"Us? You mean Major Kira. You can tell her that the war is over, and she can inform her friends in the Shakaar Underground of that little fact."

Sisko folded his arms across his chest. "I don't understand."

"Major Kira put on quite a little show when Tareste Dern was given the military contract. Three guards had to carry her out of the Chamber. Other Shakaar resistence members voiced similar opinions."

"What does the Shakaar have against Tareste Dern?"

"You mean Kira didn't tell you?" Kur asked, incredilous.

Sisko replied, "Enlighten me."

"Most of the workers in his factories were from Deccor province, home base to the Shakaar rebels. They claim Tareste is reponsible for executing one of their leaders, and a number of their members, nine, ten years ago. The official explanation was a processing accident."

"And you don't question that explanation?"

"Of course, I do. There's no doubt Tareste was under Cardassian orders to get rid of the rebels. But it was war. We did what we did in order to survive."

Sisko leveled his gaze. Even if Kira couldn't find any information to link Tareste Dern to the bombings, he wanted to see this man for himself. "When we have enough evidence, we intend to question him."

"What good will that do? Like I said, there is enough anti-Federation sentiment right now. If you go after Tareste, you may tread on more toes than you can handle."

"I'll take that chance. You asked for Federation help. We are conducting an investigation, though we cannot take any action against dissidents since this matter is internal to Bajor. The Provisional Government may be weak, but it is the only thing keeping the Federation here, because there is the propensity for membership in the Federation if it can ever get its act together. I will do whatever I can to keep the Provisional Government in power."

Sisko stood to leave. Kur left his chair, extending his hand, back in full political mode. "You do that, Commander. But make sure that help is not misconstrued. Good day, Commander."

"Good day, Minister." Tapping his combadge, he rose his voice to a level slightly above normal. "Sisko to Rio Grande , one to beam up."

* * * * *

The wait inside the cargo bay was not as long as Baryl Kay expected. To her advantage, the man she hunted was a creature of habit, and he stowed away in the cargo bay soon after his arrival on the station. She found his camp between some of the larger crates and broken down machinery. The smell of oiled machinery was heavy in the air, not a pleasant mix with the stale atmosphere already present in the cargo bay.

A shadow pased along the wall, moving like a silent spectre between the decrepit ore processors. From its movement, she knew her prey was more concerned with someone following than waiting for him; the furtive glances over the shoulder, the inability to walk a straight line without tripping or falling into something. She was going to enjoy this.

She leaned against one of the sturdier crates, arms folded across her chest, staring straight into his eyes as he rounded the corner. Taking pleasure in his obvious distress in seeing her there, Baryl smiled sweetly. "Hello, Trebor." She took his face in her right hand. "Surprised to see me?"

Trebor backpedaled, reeling into a stack of nearly empty boxes that fell around him like hailstones. He shook his head viloently; a silent scream erupted from his throat.

"Why so nervous, Trebor? You did your part for the cause. I'm just here to give you your just rewards," she said, stepping towards him.

"No, Captain. No," Trebor pleaded, tripping over the fallen boxes. He tried to crawl away.

"I'm sorry, Trebor, but I can't afford any loose eneds," she replied, raising her hand as if conducting an orchestra.

Trebor's eyes bulged, his throat constricted. His knees locked, leaving him upright an leaning precariously on a box. Clawing viciously at his throat, he tried to pry away the invisible fingers that pinched closed his windpipe. His face turned several shades of red, then blue. Veins burst under his eyelids, blood dripped from his ears and nose.

Baryl dropped her hand, and as she did so, Trebor's limp body fell to the ground in a sorry heap. She wiped her hands on the tails o fher cloak, despite the fact that they were not soiled in any way. She kicked a few of the fallen boxes out of her path, not concerned that they fell on top of her handiwork.

"Two knots tied," she replied, leaving the oil drum smell of the confining cargo bay and the slight chittering of rodents emerging from their dark holes.

- -

Jadzia Dax was deeply immersed in her sensor sweeps of the surface when Sisko's call for beam up came in, and so let the computer handle the transport while she continuted with her scans. She was analyzing the changing surficial patterns of stream development due to heavy Cardassian mining vehicles making a cacaphony of tracks across the landscape (a very interesting study, even if geomorphology was not her strong suit).

Without someone to talk to, the time passed quickly. A soft Vulcan harp could be heard in the background. She had asked the computer to play random selections from the music library to help pass the time. It wasn't until Sisko's call that she realized that the music was still playing. She didn't turn away from her work until Sisko sat in the pilot's seat next to her.

From his lack of conversation from the moment he beamed aboard, Dax knew he was not in a good mood. During their twenty years of friendship, a sense of nonverbal communication had developed between them. Dax let him brood a while before broaching the subject.

As she ran through the remote sensory photos once again she asked, "How was the meeting with Minister Kur?"

Sisko twirled in his chair. Dax couldn't help but notoce how Sisko tended to take on an adolescent air when thinking about a problem. Curzon found it indeering. Jadzia thought it was cute. But neither brought it up in conversation.

The pouty expression left his face; it was time for business. "When I decided to accept this assignment, I knew it would not be a walk in the park, and I did not let that deter me from my decision. We have worked very hard to help maintain peace on Bajor."

"History is full of examples of broken alliances after a devastating war, Benjamin. You know that. Bajor is no exception. There are a lot of disillusioned people living on Bajor right now, many of whom have grown up in the shadow of the Cardassian empire," Dax replied, leaving the sensor array for the next barrage of Bajoran political discussions, a rather frequent topic these days.

"Their impatience will be their downfall. They ask us for help, but refuse to do anything to help themselves. Any sincere motivation for reform is squashed underfoot by political opportunists, and we can't do anything about it."

"What they need is time."

Sisko stared absently. "What they need is a good swift kick in the pants." Catching an amused glance from Dax, he smiled. "It's true."

"I'm sure many agree with you, Benjamin. But telling the Ministers that could quickly end your career here. The Provisional Government is its own worst enemy."

Sisko let a bemused grin cross his face. "Speaking of own worst enemies. have you heard anything from Kira?"

"Not since she beamed down to Bajor."

"Kira to Rio Grande."

"Speak of the devil," Sisko commented under his breath. He patched into the communications board. "Yes, Major."

"I've been given access to a limited list of possible trade routes we can check into, but no one I've talked to knows of any outside supply runs coming into Bajor."

"How reliable is your source?"

"Very."

That was one subject out of the way; now for the hard part. "And your investigation of Soren Paggio?"

"He co-owns a small construction company in the Marta district. The other owners comprise a list of dummy holding trusts, all traceable to Tareste Dern."

Sisko chose his next question carefully, knowing full well the forth coming answer. "Where did you get this information?"

"A reliable source...and the hall of records."

"So, do we go after Soren, or Tareste?"

Kira did not have an immediate answer, though Sisko knew what she was thinking. He had a feeling it was the same as his own. Dax provided her own comment on the situation. "Do you keep the minnow, or use it as bait?"

"I want to talk with Tareste Dern," Sisko announced. "If we get nothing from him, we'll try a different approach, through Soren."

"Tareste's base of operations is also in the Marta district, twenty five kilometers outside the Capital."

"When can you be there?" Sisko asked. There was still a few things he wanted to take care before approaching Tareste on enemy ground.

"Fifteen, twenty minutes."

Sisko stood. "Send your coordinates when you get there. I have a few things to check out first."

"Aye, sir. Kira out."

He disengaged the communications link as he turned towards Dax. "Do we still have a link up with the Bajoran archives?"

"No, but I can establish one."

"Do it. I want to do some more research on Tareste Dern. Anything you can get your hands on: financial records, police records, whatever."

"Yes, Benjamin."

* * * * *

He could not keep his hands from shaking. Sweat streamed down his forehead into his eyes and down the rest of his face, sticky and salty. His stomach felt leaden and nauseated, and he did not understand why. He was feeling fine before he stowed away in the shuttle's storage compartment. The shuttle was not scheduled for departure for another hour, but by then they would have ceased their search for him. He was nobody; he had no real connections to the others, other than the fact that he knew their names. But he wouldn't identify them; surely they would not bother trying to find little, insignificant him.

His part in the plan was so inconsequential: he placed the bomb in the reclamation circuitry. The explosion would wipe away any of his fingerprints from the crime scene, or so he was told, but still he was careful when he placed the bomb inside the machinery. Therefore, there was no way to identify him as a suspect.

At least, that was his rationale. He waited in the hills surrounding the Tulaine Reservoir while the bomb ticked down the very last seconds. The explosion lit up the predawn sky; it was rather beautiful. It was not until he heard the screams that he realized the impact of what he had done. Workers that survived the initial explosion ran out of the complex, looking for help. Others were trapped inside. A second, unexpected, explosion erupted from some of the surface generators.

He grabbed his head, wrapping his arms about his ears. There were so many cries, for help, of pain, and he could still hear every one of them. He had cried too; the money they promised him wasn't worth this much suffering.

So he ran away, as fast as he could. The warehouse district was a personal favorite hideout, but since that was where they found him in the first place, there was not his best option. The only way to escape would be to go off planet. He had never left the surface before in his life, so this would be like taking a little trip. Only this time, his life depended on it.

Luckily, the first craft he found at the air field had a flight plan that indicated a heading to the space station. There had to be plenty of places to hide up there, and maybe he could give an anonymous tip to one of the Starfleet officers there about the bombing. At least it would relieve his soul of some of the guilt he felt.

The guilt was like a second cloak, one he could not shed. Visions of the explosion, people screaming, people burning, people dying -- uncoiled in his head like a never ending reel of twine, no way to stop it or shut off the images that were presented in frightening clarity. He saw himself standing over the half dead bodies of the plant workers, writing in pain from the flame and the heat of the explosions, and his hand the instrument of destruction.

The walls of the storage compartment were closing in on him, constricting like a snake, closing off his only means of escape. The metal was red hot, burning the back of his eyes as he continued to stare at them blankly, the visions of his mind's eye now played out before him in the dull red metallic planks in front of his eyes. The gruesome scene did not change: the blood, the carnage, staining his hands.

Feverishly, he wiped his hands on his pants, practically tearing the material from his legs. He wrapped his arms about his legs, holding his head between his knes. Sweat dripped profusely from his brow, collecting at his feet. He rocked back and forth, mumbling apologies to the dead. Tears joined the puddle of sweat between his knees.

* * * * *

Chief Miles O'Brien was in a good mood, and everyone around him knew it, whether they wanted to or not. Not that it was unusual; Chief O'Brien was frequently in high spirits when he was off duty. He was a family man when he was not in Ops, and he was a firm believer that never the twain shall meet.

What was unusual was the fact that he was chipper and on duty, a very rare combination these days.

The main computer core was not a pleasant place to be on the station. The Cardassians, architects of gothic style rather than function and practical design, allocated very little space to their main computer core. It was cramped, small, and not much for maneuverability. Unlike most of the Federation ships he had served on, DSNine's central mainframe was it; there were no secondary cores for back-up.

In terms of practibility, no back-ups was an inherintly dangerous design flaw. In terms of decontamination, it was this engineer's dream. All of the problem areas were in one spot. He did not have to chase down short circuits fom one back-up to the next. There were no redundancies to check and recheck.

Decontamination was no problem. The bloody little buggers did not like how the proverbial milk had soured when the transmission frequencies were changed, and they fled to greener pastures, namely a juicy morsel of computer conduit O'Brien set up as a humane trap. Now all he had were a few thousand isolinear chips that needed replacing.

No problem. Piece of cake. His four year old could do it.

A chore as boring and mundane as replacing isolinear chips and rods had already driven a few of his coworkers into cursing fits as chips and rods were fumbled and juggled. But O'Brien continued on his merry way, and had even begun whistling while he worked. None of the Bajoran officers that were with him understood why he found the situation so inately funny, and he was in too good a mood to stop and explain why.

He gladly finished with the batch he was working on. "Two coprocessors down, two to go." And he began whistling again.

It was at that time when his communicator beeped. Slapping the combadge between rod exchanges, he answered the page. "O'Brien here."

"Chief, shuttle Yueng has called for docking protocals."

O'Brien stopped working. "Why call me?"

"Sir, Vedek Jorn is aboard. Someone should be there to greet him."

"Why not call Bashir? He has experience with diplomacy, and seniority," O'Brien said, remembering the near fiasco with the probe from the Gamma Quadrant and how Bashir was trapped with the three most annoying ambassadors in the quadrant. Everyone had a few good laughs at Julian's expense after that incident.

"We did, no offense,Chief. But he's got his hands full with an emergency appendectomy."

Wiping his hands on an old rag, O'Brien handed over his tray of clean isolinear rods to one of the Bajoran technicians. "What is their ETA?"

"Twelve minutes."

"Well, that doesn't give me much time to clean up," he observed, climbing the access ladder out of the main computer core. "What airlock do you have their ship assigned to?"

"Number five, Chief."

"Fine. I'll be there in ten minutes. O'Brien out. O'Brien to Odo."

"Odo here. What can I do for you?"

To O'Brien, Odo always sounded like he had better things to do whenever you talked to him over the comm. In some cases, it was true. How Odo kept an eye on Quark twenty-six hours a day always amazed the Irishman.

"Odo, Vedek Jorn is aboard a Bajoran transport headed this way."

"An unsecheduled visit." Odo sounded annoyed. Odo always sounded annoyed.

"I don't know about that, but I would feel better if I had a Bajoran security man with me when I greet him."

"Where is Commander Sisko?"

"As far as I know, he's still planetside with Kira and Dax."

"When is Vedek Jorn expected?"

"In about eleven minutes. Airlock five."

"I'll have a man there. Odo out."

O'Brien crawled on his hands and knees out of the access tunnels. It wasn't until he reached the brightly illuminated corridor that he realized how much dirt he had picked up in the last few hours. Brushing it off did not help any, so he decided to run to his quarters for a quick change.

Ten minutes later, O'Brien skidded to a halt right in front of Airlock Five, just as the giant gears started turning. Ceres, the Bajoran officer Odo sent, leaned over and whispered, "I didn't think you were going to make it, Chief."

"For a while, I didn't think so either." When he saw Ceres bow from the hip, O'Brien also felt obliged to pay some sort of homage. He was raised in a good Irish Catholic home, and paid no disrespect to any religion. To say he was nervous was an understatement. Priests always made him nervous.

Vedek Jorn was an elderly man by human stadards, but the average life span of a Bajoran was about twenty years longer than a human's, so he still had a few good decades to go. He was short in stature (O'Brien was beginning to think that was a prerequisite for a religious life style), dressed in the robes of his order. Two monks tended behind him. Jorn walked slowly, limping slightly on his left side, though he did not carry a cane.

Stepping down from the airlock, the Vedek looked genuinely surprised. "You've sent a welcoming comittee. How very thoughtful."

O'Brien smiled, the unease having disappeared. "Welcome to Deep Space Nine, Vedek Jorn."

"You know of me?" Jorn questioned pleasantly, tilting his head to the side as he waited for his answer.

"I was informed of your arrival."

"And your name is?"

"Miles O'Brien, chief of operations."

Jorn gladly shook O'Brien's hand and motioned down the hall towards the Promenade. "Very pleased to meet you, Chief. Now, I know you are a very busy man--"

"LET ME OUT OF HERE!"

O'Brien and Jorn whirled around. Ceres made ready his phaser as the commotion from the airlock increased.

Ceres slapped his combadge. "Security to Airlock Five."

O'Brien politely pushed the Vedek and his entourage ahead. "If you will excuse me, sir."

Jorn nodded and obediantly got out of the officer's way.

"Chief, he's in the airlock," Ceres announced, flushed against the side of the airlock entrance. "Bajoran male, not armed."

"Computer," O'Brien called out, "close all hatches to airlock 5. Block out manual override until futher notice."

Seconds after Ceres' call, Odo and a back-up team arrived, all armed and phasers drawn, with the exception of Odo, who never carried a phaser. "What's going on?" the shapeshifter asked.

O'Brien looked through the hatch window. The man inside was throwing himself against the walls, raving like a mad man. "Lunatic in the airlock."

"Was he a scheduled passenger?" Odo asked, taking a look for himself.

Jorn approached from behind. "No. Only I and my assistants were scheduled on this shuttle."

"Medical assistance to Airlock 5," Odo ordered.

"Bajoran shuttle Yueng to DS9. My co-pilot has been injured. He needs medical assistance."

"O'Brien to Ops. Beam the occupants of the shuttle docked at Airlock 5 directly to the Infirmary."

A muffled scream erupted from the temporary holding cell. "LET ME OUT OF HERE!! LET ME OUT!" The man slammed his body against the hatch door repeatedly.

O'Brien jumped back. He had never seen a man inflict so much bodily harm to oneself. "He's going to seriously hurt himself if he keeps this up."

A thin line of blood dripped from the mad man's forehead, and he still threw himself against the wall.

"Computer," Odo ordered, "flood Airlock 5 with anestizine gas, point one percent atm, for 15 seconds and then vent with outside air."

"Confirmed."

There was a slight hiss within the airlock as the knockout gas was released. The mad man slowed, and finally slumped against the wall in a drug-induced stupor. O'Brien reinstated the manual override mechanism, and the great door opened. The air, still sweet with minor amounts of gas, flooded the corridor.

Phasers ready, the security personnel watched the unconscious man carefully as Odo and O'Brien entered the airlock. Odo continued on into the shuttle while O'Brien checked the life signs on the victim.

"Pulse is steady, but he's out cold. He's got some pretty nasty bumps on his head. He's going to have one hell of a headache when he wakes up," O'Brien commented, just as the medical party arrived. Standing to give them room to operate, O'Brien stepped out of the airlock and approached Jorn. "I'm sorry you had to witness this, Vedek."

Jorn shook his head, concerned. "No, no. I am the one who should apologize. I did not realize he was aboard."

"There was no way you could have known, sir," O'Brien reasoned.

Odo stepped out of the airlock. "Apparently, he stowed awy in a storage compartment. Carbon dioxide and urea concentrations confirm that he was there for about twelve hours." As the anti-grav stretcher passed by, Odo waved a security officer to follow. "I want round the clock security posted on this man. Inform Bashir that all necessary precautions should be made."

Ceres nodded. "Aye, sir."

Jorn watched the cart go by. "I think I will follow. Perhaps there is something I can do for him."

"I'll escort you to the Infirmary," O'Brien told the Vedek. Jorn nodded.

Odo turned back to his remaining security personnel. "I want this section blocked off until a full investigation can be made. Look for DNA traces in the storage locker this man hid in. I want him identified before he wakes up."

"Emerling to Odo."

Odo stepped aside to answer the page. "Go ahead."

"Sir, we have found a body in Cargo Bay 12. Bajoran male, late thirties."

At the news, Jorn slowly shook his head as he followed O'Brien to the Infirmary. O'Brien looked back, glad that he was not in the Constable's shoes. Jorn began chanting under his breath.

Odo issued several orders to his people before leaving for Bay 12. Diagramatically, it was not a far walk from Airlock 5. The Cargo bays were five levels down in the same section of the station. Unfortunately, turbolifts were few and far between, and probably still on the fritz. His office was flooded with complaints earlier in the day when several lifts shut down at once, many with people trapped inside.

Luckily, the nearest lift was fully operational, and he walked into the perfect crime scene moments later. His people knew that he would settle for nothing less. Several Bajoran security personnel scoured the area for clues. The body was discretely covered with a plastic sheet, but the sheet did not completely hide the pool of blood that surrounded what Odo assumed was the victim's head.

Emerling handed Odo her preliminary report. "Possible vagrant, sir. We found a small camp around the corner. Here's a manifest of what we've found. DNA analysis proves that he spent a large amount of time here. Cause of death believed to be an aneurysm."

Odo scanned the report and walked over to the body. Removing the sheet, he examined the victim's face. Dried blood covered the lower half, and there was a small trail from both ears to the congealing mass beneath his head. "No sign of foul play, but I still want Dr. Bashir to examine the body."

"We place the time of death at approximately two hours ago," Emerling reported.

"Who found the body?" Odo asked.

"One of the dock workers looking for extra parts for one of the fork lifts, Acor Raitte."

Odo panned left and watched as two Federation officers questioned a middle aged Bajoran woman, recording her statement. She answered their questions dispassionately, desensitized to the violence she had seen. It was a trait inherent for most Bajorans these days. Finding a dead body was nothing new for many of them.

"I want to know who he is, when he arrived on this station, and why he was hiding in the cargo bay."

"Isn't that a lot of trouble to go through for a vagrant, sir?"

Odo straightened and wiped his hands on a proferred rag from one of the attendants. "Then I want to know why he decided to make this station his home. He must have had a reason. And very few vagrants can afford new clothing as listed here, or an expensive time piece."

"Whatever you say, sir," Emerling conceded.

Odo nodded, and returned to his office to file the report.

- -

Sisko crossed and recrossed his legs at least a dozen times while waiting for an audience with Tareste Dern. He prided himself on being a rather patient man, but his tolerence levels were pushing maximum. A two hour wait went well beyond common courtesy; it was down right insulting. But it was all part of Tareste's game, and Sisko refused to play.

Kira had realized this as well after the first hour of waiting, but to keep alert, she began pacing the hallway in front of Tareste Dern's office door, which was on the second floor of his home. The mansion was hundreds of years old, built on a family plot that had been passed down through thousands of generations. The antiquity of the artwork seen everywhere within the house was carefully labeled and catalogued. Servants dusted and polished the bronze, gold and woven pieces with the care of a museum curator.

Since his arrival on the station, Sisko had begun a study of Bajoran art, and though a neophyte, he recognized some very early pieces, predating earth's earliest forms of acknowledged art by thousands of years.

It was easy to lose one's self looking at the tapestries in the great hall. Sisko forced himself to stay focused after letting his eyes wander aimlessly along the woven pictures. He wasn't going to let an inconvenient stall tactic put him off guard.

There were voices behind the door, finally. Sisko thought he heard a muttered, "About time," from Kira's direction, but said nothing. Silently, he agreed, and channeled his irritation towards keeping a good poker face. He didn't need to worry about Kira: she always seemed to wear a permanent scowl, and people had come to expect it. They both stood before the entrance.

The double doors swung inwards. A Bajoran man, dressed in a dark business suit, held the door open with his left foot as he escorted his guest out. Much to Sisko's surprise, the Minister of War stepped out of the office. But his reaction was nothing compared to the surprise on Gavotte's face when he saw Sisko and Kira.

"Minister Gavotte," Sisko said, offering his hand. "Good day to you."

Gavotte recoverd well. "Commander, Major. I trust all is well on the station?" He smiled pleasantly, tucked a leather case under his arm as he straightened his suit jacket.

They did not return the smile. "Everything is fine, Minister," Sisko replied evenly.

Gavotte nodded his approval. "Good, good. I'm glad to hear it. Perhaps I will see you again soon then."

Sisko stepped aside to let the Minister through. Kira did not. Gavotte maneuvered around her and started down the corridor.

The man at the door held out his hand. "I am sorry to keep you waiting like this, Commander. Please accept my apologies."

Sisko took his hand and introduced himself. "Ben Sisko. My first officer--"

"Kira Nerys," Tareste answered. "Yes, I know." He offered his hand to her; she did not take it. He smiled and motioned instead that they should retreat to his office. "You are fairly well known around these parts, Major, as are you, Commander. Many of the villagers here are very interested in what is going on up at the station."

"Is that a fact?" Kira asked belligerently. Sisko caught her elbow, and she stepped down from her attack posture. Not that she would physically attack the man, Sisko knew her better than that, but he liked to remind her of her place every once in a while, even if it meant getting a dirty look in return.

The sarcastic tone was not lost on Tareste. "You have become local folk heroes as the Protectors of the Celestial Temple."

Tareste offered them seats opposite his desk.

Both chose to stand.

Sisko liked to think that he was a good judge of character. He had, in the past, been pretty good with his assumptions. At first glance, Tareste Dern appeared to be an honest, older, trustworthy businessman. He met with local merchants and businessmen in his own home, Locals from the outlying district were on his payroll for honest work: cleaning up the streets, building and repairing homes for people who could not do it themselves. He seemed like a man genuinely interested in the welfare of the community.

But he was a good liar as well. His smile was not genuine and his handshake not warm. There was a false sense of security about him; his contentious mannerisms, the way he grinned derisively rather than smiled. He rubbed the base of his left ring finger, the only outward sign of nervousness, or else just a bad habit. And he did not wear the earring symbolic of their religion. Sisko had met very few Bajorans who did not wear the earring.

The desk was clutttered, but not messy, as if someone wanted to give the impression that he was very busy and had not time to tidy up. The shelves were neatly stacked with hundreds of books and ornamental boxes. Tareste sat behind his desk, elbows on the arm rest, fingers laced across his stomach.

"What can I do for you, Commander? As you can see, I'm a very busy man."

"Yes, I know," Sisko answered, half-heartedly waving at the desk. "The head of a major reconstruction corporation, raising funds for the orphanages, building homes for displaced families. Quite the humanitarian. You're also one of the largest military contractors on the planet."

Kira looked away, rolling his eyes. Tareste shifted his attention towards her, but still faced Sisko. "I'm sure you did not come here to discuss my financial situation, Commander."

Sisko nodded. "Actually, we're looking for an employee of yours. Soren Paggio."

"Yes, he runs one of my construction companies."

Stepping forward, Sisko added, "Earlier this morning, the reclamation generators at the Tulane Reservoir were sabotaged. DNA residue found on the timer parts indicate that Soren Paggio was involved."

"Really?" Tareste questioned, looking genuinely surprised at the turn of events. "I had heard of the damage done this morning, but I did not know it was sabotage."

It was Sisko's turn to smile. "Now, you do."

Tareste stood, and walked to the window. "And you believe Soren has something to do with this?"

"Correct," Sisko replied.

"And because he works for one of my companies, you believe I have something to do with this as well."

"You catch on fast."

Tareste turned, fixing his gaze on Sisko. "Why me?"

"We have our reasons," Kira said.

" 'We' meaning Starfleet, or the Underground?"

Sisko did not give her a chance to answer. "It is well known that you have grievances against the Provisional Government. We believe this morning's incident was an act of sabotage, and we are only investigating possibilities at this point. So, we'd like to ask you a few questions."

"Answer mine first," Tareste teased. "Why me?"

"Because you have a track record for killing Bajorans through convenient accidents," Kira replied vehemently. "Soren Paggio was a demolitions expert. During the Occupation he worked in the mines, building and setting off charges in the tunnels. When you were appointed governor of the Marta district by the Cardassians, you pulled him out of the mines and appointed him your security advisor-slash-executioner. It fits the pattern."

"Major," Sisko warned, hoping she would back off.

Tareste walked around his desk and stood face to face with the Bajoran major. "A pattern, Major. You were with the Resistance. I bet you had a few patterns of your own. Tell me, when did you kill for the first time?"

Kira thought she misinterpretted the question. "What?"

"Oh, come now, you can't tell me that you were with the Resistance and never killed anyone? You look like a fighter, you must have been in the trenches. No, wait ... you were with the Shakaar." Tareste hesistated, made a show of harmlessly biting the knuckle of his thumb. He leaned casually against his desk. "I understand your hatred of me: that little incident with those Shakaar rebels."

Tareste quickly turned his gaze towards Sisko and took on a preachy face. "You see, there were a number of rebels living in my district. They were caught in their own act of sabotage, blew themselves up in a trap meant to destroy a few of the ore processors. The Shakaar like to think that I had them executed."

Just as quickly, he returned his attention to Kira. Tareste almost laughed as if remembering a humorous anecdote. "I bet you had a part in liberating Gallitepp. Oh, you must have seen some action then. I'd guess you were about 14 then. Awful thing to witness at such a tender age. I bet that was your first kill, out of rage, after seeing what the Cardassians had done to your fellow Bajorans."

Sisko did not like the way the conversation was turning. He touched Kira's arm. She waved him back.

Tareste's voice, slow and melodic, dropped to a whisper. "You were sick after that first time, weren't you? Maybe not immediately after the dirty deed, but after you had time to think about what you did. It disgusted you: you took another life. You couldn't eat, couldn't sleep."

If she was shaken by his words, Sisko could not tell.

"What does this have to do with anything?" she asked, undaunted.

Tareste moved in closer, coiling around Kira like a snake, looking for the kill.

"The discomfort didn't stop you for long. You continued killing when you had to. Oh, we all know that all you rebels were fighting for Bajor's freedom. You were justified. It became a pattern; one more death, one step closer to freedom. And after a while, you stopped throwing up after every kill. It became second nature, like a bad habit. Hard to kick the habit now, Major?"

Kira snapped back, "You killed hundreds for the Cardassians. You handed over your own people for execution. That makes you a traitor."

"Takes one to know one."

The blow left Kira silent for several seconds. "What do you mean by that?"

Their eyes remained locked in a deadly gaze.

"I killed my enemies during the Occupation. I arrested those who would hinder the proper progress of my facilities. But you've had a hand in arresting Bajorans you once called friends. I'd say that makes you a traitor to your people."

Without looking away from Kira, Tareste added, "Commander Sisko, you have no direct evidence to tie me to the sabotage of the reclamation plant. If you are looking for someone to blame, I suggest you seek out Soren Paggio himself. If he made the bomb, then he would know more about it than I."

Sisko stepped between them to break their eye contact. "We'll do that." He pulled on Kira's elbow. She did not move. He could feel her muscles tense beneath his fingers. She was visibly shaking with rage.

Tareste had not broken a sweat, nor did he seem affected by their alteration in any way. "If you have any more questions, you know where to find me."

Tugging once more on the Major's arm, Sisko led the way out of the office and out of the mansion. By the time they reached the outer perimeter of the property, Kira had still not calmed down. Brow furrowed, jaw locked, muscles shaking, she looked like she might burst a blood vessel or two.

"Major." Sisko slowed, having allowed her a chance to vent off some of her anger with their fast pace. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she answered curtly, though her voice trembled. "Soren Paggio--"

"No, Major." Kira stopped and turned around. He could see that she did not want to give up, not just yet, and he could not blame her for wanting to do more. "You've been up for the past 40 hours," he reasoned. "You need to sleep, and I won't take no for an answer. We'll come back for Soren later. He's not going anywhere, I've asked Bajoran authorities to bring him in for questioning.

"You are off duty as of this minute. After what just happened, you need to rest. Okay?"

Kira didn't move, did not say anything. Not sure how to take her response, he hit his combadge to call for an immediate beam-out. "Sisko to Rio Grande. Two to beam up."

Aboard the runabout, Dax watched Sisko and Kira rematerialize. She greeted them with a smile, and received one in return from Sisko. Kira retreated to the secondary compartment of the small ship.

"Take us home, Old Man," he ordered, taking a seat in the co-pilot chair.

Dax returned her chair back to its original position. "I take it things did not go well."

"That is an understatement." Sisko sank in the chair with a tired sigh.

He wasn't even part of the altercation and he was feeling drained. How Kira handled such verbal antagonism was beyond him; he would have lost his temper and gained a severe reprimand for his resulting action.

"Want to talk about it?"

Sisko shook his head. He was too tired. "Not especially."

Confirming their flight plan, Dax brought the ship out of standard orbit and around to the new course heading at one quarter impulse power. "You've taken Kira off duty."

Sisko looked back at the cabin door, wondering whether Kira was cursing him out or punching a hole in the wall. If anyone matched his temper, it was his first officer. "What gave you that idea?"

The runabout cleared the Bajor's gravity well and it's closest moons. It was smooth sailing from there on. Minutes passed silently before Sisko hit the autopilot. "Go on, Dax. I know you want to check on her."

"You don't mind?"

"You haven't been a parent in, what, a hundred years," Sisko kidded.

Dax stood and smiled. "Once a parent, always a parent. I'll be back."

The secondary compartment served as a small conference area, dining room, or sleep compartment, but more commonly it was used as a storage facility. It was empty now.

Dax stepped inside, expecting to find either quiet or something being smashed against the walls. Instead, she heard retching.

Kira was bent over a sink, arms braced against the sides, torso rigid as another convulsion racked her body. Dax rushed to her side, holding on to Kira's shoulders as the fit passed.

Kira tried to shrug her off. "I'm fine. I don't need help," she said, knees buckling beneath her.

Dax caught her before she hit the ground. "You're running a fever, too. You are not 'fine'. You're going to the Infirmary when we get back to the station." She settled Kira on the nearest couch. When the Bajoran tried to stand, Dax gently pushed her back down. "Don't be stubborn about this."

"It'll pass," Kira said weakly. "Just let me sleep it off."

"You need more than just sleep," Dax argued, foraging through the storage compartments for a blanket. By the time she found one, Kira was asleep, despite the awkward position her body was in; head cocked at an uncomfortable angle and legs swung over the side.

Dax draped the blanket over her shoulder as she pulled Kira down farther on the couch to make room for her head and feet. "If you think this gets you out of seeing Julian, you've got another thing coming." She unfolded the blanket and covered Kira with it.

As she left, she ordered the lights turned down

Sisko turned in his chair when she reentered the cabin. "How's your patient?"

"Asleep," she simply answered.

No beating around the bush with Dax. It was probably why Sisko trusted her judgement so. But he did note the look of concern in her eye.

"So, tell me about your scans of the planet."

* * * * *

Ben Sisko sat behind his desk, and leaned his chair as far back as it would go without tipping. Baseball in hand, he tossed it in the air, high enough so that it barely touched the vaulted ceiling. It was a well rehearsed move, with only a few scuff marks on the ceiling to show for his misthrows.

It was nearing dinner time, and all he wanted was a steaming bowl of aubergine stew. Some people called chocolate their comfort food. Ben Sisko preferred stew, a hearty, steamy bowl that was so think that a knife and fork were required.

But Jake would need a little time for a rush clean-up job, if he and Nog chose to spend the afternoon in the Sisko quarters. Sisko didn't want to drop in unexpectedly; it would be a breach of the unspoken pact he held with his son.

The methodic motion of tossing and catching the ball set his mind at ease. After reading Odo's report on the body found earlier that afternoon, he needed to ease his mind.

A call from the main deck in Ops broke his concentration. The ball ricocheted off the ceiling and came to a rest in a corner. "Commander, Minister Kur on subspace."

He brought the chair to its upright position and triggered the viewscreen. "Put it through to my terminal."

Minister Kur looked up from his desk, clearly distraught. In the background, Sisko saw a number of people hurring about. "Commander, I'm glad I caught you. There's been another incident."

"Of what nature?" Sisko asked, concerned. The man on the screen was not the pompous ass he had met that morning.

"During the dinner hour, a number of Court Ministers were discovered missing, possibly kidnapped. We are questioning witnesses now."

"How many?"

"Eight. No demands have been made. All transports from Bajor have been cancelled. Whoever took them is still on the planet."

Sisko frowned. "That's a point in our favor. Do you believe the bombings and the abductions are connected?"

"It's hard to say, but considering the targets--" Kur hesistated.

"Meaning exactly what?"

"A political agenda may be at work here. The Ministers taken are fairly conservative in their votes. Assassinations were not uncommon in the early days of our government, as you well know. All anyone needs is eight votes to get a bill introduced."

"Do you have anyone in mind?"

"We're compiling a list of possible suspects now."

"There's not much I can do for you, Minister."

Kur seemed reticent. "I know. But if you come up with anything, I would appreciate any information you can give us."

"Of course, Minister. Sisko out."

When it rained, it poured. Sisko took a deep breath before activating the intrastation comm link. "All senior officers report to Ops immediately."

* * * * *

Chief O'Brien was not the only Starfleet officer in a good mood. Julian Bashir was positively beaming. He thrived on stressful situations. The more stressed out he was, the more he liked it, to a certain extent. It was not something he would prescribe for anyone, but the adrenalin rush he always got when bogged down with case after case lasted for hours after his duties were officially over, and so he needed to vent it off. He got a lot done on those rushes; cleaning, overdue errands, reorganizing his quarters and the lot.

His day started when the co-processor went down earlier that morning. One unfortunate person tripped in his darkened quarters and received a nasty concussion. Several of the Bajoran crews replacing isolinear rods all over the station came in requiring first aid for minor electrical shocks, cuts and bruises, and one broken wrist from a fall off a ladder. Then the appendectomy at midday, the pilot from the Bajoran shuttle needed tending, and the autopsy of the man found in the cargo bay.

It had been busy, but not particularly stressful until the man from the airlock had been brought in. Bajoran male, approximately twenty five years of age, a histroy of broken bones, no sign of physical ailment or brain lesions, yet the patient was somnalent.

He had ruled out poisoning from the anestizine gas used to tranquilize him. None of Bashir's tests caused a conscious reaction. He had viewed the security tape a number of times, but he could find no evidence of a permanent delusional state. He had questioned everyone involved in the man's capture. The DNA scan and medical history report he held in his hands also indicated no psychological cause for such a disruption.

Bashir never met a challenge he wasn't willing to take on, and this was no exception. It would only take a little longer than normal to figure out. The brief detour to check on Major Kira, at Dax's request, had freed his mind for a while and gave him new insights to the problem. He was organizing his thoughts during his ride on the turbolift.

He hopped up the last step before the lift came to a complete stop. O'Brien sat at the tactical station, Dax at the science console; the meeting had not started yet.

Dax looked up from her console and smiled warmly at the doctor. "Julian. How is Kira?"

Bashir's heart swam with infatuation as he climbed down to her station and draped his arms on top of the rail. "She should be fine in a day or two. I gave her a sedative to help her sleep and prescribed a change in diet. It could be nothing, but it could be an ulcer, like you suggested. We'll have to wait and see."

"Thank you for making the house call," she said, returning to her work.

"No problem," he answered, a little disappointed that it was the end of their conversation. Willing to accept that she wasn't interested in anything more than friendship, but unwilling to give up persuing her, he hoped that one day she would be interested in something more than just dinner and coffee.

"Any idea about what this is about?" he asked, taking a seat at the Ops table.

"No," Dax answered as Sisko stepped out of his office.

Sisko descended the stairs to the Ops table and beckoned Dax and O'Brien to follow. He stood at the head of the operations table. Looking around Ops, he said, "Where's the Constable?"

"He called just a few minutes ago," Dax replied. "Something about an emergency on the Promenade."

Sisko shrugged. "I realize that everyone has had a very long day, but this is somewhat of an emergency. I've just received word that a number of Ministers of State are missing, presumably kidnapped. Eighteen hours ago, there was a terrorist attack on a number of government facilities. It is my belief, and that of the Provisional Government, that these events are linked. We have been asked to maintain surveillance of all ships entering and leaving Bajoran space."

"I've reconfigured our sensor arrays to monitor the system as you suggested, Commander," O'Brien offerred, "but I don't know how accurrate the scans will be at this range."

"Maybe they won't have to be," Sisko said. "Bajoran patrols have been running fly-bys and monitoring all cargos coming into the station since this morning."

"We can't possibly check all incoming ships, Benjamin," Dax observed, "not without a starship."

"Starfleet isn't going to send us a starship. They've made that abundantly clear in the past," O'Brien complained.

Sisko said frankly, "I never claimed it would be easy. Minister Kur has all but informed me that the Provisional Government is willing to go so far as to acknowledge that there is a problem, but they are unwilling to admit it is theirs. We're going to be skating on thin ice for a while."

He paused when the turbolift cranked to a stop and deposited Odo on the deck. "Constable, so nice of you to join us."

"You may not think so after reading my report." Odo strode down the stairs and took a place next to Dax at the operations table. He handed his PADD to Sisko. "Another Bajoran man was found dead, this time in one of the ore processors."

"Cause of death?"

Odo nodded towards Bashir. "After the Doctor performs an autopsy, we will know for certain, but it appears to be natural causes, another aneurysm."

"That's two deaths within the last six hours," Sisko commented. "I don't like it."

"Any idea who these people are?" Dax asked.

