Star Trek: Deep Space 9
# 8
Antimatter

CHAPTER
       1

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

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

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

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

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

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




CHAPTER
      2

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER
      3

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

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

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



CHAPTER
      4

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

CHAPTER
      5

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

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

"What is your plan?" asked Odo with his usual
directness.
    The shapeshifter looked well rested, thought Dax,
after spending three and a half hours as a blob of
liquid at the bottom of a portable lavatory aboard the
Mekong. Since she and Benjamin were about to return
to the planet, they had requested that he cut his rest
period short.
    "I don't know," sighed Sisko. "We've got to get
aboard the tanker, but we've got to do so with a
chance to take it over."
    "In other words," said Odo, "we've got to hijack it
back."
    "With three people," Dax added. "Really, two
people, because one of us has to pilot the runabout. I
don't know what we're doing exactly, but I think we're
on the right track in winning their confidence." She
gave them a wry smile. "I'm using a few skills I very
seldom use."
    Odo cocked his head curiously. "I see. From what
you've told me about the planet, there are no authori-
ty figures to whom we could appeal for help."
    "No," said Sisko, "there's only the hive mind of the
Ecocids, and it only seems interested in business-as-
usual. Weapons are outlawed, but we haven't found
much else that is."
    "I don't suppose," Odo said thoughtfully, "that you
saw anyone who might be of the same species as
myself?."
    Dax shook her head. "Who knows? We saw a lot of
unusual aliens, but nobody in a liquid state."
    Odo frowned. "Of course not. If I am modest about
my natural state, I suppose they would be too. I see
that we have no choice but to remain here and try to
pit the Ferengi against the terrorists, hoping they will
rely upon us for a solution."
    "That's about it," agreed Sisko. He slapped the
armrests of his chair, then stood. "Marcus Garvey and
Jade Dixon have a meeting in a few minutes."
    Dax smiled puzzledly. "I understand the correla-
tion between Jadzia Dax and Jade Dixon, but who is
Marcus Garvey?"
    "You need to study more Terran history," answered
Sisko. "I'11 loan you some reading materials as soon as
we get back. Let's put it this way--he has something
in common with Hannibal."
    Odo and Dax glanced at one another, but neither
one could enlighten the other. Odo swiveled around in
the Ops chair and ran his fingers over the controls.
"Should I return you to the Same coordinates where I
picked you up?" he asked.
    "Yes," said the commander, striding to the trans-
porter platform. "Coming, Jade?"
    "Yes, Marcus," she answered. Dax had been count-
ing the stack of black rectangular coins, wondering
exactly what twenty bilbok would purchase, other
than an overpriced map. She scooped up the coins and
stuffed them into her jacket pocket before joining
Sisko in the transporter. "I want to make sure we
don't run out of money," she explained.
    "If there's a bill, I'll make sure you get it," said
Sisko. "Okay, Constable, energize."
    Their molecules were dispersed across several thou-
sand kilometers of sunny planetary atmosphere to be
reassembled inside a dark subterranean emporium.
As before, the Redemption Center was sparsely
crowded compared to the larger restaurant they had
visited, but the odd illuminated symbols continued to
march across the ceiling.
    Dax looked around the room and didn't see any of
the parties they were supposed to meet. Suddenly, her
eyes struck something in one of the display cases,
something she would not have looked at if she hadn't
been thinking about how to play the part of Jade
Dixon. Draped over a curvaceous form in the display
window was a shimmering, low-cut, golden dress. She
walked toward it, wondering how it would look on
her.
    Even before joining with the symbiont named Dax,
the young woman named Jadzia had been a serious
person, little given to frivolity. The path to becoming
a host was demanding and unforgiving--only the
most determined were selected, fewer than ten per-
cent of the total population. That Curzon Dax had
turned into such a roustabout was still amazing to her,
but Jadzia Dax had completely different priorities. At
the moment, one of them was to try on the shimmer-
ing gold dress.
    Jadzia had not been a sensual person, and she had
had no desire to be one. However, that facet of life had
been fully appreciated by Curzon Dax, and the power
she wielded over the masculine sex--just by jiggling a
little and batting her eyes--was for part of her a new
experience. It required further study, and these cir-
cumstances were ideal. No one from Starfleet or DS9
was present to witness her "study," except for the one
person who knew her best, and he would forgive her
under the present circumstances. Yes, thought Dax,
the dress must be part of this experience.
    Sisko followed her without knowing where she was
headed. "Just like Ferengi and Bajorans to be late," he
muttered. "What are you looking at?"
  "That dress," she answered. "I'd like to buy it."
  He laughed. "You're not serious!"
  "Yes, I am."
    Sisko suddenly got serious too. "That's not some-
thing you would wear."
      "I know," she answered, transfixed by the dress.
"But it's something Jade Dixon would wear." 
 "I don't think so," he grumbled.
    "Listen, Benjamin, we have to keep them distracted
and off-balance. Can you think of anything that would
do it better than that dress?"
    Before he could answer--if he had an answer--the
dress shifted to the right on a pulley system that
revealed another dress. Afraid it would disappear
forever, Dax reached out to touch the case, and the
glasslike substance vanished at her touch.
    Touching the forcefield activated a synthesized
voice, which informed them, "The apparel costs
eighteen bilbok."
    "Eighteen bilbok!" scoffed Sisko. "That's almost all
we have!"
    She ignored him and reached for the dress. It
tumbled off the form into her hands.
 "What if it doesn't fit?" he asked.
    She smiled. "I haven't paid for it yet. You keep
watch for our friends."
    "The fitting room is to the right of this case," said
the voice.
    Dax gave Sisko what she hoped would be a comfort-
ing smile. 'Tll only be a minute."
    Commander Sisko paced in front of the display
case, occasionally slamming his fist into his palm. He
didn't know who he was less anxious to see--the surly
terrorists and their Ferengi partners, or Dax in that
dress. He tried very hard to think of Dax as his chum
and mentor, Curzon, and most of the time that wasn't
difficult. Jadzia had all of Curzon's memories and
experience, and the levelheaded wisdom she brought
to every occasion was a reassuring reminder of who
she was. But she wasn't the old man. She was a
different person, like someone who had been through
a very traumatic experience and had been forever
changed. She was perfectly calm about being a beauti-
ful young woman, and that kept him calm about it.
Most of the time.
    Sisko's traumatic experience came a moment later,
when Dax emerged from the fitting room, wearing the
revealing floor-length golden dress. His mouth hung
open, and his throat got dry, and he tried to stop his
eyes from wandering down the neckline. He knew she
had breasts, but he had never seen quite so much of
them before. Her cleavage was accentuated by the
delicate brown spo