CHAPTER
       1

THE ALIEN SHIP came in hot and fast, popping out of
the wormhole like a champagne cork from a bottle,
the strange, smooth hull as blue as the eerie, swirling
discharge of the wormhole itself.
    Display screens in the operations area of the station
called Deep Space Nine lit with warning sensor
readouts--ship's surface temperature 3500 degrees
Celsius, radiation output well into the lethal range for
all known humanoid life-forms, velocity a respectable
fraction of the speed of light.
    At the science workstation of the main operations
table, Lieutenant Jadzia Dax scanned the messages
quickly, displaying no sign of surprise.
    Dax was a Trill--a merged being. Her outward
appearance was that of an attractive, dark-haired
young woman, indistinguishable from a humanoid
being save for an odd mottling of her skin along the
sides of her head, and the Jadzia half of her was




exactly that--but the other half, hidden inside her,
was an ancient creature, a sexless wormlike being
three centuries old that had learned to be surprised by
very little.
    A neutrino surge had provided a warning that
something was coming through the wormhole, but
until the alien had actually appeared Dax had as-
sumed that the new arrival would simply be a recent
Ferengi trade mission returning ahead of schedule.
Given that that particular Ferengi captain's plans had
struck Dax as being hopelessly optimistic, she had
rather expected an early return.
    This ship, whatever it was, was not the Ferengi
trader she had expected. It was completely unantici-
pated, and totally unfamiliar in design.
    Dax looked up from the panel and saw that Com-
mander Benjamin Sisko, the station's top authority,
and Major Kira Nerys, his second-in-command, were
still closeted in Sisko's office, arguing vehemently
about the latest crisis in relations between the
Bajorans and the Cardassian Empire.
    Dax therefore took it upon herself to scan the alien
vessel thoroughly without consulting the station's
harried commander. Benjamin didn't need the added
headache just now.
    The Dax part of the Trill had known Benjamin
Sisko in its previous symbiosis, when it had been not
Jadzia but Curzon Dax, and it knew Sisko to be a good
man, a strong and intelligent man--but one who let
his responsibilities weigh heavily on him. She had no
desire to add to that burden.
    Dax scanned the reports with practiced ease. No
life-forms were aboard the intruder, according to her
readings--but that flood of hard radiation was inter-
fering enough that she couldn't be sure those readings

were correct. The object was coasting, not moving
under power; perhaps it wasn't a ship at all, despite its
appearance and velocity. It wasn't responding to the
station's hailwbut then, if there were no life-forms
aboard, that was hardly surprising.
    If it was a derelict, some bit of space junk that had
fallen into the wormhole by accident, it might be
interesting to take a good close look at it. It might call
for a study team when Dax, as Deep Space Nine's
science officer, had the time to spare from her regular
duties--as she did not just now, since she was com-
mitted to a conference with the personnel of an
Ashtarian expedition to the Gamma Quadrant, just as
soon as her shift in Ops was over. There was some sort
of problem about allowing the Ashtarian ship through
the wormhole, one that the station's technical crew
had been unable to resolve.
    Dax doubted that the problem, whatever it was,
would prove as interesting as studying this mysterious
new arrival, but the Ashtarians were impatient, and
there was no need for any great hurry in dealing with
the unknown object.
    At least, not if it was going to drift on harmlessly,
but she couldn't take that for granted.
    Dax touched controls to call up a plot of the new
arrival's path, and discovered that if left to itself, and
assuming it was actually powerless and wouldn't
change course on its own, the object would cross into
Cardassian space within hours.
    That changed things. Given the present rather tense
political situation, anything that would involve the
Cardassians, even peripherally, was important enough
that Commander Sisko had to hear about it.
    Dax had a strong suspicion that Commander Benja-
min Sisko did not want to hear anything more about

3




Cardassians, but really, he had little choice in the
matter. She tapped her communicator badge.

    Benjamin Sisko glowered down at Major Kira.
Ordinarily he found her pleasant enough to look at,
with her reddish hair and almost-human features. Her
ridged nose and clan earring provided an interestingly
exotic touch.
    Just now, though, all he could see was her damnable
Bajoran stubbornness.
    That stubbornness might have helped the Bajorans
survive the long Cardassian occupation of their plan-
ets, but it still wasn't any joy to deal with.
    "Major," he said for the third time, "I refuse to
start a war between the Cardassians and the Federa-
tion."
    "I'm not asking for a war!" Kira shouted at him.
She realized how wild she sounded, caught herself,
clenched her teeth to regain control, then said, with
rigid calm, "I am only asking that you stop these
incursions."
    "And do you really think that I can do that without
starting a war?" Sisko demanded.
    "Yes!" Kira shouted. "Maybe," she added, before
Sisko could reply.
    "Major," Sisko said, "I would like to oblige you,
and I agree that the Cardassians have no legitimate
business making these sorties into Bajoran space, but
so far their ships have done no harm. They have not
fired a shot. They have not landed on Bajoran terri-
tory."
 "Done no harm!"
 "Not deliberately," Sisko amended.
 "But they've intruded on Bajoran space!"
 "'Where, under the terms of the agreement they

made with both the Federation and the Bajoran
provisional government," Sisko reminded her, "they
have the right of passage so long as they obey interstel-
lar law."
    "That agreement was designed to give them access
to the wormhole and Gamma Quadrant, Command-
er; it wasn't to allow them to terrorize Bajor. And with
the Defiant off at--"
    "Nonetheless," Sisko interrupted, "they have re-
mained within the letter of that agreement, and while
they have undoubtedly violated Bajoran statutes, they
have so far obeyed interstellar law."
    "And is it obeying the law to cruise over our cities at
rooftop level, running high-intensity sensor scans of
every building and vehicle?" Kira demanded. "Be-
cause that's exactly what they've been doing!"
    Sisko frowned, and Kira pressed her momentary
advantage. "Commander, they've shorted out pre-
cious equipment with their sensors, they've terrified
innocent people .... I don't think you appreciate
what it's like for us to see Cardassian ships overhead."
    "Perhaps..." Sisko began, but Kira cut him off.
She wasn't finished speaking.
    "We all lived under the Cardassian occupation,"
she said. "Some of us grew up in their relocation
camps, or worked for them as slaves. Some of us saw
our families tortured or killed there. Some of us
remember all too well when those ships were collect-
ing prisoners instead of information, and using
phasers instead of sensors. Seeing those ships in the
sky brings back all those memories, Commanderin
it's not as if these were Federation ships, or some
other civilization's; they're Cardassian, and that
means something very definite, and very terrible, to
every Bajoram So far there hasn't been any wholesale