Eyes turned to Bashir. The young doctor cleared his throat, but still it did not stop his voice from rising an octave as he started speaking. "Well, I won't know the identity of the newest victim for another three hours, but I was able to discover who the other man was: Evat Trebor."

Sisko looked up from his study of Odo's securoty report. "Dax, call up the names from the DNA analysis."

Quickly and efficiently, she up-loaded the requested information. After skimming through it, she said, "Evat Trebor is listed."

"I'm willing to bet that our latest victim will also be listed." Sisko shook his head. It would certainly be an interesting turn of events. Pieces were falling into place far too easily for coincidence. A noted bomb specialist leaves his proverbially fingerprints all over the timer devices from a number of detonated bombs. One, if not two, other men connected with the attack are found conveniently dead less than eighteen hours later. Besides the fact that a number of ministers were missing.

"Did you find any evidence for murder, Doctor?" Sisko asked.

Bashir shook his head. "I'm sorry to say, no. At least, not yet."

"Keep checking. Even the smallest detail may shed some light on this case," Sisko ordered.

"I've ordered a toxicilogy report," Bashir added. "It won't be ready for several hours."

"What about your other patient?"

"He suffers froma slight hormonal imbalance, and his brain chemistry is well off norm. But I can't find a physical cause for such disruptive behavior. I've looked over his medical history, and there is no evidence of psychosis or psychotic episodes," Bashir answered, handing his PADD over for examination.

"Even that may be a clue," Odo observed. "It seems to fit the overall pattern of relatively healthy men dying under unusual circumstances. Do you have a name, Doctor?"

"Retsof Tol."

Dax checked the list of names again. "He's listed, too."

The communications board indicated an incoming message. O'Brien, closest to the activation button, read the beacon package. "Message from Bajor, text only."

"Patch it through, Chief," Sisko said, giving the go ahead.

Frowing briefly as he confirmed transmission, O'Brien read aloud, " 'Commander Sisko, we regret to inform you that your suspect, Soren Paggio, was found dead this afternoon. Cause of death, cardiac arrest. Aprroximate time of death, 0900.' "

"Great," Sisko complained. "Just great. Three dead and a fourth incapacitated." He rubbed his face, hoping to massage away the fatigue he was feeling. It didn't work.

"First rule of assassination: kill the assassin," O'Brien muttered.

"No one has been assassinated, Mr. O'Brien," Odo reminded him. O'Brien shrugged his shoulders in response.

Sisko continued. "Chief, check the crew manifests for all ships that have docked within the last two days. I want to know when these men arrived. If they've been murdered, it seems our killer has a very specific clientele. Constable, I want extra security assigned to our visitor in the Infirmary. Right now he may be our only witness. Let's keep this quiet, people."

As they broke up, Dax commented as she followed Sisko up the stairs, "You're hoping he can point the finger at the bigger fish."

Sisko left her statement unanswered, despite the confused looks from the other officers.

The shapeshifter tapped his combadge. "Odo to Ceres, meet me outside the Infirmary in five minutes." He was halfway in the turbolift when the acknowledgement was received.

Sisko retreated into his office with Dax in tow. The doors closed before she spoke. "Kira is not going to like this."

"Soren Paggio was dead before we even reached the surface this morning." Sisko took a seat behind his desk, foot propped on a drawer he constantly left open for such a purpose. "We didn't know he was involved until 1100." He started looking for his baseball, it wasn't on his desk. Then he remembered it had bounced off into a corner, he stood to find it.

"You think Tareste Dern has something to do with his death?"

"I don't know what I think," Sisko admitted, twirling the ball in his hand. "If Tareste was involved, then surely he would get rid of any loose ends that would implicate him. But why murder one of his men before he knew of the DNA trace?"

"Maybe he's not the one calling the shots. Or, maybe he knew about the DNA trace before we did," Dax commented. "It is s a possibility."

"A mole on the inside? You're getting paranoid in your old age."

Dax grabbed the baseball from his hands and placed it on the desk. "It was only a suggestion." She took a seat opposite him at the desk. "I could do a little snooping around in the communication records." Sisko responded with a furrowed brow. Okay, time for a new approach. "Tell me what happened with Tareste Dern."

Sisko reached for his baseball and spun it on the desktop. "I hate to judge people on first impressions, but that man cannot be trusted. He's cunning, coniving, and tells a lie as if was painting a portrait. He makes tele-evangilists look like saints."

"Was he really all that bad?"

Sisko leaned back in his chair, remembering the encounter vividly. The memory made him quake involuntarily. "He had an almost hypnotic quality about him," Sisko answered slowly. "I felt nauseous just listening to him."

"Apparently, so did Kira."

Sisko looked up, grabbing the base ball in mid-spin. "Power of suggestion, perhaps?" He had never seen Kira that rattled, at least not since the crash of the Yangtzee Kiang. If there was one thing he had learned about his first officer, it was that she hated to let emotions get in the way of getting the job done. Her angry-at-the-world attitude kept her on the productive side of reality. He had used it once or twice himself. Something Tareste said triggered a response she didn't want to make--

"How far back do our files of Bajoran archives go?" he asked, sitting up.

Eyebrows raised and staring blankly, Dax shrugged her shoulders. "I really don't know. Whatever wasn't destroyed by the Cardassians was drawn and quartered in their computer filing systems."

"Maybe I can get access to the Vedek library," Sisko said absently.

"Vedek Jorn is aboard, if that will help any," Dax offerred. "What exactly are you looking for?"

"Tareste family history. I want to know what triggered Tareste family animosity towards the government."

- -

Jake Sisko was amazed at the fact that Nog could watch any sort of game and instantly know all the rules and their loopholes within minutes, but could not understand simple algaebra, or read above the fourth grade level. It sort of bothered him that his Ferengi counterpart took such a casual attitude towards schooling, when Jake worked night and day to figure out the meaning of a Klingon opera.

But they were still the best of friends, thrust together on a station where neither wanted to be, but had no choice in the situation or the circumstances that put them there. So they made the best of a not so nice situation, which frequently landed Jake on the wrong side of the law. And there was a lot of mischief that his father was not aware of, and Jake tried feverently to avoid the shapeshifting chief of security for just that reason. Like today. Odo had a habit of keeping an eye on both of them, simply because they tended to explore areas of the station where they had no reason to be.

Though Nog would never admit it, he desperately wanted to be a better student. His father expressly forbade him to attend classes with Mrs. O'Brien, even though Quark sort of approved of the practice. So when he could slip into class, Nog did. When he didn't make it to class, Mrs. O'Brien was sure to send some practice problems home with Jake, just in case Nog wanted to run through a few of them.

Their tutoring sessions were usually held in Jake's quarters, followed by some food, maybe watch a holodisk (which was always accompanied by a minor food fight) and play a few games. Today's game of choice was chess. Jake learned the game from his father, Nog learned it from Jake earlier that afternoon. Already, Nog had won four matches.

Not that Jake was a sore loser, but he hoped Nog would tire of the game soon. It was near dinner time, his father would be home soon, and his father didn't exactly approve of his friendship with the Ferengi boy.

"Checkmate," Nog cheered with a toothy grin. "Who says chess is a hard game."

"I do," Jake whined, collected the chess pieces in their case. He was ending today's entertainment, whether or not Nog wanted to end it.

"You're just mad I keep beating you at your own game, hew-man," Nog said, not completely off the mark with his simple statement. He grabbed a few kernals of popcorn and popped them in his mouth. Realizing his mistake, he indiscretely spit out the soft, bland kernals all over the floor. "Ugh. How can you eat this stuff?"

"What do you mean?" Jake replied, glad that Nog did not take offense at his earlier attitude. It took a lot to put Nog on the defensive. "Popcorn is the greatest food known to man."

"Yeah, well, not to Ferengi. What time is it anyway?"

"Nearly seven o'clock."

Nog stood and brushed himself off. "I've got to go. Uncle Quark will be looking for me."

Jake started to pick up some of the mess the two of them made. "Don't forget to try some of those problems. Are you gonna go to school tomorrow?"

The Ferengi boy shrugged his shoulders, swung his arms. "Depends on whether or not my father has something for me to do tomorrow morning."

"Have you asked Mrs. O'Brien to talk to your father again?" Jake asked.

"It won't do any good. My father doesn't believe in a hew-man school."

The door to the Sisko's quarters opened. Jake's father walked through the threshhold wearily, barely taking note of Nog's presence or the remnants of that afternoon's food fight. He walked straight to the replicator.

Nog hopped on his toes, waved a nervous good-bye and hastily retreated to the corridor outside. Jake made quick work of cleaning up the living room and got rid of all evidence of the afternoon's misadventures, as his father called it.

Ben Sisko ordered a mug of Raktigeno and sat heavily at the table. It didn't take long ofr Jake to pick up on his father's mood, so he didn't ask how his day went. "What do you want for dinner, Dad?"

"You're hungry? There's enough junk food on the floor to feed an army," Sisko commented, trying to lighten his mood. Seeing his son smile made him feel better. But what he really wanted was a good meal, something that would stick to his ribs and put him in a food-induced stupor. "You pick."

"Long day, Dad?" Jake asked, ordering Augergine stew from the replicator. It didn't taste as good as his father's own, but it would do on short notice. Besides, he knew either version would put his father in a good mood. Two huge bowls appeared on the platform, as well as a basket of bread.

Sisko gladly accepted the bowl and dipped the warm, fresh bread into the meaty sauce. The sweet smells from his plate made him realize that he had not eaten all day. The bread nearly melted on his tongue, or so he imagined. It had to be a fluke that the replicators were working this well. And it was nice to think about something other than government conspiracies, bombs, and suspects dying on the station.

"The day isn't over," Sisko replied, mouth full. "Did you do your homework?"

"Hours ago." Jake paused, eating a few healthy spoonfuls of stew. Generally, dinner time was a time to catch up. They rarely saw each other during the day, and evenings together were few and far between. Jake swallowed and asked, "Want to talk about it?"

"What, your homework? Sure, son, but you know more about Klingon--"

"Not my homework."

Sisko smiled at his son's concern. "I have a lot of reading to do tonight, and I'm not looking forward to it."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Jake commiserated. "We're reading Shakespeare."

For the first time in what seemed like days, Sisko laughed. He hadn't been all that fond of Shakespeare when he was a teenager either. He ruffled his son's short cropped hair and jumped whole heartedly into finishing his dinner.

"So, how was your day?"

* * * * *

"How much longer, Doctor?" Odo asked impatiently. He had been standing over the shoulder of the young Starfleet officer for nearly an hour, and hoped his sense of urgency would hasten the actions of the good doctor as he performed his autopsy. But in his own unique way of annoying others, Bashir ignored his request for haste, and carefully and methodically went about his business.

Bashir looked over his shoulder only for a moment before returning to his work. Jabara, the Bajoran nurse that probably worked more hours than he did in putting the Infirmary together, approached the lab table and handed the doctor a library PADD. "Here are the medical histories you requested, as well as the toxicology reports."

"Thank you, Jabara," Bashir said with a smile. She returned it, her blue eyes speckled with flints of gold that matched her golden hair, and then turned to leave. Bashir watched her go.

Odo hurumphed, not pleased with the fact that Bashir apparently had romantic feelings for anything that walked on two legs and was of the opposite sex. Odo knew Jabara, knew that she was married with a child, and at least fifteen years Bashir's senior. Obviously, she only smiled back as a polite gesture.

"Doctor--" Odo warned.

Bashir handed him the medical history report. "Here. Maybe this will appease you."

Odo glanced through the report. "The case files for Evat Trebor and Soren Paggio," he commented as he read through more of it with care. "Neither had any medical problems that would result in a coronary or aneurysm."

But Bashir wasn't listening to him, but frowning at the toxicology report. "What is it, Doctor?" he asked impatiently.

"I'm not sure," Bashir replied, his scowl deepening with each second. "This doesn't make much sense. This man," he said, pointing to the man on the slab, "died of an embolism to the left lung. But that's not what the toxicology report says. These enzyme counts indicate systematic failure of the heart, lungs, liver, and brain, nearly synchronous. Toxins in his bloodstream, muscle and internal tissues suggest a poison of some sort, but I can't find an entry point. There is no appreciable damage to the mucous lining of the stomach or esophogus, so it wasn't injested. No puncture wounds, no skin discoloration or lesions. Similar tissue degredation occurs with bacterial infection, akin to necrotizing fasciitis, but again, there's no evidence."

"Are we dealing with some sort of epidemic, or is it foul play?"

Bashir shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know--"

Aggravated, Odo slammed the report onto the patient's torso. "Your best guess then."

"Foul play. Strep infections, especially the virulent strains that could produce this sort of damage, have been nearly wiped out. Besides, Bajorans tend to have a natural immunity to the strep bacteria."

"Then why tell me this?" Odo asked. No one appreciated the expediency he needed to solve a crime.

Bashir erupted, "I don't know!" Immediately, he swallowed his anger and apologized. Calmer, he replied, "I'm trying to work through this problem, and even left field theories can help find the answer."

"Do you have a toxicology report for Soren Paggio?" Odo asked, unphased.

"Not yet."

"Can you order the body transported here for your own examination?"

"I can make the request."

"And Evat Trebor?"

Bashir rubbed a tired hand through his hair. "He wasn't the healthiest of individuals to begin with, I'll have to go over his toxicology report again, but I suspect I will find the same thing." He picked up the current toxicology report for the man he was working on. "There are trace amounts of a substance the computer could not identify. Maybe its a poison we've never seen before."

"Is this same substance in Evat Trebor's report?"

"I'll have to call it up." One look from Odo told him to do it, now. Quickly he checked the appropriate files on his desktop monitor. "Yes, it's here too."

"Thank you, Doctor. You may have just given me the evidence to link these murders together." Odo turned on his heel and heade for the door.

"Where are you going?" Bashir asked.

Odo called over his shoulder. "To find a murderer."

* * * * *

Quark's brow furrowed more and more as the cash drawers were emptied in front of him. A very disappointing take today, just as he feared. Business did not pick up, even during the peak gambling hours. Silently he cursed Chief O'Brien; the human promised to have his replicators back on line earlier that afternoon. O'Brien did enjoy his petty tortures, ever since that bad night at the poker tables. O'Brien accused him of cheating, and of course, he was. As revenge, O'Brien put Quark's bar on the bottom of his priority lists in terms of what got repaired first. The Ferengi would have to grin and bear it.

Rom cleaned the tables. The Dabo girls lounged on the spiral staircase. Quark seriously considered closing the bar early. That way he would not have to pay his employees for wasted hours. He gathered his pitifully small pile of gold pressed latinum and dumped it into one of his bank bags that he would later stash in his vault and dismissed everyone. He wanted to be alone, the lack of weight in his bank bag making him even more depressed.

The Dabo girls left together, and one by one his Ferengi lackies headed for home. Quark reached under the bar for one of his special vintages of pure alcoholic beverages. He himself was not a heavy drinker, purely a synthehol man himself. When in the middle of a deal or a scam, he liked to have full use of his faculties, but occasionally he shared a bottle of some obscure alcoholic beverage to close a big deal.

He filled a shot glass and ducked under the bar to replace the bottle. When he rose, the shot glass was emptied and standing upside down on the bar counter. Quark jumped when he saw a body sitting at the bar.

Recovering, Quark rubbed an ear lobe. "I didn't hear you come in."

The mysterious woman from before nearly blended in with the darkened tones of his bar. "If I wanted you to know I was here, I would have announced my presence earlier."

"How long have you been here?" Quark asked, looking around the room for her partners. "I would have kept the bar open."

"Don't be stupid, Fereni. I told you, I like to keep my anonymity, as do my associates. If they wanted to be seen, you would not have to look for them."

Quark smiled faintly, not enjoying one bit the prospect of being the watched rather tha the watcher. "I see."

The woman eyes the bank bag on the counter. "Slow day. I may have a way to make that bag a little heavier. Might be enough to replace your surveillance cameras."

Cringing, Quark leaned over the bar. "What can I do for you?" he asked cautiously. Even in his own bar, he had to be careful. Between Odo, the Nagus, Kira and the countless number of people he had swindled over the years, he was developing a fairly large persecution complex.

"You've been lax in your duties. Where are the people I asked for?"

Quark squirmed. "I need more time. It's only been fourteen hours since you gave me the list. Have you ever heard the human expression, 'needle in a haystack'?"

"I'm not concerned with your petty excuses. We were told you could deliver. I want the locations within the next six hours." She pulled out a rather heavy purse.

Greedily, Quark eyes the bag. "An interesting challenge. I'll see what I can do." He reached for the bag.

Before he could get a hold of the draw strings, the woman clamped a cold hand on his wrist, bending it slightly in a direction the wrist was not meant to go. Quark winced in pain, trying his best not to cry out.

"You will do this, if you want to stay alive, little man. You have until morning."

Letting go of wrist, the woman withdrew her hand and stood. "Remember, we are watching."

As she left the bar, two people emerged from opposite corners of the room. Quark did little to hide his surprise at their appearance. They did not come through the front door, of that he was sure. He had kept an eye on that door all evening.

Which meant that they had come in from elsewhere. The second floor entrance was a possibility, though highly unlikely. His motion detectors would have been activated, unless--

They were damaged as well, he noticed grimly. Just another thing that would be placed at the bottom of O'Brien's priority list, unless he fixed them himself.

He'd have to look into getting better security measures.

- -

Julian Bashir yawned a well deserved yawn as he walked down the corridors of the Habitat ring. He was several sections away from his own living space, but there were a few people he wanted to see; a few patients, and to see if Dax would grace him with her presence for a friendly drink . She wasn't home.

His last stop was the cabin temporarily assigned as guest quarters for their special visitor. He rang the chime and waited for entrance. The door opened and he stepped through.

Vedek Jorn sat at the desk alone, chin in hand, staring intently at the computer terminal on the corner. Bashir waited with hands held behind his back, gently rolling back and forth on the balls of his feet until the elderly Bajoran noticed him.

"Be right with you," Jorn muttered as he typed furiously at a data PADD on the desk.

Bashir took this time to quietly study the Vedek. Other than the few monks on the station, and Kai Opaka, he had not seen many of Bajor's religious clerics. When deciding where he wanted to be stationed after med school, he read about role Bajor's religious leaders played during the Occupation. During a time of atrocity, the Bajoran people looked to their religious leaders for guidance. Such devotion and spirituality were something totally alien to the young doctor, who had by his own admission led a fairly sheltered life until he came to DSNine.

He knew he was naive. No one had to remind him of that. At times, we wanted so desperately to help out in any situation, and found himself with his foot in his mouth and his ego diminished to the size of a pea. It did not stop him from trying though.

He was fascinated by all aspects of the human condition, including what would drive a people to fight a war for their freedom when faced with incredible odds. His quest for more knowledge of the Cardassian border wars, and the occupation of Bajor in particular, often got him into more trouble than not. Most of the major battles were documented, cooly and dejectedly by the Cardassians and the Federation peace negotiators that established the new borders outside the Bajoran system. But they were biased in the very least. He wanted the opposing opinion, the hotly debated reasons for the success of resistance, not the economics for the Cardassian abandonment of all mining operations on Bajor.

There were some that were more than willing to give him answers, people who really had nothing to do with anything. They would tell him all about the glory days of the fall of the Cardassian empire and how the holy Bajoran cause prevailed. Others, like Major Kira, were extremely tight lipped when it came to discussing the Occupation. But it was that perspective he wanted to hear, the trench stories. He wanted to know why there were no atheists in foxholes, how and why their faith carried them through the most harrowing of times. Faith and fate seemed so intertwined in the Bajoran religion that it seemed impossible that so many devout followers could fight for a hopeless cause against the Cardassians.

He had read all the classics dealing with war from a soldier's point of view: For Whom the Bell Tolls, All Quiet on the Western Front, Johnny Got His Gun, A Farewell to Arms. But they did not answer all of his questions. He accepted his posting to DSNine out of curiousity, to get a first hand account of how people reacted to years of oppression and warfare.

With Vedek Jorn aboard, he hoped to have an opportunity to ask a few of his questions. Jorn was a historian, and though not directly involved in the fighting, the Vedek could provide an excellent perspective of the changing Bajoran mindset, before, during and after the Occupation. O'Brien had once talked his ear off with stories of the Cradassian front and his time aboard the Rutledge. Of course, the chief had been a more than a little drunk at the time, a 'boys night out' at Quark's for a poker game.

He had the Federation side of the conflict, and even a smidgeon of the Cardassian point of view with his periodic talks over tea with the plain and simple Garrick, the taylor. Now he wanted the Bajoran view.

Jorn looked up from his computer screen and smiled at Bashir. "Doctor, what a nice surprise. I was not expecting company at such a late hour." The Vedek left the desk and led the young man to the sitting area.

Bashir returned the smile and gladly took a seat on the couch. "I was in the area, and I thought I would stop by to see how you were adjusting to station life. I'm glad I didn't wake you."

"Oh, no no no. I'll be awake for hours," Jorn laughed. "I do my best work at night. Some what convenient when one can't sleep."

Bashir stood and instantly fell into his health care persona. "Are you having troubles sleeping, Vedek? Perhaps--"

"Thank you," Jorn interrupted, knowing what would be said next. "No, I'm afraid insomnia is a consequence of the medication I take for my heart condition. A bit of a family trait. I've learned to deal with it all my life."

"I'm beginning to think insomnia is the norm for most Bajorans these days," Bashir said under his breath, recalling his visit to Major Kira minutes before. Not only had she been fighting the sleep her body desperately needed, but she refused another sedative, at first. He threatened to go over her head, to Commander Sisko about a forced vacation. She chose the sedative.

Jorn nodded his acknowledgment of the simple statement. Apparently he, too, had made similar observances. He took a seat in the arm chair, using his hands to cross his left leg over the right, and leaned towards the right side. "Tell me, Doctor, to what do I owe this unexpected visit?"

"Curiousity," Bashir answered. Looking about the room, he noticed something was missing. "Where are your attendants?"

"I don't force them to stay up with me. They are in their quarters."

Bashir smiled. "I wanted to know how your research is going. I hope our computers are of use to you."

"It's a shame that the Cardassians had to destroy so many of our archives and historical texts," Jorn answered with a tired sigh. "I have spent most of my career restoring what I could, finding texts from ancient temples and vaults unknown to the Cardassians when they were here. Even so, there are still gaps that need filling. There is a whole history or oral tradition that needs to be recovered. I just hope I can find the experts in those fields."

"Sounds like a lot of work, Vedek."

"Oh, it's not bad. Actually, I quite enjoy it. There are bits and pieces or archives dating back tens of millenia. The arrival of the orbs into our system marked a great turning point in our evolution."

Bashir's brow furrowed in interest. This had to be a good story. Commander Sisko had not given many details about his encounter with the entities that created the wormhole, the supposed Prophets. Bashir would love to study a species that did not live in a foutrh dimension of time.

"How so?" he asked, curious.

Jorn made himself comfortable in his chair. Clearly he enjoyed the role of playing teacher, and Bashir loved the chance to be a student. Jorn continued with his story. "It predates any of the first organized writings by at least one hundred thousand years. The monks and clerics have only studied the orbs for the last ten thousand years, and that is but a fraction of the age of the records of which I speak.

"It is believed that the Prophets made themselves known to my people long before the recorded history of our religion, perhaps before we had any organized religion. Stories passed down from generation to generation tell of men and women touched with incredible mental ability. The stories are similar in origin to those of the Kolinahru of Vulcan prehistory, I'm told. Their minds were so powerful that they could literally destroy their enemies with a single thought."

Bashir recalled the ghost stories he had often heard as a child. "Sounds like something you'd tell around a campfire."

"That's how it has achieved its longevity. In just about every culture, there were storytellers long before there were historians. Our oral tradition is very important to us; it wasn't unitl rivalries erupted that my people began to record the stories for fear they would be lost forever. Granted, there may have been exaggerations throughout time, but what I've told you is as accurate as our historians have been able to confirm."

"Do you have a theory as to how these people achieved such power?"

"Some say that they derive from a different lineage, though there are not enough dissimilarities between them and us to name them a different subspecies. Studies of the bone structure of bodies from gravesites rumored to be the burial sites of these people certainly don't show any deviations."

Bashir got excited, here was a subject of which he actually had knowledge. "From human evolution, we know that an extinct subspecies of our genus had a larger brain capacity than living Homo sapians. For nearly a century after their discovery in the caves of the Eurasian continent, people searched for modern descendants. Bigfoot, the Yetti, and other colloquial terms. There was a lot of interesting research conducted during the twentieth century to see if the Neanderthals were in fact more intelligent than we are today."

Jorn agreed. "I have read such accounts. But isn't it also true that humans believed that the Neanderthals were the more base, animalistic side of humanity? The twentieth century obsession to find a modern descendant of Neanderthals was a subconscious desire to prove that sapiens were not animalistic, in essence humanistic?"

Blushing, Bashir had not realized the Vedek knew so much about human psychology of the twentieth century. He was almost ashamed of his ancestry. "Indeed, but--"

"But that doesn't explain our little problem here," Jorn announced, saving further embarrassment. "Evolutionary theory is not something I am all that familiar with. Such secular views are frowned upon. But I suppose paths of convergent evolution is a viable possibility, though a remote one. Though, like your Neanderthals, such a theory provides a scapegoat, explanations for such atrocities told in those stories, that we are not that dissimilar from the animalistic creatures we descend from. I'd hate to think Bajorans were capable of such things."

"Any other explanations?" Bashir prompted.

Jorn took on a face of quiet serenity. Mesmorized, Bashir felt surrounded by the older gentleman's clamness, as if he had been swallowed by his eyes ans was floating on the words the Vedek spoke. Bashir had never been so captivated by anything in his life. He wasn't tired anymore, as if the Vedek's endless energy had passed to him through his eyes.

The Vedek continued. "Until the monks began studying the orbs, relatively little was known about them. We thought the orb spotted in the heavens ten thousand years ago was the first to appear. But it wasn't. A number of years ago, pieces of material similar in composition to that of the orbs were found inside a meteorite crater. After analysis, it was determined that the impact occurred nearly six hundred thousand years ago, contemporary with the first stories."

Slowly the implications of the Vedek's story dawned on the young Doctor. "You're implying that these men and women used peices of orbs to control the people."

Jorn did not answer. He did not have to: Bashir could read the sorrow in the man's eyes. "It frightens me to think that anyone could be so ruthless," Jorn said slowly. "When used for evil, the orbs can be a very dangerous weapon. I understand you were witness to the power of the Dal'Rok."

Bashir blinked in surprise. "Yes. How did you know?"

"We have our ways," Jorn assurred him. "You know how powerful just a small fragment is. The Prophets were kind to us during the Occupation. When the Cardassians took eight of the orbs, we truly believed our days were numbered. The Cardassians do not understand what they have taken, for which we are very lucky. The Prophets protect their children."

"What happened to these people, Vedek?" Bashir asked.

"Oh, their influences slowly died. It was a very closed society. And with the emergence of the Prophets, the people no longer feared them. In fact, they were shunned. There was no room for those who manipulated their fellow man, who killed for pleasure on a whim."

Bashir did not realize that his mouth was slightly ajar unitl the Vedek stood and as he walked by, gently tapped Bashir's chin. The Doctor snapped out out whatever day dream he was in and watched as the Vedek returned to his desk. It had not been the story he was after, but it was better than he could have hoped for.

Fumbling for words, Bashir apologized, realizing the time. "I'm sorry, Vedek. I didn't mean to take you off track like that."

"You are an apt student. And I enjoy telling my stories to someone who is truly happy to hear them," Jorn replied.

"Can-- can I come again to hear more stories, at another time?" Bashir asked.

Jorn smiled. "Of course. Same time tomorrow."

Bashir stood. "Tomoorw night then. Thank you Vedek."

Before he could leave, the Vedek called after him. "Doctor, how is your patient? The poor soul from the airlock?"

"Stable," Bashir answered neutrally. "I can't find a cause for his delusions."

Jorn nodded his head. "The Prophets will see to his safety."

"I hope so, Vedek," Bashir replied. "I certainly hope so."

* * * * *

The last thing on Kira's mind was sleep, but her body had alternate plans. She knew the minute she let her body relax, the dreams would resurface, as they had in the runabout. She had been fighting it all day, and tried to stay afloat of the depressive funk and was losing the battle. Tareste Dern got under her skin, and hit a tight chord that continued to resonate and bring memories to the surface.

Each time she closed her eyes, if only for a second, the faces flashed, Bajoran and Cardassian alike. Some she knew, and others remained nameless, but they were all targets. She remembered them all, what they looked like, what they sounded like, the smell of fear and the dead weight. Self-defense or under orders, it didn't matter. The dead flashed as if on parade, some maimed, swollen and bloodied, missing appendages. For fourteen years she did not regret her actions; the ends justifed the means. They had to believe that, if only that, in order to survive. There was no time to think of the dead during the Occupation, friend or foe.

But afterwards--

With no war to fight, there was no longer the need to plot assassinations of high ranking Cardassian officials, nor labor over technical sheets of refractories to know just where to place the bomb.

All that was left was time, to think and to remember.

Those that chose not to remember chose to continue the fight, beleaguered in their efforts to free Bajor again and again. She knew they would never be truly free. Too much had been changed, too much remained the same.

Her throat felt thick, choaked. Tears fell freely when the names and faces of family and friends joined the parade of the living dead. And she did not stop them this time.

She wished desperately to forget it all, and knew that she must not. If they forgot about what happened to Bajor, then none of it had meaning, and those that ignored the atrocities were guilty of a graver crime than those that committed the atrocities.

At that thought, bile rose along the back of her throat. Already raw from previous bouts with her conscience, her throat protested once again as she fought the urge to throw up. Bashir said it could be an ulcer, and with the way her week was going, she wasn't the least bit surprised. It probably explained the absolute lack of appetite the last few days, though she preferred to blame it on all the paperwork still sitting on her desk, instead of the junk running through her head.

But as fatigue set in, it was difficult to stay awake, running on adrenalin for nearly twenty-four hours, which all started with a bunch of little bugs running rampant through the computer core. That seemed like such a long time ago, but she knew it wasn't.

She leaned over her desk, propped her head up with palms to her forehead and closed her eyes--

Which opened the instant she heard the door chime, ringing in her ears like a mighty bell. Startled, she nearly fell out of her chair. Heart beating triple time, lungs sucking in air like a vacuum, she stood and focused on calming down. The door chimed again.

"Come in," she called, surprised that her voice was steady. She looked at the chrono, wiping her face of any tears that might remain. Five minutes had passed since she closed her eyes.

Hesistantly, Dax stepped in after the doors slipped open, hands held behind her back. She frowned, clearly disapproving of the on-duty uniform Kira still wore, minus the jacket, or the fact that she was battling the sleep she needed.

"What are you doing up?" the Trill asked, stopping in front of the door.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but why are you here?" Kira asked grumpily, nut exactly sure if she wanted company. One, she was in an extremely bad mood, and did not want that to reflect on her hospitality. Second, the visit was probably a ploy by Bashir to make sure was following orders. Third, she really didn't want to talk about anything, which was what Dax probably came to do.

Yet, having someone around would keep her mind off the dreams, stop the depressing thoughts careening through her head like a runaway locamotive.

At least it wasn't Bashir making another house call.

"You first," Dax replied.

Kira picked a pitcher of water from the table, which sloshed all over her hands as she tried to pour it into a glass. She needed to hold something in her hands, and after the fact decided that water was a bad idea. Depressed or not, she did not like to be caught in a weakened state.

"Because people like you keep knocking on my door," she replied, raising the glass. She chugged down the water in a few sips.

"So, don't answer the door," Dax argued, pausing between words, concerned. The Trill had seen her shaking hands. "Hang a 'do not disturb' sign outside."

"That doesn't seem to stop anybody. All right, I answered your question. You answer mine." She rolled her left shoulder, ache setting in again. When she noticed Dax watching her, she stopped.

"You know, you really should have Julian look at your shoulder again. The way you've been favoring it lately--"

"Leave my shoulder out of this."

Dax shifted her eyes, a sly smile on her lips. "Julian wanted me to check up on you. And Sisko asked about you." She brought a small container from behind her back. Kira eyes it suspiciously. "Chicken soup. Sisko swears by its medicinal value."

"What is this? Some sort of conspiracy?" Kira asked with a sudden burst of feigned energy. She folded her arms across her chest and dropped heavily into an arm chair. "All of this good natured well wishing is giving me a headache."

"You'll just have to get used to it. We're your friends, Kira. Like it or not, we care about you."

At that, Kira's heart skipped several beats. She did her best to hide her frightened response. For the first time in a long time in a long while, she had found a group of people akin to family. Losing that sense of security, after living without it for so long, scared her more than the Occupation. She closed her eyes and hoped Dax didn't see notice the tenseness in her face.

Dax placed the soup on the table and took a seat opposite Kira. Kira curled up in almost a fetal position, leg draped over the arm of the chair and head leaning strangely on the back.

"So," Dax said, leaning on her knees, "read any good books lately?"

Kira opened one eye and sneered. "Cut to the chase, Dax," she replied, yawning, and not for show.

"Wouldn't you be more comfortable lying down?"

"I don't want to lie down. Why are you really here?"

The stalling wasn't going to work, Dax decided. "Why were you throwing up in the runabout? You and I both know it wasn't because of an ulcer."

Kira groaned under her breath and shifted in the chair, hoping her disgruntled dismisal would cover the parade of memories. "I didn't throw up," she said, avoiding the question.

"Does it have something to do with what happened on the surface?"

Kira took a deep breath, realizing Dax would not stop with the questions short of being physically thrown out of the quarters, and Kira was not up to that. She closed her eyes again, sat in silence, debating the issue inside her brain, both sides yelling and screaming in a fierce volley of words. Her eyes dampened at the indecision. Indecision could get you killed.

She didn't open her eyes when she asked, "How many people have you watched die?" It came out as a harsh whisper, but her voice did not crack.

Taken back, Dax sat upright, slowly distancing herself from both the question and Kira. Though there was only a two year ago difference in their ages, figuratively speaking, it was hard not to refrain from parental concerns.

"Probably not as many as you have," she answered quietly.

Kira brought up the other knee, wrapping her arms about her legs. She buried her head between her knees, eyes cinched tighter than a vise.

"Did you know him?" Dax asked.

"Who?"

"Last night, the drug overdose."

Kira shook her head slowly. "No. Not by name."

"Is that what set this off?"

"No." Kira lifted her head, sniffled once, and swung her legs around so that she sat in the chair normally. Arms braced on her knees, she fixed her eyes on the floor.

"Do you ever think of them?" Kira asked.

"Who?"

Kira continued to stare at the floor. "Friends you've lost over the years."

"Sometimes. But remembering seven lifetimes of friends and family would take up another altogether. Trills have a different concept of death than most do, in part because of the host-symbiont relationship. As a Federation diplomat, a lot of my friends had a hard time dealing both with a host's death, and then getting used to a new host. I guess that's why we don't have many non-Trill friendships."

"But you have."

Dax shrugged her shoulders. "I guess I'm a glutton for punishment." Her attempt at humor fell on deaf ears. She watched a tear fall down Kira's cheek, and resisted the urge to get up and wipe it away.

"A Klingon once told me," Dax continued, voice soft, "that the dead are not dishonored when the living do not always remember them. It is okay to forget sometimes."

Kira shook her head slowly. "I can't forget." The curse of a photographic memory.

"Don't let them rule life. You are still here. You are still alive. There is no greater honor to those that have died than to live on in their memory. Memories fade; it is a part of nature. The dead accept that. Don't you think it's time you accept that, too?"

Kira didn't answer.

"You're tired. You've been through a lot these past few weeks, with the Kai leaving, all the treaty negotiations. Take a few days off. The universe is not going to fall apart if you're not on duty. Talk to someone. If not me, one of the monks. We want to help."

Dax stood, left for the door. She was two meters away when she turned to say, "Try warm milk. It may help you sleep." The door whistled open and closed.

For several minutes, Kira sat staring at the door, eyes red rimmed. She wasn't ready to talk to anyone about her demons. They were better left in the past.

Once, a colleague said her problem was that she thought too much. Don't think,react, he often told her. But, nowadays, acting without thinking was getting her into more trouble than she liked to admit.

A yawn punctuated her thoughts. Fatigue won the battle. She lifted herself out of the chair and slowly walked to her bedroom. She didn't bother turning on the lights, or even changing into bed clothes. Collapsing on the bed, exhaustion took over, and she slept for the first time in what seemed like days.

* * * * *

Technically, Odo did not sleep, though he followed what many considered a sleep cycle. Had it been up to him, he would never sleep, but his gelatinous body had a different agenda, and for every sixteen hours, he spent another five in a stainless steel bucket, tucked away in a small room off his office.

After quickly perusing the night's security tapes, he checked the list of messages on and off the station addressed to him and Quark. The Ferengi liked to do his dirty work when Odo was incapacitated. In fact, during his sleep cycle, Odo readjusted his network of security cameras to focus on Quark's favorite haunts, including the bar. But this morning he did not want to waste time searching for a reason to put Quark in the brig; he had an alleged murderer to catch.

Instinctively, Odo knew they dealing with a professional killer, though he had no collaborative evidence. Bashir's medical reports were a nice sounding board, but not enough to merit a full scale investigation. However, the appearance of three men wanted for questioning on the station hours after the incident, two now dead, a third hospitalized, and a fourth dead on the surface -- it was too much of a coincidence.

Quark made a few off station calls, most likely to a few of his informants on Bajor. There was no telling what they were about, since his monitoring devices did not record the communiques. That would be illegal, and would not stand up in a courtroom. Witnessing one of Quark's communiques, that was a different story.

Several of the other communiques directed to the security office were check ins from his officers. These Odo glanced over quickly, just to make sure his officers made their appointed rounds, of which he had no doubt, but he liked to doublecheck just in case.

Then he read the report from the law officials on Bajor: Din Vitiguv, another man wanted for questioning in the series of bombing incidents the day before, was found dead, the victim of a street mugging.

Likely story, Odo thought. To his knowledge, there were two names on the DNA list unaccounted for. Now his motivation for finding those two names changed from simple questioning in a terrorist incident to saving their lives. It was no longer a question of who planted a few bombs, but why did someone else want these people dead.

He walked out onto the Promenade. Early morning merchants were setting up their kiosks and tables, preparing for another long day of hustling, haggling and harboring. Quark's bar opened for the patrons that worked the graveyard shift in the docking bays. Already the replimat had a line out into the Promenade, dock workers, transients and other station personnel looking for an early breakfast in a social setting.

Across the Promenade, he spotted Sisko, and from the expression on the Commander's face, he was looking for any excuse to leave his walking companion, the Zakdorn freighter captain. The stumpy man, dressed in drab clothing, spun his hands in an elaborate web of motions as he chatted nonstop. Odo would have easily found him annoying as well.

Falling into step with them, he slipped between Sisko and the Zakdorn captain. He started to veer Sisko in another direction. "Commander, may I have a word with you."

Sisko stopped, along with a stunned and perturbed Zakdorn. Sisko's eyes smiled, though he put on a face of disappointment for the Zakdorn. He pumped the captain's hand furiously. "You'll have to excuse me, Captain. Perhaps we can continue our conversation later."

"My ship is scheduled to leave within the hour."

"I'm sorry," Sisko lied. "Then maybe the next time you visit the station?"

Odo led the commander away.

Out of eyesight and earshot, Sisko clapped a thankful hand on the shapeshifter's back. "Thank you, Odo. You saved my life."

"Zakdorn are known to be longwinded," Odo observed, "but I do have more news for you. Another one of our suspects was found dead this morning on Bajor."

Sisko did a quick calculation in his head. "That leaves two names. We are running out of witnesses. Has Bashir come up with anything, like a murder weapon?"