4                                                                        5




 panic or rioting, but it's only a matter of time. And the
 Cardassians have no right there!"
     "It's a violation of Bajoran airspace, yes..." Sisko
 began, trying to calm his first officer.
     "It's not a mere violation, Commander! It's a calcu-
 lated attack, a campaign of terror!"
    Sisko's expression, which he had tried to keep
carefully noncommittal up to that point, hardened
into something harsher. What Major Kira said was
largely true, and it was quite clear that the Car-
dassians were being deliberately provocative, but he
could not allow Bajoran patriotic fervor to drag the
Federation into an unnecessary conflict.
    This improvised situation he had been thrust into,
where a Federation commander ran a Cardassian-
built station now owned by Bajor, was a constant
invitation to trouble, and Sisko wondered, not for the
first time, how the Federation Council could ever have
thought it was a good idea.
    Of course, if not for the Federation presence, some
trigger-happy Bajoran terrorist would probably have
started a war of revenge by now, and in retaliation the
Cardassians would have wiped out the Bajorans once
and for all.
    Major Kira was not particularly trigger-happy, and
was no longer a terrorist, but at the moment she
seemed determined to start a war anyway.
    That might well be exactly what the Cardassians
,wanted. Maybe they thought that if they could pro-
voke a Bajoran attack on them, the Federation would
not defend Bajor from the inevitable counterattack.
    Or maybe, far more frighteningly, the Cardassians
thought they were ready to take on the Federation.
    "Major, it is not an attack," Sisko said. "Not from
the Cardassians' point of view, nor from the Federa-

tion's. It is a violation of agreements, yes, and it will
be dealt withinbut through the proper diplomatic
channels, with a demand for an apology and a further
demand for reparations for any damages. Using this
station or Federation ships to shoot down the intrud-
ers, or to launch a counter-raid into Cardassian space,
as you suggest, is out of the question."
 "This station is Bajoran..." Kira began.
    Sisko's communicator chirped, and he held up a
hand as Dax's voice said, "Dax to Sisko."
 "Sisko here," he said, as he tapped the badge.
     "My apologies for interrupting, Commander,"
Dax's voice said, "but we have an intruder..."
  "Another Cardassian?" Kira asked quickly.
    "No, from the wormhole," Dax replied. "The de-
sign is unfamiliar. It emerged approximately three
minutes ago, and is headed for Cardassian space."
    Sisko glanced quickly at Major Kira; for an instant
he had an irrational suspicion that this was her doing,
that somehow she had arranged for this ship to pop
out of the wormhole as part of a scheme to retaliate
against the Cardassians.
    The idea was absurd on the face of it--but she had
been a part of the Bajoran resistance; she might still
have contacts within the remaining underground
groups, the terrorists who hadn't dared surface when
the Cardassians had left and the provisional govern-
ment was formed.
    But an alien ship appearing from the wormhole--
surely that was beyond anything the Khon-ma or
others of their ilk could arrange!  It had to be a coincidence.
  It was a damnably annoying one, though.
    "Is it a Tosk vessel, by any chance?" he asked. That,
at least, would be a known quantity; the station's first

6                                                                        7




visitor from Gamma Quadrant had been trouble-
some, mostly through ignorance, but in the end no
serious harm to the station or Bajor had come of it.
    Other arrivals from the wormhole had presented no
great difficulties as yet.
      "No, sir--totally unfamiliar. Sensors indicate no
life-forms aboard."  "A derelict?"
  "Or a missile," Kira suggested.
    Sisko threw her an angry glance. "I'11 be right
there," he announced; he headed for the door of his
office.
    The door opened directly into the Operations
Center--the Cardassians who built the station had
considered that a basic element of efficient design.
Sometimes Sisko wished they hadn't been quite so
efficient; having a few steps to gather his thoughts,
without being in full view of the Ops crew, would have
been welcome.
    The Cardassian designers had also been irrationally
~fond of steps. While putting the prefect's office--now
the station commander's office--on a higher level, to
symbolically emphasize his authority, might be an
interesting concept, Sisko did get tired of climbing up
and down the short flight every time he wanted to go
anywhere.
    And the steps to the transporter pad and the
turbolifts seemed downright silly. He supposed they
were intended to keep people from accidentally step-
ping into the lift or the transporter while the devices
were operating, but still...
    Well, no one had ever said the Cardassians thought
like humans. Anyone who looked at the way they had
laid out the station's interiors, at the odd curves and
peculiar angles and dull colors, would know the

Cardassian sense of aesthetics was different from
anything human.
    The station's design worked adequately, though.
And putting Ops at the top of the station's central core
was good sense, as was arranging Ops around a central
operations table where all the essential services
worked side by side.
    Dax looked up at him from the operations table,
and stepped aside so he could see the readouts for
himself.
    Major Kira watched the station commander march
down the steps into Ops, but took a moment to
compose herself before following.
    Bajor's lost religious leader, Kai Opaka, had told
her that she had to move beyond her violent past, and
she was trying to do that. She wanted to appear calm
and reasonable. She wanted to appear as logical as a
Vulcan.
    For one thing, emotional pleas didn't seem very
effective on the big, dark-skinned Earthman.
    It was hard not to give in to emotion, though. Even
the Kai would have seen that here. This was a return
of the bad old days, and Kira had to fight to resist the
bad old ways.
    She was trying hard, but didn't seem to be able to
make Sisko understand--her people were under at-
tack. Her people, the rightful owners of this station,
were being harassed by their old enemies, their former
self-appointed masters, the people who had blithely
killed any Bajoran who inconvenienced them.
    This time the Cardassians weren't shooting anyone,
they weren't landing, or taking slaves, or killing--yet.
    But they were Cardassians. And they were back in
Bajoran space. That was enough; that was intolerable.
Maybe the Federation thought a formal protest was




enough of a response, but Kira's entire upbringing
told her otherwise. If the Cardassians weren't stopped
now, it would take a full-scale war to stop them, she
was sure of it. Just sitting back and letting them do as
they pleased would only encourage them; only a show
of force, strong enough that they would respect it
without being intimidating enough to frighten them
or destructive enough to anger them, would stop
them.
    The Bajoran provisional government wasn't doing
a damn thing about ih of course; they just debated
endlessly, going nowhere. Half of them were terrified
that any action would bring the Cardassians back, and
the other half didn't dare do anything without Federa-
tion support.
    And meanwhile people were being hurt, both physi-
cally and spiritually.
    She had to make Sisko see that. He was an Earth-
man, not a Bajoran, but there had to be some way to
force him to understand how important this was. She
had to convince him to bring in Federation starships.
    This thing from the wormhole was just a distrac-
tion; the Cardassians were what mattered. The sooner
the intruder was dealt with, the better.
    Her expression artificially calm, she walked down
the steps into Ops, a few paces behind Sisko.

CHAPTER
       2

"TaACTOR B~AMS," Sisko ordered, as he watched the
alien ship on the main viewer. "Bring it in."
    "Sir, it's highly radioactive," Dax pointed out. She
was back at her own station at the operations table.
    "It should be safe enough at the end of upper
docking pylon two," Sisko said. "Or would you rather
we let it continue on into Cardassian space?"
    Dax didn't answer; instead she tapped at the
tractor-beam controls. Chief Miles O'Brien, alert but
calm, and Dr. Julian Bashir, excited and nervous, had
arrived in Ops a moment earlier; now both men
watched over the Trill's shoulder, studying the
readouts on the alien ship.
    "Locked on," Dax reported. "Bringing it in. Still no
signs of life or power aboard."
      "This might be a trick," Kira said as she came up
behind Sisko. "A trap of some kind."  "Oh?" Sisko said, turning.
  "It might be a Cardassian construct," Kira insisted.




"Some sort of weapon or booby trap. And we're
bringing it right here to the station. There could
be something aboard--a tailored virus, even a simple
bomb big enough to wreck the station, and if any-
one protests that, the Cardassians will just shrug and
say it's a part of the dangers out here. And meanwhile
the wormhole and the entire Bajoran system will be
sitting here unguarded, waiting for them to move in."
    "And how would the Cardassians have managed
this?" Sisko asked. "Dax saw that ship emerge from
the wormhole; I doubt the Cardassians are operating
munitions factories in Gamma Quadrant."
  "But how do we know that they aren't?"
  "Because we've watched every ship that's passed
  through, Major," Sisko replied wearily. "You know
  that as well as I do. And there certainly hasn't been
  time for any Cardassian ship to have reached the
  Gamma Quadrant without passing through the worm-
  hole."
    Since the Gamma Quadrant was at the far side of
the galaxy, seventy years away in normal space for
even the fastest starship, that was inarguable, but
Major Kira did not look convinced, and Sisko sup-
pressed a sigh.
    She was obsessed with the Cardassians. That was
hardly surprising, given her background, and usually
she kept it under control, but during this latest
crisis...
    It would be helpful, Sisko thought, if they actually
knew just what was going on in the Cardassian
Empire that had prompted the raids into Bajoran
space. The Cardassians had behaved themselves for
months, after all, and now there were these sudden
intrusionswnot attacks, Major Kira's opinion not-
withstanding, but what appeared to be searches of

some kind. Something must have happened to cause
them.
    Rumors had reached Deep Space Nine, in the form
of bits of talk over the subspace communication
bands, or impressions picked up from passing travel-
ers. There were the rumors, and a few fragmentary
reports, but so far, despite requests for information
from Starfleet, nothing more than that.
    The reports and rumors were consistent, though.
Some sort of political crisis was going on on
Cardassia, and that was somehow responsible for the
intrusions.
    To Sisko it didn't seem to make much sense, but it
all seemed to have started with the death of a rising
young politician named Kag Duzek. Within hours of
the first reports of his death there had been
Cardassian ships cruising through Bajoran space, and
before long they were approaching the Bajoran worlds
in a series of ever-bolder incursions.
    Starfleet had been informed immediately, and had
promptly relayed what information they had in their
computers that hadn't been classified as secret--but
Sisko, after looking those transmissions over, was
fairly certain no human being had bothered to look at
them before they were sent, as they were so vague and
incomplete as to be useless.
    And beyond sending the data, Starfleet had as yet
done nothing about the intrusionsmand Major Kira
blamed him, Commander Benjamin Sisko, Starfleet's
local representative, for that inaction. She wanted him
to stop the raids now.
    Although just how he could do that, what she
expected him to do...
 His thoughts were interrupted by Dax.
 "Docking complete, Commander. I've raised the




emergency blast shields around the airlock; the ship
appears stable, but the radiation levels are very high."
  "Good work, old man."
    Sisko noticed Dax smiling slightly at that, and knew
that it was because no one else on Deep Space Nine
thought of her as anything but a young woman; only
he had known her during her previous symbiosis.
      "Commander, I'd like permission to board the alien
vessel and take a look around," the Trill added.
  Sisko glanced at her, startled.
    "This is a great opportunity, sir," Dax explained.
"That ship is our first contact with a new culture."
    Sisko thought, but did not say, that at this particular
station that was not especially unusual. This unique
access to the Gamma Quadrant that the wormhole
provided had already brought about several first con-
tacts.
  "It's also deadly, isn't it?" he said.
    "Obviously, I will take all necessary precautions,"
she said.
    Sisko supposed that Dax couldn't have lived for
three centuries without learning some elementary
caution. If any of them would be safe aboard the alien
vessel, she would.
    "Sir," O'Brien said, "I'd like to accompany Lieu-
tenant Dax, if I may. The engineering on that
ship..."
    Sisko interrupted him, before he could complete the
sentence, to ask, "Do we know for certain whether
there's anything aboard, other than the radiation, that
might be dangerous?"
    "The sensors show no life-forms," Dax said, "but
the radiation may be blocking our readings."
    "And of course we have no way of knowing about
any purely mechanical devices there might be,"
O'Brien added. "But all the same, sir..."