"Possibly. An unknown substance was found in the toxicology reports from the victims found on the station. Whomever is behind this is covering his tracks very carefully. We still have not determined when or how these men arrived. None of their families have seen them in well over two months, and they all claim that their son or husband could not have planted a bomb that would knowingly kill somebody, even though all were part of the Underground. Other than that, I can find no connection between any of the victims."

Sisko paused, and stopped before he entered the turbolift. "The Underground. Is there any way of knowing if they were members of the same cell?"

They stepped into the turbolift an ordered their destination as Ops. Odo mimiced Sisko's folded arms and leaned against the side of the turbolift. "You think this might be some politically motivated cell who isn't happy with the government."

Sisko nodded. "Any ministers within the government that were part of the Underground, as few as they may be, only came from a few of the resistance cells. Maybe another cell, a militant one like the Kohn-Ma, decided they didn't like the direction the government has taken. It wouldn't be the first time. While we're at it, we should check to see if the missing ministers have any affiliations with the Underground in the past."

Thankfully the lift did not rattle, sputter, or stall as it traveled to the Ops deck, though it did not stop quite flush with the deck. In fact, it fell short a good thirty centimeters. O'Brien's face dropped as he watched Sisko and Odo climb out of the car, and scrunged around his kit for the proper tool.

Sisko stopped on deck, accepted a PADD from the ensign manning the communications board, and took a look around Ops. O'Brien was already tearing into the turbolift circuitry board.

Dax had just seated herself at the science console. Kira, looking no more rested than she did the day before, nursed some steaming beverage, probably ginger tea. She sat at the situation table, reading a report on the viewscreen.

Quickly glancing over the PADD, he absorbed what he could and returned it to the ensign. When he looked up, Odo joined Dax at her station, asking about a communique to the Cardassian homeworld. Inside the turbolift, O'Brien swore under his breath as he sucked on an injured thumb.

Sisko headed for his office, but stopped before he entered. "Major, with me, please."

"Benjamin," Dax called as Kira walked up the corragates steel stairs, "Independent freighter Sarandon asking permission to dock and use of repair facilities. They seem to have troubles with their electrical systems."

"ETA?"

"Forty-two minutes."

"When does the Durham leave port?"

"Twenty-seven minutes."

"All right. Send the Sarandon to docking port 12. Everything's already there for them to use." Sisko stepped into his office to find Kira standing at attention next to the desk. "Have a seat, Major."

Sisko sat on the edge of his desk. He picked up his baseball and stared at it idily. "You look like hell, you know. You didn't have to report for duty today."

"I have a job to do," Kira replied. She looked like she had already had this conversation this morning. A look outside his office door, and he caught Dax taking a peek inside. She looked away guiltily. He found the lecturer.

"How much sleep have you had in the last fifty-two hours?"

As he spoke, she tried to cover up a yawn. That answered his question. "Apparently, not enough. I want you to take the rest of the day off."

"Is this the only reason why you've called me in here?" Kira asked, not belligerently, but not exactly kindly either.

Sisko shook his head. "No, but you getting some rest takes precedence. Quark's got more than his fair share of contacts. I'm sure he can find--"

"Oh, no," Kira erupted. "I won't have my job done by that toad-faced troll. He couldn't find his way out of a paper bag if you gave him a map and a guide dog."

"What did he do this time? Spike your drink? Send a few more crude proposals to your message terminal?"

Kira had to smile, realizing that she was overreacting, and a little on the hypersensative side. "Not lately."

He was glad to see her smile, but time for fun was over. Sisko slipped behind his desk, put away the baseball. He folded his hands across his stomach. "There are a few things you need to be apprised of."

"I already know about the deaths and the kidnappings," she offered. "I've sent a request to some of my contacts to check on the Underground affiliations of the men listed on the DNA list and the ministers that were kidnapped. It's the only connection I can think of that may link the two. At least three of the ministers I know were part of the Resistance."

Nothing surprised Sisko anymore, least of all his first officer's tendancy to be on the ball before he was. "There was another death this morning. Street violence victim, so says the report. I'm going to ask to have the body brought up here for an autopsy."

Kira nodded her head. Despite her own feelings that an autopsy was a sacrilege, she understood under the circumstances. "Can we question Retsof Tol yet?"

"Not according to Bashir, but he has found a pattern in the two deaths that occurred on the station yesterday. I don't think he's slept much the past two days either."

He was fishing for another smile, but he didn't get one. Bashir was probably on her hit list too. "Could these men be part of a remnant underground group unhappy with the government?"

"Another group like the Kohn-Ma? Most of their members have been exposed, and as far as I know, there aren't any other paramilitary groups like that on Bajor, at least none that organized or that have taken credit for their work. Besides, who would be killing them off now that the job is done?"

"I've been asking myself the same questions. And we probably won't find the answers until we can question Retsof Tol."

Kira shifted in her chair, leaning with enough pressure on her left shoulder to keep her alert. The dull pain was a reassuring reminder that she was not dreaming.

"None of my sources know of outside supplies coming into Bajor. If they are coming in from outside the system, they haven't been able to detect it. Nor have they monitored any large land or air based transports. Whoever is behind this has covered all the bases."

"Then we need to throw them a curve ball."

Kira had heard enough of his baseball talk, after a few quick jargon lessons with Dax, to understand what he meant. "I may just have that curve ball you've been looking for." She picked up a PADD from his desk and called up a file.

"We used low frequency communication band widths. If monitored, it would be seen as subspace static." She handed him the PADD. "These were sent to me a few hours ago."

"This may come as a surprise, but we've known this for quite some time, Major."

"But you don't know which frequencies or the decoding algorithms."

Sisko's smile left his face. This he was not expecting. "Isn't this some sort of security breach?"

"Certain people don't like the fact that some Bajorans still think there is a war going on. If a breach of security helps bring about peace, some of us are willing to do it."

"After, of course, you've warned the appropriate people," Sisko prompted.

Kira nodded. "Said and done."

"How many favors did you have to pull in for this one?"

"A lot."

"The next time you talk to your 'friends', tell them that I appreciate the help."

"I'll do that. Anything else, Commander?"

Sisko picked up one of several PADDS still sitting on his desk from last night's excursion through the library computers. "What do you know about the Azanoth?"

"Azanoth?" Kira questioned, wondering if she heard him right. When Siko acknowledged with a nod, she rubbed her chin in thought. "Ah, they're a fable as far as I know. Older children would use them to scare the younger ones. If you were bad, the Azanoth witches would take you while you slept. That sort of thing."

Kira folded her arms across her chest, arms held a little tighter than usual. A grimace lilted across her eyes as she changed positions to massage her left shoulder. Taking note of the small sign of insecurity, Sisko wondered what side of the storytelling she was on as a child.

"Tell me about them."

Sighing, Kira's face soured as she tried to recall the old tales. "Well, some say they were demons. Others said they had some sort of telekinetic power; start fires with their eyes, move rocks and trees without touching them, destroying a person's mind with a single thought. They could disappear and reappear in the blink of an eye to steal naughty children."

"Sounds pleasant."

"Why do you ask?"

Sisko shook his head. "It's just a name I've seen pop up in a few of the records. The funny thing is, most of the inferences I found were in the Cardassian files, not the Bajoran ones. I recognized some of the names; mostly collaborators during the Occupation."

"Let me guess," Kira said, "you found an Azanoth reference on Tareste Dern."

"Not exactly. I found one on a family member: Tareste Ken, Dern's great great great so on and so on great grandfather. He worked with a man named Hetan Rowe. Apparently this Hetan was a bit of a merciless leader during his days in power. Seems he liked to kill his political opponents."

"Why would Cardassians be concerned with a man whose been dead for hundreds of years?"

"Thousands, actually. Ten to be exact, about the time the first orbs appeared. We know the Cardassians are interested in the orbs, and would love to get their hands on them again."

"The Cardassians are very superstitious," Kira added.

"So was Hitler." Sisko waved off Kira's questioning glare at the Terran historical reference. His mind was running too many scenarios to get involved in a history lesson.

"Dax to Sisko."

Sisko tapped his combadge. "Go ahead."

"Tareste Dern is calling for you."

Kira's guarded reaction matched his own. "I'll be right out," he replied. He stood and followed the Major out of his office.

As he descended the metal steps, he ordered, "On screen."

The huge eye-shaped viewscreen blinked into existence. tarest Dern stared back at him with a steely smile and equally cold eyes. "Good morning, Commander."

"And to you, Mr. Tareste," Sisko replied, holding his hands behind his back to hide the angry flexing of his fingers. "What can I do for you?"

"It has come to my attention that you've requested the body of Soren Paggio to be transported to your station so that your doctor can do another autopsy."

"He is--was-- a suspect in a terrorist bombing. We want to ascertain the cause of his death, just for the record," Sisko stated.

"Is not our physician's report enough to settle your morbid curiousity, Commander?"

"I'm afraid not. Regulations are regulations."

"Well, your regulations will not be satisfied today, Commander. Soren Paggio's body was cremated last night."

Kira perked up, having decided to break her silence. "Soren Paggio had no family. Who authorized the cremation?"

"I did, of course. It was part of his last will and testament."

"Wasn't that a little hasty, Mr. Tareste?" Sisko asked. "The body wasn't even cold."

"I'm sorry for the inconvenience, but that is what he wished in case of the untimely event of his death."

"I'd like a copy of the will, please," Sisko stated.

Tareste's image did not waiver. "It's a matter of public record. It can be obtained through the proper channels."

"We'll do that. DSNine out."

Quietly, Sisko fumed. Everyone else remained silent, waiting for any one else to break the quiet first.

"This is just great," Sisko commented.

"Still convinced he's not involved?" Kira asked sarcastically. Sisko ignored her.

"Someone get me Bashir. I want to talk to Retsof Tol now."

- -

Bashier stood his ground firmly, arms outstretched across the entrance to the Isolation ward. Even Orion pirates could not compare with the bald faced determination Bashir displayed.

"Doctor, this is no time for niceties. This is a murder investigation," Odo argued, easily matching Bashir's stubborness, with arms crossed over his chest and an unreadable face.

"This man has not been murdered."

"If he was dead, I wouldn't want to talk with him now, would I."

Sisko stepped between them, arms held wide. "Gentlemen, gentlemen. We're after the same thing here. Now, Doctor, it is imperative that we speak with Retsof Tol. He may have the only clue to four separate deaths, which you have said may be the result of foul play."

But Bashir did not move. "My patient deserves the best medical care I can provide, and that can't happen if you pester him with questions. Besides, I don't think he's capable of answering any questions yet."

"I'd like to determine that for myself, Doctor. Just a few questions," Sisko said. He walked into Bashir's outstretched arm and waited patiently for him to remove it. Neither man looked at the other. But Bashir let his arm down. "Thank you, Doctor."

Sisko stepped inside the Isoloation Ward. But when Odo tried to follow, Bashir barred the path again. Sisko turned to watch Odo scowl.

"I'm sorry. One person only," Bashir stated.

Before Odo could protest, Sisko waved him down, and walked hesistantly through the poorly illuminated room. Even the harsh reflections of the medical monitors were toned down. Retsof Tol lay on the elevated bed, held motionless in a stasis field. His eyes darted around his sockets like pinballs, and his hair clung oddly to his forehead in sweaty clumps, depsite the reduced temperature in the room. Gooseflesh covered the back of Sisko's hands and neck.

Upon seeing someone enter the room, Retsof tried to break free from the invisible bonds that held him to the bed. Like a metranome, he rolled his head left and right. Sisko put his hand on the edge of the bed and slowly leaned towards the man on the medical table.

"Do you know where you are?" Sisko asked him.

Retsof's voice was a harsh whisper, barely audible. He repeated over and over again, like a broken record. "Melting melting melting melting..."

"Can you understand what I'm saying? Do you know where you are?"

"Melting melting melting melting..."

"What do you mean, 'melting'?"

"Melting melting melting melting..."

Retsof's jaw fell slack, his single repition missing its first consonant. His eyes focused somewhere beyond Sisko's head.

"'elting 'elting 'elting 'elting..."

Sisko straightened, and tried to rub the frustration from his face. Bashir walked up behind him, checked his patient, and then led Sisko's to the main ward room. "I'm sorry, Commander, but he's been this way since he regained consciousness."

"Has he said anything else?" Sisko asked.

Bashir shook his head. "Not to my knowledge."

"Tell me when he does."

"Aye, sir."

In the main ward room, Odo waited near the door with a dataPADD in his hands. "Commander, I've just received a list of partial serial numbers, taken from the bomb parts. It looks as though someone tried to file them off, but whoever it was did not do a good job of it. I'll run comparitive scans with the manifests of all ships coming into the station and Bajor."

Sisko almost yelped for joy. A wide grin spread across his face, parting his lips like the Red Sea. "We may salvage this investigation yet." He clapped both Odo and Bashir on the backs and left the Infirmary with a lilt in his step.

Odo hurumphed. "What is he so happy about? He's not the one who will be running cross references for the next umpteen hours."

"I think that may be why he's happy," Bashir commented, to Odo's chagrin. Odo growled and left for his office.

For the first time in nearly twenty hours, Sisko felt good. More than good, ecstatic. There was a lead, one that could be followed, one that would not end in the death of another listed man, and possibly lead to the lynch pin in this operation.

As he rounded one of the Promenade's several corners, he ran over an elderly man and the two monks that accompanied him. Grabbing a hold of the man's shoulders to steady them both, he got his first glance of the person he nearly trampled.

"Vedek Jorn. I'm so sorry," Sisko apologized.

Jorn refastened a loosened shoulder strap of his robes. "Oh, don't you worry about this, Commander. Accidents will happen."

"I've been meaning to meet with you, Vedek, to personally welcome you aboard," Sisko explained, "but I've gotten a little sidetracked."

The Vedek understood, and said so with the grin on his face. "Your Chief O'Brien was an excellent substitute."

Nearing the Replimat, Sisko held his hand palm up towards a set of table and chairs inside the foyer. Jorn nodded, and dismissed his entourage. Sisko held out a chair for the religious dignitary. Several Bajorans bowed slightly at the hip when they saw the Vedek, wishing him a good day. Sisko waited for the accolades to end before picking up the conversation again.

"What brings you aboard, Vedek?" Sisko asked.

"I'm here to study some of your computer records. I've spoken with Chief O'Brien, and he thinks he can decode some of the library files I've requested. He said it shouldn't be all that long. Bajoran historical texts, it seems, were not considered a security risk to the Cardassians."

Jorn laughed softly, which amazed Sisko. Rarely did he find a Bajoran that laughed and mentioned the word Cardassian in the same breath.

"Several of my colleagues and I have been trying to reconstruct the texts the Cardassians confiscated or destroyed when they were here."

"Sounds like a lot of work," Sisko commented.

Jorn gave Sisko a paternal pat on the hand. "That's exactly what your young doctor said to me just last night."

"I hear the Vedek assembly has recently convened. Something about the selection of a new Kai," Sisko said with an ounce of remorse. He was partly to blame for such a circumstance.

Jorn lowered his head, as if in prayer. "Opaka will be missed. It will be hard to replace her."

"Are there any likely canidates?"

"A few." Jorn shook his head slowly in admonishment. "The political insurrections that plague the government have begun to seep into the assembly. I'm afraid that's what happens when church and state are so closely intertwined. Orthodox, conservative, liberal--the assembly hall has become more of a circus hall than anything else." he paused for a moment to silently chide himself for speaking badly of his fellow Vedeks.

But his face brightened as he thought of a new topic of discussion. "I understand you have been asking about the Azanoth, Commander?"

Puzzled, Sisko replied, "Yes. How did you know?"

"It's a small station. Word gets around."

"From what I understand, the Azanoth were a sort of underground religion, something you didn't talk about with certain company. Sort of like the Druids from Earth's history."

"You've done your homework, Commander."

"If they do exist, do they pose a threat?"

"If the stories I've heard are any indication of their true power, they most certainly are a threat. As I told your young doctor, anyone who uses the orbs for evil is very dangerous."

"The Azanoth controlled the orbs?" Sisko decided he would have to have a long talk with Bashir afterwards.

Jorn held up her hands. "It's only a supposition. None of it can be substantiated. I have only just begun my research in these underground religious movements, not the militant ones during the Occupation, but the true-to-form forbidden religions. If there is a group out there than has taken the name of the Azanoth, they most likely took the name for the fear it invokes.

"The Azanoth were no more than very clever magicians. Slight of hand, power of suggestion, that sort of thing. The people feared them because they had nothing to place their hopes in."

Sisko folded his hands on the table. "You're probably right." As a second thought, he added, "Is there anything I can do for you, Vedek, in your research? I may be able to find a few helping hands."

"No, no, young man. I have all the help I need," the Vedek assured him. "Thank you for your hospitality. But I must be headed for your Infirmary. Time for my medication."

Sisko stood, waited for Jorn to step down to the main floor of the Prominade and left the table. As he walked through the Promenade, he slowed as he watched his son Jake and the Ferengi boy Nog run along the cross over above. School must have just let out. He took the first turbolift to Ops.

* * * * *

That section of the station had been closed off for months. The cavernous rooms housed the ore processors the Cardassians used when they occupied the station. Now, the equipment, broken-down and decrepit, the rooms were filled with pieces of rubble left over from the last days the Cardassians were there. No one could find a way to properly dispose or recycle the junk, so it was all kept here.

Which made it an excellent rendezvous point. Normally, she would not risk meeting at the height of station business, but it was necessary in this case. Security personnel rarely patroled the area. There was little chance of detection.

The liason, Dev Marshall (or so his credentials said) was waiting for her. He was human, a small weapons expert with a very low profile, and a mercenary for hire if the price was right. His features were nondescript, and it was rumored that several unsolved cases in the quadrant were his handiwork.

"We're at docking port 12, Captain," he reported. "But there's a problem."

Baryl shifted her weight. Her eyes narrowed. "How so?"

"The weapons detectors are still active in that port. A Corelian was detained just as he was passing through the entry port from the docking ring, ten meters in front of me. I thought you said they would be deactivated."

His arrogance, though well deserved in some sectors, was out of place, and if the time were appropriate, she would put him in his place. But there were more important times to discuss. "Did you bring it?"

Marshall growled while he removed a small case, fourteen centimeters wide, twenty-one centimeters long, five centimeters deep, from his carry-on bag. Opening the case like a book, he displayed its contents to her. The case held pieces of a hand weapon that looked like nothing she had ever seen before.

"Undetectable by the station's sensors. Ceramic casing, detachable parts for easy concealment, battery charge lasting twelve shots on maximum setting, twenty if the stun setting is used. It will flip-flop any molecule in seconds," he explained, demonstrating how to assemble the weapon.

Baryl studied the weapon carefully. "Did you have any problems with the field generators?"

"None. I wish I had someone like your computer hacker. Station scans of the ship will show food stores. If they run a background check on the freighter, they'll find a long history of intersector shipping of non perishable food supplies."

"How many did you bring with you?"

"Ten of my best. They'll do as they're told, as long as they get paid."

She expertly disassembled the weapon and replaced it in its case. "And the transporter?"

"Ready for use. All you need is the computer lock."

"Very good." Reaching into a pocket, she procurred a computer chip and handed it to him. "You'll see that your payment is in these accounts." The case disappeared inside her jacket. "The plan will proceed as scheduled."

Marshall hid the computer chip in a pocket of his carry-on bag. "First you have to deactivate the weapon sensors. The pulse rifles will most definately set them off."

Baryl grabbed his shirt front without so much as a flinch. Marshall gasped in a breath as his feet were drawn off the floor. "Don't worry about the weapon detectors. You do your job." She dropped him.

Rubbing his neck, Marshall nodded, "Yes, Captain. If--if you don't mind me asking, how many people do you have for this little operation? Ten seems a little small."

"Not that it's any of your concern, but we've had operators on board for weeks. You keep up your end of the deal, and you won't have to worry about how many people I have on board."

A little more than intimidated, Marshall grabbed his duffle and scurried out of the bay as quickly as possible.

Baryl stayed for several minutes, examining the hand weapon with special care. Easily concealed, easily assembled, easily destroyed. Perfect for the job she had in mind. Hiding the weapon once again within her cloak, she exited the bay by a different route.

Malk and Cer emerged from behind a set of large steel girders standing freely in the hallway.

"Arrogant one, isn't he?" Cer commented.

"Regardless," Baryl said, "he has the weapons we need."

"What of the Ferengi?" Malk asked. "He hasn't done his job."

Baryl turned on her heel and stalked out of the room. "I'll take care of Quark. In case he doesn't see fit to help us, make sure the weapon detectors are taken care of."

Before she was out of earshot, Cer called after her, "Captain, we have found Retsof Tol. He's in the station's Infirmary."

Smiling, Baryl continued on her way towards the door. "I'll just have to pay him a little visit."

* * * * *

Quark watched the tape again, just to make sure he heard right.

"Did you have any problems with the field generators?"

"None. I wish I had someone like your computer hacker. Station scans of the ship will show food stores. If they run a background check on the frieghter, they'll find a long history of intersector shipping of non perishable food supplies."

"How many did you bring with you?"

"Ten of my best. They'll do as they're told, as long as they get paid."

"And the transporter?"

"Ready for use. All you need is the computer lock."

"Very good. You'll see that your payment is in these accounts. The plan will proceed as scheduled."

"First you have to deactivate the weapon sensors. The pulse rifles will most definately set them off."

"Don't worry about the weapon detectors. You do your job."

"Yes, Captain. If--if you don't mind me asking, how many people do you have for this little operation? Ten seems a little small."

"Not that it's any of your concern, but we've had operators on board for weeks. You keep up your end of the deal, and you won't have to worry about how many people I have on board."

Even though the bar was busy, Quark stared at his viewscreen, fascinated. He gently rubbed his right ear lobe as he rewound the tape. He was beginning to think his cameras in that section were a waste of money. In the past, they were useful to keep an eye on any payoffs the Cardassians were taking for substandard melts in the ore processors. When the large rooms were converted to storage, there wasn't much use for the cameras, until now.

The human he recognized. He had a list of aliases longer than Quark's arm. The last Quark heard, he was Daren Marsh from the Mars colony. That was bound to have changed, but not his business. Which made this tape all the more interesting.

He wanted a closer look at that weapon. Marsh was well known for coming up with ingenious little destructive devices. Pulse rifles, if they were of any sort of quality, did not come cheaply, and they were out of Marsh's league. Someone put out a lot of currency to bring in this sort of weaponry.

Quark's curousity had been sparked. Now, more than ever, he wanted more information on his mysterious woman. The game was afoot, as the humans say, and it was more intoxicating than the legal and illegal alcoholic beverages he served in his bar.

He quickly sobered when a steel grip snatched the cuff of his collar and pulled him backwards over the bar. Gasping for air, the Ferengi clawed at the neck of his shirt. "It's all in the vault. Take whatever you want."

"What I want I will take from your hide, little man," said a chilly voice.

Quark relaxed, but only a little. You can do this. You've talked yourself out of worse situations. His face plastered with as genuine a smile as he could muster, Quark slowly turned his head. "Don't scare me like that," he jokingly admonished. "I thought you were a burglar."

With slight of hand, he switched off his monitor and prayed like hell that she did not see.

"I have another job for you," she said in no uncertain terms.

"Really. It will cost you."

She grabbed his shirt front, lifted him over the bar's counter. "Really. Don't get cocky, little man."

Quark hesistantly placed his hand over her balled fist. Seeing that she wasn't going to rip his hand off, he gently tugged at her fingers so she would release her death grip on his collar. His palm brushed against something studded.

Taking special care to move slowly after she let go of him, he examined the piece of jewelry adorning her right hand. "What an interesting ring."

The jewel reflected a pale green color, faceted to add to its enticement. It was inlaid in a slender silver band that seemed more a natural extension of her finger instead of just an adornment.

"I don't think I've ever seen a stone like this," he commented, memorizing its contours, every face, every angle.

She withdrew her hand and folded it with the other on the bar.

Quark paused, and with his now empty hand produced a goblet and a bottle of his best Saurian brandy. He poured, careful not to spill a single drop on the counter or down the side of the goblet.

With a voice he claimed could seduce a Bajoran sand dragon into a vulture's claws, he presented the goblet to her and cooed, "You know, if we are going to keep meeting like this, it might be nice to be on a first name basis."

She threw the brandy in the Ferengi's face. Expensive droplets slipped down his cheek like tears. "My name is unimportant," she told him.

"But your business on this station is important to me," Quark said, wiping his face and front of his shirt with a bar rag. "I'm beginning to wonder if putting my reputation on the line is worth the risk."

"How about your life?" she quipped, briefly flashing a dagger in her left hand. It happened so quickly, Quark wasn't sure from where she had taken the dagger. "Your confidence, or your life. The choice is yours. Cross me, and they will not be able to identify your remains. I promise you that."

Quark took a step back. "You have my word."

"A wise choice." She hid the dagger once more. "We have aship in dock. Bay 12. It would be worth your while to ensure that certain security precautions are not made."

"Tampering with those systems...I don't know," Quark quivered, hoping his hesitance would procur a bit more of the gold pressed latinum she so generously paid him before. But he had a nagging little feeling in his lobes that said she wasn't going to be generous at all today.

"I don't want to hear flimsy excuses. You have until tomorrow morning to finish the job." She stood to leave.

Quark watched her diappear with a sense of relief. He had to find out more about her. His search of the station's computers revealed nothing. Without a starting point, a search of the dozens or so of Bajoran databases could take weeks. He'd have to search that tape again for any clues, which he had no objection to: he could look at that tape all day.

No sooner had she left his line of sight, when Odo waltzed in. Quark's giddiness dropped once again. He didn't need a visit from the security chief from hell, not when he was in such a good mood.

To top it off, Odo's mouth was drawn up in a smug smile. The shapeshifter did not have a large repetoire of facial expressions, but he had perfected that particular face and used it often, especially when he had the goods on Quark.

Quark slipped out from behind the bar and met the shapeshifter half way, hoping to forestall any unnecessary searches Odo might conduct. He grabbed Odo's arm and pulled him towards the door.

"Odo, what can I do for you? Finally taking me up on my offer for a quick fling in one of my holosuites? I can program a hot little number for you."

"That's not why I'm here, Quark," Odo replied, tugging to free his arm from the Ferengi's grasp. He pushed past Quark and walked back to the center of the bar. Quark tried to step in front of him.

"If you don't get out of my way, I will be forced to imply that you are hiding something from me."

Quark stepped aside.

"Well, you don't eat. You don't drink. You don't 'couple'. Don't you have something better to do with your time than annoy me?"

Making rounds of the Dabo tables, Quark traveled the room with Odo in tow. A delay tactic, yes, but a useful one.

"Who was that woman you were just speaking with? The Bajoran woman from the other night," Odo asked.

"Interested? I'll cut my holosuite rates by half. A special, one time offer, just for you."

"I hope when you die, your vacuum dessicated body gets caught in a wind storm."

Quark dropped his jaw in mock horror, then said, "Why, Odo, I do believe you're developing a sense of humor."

"About the woman?" Odo asked impatiently.

"What about her? She's looking for a job."

"She threatened to kill you."

"I declined her application," Quark explained, shrugging his shoulders. "She lacked the proper social skills."

"She's been here before. Twice, if I'm not mistaken."

"You're mistaken."

Odo folded his arms. "Oh, really. I don't believe you."

"That's a big surprise," Quark muttered under his breath. "Can't you see that I'm busy? Go.. go harass a small child or something."

"I'd rather harass you."

Quark sighed. "Thank you. I feel so wanted."

Unperturbed, Odo continued with his investigation. "Sisko has been searching for several Bajoran suspects in a number of bombing incidents on the surface. They keep popping up dead."

Quark's face fell ashen. If he had been any paler, Odo would have thought the Ferengi was dead.

"Dddddead?" Quark stuttered. "Are you sure?" He didn't even want to think about the possibility that the lists were the same, or the fact that he may have aided and abetted in a, no several, murders. His stomach dropped in his gut, and there was a good chance he would lose his lunch.

"Two are sitting in the morgue as we speak. Well, they're not exactly sitting; more like lying flat on a slab of metal." Quark was almost white. Odo wanted to laugh in his face. "There are two more on the list that we cannot account for. I was hoping you'd lend us your special talents of finding people who don't want to be found."

Odo cringed slightly as Quark's nervous laugh cackled through the air. He shifted more mass to his inner ears to deaden the noise. Odo actually thought the Ferengi would start hyperventilating at any moment.

"Why should I?" Quark asked, wiping an errant tear from his cheek.

"Because I asked you to, Quark."

"You expect me," Quark said, placing his hand on his chest, "to help you?" Quark laughed again. "Think again, Constable."

Odo took a seat at the bar, tired of following the Ferengi around. He still had an ace up his sleave. "You know, I heard that Ah-kel is in the sector."

Quark's face dropped. "Ah-kel? Really? No...Ah-kel is dead. He died in an explosion in that Vortex place."

"Are you sure? I could have sworn I saw an escape shuttle leaving his ship. I hear he still hasn't gotten over the death of his brother. And even if he was dead, there are always his other brothers," Odo added, taking perverse pleasure in the Ferengi's discomfort.

"How many people are we looking at again?" Quark asked.

- -

Jadzia Dax sat at the science station, feet propped up on the edge of the console, a cup of Raktigeno in one hand and a computer report in the other. Geology was not in her strong suite; however, zoology was. The geologic changes on the surface of Bajor affected the wildlife as much as the Cardassians affected the people. There were some interesting correlations.

This was the time she enjoyed the most. A skeleton crew manned Ops. It was a coincidence that most incoming ships followed the daily cycles of the station. Ordinarily, few ships arrived for docking during the hours of 1900 and 0600. No ships had arrived since earlier that afternoon.

It was a time to pursue other scientific interests. Sensors could be rerouted to study the Denorious belt, or the wormhole, or she could spend her time searching the computer for lost Cardassian files, and then breaking the encryption codes. It was a favorite past time for her and O'Brien. It even became a race at times: who could find and decode a file first.

But not tonight. O'Brien was busy reconfiguring some of the minor subsystems to something more Federation friendly. He was lying on his back, the guts of the situation table dangling above him and a diagnostic board perched perilously on his knees.

A circuit flashed, and Dax could hear a string of muttered curses in three different languages come from underneath the situation table. She smiled, put down her report, and stepped down to the main level of Ops. After she heard a groan of pain, she knelt down and ducked her head under the table.

"Problems?"

O'Brien, red-faced and sweating, wiped his brow with the cuff of his sleave, which was rolled up his burly forearms. The diagnostic board was now under his chin, with wires running on, around, and between his legs. "Nothing a phaser can't fix, permanently... ho, wait a minute here. What's this?"

"Something spark your interest, Chief?" Dax asked.

O'Brien gleared at her. "Very funny. Take a look at this." He handed her his diagnostic board.

"It says here that there are a few malfunctions in the atgens around the docking ring. Nothing new about that, Chief," Dax replied.

"Not if I just fixed those generators. I was just down there less than two hours ago. Those atgens are in perfect working order. Nothing wrong with them. Even the sensor relays down there say so. It has to be something else, a sensor malfunction between there and this board."

"Again, nothing new."

"Normally, I'd agree with you, but--"

He pulled the wires from the circuits he was testing, a dour expression on his face.

"What is it, Chief?"

"I'm not sure. I ran a diagnostic on these systems this morning. And I didn't pick up any sensor malfunctions then. This is something new. There were no other repairs to the sensor grids since this morning."

"Can you get the sensor grid up to speed?" Dax asked, scrolling through the logs on the diagnostic board for any other anomalies.

"Yeah, but it could be another six hours of testing circuits to find the short," he answered.

But Dax wasn't paying attention to him anymore. "Anything wrong?"

The Trill was scowling now. "Do we have a manifest for the Sarandon on file?"

O'Brien sat up and let the blood drain from his head. "There should be. I downloaded it a couple of hours ago."

Dax climbed up to her station and started to pull up files. After cross checking a current scan with the manifest, she said, "I'm reading a descrepancy in weight allowances."

Joining her at the science console, O'Brien looked over her shoulder at the display on the screen. "There's at least a twenty percent deviation. That's soom pretty heavy grain they're toting."

Brows knitted, Dax ran similar scans of other ships in dock. "No other vessels show a deviaition."

"Check the mooring clamps. Maybe they are misaligned."

Dax checked, and shook her head. "No misalignment, Chief. Could there be anything else on board that would account for the extra weight?"

O'Brien reached over her shoulder to enter a few commands of his own. "The ship itself looks like it's been to hell and back. Perhaps there are a couple of additions they never reported."

"That could be it," Dax consented, though not convincingly. "I'll contact previous ports of call. Maybe they could shed some light on this."

"Whatever, Lieutenant." O'Brien replaced the plating to the bottom of the situation table. He ran a quick diagnostic to make sure he didn't forget a few loose connections. When the computer gave him an all clear signal, he shut down the console, packed up his tools and stored them away in the locker near his engineering console.

"I think I'll be heading back to my quarters. It's my night to read the bedtime story." And he had a great one in mind: The Hobbit, at least the first chapter or so. Molly loved Rumpelstiltzkin, and the three Billy Goats Gruff, the musicians from Breman, and other whimsical stories. Keiko said Molly was too young, but with a little convincing, and after having Molly practice saying Bilbo Baggins, he won.

When he looked up after securing the engineering console, he noticed that Dax had not registered a word he said, again. He shrugged, passed by her station on his way to the turbolift, leaned in close and said, "Good hunting."

Waking from her work induced daze, Dax did not know who had spoken or brushed her shoulder. "Huh? Oh, good night, Chief." She waited until he left Ops before returning to the display screen.

"Computer, establish a subspace link with Trade Station Alpha-two-five in the Willis sector and create a directory listing all arrivals and departures within the last three weeks, including manifests and weigh station records if available."

"Subspace link cannot be established. Computer core of Trade Staiton Alpha-two-five is offline until further notice."

Dax's expression soured. The next nearest weigh station that the Sarandon had visited, according to their logs, was nearly five light years away, and a subspace message would take at least twelve hours round trip.

Perhaps it was just a computer malfunction. They technically had no reason to search the ship without getting into a lot of trouble with the local JAG office, not that it had ever stopped them before. But, no hard evidence, no search, and no reason to contact Sisko.

Ah, well, easy come, easy go.

"Computer, proceed with the requested search once Alpha-two-five's computers are on line and contact me the moment it is complete."

The Raktigeno had gone lukewarm by that time. She had lost interest in the geologic survey and wasn't really in the mood to play hide and seek with lost Cardassian files.

"Computer, location of Doctor Julian Bashir."

"Dr. Bashir is on the Promenade."

A walk might be good, she decided. If she ran into Julian, maybe he would be interested in a game of chess. He would be a much better player if he took his mind off his libedo and payed more attention to the game itself. Besides, his persistance was amusing, if not flattering.

Or Quark. Now there was an excellent chess player. And a good game would keep her mind off the freighter's mass problem. Quark often made passes at her, but at least his mind would be on the game.

She disposed of the Raktigeno and headed for the turbolift. The freighter would have to wait until tomorrow.

The ride to the Promenade was short and uneventful. Hands held behind her back, Dax stepped out of the lift, smiled at the couple waiting as the doors opened. The Promenade was full of brightly colored flags of various groups from all around the quadrant, vendors and a multitude of small-time con artists.

Nearly all of the stations inhabitants seemed to be out that evening. Despite the troubles on Bajor, the station's inhabitants were not thwarted from having a good time. People trickled in and out of Quark's bar steadily, and happy, hearty shouts of "Dabo!" filtered out from the three story establishment.

She smiled at Odo, who leaned against the door jam to his office, arms crossed against his chest. He nodded, then continued his inspection of the riff raff floating by his door. The big, burly Klingon who ran the all-you-can-eat racht buffet was serenading a table with some aria that she couldn't quite place, accompanied by the deft manipulation of an accordian. He winked at her as she passed.

As Dax neared the entrance to Quark's, she spotted Kira sitting alone at a table, outside the restaurant Quark recently acquired. She was staring hard across the Promenade, absently stirring the contents of whatever was left in the mug in front of her. Dax started towards the table until she realized the object of Kira's attention; the entrance to the station's Bajoran shrine.

Dax stopped and waited to see what Kira would do. She looked indecisive, wrestling with her thoughts, tapping the palm of her hand on the table top when not stirring her spoon. It would be comical if their conversation the night before had not occurred.

Kira stood, walked over to the steps of the shrine, hesitated. The elderly monk, the one with the snow white beard and mustache, appeared at the door as if called there, surprising Kira. He took Kira's hand and led her into the shrine.

Dax smiled. Perhaps now Kira would find a little peace.

Quark stood at the window, polishing one of several bar glasses with a towel. "Ah, Lieutenant Dax. To what do I owe this unexpected visit?"

The smile never left the Trill's face as she turned to greet him. She leaned over the counter on one elbow, mimicing Quark's own posture. "How about a game of chess. Loser spots the winner three bars of latinum inthe next Tongo match."

"You're on," Quark replied, retrieving a pre-set game board from under the bar.

* * * * *

The walls stopped moving, resembling dark, amorphous blobs just beyond his field of vision. His heart stopped rattling in his chest. A euphoric feeling filled him as the Prophets sang him to sleep.

The music was heavenly. Angelic chords of harmonizing notes that filled his head. A full chorus of monks, stringed and winged instruments. The Celestial Temple was beautiful, illumined with a golden light. That nice man, Ceres, stood guard at the entrance.

Ceres was kind. Ceres listened to his stories. Ceres told him stories.

Retsof stared listlessly at the guard at the Temple gates. He stood tall, proud, unflinching at the thought of danger.

An evil looking creature approached. Black cloak and black hair, she was too tall and lithe, as he imagined a mythical nymph of night would appear. Such creatures were not allowed in the Temple; their evil thoughts were uncomprehendible to the Prophets. Beings that could not forgive could not be one with the Prophets.

The nymph pulled a long blade from her cloak, unseen by Ceres. Retsof wanted to warn him, to tell his special guardian of immenent danger, but his tongue was thick and choked the words before they could emerge.

Ceres pointed to the door. Obviously, he was banning her from the Temple Gates. She turned to leave, but then grabbed his arm and bent it in a way that was definately not natural. Ceres let out a cry of pain, but it was muffled when the nymph drove her blade into his midsection.

Retsof tried to yell for help, tried to free himself from the restraints that held him to his bed, to no avail.

The nymph held Ceres broken arm behind him. Back and neck arched in pain, he let out a silent scream as the nymph drew her blade across his throat. Blood fountained from the tear in his body like a waterfall.

Panicked, Retsof began kicking and clawing to free himself. In a sudden jolt of energy, he managed to kick something hard and metallic. The bed seemed to lurch, and in his thrashings, he fell from the bed.

The nymph his her balde, and moved towards him as if floating on air. Retsof carried behind his bed as she approached.

"Hello. Remember me?" the nymph asked. Her eyes glowed eerily, boring through him like lasers. "You shouldn't have run from us. You've endangered the mission."

Retsof shook his head. She was speaking gibberish. His heart began pounding in his chest. The Prophets stopped singing.

"I have something very special in mind for you," she said slowly, and he felt a tickle at the back of his brain.

Shaking violently with fear, Retsof jumped on the table and leapt at her. In the tangle of legs and arms, Retsof clawed at the carpenting, and gaining a toehold, launched himself for the door.

Once his legs were free, he scrambled to his feet and fled, as fast as he could, leaping over the body of his guardain friend Ceres.

Baryl rolled to her knees and then her feet. Retsof was on the run, but he would not get far. She had not expected him to jump at her, her mistake, but eaesily taken care of.

She walked out onto the Promenade. Within the hour, it would be alive with peddlers and patrons, and the shapeshifter's rest period was nearly at an end.