14

    "There may be injured beings aboard," Dr. Bashir
interrupted.
    That decided it. "You will all wear Full protective
gear and carry phasers," Sisko said. "Stay together at
all times; assume the ship is hostile."
 "Yes, sir/" Dr. Bashit answered, smiling.
    Sisko watched the three of them hurry to the
transporter platform, Dax moving with calm grace,
O'Brien with brisk efficiency, and Bashir with reckless
speed, and he sighed. He glanced at Major Kira, but
she was reading a display at the science station and
showed no sign of resuming the argument this new
arrival had interrupted.
    That was just as well; it gave him a chance to do a
little more research. He really needed to know what
was going on on Cardassia, and his only solid clue was
a single name that had cropped up twice in the
Starfleet reports. Until now he had been too busy to
check on it, but perhaps it was time to give it a higher
priority.
    He stepped to his own workstation at the operations
table. There, with practiced ease, he brought up
everything the station's computer had on file about
Kag Duzek.





CHAPTER
       3

THE SHIP'S DESIGN was completely unfamiliar, but
Miles O'Brien thought he knew an emergency manual
release when he saw it, and that was what he found
just to the left of the airlock's outer door.
    The airlock was built into a sort of niche in the
ship's side in such a way that the outer hatch faced
directly forward, oriented so that what appeared to be
the top was pointed toward the ship's long axis, while
the bottom was toward the ship's outer circumfer-
ence. That, combined with the general shape and
appearance of the vessel and the results of the scans he
had run on it, had convinced O'Brien that the aliens
did not have artificial gravity aboard, but instead had
rotated the ship, so that centrifugal force would serve
as an adequate substitute for gravity.
    That was a fairly primitive solution to the problem,
and in general the ship did not appear terribly ad-
vanced.
 That was something of a disappointment; the possi-

bility of discovering some major improvement on
Federation technology was one of the lures of any
first-contact work.
    The door itself was low and wide, slanted forward,
the sides sloping in to form a trapezoid; O'Brien had
never quite figured out why so many starfaring races
used trapezoidal doorways, but he had long ago
become accustomed to it.
    This particular doorway, though, was only a little
over a meter high, and almost three meters wide at the
bottom, which would obviously not suit humans at
all; O'Brien therefore suspected that this vessel's
builders had not been even remotely humanoid.
    And whether they were humanoid or not in their
general build, the grip on the emergency release
certainly wasn't designed for human hands; a tentacle
would have fit it better than the armored gauntlet of
O'Brien's radiation suit.
    He almost sprained his wrist discovering that the
release ratcheted back and forth along a ninety-degree
arc, rather than turning steadily, but after a moment
he got the hang of cranking it. With each tug the door
slid down, centimeter by centimeter, into its slot in
the ship's blue ceramic outer hull.
    When the seat first broke and the ship's atmosphere
spilled into the station airlock, the temperature read-
out at the top of O'Brien's faceplate almost immedi-
ately registered the rush of hot gas from the ship's own
airlock, and alarm lights indicated toxic elements. His
suit's climate control prevented him from feeling or
smelling a thing, though; he had to rely on the gauges.
    On the other hand, O'Brien thought he could al-
most feel Dr. Bashir's impatient breath on his back as
he worked the lever. He knew that was impossible
through their bulky protective suits, but the doctor's
eagerness was so obvious that it was painful to see.

16                                                                                17




     Someday, O'Brien thought, that lad is going to get
 himself killed if he doesn't learn to rein in his
 enthusiasm. He was like a cocker pup tripping over his
 own ears.
     O'Brien paused to adjust his grip on the uncomfort-
 able handle, and Dr. Bashir proceeded to duck down
 and squeeze head and shoulders through the narrow
 opening.
  "Hey!" O'Brien protested.
    Bashir paid him no attention whatsoever, and with
a suppressed sigh O'Brien resumed cranking.
    A moment later the three of them crouched in the
airlock, unable to stand upright in the confined space;
the chamber was unlit, and their own bodies blocked
the light from the station's docking airlock, making it
impossible to see the controls until O'Brien turned on
the lamp on his helmet.
      When he did, something whirred, and pinkish light
sprang up. O'Brien glanced quickly at Dax.  She seemed unperturbed.
    Dr. Bashir, however, started at the sudden illumina-
tion and stared about wildly.
    "It seems that she's not totally dead," O'Brien
remarked calmly.
    "The sensors reported at least partial function in
several systems," Dax replied.
    "So I might've saved myself some work with that
damned lever if I'd known what button to push,"
O'Brien said.
    "Possibly," Dax acknowledged. "But your ap-
proach was unquestionably safer, Chief."
    "But if the machinery is working, surely this must
be the cycle control," Dr. Bashir called, pressing a
large red button beside the inner door before either of
the others could move to protest.
 O'Brien bit off a shout as the outer door slid

upward, sealing them into the pink-lit chamber. The
lad might well get several people killed, at this rate,
but the damage was done, and there was no use in
yelling at him, any more than there would be in yelling
at a puppy. O'Brien unclipped his phaser from his tool
belt and held it ready.
    The airlock did seem to be cycling normally, but
O'Brien couldn't resist commenting. "Dr. Bashir," he
said, a bit wearily, "you're a doctor, not a first-contact
specialist. It's quite obvious that you haven't met any
of the galaxy's more paranoid inhabitants. Among the
xenophobes of Darius Eleven, a big, obvious control
like that is wired to an explosive of at least a ten-
kiloton yield."
    O'Brien watched through the faceplate as Bashir
blinked, startled. "Really?" he said.
"I have heard that, Julian," Dax confirmed.
Something thumped, and machinery growled.
Bashir turned back to the inner door as it began to
descend. "Well," he said, "whoever built this ship
wasn't quite so unfriendly as all that." He added, in a
tone that was apologetic, "But I will try to be more
careful in the future."
    O'Brien noticed that this promise didn't hold
Bashir back from bending down and stepping through
into the ship's interior the moment the door had
opened sufficiently. With another sigh, this one not
suppressed at all, O'Brien followed.
    The three of them straightened up in a broad
passage, lit the same odd pink; the top of Bashir's
helmet scraped the ceiling, startling him, while the
corridor was easily five meters wide. The golden walls
curved slightly; so did the floor and ceiling, but that
was simply because of the ship's cylindrical design,
while curving walls were more likely to be an aesthetic
choice.