She did not have to walk far before running into a trio of Bajoran men. Retsof was held by his shoulders, body limp as he was dragged through the Promenade by Cer and Malk. Baryl stopped before them, held up Retsof's head by his hair. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, jaw slack and tongue hanging out.

"Let's find some privacy, shall we," she suggested, carressing his cheek as a mother might a child. "Like a moth to the flame, you came right to me. You've lived your lives, you have no more." His head bobbed forward when she let go. She nodded to her comrades.

Cer and Malk carried their charge to an abandoned corridor near the docking ring. Once again, Baryl took a hold of his chin.

"It really is too bad you tried to betray us. We could have used someone like you for dog work."

Retsof began to seizure in her hands. When Cer and Malk dropped him, he flopped around on the deck like a fish out of water. His mouth began to foam with a mixture of spittle and blood. In his seizure, his head knocked against the deck numerous times. The sounds of choking filled the air.

The seizure stopped. Retsof fell silent. Out of habit, Cer checked for a pulse. As he looked up towards Baryl, he nodded his head.

Baryl dropped her knife near Cer's feet. "After you're done, leave the body here. But we will need to hide the body of the security officer. You have an hour."

* * * * *

Ben Sisko arrived in his office bright and early. It seemed insomnia was catching. He'd have to stop hanging around Kira, he thought cheerfully.

But other matters were more pressing, namely the reason why his security chief was waiting for him when he arrived. He didn't like the answer.

"Are you sure about this?" Sisko asked, praying that it was all a hoax, that Odo was bluffing. But Odo never bluffed.

"Quite sure. Granted, I have only run a partial check of the serial numbers Kur sent us, and though several names appeared numerous times, Gavotte's name can be linked to several of the holding companies named. Once more, certian suppply holders cannot account for the missing serial numbers."

A slow, dull pain blossomed behind Sisko's eyes. He shut them, watched the red and orange blobs pulsate, grow and dissipate on the back of his eyelids. He steepled his fingers, mentally counting to ten to calm his nerves and temper.

"This does not leave the room, not until we can confirm it. First, make sure those serial numbers are authentic, and not someone's way of framing the government."

Odo nodded. "Already done. I asked Central Security to question all of those involved in the clean-up operation, and to make sure the parts found are authentic."

"Good. I'll apprise Kira when she gets in. Time is our enemy, Constable."

Sisko slammed his hand against the desk top. His palm tingled with the heat of the sudden impact. He shook his head to clean out the cobwebs and the anger. "You said Quark was somehow involved."

"Not directly. But he knows something about the murders, I don't know what yet. And he's been seen with a rather suspicious looking woman on three separate occasions."

"Do you know who she is?"

"The computer says she doesn't exist. None of my contacts in Central Security can confirm her existence. But then again, a lot of birth records were lost or never filed during the Occupation. Judging from her face, I'd say she could easily fall into the category."

"Bashir to Sisko."

Tapping his combadge, Sisko dismissed Odo with a nod and said, "Go ahead."

"Sir, Retsof Tol is missing. So is Seargent Ceres. The computer says that they are no longer on board, but no ships have left the station since I last checked on them. We've found traces of Ceres blood on the carpet."

"I'll be right down, Doctor," he said as he left his chair and walked out onto the upper deck of Ops. Odo talked quietly with Lieutenant Dax, another early riser today. The shapeshifter looked up.

"Constable, detail a search party. Dax, check all docking logs for any anomalies that might indicate a ship left last night without our knowing it. Retsof should be considered armed and dangerous. Ceres may be severely injured and unable to answer a page."

Odo was half way to the turbolift when he made the call to the security office. "Odo to security. I need an armed search party ready and waiting outside the security office in two minutes."

Sisko followed the shapeshifter to the turbolift. "Dax, you have Ops. Call Kira, tell her what's happened."

As the lift descended, Odo was in constant contact with the head of the search detail. Before they reached the main level of the Promenade, Sisko ordered the turbolift to stop.

"Constable, I want you to assume that our third party may be involved in these cases as well. I don't believe Retsof Tol could have overpowered Ceres. Keep it discreet. If there is a conspiracy, I want it nipped in the bud as soon as possible. I'll talk with the Provisional Government. You lean on Quark."

"Understood, Commander. Computer, resume lift operation."

The lift started again, and deposited them on the Promenade near the security office. Ten men and women, dressed in either the brown and tan garb of the Bajoran security forces or the gold and black Starfleet jumpsuits. Odo split off to the right. Sisko went left.

The Infirmary's isolation ward was buzzing with security personnel as well. Sisko walked into a scene uncharacteristic of any hospital area, with Bashir trying to maintain control as best he could.

Standing on a step ladder, Bashir spotted Sisko over the crowd of heads. "Commander!" He bustled through the bodies to get to an open area in the room.

"What happened, Doctor?" Sisko asked, inspecting the site from his vantage point near the door.

"I'm not quite sure, really," Bashir admitted. "We found bloodstains on the carpet and wall. I ran an analysis, and it's definately Sergeant Ceres."

Sisko knelt down. Neither the walls or the floor would be cleaned until the crime scene was catalogued. The blood stains were caked into the carpet fibers, spattered in a pattern typical of close confrontation. "When did this happen?"

"Two to three hours ago. Ceres missed his last check in two hours ago. His replacement discovered that Ceres and Retsof Tol were missing, then called security."

"Wasn't Retsof in a restraining field? How did he get out?"

Bashir stuttered. "I'm afraid I decreased the field intensity last night. The flight risk seemed minimal at the time."

"Over here."

Sisko stood and turned towards the voice. Two security personnel were crouched near a ventilation register with a sample container and a tricorder. Bashir followed Sisko to the register.

"What have you found, gentlemen?" Sisko asked.

"Blood residue near and on this vent," one -- Aby was his name, Sisko thought-- answered. "This vent has been opened and resealed. The walls are scratched around the corners."

The other officer, Sisko did not know his name, folded his tricorder. "Sergeant Ceres." He called over another Bajoran. "Let's get this grate off. We'll need a hand lamp."

Sisko stood to the side to get out of security's way. A portable laser cutter was handed to Aby, who quickly separated the grate's fasteners from the wall unit. He passed the grate to waiting hands and exchanged for a flash light.

From where they stood, Sisko and Bashir could not see inside the shaft. It looked barely large enough to hold a man of Ceres' size, who could have been a linebacker if football lasted beyond the twenty-second century.

"There's a body in here," Aby called from inside the shaft. "Twenty, twenty-five meters in. I'm not detecting any life signs. It looks like it could be Ceres."

"Sweep for hair follicals and DNA traces. Find another entrance and do the same on the other side of the shaft. Then retrieve the body. Doctor, I want an autopsy as soon as possible."

A chorus of "Aye. sirs," followed him out of the Infirmary.

- -

Quark was particularly nervous this morning. His own network of informants was a bit larger than Odo's, and he prided himself on that fact. Even though the lot of them were not completely trustworthy, they could get a job done if the price was right.

And what they found out for him, he did not like.

For one, the woman with the raven black hair was Baryl Kay, a mercenary for hire and a ruthless one at that. She had worked for the Cardassians as an assassin. Most Bajorans did not know she even existed.

Quark had nothing against murder, but any one who would kill their own family and friends without so much as a blink was not someone he wanted to meet in a dark section of the station.

And she was supposed to be dead, killed when her ship was destroyed by a Galor class starship. She had attempted to assassinate a Cardassian political official, under the orders of some Gul. Quark wouldn't put it past Dukat to order the hit: Dukat's discontent with the political contingent of the Cardassian command structure was well known.

Her two companions had histories similar their "Captain's", though the warrents for their arrests in several Bajoran states were for gunrunning, murder, and inciting riots.

After learning this, it made him second guess his decision not to sabotage the weapon detectors. There was no telling what they might do to him. He shuddered to think about it.

Rom was working the door for him, which gave little comfort. But having his brother out front kept Rom from making him even more nervous with his constant questions. He even closed down the bar, hoping to delay anyone who just might want to see him for...whatever reason.

Better to be without profits than dead, rule of acquisition number 156.

Quark walked into his office, safe and secluded. Even with the lights on, no one would see him in there. Only he had the access code to the locking mechanism, one of the most sophisticated and burglar proof gizmos on the market. Odo avoided his office like he avoided the holosuites.

A box sat on his desk, one that he had not put there. For a fleeting moment, he thought Rom might have gotten into his office. But Rom couldn't pick a flower, let alone a lock.

The nerves in his lobes started to tingle. He knew he didn't leave the door to his office unlocked. Foraging through a standing cabinet drawer, he searched for a tricorder to examine the box. Explosive or not, he wasn't touching anything until he knew better.

The tricorder scan indicated no explosive chemicals or live wires, no mercury switches if he happened to move the box.

Hesistantly, Quark reached for the box, covering as much of his head as he could with the other. Several times, he pulled his hand back, as if the box was too hot to touch. Finally, a finger brushed a side, and Quark dove for cover, blanketing his head with both arms.

There was no explosion, there was no fiery inferno encompassing his entire office.

Quark slowly stood. The box was still there. He touched it again, just to make sure. He didn't die, or lose an appendage. He deemed it safe enough to carry.

If he had to die opening it, he'd take Odo with him.

* * * * *

"Retsof Tol's body was found in an empty storage locker in sector 35, without a tongue," Odo reported, taking a seat behind his desk. "Cause of death, poisoning. Bashir found traces of a cyanide derivative on Retsof Tol's clothing. He believes that this is the substance found in the blood streams of our other victims."

Sisko sat on the other side of the desk, overlooking Bashir's autopsy report. "Is the removal of the tongue some sort of cult ritual, or similar to the MO of any other murders on record?"

"Not to my knowledge," Odo replied. "Violent crimes section of the planetside security has never seen anything like it before."

The door to the security office opened. Sisko turned, Bashir walked in and stood next to Sisko chair. "We've just recovered Ceres' body from the ventilation shaft. Stab wound to the stomach, but what killed him was a slashed throat. Here's my report."

Sisko took the proferred report and ran through the preliminaries before handing it to Odo. "Has the murder weapon been found?"

"Not yet," Bashir said. "Security is still scouring the docking ring for the knife, and they've added disposals to their list of spots to check."

"Retsof Tol did not murder Ceres," Odo announced. "Doctor, are you absolutely sure the cut on Ceres' throat was made from behind, from left to right?"

Bashir nodded. "Quite sure. Entrance wound on the left, exit wound on the right."

"Retsof Tol was left handed. He could not have slit Ceres' throat in such a manner."

"Then that means," Bashir concluded, "that someone else killed Ceres."

"And that someone else is most likely reponsible for the death of Retsof Tol and maybe our other four unsolved murders," Sisko added. "Constable, is there any chance one of our in-house residents did this?"

Odo shook his head. "Not to my knowledge, Commander. Most of the riff raff on the station don't kill unless they have to, or have been paid for it. Even so, they would be long gone by now. All our murderers are accounted for."

Sisko grimaced at that thought; keeping tabs or murderers and thieves was not what he expected his career to turn to after almost twenty years with the fleet. He lifted his hand to activate his communicator.

"Sisko to Ops."

"Ops," Kira answered.

"Have any ships left dock since 0600 this morning. Any sign of transporter activity?"

"No, sir, on both counts."

Odo leaned forward to stand. "The killer is still aboard."

Sisko nodded. "Major, bring the station to yellow alert. Lock all mooring clamps. I don't want anyone leaving."

"Right away, sir. Kira out."

"We don't have much time." Sisko folded his arms. "Whoever killed Ceres and Retsof must know that we know about them."

Odo stared at the door. "Quark."

"I think you're jumping to conclusions, Constable," Sisko admonished lightly. "Quark can't be reponsible for every illegal activity here."

"No," Odo explained, bobbing his head towards the door. "Quark."

Just as Odo called the name, the Ferengi was desperately banging on the glass surface, carrying a box under his arm. The shapeshifter released the door lock, and as the doors slid wide, Quark stumbled through.

"I think it's a bomb," Quark squeaked, quickly depositing his load on Odo's desk.

Instinctively, everyone took a step back from the desk. "Where did you find it, Quark?" Sisko asked, discretely putting distance between him and the box.

"In my office. I don't know how it got there," Quark answered, fumbling around the furniture. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have better things to do than be blown up. Good bye."

Sisko put his arm out and snagged Quark's collar. "Not so fast, Quark. I have a few more questions."

"You're the only one with access to your office, Quark." Odo paced around his desk, examining the box from all angles. "You must have really ticked off someone for them to leave a present like this on your desk."

"Not enough to deserve having my body blown to bits," Quark said, squirming in Sisko's grasp.

Odo called, "Computer, scan the box sitting on my desk. List any explosive devices hidden within."

"Scan complete. No explosive deviced found."

"I say we open it," Sisko said, pushing Quark towards the desk. "I'd be very interested to see what's inside."

Odo picked up the box. "I agree." He opened the box, and stared at the contents for several seconds before looking up again. "You're right, Commander. I think you will find this interesting."

Sisko took the box from Odo's hand and turned it around. Quark stood on tip toe to see what was inside.

Quark's face paled in disgust. "What is it? It's disgusting."

Sisko had to avert his eyes or else lose his breakfast. "If I'm not mistaken, this belongs to Retsof Tol." He gave the box to Bashir.

"It's a tongue, all right," Bashir confirmed.

Odo grabbed Quark's shoulder and forced him to sit in a chair. "We have a lot to talk about, Quark. You are now a suspect in a murder investigation."

"He's right handed," Bashir added. "It's a possibility."

"I didn't do it!" Quark screamed. "I have nothing to do with anything."

Strutting around the chair, Odo leaned in close and said harshly into Quark's ear, "Oh, I'm sure you didn't commit the murders yourself. But you know who did. And judging from the pattern of murders, anyone associated with this person or persons is found dead within a few days."

"I'd spill my guts if I were you, Quark," Sisko advised.

Odo took the box from Bashir and placed it on Quark's lap. "Loosen your tongue, or I will do it for you."

Quark paled and sank in his chair several centimeters. "Where should I start?"

"At the beginning."

* * * * *

"Sisko to Ops."

Kira stopped for a few seconds with her work under the comm unit to look up, and tapped her communicator. Maybe there was finally news on the murder investigation. "Ops."

"Have any ships left dock since 0600 this morning? Any sign of transporter activity?"

The major looked towards O'Brien for confirmation. His head bobbed back anf forth behind the pillar that separated them on the upper deck. For once he was sitting at his station rather than lying underneath it. O'Brien shook his head. "No, sir, on both counts," she answered.

In the background, she and everyone else in Ops heard Odo say, "Then that means the killer is still aboard."

No one moved. There was a pause, and Sisko's voice came across the comm line once again. "Major, bring the station to yellow alert. Lock all mooring clamps. I don't want anyone leaving."

From his tone of voice, Kira knew the investigation was not going well. The slightly giddy vanished like melting ice. "Right away, sir. Kira out."

Everyone in Ops fell silent. Kira straightened. "Okay, Chief. Sound yellow alert. Lock all mooring clamps. Inform all ships in dock of the delay in departure times until further notice."

"Aye, sir," O'Brien replied.

Kira went back to work on the console.

"This makes no sense at all."

Dax flailed her arms in uncharacteristic frustration. When she looked up to everyone's inquisitive stare, her cheeks flushed, her spots turned a vermillion red. For a race that believed in a certain amount of descretion with public displays of emotion, she certainly wasn't doing a good job of maintaining composure, and she silently chastized herself for it. Curzon didn't give a damn about outward appearances, but Jadzia did.

In way of explantion, she said, "I have been completely locked out of the databases at station A25. I can't even access the communications network."

"What do you need from A25?" Kira asked.

O'Brien laughed. "Still chasing that freighter, Lieutenant?"

"I can't even call up a directory," Dax complained. "I've tried accessing the system through the communications subroutines, emergency beacon frequencies. Everything I throw at it sends me an error message that the system is off line. But there is no evidence that it is. I've monitored their communication bandwidths, and there is activity on every single one of them."

Kira smiled. "Maybe they've run into some Yosem mites."

Dax snarled and tried once more to call up a directory. O'Brien ran a quick diagnostic, then offered his own two cents. "Nothing wrong on this end, at least not that I can tell."

"Chief, has the patrol reported in yet?"

"Nothing yet," he replied. "There's been very little activity in the system for the past few days. If smugglers were coming in, those patrols would have noticed something."

Kira forced the covering plate back into place when it wouldn't go willingly. With some effort she got it to stay in place. The low bandwidth frequencies were now equipped with a filter to pick up even the faintest comm trafffic, after fare warning to certain members of the Underground. Their assurances that they were not the recipients of the illegal weapons set her conscious at ease for a little while at least.

O'Brien was grimacing, not unusual, but not expected. "You don't seem happy to have a few days off, Chief," Kira commented, giving the plate one final tap.

He stalled a moment, pondered a thought and seemed to be at a loss for words. Then he replied, "Actually, I'm bored. The mites have been the highlight of my week. Where is everyone, anyways? No one has docked here in at least forty hours. Last week we were turning people away."

Kira shrugged her shoulders as she stepped down to the situation table.

"Patrol report coming in," Dax reported.

"Opening a channel," Kira directed, manipulating her panel. "Bajoran patrol, this is DSNine, Major Kira Nerys."

"Major, Lieutenant Har Jorak, Bajoran forces. We've come across an automated relay beacon you might be interested in."

The channel crackled with the static interference. Kira boosted the gain to clean up the signal.

"--tion Deep Space Nine is closed to outside traffic until further notice. All ships should report to the another weigh station. Due to quarantine conditions, Station Deep Space Nine is closed to outside traffic until further notice. All ships--"

When Kira looked to O'Brien, his face was screwed in an expression of distaste. He slowly shook his head. "Yosem Mites hardly qualifies for quarantine procedures. It's not ours."

"Then who put it there?" Kira asked. No one had an answer, nor did she really expect one. "Lieutenant Har, where was the beacon found?"

"Just outside the system's defensive perimeter, per regulation for a general quarantine."

"Our sensors would not detect it at that range," Dax provided.

Kira bounded up the stairs to the upper deck of Ops, stopping behinf O'Brien's console. "What was the last ship to dock from outside the system?" she asked, reading over his shoulder as the screens of information on the beacon scrolled by.

The Trill did not have to look at the records to know the shipping schedule. "The Sarandon, yesterday afternoon. Before that, the Zakdoran ship Durham the day before at 0500. All other arrivals have been shuttles from Bajor."

"Major, we have the beacon held in a tractor beam. We're bringing it in--"

The comm channel filled with a high frequency whine. Kira grabbed her ears as the sound intensified to a fever pitch and then stopped as suddenly as it erupted.

"What the hell was that?" Kira demanded.

O'Brien leapt towards the sensor arrays along the back wall of Ops. "All transmissions from Ops are being jammed!"

"By whom?"

"Someone on the station!"

"Track it!"

"Trying, Major."

"Har to DSNine. We are under attack. I repeat, we are under attack."

Kira tried to open a comm channel, only to be rewarded with a blast of high pitched static. "Red alert. Secure Ops." Her fingers ran fast and furious over the comm panel, trying to get a clear signal out.

Dax called, "I'm reading transporter activity."

"Where!?"

To answer her question six heavily armed men and women materialize in strategic positions on the two upper levels of the Ops deck. Kira jumped the nearest perpetrator before he could brace himself or ready his weapon.

The energy bolt went wild, but her dopuble fisted hook hit dead on, landing solidly on the right side of his face. His head jerked to the side and up, leaving his belly exposed for another hit to the stomach. The perpetrator gasped for breath and dropped his weapon.

Kira grabbed his gun and shot him in the legs. She set her sights on another, and stunned her as well.

The battle elsewhere on the deck had not gone so well. A Bajoran crewman was down with a phaser blast to the chest. The Federation ensign in the pit was now a heap slumped against the wall. Dax crouched over the science console, scrambling as many operations programs as possible before one of the invaders held a gun to her head. Another held O'Brien in a similar predicament.

But Dax and O'Brien had done enough damage to the control systems: main power was down, banks on the walls went blank. Emergency lights came up.

The other two invaders had their sights trained on the remaining Bajoran officers.

Kira wasn't a sharpshooter, and the remaining four perpetrators were too widely spaced to ensure the safety of the others. A silent stalement had been reached. She hoped like hell Sisko was on his way with a troop of security officers.

"Put down your weapon, Major."

Kira looked around Ops. No one in her field of vision had spoken, but the voice was definately close by, near the tunneled entrance to Ops.

A woman entered from that entrance, a long dark cloak folded over her arm. She stopped near the railing separating the pit from the main platform, draped the cloak over the rail, and casually inspected the scene.

"I'm sorry," Kira responded, "I can't do that. I suggest you call off your dogs. Security will be converging here within minutes. Put down your weapons."

"Or what?" the woman baited. "You'll shoot me?"

"If I have to," Kira answered. "I'll do whatever it takes to protect this station."

Scenarios flashed obediently through Kira's mind, ways of getting out with their lives in tact.

"You won't kill me," the woman said, bluntly and confidently.

Kira's blood boiled, her pulse raced. She wanted to know how they got those weapons aboard without being detected. She wanted to know where the hell Sisko was with the calvary. Her finger tensed over the trigger, training her weapon on the newcomer, keeping fleeting eye contact with the other four gunmen. Dax, O'Brien and the other Bajorans were holding their own, deadly intent expressions on their faces, without the hint of fear.

After a few seconds, Kira replied, "What makes you think I won't?"

The woman stepped forward, and Kira took aim. Unperturbed, the woman did not stop. "My people have orders to kill Chief O'Bain if you lay one hand on me or attempt to fire a single shot."

On cue, the woman guarding O'Brien placed the barrel of her rifle at the base of his skull.

"Those weapons are Corellian plasma rifles," she continued. "Highly unpleasant, even on the lowest settings."

Kira kept a tight finger on the trigger, not letting a threat disturb her concentration. "I won't allow that to happen."

"You have no choice, Kara."

Kira blinked. The rifle in her hands dropped a fraction of a centimeter. Before she could respond, the woman had a hand held phaser aimed at her, depressed a trigger.

The blast hit Kira square in the chest and stomach, throwing her from her feet. Fire erupted in her torso as her body slammed against the wall. Slipping to the floor, the jarring motion sent paralyzing pain up her spine and ribcage. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as she fought the impulse to give into unconsciousness.

O'Brien shoved at his captor. "Bloody hell!" He was stopped by the business end of a plasma rifle jammed under his chin.

"Don't move," the woman in charge warned. "I don't want to have to hurt you as well."

O'Brien stiffened, jaw locked in anger, gaze shifting from the invader to Kira. From where he stood, he could see that she was breathing, barely conscious and in obvious pain. The other invaders started in on the consoles, trying to gain access to the sabataged systems.

"She needs medical assistance."

The woman checked on the progress of the rest of her comrades, callously ignored the two injured ones. The guard at the communications console handed her a small hand held communicator. "Kien, report."

"Devices are placed. Reactors are wired."

"Very good. Assist in civilian evacuation."

Shocked, concerned glabces were exchanged between Dax and O'Brien. "What about the reactors?" he asked.

The woman stood over Kira, and smiled sweetly at the engineer. "Oh, we've planted a few surprises in case someone tries to take back the station. The threat of nuclear contamination in orbit around Bajor can get a lot accomplished."

She stepped around Kira, purposefully kicking the Major's calf. Kira groaned. "Someone get her out of my way."

"You can't move her!" Dax erupted. She pulled away from her captor. "Any movement could kill her."

"I have no intention of letting anyone die, at least not yet," the woman said, walking the deck with all the interest of a bored tourist. Stopping near O'Brien's station, she leaned over his shoulder and said, "You have my assurances, Mr. O'Bain."

O'Brien had to restrain himself from reaching for her throat. "The name's not O'Bain," he hissed. "It's--"

"O'Brien. Yes, I know. But what's in a name? I find them so distracting, don't you?"

"Who are you?" Dax asked, ignoring the gun at her throat.

"Well, you know most of my comrades. It seems yoou've been looking for them for quite sometime, something about a little bombing incident on the surface. But if you wish, you may call me Captain," Baryl answered.

She walked back over to where Kira lay moaning quietly on the floor. She wedged the toe of her boot under Kira's body to push her off the stock of the plasma rifle. Kira groaned in pain, but the Captain did not seem to care. She picked up the gun and threw it to her unarmed man.

"What do you want," O'Brien demanded.

The Captain answered, "To clean house."

"All stations are secure, Captain," one of her men near the situation table reported. "Sending comm insignia signatures to our transporter now. Evacuation of civilians under way."

"Blow the mooring clamps on all those passenger ships. We don't need the extra weight," she said. "Prepare to transport all officers on my mark."

Dax pointed towards Kira. "She is in no condition to be transported."

The Captain turned towards the Trill. "I need a hostage." She nodded at her men.

The guards started rounding up the Starfleet and Bajoran officers and forced them towards the transporter pad.

Dax resisted. "At least let a doctor tend to her," she pleaded.

The Captain paced through Ops, patiently taking her time as she considered the plea. "I am not without compassion, Lieutenant Dax. Bashir may stay. He can take care of Vedek Jorn as well. Insurance purposes, you see. The Provisional Government may not see Kira as a good enough reason to refrain from attacking the station. A Federation officer and a religious monk...I had not thought of that before. Thank you, Lieutenant."

"I'm glad I could help," Dax answered sarcastically, tripping on the stair as the guard shoved her and the Bajoran officers towards the transporter pad.

The Captain clucked silently, shaking her head. "Malk, send them to the holding cell on the ship, then have their communicators confiscated."

"Yes, Captain," Malk replied. "Sarandon transporting now."

The Captain watched the three Starfleet and three Bajoran officers disappear from the transporter pad. 'Malk, contact our friends and tell them phase 1 is complete. Phase 2 will commense as soon as the Easton and the Brull arrive. Cer, have the Doctor brought up here as soon as the station is secured, and prepare a special room for our guests."

"Captain," Malk called, "weapons and security grid codes have been scrambled. We can't use the sensors to track anybody."

"All right then," she reasoned, "we'll need manned searches. Deck by deck to make sure everyone is accounted for, especially that shapeshifter. Sarandon does not leave until every man, woman and child is on board. It will be... ten hours before the ships arrive. We need to have torpedoe launchers and reactors ready by then."

"Aye, Captain."

She climbed the stair and stopped near Kira. The major had managed to move towards a comm panel, but her progress was slow.

"You are stubborn one, aren't you?" the Captain baited. She turned Kira over onto her side, carassing her face as a mother might a child. "I don't suppose you'd give me the clearance codes for those weapon systems."

Despite the overload of pain receptors tingling along her spine and the base of her skull, Kira spat at the woman. Defiantly she kept the pain from marring her face.

"I didn't think so," the Captain replied, wiping the spittle from her clothing. "You're a little grumpy; I think you need a nap."

Her fist came down hard and fast. As the Captain stood, she wiped a trace of blood from her knuckles. She walked over Kira's prone body and headed for the office on the upper deck.

"Somebody get her out of the middle of the deck. She's blocking my path. All right, you all know your jobs. Weapons detail has the highest priority. If any one needs me, I'll be in--" She smiled devilishly, "--my office."

- -

Once the scheming little Ferengi had nothing left to say, Sisko had had just about enough of Quark's code of thieves. It was one thing to keep a confidence; it was a highly different matter when that act endangered the safety of the station.

Quark was physically shaking by the end of the interrogation. Odo had kept the tongue out in plain sight, part of his petty torture technique, used especially for his nemesis in the tacky green and gold clothing. Sisko couldn't help but notice that among the wanted posters glaring from the long vid-screen was a picture of Ah-kel, the Miradorn who had wanted to kill Quark only a few weeks ago, a picture the Commander knew was not there that morning.

"All right, Quark. Despite the fact that your greed may have put this station in danger, you have given us a positive ID on our suspect," Sisko said, placing his large hands on the back of Quark's chair. "But I think for your own safety, we should have you placed in protective custody. Wouldn't you agree, Constable?"

"Fine, fine." Quark pushed himself out of the chair, anxious to leave the security office as soon as possible. "Now I must get back to my bar. Send the guard as soon as possible."

Odo shoved the Ferengi back down into the chair. "Not so fast. I was thinking more in the line of a jail cell. Weren't you, Commander?"

"Absolutely, Constable. Whatever you think is best," Sisko replied.

Good-cop bad-cop had a whole other meaning when working with Odo.

"I'm glad you agree." Odo grabbed the Ferengi's arm and dragged him towards the door to the security cells. "Come with me, Quark."

Quark slid across the floor until he could plant his feet firmly against the door jam. "I'm not going anywhere! You can't do this to me! I'm a community leader. Incarceration may hurt my reputation."

"Nothing could hurt your reputation, except maybe doing good for a change," Odo commented, adjusting his center of gravity so that he could pull Quark free from the door jam by lifting him in the air.

Emerging from his observational post in the corner, Bashir crept towards Sisko, eyes aglow with utter fascination. He grabbed Quark's little gift off the desk corner. "I should take this back to the Infirmary."

"You do that, Doctor. Please inform the proper authorities, and arrange to have the body transported after our investigation is finished."

After the Doctor left, Sisko stepped into the brig. Quark was still fighting and squirming in Odo's grasp, and Sisko could hear their bickering even before he arrived at the holding area proper.

That was when the red alert klaxon wailed, echoing strangely as it entered the room and corridor from a number of vents and access doors.

The bickering stopped. Sisko joined Odo, waiting for th call from Ops with an explanation. Even Quark seemed concerned when neither Kira, Dax, or O'Brien reported.

Sisko tapped his communicator. "Sisko to Ops. Sisko to Ops."

"The frequency must be jammed," Odo suggested, heading for his office and his bank of security cameras.

The lights dimmed and flickered out. Duller emergency lights took their place. The door separating the security office from the holding cells lifted slowly. Waiting on the other side were three armed men, not of the station, and definately not friendly.

Sisko had nearly cleared the doorway when Odo slammed back into the corridor wall. Unprepared for the attack, Odo did not have time to reconfigure his internal structure to avoid damage. Sisko watched in mute horror as the shapeshifter slowly lost cohesion, his legs forming an orange pool on the deck.

Quark squealed, covering his head with both arms. He cowered behind Sisko's larger frame.

Sisko raised his arms in surrender. Outwitted and outgunned, he really had no choice in the matter. All he could do now was stall for time. "I'm not armed."

The three intruders, two Bajora and one human, had their weapons trained on him and Quark. At the signal of the leadman, one broke from formation and removed the panels that covered the security lock out circuitry. One quick shot from his phaser rifle reduced the unit to a sizzling mass of shorted conduit.

Sisko watched dispassionately. Any sign of discouragement or anxiety would weaken his negotiation position, which was not all that great to begin with.

"What do you want?" he asked. "Maybe I can help."

The leadman pulled the sleeve of his tunic past his wrist, revealing a small comm unit strapped to his lower arm. Raising it to his face, he said, "Two here for transport."

"Transport?" Sisko asked, demanded. "Transport where?"

If there was an answer to his question, Sisko did not hear it. The faint buzz of an active transporter beam filled his ears. The last thing he saw was a plasma rifle aimed at the security consoles and another forcing Quark towards the main door. His eyes were spared from the flashed of shorted circuitry.

* * * * *

Bashir did not take kindly to the manhandling from the Bajoran who had so rudely dragged him from his office, during a red alert of all times. Then he saw the plasma rifle and shut up.

Despite what the textbooks said about keeping a low profile during a hostage situation, Bashir felt the need to do something, anything. Why should some hothead get the chance to shove him around for the hell of it? It went against his pride, and pride owned a higher percentage of his sensibility than complacency.

Not to mention the fact that his captor wouldn't even acknowledge his questions about what was happening on the station. As he was forced to watch, the civilians were being herded towards the Docking Ring, with no explanation. He had caught a glimpse of Keiko O'Brien and little Molly, stoicly marching down the Promenade with the rest of the civilians, and Bashir couldn't help but wonder what the hell happened on Ops. The station had been taken too quickly to be an ordinary invasion force.

He noticed that there were no officers, Starfleet or Bajoran, among the civilians. In fact, he had seen no commissioned personnel since the red alert klaxons blared, not even security. He looked towards the security office. A bright light flard for a second as the door opened. Quark, cringing and complaining, had his hands held on top of his bulbous head. Another Bajoran with a plasma rifle followed close behind.

No Sisko or Odo? No call from Ops? What the hell is going on?

Something inside his head told him to pay attention to the newcomers. It seemed at least one person with a plasma rifle emerged from each shop on the Promenade. They weren't all Bajoran, either. He counted at least five humans, nearly two dozen Bajora, and an odd number of Andorians, Orions and mixed breeds he didn't even want to guess the parantage.

His search of the crowd was ended with a jab to his back with the barrel of the plasma rifle. Bashir staggered ahead, minding not to trip over his feet,

"Do you mind telling me where we are going?" he asked again.

In answer, Bashir got another push to the small of his back. He looked ahead. Their destination was clear: the turbolift doors were held open by another terrorist, a woman this time. That particular lift answered his first question: it went directly to Ops without a stop.

So Ops has been taken. What the hell is going on?

His new companion was just as talkative as the first. Doggedly he planted his arms firmly across his chest. Two can play at this game. He could refuse to answer any questions, be as noncommital as possible. Name, rank, serial number.

Just as the Promenade was emptied, so had Ops. Bashir took it all in as the lift ascended to a dead stop. Not one Bajoran or Starfleet crew member manned any of the stations. One of the terrorists sat at O'Brien's engineering console, another stood at the situation table. Yet another worked frantically at the science station. Bashir figured that Dax and O'Brien sabotaged their consoles with coded passwords to keep out the peeping toms.

Sisko's office door opened. Bashir looked left and could not believe his eyes: the woman Quark had described to Sisko and Odo. Quark's description did not do her justice; her angular, aged features and jet black hair gave her a sense of serene bewitching beauty. He did not want to think about the number of people she had already killed.

The woman looked at him, eyes boring through him like a laser. She tossed her head towards the other side of Ops. "Doctor Bashir, so nice of you to come."

Bashir looked in the indicated direction. Behind the communications console, near the other turbolift, Bashir saw a pair of brick red boots. He didn't need to guess the face that went with them.

Bashir pushed past his guard and the terrorists standing near the sitation table, and took the stairs three at a time. He skidded along the floor on his knees until he reached her side.

Kira's face was bleached of all color, except for the purplish hue that accompanied the puffiness around her left eye. But a black eye was the least of his worries. Her arms were braced against the deck, giving her torso half a centimeter clearance. A cold sweat dripped from her face, mixing with the trail of blood from her hairline.

Her respiration was shallow and rapid, no wheezing. From the pained expression on her face at each inhale, there was probably trauma to the ribs, possible internal bleeding.

He found her pulse, and used his free hand to check for signs of head trauma. At his touch, Kira recoiled, knees jerking as she rolled painfully to her back. Bashir held onto her wrist to keep her from thrashing. Her pupils were dilated, pulse weak but steady.

"Can you hear me, Kira?" She groaned, and Bashir allowed himself a sigh of relief.

Over his shoulder, he stated, "She's in shock. I need my medical kit."

Unnoticed to him, the woman stepped behind him and observed his work. "I'm sorry, I can't allow that."

Bashir whirled on his knees, his olive skin flushed with anger. "What do you mean? She needs medical care. There's a kit under there," he said, pointing to the situation table. "Why else did you bring me up here?"

"Tch tch tch. Temper, Doctor. Not very professional." The Captain backed down the stairs and slowly searched fo the requested article. Fastened below the far end of the table, she found the medical kit. She placed it on the table, opened it, inventoried its contents. Removing her phaser from a holster hidden somewhere Bashir did see, she disintergrated the medical kit.

"What the hell are you doing?" Bashir demanded, jumping to his feet.

The Captain replaced her weapon and met him at the head of the stairs. "You don't seem to have a grasp of the obvious, Doctor. Healthy, Kira is a threat. Now, she is merely a bother. One that you will handle for us, along with some other business."

On cue, two terrorists emerged from the main level tunnel with an elderly gentleman between them. Bashir's mouth dropped at the sight of the older man's palor as he stumbled down the stairs.

"Vedek Jorn."

The old man stood strong. "I am all right, Doctor. Do not concern yourself."

The Captian smiled at Bashir. "I've eliminated your access to the Infirmary. If you or Kira hinder our plans in any way, I will deny the Vedek his medication."

"You can't do that," a weak voice said. Unused to hearing Kira speak so faintly, Bashir had to turn to confirm that he had heard correctly.

"Ah, Major," the Captain taunted. "You've returned to the land of the living."

"He is a holy man," Kira maintained, despite the pain inflicted by her speaking. "No one will tolerate abusing a Vedek."

The Captain laughed long and hard. Her cackles bounced noisily off the empty deck as she paced the lower levels, clapping the backs of her stoic collaborators. Wiping an errant tear from her cheek, she said, "Religion is for the weak. Faith is worthless."

"You're wrong," Kira told her.

"You see, Doctor. Even in a state of physical weakness, she still defies me. I could take perverse pleasure in watching her die. In fact, I may still do that. But I have something else in mind. You see, I know how frustrating it is for Kira to remain inactive, do nothing to fight off whatever evils have invaded her own little world. But she knows that if she does anything, I will deny the Vedek his medication. That is so much more entertaining."

She called over another one of her comrades. "Cer, escort them to their cell."

Bashir stood protectively over Kira. "She can't be moved. At least, not until I can properly assess her injuries."

The Captain shrugged her shoulders, but did nothing to hinder him. Not comprehending her lack of response, Bashir bounced on the balls of his feet, waiting for any sort of reprimand. Impatiently, he knelt down beside Kira

Kira struggled to sit, had managed to roll onto her arm. But her elbow slipped, finding no purchase on the blood stained deck. She barely contained a cry of pain.

Bashir carefully took hold of her upper arms and helped her right herself, taking note that she was heavily favoring her right side as he leaned her against the bulkhead.

"Don't move," he warned. He did not yet know the extent of her injuries, hoping like hell there was no spinal trauma. "Are you experiencing any dizziness?" he asked as he got a better look at the cut on her head.

Kira swallowed hard, still resisting his minstrations. She nodded, leaning her head against the wall for support.

"Trouble breathing?" Kira nodded again.

Bashir gently moved her right arm, unfastened the uniform belt, opened the jacket and probed her rib cage. From her reaction, Bashir knew he wouldn't be breathing quite so calmly himself if she was at full strength.

Teeth clenched, face contorted with a pained rage, Kira made a swing at Bashir's face, missing in her disorientation. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Broken ribs, both sides. I suspect some internal bleeding as well. I don't like the look of this swelling." He examined her eyes again. "Pupils dilated, possible concussion. Follow my fingers please."

He held his forefingers together in front of her face and waited for her to focus. Then he moved his left index finger off to the side and watched her eyes follow slowly. He did the same for the other side, up and down.

"Your reflexes are slow, especially the left eye. A result of the swelling, I suspect," he told her. "Vision blurred? Ringing in the ears?"

Kira tried to get up, Bashir put a hand on her shoulder to keep her down. "Don't move. Is your vision blurred?"

She nodded again.

"Your prognosis, Doctor?" the Captain inquired, arms folded across ehr chest indignantly. She stood near Vedek Jorn. The Vedek looked on, concerned.

Bashir stood and faced her. "She has severe internal injuries and head trauma. I don't want her moved without a stretcher."

"Too bad I can't give you one," she answered, pushing the Vedek towards the stairs. Cer followed close behind. Two others foloowed him. "Take them away. Kill her if she falls behind."

Bashir blocked their path. "Don't touch her. I'll take her myself."

Cer waited inside the turbolift with the others. "Let's go, Doctor. We don't have all day."

Annoyed at the order, Bashir knelt by Kira's left side and refastened her belt. He wrapped her left arm across his shoulders. "Okay, on three, I want you to stand. Relax, try not to contract any of your abdominal muscles. Put as much weight as you can on me. Okay? One, two--three."