18                                                                    19




     "Not designed for humanoids, I'd say," O'Brien
 said. He glanced at the nearest wall, then stopped and
 looked more closely.
     Bashir and Dax were already moving down the
 passageway as O'Brien stepped up and stared at the
 tiny ripple in the corridor wall. He ran an armored
 finger along it, stopping at a spidery junction.
    "Conduits," he said to himself. "Now, why would
anyone put those out here, instead of inside the
bulkheads?" He studied the bluish stud atop the
junction, then took a step back and looked at the
surrounding tracery of ridges in the material, ridges
that were so small as to be almost invisible--unless
one was looking for them.
    Circuitry, plainly--but constructed in a way he had
never seen before. And the pattern had something
strange about it, something almost familiarNbut not
something from any technology he knew ....
    At last he placed it: the circuits were arranged like
the nerve cells in certain species.
    An interesting design, certainly. He wondered how
it would work--didn't it mean the ship's systems
would operate in a nonlinear net? That would call for
some tricky balancing in the data flow--in fact,
thinking back, hadn't this been attempted long ago,
and never made to work?
  Whoever built this ship had made it work.
    And O'Brien remembered now that this sort of
design had been attempted, several times--because if
it worked at all, it would be incredibly efficient, and
would create computers capable of amazing feats ....
    "Chiefl" Dax called; O'Brien abandoned his study
of the circuitry, turned, and hurried down the passage
to rejoin the others.

20

    A few moments later Dax and O'Brien watched
silently as Bashir knelt over an inert alien, awkward in
his heavy suit. Bashir held his tricorder in one heavy
glove, while the armored fingers of the other hand
pressed gently against the pseudo-crustacean's ugly
purple flesh.
    The chamber they were in was tilted at an uncom-
fortable angle; DS9's artificial gravity did not match
the ship's no-longer-present centrifugal force.
    "It's dead," Bashir said at last, stepping back slight-
ly. "I'd say it's probably been dead for two or three
days, though it's hard to be sure with something so
unfamiliar. If there were some sort of preservation in
use, it could have been much longer."
    O'Brien looked at the thing, trying not to be re-
lieved that it was dead. He had dealt with aliens for all
his adult life, including some that were fairly repul-
sive, and he thought he had gotten over this sort of
reaction, but this creature looked unusually nasty.
    It was vaguely crablike, with half a dozen barbed
and jointed legs that would presumably have sup-
ported its body when it was alive, and with a row of
manipulative members along the front of its torso that
resembled forked tentacles with elbows in them. Four
black pits arranged above the manipulators were
apparently eyes, or the equivalent.
    The low, wide shape of the thing would fit the
corridors and doorways well; it seemed a safe bet that
this was the species that had designed the ship, and
not some interloper that had acquired it later.
    "It appears to have died of asphyxiation," Dr.
Bashir added, as an afterthought.
    Dax considered that, then asked, "What atmos-
phere did it require, Julian?"
Bashir frowned through his faceplate at his




tricorder. "Hydrogen-methane, mostly--and before
you ask, that's exactly what's all around us."
    "Then what killed it?" O'Brien asked. "Did some-
one smother it? Where's its nose, or its mouth?"
    "It appears to have breathed through spiracles
along either side," Bashir said. "Fourteen in all. I
admit I don't quite see how anyone could block all of
them without a great deal of struggle."
    "I see no sign of a struggle," Dax said, looking
about the room.
  O'Brien looked about as well.
    The place was so alien he really couldn't say wheth-
er there was any sign of a struggle or not. Nothing was
obviously out of position, but since he couldn't tell
what half the objects in the room were, that didn't
mean much. The short red cylinders along one wall
were all still in a neat row, and must be held in place
somehow; the tangled black tubes that were spilling
from a thing like a square bucket appeared to have
been affected on!y by the room's angle.
    But were those two flat brown disks supposed to be
on the floor? If not, had they fallen with the shift in
gravity, or had something flung them?
    Was that octagonal panel in one wall supposed to be
open? Were those things behind it where they should
be, whatever they were?
    What had killed the alien? Was whatever had killed
it still aboard?
  "Let's move on," O'Brien said.
    Bashir looked to Dax; she didn't answer, but simply
walked on.
    A few moments later they found the ship's bridge--
at least, O'Brien assumed that it was the bridge. There
were control panels and viewscreens in sufficient
numbers for a ship's bridge, recognizable despite their
alien construction--and their arrangement suggested

to O'Brien that he had been right about the ship's
computer design.
    This room happened to be the right way up, which
was convenientmand which also implied that it
might be important, a place that would be used both
in flight and when the ship had landed.
    There was another dead alien here, of the same
vaguely crablike species as the first--though this one
had dark green speckles on its purple integument that
the other had not possessed.
    Bashir had his tricorder ready and working before
anyone could say a word.
 "Asphyxiation again," he said.
    Dax looked at O'Brien. "Could there have been a
life-support failure, perhaps?"
    O'Brien frowned and glanced at his helmet
readouts. The air was hydrogen and methane and
while it would be deadly poison to anything humanm
or Trill--the pressure certainly seemed adequate, and
it should be capable of supporting the sort of life these
crab things appeared to be.
    Some of the other readings, though, were far less
hopeful. "Doctor," O'Brien said, "are you sure they
asphyxiated? Might it have been radiation poison-
ing?"
    "Well, it might be, I suppose," Bashir admitted,
considering the suggestion. "I don't know that much
about the species, and perhaps hard radiation breaks
down the gas-transport capability of their circulatory
fluids. I see no tissue degeneration, however, and
that's a symptom of radiation sickness in most spe-
cies."
    "The air in here seems just fine," O'Brien said.
Then he hastily explained, "I mean, for them it's fine,
it'd kill any of the three of us dead as mackerel in half
a minute. But that's chemically--as far as radiation




 goes, it's toxic soup. We're taking a few hundred rems
 every minute, or we would be if we weren't in these
 suits." O'Brien shook his head. "Not a healthy envi-
 ronment for much of anyone--but it's not breathin'
 that would be hard."
     "There are species that thrive in radioactive envi-
 ronments," Dax pointed out.
    "I don't think this particular species was one of
them," Bashir remarked.
    O'Brien didn't reply; instead he glanced about,
looking for some clue to the mysteries here, and
spotted something he recognized.
    This ship might represent an alien technology, and
might be designed for a nonhumanoid species, but
there were always some things that translated readily;
the illuminated diagram on the big panel on the
starboard bulkhead was unquestionably a ship's sta-
tus display. O'Brien knelt and studied it.
    Those blue lines, he figured, indicated power flow,
and the thicker red lines would be ventilation--those
all looked clear enough. That structure that ran down
the ship's core, widening at the stern, would be the
main engine, which he knew from the ship's sensor
signature to be a high-energy ion drive capable of
pushing the ship to relativistic speeds, but not faster
than light--these crab things did not appear to have
warp-drive technology, or at any rate not any sort
O'Brien was familiar with.
    Those green patches on the drive--would these
fellows use green to indicate danger? Something about
the color scheme he had seen so far suggested to him
that they would.
    If so, then there was something seriously wrong
with the ship's main engines.
    Sometimes when things went seriously wrong with
ships' engines, things exploded. If that happened here

it could damage the station--not to mention killing
the three of them if they were still aboard.
    O'Brien traced the passages on the diagram with a
gloved finger, then stood up.
 "Come on," he said.