Kira groaned as she tried to stand, biting her lower lip almost to the point of breaking skin. Bashir lifted with his legs, grabbing her left arm with his left hand, and the back of her belt with his other hand, trying to keep as much weight off her right side as possible.

One they were inside the lift, he leaned her against the railing, and tried to use his body as a shock absorber when the lift began its descent.

Before the 'lift came to a stop, Kira raised her head and stared down the man the Captain called Cer. "You won't get away with this."

The lift came to an abrupt halt. Bashir almost tumbled, catching himself in time. Kira bit back a cry of pain.

Cer left as the doors opened and marched down the corridor. "We already have."

- -

When Sisko rematerialized in the small cargo hold, he was surprised to find Dax, O'Brien and the rest of the other Starfleet and Bajoran officers there with him. Searching around, he did not see any doors, no means of exit.

"What the hell is going on here?" he asked no one in particular.

Then he remembered the partially dissolved shapeshifter. Dropping to his knees, he found the security chief mostly congealed, legs and feet slow to reform.

"Odo, are you all right?"

The shapeshifter looked about, examining his appendages. Satisfied that they were where they were supposed to be, he took Sisko's proferred hand and stood up. "I am fine, Commander. Where are we?"

"Aboard some ship, I'd guess," Dax said, joining Sisko. O'Brien was in her wake. "We registered an attack on one of the Bajoran patrol ships shortly before we lost contact."

Brows furrowed, Sisko asked, "Who is responsible for this?"

"I'd say our mysterious friend, Baryl Kay, has something to do with this," Odo offered. He looked around the room, taking an inventory of all present. "Where's Kira?"

O'Brien muttered, "They've got her, the bloody bastards."

"What happened, Dax?" Sisko asked, concerned. His oftentimes hotheaded first officer was not known to sit on her heals when station security was compromised. And it took a lot to agitate O'Brien.

Dax, ever composed, held her hand behind her back. "The Bajoran patrol found an automated signal just outside the defensive perimeter. Traffic from outside the system believes that we're under quarantine conditions. During the transmission, the patrol was attacked. We believe that someone from inside the station blocked all communication to and from Ops. Six Bajorans beamed in. When Kira confronted the Captain, she was shot with some sort of plasma weapon. I don't know the extent of her injuries."

"Anything else?" Sisko was afraid to ask.

O'Brien ran a pudgy hand through the mess of curls on his head. "We have reason to believe that they've placed one or more explosive devices on or near the reactor cores."

"Any other hostages?" Sisko watched dispassionately as a small crowd gathered around the injured crewmen, offering support wher they could.

"Julian and Vedek Jorn," Dax answered quietly, "if this woman went through with her threat."

"You can be assured of that, Commander," Odo replied. "From what I understand, Baryl Kay was one of the Cardassians' top mercenaries. She doesn't do or say anything without a purpose, and without a large payoff. Gul Dukat has been known to cringe when her name is mentioned."

Sisko crossed his arms, the action matching his temperment. "Why haven't we been informed about this woman? Surely someone must have recognized her."

"No one has ever seen her," Odo explained, "and until today, she was presumed dead."

"What does she want with the station?"

"More importantly," Odo remarked, "who hired her?"

* * * * *

Bashir wondered why Cer led them down to the crew quarters in lower pylon three instead of the security office unitl he saw the conditions of the corridor. Only emergency lights flickered in the abadoned hallway, still left damaged when the omnipotent and general pain in the backside, Q, visited the station. It was also farthest from the Infirmary.

The muscles in his left arm twinged with impending cramps. Trying to half carry, half drag Kira along the way to their cell had been more tiring than he expected. Twice she collapsed when her foot did not clear the structural ribbings that jutted out from the floor, walls, and ceiling. It had gotten so bad that he feared she may have done more internal damage, possibly punturing a lung with the last stumble. He did not like the sound of her labored breathing.

Vedek Jorn joined him and tried to support the injured Bajoran on her right side. Though short in stature and out of breath from the hurried pace, the gesture was duly noted by Bashir.

Finally, Cer stopped in front of an open door. He pointed inside. "I hope you enjoy your stay. Don't make trouble for us, and we won't make trouble for you."

Throwing the man a distasteful look, Bashir carefully stepped into the vacant quarters with his burden, hoping like hell that O'Brien's crew had found time to install the emergency medical kits he requisitioned months earlier. But first, he had to find a spot where he could put Kira.

In typical Cardassian style, the bedding looked more like a hospital table than a real bed, which suited Bashir just fine for now. He would have to jerry-rig the lighting systems, and probably heat as well, in order to get anything accomplished.

With limited lighting, Bashir tread slowly through the room. By the time he reached the bed , the lights miraculously came on. Astonished, Bashir watched as Vedek Jorn replaced the panel to the envirnmental controls.

At Bashir's confused look, Jorn shrugged his shoulders and replied. "Just a hobby."

Bashir eased Kira onto the bed. Kira cringed in pain and tried to stand up, but the Doctor gently sat her down and leaned her against the adjacent wall. "Don't be stubborn about this."

"Don't be stupid about this," Kira replied. "We have to sabotage their attempt to take the station."

"They already have the station," Bashir answered.

"Then we have to take it back." Kira tried once again to stand, foiled by Bashir's restraining arm on her shoulder and the raging fire in her chest.

Bashir left his hand on her shoulder as he scanned the room for any sort of medical supplies. "We are going to do nothing and like it. Now stay still."

He removed her uniform jacket and rolled her shirt up to get a better look at her ribcage. He ignored her protests sparked by untimed modesty as he probed the bruised area. The skin around the blast point was red and blistered; no doubt several layers of the epidermis were scorched in the blast. Already her abdomen was several different shades of purple.

There were several other faint scars painted along her lower torso, and mentally he called up her medical profile: there were a number of symmetrical scars along her back as well, along with a history of broken bones, most received after the age of twelve.

Once he had made some off hand remark about being a clumsy terrorist.

She had stared him right in the eye and said, "We did what had to be done, no matter what the cost."

He never made another passing remark about her past again.

"Chalk up five more broken ribs, Major. Three on the right, two on the left. And you probably have another nice skull fracture, so no butting heads with anyone for at least a month."

"Not funny, Doctor."

"Not meant to be, Major. I don't think there's any internal bleeding, but to be on the safe side, I don't want you to move at all."

"I can't promise that," she said. "We have to stop them."

Bashir shook his head. "You're not going anywhere."

"We have to get Jorn his medication."

Jorn stood near the foot of the bed. "Don't worry, child. I will manage."

"Nevertheless--"

"Nevertheless nothing," Bashir exclaimed. "You're not going anywhere, even if I have to strap you to this bed myself. Now, where is that damn med-kit?"

He had ordered rudimentary medical kits to every living suite the moment he arrived on the station in case of replicator failure or other emergency. Even if O'Brien's crew neglected to secure the kits to a bulkhead, the supplies still had to be there, somewhere.

Kira struggled under his hand, drawing his attention back to her. He needed to find the med-kit. "Vedek, make sure she doesn't move."

Jorn nodded and took Bashir's place near the bed.

Bashir made quick work of the limited space. From the looks of things, this suite had not been used since the Occupation. Most Cardassian decorative styles did not suit the tastes of the denizens of the station, especially the Bajoran contingent, who made it a primary mission to eliminate all signs of the Occupation. This room had not been touched.

A Federation issued supply box sat undisturbed near the replicator. Bashir rifled through it, picked out what he needed, as meager as it was. Emergency kits were only equipped with bandages and such; compresses, analgesic cream, smelling salts and a mild painkiller, just enough to keep a patient safe until he or she could get to the Infirmary.

He hoped it was enough.

He passed by the door, and for the hell of it, tried to open it. An annoying buzzing rewarded his efforts.

As he neared the bed, he thought he heard singing. Chanting would be a more accurate description, and from the basal tone he knew it wasn't Kira. But she wasn't fighting anymore. The Vedek stopped as Bashir neared.

"She's asleep," Jorn explained.

"Imnot," Kira slurred.

Jorn stroked her hair back away from her forehead. "Under the circumstances, I thought it might be best."

Amazed, aghast, Bashir placed the med-kit on the floor. "What was that, some sort of Bajoran prayer for healing?"

Jorn laughed softly. "No. It was supposed to be a lullabye. I'm afraid my years in religious service have made my singing voice more of a monotone than anything else."

Bashir smiled. "Can I get a recording of that? I may need it the next time I prescribe a little R and R for Kira."

"Very funny, Bashir," Kira mumbled.

She put a hand to her head, examining the slice she received from the bulkhead when she hit it in Ops. A black and blue blurb and an orange blurb moved near her feet. Her fingers came away red and wet. She closed her eyes to fight the dizziness.

Bashir stood, heavy gauze in one hand and a large roll of medical tape in the other. He ripped off a piece of tape nearly three quarters of a meter long, then handed the roll to Jorn. "I need you to rip off aboiut a dozen of these strips for me, this same length." He fastened the length of tape to the adjacent wall.

"Okay, Major, cooperate and this will go much faster." He wet a wad of gauze with some analgesic liquid and dabbed at the cut on her forehead. She hissed through clenched teeth and reached for his throat. He took advantage of her blurred vision to keep out of harm's way. He tried again.

"That hurts!" she hissed, managing to slap the stinging wad of gauze away.

"Look," Bashir said, wetting another wad, "we have to make do with what we've got. I have to clean that cut, treat the burns, and then wrap your ribs. Don't fight me on this, or I will restrain you to this bed. Cooperate, please."

Instead of a protest from Kira, he heard Jorn's baritone voice chanting again. Miraculously, Kira settled down.

"Vedek, you've got to record that lullabye for me."

- -

Gavotte Leen ground his teeth until his jawed ached. He expected a few casualties. A plan of such magnitude always had a few glitches. And he convinced himself that it was all for the greater good, for Bajor. But to have them so soon--

A nerve twinged just under his right eye. He idly watched the twitch as he waited for the transmission to go through. Sitting alone in his office, blinds drawn, door closed, his secretary was out on an errand. The transmission would not be monitored.

Self consciuosly, he dimmed the desk monitor's brightness and lowered the audio output. If it was out of a sense of guilt, he did not know. The importance of secrecy was a prime facotr in the success of the mission. There was nothing to feel guilty about, he rationalized, even as the report of the demolished patrol ship ran across his desk.

The ovaline shaped Bajoran symbol on his viewscreen disappeared. Though diminished, the light from the screen was enough to illumine his face.

"Yes?"

Gavotte jumped at the voice, the power of the inflections, the resonance resounding in his eardrums.

"Guess what I've just finished reading?" he asked, holding up the newsfeed. He funneled his anger into a courageous front, determined to show no fear. "This was not part of the plan."

"I've altered it."

"Why?" Gavotte was not looking forward to the rest of the conversation.

"Casualties were inevitable."

Though he had come to the same conclusion, hearing it from someone else was infuriating. "But attacking one of our patrol ships--"

"They spotted our ship."

"The ship would have been spotted anyways!"

"It adds to the drama."

"How can you be so callous?"

"That's what you paid me for. Continue with the plan."

The transmission was terminated at the other end. Gavotte grumpled and ground his teeth some more. Nothing was more frustrating than a dressing down from a hired hand, despite the influence of that hired hand.

He rummaged through a drawer in his desk, removed a personal communicator. At the touch of a keystroke, a prearranged set of codes paiged the bearer of a similar communication device and scrambled any message spoken into it.

"We need to talk. Meet me in fifteen minutes."

* * * * *

The population of Capital increased by two hundred, give or take ten or so. The Starfleet officers were the last to be beamed down to Bajor's surface. The square outside the market area teemed with station personnel, inhabitants and visitors, displaced and angry about being so. The residents of Capital were as surprised as they.

Ben Sisko stood on a cement bench and searched the crowd of native Bajorans and the sector's riff raff for his tall and lanky son. Jake stood a head taller than the people around him, mostly children in Mrs. O'Brien's classes.

Jake looked worried, and Sisko could not blame him. Molly O'Brien clung to his leg, eyes wild in fear, sucking her thumb in a most uncharacteristic manner. Jake picked her up and carried her on his hip, meeting Sisko half-way across the courtyard. Nog was close behind.

"Dad, what's going on?"

Sisko patted his son's shoulder and gave Molly a reassuring smile. "I'm not sure, Jake, but don't worry. We'll have everything under control soon."

"Who were those people, Dad? What do they want with the station?"

"I don't know, Jake."

Molly pulled her thumb out of her mouth. "I wanna go home," she whimpered.

"Molly!"

Keiko O'Brien swam against the tide of people in the square to reach her daughter. When Molly heard her mother's voice, she squirmed in Jake's arms, and held out her own arms to her mother. Keiko took her daughter and cradled her. Molly buried her head in her mother's shoulder.

Miles O'Brien quickly joined Sisko and his wife. "Commander, all officers are accounted for, and I have someone checking on the civilians," the Chief reported.

"What are we doing here, Commander?" Keiko asked.

"I'm going to find out," Sisko answered. He spotted Dax and Odo near a fountain near the center of the complex. "Jake, please help Mrs. O'Brien with the younger children. Chief, with me."

"Yes, sir," Jake responded.

Sisko walked to the fountain and stood along the rim. He put his thumb and forefinger to his lips and whistled loudly. All eyes turned to him, and the cascade of questions began.

Holding out his hands, he tried to quiet the crowd. "Everyone, just calm down. We are doing everything we can to find out what has happened. If you will just be patient."

One of the shopkeepers stepped forward. "Why were we forced to leave the station?"

"We don't know yet," Sisko answered. "A hostile force has taken the station, and they have hostages. They've made no contact with us concerning their demands. You will be told of any news as soon as we receive it, you have my word."

The mumblings continued after Sisko stepped down from the fountain. Dax, O'Brien and Odo gathered around him. "We have to find some sort of shelter for these people. We don't know how long this standoff will last."

"I'll see to it," Odo offered, heading towards the center of town.

"Are there any Federation ships in this sector?" Sisko asked.

Dax shook her head. "Not in the past four days. But the Lafayette may stilll be within immediate communication range."

"We can contact the Lafayette from the communication's station in Capital Complex," O'Brien said. "But it will take nearly ten-fifteen hours for them to get here."

"If these people have one ship large enough to transport all of us, and capable of warp, they may have access to other ships," Sisko added. "We need to find a way to communicate with Kira and Bashir."

Dax's eyes fixed on something beyond Sisko's shoulder. "Benjamin, Minister Gavotte is coming... with Minister Kur."

Sisko wheeled on his heels. Rounding the corner, Minister Gavotte hurried towards him, followed by an entourage of aides, and Kur.

"I ran into your security chief," Kur said. "What's happened?"

Sisko hesitated. He wasn't sure on what side of the table Kur sat in this situation. Gavotte's presence did not add to his comfort. For all intents and purposes, he really could not trust anyone within the government. An operation of this type was seldom organized by a single person. Gavotte was a strong opponent against Federation membership, and there were minor members within the government that agreed with him.

Kur, on the other hand, openly welcomed the Federation, heavily favored any opportunity to display friendly, helpful realtions between the Provisional Government and the Federation diplomats that visited Bajor with their trade negotations.

He decided to stay with the tried and true, flat out reporting. "Hostile forces have taken the station. We believe their leader is a woman by the name of Baryl Kay. There are an unknown number of terrorists aboard the station, and it has been suggested that explosive devices have been placed around the reactor cores. They have taken hostages: my first officer, my CMO and Vedek Jorn."

Kur nodded. "We have tried to make contact with the station. No response so far."

"Have your scanners picked up the transport ships?" Dax asked.

Gavotte jumped in after thumb scanning a report and handing it to an aide. "Ships, actually. Our patrols detect at least two ships orbitting the station. Registries are being traced as we speak."

"May we set up temporary headquarters here?" Sisko stepped forward.

"That won't be necessary," Gavotte said. "We have everything under control."

Sisko did not like the sound of that. He crossed his arms over his chest. "What do you mean by that?"

Gavotte stood in the forefront of the group, overshadowing Kur. He replied, "We are prepared to send an attack force to the station. Terrorist acts of this nature will not be tolerated. The Provisional Government is making a stand against random violence."

"This is not a case of random violence, Minister," Sisko stated through clenched teeth. He hesitated, hoping to stop the grinding of his jaw before he protested. "This was well planned and well executed. These terrorists knew where my officers were at the time of the attack, and had sufficient manpower to round up nearly two hundred residents into an awaiting ship in very little time. Whoever financed this little coup has a lot of money and influence."

"How do you know this?" Gavotte shot back, nostrils flaring.

Sisko mananged to keep his poker face in tact. "We have our sources. These people are mercenaries for hire. This is not a spur of the moment action. Someone had access to the station and funneled that information to the mercenaries."

"Then I believe the problem is a spy among your ranks, Commander."

Kur placed himself between the feuding men. "Let's not jump to conclusions, gentlemen," he placated. "Perhaps there is a chance for negotiation. These terrorists have made no statement of their intentions. There is still hope."

"I believe," Gavotte started, "that it will be to the benefit of this government to set an example for the people. Terrorism is no longer aceptable."

"It was terrorism that helped make this world free from Cardassian rule," Dax said, irritated.

"For which we are grateful," Gavotte sang, "but now is not the time for such tactics. That time is past. We must move forward. We have ships ready and awaiting orders."

Gavotte turned on his heels and walked towards the administrative building.

"You're making a big mistake," Sisko called after him.

"Then it is our to make, not the Federation's."

Sisko would have stormed after him had not Dax put a restraining hand on his arm. "Just three days ago, your government asked us to help in your investigation of terrorist bombings on this planet, despite the fact it was outside our jurisdiction. Now, you take responsibility when a reponse will help your political clout. Make up your mind, Minister, because I'm tired of this roller coaster ride."

Gavotte stopped, turned. "It was not I who asked for your help. We are just as capable of protecting the wormhole as you are."

"Is that why you think we are here? I hate to tell you this, sir, but we are not some glorified guard post. Cardassian Galor-class starships are waiting on your borders to come swooping in to take over once again.

"Two of my people are up there," Sisko argued, changing tactics. "What you're talking about could put their lives in danger. Haven't enough people died?"

"That is a chance we are willing to take," Gavotte answered.

"But it's not one I'm willing to take," Sisko replied.

Gavotte shrugged his shoulders. "It's no longer your decision." He exitted successgully this time.

Sisko angrily punched his palm and turned his head, disgusted. Dax and O'Brien each siddled up along the Commander to watch Gavotte and his procession leave.

"This is a fine kettle of fish," O'Brien muttered. "Who are we suppposed to trust now?"

"Not everyone feels the same as Gavotte," Kur provided, his voice quiet, deadened. He did not face Sisko. "Commander Sisko, I may have blustered and huffed the other day, but that was all it was. You must understand that."

Sisko watched as a number of Bajoran militiamen escorted DSNine's inhabitants to temporary shelters. It almost pained him to see them following discretely, calmly and in an organized fashion. He hated the fact that conditions were such that the citizens he protected were used to being awakened at odd hours with emergency beacons blaring and orders to remain calm. They didn't deserve to live that way.

He matched glances with Keiko O'Brien, who with quiet indignation carried her daughter and hustled other children along in front of her. She shifted her gaze at her husband's back, shaking her head remonstratively as she rounded the corner.

"Minister," he said, "I need to know where you stand. Gavotte cannot be trusted, and I'm not sure who else can either."

Kur swallowed hard, face-ashen at the implication of possible impropriety within the government. "Can I trust you?"

"You may have no choice. You said this was an anti-Federation plot, and you may be right. But it is not some fringe group making a political statement."

"Gavotte is involved?"

"We believe so, and have evidence to show probable cause."

Shifting his weight, Kur took a deep breath and stepped past Sisko. "Come with me, Commander. We need to talk."

Kur followed the crowd of station inhabitants towards the government complex. Sisko had beckoned Dax and O'Brien along side when he saw Odo hurry towards him.

"Something wrong, Constable?" Sisko asked.

Odo grimaced. "You could say that. Quark is missing."

"Missing," O'Brien gafawed. "He's probably behind this whole thing."

Kur looked at them quizically. "Quark? That Ferengi fellow has something to do with this?"

Odo shook his head. "Peripheral at best. But he was our best lead at knowing exactly what we are up against in terms of people and weaponry."

"All the more reason why we need to contact Kira and Bashir," Sisko reasoned. "That will be our top priority."

"I can get you to communications equipment," Kur offered. "Come with me."

* * * * *

Baryl squinted against the torchlight, holding her hand up to block most of the offensive glare. The weapons bay, ready to be freshly restocked with photon torpedoes and other such devious weapons of war, was alive with the sounds of metal clashing against metal. A makeshift rail system was nearly in place, snaking through the bay, corridors and cross bridges from one of the airlocks near the juncture of pylon two with the Habitat ring.

Granted, it would be easier to transport the weapons from the ships coming in, but the limited power allocations were needed elsewhere. Plus, she doubted Cardassian transporters could handle the volume she had in mind.

Kien lifted his heavily tinted face shield, face bathed in sweat. They stood side by side, and even with him shouting near her ear, she still had trouble hearing him.

"How much longer?" she asked again.

"An hour, tops," Kien yelled back. Beads of perspiration rolled down his smooth nose. He wiped them away with the sleeve of his free arm. I've got three of my men in tubes 3 and 4, see if we can get those back on line. It'll boost your efficiency by about seventeen percent."

"Have you retooled the firing mechanisms?"

"Yeah, not that it will do much good. Those circuits overload awfully fast. I don't have the time or the resources to replace them with anything better. After every volley, you'll need a minimum 10 second cool down period." Baryl frowned, and Kien shrugged his shoulders. "Hey, look, torpedoes were meant for warp capable ships, not stationary space stations. You're lucky the damn things work at all."

"And the reactors?"

"Release mechanisms functioning for now. The reactors will go, and they'll leave a big mess. I can boost the radiation shields, but the best place to ride out the storm will be the upper weapon sails." He pounded his fist on the bulkhead. "This here alloy makes a helluva barrier."

"Good enough. Apprise me when your work is finished." She left for Ops.

Winding her way through the darkened corridors, she was careful not to bump into or trip over the metal rails running along side. To restrict movement within the station in the event that undesirables decided to make trouble, only one turbolift was powered up. All areas below level seven were powered down, with corridors reinforced with energy shields that would slow down, if not deter, anyone with plans of sabotage.

A minimum compliment remained in Ops to man the station's systems. Malk had the guts of the situation table laid out before him. Nearly a dozen tech manuals and schematics were within arm's reach. His finger tips were blackened and scorched.

"No security grid?" Baryl asked, descending the stair.

"No security grid," Malk followed. "Too many redundancies and codes. Weapons we can reroute and avoid the comouter set backs. The security grid is intricately contained within the computer system. I can't get at it, or around it."

"Then we do without it," Baryl simply stated, smiling.

Malk gawked at her. "Do without it?" He let the diagnostics board slip between his fingers. "And if we are boarded?"

"When and if we are boarded," she replied, all hilarity gone from her eyes, "then we will blow this station's reactors into Bajor's atmosphere, killing hundreds of thousands of people with sodium radiation." Her lip curled, revealing teeth that could frighten a tiger.

Throwing his hands in the air, he exclaimed, "Oh, is that all! And what about Kira and Bashir? They won't sit idly by while we threaten to destroy some of the largest cities on Bajor."

"Let them try. They do not concern me."

"Then why take them hostage?"

"A deterant. The Provisional Government may think twice before sending in a rescue team."

"But I thought--"

"All ships may not be grounded."

"Kira and Bashir?"

Baryl stepped up the iron girder stairs towards the prefect's office. She stopped before the doors slid open to admit her. "Everything below the cross over bridges is blocked off. They have minimal power, no access to the computer, or a means of communication that we can't monitor. Let them run like mad rats in a maze for all I care. If they prove to be bothersome, I'll have them hunted down, launched out a torpedoe tube and use their lifeless bodies for target practice. I think I'll use that Ferengi bartender as a live target."

She took another step towards the door and hesitated. "But, to appease your overanxious mind, set up a perimeter patrol until the security grid is functional. Satisfied?"

"Thank you, Captain." He watched as she stepped into the office, and let out the breath he had held since her arrival on the operations deck.

- -

The ladder rungs felt slick beneath Bashir's sweating palms. Twice he caught himself from falling: the ten deck descent down access ladders and through cramped crawlways was more tiring than the climb up.

The strap from the bag he carried bit into his shoulder. Several times he shifted its weight to ease the chafing it caused. Sweat dripped into his eyes, their stinging discomfort a reminder of his purpose. He was amazed he had gotten this far. By blind luck or stupidity, he didn't know and he didn't care. Only that he had a job to do.

Junctures between main corridors had all been blocked with security force shields. He doubted that every hallway had a shield; the energy consumption would be impractical. From what he gathered about their visitors, they were far from impractical. The maze of access tunnels didn't seem to be protected. He stuck to them throughout his journey.

Even so, he tested every corridor before entering. He'd heard enough of O'Brien's stories to know that creative tinkering with the security grid systems could make you wish you had stayed in bed. And he didn't have the knowledge to disable the security grid. Kira did, but she was in no condition to do so, at least not yet.

The reassuring weight of the small phaser inside his pocket thudded against his thigh, and he was glad he decided to tuck it away on his person after the last murder. He freely admitted he had an overactive imagination, and the possibility that the murderer or murderers would come after him because he was doing the autopsies was extremely remote. But it made him feel safer, even at half charge.

When he had come on board the station, he had studied the layout of all corridors, access tunnels and shortcuts in the event of an emergency. He never thought he's need the knowledge to sneak into his own Infirmary. But the Promenade was too far away, and probably well protected. He settled for a cargo bay. The Bajorans wouldn't mind if he stole a few of their transit supplies to aid a comrade in arms.

The expedition took almost three hours. His over-exuberence at his good fortune nearly got him caught as he neared the cargo bay. Heavy construction sounds below him captured his interest and he all but gave away his position when his phaser slipped between his clammy fingers and clanged loudly on the metal floor of the tunnel. Fortunately, the clatter of construction masked his blunder. But to assure his getaway, he waited until the corridors were cleared. For a brief moment, he toyed with the idea of exploring the iron rails running along the floor, to see what their visitors were planning to do with them. Common sense won out. He needed to get back, to check on Kira and the Vedek.

He knew he couldn't stop the terrorists on his own. He didn't know what they wanted with the station, why they built a rail system, or why they weren't concerned that he was snooping around in the access tunnels. No guard at their door, no sensor sweeps, no security at all. Perhaps their plans weren't going so well and they had to pool their resources elsewhere. It was an interesting dilemna, one he wanted to discuss with Kira and Jorn.

He only hoped he got back to them in one piece.

Climbing to a level section of crawl space, Bashir lay flat on his back to find his bearings and catch his breath. His panting echoed in the small space, making him feel a little more than claustrophobic. Rolling to his stomach, he inched forward, pushing his bundle of stolen medical supplies ahead of him.

Cardassian script littered the walls, labeling conduits and access panels. His internal map of the station was sketchy at best, and his inability to understand Cardassian left him guessing as to where he was. A wrong turn could leave him stranded for hours until he found a juncture that he recognized.

He was sure no one could hear him, or the rattling bag he pushed, but still he tried to keep things quiet. Which made it all the more easier to listen for pursuers. But what he heard came from ahead, someone talking quite rapidly. He stopped, listened.

The voice sounded familiar; the whining intonation, the high pitched lilt, definately Ferengi. He crawled faster, ignoring the nagging cramps in his legs and the crick in his neck.

He turned, left then right. A patch of floor was faintly illumined ahead, immersed in the shadows of the tunnels. Bashir slowed his breathing and crawled to just before the grating. He peeked through.

Quark sat listlessly in a chair, stripped to the waist with his coat sleaves binding his arms behind the back of the chair.

"Quark," Bashir called.

The Ferengi whipped his head around in anxious anticipation. He looked none the worse for wear, except for the flush of embarrassment of having been seen without his shirt on.

"Up here, Quark."

Quark looked up as Bashir managed to unfasten the grating. It disappeared inside the tunnel. "Are you hurt?" Bashir asked, bumping and shifting in the tunnel to leave the hatch feet first.

"Get me out of here!" Quark screamed.

Bashir winced at the sheer volume of the Ferengi's voice. Harshly, he whispered, "Keep it down. We don't want them to hear us."

"Get me out of here!" Quark repeated, quieter this time. "I have never been so humiliated in my life. Don't look at me!"

"I have to, if I'm going to untie you." He knelt behind the chair.

Quark squirmed. "Hurry up. Hurry up."

"I am. I am."

The material was wrapped tightly around the Ferengi's wrist, and Bashir didn't have a knife to cut through it. His fingers ached with the exertion. He bit back a yelp as he inadvertantly bent back a thumbnail. Sucking on his thumb for a second, he went back to work on the knots. One gave way, then the other.

"There. You're free."

"Thank god," Quark exclaimed, pulling his jacket on as quickly as possible. He fervently tried to dewrinkle the handiwork left behind by the knots. "Now, let's get out of here."

Bashir held up his hands. "Wait a minute. What are you doing here? All other civilians have been evacuated."

Quark's lip snarled, showing two sets of crooked teeth. "Well, I suppose they were unhappy with my services."

"More likely they didn't want to leave any witnesses."

"How thoughtful."

"Where are we? Can you get us down to level 18, section 32?"

Quark smiled for the first time since his rescue. "Of course, I can. I know this station like the back of my own hand."

"I have no doubt about that. But more importantly, can you determine the status of the security grid?"

Quark pulled out four isolinear rods from his front pocket. "Lead me to your computer."

* * * * *

Mind heavy in a haze that was both drug induced and self imposed, Kira thrashed, barely conscious of the beads of sweat pooling beneath her head. In her mind's eye, she was running through abandoned corridors, toting a bag of grenades more than half her weight, stolen from a Cardassian armory, and dodging phaser fire as best she could--

Until a bolt of energy struck her across the shoulder blade, throwing her off balance. It knocked her hard to the ground with a jolt that emptied her lungs of any and all air. Breathing was searing agony. Her legs felt like leaden weights, dragging behind her as she groped for rocks and tree roots, anything that could propel her forward, away from her pursuers. But it was like swimming through quicksand, with each stroke dragging her further and further beneath the surface, the suffocating mire clamping down on her chest like a vise.

Large, knotted fingers grabbed her shoulders--

Kira thought her heart had stopped as she sat up. Her muscles quaked with the adrenalin surge, and she winced in pain each time she inhaled. Hands still held her shoulders, and she tried to focus her uncooperative eyes on the form before her. Lungs sucked in air despite the pain.

"It's all right, child," a kind, elderly voice told her. "You are safe."

The cynic inside her screamed, "Yeah right", but something else trusted that gentlemanly voice implicitly.

"I did not mean to startle you," he continued.

Her head pounded with each word said. Gingerly she brought her hand up to her forehead. The skin surrounding the gauzy bandage was cold, clammy, but the welt under it was swollen and warm to the touch.

"Here, drink this," Jorn said. He wrapped her hands around a glass of water, and helped her raise it to her lips.

His voice had a calming effecy on her frazzled nerves, but she still could not will her voluntary muslces to stop shaking.

"Relax, child," Jorn soothed, wiping her forehead with a cold, damp wash cloth. "It was only a dream."

Kira looked at him, or more accurately, in his general direction, since she could only guess that she still could focus correctly and he was not a floating orange blob sent to be her guardian angel. She was confounded as to how he knew, that the fragmented nightmares were not confined to her head. Though she could not find her voice now, apparently that had not been the case earlier.

"Just rest now. Doctor Bashir will return shortly."

"Return?" Kira was surprised at how throaty her response was. She tried to move, but the heavy bandaging around her ribcage made the manuever quite difficult. She groaned and bit back the pain, staring confusedly at her stomach.

Jorn put his hand on her shoulder once again, trying to get her to lie down. "Don't concern yourself, child. Concentrate on getting better."

Kira swiped at his hand, unsuccessfully at first. "Where did he go?" she asked hoarsely. Vaguely, she recalled Bashir's irksome voice telling her to lie still when it hurt like hell to do so. Not that she could move if she tried, muscles from the base of her spine to the top of her head mutinied against any motion.

After that, though, she didn't remember much of anything, except for the hodge-podge of memories that she didn't care to recall. Her mind obediantly locked them away until she had the time and the strength to deal with them.

"Where did he go?" she repeated, a little louder.

"To get some medical supplies," a young, accented voice answered.

Kira turned toward the voice, and regretted it the instant she felt the first pull of muscles. She cursed her jumpy nerves for making her so paranoid.

"Good, you're awake," she heard him say. Her eyes followed the duffle bag in his hands as it was dropped on the end of the bed. Something inside it thudded heavily.

Bashir opened the bag, and pulled out, among other things, what looked like a laser scaple.

"Where did you get that?" she asked.

"Where do you think?" another voice answered.

Kira couldn't make out his face, but she recognized the voice, and prayed to the Prophets that it was just a bad dream. "Quark?"

"You look like something a sand dragon dragged in," Quark replied in no uncertain terms.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, her attention shifting from Bashir's minstrations to the Ferengi barkeep.

Quark stepped into the light, and she could just make out his bulbous head and the glare off his teeth. "I'm a hostage, same as you."

"Yeah, right."

"Easy now, Major," Bashir warned. "Quark, go see what you can do with the computers, or something."

Quark snarled, stepped back into the dark. He returned moments later. "There's no power to these terminals. How am I supposed to work with no power?"

"You're the criminal mastermind. Think of something," Kira answered. Quark grumbled off into the dark, swearing under his breath.

Bashir picked up an autosuture from his bag of goodies. When he made a move towards Kira's head to re-examine the egg shaped welt above her temple, Kira ducked away and grabbed his wrist.

Bashir was faster. He locked her wrist between his thumb and forefinger and showed her the piece of equipment in his other hand. "It's only an autosuture. Relax. You and I have to talk about cutting down your caffeine intake."

"How did you get out? Are there any more hostages?" she asked, wincing as the medical instrument hummed near her ear.

"That's not important now." Bashir demonstrated the use of the autosuture to Jorn so that he could tend to her other injuries. "How was she?" he asked, administering a heavy dose of pain medication with a confiscated hypospray.

"Don't talk about me as if I'm not here," Kira complained, recoiling as he poked and prodded her belly again. It didn't feel any better the second time around.

Jorn lay a comforting hand on her shoulder and neck, trying to keep her head still. "Quiet, compared to before."

"What are you two talking about?"

Bashir shone a penlight in her eyes. "Has your vision cleared?"

"Tell me," Kira demanded, squinting because of the bright illumination.

"You started hallucinating. Badly. You were cooperative until I tried to treat your phaser burns, when you tried to tear my head off. I was forced to sedate you, against my better judgement, so that you wouldn't puncture a lung with all your thrashing about. You are a doctor's nightmare."

"Thank you." Kira's voice was dripping with sarcasm.

"It wasn't meant as a compliment. Just because you're lucid now doesn't mean you'll stay that way. You're lucky you're not in a coma."

The medication was starting to take effect. The pain was fading. Every muscle in her body started to numb, and she wasn't sure which was better. She balled her fists just for the affirmation that she could do it.

It must have affected her mind as well, because she had a nagging compulsion to apologize. "Okay, I'm sorry I tried to tear your head off."

Bashir smiled smugly. "And I'll bet you can't promise that it won't happen again. Just lie still for a while. I couldn't get a bone knitter to mend those ribs." He unfolded his tricorder, passed the wand over her torso and head several times, nodding and grunting under his breath.

"I guess a hard head comes in handy," he said. He folded the tricorder. "Minor concussion, easily fixed when this is over."

"You didn't answer my question," Kira said, watching her hand open and close with bemusement. her head stopped thobbing, and her vision was slowly clearing. Despite any grievances she held against him, she was grateful for the help.

"What question?"

"How did you get out? You don't happen to have a bipolar torch in that bag, do you?"

"I gambled the security net was down and used my phaser to cut my way through to the next suite, and the next one after that until I found one that wasn't locked."

The fleeting euphoria she had been feeling vanished. "You've had a phaser? All this time?" she barked.

He handed her the Type I Federation hand phaser that was in his pocket. "Before you start growling at me, please remember that our friends out there have plasma rifles, and though I like to think of myself as a good marksman, this little thing is no match for their weaponry."

Kira looked over the phaser, noted its charge, its weight in her hand. She had worked with less, she would have preferred more.

"We need to pool our information, Doctor. Tell me everything you know about our captors. Numbers, weaponry. We have to find a way to get that information to Sisko, and maybe use some of it to take back the station."

"You're not thinking of going against that woman, are you?" Jorn asked.

His question seemed so concerned, so disquieted, that it caught the attention of both Kira and Bashir. There was almost a touch of fear in his voice.

"Vedek?" Bashir turned towards him, unsure what to make of the comment.

Jorn appeared unsettled, his gentle and serene demeanor disturbed. "She is a dangerous woman."

"We know that, Vedek," Kira said, slipping off the bed to stand next to Bashir. The Doctor was too concerned with the elderly gentleman to say anything to her.

Jorn shook his head. "You don't understand. When we were in your Operations center, I had an opportunity to observe her. She was wearing a very peculiar ring. I believe it was fashioned from one of the orbs."

Bashir's eyes widened. He fumbled the tricorder in his hands. "An orb ring? You mean she's Azanoth?"

"Azanoth?" Kira asked brusquely. "They're a myth."

"No, child, they are not. It is simply not safe to go after her."

"Life is not always safe." Kira started pacing, limping just a bit. "If we don't find a way to stop her, all of Bajor could be in serious danger."

An explosion sounded. The station shook violently for several seconds. Jorn stumbled, and Bashir thrust out his arms to catch the elderly man.

"Are we under attack?" Bashir yelled over the metallic creaking.

"That wasn't phaser fire," Kira blurted, rushing for a window. "They've exploded the mooring clamps."

Another jolt. The deck shook beneath their boots. Loose objects on shelves, tables and walls began to rattle until a new equilibrium was established. Kira grabbed the nearest stable object. "Something is docking without our tractor beams."

"Are you sure?" Bashir asked. Kira glowered at him. "Of course you are."

"Tell me everything you heard, everything you saw," Kira ordered. "I need to know what we're up against."

- -

"We'll be able to monitor the situation from here," Kur assurred Sisko.

The secondary computer center within the government complex now played host for a somewhat covert investigation of a government conspiracy. The room was wall to wall computers, with nearly a half dozen Bajoran military officers manning various stations.

Kur offerred Dax and O'Brien the use of two vacant monitoring stations. Odo, out of his element, found a library terminal and began calling up information. Sisko watched with a wary eye the remaining Bajoran military officers, and the minister noticed his apprehension.

"These people have no other loyalties, Commander."

"I'm not concerned with their loyalties, Minister. I'm sure they are genuine. What we are about to do could be considered treason."

Heads turned from their workstations. Kur put them in their place with a stare. The officers returned to their work.

"Benjamin, I've scanned the low frequency band widths," Dax reported, turning in her chair. "There's been no communication from the station on those frequencies."

"Keep listening. If Kira calls, it'll be on those frequencies."

"Minister," an officer called, "four raiders have requested permission to launch."

"A scouting expedition?" Kur stood behind his officer and watched the monitors himself. "Has permission been granted?"

"They are launching now."

Kur faced Sisko, not at all the nearly speechless man out in the square. "We can't stop the launch, Commander. We have just under two hours before they reach the station. Within minutes, at least two attack cruisers will be launched. They will storm DSNine, take out the terrorists, and secure the station of any incidenary devices intended to destroy it. Standard procedure."

"If they can even leave orbit." Dax turned in her chair, eyes a little wider than normal, a slight rise in pitch to her voice. "I'm reading an unidentified ship has dropped out of warp and is establishing a high altitude geocentric orbit above Capital's atmospheric window. They are powering up weapons."

"Where did it come from?" Odo asked impatiently.

Dax shrugged her shoulders. "It must have been cloaked."

"Can we listen to what they are saying?" Sisko leaned over Dax's shoulder.

Kur nodded to one of his officers, who complied immediately.

Their ears were met by a myriad of confused voices and static filled transmissions. Even the number of players was unknown.

"We have to abort, now!"

"Tower, repeat, what are your orders?"

"Continue with the launch, Colonel."

"Gavotte," Kur murmurred, recognizing the voice. "What is he doing?"

"Powering forward weapons systems."

"Fore shields at maximum."

"Target sited."

"Proceed with the attack." Gavotte again.

"Reading weapon systems."

"Smaller craft emerging from target's deflector shield shadow."

"Evasive manuevers."

Phaser fire with the bleeting of an emergency klaxon was added to the background of Bajoran men, women, control tower chatter and the occasional muttered curse. Despite the meaningless noise, the transmission was quieting, the number of unknown voices diminishing one by one.

"Can we get a tactical map of the battle?" Sisko asked.

An officer changed the image on the large viewscreen in front of them to a red on black grid layout. Tiny yellow oval shapes with an identification number attached as a tag to each one began to dance in the screen. Blue pixels of similar shape to depict the unknown vessels followed soon after. One by one, the yellow blips stopped and disappeared. The channel chatter stopped.

Kur's throat was raw. "Casualties?"

"No survivors," a quiet voice answered.

Sisko stared at the viewscreen as the blue blips returned to their mother ship, disappearing as the entered the sensor's shadow.

"He just sent eight people to their deaths," he heard O'Brien say.

"No." Kur shook his head in disbelief. "I know Gavotte. He isn't behind this, he wouldn't waste innocent lives like that."

"He is the minister of war," Odo said bluntly. "That is part of his job."

"That's not what I mean," Kur stammered. "He launched our ships before we knew the enemy vessel was in the area. Why would he send four, and only four, completely outclassed ships to defend raiders?"

"It could have all been part of the master plan." Odo crossed his arms in front of him, not willing to accept argument to the contrary.

O'Brien piped up from his station, "The enemy ship has moved to higher orbit."

Sisko was still shaking his head. "I'm still not convinced either way."

"Maybe this will convice you," Dax reported. "I'm registering a scrambled transmissions from Minister Gavotte's office."

"Where was it sent?"

"Can't tell yet. It's been run through several relay stations; I can't pinpoint its destination."

"Keep at it. It may lead us to whoever is holding the purse strings."

Odo took a step forward from his post near the door. "What we need is an outside perspective."

"The LaFayette won't be here for another six hours, at least," O'Brien said.

Sisko nodded. "Non-Federation ships?"

"A few freighters, but even they may be too far away," O'Brien answered. "Let's just be happy there are no Cardassians close by."

"The way things are going," Sisko contemplated, "I'd consider even asking the Cardassians for help. In any case, we should try to keep this under wraps, or else we may get some unwanted Cardassian help."

Kur opened his mouth, hesitated, closed it. Sisko noticed the stay and turned to face the minister. "You have something, Minister?" he asked, hoping that his impatience had not filtered its way into his tone.

Kur still appeared reticent. "I know of someone, but he will prefer to keep his anonymity. Last I heard, he was in the sector two days ago. He may not have left yet."

Sisko wasn't sure what to make of the minister's riddle-like response. "Any help would be appreciated."

"Benjamin, I've located the general area where Gavotte's transmission was sent." Dax frowned, deep furrows in the normally smooth forehead. "Marta district."

Sisko growled. "Tareste Dern."

Kur paled. "Gavotte has been negotiating a military contract with Tareste for the last three months. Tareste owns one of the largest shipyard construction companies on the planet."

Sisko could not believe that a man could deflate so much in so little time. "It looks like there was a little more going on at the negotiation table then you were aware of, Minister."

* * * * *

Under protest, Quark led Kira, Bashir and the Vedek towards his private office, located one floor below the bar. It was only accessible two ways: through the bar and down a series of narrow, unnoticeable corridors, or through the rabbit hole Quark often used to escape the law or other nefarious insundries that might want his head on a platter.

Even so, he would only let Bashir in, claiming that there were things in his office that were not for the eyes of a Vedek, and there was no way he'd let Kira anywhere near his office. Not when she could blab everything to Odo just to spite him.

Once inside, Quark cornered Bashir against his desk. "Doctor, examine my eyes, please."

"What?" Bashir tried to get around him, but the Ferengi was quicker. "There's nothing wrong with your eyes."

"Just do it. I think there's something in the right one," Quark demanded, eyes widened.

Bashir groaned and half-heartedly, and quickly, checked Quark's eyes. As he suspected, there was nothing in either, and strongly questioned what was behind them.

"There, are you satisfied?" Bashir asked, crossing his arms over his chest in impatience.

Quark nodded and backed away from the doctor. "Thank you. Now, you can't tell anyone about anything that occurs in this office."

"What are you talking about?" Bashir asked. Quark had some weird schemes, but this one took the cake.

Quark busied himself near one of several shelving units. Bashir heard the hydraulic hiss of a drawer opening, though he couldn't see anything with Quark blocking his view.

"If you talk," Quark reasoned, "you'll violate your promise of confidentiality."

"It does not," barked Bashir. "Where I perform a medical exam is not covered under that."

Quark just threw up his hands. "A mere technicality. But I could still have grounds for a lawsuit. Now where did I-- wait, here it is." He proudly held up a box shaped object. "One of the most sophisticated sensor devices on the market today. Two hundred and fifty electromagnetic and subspace devices mounted into one unit."

Bashir was not impressed. "It's a suped-up tricorder."

"This 'tricorder' is what's going to keep us from being detected when we start tinkering around in the computer core." Quark cocked an eye ridge, and in conspiritorial tone asked, "Do you really think Kira should be in charge here? You know--" He touched his forehead and rolled his eyes. "And that Vedek. Why are we tugging him along?"

Bashir narrowed his gaze and did not bother to give the Ferengi a response. "Are you about done?"

Shoving his tricorder in a small satchel, Quark threw the bag at Bashir's chest. "Done."

Bashir threw the bag back at him with what he hoped was a threatening show of anger. "Good. Let's go." He was happy to see watch Quark rub his chest and snarl at him. Picking up pointers from Odo and Kira on how to deal with Quark was starting to pay off.

Back inside the myriad of conduits crisscrossing throughout, above and below the Promenade, it did not take much time to find the place where they had left Kira and Jorn. It wasn't until he stopped to find his bearings that he noticed the temperature drop.

Ahead, Jorn huddled near Kira, no longer wearing his religious robes. They were now used as both a blanket and prop for Kira, who sat with the back her head leaning against the wall. Her face was still pale and wet with perspiration. Tendons in her neck were whipcord tense.

A flashlight illuminated the deck between them.

"Are we having fun yet, Major?" Bashir asked as he crawled by her on all fours, careful to avoid bumping into her.

"Another smart remark and you'll be breathing through your belly," she quipped, smiling as sweetly as possible. But the smile faded as she fought an involuntary shiver. She gave the cloak back to Jorn, anxious to start moving again.

"Dax did a better job of scrambling circuits than I thought." Kira keened as she rolled to her knees.

"I think the air filtration units are down, too," Bashir added cheerfully. "To tell you the truth, I'm glad the temperature didn't go the other way, or we all might be smiling a bit ripe right now." He tried, in vain, to brush away the dust and soot from his trousers.

Kira struggled to keep crawling without letting the discomfort show in her face. "First stop, computer core. It's the only place other than Ops where we can release some of the computer systems back to our control."

"Does that mean more ladders?" Quark whined.

Bashir took the flashlight from Kira's fingers and shined it in Quark's eyes. "Yes, it does. Now, shut up and get up here. We'll need you to open some of the juncture doors near the core itself."

"Why me? Doesn't Kira have the codes for those?"

Kira turned quickly and spat at him, "Not if we want to announce our presence to everyone on the station who happens to be near a monitor. Now get up here. We know you can break into the security codes without alerting the security or Ops."

"Well," Quark snarfed, "I'm glad I have some purpose in this foolishness, other than to be your baggage boy." He quickly made his way to the head of the line. As he bustled by Bashir, he whispered, "Can't we put her to sleep?"

Bashir pushed Quark ahead to him.

Behind him, he heard Kira swearing under her breath and throwing a few unveiled threats of bodily harm towards Quark. Quark still had his flashlight, and held it between his teeth as he traveled faster than a vole down the conduit.

"Why do we have to crawl through these things anyway?" Quark asked. "They're filthy, cramped, disgusting, and --"

"Shielded from sensors," Kira blurted. "Stop whining. You're giving me a headache."

"You're both giving me a headache with your bickering," Bashir complained. "Why don't we all shut up."

"Good idea."

Quark, Bashir and Kira all turned, surprised to hear the Vedek. He stared back, arched his bushy white eyebrows and dropped his shoulders. "Vedeks can't have headaches?" He sat lotus style on the deck. "We are all a bit punchy right now. Let's calm down so that someone does not get hurt."

Bashir was the first to acquiesce. "You're right. Let's just get to the core so we can contact the Commander and call in the calvary."

* * * * *

Sisko did not stop at the secretary's desk, did not stop for the aides that stood at the door or the security officers that trailed him. He burst through the double doors of the main office as a voice erupted from within.

"I don't want an analysis of what went wrong. I want it done right!"

The thunderous voice yelled at a number of nervous looking assistants, each in front of their own monitors. An angry buzz filled the room.

When Gavotte saw Sisko, he thrust out his arm in the Starfleet man's direction, his voice directed at a security officer at the door. "Get him out of here."

"I don't think so," Sisko answered, and sidestepped the security man, holding the Bajoran officer against the wall with his outstretched arm. Odo plucked the phaser out of the security officer's hand.

Everyone in the room stopped, only the chatter from the video communications daring to break the uneasy silence. Eyes were either focused on Gavotte, or the group of Starfleet officers surrounding Minister Kur. No one was sure which party was the more intimidating. A crowd began to gather in the outer office.

"I think you have a little explaining to do, Minister," Kur said, stressing the last word.

Gavotte sqaured off for his confrontation. "For what, may I ask?"

"We've just monitored a scrambled transmission between this office and a person or persons within the Marta district," Kur stated. "This was moments after our four outclassed raiders were demolished in that fiasco you call 'putting a stop to the terrorism'."

"Is there an accusation somewhere in that statement? I think I missed it," Gavotte returned, planting a fist on the desk top.

Kur took a step forward. "You tell me. It has been brought to my attention that you may be responsible for the terrorist attacks on the water reclamation units at the Tulane reservoir and the other localties here on Bajor."

Laughing, Gavotte crossed his arms over his chest smugly. Sisko still had the guard pinned against the wall as he watched the play of faces throughout the room. Some were surprised and astonished. Others were down right outraged, but about what he could not tell.

Gavotte stroked his jaw. "Nice fairy tale. Have any more stories? I'm looking for some to tell to my grandchildren."

Odo handed Kur a small Bajoran computer padd. Kur continued. "I have here a list of serial numbers taken from the bomb debris. There numbers can be traced to shipments you have authorized, but were never delivered."

"Several transports have been raided. Shipping lanes are dangerous," Gavotte explained.

"These did show up somewhere: a number of holding companies. I believe that your name is on the list of trustees. I found it interesting to find out that Tareste Dern's name was also listed." Kur flung the padd at Gavotte. It hit him squarely in the chest.

When the padd hit the floor, Gavotte crushed it under his heel. "Circumstantial, at best."

"Then, you freely admit you sent eight innocent men and women to their deaths," Kur challenged.

"I admit nothing!" Gavotte bellowed. "You are sadly mistaken. The record log will show that those ships were launched before the enemy ship even decloaked."

"A circular argument, sir," Kur said. "We've monitored secret transmissions between you and Tareste Dern. Who is to say that there weren't transmissions to a vessel outside our sensor scan just before the attack?

"Did you have a hand in the kidnapping of your fellow ministers?" Kur's tone became more accussatory with each staement. "Was it so you could get a few of your pet bills passed in their absence? Or maybe so that you could declare martial law. I think that's it. A verifyable danger has entered the system. As Minister of War, you could declare martial law, pass any edicts that you want. If you do that, you will be no better than the Cardassians. Their military state is the reason why they had to annex so many worlds , because they outproduced what their own world could provide."

A sweat broke on Gavotte's face with each word. Dax handed Kur her tricorder, and he continued with his indictment. "I have here a recording of the most recent coded transmission to come out of this office. Would you like me to play it for you?"

Sisko stepped foward and took the tricorder from Kur's hands. "It proves you knew nothing of the cloaked ship," Sisko calmly stated. "You are in over your head, and if you don't tell us what we are up against, we all stand a chance of losing a lot more than you bargained for."

Behind him, he heard the hustle bustle of bodies moving and Dax's soft voice, subdued and mumbling something urgently. Seconds later, he felt a hand at his shoulder. From the faintly perfumy scent, he knew it was Dax.

"Benjamin, we're getting a transmission from the station. It's Kira."

- -

Malk Po did not trust his commander out of neither respect or fear. He was not in favor of taking hostages, and despite Baryl's insistence that religion was for the weak, he was whole heartedly against holding a Vedek. He had not been to Temple since he was a small child, but the old beliefs still stuck hard.

Hostages were a liability. Baryl and the others did not have the resources to properly manage hostages despite her assurances. The plan could not have been fool proof if they did not have to watch out for unexpected surprises from a former Shakaar terrorist. The reports from the Haru outposts made his stomach turn, even if the bodies found were all Cardassian. It was rumored that the Shakaar played a large part in the destruction.

Shakaar were capable of anything. He did not like that.

Malk made his weapon ready as he released the door lock. There was light where he expected none. His finger tripped the safety switch on the plasma rifle.

He searched the front room carefully; panning his weapon along with his eyes. He checked each of the rooms systematically. In one he found bloodied wads of gauze and medicinal supplies. In the last, he found a hole in the bulkhead, big enough to let a humanoid through.

Angrily he pawed through his pockets for his communicator. "Cer, where are you?"

"Docking bay."

"The hostages have escaped. Go check on that Ferengi. Malk to Baryl."

"What is it? I'm busy."

"Your hostages are missing."

"What do you mean, 'they're missing'?"

"I'm in the quarters where you left them. They are not here."

"Then we'll hunt them down."

"We don't have the manpower to do such a search, not at this point in the game."

"They couldn't have gone far. Kira's injured, and they are toting an old man. This is not a problem."

Through clenched teeth, Malk replied, "That's what you said hours ago."

"Then maybe a demonstration is in order when we reach Bajor."

* * *

"Are you all right, Major?"

"We're all fine," Kira replied. "We have to keep this short. I don't know if Baryl has found out about my re-wiring job in the communication circuitry."

"Where are you now?"

Kira paced, sort of. The walking eased the strain in her cramped muscles since she dared not stretch. Quark, Bashir and Jorn crowded around several monitors which Quark managed to plug into Odo's security cameras.

"I don't want to give away our position in case we have a party line, Commander," Kira said. "There are two Corellan Dreadnaught class ships docked. They've rigged some sort of rail system from docking bay eight to the torpedo bays, and they've offloaded a number of photons onto the station. It looks like they may have retuned the phasers as well. Our best bet is to try and take out the photons from here."

Sisko's voice was amplified slightly. She had managed to change the frequency pick up on Quark's fancy tricorder, and the staticy transmission cleared. It had been decided that the tricorder's independent power source might keep their hiding place hidden longer than if they tried to use the station's communication array directly.

"How many people are we looking at?"

Bashir answered for her. "At least forty-five, that we've been able to account for. But that is a conservative estimate."

"Commander," Jorn added, "Baryl Kay has in her possession an orb ring. I thought you should know."

There was silence on the other end for several long moments.

"And the reactors?"

Kira stopped pacing. "What about the reactors?"

"Baryl Kay implied that they have sabotaged the reactors. Probably as a deterrent to keep us from boarding; threaten to blow up the reactors instead of being arrested and put on trial."

"I'll see what I can do about that, Commander."

"No heroics, Major. I want you in one piece when this is over. But... if you can deter their efforts, it would greatly appreciated. Minister Gavotte has confessed his part in this, but it appears that he is just a pawn in a larger movement. We're trying to put together an assault team, but it may not be very effective."

"We'll keep an eye out for it, sir."

"Keep in contact... and, Major, keep your head down. Sisko out."

"That was a lot of help," Quark complained. "I thought you were going to call for help."

"Get help from who?" Kira asked, containing her anger as best she could. "Bajor has nothing that could stand up against a Dreadnaught class starship, and they've outfitted our own station with enough photons to level any city on Bajor in a matter of seconds."

"We have to find a way to stop them," Bashir announced.

Kira nodded. "Agreed. We can't take them all out, so we'll have to take out the station."

Quark rolled his eyes and made a half hearted attempt at a laugh. "And how, pray tell, are we supposed to do that? There are guards everywhere."

"We sabotage as many systems as we can. I'm guessing the station is the lynch pin in whatever plans Baryl has. Standard Dreadnaughts are fast and carry four phaser arrays, good for attacking another vessel at close range, but other than that, they are glorified tugboats."

Kira leaned over, hands on her thighs, clenched her teeth. Her pacing could not fight off the noticeable chill in the air, and her sides ached with the cold. She rubbed her bare arms to get the circulation going again.

"It's bound to get colder," Bashir commented. "We should get you some warmer clothes."

"I'm fine," she replied, teeth chittering. "If they haven't got the scrambled systems back on line, we have to assume those systems will be fixed before their assault on Bajor. We have to throw a few more wrenches into the works, delay any assault as long as possible."

Bashir blew on his hands to warm them, then tucked them under his arms. "First, you rest. You've had no food, no water, or a decent amount of sleep for at least ten hours, probably longer. Quark and I will find a replicator, you rest."

Though she refused to admit it, at least out loud, Kira knew Bashir was right. A tired, silly smile crossed her lips as she stared at the floor. She didn't have the strength to straighten.

Bashir must have noticed; he placed a hand on the small of her back, the other on her right arm, and led her over to a chair to sit.

"You hatch up some devious destructive plan while we get supper," he said, grabbing Quark's arm next. "Okay, let's go."

Quark protested, dragging his feet. "Why me? What do you need me for?"

"You've snuck into crew quarters before to use the replicators. I bet you could easily do it again." Bashir threw him towards the air duct, grabbing his emptied duffle bag along the way.

Quark slowly climbed the makeshift ladder. "Oh, sure. File complaints against me when I use my talents to better my business opportunities, but the second you're in bind, you come running to me. I don't think I like this double standard the Federation--"

Kira could still hear him complaining as she drifted into a light sleep. The station rocked, knocking her from her chair. Jorn picked her up as Bashir stuck his head back out of the tunnel.

"What the hell was that?" he asked. Quark's head popped out under his arm.

Kira rushed to the computer monitors and switched to an outside viewer. "Someone has us in a tractor beam."

"They wouldn't try to take the station through the wormhole, would they?" Quark asked. "We'll be smashed to bits!"

"Shut up, Quark." Kira tried to find her bearings. She located the ships, both with tractor beams attached to a number of structural points on the docking and habitat rings. She breathed a sigh of relief when she noticed that they were not headed for the wormhole. But where they were headed did not set her at ease. "We don't have much time."

* * *

"There's no sign of them, Captain," Cer reported as he stepped through the office door. "I've sent search parties to check the docking ring and the pylons again. They will work inward from there."

Baryl put down the technical report she was reading to give her full attention to the man standing in front of the desk. "They know this station. We need to find a way to flush them out of their rabbit hole. Pump anestizine gas into the conduits, level by level."

"That may not be possible. We haven't been able to re-establish control of all environmental systems, including air filtration and re-circulation. If we pump it in, it may not go anywhere."

Shrugging her shoulders, she stood from her chair and headed for the door. "Cancel the force shields. It's a waste of power if Kira and Bashir are finding ways around them. Find a way to track them. Heat sensors, anything. They have get food sometime, and all the food on this station is replicated. Is the security grid back on line?"

"We believe so, but if they are in the conduits, the internal sensors won't detect them." Cer followed her down to the situation table.

"How long until we reach Bajor?" Baryl asked.

"Another three hours."

"Advise Kien that he had better have the weapon systems on line and functioning by the time we reach Bajor."

"Captain," Cer called, frowning at the communications grid. "I can't reach Kien, or the others."

Baryl checked the readout herself. "Try the hand units."

"No use. Something is jamming internal communications."

The lights dimmed to half their original candle power. "It's them," Baryl snarled. "There must be a way to track them."

Cer shook his head. "I'm sorry, Captain. Without the security grid--"

"I don't want excuses." Baryl grabbed a phaser rifle that was lying across the table. "I'm going on rounds. Get rid of that jamming signal, or find me a frequency that will work. I will not have a self glorified terrorist, a Federation doctor, a Ferengi yes-man and a religious freak interfere with our plans." She took the stairs to the turblift two at a time, belting out the destination to level seven before she was in the lift.

* * *

"There, that should keep them busy," Bashir said, climbing out from beneath a canopy of optical cables. "But I don't know how long it will last."

Kira was waiting for his cue. Having wrapped her hands with one of the sweatshirts Bashir found in his foraging efforts, she pulled as many wires out that she could wrap her hands around. Sparks flew in a magnificent array of shorted circuits, illuminating the room more than the lighting fixtures present.

"Chief O'Brien is not going to be happy with us," Bashir commented.

"Chief's not the one we should be afraid of," Kira replied. "Mrs. O'Brien, now that's the person we should fear."

The lights flickered and dimmed again. "Shorting out a few minor systems may irritate our captors," Kira continued when the lights settled to half illumination, "but it won't stop them. We have to get to the photon launchers and manually override the command functions."

"Whoa, wait a minute!" Quark was waving his arms. "Now we're talking about heavily guarded areas. If we make a mistake, we could get a little more than singed fingers. We could get shot."

"You don't have to come." Kira gingerly pulled the sweatshirt over her head and slipped her arms into the sleeves. "You can stay with the Vedek after we find a safe place to hide you." She pushed the too long sleeves past her elbows and started sorting through Quark's goodie bag for the tool box and ingredients for a few common explosives.

"Safe? Here?" Quark's voice rose several octaves. "The safest place will be off this station. Can't we take a runabout out of here?"

"Not if you want to get shot down." Kira's hands stayed, and she looked up from her work. "But, the runabouts may be our best bet for a hiding place. Self contained power systems, defensive shields and phaser weaponry. If worse comes to worse, you could blast the bay doors and take your chances with the photons."

Jorn stepped forward, sweeping up his robes to avoid tripping over the hems. "You're not going with us, child?" He spoke as if he knew the answer to his question before he asked it.

"No. I have to try to take out the photons, and see what they've done to the reactors. We'll be near Bajor soon. If the reactors go, millions could die of radiation poisoning. I won't take that risk."

"And if you manage to blow up the reactors in the process?" Quark whined.

Kira looked him dead in the eyes. "I won't blow up the reactors."

Quark started to pace. As he walked by Bashir, he hit the doctor on the arm with the back of his hand. "So we're left with this dolt who only has a level two pilot's rating."

Bashir ignored the jibe and before he knew what he was doing, he said, "I'm staying."

Kira looked up at him, clearly surprised, but said nothing. That simple admiration faded when Quark started whining again.

"Oh, great. No pilot."

"You have at least a level three pilot's rating and have done more than your fair share of outrunning the authorities in Ferengi shuttlecraft," Kira said.

Quark grumbled, but had no verbal retort.

"Now, do you think you could manage to get to the nearest runabout without getting into trouble?" Kira asked.

Visibly straightening, Quark tugged on his jacket. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm offended by your--"

"This is important, Quark." Kira stepped down from her offensive posture. "I'm trusting you to keep Jorn safe."

Quark didn't quite know how to take the sudden change in attitude. Suspicious, he looked for some hidden agenda in her furrowed brows, trying to find the the reason behind the shift in her assault strategy. Bashir was a bit puzzled as well.

"Of course I can keep him safe."

"Good." Kira pointed to the ventilation shaft. "Get going."

Bashir caught the Vedek's cloak as he passed. "There's a medical kit in the runabout, Vedek." He handed him a piece of paper. "Here's my authorization code if you need to replicate your heart medication."

"You are very kind." Jorn then stood in front of Kira. He touched her hand and gently pinched her right ear. "Go with the Prophets, Kira Nerys."

Kira looked into his eyes, and the face that Bashir was so used to seeing contorted in an everlasting snarl melted into the picture of serenity.

"May the Prophets guide you," she replied softly and automatically. Jorn stepped away and followed the shorter Ferengi into the ventilation shaft.

Bashir siddled up next to her, fascinated and intrigued by the display of a softer side. He watched as she quickly reverted back to her freedom fighter personae, cataloguing their supplies, checking the gear, and he felt a subtle shift of power in the room. He was on her turf now, playing by the rules she was used to following. As a youngster, when he wasn't playing tennis or trying to show off for the girls, he dreamt the life of a professional soldier. Taking out the bad guys, blowing up an enemy stronghold, humbly accepting praise. About to embark on an childhood quest, something Kira had lived with her whole life, and his stomach was turning somersaults.

"Are we ready?" he asked when he found his voice.

Kira continued packing. "You didn't have to stay."

"You can't be in two places at once. You take out the reactors. I'm afraid I don't know much about disarming bombs. I'll see what I can do with the weapons sails." He patted the bag of explosives. "It doesn't take too much intelligence to set a bomb."

He smiled, knowing she had set more than her fair share of bombs, and that it did take a lot of brains to do it right. She ignored the comment.

"We won't be able to use our communicators," Kira said, pushing up a fallen sleeve. "Once we split up, we'll have to maintain radio silence. We can't run the risk that they might monitor our transmissions."

"We could retune our communicators to the lower frequencies," Bashir suggested, "you know, for emergency use only." That did not seem to phase her. "One of us should take Quark's tricorder, so we can contact Sisko."

Kira walked over to the table where the tricorder lay. She tossed it to Bashir. "Set the bombs, just like I told you, then find a hole and stay there. If you can, get to the runabout. Contact Sisko when the photon launchers are down. Maybe we can give the assault team a fighting chance."

"What about you?" Bashir asked.

Kira shrugged. "I'll try to keep the reactors from blowing us to bits. Then I'll come to find you." She took a few tools from the bag and tucked them in her belt.

Bashir hefted the bag across his shoulder. As they headed for the ventilation shaft, he slowed. The adrenalin rush was gone. Kira noticed his hesitation and gave him a quick look before climbing into the shaft.

"You okay?"

Bashir tried to hide the fear in his eyes. "I thought I would be ready for anything. Listen, I know we've never really gotten along, but... Go with the Prophets, Kira Nerys."

Kira stopped. He expected some caustic response, another jibe towards his naive, fearless attitude, on how he wanted to tame the 'wilderness'. To his surprise, she turned and awarded him with a genuine smile. "May the Prophets guide you, Julian Bashir."

- -

"What do you mean, the station is moving?" Sisko roared under his breath.

Dax scowled, not the least bit amused at having to repeat herself. She had known Sisko for over two decades, and had yet to break him of his awful habit of asking redundant questions. "The station used to be here," she replied, pointing to the screen. "Now, it is coming here, to Bajor, and moving at about 20,000 kph. I'm reading an increase in the graviton field in that area, not associated with the wormhole, suggesting that it is being towed."

"Why move the station at all?" Kur asked. After the bru-ha-ha in Minister Gavotte's office, they had retreated to the computer center, the only place deemed safe from traitorous ears.

"Probably for its offensive capabilities," O'Brien responded. "Dreadnaughts aren't known for their weaponry."

"Even so, none of our ships are capable of making a scratch, not unless we can get in orbit," Kur said.

Odo crossed the room to stand beside Sisko. His face did not speak of good news. "Gavotte knows nothing about the whereabouts of the missing ministers. He claims Tareste Dern took them to keep the balance of power on his side." He handed Sisko a report. "But, I have found this. It's a report on a hijacked munitions freighter five weeks ago. Two Corellan Dreadnaughts were seen in the vicinity."

"Any idea on who's footing the bill for all of this? We've run through all of Tareste Dern's financial records. He can't be the only backer," Sisko mentioned.

Odo shook his head. "No one had been able to trace the registry numbers, but those two ships are wanted in a number of hijackings throughout the sector."

"This picture is getting uglier by the hour, people." Sisko folded his arms over his chest.

"Then you may like to hear my news." Kur lowered his head and spoke softly. "I've called in a few favors with some old friends."

Sisko recognized the tone, th eslight hesitiation in the voice, the double meaning of the words chosen; his first officer had a habit of doing the same. "You mean friends in the Underground."

"Not exactly," Kur replied. "Though the government has tried to convince the splinter groups to return to Bajor, several have continued to raid Cardassian outposts along the border. Some have gone so far as to become mercenaries for hire. My friend has worked mostly out of the Valo system, but not as a mercenary. He is a well respected pilot and stratician, and was offered a commission in the military, much like Major Kira, only he refused."

"You don't have to dress him up for me," Sisko said. He wanted a way out of this ordeal, and quickly. "Where is he now?"

"He's been tailing the two Corellan ships for the last two days," Kur explained. He waved down Sisko's automatic protest. "He suspected trouble when he spotted them in the Caratee system, so he followed, just in case they decided to pick on a defenseless freighter. Orta doesn't stand for that."

Dax was listening intently and chimed in. "It seems Bajorans have their own version of the Robin Hood complex."

Sisko scratched his chin. duly reminded that he desperately needed to shave. "Orta. I seem to recall a briefing about this man a little over a year ago. About the time of Admiral Kennely's arrest. I thought his ship was destroyed."

Kur gave him a sly smile. "Orta is also an accomplished poker player. It's rumored he won the attack cruiser he currently captains, complete with cloaking device, from a rather irate Klingon."

"When can he get here?"

"Within the hour. He's been holding position on the outskirts of the station's sensor range."

Sisko started to pace, stopping behind O'Brien's chair. "How long until the station gets here?"

"Three, three and half hours," the Irishman answered.

"Any sign of the Lafayette?"

"No, we haven't been able to contact them. They could be anywhere."

"We're on our own, Benjamin," Dax replied quietly.

"Okay, people." Sisko clapped his hands togther. "That's our time cap. If Orta can take out that ship in orbit, assault craft can be launched to take back the station. Constable, I need you to connect Tareste Dern with the missing ministers. If we can't get him on conspiracy charges, maybe we can charge him with kidnapping. Dax, try to hail Kira and Bashir. Tell them we'll be sending reinforcements shortly." He looked to Kur. "With your permission."

Kur nodded. "You're running the show, Commander, as far as we're concerned. I'll put you in touch with General Chanu, commander of the space fleet, and suggest that he take your advice."

* * *

Quark breathed a welcome sigh of relief when he passed the open grating to the runabout service bay. Sitting on a hidden elevator, the Ganges waited silently. Hoards of waist-high storage containers surrounded the aft nacelle, but Quark knew the maintainance had already been done on the small ship. He made it his business to keep abreast of such details.

Somewhere within the many hidden pockets of his jacket, he found a small metallic cylinder. Twisting one end until it illuminated a bright red color, he crouched on his stomach in order to wave it slowly through the bay. At the Vedek's curious gaze at the object, he provided in a whisper, "Motion detector. Hate to get caught this late in the game."

The Vedek nodded knowingly, which irritated Quark to no end. Most Bajorans that passed through the doors of his establishment, and his holosuites, had very -- secular -- tastes. Used to dealing with the more base populace, Quark was unaccustomed to transactions of any sort with actual religious persons. Despite the spirital stereotype given to Bajorans in general, he knew what they liked, from drinks to gambling choices to holosuite programs. A Vedek simply unnerved him.

In his mind, Quark vowed secret vengence against a certain Bajoran major. Kira did have motive behind charging him with the Vedek's safety; it had to be because she knew a Vedek made him uneasy. He had no problem with monks. Prylar Ritt was a very good customer, and a lousy Dabo player. But Vedeks--

Ixnae on the Olyhae a voice inside told him. Vedeks are people, too.

Just not like any people you know or associate with.

Quark shook his head to clear the cobwebs. The detector picked up nothing in the room, so decided it was safe to crowd out of the service crawlway. Dusting himself off, he caught sight of the Vedek, struggling a bit to clear the crawlway. Against Ferengi instincts, he offerred his hand with the intent of assistance, and was very glad the Nagus was not there to see it. Jorn took his hand and hoisted himself out of the small space.

"Thank you, Mr. Quark. You are very kind," Jorn said, gratefully straightening his robes.

"Yeah, well," Quark replied, "don't let it get around. I have a reputation to maintain."

"Is this the runabout?" Jorn asked, staring at the vessel that was nearly twice his height. "I've never seen one before."

"This is it." Quark walked around the ship, looking for an access hatch. Somewhere in his office he had the specs and diagrams for the standard Danube class runabout, and he had glanced at them once or twice, enough to know that there was a panel somewhere that would set off the door servos. He ran his hands along the hull where he guessed the panel might be.

Jorn joined him, stared at the hull, and found the panel in a matter of seconds. The door opened. Quark's jaw dropped in amazement. Had not the man been a holy cleric, Quark would have been proud to call him a great con man, the ulitmate Ferengi compliment.

"How... how did you do that?" Quark asked with unabashed zeal. "You have to teach me that trick." he could gave a field day with that kind of talent.

Shrugging his shoulders, the Vedek stepped through the portal into the runabout's interior. Quark followed close behind, shutting the door and securing it. Lights automatically came on when they entered. Nesting instincts told him to find something big to block the door, but knowing Federation engineers, everything was bolted down tighter than the Nagus' fist around a bar of gold pressed latinum.

He had served aboard enough ships to know the basics of all major systems, and though he hated to admit it, Kira was right about his pilot's license. However, Federation logic was different from Ferengi logic, and without security clearance from the ship's computer--

He turned to the religious man. "Bashir gave you his authorization codes?"

Jorn nodded. "Yes."

Quark ran his tongue along his teeth, his eyes darting at a fever pitch. "I need them to get control of the computer."

From the clergyman's suspicious glare, Quark knew his reputation preceeded him, and for once he was sorry he had one. "I have nothing but the noblest of intentions, Vedek. Kira and Bashir say that the security grid is down, but it may come back on line at any time. We don't want them to scan us, do we? I can set up a damping field around the runabout to shunt off their scans."

"I agree whole heartedly," Jorn said. "However, Dr. Bashir entrusted his security clearances to me. I will assist. I was an engineer long before I took vows to service the Prophets."

Normally, Quark would have been angered at his thwarted attempts to gain a few more station secrets, especially access to medical supplies that would turn a tidy profit on the black market. Quickly capitulating, Quark led the Vedek to one of several computer consoles. "Be my guest."

Jorn took a seat in the pilot's chair and surveyed the sensor pads before him while Quark took the co-pilot's chair. "We should also shunt communications to the runabout, so we can monitor the situation," the Vedek suggested. "Try the lower bandwidths, in case Commander Sisko tries to contact us."

"I can do that," Quark offered. It took a moment to find the right buttons to push. A flashing light caught his attention. "Hold on. Someone is hailing us, a repetitive message of some sort." Quark smiled when he heard the lovely Dax's voice come over the speakers.

"--an assault team to the station before it reaches the planet, so you'd better find a place to ride out the storm. Repeat, we are sending reinforcements to take back the station at these coordinates. That gives you a little less than two hours. Good luck."

Static followed the message. Quark leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes and gently shook his head. He had been aboard the station when the Cardassians made their last stand at the station. The station took a beating then and he knew it had not recovered yet. His legs had not stopped shaking for days after the Cardassians left. He wondered how long they would shake when the Bajorans and Federation took it back.

"We need to find a way to get this information to Dr. Bashir and Major Kira," Jorn said, breaking Quark's self indulgent display of utter uselessness.

Quark turned his head, wondering if delusions of grandeur were a basis to the Bajoran way of life. "How? Anything we say over the ship's communicators will be heard. I don't want to be found. Do you?"

"Send it to that tricorder contraption of yours. One of them must have it."

Quark weighed the prospect of their transmisison being detected, and the possibility that Kira and Bashir could actually do something with that information, and he decided he had done too much socializing with humans for his own good. Hope outweighed fear. "Okay. You get to work on the damping field and maybe getting a little heat in this place, and I'll try to contact Bashir and Kira."

And I hope it doesn't get us killed.

* * *

Wiping away the sweat that dripped from his brow, Bashir stuffed the collar of the sweatshirt he wore into the neck of his undershirt; he did not want to catch a chill. The temperature was dropping and dropping fast. Cold seeped through the thin layers between the air and his skin. Fingers braced against the deck were numb as heat was robbed from them.

Cardassians liked their climate hot, up around 32 C. With all the ore processing during their occupation of Bajor, temperatures got really warm all over the station, and the bulk heads were not built to retain heat because of it.

But 32 C sounds really good right now.

He flexed his fingers to get the circulation moving, going over in his mind everything Kira had told him about planting bombs. She assured him that the units he carried were low yield concussion bombs, that all he needed to do was take out the targeting circuitry, and maybe do a little damage to the launchers themselves.

"All very simple," Kira had said, tossing the bomblets at him like a master juggler.

Simple, right. First, he had to get past the guards. His phaser was at half charge, plenty of energy to drop two men with the heavy stun setting. He only had to get close enough to get a clear shot.

He waited patiently in the shadows, behind stacked cargo crates that must have been brought aboard by the terrorists. The weapons sail was hardly the place to store accessible photon torpedoes. But Bashir was impressed with the quality of what was more than likely stolen merchandise.

Whatever work had been done on the photon launchers was finished, Bashir decided. The guards stayed away from the circuitry and the launchers, preferring to maintain their patrol in the main corridor leading from the turbolift access to the auxilary control room on the other side of the bay. Each had passed by his hiding place a number of times, and had not bothered to look his way.

His ambush would work if he could strike them simulataneously, but it didn't seem likely any time soon. he could nto take out one without alerting the other. Secretly he wondered how Sisko, or Kira, or even O'Brien, would handle the situation.

He did not have time to think about it; the tricorder hidden deep under layers of clothing beeped loudly in the near silence. Clamping his hands over it to muffle the noise as much as possible. He retreated far away from the guards to check the Ferengi's tricorder, convinced the piece of equipment would be the death of him.

He had the tricorder tucked inside the waistband of his undershorts, out of the way to keep his hands free for more important tasks. With little difficulty he retrieved it and wondered how he could turn off the audio output.

A brief message flashed on the screen:

THEY'RE COMING. TWO HOURS. Q-

Bashir leaned against the wall. With a time cap, the pressure inside his head mounted. He also needed to get this information to Kira, if Quark had not already done so. His pulse raced; he had to do something. Gazing upwards, he noticed the cargo crates stacked like--

Stairs.

Quietly and quickly, he got to his feet. Careful to stay in the shadows, he climbed the crate ladder to catch a bird's eye view of the situation. Unfortunately the terrorists packed enough photons to stay off a sustained attack. Crouching low, he searched for his targets.

The guards walked their posts, one had his weapon at his side, hanging from a shoulder harness. The other had his weapon drawn. Bashir chose him as his first target.

Setting his phaser to heavy stun, Bashir tried to calm himself using a centering technique one of his instructors at the Academy had taught him. High strung by nature, Bashir needed more than a few meditations to keep his sanity while in med school. Breathing excercises seemed to work best when anxiety attacks struck. And one was headed his way now.

In through the nose, out through the mouth. Count to five. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Count to five.