    The ship's primary power source was a primitive
fission pile, and all the damper rods had been pulled
--O'Brien could only assume that this had been
sabotage.
    The saboteur, however, had been foiled by a backup
safety system: when the pile had begun to go critical,
the heat had melted through a simple device like an
old-fashioned fuse, and a set of spring-loaded emer-
gency damping plates had slid into place, cutting off
the reaction before it could reach the point of either
complete meltdown or explosion.
    That had kept the ship from exploding, but it had
been too late to prevent the initial burst of hard
radiation from saturating the vessel and reducing it to
its current lethal state.
    A third dead alien was in the power room, but well
away from the pile controls; O'Brien had no way of
determining whether this was the saboteur who had
wrecked the pile, or just an innocent bystander.
    This room, like the bridge, was along the ship's
underside and therefore still the right way up.
    It was also horrifyingly radioactive. The levels that
their suit gauges registered here were several times
what the three explorers had encountered on the
bridge.
    "We'll want to beam out, straight to decontamina-
tion," O'Brien remarked. "We can't walk through the
station corridors in our suits after coming in here."
He looked at his helmet readouts again, and winced at
what he saw. Even their armored suits wouldn't




protect them indefinitely against radiation levels as
high as this. "Our friends in the wormhole probably
didn't appreciate having this thing come through," he
added.
    "I don't know if simple radioactivity bothers
them," Dax said.
    "Well, it bothers me, "O'Brien said. "We'll want to
have this whole vessel decontaminated, and this pow-
er pile should just be junked. The fuel rods are beyond
salvaging." He looked around the room, noting the
tracery of circuits built into the walls here, just as it
had been elsewhere in the ship--a very interesting
technique, that was, especially with the Besrethine
neural-net design. "It'll be a pleasure to see just how
these things work, though. These folks may not have
been much on drive technology, but if this computer
system works the way I think it does, the Daystrom
Institute is going to be very, very interested."
    "And these remains... they're fascinating!" Ba-
shir said, studying the dead alien. "I've never seen a
species like them. I can't wait to study them properly,
in a decent laboratory, with real instruments and
without this suit!"
    "That may not be possible," Dax said, with a glance
at her helmet readouts. She tapped her communica-
tor.

      Sisko listened intently as Dax described what the
boarding party had found aboard the derelict.
  "No surviving crew members?" he asked.
    "No, sir," Dax replied. "Three dead; no trace of
anything alive."
    "Any hint at all of Cardassian handiwork?" Sisko
glanced sideways at Kira as he asked that question;
she looked boldly back at him, unfazed.
 "No, sir," Dax replied. "If the Cardassians are

responsible for any of this, they're far more clever
than we've ever thought, and capable of far more than
we believe."
  Sisko nodded.
    "Another thing, Benjamin," Dax added. "O'Brien
points out that the computer system aboard this vessel
is a radically different design from anything we're
familiar with, something called a Besrethine neural
net, that neither the Federation nor the Cardassians
has ever made work. If the Cardassians had developed
such a system, Chief O'Brien is certain they would
never let it fall into our hands."  O'Brien cut in.
    "Commander, if this computer is what I think it is,
it's not only not Cardassian, but we'd better be damn
sure that the Cardassians don't get their hands on it!"
    "Interesting," Sisko said. "You think this design
would be valuable, then?"
  "And dangerous!" O'Brien said.
    "Definitely valuable, Benjamin," Dax said, reas-
serting herself. "Chief O'Brien believes it could jump
Federation computer technology ahead a hundred
years, and I concur."
    "Excellent," Sisko said. "Are you planning to look
around further? We can manage a little longer out
here .... "
    "No, Benjamin," Dax replied. "We're reaching the
limits of what our protective suits can handle. I'm
calling instead of reporting in person because we need
to be beamed directly to decontamination."
    "I'll take care of it. Sisko out." He turned to Kira,
who stepped to the transporter controls before he
could speak.
    "So the crew is all dead?" she asked, as she set the
coordinates.
  "Apparently," Sisko replied.




    "Then the ship's recovery would be covered by
salvage law, wouldn't it?" she mused aloud. "And
O'Brien thinks the computer design might be valu-
able."
"We can hardly claim it for ourselves, Major..."
She looked up at him, startled, as the transporter
hummed. "Not for us, Commander," she said. "For
Bajor. "

CHAPTER
       4

SISKO Arid KmA were still arguing as O'Brien and Dax
appeared on the Ops transporter pad, freshly arrived
from decontamination, their protective suits re-
moved.
    "We must make every attempt to return that ship to
its rightful owners," Sisko insisted. "The design of
that computer is the intellectual property of the ship's
builders, and while I hope they'll share it with us, we
have no right to steal it."
    "That ship is a derelict, Commander, and under
interstellar law it's the property of whoever salvages
it--which is exactly what we did," Kira replied. "This
is a Bajoran station, and that means that ship belongs
to the people of Bajor. If that computer design is
valuable, then it's an asset of the Bajoran people!"
    O'Brien and Dax exchanged bemused glances, then
took their places at the Ops table--neither one cared
to interrupt the debate.
  Scant moments later, Dax looked up from her