Raising and aiming the phaser took little concentration; his raquet ball coach marvelled at his hand-eye coordination. Depressing the trigger took a lot more thought. With the slightest flinch of his finger, the energy bolt raced from the end of his hand and struck the guard dead in the chest.

He re-targeted the other guard, who had located Bashir and was bringing his weapon around to strike back. Depressing the trigger took less thought this time. The guard fell as quickly as his comrade.

"Two down," he mumbled to himself, scrambling down the crate staircase to retrieve his bag of armaments. Though he knew it was a defense mechanism, making lite of the situation seemed to help matters greatly. "Two weapon sails to go."

"Now, just don't screw up the charges, and you'll get away fine, Julian."

* * *

"Tareste Dern has disappeared," Odo reported to Sisko, stepping up the ramp on one of several Bajoran assault craft. He held a dataPADD in his hands. "Bajoran authorities have stormed his house; he wasn't there. His housekeeper doesn't seem to know where he went.

"However, they did confiscate some equipment that you may be interested in." Odo handed over his report. "I'm told this equipment is a variant on the theory of hypnotic inducers. The broadcasting equipment has a one hundred kilometer range."

Sisko looked over the manifest while he continued on his way into the ship. "Motivational speeches? I wonder how big his audience is?"

"No one is sure. Perhaps he wasn't motivating enough. Other than the bombings three days ago, there have been no other large scale protests, riots, or even hate mail."

"Perhaps his speeches were more subtle. Kur mentioned martial law. Businessmen like Tareste could benefit greatly without the bother of government sanctions, and Gavotte had the power to declare it."

"Commander, Bajorans were under martial law for nearly sixty years," Odo commented. "They wouldn't allow the intention of a military state be spoken in open court, let alone allow it to happen."

Sisko ducked as he neared the cockpit of the craft. Even with the luxury of time, Bajoran engineers still designed very little clearance in their ships. Odo did not bother to duck, he just rearranged his body mass so that he was a few inches shorter. Dax and O'Brien sat in the pilot chairs, confirmed flight clearances and finishing the pre-flight checks.

"All ready to go, Commander," O'Brien said cheerfully. "Awaiting the all go from Minister Kur."

"Has anyone heard from the Lafayette?"

Dax shook her head. "As far as we know, they are still over eight hours away."

"I don't think we can count on them showing up any time soon, Lieutenant. Contact Orta's ship. I want to talk to him."

Dax turned in her chair, only to smack her knee against a panel. Sisko suppressed a smile; he'd be whacking a few knees himself before this day was through.

"On line with Orta's ship," Dax said, rubbing her knee.

Sisko tapped his combadge. "Orta, this is Commander Sisko. Do you read me?"

A strangely metallic, waspy voice came over the speakers. "I read you, Commander. ETA, two minutes."

"We'll be waiting. It looks like you won't have Federation back-up."

"That's fine, Commander. We're not exactly on friendly terms with the Starfleet vessels in this sector."

"Neither are we. Sisko out."

"We have our flight clearance." O'Brien clambered out of the pilot's chair. Sisko put him back in it with a hand on his shoulder. The silent communication was enough; the Irishman was the best pilot among the four of them.

"General Chanu on the comm for you, Benjamin," Dax said, giving up her seat for him. She moved toward the tactical station.

"Commander, no offense, but we will lead this charge. It's our station."

"Agreed. we'll cover your rear flank."

"Assault vessels, on my mark, launch."

"Bay door secured, Commander." Odo strapped into the chair opposite Dax.

"Launch sequence initiated," Sisko said, firing the thrusters.

"Orta to Chanu. Engaging vessel now."

"Leader to all vessels, on my mark: five, four, three, two, one. Launch!"

"Take us out, Mr. O'Brien."

O'Brien nodded, his hands dancing an elegant ballet over the pilot's station. "Aye, sir. Here we go."

Inertial dampeners did not quite compensate for the sudden acceleration, and Sisko could feel the muscles in his neck tense as the ship lifted off the ground and rushed into the atmosphere at the rear of the formation. Eleven flyers were in front of him, as well as a larger transport with an assault team aboard.

Blue sky turned to black space. Hanging back as ordered, the Federation-occupied craft watched as Orta's ragtag ship of Klingon, Romulan and Orion technologies led the assault on the freighter turned weapons cruiser.

The freighter was outclassed by Orta's ship. Orta had disabled the launch bay that the smaller, more versatile attack craft were housed in. None of those smaller ships joined in the defense.

Exploding engines flared in the blackness. Small bits of floating plasma ignited with the explosion, and diffused like fizzling firecrackers when their fuel was expelled.

"That was easy," O'Brien said as the last of the explosions ended.

"Leader to 5, take care of our guests. Disable their weapons. We don't need a flank attack. All others converge on the station. ETA thirty minutes."

"Now comes the hard part," Sisko sighed.

- -

Bashir dropped to the floor of the service bay, landing clumsily on his feet and making a rolling dive for any ground cover. Shivers of pain shot up his shins, residing in his knees. He was not used to jumping from heights of over seven meters without a foam pad to cushion the fall. Now he knew why. His back, shoulders and knees did not appreciate the beating.

He paused for a few seconds before heading for the runabout's hatch. It was locked, as he expected, so he rapped his knuckles on the hull, hoping Quark was the kind to ask questions first, then shoot.

When the access hatch opened, Quark yanked him in without preamble. Bashir lost his footing and fell to the ground.

"It's nice to see you, too, Quark," he remarked, seating himself against the wall. The warm air and bright lights inside the Ganges were a welcome sight, and after crawling through miles of crawlways, all he wanted to do was sleep.

Quark quickly secured the door and re-established whatever safety precautions they'd installed. "We just got another message from Sisko. They're going to attack any minute now!"

"Now? Have you heard from Kira?" The thought of sleep left his mind.

"No."

Bashir stood, stepped towards the door. "I have to go out and look for her."

"No." Jorn put a restraining hand on Bashir's shoulder. "Kira must fight her own battles. Do not go."

Bashir shook his head. "I have to. They know we've been tampering with the systems. They'll send reinforcements."

"But your arrival will split her attention. Trust me on this. I was a resistance fighter long before you were born." Jorn threw a blanket over Bashir's shoulders and after noticing the yound doctor's bloodied knuckles, fetched a med kit to take care of them.

"You were a resistance fighter?" Bashir asked, his muscles craving blessed inactivity.

"I thought you said you were an engineer?" Quark asked.

"We all fought in our own way. I've only been in religious service for twenty years or so. I am over one hundred years old. There was time for a lot of things. Now, Dr. Bashir, you rest. We'll keep watch."

Bashir fought his fatigue and made his way to the cockpit. "I have to tell Commander Sisko about the photon launchers. I couldn't get to Two and Three. There were people crawling all over the place."

"We'll try to break through," Jorn assured him. He nudged Quark to man the communications equipment. "Won't we, Mr. Quark?"

Quark bobbed his head. "Why don't we just take off? Leave the station?"

"Not without Kira," Bashir said venomously.

Quark put his hands up in surrender. "Okay, okay, it was only a suggestion."

* * *

"Captain, Jath and Fraker have failed to report in." Malk trotted down the corragated staircase, communication head set dangling behind him. "There's no sign of Conlin either."

Baryl looked up from her study of the navigation sensors, an icy glare in her eye. Jath and Fraker were posted at the third weapons sail with the extra photons.

"I've asked Cer to check them out. I'm expecting his report any minute."

"Send a patrol to the other weapons sails, with status reports every five minutes. Where was Conlin's last known location?"

"Level 23, lower core."

Baryl was in the turbolift before the words left his mouth. "They're after the reactors and the photons." She stopped short of ordering the lift to a destinaiton, and began pacing. The cool, organized front fell to seething anger. Wheels turned inside her head as she watched Malk hold the headset to his ear.

"Cer can't find Jath or Fraker, but he doesn't see anything wrong with the photons," Malk reported.

Baryl snarled. "Cer is an idiot. Send Kien down there, have him check things out. They must have split up. I haven't given Dr. Bashir enough credit. Quark doesn't have the nerve to pull this off. That Ferengi must be hiding somewhere with the monk. So, which one is headed for the reactors and which one has hit the photons?"

"Kira is the demolitions expert."

"Bashir's no dummy. He could plant a bomb as well as any one could in his position. He's after the photon launchers."

"Why not the reactors?"

"We're too close to the system. Kira won't risk a reactor breach so close to any habitable world. She'll send Bashir to destroy the launchers and she'll take on the reactors, maybe shut down the entire station."

"Baryl," another operative called, "internal sensors are detecting a power flux in the habitat ring, section nine. Runabout service bay."

"That's where they are." Malk saddled up to the situation table. "Blocking off the area now. Jamming all frequencies."

"Keep them contained." Baryl stepped back into the turbolift. "Lower core."

As the lift descended, she turned towards Malk. "I'll take her out myself."

* * *

Though the corridors were warmer than the access tunnels, they provided little comfort. The temperature was still cold, just a few degrees above freezing. Using the joints as cover, Kira nimbly made her way up the passageway, the pulse rifle she confiscated moments earlier at a ready position, the old fire coursing through her veins.

She knew there was no one ahead of her in the corridor. A quick thermal scan with a tricorder confirmed that much. However, with so much sodium leakage from the downed reactors, she trusted the readings about as much as she would a Cardassian. Anyone standing near the reactors would be masked by the thermal gradients surrounding the cores.

Kira crept along, careful to watch her back in case someone walked in from behind. Time was an enemy, and she knew she had to act fast. She bargained that Baryl would sabotage the nonworking reactor, set up some sort of failsafe to release the contamination into the atmosphere of Bajor as a threat. Nevertheless, she had checked the working reactors as well, and found nothing wrong. Baryl was a mercenary; mercenaries rarely gave up their lives for a cause. Baryl wasn't a martyr, and Kira was betting on it.

The room that housed the reactor was three stories high, with a network of catwalks leading to and from different monitoring stations above the man floor. Years of disuse had left a dusting of dirt and grime, marred by a number of foot tracks that foretold the presence of recent visitors. Kira followed them, hoping they would lead to the saboteur's handiwork.

She remembered the day O'Brien, sweaty-faced and swearing up a storm about the lack of clearance to fit a second radiation shield around the core, had reported to Sisko that only the Commander had the access code to release those shields. Kira studied the panel where the footsteps stopped. It looked like the saboteurs had tampered with that circuitry, by the looks of the subspace shunt. The order could come from anywhere on the station now. Shouldering her weapon, she checked for any booby traps before doing anything else.

Considering her options, dropping the blast shields would leave the station safe from contamination. That would be easy enough to do. Finding other surprises left behind was the hard part. But the blast doors would not keep the core from being ejected into space, that was the problem. Removing the shunt did not guarantee the problem solved.

There was a tapping in the distance, an isolated incident, but one that Kira could not ignore. Raising the rifle, triggering the safety, she scanned the room, the shadows, the catwalks.

A shadow moved above, Kira trained her eyes on it.

"I should have killed you when I had the chance."

The voice had a metallic twinge to it, echoing loudly in the empty room. Kira crouched beside the reactor, sticking to the shadows.

Baryl stepped into a red halo of illumination provided by the emergency lights. Kira watched her reflection pass along a glass pane in the wall, and judged the distance between them to be about forty meters.

"Now," Baryl taunted, "what are you doing down here?"

Kira held her breath, unsure of her adversary had seen her or not. If she could see Baryl as a reflection, there was a possibility that Baryl could see her. A phaser shot to the glass pane removed all doubt from her mind.

"Yes, I know where you are," Baryl called. "You never give up, do you?"

"It's not in my nature," Kira replied, checking the charge on her weapon, though she was reluctant to use it so close to the reactors.

"Well, dying is a part of everyone's nature, so I hope you've prepared yourself."

"I'm prepared to live a long life."

Standing, Kira slowly started to move, back to the wall, and eyes locked on the catwalks above. Cautious to keep her footfalls quiet, she did not hear any other foot steps in the room. She knew the taunting voice came from above and to the left. Running out of shadow to work with, Kira rolled off her shoulder and listened for any clue to Baryl's whereabouts on the catwalk.

"That was very clever of you, taking out the internal communications. But we brought our own back-ups. I hope you don't mind. Oh, and, by the way, we found your friends in the service bay. They won't be going anywhere soon."

Swallowing hard, Kira set her sights on a computer station half a dozen meters away. She pushed off the reactor wall and made a diving roll into the base of the console, turning enough to protect her ribs. After opening her eyes, an invisible hand clenched its fingers around her throat. Less than five meters away, with weapon trained on her her prone body, Baryl had a smile on her lips.

"Those headsets have come in handy."

- -

"Leader to two, your group will take on the ship to the right, diamond formation. Six, do the same with the left. Keep the channels scrambled and talk to each other. Stay out of any cross fire. The rest of you, take on the station. Target the weapon sails, nothing else. We've got to give our transport some breathing room."

"Leader to twelve."

Sisko toggled the communication circuit. "Sisko here, General."

"Any word from your people on the station?"

He looked towards Dax, who indicated the negative. "No word, but we believe they did receive our warning."

"Let's hope so, because my people have orders to shoot first and ask questions later, as do Orta's men."

"They'll be ready, sir." I hope, he didn't add. His expression betrayed his fear.

"We'll proceed as planned. Chanu out."

"Benjamin," Dax said, reaching over to lay a hand on his knee. "They're safe. No one knows the station like Kira. No offense, Chief."

O'Brien smiled warm heartedly as he made a minor course adjustment. "None taken."

Sisko shook off his demons and paced the small cabin space. He stopped to look over Odo's shoulder. "Anything on long range sensors?"

"Nothing. No incoming vessels."

O'Brien shrugged his shoulders. "At least the bad guys will have no reinforcements."

"Orta's ship will take point to draw enemy fire," Sisko explained, returning to his seat. A number of muscles in his thigh and calf twitched. "Keep us behind the main group, Mr. O'Brien; we'll pick up any loose change."

"Aye, sir."

Sisko strapped into his chair. The others followed suit. "Okay. Dax, send them an update. This is it."

* * *

Shoving hard against the steel wall of the console, Kira managed to roll away from the weapon's burst. She felt the singe of heated air roll across her back as the energy bolt hit that spot on the floor she had previously occupied.

Kira was on her feet a second later, barely avoiding another blast.

She knew Baryl was toying with her, as part of her sadistic mind game. Kira's guard had slipped in Ops, thrown off by the mispronunciation of her name. A stupid mistake on her part, paid for with broken ribs and a low grade concussion. A mistake she was not willing to repeat.

Diving behind yet another console, she hoped to gain a few seconds to think, check her weapon--

The power pack of which was jammed at an abnormal angle. Useless. She dropped the dead weight.

"Why put off the inevitable?" Baryl taunted. "You and I both know one of us will not leave this room. I have never had a problem with death, my own or anyone else's. Can you say the same?"

Ignoring the voice, Kira concentrated on the footsteps. They were circling, slowly coming closer with each passing second.

"What? No smart remark? You know, your quick-to-anger temper is the talk of the council chamber, or so my contacts have told me. Major 'Loud-Mouth' is one of the more favorable nicknames tossed about after your most recent tirade with the Minister's Court. I've heard much worse."

"I'm sure of it."

"In fact, your name pops up quite often in reference to Opaka's resignation. Some very nasty rumors have been circulating about your involvement in the crash. Tell me, were you paid well?"

It took all of her mettle not to jump out and throttle the woman. The insinuation made her skin crawl, the blood within her veins boil to the extent that she could have killed Baryl with her bare hands. It would not have been the first time.

Cool and calm. Cool and calm. The words rang in her head like a clanging bell. She had to outthink her opponent in order to outwit her.

She had retreated twice already. Baryl might assume she would stick to that pattern. She'd have to change that. Baryl was playing fast and loose, shooting from the hip. Not very accurate, intended to chase rather than injure. Kira counted on Baryl's petty need for a cat and mouse game.

The console she hid behind was low to the ground, about a meter in height. Running around it would leave her dangerously exposed; leaping it without a running start would be difficult, but not impossible.

"Captain, Bajoran assault craft on an intercept course with the station."

"I'll be right there, after I take care of some business."

Kira turned around, crouched low, balanced her weight on the balls of her feet. The fate of the station would be decided within the next hour, and as long as she could keep Baryl busy, there was one less bad guy to worry about, one less person to fire a weapon on the assault force.

Hands braced on the wall in front of her, again she listened for footsteps, mentally locating her target, counted down from three....

* * *

One of the Bajoran vessels careened past the port bow, and Sisko was afraid the pilot had lost control of his ship. Before spiraling into a firey explosion with one of the Dreadnaughts, the ship looped around, drawing fire from the enemy ship while a second Bajoran ship followed behind to take out the Corellan gun turrets.

The Bajoran ships were not much to see, but they did do a number at close range, Sisko admitted.

Momentarily disabled, the Dreadnaught pulled back from the battle. Its partner ship was having an easier time fending off attack. Seated one thosand meters off the docking ring, it took up the slack left behind when the other ship left formation.

From two kilometrs away, the battle looked more like dancing fire flies. Sisko relied on the tactical display to view the battle. Odo, self absorbed in volumes of data, tried to connect Tareste Dern with Minister Gavotte while monitoring the search for the missing ministers. Dax was busy hacking into DSNine's computer core, to disable any surprises Baryl's people may have left along the docking ring while the Chief monitored power emissions.

"Anything, Chief?" Sisko asked for the umpteenth time.

Never one to jump down anyone's throat, Sisko was surprised when O'Brien nearly snarled back, "No, sir. After Quark's last message, there have been no other communications, or sign sof power spikes in the weapons arrays."

"Until now, Chief," Dax reported. "Weapon sail 2 is cycling through its start up sequence." She increased the viewscreen magnification without being asked.

A volley of energy beams lanced out from the dorsal-like sail above the Habitat ring, scattering the Bajoran flyers like leaves in the wind. A number of shots glanced off th ebow of Orta's ship. The mighty vessel staggered, dampeners unable to absorb the blow.

A tinny voice erupted from the comm circuits, one Sisko did not immediately recognize, but the comm signature was of Orta's ship. "Impulse engines are down. Weapon systems overloaded. We will ahve to stand down until we can stablize."

"Understood," replied Chanu. "You've done your duty. We'll clean this up."

"Chief," Sisko ordered, "bring us in."

Another volley of torpedoes and phaser fire erupted from Weapon sail 2, this time finding targets on several Bajoran flyers.

"Benjamin, flyer 3 has lost gyros," Dax reported. "It's spinning out of control."

"Get a tractor on it."

"Tractor beam away," O'Brien said, manipulating the beam controls with as gentle a touch as he could manage. The spinning ship stilled its rotation. O'Brien used the tractors to right the ship and did not release it until he heard the 'okay' from the ship's pilot.

"The disabled Dreadnaught has rejoined the battle." Dax brought up an enhanced tactical display of the ship in question. Areas of structural weaknesses were marked by red dots. Power emissions in yellow. Alarm was laced between her words when she said, "They have a weapon's lock on the reactor core."

* * *

Kira steeled herself as she leapt to the top of the console and set her sights on Baryl's midsection. The expression on Baryl's face changed from a bemused smile to total outrage. In the flurry of arms and legs, Baryl dropped her rifle.

Freeing a hand, Kira shoved the rifle as far out of reach as possible. Then she rolled forward on her shoulder, hoping to free herself and make a dash for the exit.

Only Baryl grabbed Kira's ankle. Kira stumbled, having barely enough time to bring her arms up to protect her rib cage from the jarring impact.

Lying on her side, Kira scissor kicked, catching her opponent's chin. Baryl roared, but still held onto Kira's leg. Kira kicked again and when Baryl did not release her, used the heel of her boot to smash Baryl's fingers.

Baryl let out a howl of pain, bruised fingers tightening their grip despite the battering. Kira planted her pinned foot against Baryl's shoulder, and booted Baryl in the face.

As Baryl clawed at her injured eye, Kira took advantage and pulled herself free. Scrambling to her feet, she ran for the exit corridor.

But Baryl was up and after her moments later, tackling her, their combined weight slamming against the nearest wall. Kira's head landed solidly against the metal seam; only sheer will kept her from succombing to unconsciousness.

Baryl gained her footing first. Clenching the fabric of Kira's shirt in one hand, the waistband of her trousers in the other, Kira was powerless to stop Baryl from repeatedly slamming her body into the wall. Kira managed to draw up her arms to protect her ribs, then heard a resounding snap as her shoulder was dislocated. She grunted against the pain.

"You had to make trouble." SLAM. "I don't have time--" SLAM "--to continue our game--" SLAM "--right now." SLAM.

Baryl stepped away. Kira crumpled to her knees when Baryl let go, rubbery legs unable to hold weight.

"Too bad," Kira croaked. Baryl caught her in the stomach with her foot. Kira groaned, air escaping from her lungs like water through a sieve.

The deck vibrated beneath her, adding to the throbbing in her head. She wasn't sure if the room was really spinning or if it was just her brain swimming in a haze. Two blurry, half transparent images of Baryl danced in front of her eyes.

"It seems my services are required in Ops. I don't want to miss the final battle."

For good measure, Baryl kicked her again. Kira groaned and doubled over on the floor. Baryl searched for and retrieved her communicator and rifle.

"No one will save you now. For your sake, I hope death comes slowly. It would be a shame if my handiwork is for naught."

Kira closed her eyes, swallowed hard. Her tongue felt and tasted like lead. She could not get her vocal chords to function properly.

"I'll be sure to see that you get a decent funeral, right out the nearest air lock. And when this is over, I'll use your lifeless body for target practice. So long, Major."

Kira tried to roll overm find any leverage to help her get up. A flood of dizzying blackness won out, and Kira collapsed to the deck. She could hear Baryl's retreatinf footsteps echoing on the deck over the buzzing in her ears before she lapsed into unconsciousness.

- -

Bashir felt the blast before he heard it.

"We're dead. We're dead," Quark complained, voice rising several octaves.

"Shut up, Quark. We are not going to die," Bashir reasoned, hoping it to be true.

If Quark's eyes were any larger, they would have popped out of his head. "They are shooting at us, and they are supposed to be the good guys!"

"It was a richochet! Now, will you relax."

Quark threw his arms up in the air. "Relax!" Turning to Jorn, he waved his hands wildly in Bashir's direction. "He's telling me to relax. The station is about to be blown to smithereens, and he's telling me to relax."

Jorn rolled his eyes and left for the rear compartment. Quark stared after him in disbelief.

"Where does he think he's going?"

"Anywhere away from you, I'd imagine." Bashir leaned back hard in the pilot's chair, the padded cushions no comfort for his knotted muscles. Inaction and long hours with Quark in close proximity loosened his tongue to more than an occasional smart remark. Even the Vedek was showing signs of cabin fever.

Quark paced the tiny space of the runabout. "Who's to say the station won't vlow up with one of those stray shots? I know the contractors who built this place. I know the shoddy work they do."

"Quark--"

"Can't we do anything?" whined the Ferengi.

Bashir closed his eyes and silently sympathized. "No. We can't even call out anymore. They found Kira's wiring job and are blocking our signals."

Quark leaned against the bulkhead. "They must have their own portable communication array. Baryl has to be in contact with her ships somehow."

"And, now, so are we," Jorn announced as he hobbled back into the cockpit. "I've managed to tap into their system."

Astonished, Bashir stood, and offerred his chair so the older gentleman could get at the runabout's communication array. Over the comm circuits, a cacophony of voices erupted.

* * *

"Warp engines are down, impulse engines are going critical. We can't help you."

Baryl glowered at the small viewscreen sitting on Sisko's desk. The office had been converted to an impromptu war room during her absense. Ops and the office were alive with her personnel buzzing about, re-connecting the last wires and circuits so that they would be at full operational capacity.

"How did this happen?" she asked, palms flat against the table top.

"A cloaked ship in the system was contacted before the frequency blackout could be initialized. It disabled our jamming device and our weapon systems before we could put up our shields."

"Neither the Romulans or the Klingons have any vested interests in this sector. And all other ships were sent the quarantine warning."

"Message coming in from the Bruel," Cer reported.

"Put it through."

"Plasma leak in the drive coils. We're sitting ducks."

Baryl checked her tactical display for the Bruel's position. "Use your thrusters to maneuver towards Pylon 3. Are your weapon systems on line?"

"Yes, fully functional."

"Good. We'll pick them off one by one."

The door to Sisko's office was propped in a perpetual open position. Though diminished in volume, she could hear everything that went on in Ops. "Where are my weapons, Kien?"

"Ready in five minutes," Kien shouted back.

"Shields?"

"In three."

"Malk to Baryl. No sign of our friends. Shall I continue the search?"

"Negative. I need you here."

"And Kira?"

"We won't have to worry about her."

* * *

Bashir slapped the back of Jorn's chair. "I'm going after her."

"You can't!" Quark squelched.

"I can and I will." The Doctor grabbed a hand phaser from the wall recharge unit. Double checking the power reserve, he strapped the phaser to his waist, and retreated to the back compartment in search of a med kit.

Jorn followed as closely behind as his legs would allow. "Doctor, this is not a wise choice. You are putting yourself in unwarrented danger."

"Kira's life is not unwarrented!" Bashir shouted back.

"I didn't mean to imply that it was."

Bashir shoved his way past the Vedek and towards the door. When it would not open for him, he grabbed Quark by the collar. "Open this door, now!"

"Okay, okay." Quark punched in the code. The door opened.

As Bashir stepped through, Jorn touched his shoulder, pausing the young man's retreat. "Go with the Prophets, Julian Bashir."

Bashir nodded quickly, not finding the time to return the kind words with a smile. He headed for the bay doors.

* * *

"Phaser lock on main weapon turrets," Odo exclaimed.

"Fire!"

Two thin beams shot out from the wing tips of the Bajoran fighter and seemed to merge into one as it converged on the Dreadnaught. Unlike Federation phaser banks, the Dreadnaughts utilized rotary turrets of phaser cannons on both wings, now so much space dust.

"Weapons disabled," Dax reported.

O'Brien banked their craft left to avoid crashing into the drifting ship or the station's shields. As they passed over the central core, Sisko couldn't help from searching the portals. Not used to seeing the station in such a deadened state, something inside Sisko's head sent bells ringing. Even in the wee hours of the morning, the station was alive. No matter how much sleep he lost over malfunctioning power grids, peace treaty negotiations and Cardassians at their doorstep, the station was home, and he did not like to see it in such a state.

"What's the operating efficiency of Sail 2, Chief?" Sisko asked, hoping for a bit of news that would otherwise be annoying if the situation were different.

"Last I checked, she was running fine. No problems at all," O'Brien replied. "Sorry."

Another volley of phaser fire skuttled the nearest flyer.

"Clear your maintainence schedule, Chief, and hope the structural integrity field holds. Dax, open a channel to Chanu."

"Channel open, Benjamin."

"General," Sisko addressed, "we're going to take out the weapon sails. It may be are only chance to get close enough to the station to attempt emergency docking procedures."

"It's your call, Commander. Do you want to risk a hull breach?"

O'Brien leaned back in hsi chair, tilting his head closer to the microphone speaker. "That hull is made of duranium composite. It'll take more than a few phaser shots to put a dent in it. But to be on the safe side, stay away from the power conduits and focus on the emitters themselves. First, we need to weaken the deflector shields."

"Affirmative, Mr. O'Brien. Locking on targets."

"Mr. O'Brien, bring us around. Constable, I'll take over weapons control."

Odo surrendered control without protest. "Be my guest."

"Tractor beam attempting to lock onto us," Dax reported.

"Evasive maneuvers."

O'Brien released computer control of the navigation systems and manually took over the flying. Sisko's stomach dropped, bile rose in his throat with the loss of inertial dampeners. The small flyer spun and trickled around to avoid the tractor beam's snare. One of the other Bajoran ships was not so lucky. It pulled and fought against its restraints like a fly caught ina spider's web.

Safeties released, Sisko waited for his chance to strike. As long as O'Brien could avoid the sweeping tractor beams, and keep their little ship from becoming a permanent attachment to the habitat ring, he could get off a clear shot at the phaser emitters, and maybe take out the tractors for good measure.

When he thought he had a clear shot, he took aim to fire, but his shot fell wide as O'Brien jarred the tiny craft to a course that was at a right angle to their previous heading.

Miffed, Sisko blew air through his teeth. "Can't you fly this thing on a straight course for two minutes?"

Punchy, O'Brien shrugged his shoulders. "Not if you want to keep flying."

"Bogey at five o'clock," Dax announced. She pointed at the lower corner of the screen.

"The Dreadnaught is back on line." Odo swiveled in his chair to face the main viewscreen with the rest of them.

"And taking pot shots at our stern." The area around O'Brien's eyes wrinkled so much that his pupils nearly disappeared. The whole ship shook. "These little ships weren't built to resist a rear attack, Commander."

"Bring us around," Sisko ordered.

As O'Brien veered left, their ship was met with the ungodliest contraption known to Sisko. If the ship had not been running with phasers blazing and thrusters burning, Sisko would not have said it could fly.

"It appears you could use help, Commander Sisko," a mechanical voice said over the comm circuit.

Orta's ship flew over them, dropping behind their flanks and picking up the stray phaser blasts from the Dreadnaught. Without being asked, Odo transferred the view from the aft cameras to the view screen.

The Dreadnaught wobbled as it was charged with a barrage of phaser fire, both from the phaser cannons and half a dozen converging Bajoran flyers. Off to the side, the other Dreadnaught floated dead in space.

"Weapon sails disabled. Station's shields are down."

The last Dreadnaught lost power, stabilizers unable to compensate for the attack they were subjected. It began a slow, dead spin in space.

"Prepare for emergency docking. Take pre-assigned bays. Expect heavy resistance from within."

"Commander Sisko."

Sisko activated the comm channel. "Yes, Orta?"

"My team will be beaming into the Operations center and will work down from there."

"Affirmative. Sisko out."

Dax was standing over his shoulder, three phasers in her hand. She gave him one, one to O'Brien, and holstered the last. "Let's hope we don't have to use these."

Sisko stared at the phaser for a moment before holstering it. "Take us in, Mr. O'Brien. Bay eight."

* * *

"Dammit all to hell!" Bashir bellowed, banging his fists against the airlock.

Between the time he had reached the runabout service bay and the time they monitored the terrorist's transmissions, Baryl must have discovered they were hiding in the bay and locked them in. Even the manual override switches were disabled. Bashir had spent the better part of the little time he figured he had crawling through spaces only big enough for one of DSNine's rodent species, sentient or otherwise.

Scratched, snared, bruised and bloodied, Bashir did not find the obstacle the least bit amusing. In the corridors of the Habitat ring, it could take hours to find a broken door or a crawlspace big enough for him to get through to the central core. He did not have hours, and he suspected Kira didn't either.

He back-tracked down the corridor he had just come from, hoping to find an opening he had missed. Now that he needed them, he could not find any.

The station continued to shake under the barrage of phaser fire. His calves burned with the exertion required to maintain his balance.

"A vacation. I will put in for a vacation when this over," he commiserated. "I will pack up my bags, grab the first shuttle to Risa. That's what I'll do... after I stop talking to myself. Get a grip, Julian. Find the door. Find the--"

Bashir almost fell over in a bout of exhaudted laughter. A side panel, two meters high and half a meter wide, was displaced from its tracks. Pushing it aside, Bashir peered inside the wall panel. There was half a meter clearance behind the outer wall, plenty of room to maneuver. He stepped inside.

Without a flashlight it was hard to discern how far the tunnel actually went, but he didn't care. Arms outstretched, he felt his way down the passage, careful not to trip over anything, or anyone, god forbid, on the ground.

* * *

"Baryl, the Bajoran flyers are attempting to dock."

"Block all entrances from the docking ring and get all available personnel down to the Promenade," Baryl ordered. "Do everything as planned. They will beam into Ops and try to take back the station. Transfer command post to the security office."

* * *

Bashir heard noise outside the confining walls of his secret passage, boots pounding on metallic walkways, voices mumbling incoherently. They were headed for the docking ring, and from the sound alarm bells ringing signifying a manual docking, they were the welcoming committee.

Not wanting to get caught in any crossfire, Bashir remained in his hiding place, using the little illumination from his tricorder to light the way. Quelching the urge to sneeze, he tried not to rub up against too many walls, lest be showered with more dust than he cared for. He hoped to get out before the pressure in his sinuses became unbearable.

An eruption of phaser fire caught him off guard. Instinctively he fell to his knees and covered his head with his arms. People were yelling, phasers were whining, the battle was getting closer and Bashir could not tell which side was winning, let alone who played for which team.

A stray blast came awfully close, scorching the wall to his left. It radiated an intense amount of heat, burning his skin due to his close proximity to the wall. Bashir scrambled forward, away from the blistering metal, and looked for a way out.

* * *

When Sisko left the airlock, he wondered why Baryl did not have her own little welcoming committee waiting for them. Prepared for a fight, he did not notice how much the temperature dropped until he touched the wall.

Every corridor was sealed tight, the giant gear-like doors welded into place. It took a lot more time than he had, and a considerable amount of phaser power they could not spare, to cut through the door. They had made it to the juncture near the Habitat ring when the welcoming committee arrived.

Diving for cover, Dax and O'Brien took to one side, lying low as phaser beams lanced above their heads. Odo stood behind Sisko, unarmed.

"There are three of them, Commander," Odo reported, a microthin orange filament reforming into the tip of the shape-shifter's finger. "Armed with assault rifles. Two along the west wall, one along the east."

Sisko nodded to Dax and O'Brien. "You two take the left. Heavy stun only. These people may know the location of the missing ministers."

"Understood," O'Brien replied. "Lieutenant, I'll take the blonde, you take the brunette."

Dax retuned her phaser. "Got it, Chief. On three."

"One, two, three!"

O'Brien dropped to his stomach and rolled, just outside the portal to get a clean shot at the lead man on the left, picking him off with one burst. Taken by surprise by an attack so low to the ground, the other attacker drew his attention to the supine engineer. Dax took advantage of his momentary inattention and drilled him in the chest.

At the same time, the third attacker was giving Sisko problems. Hidden behind one of the massive metal joints in the corridor, Sisko could not get a clean shot.

"Where is he?" Dax shouted over the noise, helping O'Brien up off the floor.

"Twenty-five meters down, behind the next juncture."

"He may have friends coming as back up," Odo said, cringing just a little as the intruder continued to fire up the hallway at them.

Then the firing stopped. Dax and O'Brien froze, phasers ready.

Before Sisko could say anything, Odo lost his humanoid appearance, turnig into a gelantinous orange blob. The blob contracted until it was no bigger than Sisko's hand, and congealed into the shape of a rat. A rather heavy rat, Sisko found out, as Odo climbed over his leg.

Odo scurried towards the shadows within the darkened corridor. Easily concealed from vision, Odo made his way down the corridor. He wasn't half way down when he started to reshape himself into his familiar form.

Sisko heard another set of foot falls running their way. Sneaking a look, he saw another familiar form coming to a stop near the terrorist's fallen body.

Dax peeked over into the corridor as well. "Julian!"

Bashir knelt beside the fallen man, dropped his phaser and opened his tricorder to check for vitals. Satisfied that the man was not in any immediate danger, he looked up from his examination of the tricorder's readings and said, "He should sleep for about two hours."

"Plenty of time to get him into a security cell," Odo replied.

"Are we ever glad to see that you're alright," Dax said, taking note of the smudges of dirt on his face, hands and uniform with a bemused smile. "Where are the others?"

"Jorn is with Quark in the Ganges. I haven't heard from Kira in hours. I was headed for the reactor core to look for her when I heard the fighting."

"Has Baryl tampered with the core?" Sisko asked impatiently.

A little testily, Bashir replied, "I don't know. I lost contact with Kira shortly after we split up."

Sisko clapped O'Brien on the shoulder in a not exactly unfriendly manner, but in one that related the urgency of the task at hand. "Cheif, go with the Doctor. Make sure Baryl hasn't rigged the reactors in any way. If you have to, shut them all down." Turning from the engineer and the doctor, he said to the others, "Dax, Odo, you're with me. We'll try for Ops."

"We should start with reactor four," Bashir suggested. "Kira's methodical. She'd start with Number one and end with Four."

Before splitting in their respective directions, Dax asked, "Are the communicators working?"

Everyone tapped their combadges. The reassuring ping of an open circuit did not sound.

"They must still be jamming the signal," Bashir said, readjusting the shoulder strap of his med-kit.

"The internal comm circuits?" O'Brien suggested.

Shifting his weight uneasily, Bashir leaned away from the engineer. "We did a little rewiring, Chief."

"How much rewiring?"

Sisko interupted, "Later. Dax, track that jamming signal and shut it down. Let's go, people."

* * *

"Get somebody over there, I don't care who!"

Baryl paced the interior of the security chief's office, monitoring three separate viewers and resetting phasers at the same time. Headset permanently affixed to the top of her head, she ignored Malk's cringing as she bellowed in his ear.

"We're taxed to the limit--"

Baryl stared at him icily. In a thick, grovelly voice, she ordered over the headset, "All hands return to Promenade, take up secondary positions."

Throwing a phaser at Malk's chest, she watched as he fumbled with the phaser as it bounced off his body.

"How many left?" she asked hastily.

"We are still fifty strong. Bruell and Easton have sent all they could spare from their work crews."

"Tell them to send everyone," she hissed. "Those ships are useless now. It's the station or nothing."

- -

Sisko crept along the inner corridor, phaser drawn and ready. Dax covered their flank, occasionally checking her tricorder's proximity alert. The garrish lights of Quark's casino no longer blared brightly, adding to the emptiness of the station. All of the turbolifts were down, leaving only a subsidary tunnel access that opened near the base of O'Brien's console, or a long, dangerous climb up the turbolift access ladders to the Ops level.

If they made it to either location.

No one was on the Promenade, not in the open at least. Regardless, Sisko did not want to be the first to initiate a confrontation. Above all else, he wanted a peaceful end to this takeover, let the intruders be tried in the Bajoran courts. Bajor had much to learn from peace, namely how to accept it.

From his vantage point, he could see several of the Bajoran officers from the assault group making their way up the Promenade, using abandoned store fronts for cover. They spotted Sisko, acknowledged his presence and welcomed his assistance.

Odo leaned close to Sisko's ear. "If we could get close to my office, we can reinstate all command--"

<blatt>

Phaser fire cut off the rest of the shapeshifter's words. Fifty meters away, a group of terrorists waited, crouched behind vacated kiosk carts. One of the Bajoran officers fell, taking a phaser blast in the chest.

Sisko slumped against the wall to avoid phaser fire. "It doesn't look like we're going to get to your office, Constable."

"Or to Ops, for that matter," Dax commented.

"Let's hope the chief can dismantle any surprises Baryl has left for us."

* * *

Though badly out of breath and in need of a very long nap, Bashir perservered, constantly shifting the weight of the shoulder strap so that it would not chafe a new sore spot on his already aching shoulder. O'Brien, red-faced with exertion, manually cranked the charger that would open the blast doors to reactor 4, knowing that the room had at least 3 hours of air trapped within when the blast doors dropped. Since none of the other reactors had their blast doors down, it was more than apparent that Kira was probably trapped behind this one.

With one final pump on the primer, O'Brien wiped his sweaty face with the sleeve of his work shirt and pushed the button that would open the blast doors. The change in air pressure caused a slight breeze to build up within the corridor. Emergency lights illumined the interior. An access hatch was open near the reactor core circuitry control panel.

There was no sign of Kira.

O'Brien stopped by the tool locker located just inside the doorway, picked out a portable halogen lamp and a sonic screwdriver. Bashir followed O'Brien like a puppy on a string, turning round and round as he took air readings with his tricorder.

"Chief, ambient radiation in this room is well above norm. We shouldn't stay here too long."

"Don't worry, Julian, I don't plan on being here that long."

Walking around, Bashir looked for booby traps, maybe a guard left behind to take care of interlopers, any sort of weird surprise--

In the corner, near the metal stairwell that led to the cat walks, something, or someone, shifted on the ground. Whatever it was didn't move again. Bashir moved toward it.

As he got closer, he had no doubt it was Kira.

She was lying on her stomach, legs twisted behind her. He couldn't see her face, head turned away from his direction.

"Chief, over here." Bashir picked up his pace as he watched Kira try to move at the sound of his voice.

"Not now," O'Brien replied, already with arms elbow deep into the circuit boards. "I have to see what that bloody hellion did to me reactors."

Bashir knelt down and opened his medical kit, using his back of the hand knowledge of its contents to find what he needed as he visually examined her injuries. The left side of her face was bloodied and swollen, the cut above her eye had been reopened. Her left shoulder looked a little out of place, probably dislocated again. The sweatshirt she wore was darker in more spots than he remembered. After he checked for spinal injury, he deemed it safe enough to turn her on her back.

Kira groaned as he moved her, but it was a good sign nonetheless.

"Major, can you hear me?" She didn't respond, until he tried to move her left arm. She writhed in pain, unable to draw enough air into her lungs for a cry. Bashir administered a general anethesia, and the writhing stopped.

"Chief, how's it going over there?" he asked again, preparing another hypospray.

"Not now, Julian."

Bashir found her pulse, checked her eyes, nose and ears for any cerebral discharge. He didn't like the look of the bloodstains on her shirt, or the sound of her labored respiration. She swallowed, turned her head to avoid his minstrations.

Unfolding his tricorder, he prompted, "That's it Kira, c'mon. Talk to me. Just a little sign."

In a very weak voice, Kira started mumbling. Bashir leaned in closer to hear better.

"Cold," she stammered.

Bashir smiled, glad that she wasn't berating him yet again. "Hypothermia. Your core temperature has dropped almost ten degrees," he explained, brushing away bloodied bangs of hair from her forehead. "It has probably kept you from bleeding to death."

"Cold," she said again.

"I know you're cold. I want to stop any internal bleeding before I try to raise your body temperature."

"Can't breathe." Her right eye flittered open; the left one was swollen shut.

Bashir started mumbling to himself as he pressed the hypospray full of blood coagulant into her cartoid artery and proceded to fill the hypo with a cartridge of adrenalin. "Hypoxia setting in, probable damage to lung tissue, possible puncture," he rattled off, more for his own use than for her.

He looked up to see what O'Brien was doing. "Chief, we have to get Kira to the Infirmary, the sooner the better."

"Not without power to the 'lifts," O'Brien replied, wiping his hands on his trousers. "Dammit, I can't find a problem with this."

"Isn't that a good sign, Chief?"

"Not if it's something I've never seen before."

"Are you sure something has been done to this reactor? It's been deactivated for years."

"No. That's the problem.." O'Brien ripped his hands through his hair as he stared ruddy-faced at the mess of circuitry in front of him. "It's here. I know it is."

Bashir searched through the med-kit for a thermal blanket. He unfolded it, set the thermostat control, and covered Kira with it. Kira moaned quietly as he cocooned her in the blanket, unintentionally jarring any number of sore spots on her anatomy.

"Hold on... what's this?" Bashir heard the engineer ask as he checked Kira's vitals again. He laid a hand her forehead, cleaned out the the cut above her eye as he listened to O'Brien mumbled his way through circuit systematics.

"What did you find?" the doctor asked, a little curious when the mumbling stopped.

"Some sort of shunt... I think. I need to get at the code circuitry."

"We're going to need a stretcher, Chief. Think you pull that out of your magic hat?"

Kira tried to sit up. "I can walk--" Her head never left the floor.

"We may not have time to wait for a stretcher," O'Brien said, rubbing his chin. "I can't remove this shunt without bringing down the blast doors."

* * *

"You know, I am really tired of getting shot at," Sisko complained, after daring to peak around the corner to see where the enemy was. One took a pot shot at his head.

"Kind of makes you wish you never got up this morning, doesn't it?" Dax replied, equally punchy and annoyed.

"Hate to tell you this, Old Man, but 'this morning' was almost thirty hours ago."

"Really? It only seems like twenty."

Odo growled, "This isn't helping. We should have been the ones to take Ops, not Orta and his renegades."

"You don't trust him?" Sisko asked.

If it had been safe to stand in indignation, Odo would have done it. "I trust no one."

"Glad to hear it." Sisko sat on his haunches, back against the wall. Dax sat to his left, busy manipulating her tricorder. "Have you found us a clean channel yet, Old Man?"

Dax didn't look away from the tiny screen. "Give me a second. I did a better job of scrambling circuits than I thought."

"I have a feeling Kira and Bashir had more to do with this than you did, Lieutenant," Odo commented.

"That's why I'm trying to go through the library files. There-- I've left a message on as many monitors I could reach."

"Can you reach O'Brien that way?' Sisko asked.

"Not unless he's looking at a tricorder. The monitors in the reactor core aren't wired for access to the library files."

"Try it anyways. Bashir has a med-kit with him."

Dax nodded. "I'll see if I can get his tricorder to set off some sort of audio signal to get his attention."

A renewed volley of phaser fire flew down the Promenade. Sisko leaned forward and fired a test shot at one of the kiosks where the terrorists had taken cover. Terrorists had control of juncture 17, both the ground level and the upper tier. Bajoran militia tried to, unsuccessfully, gain ground beyond that particular juncture, only to be pushed back by the man on the upper deck. Chanu was nowhere to be seen.

Sisko pointed to the man lying on the cross-over bridge. "We need to take him out. Any ideas?"

"I may have one," Odo said hesistantly, slowly backing down the corridor.

Sisko nearly jumped after him. "Where are you going?"

"To Quark's," the Constable answered with a little more confidence.

"To do what?"

Odo shrugged. "I don't know yet. I'm making this up as I go along."

* * *

"What do you mean, you can't remove it?" Bashir asked under his breath, leaving Kira's side to join O'Brien near the reactor. He didn't want Kira to hear, did not want her to injure herself further trying to help. "You can't deactivate whatever they did to the reactors?"

O'Brien straightened. "No, I can, sort of."

"What exactly did they do to the reactors?"

"It looks like they've rigged the breach circuits, the ones that allow us to dump the core in the event of an emergency. Normally, you need a password verification to release the servos. The clever bastards must have put the password protection into a feedback loop. Remove the loop, and the core goes, and us along with it. And the pretty thing about it, they don't need the password to do it.

"I can set the system into a diagnostic cycle; all outside command path functions will be cycled to a buffer until the cycle is over."

Bashir looked at the shunt, looked at O'Brien. "Then let's do it."

"Not so fast. The blast doors are on a hair trigger. One miscue and they'll come slamming down faster than you can... blink." O'Brien's speech faltered, his attention drawn away. "Did you hear that?"

Bashir searched the room. "What, Chief?"

Rolling his hands, O'Brien tried to find the words. "A .. ah, a beeping noise." His eyes focused on Bashir's medical kit and the tricorder lying next to Kira's head. "Over there."

Bashir reached the tricorder first. Picking it up, he noticed the uplink data transfer light blinking. He activated it and read the scrolling words. "It's a message from Sisko. They're trapped on the Promenade."

"There's nothing we can fo from here, unless--" O'Brien paused.

Bashir blinked. "Unless what?"

At their feet, Kira moved her head, trying to pull on Bashir's pant leg with her hand. "Shut it down."

"What? The station?" Bashir asked, flabbergasted. "That's a bit drastic, don't you think?"

"It will give our people the advantage because they'll know about it," O'Brien reasoned. "And the terrorists can't release the core this way."

"Life support will go down," Bashir said. "We'll have less than twelve hours before we all suffocate."

"Then we'll ahve to work fast. Send the Commander a message. We'll shut down the reactor cores in fifteen minutes."

Bashir looked down at Kira. "Okay, but first, help me move her." He closed up his medical kit and slung the strap over his head and shoulder.

Kira groaned as Bashir lifted her head and back. Supporting her neck with one hand, he bent at his knees, indicating O'Brien should do the same. They locked their hands and forearms under her legs and behind her back, they both lifted and carried Kira out of the core room.

Setting her down gently outside the corridor, Bashir tucked the edges of the thermo blanket around as much of Kira's body as he could. He unfolded his tricorder, scanned Kira once more, then set to work on the library files. "I'll contact Sisko, you start on the reactors. I'll come assist when I'm finished here."

"I'll start with the back-ups," O'Brien stated, "then hit the main."

"Okay, let's do it."

* * *

The smile on Dax's face was bigger thant the station itself. "Reply from Julian. They're going to shut down all the reactors. All we'll have left is battery back-up."

A footfall alerted them to the presence of someone else nearby. A shadow of a man crept along the hallway, Bajoran hand phaser held in front in a defensive position. "That should give us ample opportunity to take out the terrorists," a disembodied voice said, since the man was still in the shadows.

Sisko relaxed a fraction. "General Chanu. We were wondering what happened to you."

Chanu crouched near Sisko, face now partially illumined from the emergency lighting from the Promenade. "Just scouting the perimeter, Commander. Our communications have been blocked. My men are all around the Promenade, all within visual distance of someone else. We've been using hand signals to keep in contact."

"In fifteen minutes, my Chief of Operations is going to shut down the entire station. Can you communicate that to your men?"

Chanu slipped past Sisko, and upon spotting one of several Bajoran militia along the wide corridor, gestured towards him with a number of simple hand signals. The man stationed near Quark's indicated acknowledgement of the order, and passed it on to the next contact.

Turning back to Sisko, Chanu said, "All set. My men will be ready."

"As will mine."

This time, Dax, Chanu and Sisko jumped at the intrusion, the man's approach so quiet to take them all off guard. Sisko stared at the man in the dim lighting. He was Bajoran, or so the earring said. A black veil covered most of his face. The metallic twang to his voice gave away the synthesizer attached to his larnyx. He carried a Federation phaser and tricorder.

"Orta, I presume." Sisko held out his hand. "We owe you a debt of thanks."

Orta took the Commander's hand. "We received your message in Ops. My people are ready to transport to the Promenade to help out in any way we can." He dropped a satchel at Sisko's feet. "Night vision goggles."

Sisko opened the bag, in it were several pairs of infrared glasses. He handed them out.

"Dax, do you have a countdown?"

"Ten minutes, Benjamin."

"Send O'Brien a message to return power to the station in half an hour. That will be our time limit."

* * *

O'Brien barely registered Bashir's arrival at the main reactor core, but after the younger man offered to take over priming the pump handle to open the blast doors, O'Brien was beginning to appreciate his presence more and more.

"Sisko wants us to re-engage the reactor core in half an hour," Bashir said, pulling the cuffs of his over shirt down around his palms.

"How 's Kira?" O'Brien asked, gently massaging his blistered hands.

Bashir grunted as he pumped, the handle gears rusted to near immobility. "Fine, for now. She's dehydrated, has lost a lot of blood, low grade concussion, and a few more broken ribs than she started out the day with. Other than that, she's fit as a fiddle."

The air compressors hissed, the blast doors opened. O'Brien ran the beam of his flashlight around the room, then headed straight to the controls with Bashir at his heels.

"We'll lose contact with the others when the library files go down," O'Brien stated. He crouched down on his haunches and opened the access hatch. Handing the panel to Bashir, he shown his flashlight at the circuitry below. "Once everything is squared away, someone will have to get down here to replace the isolinear rods."

"Can we get a hold of a portable generator? If we could get some power to one of the lifts, maybe we could get to the middle core. At least there I could get into the medical stores."

O'Brien removed an isolinear rod, and the thrumming from the reactor core seemed to die down just a bit. "I'll see what I can dig up."

He tapped the last isolinear rod to go. "Ready or not..."

As soon as the rod left its slot, the reactor core slowed to a halt. One by one, all station monitors within the core died. The room got dark, save for the emergency lights along the floor boards and the flashlight in O'Brien's hands.

The station was awfully quiet without the massive fans that circulated air through the station stopped.

"I never realized how much noise the atmospheric generators made until this moment," Bashir commented.

"And they'll make a hell of a lot more noise when we try to bring them back on line. If we're lucky, we won't have to reinitialize the whole system." O'Brien gathered up the isolinear rods and hid them in the pocket of his trousers. Wiping the sweat from his brow -- Bashir was amazed that he could sweat so much in such cold air -- O'Brien directed his flashlight beam towards a far corner. "Now, if you were a portable generator, where would you be?"

* * *

The lights on the Promenade flickered and then went out completely.

Phaser fire erupted from the darkness, plunging into shadows, hitting unsuspecting targets. Using the cover of darkness, the Bajoran militia advanced up the Promenade.

However, Sisko and his party were still trapped in the access tunnel, the terrorist on the upper tier still firing pot shots at the entrance way. No one had a clear shot from where they stood.

"We're pinned," Sisko moaned. "Where the hell is Odo? I thought he was going to take care of this guy?" Sisko held the night vision goggles to his eyes and directed his vision towards Quark's bar. There was no sign of Odo.

"Someone's moving up there," Dax said, dropping to one knee. She pointed to the upper tier window of the bar.

Sure enough, somehting large and gelatinous was moving over the window and to the deck below. A slender tendril whipped out and snatched the phaser from the terrorist's hand. Another tendril wrapped around his chest and pulled the terrorist towards the center of the gelantinous mass.

Odo gave them a thumb's up sign after he regained his humanoid form and secured the prisoner. Sisko returned the signal. "Let's move out, people. Our priority is the security office."

Orta held a hand to his ear. "My people have secured a way there. The office, unfortunately is heavily guarded with portable force field generators."

"Great. Let's get on it." Sisko shouted to Odo, "Constable, meet us near your office, we have a problem."

"Don't we always," Odo shouted back. He oozed through the metal girders into a pool on the first floor, then reformed into his normal humanoid self.

A Bajoran militiaman rounded the corner and stopped in front of Chanu. "General, our forces have taken all of the terrorists except those stationed near the security office."

"How many are we talking about?" Chanu asked.

"Fifteen, heavily armed with pulse rifles and phase grenades. They've knocked over and stacked a number of kiosks to form a 15 meter perimeter around the security office entrance."

"Any sign of Baryl Kay?" Sisko asked.

The patrolman answered, "We believe she's inside the office, sir, along with two of her aides."

"Commander," Odo started, "if I could get a look at the field generators, and its extent, I may be able to find a way into my office without Baryl's detection."

"Lead the way, Odo." Sisko turned to the Bajoran leaders. "General, Orta, if you could have men maintain stations around the security office."

"Of course, Commander."

"Commander," Odo continued, "our best recourse is to come at them through the brig."

"Agreed."

Orta handed both Sisko and Chanu a portable head set. "These should be unaffected by the communications blackout."

Sisko accepted the head set and hung it around his neck. "Let's move out."

* * *

O'Brien slammed the palm of his hand against the bulkhead. "Nothing!"

He was tempted to punt the hunk of junk piece of machinery across the floor, but he didn't want to chance a broken foot, or risk damaging the unit further.

"None of them work?" he heard Bashir call. The Doctor had stayed near Kira's side as the Irishman searched the storage lockers for a portable power generator. The beam of Bashir's flashlight sliced through the darkness of the core area, suspended dust reflecting the light like tiny mirrors.

O'Brien started back down the hall, shutting down his own flashlight. They had managed to find more than enough flashlights, but nothing else of use. The garish beams of three hand units lit up the area in front of the turbolift doors. Even in the low light, O'Brien could see Bashir's tired face, the circles under his eyes. While planetside, they had all managed to catch a little sleep. He imagined neither Bashir or Kira had slept since this started.

"When was the last time you slept?" O'Brien asked as he stepped nearer.

Bashir smiled tiredly as he closed his eyes. "I don't remember. Between all the autopsies and," his gaze shifted slightly towards his patient, "there hasn't been much time for sleep."

"How is she?" O'Brien asked, avoiding direct eye contact. He was not one for pain, or seeing anyone else in it. He started pacing like a cat trapped in a too-small cage.

Kira turned her head, now propped against a pile of work overalls Bashir found in one of the storage lockers, at the sound of an inquiry to her health. "She's fine," she answered, started to cough slightly.

O'Brien smiled in spite of himself. She could have, and probably would have, bitten his head off for not asking her directly. He took a seat next to Bashir, opposite Kira. "We should have replicated some coffee before we shut down the station," he said, rubbing his hands together to rid them of the chill. "What I wouldn't give for some good ol' Irish whiskey right now."

"That stuff tastes like wet peat moss," Bashir commented, leaning against the bulkhead lazily.

"All that matters is how it slides down the back of your throat." He leaned against the bulkhead as well, tilted his head towards the doctor. "Why don't you try to catch some shut-eye."

Bashir shook his head. "No. I'll be --"

He broke off when he heard Kira start to wheeze and cough. She tried to sit up, but couldn't without help. The wheezing quickly escalated to a violent coughing spasm, Kira's face was flooded with panic as her ability to breath was steadily decreasing.

Bashir shifted to his knees, helping Kira to a seated position. "Chief, give me a hand."

O'Brien knelt beside her, taking his cue from the doctor as he placed a supportive hand between Kira's shoulder blades. Bashir quickly filled and administered a dose of medicine to ease the spasms.

"Relax, Kira, it will pass," Bashir cooed. "Let the medicine do its job."

The coughing stopped, slowly. Kira's breathing was more labored now, wheezing louder with each passing second. She swallowed and grimaced, mouth and tongue heavy with a metallic taste. "I hate this," she grumbled as she touched her fingers to her mouth. What she saw when she pulled her fingers away confirmed her suspicions. "Blood."

"Just relax. This is all perfectly normal with the injuries you've incurred." Bashir slipped behind Kira and leaned against the bulkhead, situating himself comfortably in the corner. "Lean back," he instructed, patting his chest.

Kira glowered at him, O'Brien suppressed a chuckle.

Bashir groaned. "Look, if you're in a seated position, you'll breath easier. Besides, the muscle relaxant I just gave you should be kicking in any moment now. Then you won't have the choice."

Kira leaned back grudgingly.

"Care to join us, Chief?" Bashir inquired. "Enough blanket for everyone."

O'Brien shook his head, laughing to himself about the irony of the situation. Bashir had only the other day been complaining that he couldn't seem to get close to any of the women on the station. "No thanks. I have ten minutes before I have to bring the reactors on line, and hope that nothing goes wrong."

* * *

The interior of the station, devoid of windows, was darker than every other place on the station. Crawlways were not equipped with battery operated emergency lights like most of the other areas around the station. But the darkness did not deter the shapeshifter from winding and turning down tiny access areas behind the corridor walls.

Odo was well ahead of the rest of the pack. Sisko was ten meters behind, not as lithe as the shapeshifter. Dax and Orta were behind him, dodging seams as they tried to keep up with Odo.

"How much further?" Sisko staged whispered.

"Another twenty meters to the access panel inside the connecting corridor between my office and the brig," Odo answered. "I will go and scout ahead through the air ducts. I am afraid you're too big--"

"Chanu to Sisko. We're detecting movement within the security office."

"Can you get through the perimeter?" Sisko asked.

"No, I'm afraid."

"How about a closer look inside the office?" Sisko noticed that Odo had lept into the ductwork above and had scurried towards the office.

"Impossible from my position. I will--"

Their conversation was abruptly cut off by a powerful jolt. Rocked inside the tiny crawlway. Sisko's head cracked against the wall. Dax let out a sharp cry and crumpled to the ground.

Sisko touched the back of his head, feeling something slick and wet. "What the--"

* * *

"--hell was that?" O'Brien exclaimed as he caught his knees before they could buckle again. His shoulder throbbed because of a run-in with the wall.

"Chief, what's going on?" Bashir called, more annoyed than curious. Thankfully, Kira had fallen into a fitful, drug induced sleep, and missed the jolt.

O'Brien bullied his way against the aching muscles and darkening blotches that danced in front of his eyes, slowly making his way to the access door of the main reactor. "I don't know, Julian," he answered hostily. Why was he expected to have all the answers? "Sounded like an explosion. A pretty big one if we felt it down here."

"We have to get power back to those decks, Chief," Bashir decreed, his voice bouncing off the metallic walls.

Under his breath, O'Brien mumbled, "I know, I know."

* * *

"Is everyone all right?" Sisko asked, orienting himself in the crawlway.

Dax was slow to answer. "I think so." She took Sisko's proferred hand, wincing as she stood. "That shock boxed my kidneys pretty good. I'll be fine." She lent him a smile of support.

"Orta?"

The Bajoran was already on his feet, dusting himself off. "Fine, Commander."

A chilling thought ran through Dax's head. The blast point was the security office. "Odo."

Sisko activated his headset. "Sisko to Chanu. What's happened?"

"It's a mess out here, Commander. All terrorists were taken out with the blast, inside and outside the security office. I have a few wounded to deal with out here."

"Are you sure tey are all neutralized?" Sisko asked.

"We're conducting a body count now. Be prepared, nevertheless."

"Have you seen our security chief?"

"I'm right here, Commander." Odo emerged from the darkened hallway, his "uniform" looking a bit singed.

"Are you all right?" Dax asked, shining a flashlight up and down to account for any injuries.

"Fine, lieutenant. I'm afraid I cannot say the same for anyone within the security office." He turned around and headed back the way he came.

Inside the connecting corridor between the brig and the security office. The air smelled of burnt plastic, leather and flesh. Smoke filled every available pore space, making the air nearly unbreathable. Sisko held his firearm up around his nose and mouth to screen as much of it as possible. Dax unsuccessfully suppressed a number of coughs and finally resigned herself to letting the fit have its way. Odo led them towards the security office.

The entire outer wall had been blown away. Parts of the security door were now embedded in a wall across the Promenade. Odo's desk as no where to be seen. Most of the monitors had been destroyed in the blast. Sisko had not seen so much destruction to the office since the Ibudan incident.

Two dark, slick splotches along the west wall caught Sisko's eye. "Any remains?"

"The victims were charred beyond recognition, but there is enough to do a DNA analysis." Odo roamed what was left of his office, ignoring the parade of body bags in front of what used to be his front door. "My estimate, two bodies."

"Two? Not three?" Nausea won out, and forced Sisko to move his eyes away from what was left of the bodies.

Odo nodded. "Two. It is possible that a body could have been disintegrated in the blast." His incredulous tone told Sisko that his security cheif did not subscribe to that theory.

"A blast that large would have put a hole in the hull, not just the wall," Sisko reasoned. "Someone escaped."

The lights came on, first in the Promenade, casting strange shadows in the security office, where the lights no longer worked. Sisko stepped out onto the Promenade. The blast was enough to throw shrapnel deep into the bodies of men defending the entrance. A number of Orta and Chanu's people helped injured Bajorans toward the Infirmary.

"First priority, we get to Ops, re-establish control of the station. Bring everything back on line and contact Starfleet for a tow back to the wormhole. Also, contact Bajor to tell them that the station is safe." Sisko headed for the nearest turbolift. The door opened, but all he saw was an empty shaft. The car was no where to be seen. He sighed, not looking forward to a climb up to Ops. "Somebody find O'Brien."

* * *

"Power's back on, Chief," Bashir announced, too giddy for his own good. He yawned noisily, looked down to his charge. Kira was just starting to stir , struggling to sit up again. He didn't want to give her any more medication, even if she would have allowed him to give her more.

Bashir reached up behind him to press the release button to open the turbolift doors. Thankfully the car was present. He slowly and carefully pushed Kira off his chest and slipped out from behind her. Gently lying her on the deck and checked the controls. A deep frown crossed his features.

Rubbing the tired expression from his face, Bashir called, "Chief, the 'lift is down."

O'Brien emerged from the main reactor core, wiping his hands on his trousers. "I was afraid that might happen. The 'lift control circuitry is located ten decks up. I can get up there in, say, fifteen minutes."

"Sisko to O'Brien. Do you read me?"

A wide grin split O'Brien's face. "Loud and clear, Commander."

"We have a bit of a mess to deal with up here. A lot of systems are still out. How soon will you be availabe?"

"Reactor core's fine. I can get everything back on-line once I get to Ops to assess the damage. But the turbolifts are down. I suspect the transporter is out too."

Bashir hit his combadge. "Commander, I need to get Kira to the Infirmary immediately."

Sisko hesitated on the other end of the line. "Orta has given us permission to use his transporters to get you to the Infirmary. We're sending your coordinates to his ship right now."

"Aye, sir." Bashir kneeled down beside Kira. "Just relax. Everything's going to be fine."

Kira glared at him through sleep starved eyes. "If you start singing that stupid lullabye, I will have to hurt you."

Bashir laughed, much to O'Brien's puzzled expression. The grip of a transporter took hold of his body, and for a few nanoseconds, he let his own body relax.

- -

Bashir was the last to join the group in Ops, dragging his feet in exhaustion, but none the less for wear. Sisko met him at the top of the stair with a cup of raktigeno that was strong even by Klingon standards. The Doctor gladly accepted, and payed more attention to the sweat aroma pouring through his nostrils than the stairs he almost tripped down. O'Brien caught him as he landed.

Sheepishly, Bashir smiled at O'Brien. "Thanks." He fumbled with his coffee mug; not a drop had been spilt when he slipped down the last stair. The adrenalin had stopped pumping after he had Kira settled in the Infirmary, now under the watchful eye of one of the field medics he had appropriated from Chanu's group. The General had already left to debrief the Provisional Government on the details of the attack. He left his troops behind to help in the cleanup effort.

Sisko gave Bashir his chair. "We'll try to keep this short. Doctor, I know you probably haven't slept in almost forty hours."

Bashir nodded his appreciation.

"All right. I want to know how this happened and why. But first, a status report. Are our systems on line yet?" Sisko asked, getting down to business.

O'Brien reported first. "Luckily, we were able to get most of our systems, most importantly life support, back on after the shut down. Shields and weapons are operable, thanks to the terrorists, and in better shape than before. Some minor electrical subsystems are out; the lights on the Promenade will probably be on the fritz for the next day or two, and I will have to get down into the computer core to re-establish the internal communication array, thanks to Kira and Bashir."

"We didn't think you had enough to do around here, Chief," Bashir responded. O'Brien gave him a spiteful snarl.

"Unfortunately," Dax continued, "the terrorists must have decided that they didn't want anyone to have communications with the outside. This area was been flooded with antilepton interference. We'll have to wait until it dissipates to contact Starfleet, or anyone else, for that matter."

"Or perhaps they wanted to mask an escape," Odo stated. "The eyewitness accounts from Chanu's troops indicate that there were three people inside the security office before the explosion. I have evidence that there were only two men in the office at the time of the explosion. DNA analysis of the remains give the identities of the two victims as Malk Po and Cer Rowell, known associates of Baryl Kay. Baryl Kay remains unaccounted for."

"Did Orta's ship register any vehicles leaving the area?" Sisko asked. "Could she still be on the station?"

O'Brien shook his head. "Negative on both counts, sir. Orta has said that they had no visual contact with any vessels after the raid, but that does not rule out interference from the antilepton blanket. It is possible that a small ship could have slipped out. The internal sensor array was one of the first things to come back on line after the shut down. Every life sign blip is accounted for, and even the random blips. You may be happy to know that the voles have not died, yet."

"Okay, so there is a possibility our ring leader is still alive. And I suppose we don't have access to bank records or anything of that sort to see if she's been paid yet?"

Odo answered, "Technically, she doesn't exist. But Quark may know more about how her money comes and goes, if we could ever find him."

Bashir tossed his head back and swore silently to himself. "Quark! I left him with Vedek Jorn in the Ganges. They don't know the siege is over."

"Somebody get him up here. I want his take on this," Sisko ordered.

Odo climbed the stairs to the turbolift as he replied, "I'll get him, and I suggest you change the access codes to that runabout very soon. He's had unmonitored access to those controls for--"

"Nine, ten hours at least," Bashir answered, shaking the fog from his brain.

Odo nodded, and ordered the 'lift to descend to the runabout storage bays.

"Then the big question is why? Why the station?" Sisko asked. "It's an awful lot of trouble to move the station to an orbit around Bajor, especially when they must have known Starfleet and the Bajoran Provisional Forces would do something about this."

Dax shrugged her shoulders. "Another decoy?"

"You mean like the bombings on Bajor?" Bashir asked.

"Exactly." Sisko started to pace. "We assumed that the bombings were designed to draw our attention away from the station. What if they also used the station as a decoy for something bigger?"

Bashir shook his head. ""Like what?"

Dax's eyes opened wide. "The relief shipment."

That was not the answer Sisko wanted to hear. A dogged determination crossed his face. He did not like to be duped.

A proximity alert sounded. All eyes turned to the viewscreen. Dax jumped to her station to monitor whatever was coming in.

"It's the Lafayette, Benjamin," Dax reported. "They're hailing us. I'm attempting to find a clear channel through the antilepton interference."

The viewscreen changed from starscape to a bridge scene. An Asian woman, slightly older than Sisko, with upswept hair and a bewitching stare, sat in the Captain's chair.

"I am Commander Sisko of Deep Space Nine. Nice of you to finally join the party." Sisko hoped he did not sound too sarcastic, but lack of sleep did not put him in a good mood.

"Captain Sulu of the Lafayette. Better late than never,I always say."

"Sulu? As in Hikaru Sulu?" Dax asked.

Captain Sulu gazed at the Trill inquisitively. "Yes, he was my grandfather. Did you know him?"

Everyone in Ops turned towards Dax, faces a reflection of bemusement and wonder. Dax almost blushed. "Curzon Dax met him once, very very early in his diplomatic career, during the treaty negotiations that followed the Khitomer conference."

"What took you so long to get here, Captain?" Sisko asked, bringing the conversation back to more important issues.

"We ran into a little trouble on the way here. We received a distress call from a convoy in the Beratis sector, near the demiliterized zone."

Sisko groaned, "The Bajoran relief shipments?" He cringed, hoping she would answer in the negative.

"I'm afraid so. Four raiders came in, took the convoy and its escort by surprise. Everything was taken. We attempted a chase, but the raiders eluded capture."

Sisko shook his head. His shoulders drooped. To no one in particular, he said, "That is what this is all about. Those relief supplies. They could have fed and clothed thousands this winter, maybe hundreds of thousands."

"We've heard rumors of a rebel group growing influence in the DMZ," Captain Sulu offered. "Activity has been high in the area over the past few months in response to our treaty with the Cardassians."

Sisko stood tall, despite the urge to crawl into the nearest hole. "I think it may be more incidious than that, Captain. Thank you for your help. If you could give us a tow back to the wormhole, we'd greatly appreciate it."

"Whenever you're ready, Commander. Sulu out."

"What do you mean, 'more incidious'?" Dax asked.

"Fuel for the fire, Old Man." Sisko sat on the stair leading up to his office. "Factions are just itching for a reason to go to war, to get rid of the Provisional Government, anything so long as they are in power. Taking relief shipments is just going to aggrevate the problem. Someone very powerful is behind all of this, and I do not look forward to the day when we are forced to confront this person."

* * *

"You are supposed to be resting."

"Leave me alone. Harass someone else for a change," Kira said, rubbing the faint pink line that remained from the auto-suture. It itched like hell, and nit-picking at it kept her mind off her equally if not more so, itchy ribs. She was sitting up on the biobed, legs swung over the side.

Bashir crossed his arms and stood defiantly in front of her. "There is no one left to harass. The civilians return in three hours. Until then, I'm all yours. So, please follow my orders. Lie down."

"Go practice your medicine in an open air-lock," Kira growled.

"You must be feeling better. Threats are always a good indication." A cough at the door made Bashir turn his head. "You have visitors. Be good, and I'll let you stay up past your bed time."

Kira grudgingly swung her legs back onto the bed, but did not lie down. Instead she sat cross legged and stared Bashir down until he smiled and backed away. He left the ward; Sisko and Dax took his place.

"How are the ribs, Major?" Sisko asked, smiling as he leaned on the edge of the bed. Dax drew up a chair and straddled it, placing her arms on the back rest.

"Get me out of here," Kira almost pleaded. "One more hour with Big Brother Bashir and you may have to find a new CMO."

With a sadistic smile, Sisko replied, "Sorry. Bashir rules the Infirmary. I can't do anything about it, and I would really hate it if I had to find a new doctor. I've already put so much time into training this one."

"Ha ha ha. Very funny." Kira rearranged the hospital gown she wore to get rid of the draft that cooled her backside. She slid back on the bed to lean against the wall. Dax snickered; Kira shot her a dirty look.

Dax waved her hands in apology. "No, no. I sympathize. I'll go to your quarters and get you some real clothes."

"You're off duty until further notice, Major," Sisko added. He lightly tapped his forehead. "I want you at 100%. In fact, I have a special project in mind for you when Bashir lets you out. Low key, routine admin stuff: the energy project based on one of Bajor V's moons."

Kira nodded, intrigued. "I've heard of it. From the projections I've seen, this mining expedition could heat a lot of homes this winter."

"That's what they've told me." Sisko rocked on his heels. "Well, I have to bargain with a Ferengi."

"You mean blackmail," Kira noted.

Shoulders shrugged, eyes a twinkle, Sisko back pedalled out of the ward. "Bargain, blackmail, it's all the same to a Ferengi." He tapped his communicator. "Sisko to Odo. Is our friendly neighborhood barkeep ready to talk?"

"Stooling like a pigeon and covering his hide with every accusation, Commander," Odo replied.

"I'll be right there. Sisko out. Major, Old Man."

After Sisko left, Dax dropped into motherly mode. "How are you? Really."

"Fine. I'll be better when I can get out of here."

Dax laughed. "I know what you mean. I hate hospitals myself. But I wasn't asking about the broken ribs."

Kira tapped her forehead this time. "It's fine up here, too."

"Look," Dax said, turning serious, "I know you're not fond of bearing your soul and all that psychobabble. But if you ever need to talk--"

"I know, I know, I can come to you. Thank you, I appreicate the offer. I may even take you up on it someday, but today is not that day and it probably won't be for a while."

"I completely understand." Dax stood. "I promised to help Chief O'Brien with some computer core work. You guys did a pretty good sabotage job down there."

"Thank you. I did my best."

Bashir popped his head in the door, smiling insatiably. "You have another visitor." He disappeared back to his office, cackling. Dax and Kira stared after him, until an elderly man appeared at the door.

"Vedek Jorn."

Dax replaced her chair. "I'll stop by later with some real clothes for you." She smiled at the Vedek as she walked by and out of the room.

Vedek Jorn leaned against the side of the bed. He put a hand on her knee. "How are you, child? Well, I take it. Listen to that fine, young doctor of yours. He knows what he's talking about. Have you been sleeping well?"

Kira blinked as she absorbed the barrage of questions. "Ah, fine, I will, and as well as can be expected."

"Your spirit seems much improved. Facing your demons can be a bit of an exorcising experience. I hope some of your demons have been laid to rest."

"A few."

Jorn smiled, patted her knee. "That which does not kill us makes us strong."

In the silence, Kira heard faint music. Recognizing the piece, she said sotto voce, "But that which annoys us may find body parts rearranged." Jorn smiled, and did not admonish her for her ill will.

"Bashir!" she bellowed.

Jorn stood. "I'm sorry, he insisted I give him the name of the lullabye."

Kira wanted to scream at the top of her lungs, tear Bashir's ears off for the shear joy of watching him squirm. He was milking this for all it was worth. "Bashir!" she bellowed again. She wasn't sure what made her more angry; his little stunt, or the fact that it was working.

From the other room, they heard, "I told you to rest, and I have found this works wonders. Go to bed."

"I'll be leaving now," Jorn said, colelcting his robes and cloak. "Sleep well. Let the Prophets guide your dreams." He slowly hobbled out of the room.

For some reason, exhaustion took over. The mere suggestion of sleep made her tired. Maybe it was the music, maybe it was the medication she suspected Bashir was slipping her in the food. She hated sleeping on her back, but it was the only comfortable position. The lights dimmed as she pulled up the covers; Bashir's doing she decided. The music got a little louder as well, not enough to keep her awake, btu enough for her to hear the individual stringed instruments in the background.

Sometime during the third verse, she nodded off.

There were no dreams this night.

* * *

"Now, where were we when we were so rudely interupted?" Sisko asked rhetorically. He had met Odo and Quark in the brig. Quark sat at the head of the intergation table, looking paler than ever.

"Ah, yes. You pointed out Baryl Kay as our suspect. Now, we know she came to you to find four men who are now dead. Did you give her the locations?"

"No!" Quark bellowed. "I didn't have a chance. Well, actually, I gave her the locations of two people, but they were already dead when I found them. I had nothing to do with their deaths! I was paid to keep my mouth shut about their presence on the station."

Quark started to cringe, and Sisko knew that what came next had to be good. Quickly and quietly, the Ferengi added, "And to deactivate the security systems at Bay 12, which I did not do. I realized then that these were dangerous people and that was when I brought the--" he gulped at the memory, "-- the tongue to you."

Sisko pounded the desk top. "You could have told us about Bay 12 when we first questioned you Quark! There was at least a half hour window between the time you brought in the box and when the station was taken! You could have helped prevent this from the start!"

"I'm sorry!" Quark bleated. "I thought someone was trying to kill me. I was under duress. Minor details slipped my mind, that's all."

Odo circled the Ferengi like a buzzard. "Bay 12 is a little large to be considered a minor detail. You're in mighty deep, Quark. I hope you're a good swimmer."

Quark's eyes took on a deer trapped in headlights type-quality. His gaze darted between Sisko and Odo, wondering who would present the damning evidence against him, not that he was sure he had anything to worry about. But with both Quark and Odo on his back, he began to wonder if they really did have something on him.

"I didn't do it!" Quark pleaded. "I did not know what they were up to. I just kept my mouth shut about the whole thing. Now I wish she never walked into my bar."

Sisko took a seat next to Quark, slid the chair close so that he was mere inches from Quark's bulbous head. "You're only saving grace is that you have information about Baryl Kay that we do not have access to. If you want to save your misbegotten behind, you will tell us everything you know. We don't think she'd dead, and we want to know where we can find her. We want to know who financed her."

"I don't have that information," Quark said. At Sisko's incessant glare, he repeated more urgently, "I don't know!"

"He's telling the truth, Sisko." Odo stood behind Quark, arms held behind his back. "We have nothing."

Sisko violently pushed himself out of his chair. It went skidding across the floor. "I want to know why this station was used as a decoy. I want to know who financed this little tirade and why. I want to know where those relief supplies went. I want answers."

"Well, we're not going to find those answers here." Odo lifted Quark by his shoulders and pushed him towards the exit. "We'll have to find another way."

Sisko turned towards the wall, checking his temper. "There may be no other way."

- -

Candlelight flickered omniously in the cavernous room. The only sound was the gentle dripping of milky white condensation from stalagtites to collecting pools below.

Tareste Dern stared down at one of the larger pools, eyes lost in the swirling bubbles from some air pocket below. Nothing lived in the caverns, but they were full of life, of history. His ancestors made plans that changed the course of history in those rooms.

Another reflection joined his in the calcitic pools. If he was startled, his expression did not belay any such notion. "It is done?"

"As ordered," the other answered. "No witnesses."

"The supplies have been funneled to a carrier in the Prinlat system," Tareste offerred. "They won't be traced."

"I leave in the morning to oversee the next phase of the operation. This business between rebel groups in the Demilitirized Zone should provide an adequate cover for our movements in the area. Overall, I predict sixteen months until completion."

"Good. We'll have no further contact until this phase is completed."

"Understood."

"What of Sisko and the others?"

The other paced away from the reflecting pool. "They won't believe that I died in the explosion. They will put two and two together. They will be a problem later on."

Tareste followered her through the maze of tunnels. "I know that, Kay, and I have made measures to rectify the situation."

Baryl Kay turned on her heel to face him. "Good."

THE END

32 The Second Beast

The Second Beast

6