screen and announced, "Benjamin, a Cardassian war-
ship is approaching the station."
    Sisko and Kira had closed upon each other until
they were mere inches apart, arguing intently without
shouting; now both turned, startled, to look at Dax.
    "What kind of ship?" Kira asked. "One of the
raiders?" She looked challengingly at Sisko.
    "No, this is a Galor-class cruiser," Dax replied.
"None of the intrusions were by ships that large.
Benjamin, it's hailing us."
    "Let's see what they want," Sisko said. "On
viewer."
    The image of a smiling Cardassian face appeared on
the main screen, and as Sisko had half-expected, he
was facing the former prefect of Bajor, Gul Dukatm
Dukat stfil seemed to consider any contact between
the Cardassian Empire and Deep Space Nine, which
had once been his headquarters, to be his particular
concern.
    Dukat had probably not been among the raiders--
certainly, not in this ship.
    But Sisko couldn't be sure Dukat wasn't involved
somehow.
    Except for their oddly shaped and corded faces and
somewhat heavier musculature, Cardassians were
very similar to humans, and a smile meant the same
thing among Cardassians as among most humanolds;
nonetheless, Sisko did not smile back.
    "Gul Dukat," he said. "What brings you to Deep
Space Nine? I don't suppose you're here to apologize
for the recent intrusions?"
    Gul Dukat smiled his familiar toothy and insincere
smile. "My, what a friendly greeting. What intrusions
could you be talking about?"
 "Seven of them, so far," Kira said. "Cardassian

30

ships making low-altitude passes over Bajor and
Bajoran settlements."
    "Oh, dear, how very unfortunate," Dukat mur-
mured. He smiled again. "However, that is not what
brought me here."
  "Oh?" Sisko said.
    "I believe you have something there that isn't
yoursmthat ship on upper pylon two."
    "There is an alien vessel docked at upper two,"
Sisko admitted warily.
    "Ah! You've noticed," Dukat said. "And did you
notice, perhaps, that this vessel was on its way to
Cardassia? It was, I am reliably informed, on a direct
,route for Cardassian space when you, ah, diverted it,
with a tractor beam. One of our border patrols
happened to observe the whole thing."
    "I'm afraid, Gul Dukat," Sisko said, "that you're
wasting your time. The ship is apparently a derelict
that fell into the wormhole; the crew is dead, the
drive wrecked. We simply removed a hazard to navi-
gation."
    "How very thoughtful of you, Commander! But
surely, we Cardassians could have handled that chore,
if you hadn't interfered."
  "What's your point?" Sisko asked wearily.
    "My point, Commander," Dukat said, his manner
suddenly turning harsh, "is that to the casual observ-
er, it might appear that you and your tractor beam
stole this ship as it emerged from the wormhole, by
taking it to your station without the permission of the
ship's rightful owners."  "Stole it?"
    Gul Dukat nodded. "Oh, yes, a blatant theft. You
say there was no one aboard it--it seems to me, in
that case, that its original course would indicate that




the ship's owners clearly intended their ship to be a
gift to the Cardassian people."
    "The crew was aboard, Gul Dukat, but they were
dead," Sisko said. "As to their intentions..."
    "Commander, I don't really care what their inten-
tions were," Gul Dukat said, cutting him off. "I want
you to release that ship and let me take it. If you don't
release it, I regret to say that I shall be forced to take it
anyway, regardless of whatever damage to your pre-
cious station that may involve. I haven't yet locked my
ship's phasers on that pylonmit's not too late to be
reasonable and keep this peaceful."
    "You have odd ideas of what constitutes peaceful
behavior, Gul Dukat," Sisko said.
    "And you have ten seconds to decide," Dukat
replied.
    Sisko glared silently at the viewer; Gul Dukat glared
back.
    "Dukat must want that derelict pretty badly," Kira
said quietly.
    "If he knows about those computers, I don't blame
him," O'Brien muttered in reply. "But I don't see how
he could possibly know."
    "He probably doesn't," Kira answered bitterly. "He
just saw a chance to take something away from us."
    "Benjamin," Dax interrupted, "a second Cardas-
sian ship is approaching. Another cruiser."
    "Bringing up reinforcements?" Sisko said. "Really,
Gul Dukat, that was hardly necessary."
    "Reinforcements?" Gul Dukat glanced to the side,
at something not visible on Sisko's viewer. "Would
you excuse me for a moment, Commander?"
  The viewer went blank.
  "What the..." Sisko began.
    "Benjamin," Dax said, "the new arrival is hailing
Gul Dukat."

 "What do you suppose that's about?" Sisko asked.
 Kira shrugged.
 "Gul Dukat is refusing the contact," Dax reported.
"Now the other ship is readying phasers ...."
 "Shields up," Sisko snapped.
 "Shields up, sir," O'Brien said.
    "Benjamin, it's locking phasers on Gul Dukat's
ship," Dax said.
    "What the devil?" O'Brien said. "What's going on
out there?"
    "Keep those shields up," Sisko said. "This could be
a trick--and even if it isn't, we could get caught in the
crossfire." He glanced at Kira.
    "Now the other ship is hailing us," Dax announced.
"Now both ships are."
 "Put them on, split-screen," Sisko ordered.
    Gul Dukat's image appeared on the left, and anoth-
er Cardassian's on the right--for a moment, Sisko
had wondered whether perhaps the second ship was
not in Cardassian hands at all, but whoever was in
command there was certainly Cardassian in appear-
ance, both species and uniform.
    "Commander," the new arrival said, "I am Gul
Kaidan, military deputy to Kag Leghuris. It would
seem that you may be in possession of a piece of
property that rightfully belongs to the Cardassian
Empire."
    "So Gul Dukat was just telling us," Sisko replied.
"I'm afraid I found his arguments unconvincing." He
glanced at Dukat, then back at Kaidan.
    "Gul Dukat," Gul Kaidan said, "was acting with-
out the authority of the Imperial Council."
    "Oh, come now, Gul Kaidan," Dukat replied.
"Surely, one need not have advance authorization to
counter an act of piracy?"
 "No one has committed piracy," Sisko protested.




"This station, in accordance with all relevant agree-
ments, intercepted a derelict ship in Bajoran space in
order to remove a hazard to navigation."
    "I notice, however," Gul Dukat said, somehow
giving the impression of a sneer without actually
displaying one, "that you did not simply destroy this
unwanted object."
    "I will not apologize for our scientific curiosity,"
Sisko answered calmly. Also, we were uncertain at
first that there were no survivors aboard, and acted in
part from humanitarian motives."
    "Ah, the vaunted Federation humanitarianism,"
Gul Dukat said. "Well, now that you've seen that
there are no survivors, perhaps you would be so kind
as to turn the ship over to me?"
    "Under no circumstances are you to do that, Com-
mander," Gul Kaidan replied immediately. "That
ship is the property of the Cardassian government,
and I am the representative of that government! Gul
Dukat is acting independently, and without author-
ity."
    "I see," Sisko said. "And you, Gul Kaidan, carry
the necessary authority? If I establish a subspace link
with Cardassia, the government there will confirm
that you are empowered to negotiate this claim?"
    Kaidan's firm expression faltered, and Gul Dukat
smiled.
    "I am an officer in the Imperial government," Gul
Kaidan replied.
 "As am I," Gul Dukat said mildly.
    "I was assigned to my present duties by the Imperial
Council," Gul Kaidan insisted. "Gul Dukat is acting
independently."
    "But neither of you has actually been authorized to
claim this ship?" Sisko asked.
 "Gul Kaidan's present duties, Commander," Gul

Dukat said, "consist largely of spying on me. I doubt
very much that his masters back on Cardassia thought
to say, 'Oh, by the way, if you happen across a
hijacked ship, do reclaim it for us.' He is, in short,
bluffing."
    "I hold a higher position in the Empire than you,
Gul Dukat .... "
"At the moment, perhaps, but my record..."
"Gentlemen," Sisko said sharply, "surely you see
that under the circumstances, I cannot turn the ship
over to either of you."
    Both Cardassians considered that for a second or
two.
    "Indeed," Gul Kaidan said. "If I have your assur-
ance, Commander, that you will not release that ship
to this arrogant fool..."
    "You needn't trouble yourself, Gul Kaidan," Gul
Dukat interrupted. "If you would be so kind as to
power down your ship's weapons, so that I may be
assured I won't be ambushed, I'll be going. It's plain
that your arrival has provided just the sort of compli-
cation our dear Commander Sisko needs to ensure
that he can keep that prize of his just where it is.
However, Commander, I trust that you will see that
no one, Cardassian or otherwise, boards that ship
until the little matter of its ownership is settled?"
    "That should be possible," Sisko acknowledged
warily.
    "Then for now, I will leave it as a matter for our
respective governments to resolve."
    Gul Dukat's image abruptly vanished from the
viewer.
    Gul Kaidan turned aside for a moment, and mut-
tered something the listeners aboard Deep Space Nine
could not make out; then he turned back to Sisko.

34                                                                  35




    "Now, Commander," Gul Kaidan said, "if you
would turn that ship over to me, I'm sure..."
    "Gul Kaidan," Sisko interrupted, "I'm sure you
heard what I said. I cannot release that ship to anyone
until the question of its ownership is resolved."
    "Gul Kaidan's ship has powered down its weapons,
Benjamin," Dax said.
    "A friendly warning, Commander," Gul Kaidan
said. "While the Cardassian Empire appreciates your
thoughtfulness in keeping the traffic routes clear of
debris, anything of value aboard that ship is the
property of the Empire. Any attempt to appropriate it
will be dealt with quite severely."
    "I thank you for the warning," Sisko said. He
'looked up at the viewer, resentful of being on the
defensive--capturing the ship had been a harmless
and proper tiling to do. It was the Cardassians who
had been misbehaving lately, and Sisko intended to
point that out.
    Sisko didn't know this Gul Kaidan, however. Ap-
parently he was in a position of some authority--the
Cardassian Empire did not hand out Galor-class
warships to just anyone--but Gul Dukat had clearly
not considered Gul Kaidan to be in a position to give
him orders. Sisko was therefore not certain just how
seriously to take anything Gul Kaidan said; was he a
representative of the Cardassian government?
    And what in the galaxy was going on here, anyway?
Cardassian ships threatening to fire on each other?
Did this connect to the intrusions somehow?
"Gul Dukat's ship is leaving," Dax reported.
Whether Gul Kaidan was, in fact, connected to the
intruders had some relevance to how Sisko wanted to
address him--but Sisko didn't know if such a connec-
tion existed.
 Fortunately, since every Cardassian he had ever

36

met seemed to appreciate deadpan sarcasm, to the
point where Sisko suspected it was an essential part of
Cardassian culture, phrasing his reply to this "friend-
ly warning" was not difficult. Whether the Cardassian
chose to interpret it as subtle irony or a simple polite
statement was up to him.
    "I hope you won't think it rude," he said, "if I
mention that some of your compatriots have been
anything but friendly lately--and I do not refer to Gul
Dukat's visit."
    "Why, whatever do you mean, then?" the Car-
dassian asked, with eyebrows raised.
    "Perhaps this should go through more formal diplo-
matic channels," Sisko said, "but there have been
several... incidents of late. Unwelcome intrusions
into Bajoran space by Cardassian ships."
    "Oh, have there?" The Cardassian reigned surprise.
"I hadn't heard. How very alarming! Please, Com-
mander, do tell me more."
    Sisko's face was utterly expressionless as he stared
silently at the main viewscreen, betraying nothing of
his rushing thoughts.
    Sisko was certain that Kaidan wanted something
other than the derelict, or he wouldn't still be hereto
he would either have kept arguing, or have left as soon
as Gul Dukat did. In Sisko's experience Cardassians
never did anything unless they expected to gain from
it somehow. Kaidan's visit raised many questions,
and the first question Sisko wanted answered was just
what this particular Cardassian wanted.
    And once he knew that, Sisko would worry about
whether Kaidan should be permitted to have whatever
it was he had come for.
    There had not been time yet for word of the
derelict's arrival to have reached Cardassia, and a ship
sent out; both Gul Dukat and Gul Kaidan must have




already been in the area. Therefore, the derelict was
not what had brought them.
    Sisko was sure now that there was some connection
between Kaidan's presence and the earlier hit-and-
run raids--or rather, intrusions; he would have to
remember that officially they weren't really raids, as
no weapons were fired, no plunder taken. Kaidan's
ignorance was blatantly false--as if he wanted Sisko
to know it was a lie.  But why?
    Did Kaidan really want the derelict? How could he
possibly know whether it was valuable? Sisko himself
had only just learned that O'Brien thought the
onboard computers were something special; Gul
Kaidan simply couldn't have known that, not unless
ships like this had appeared before, and been captured
by the Cardassians.
    And if they had, then the Cardassians would have
already had the computer technology that O'Brien
was so enthusiastic about. That couldn't be it.
    So Gul Kaidan's interest in the derelict was proba-
bly just a matter of making sure that Gul Dukat didn't
get it.
    What was going on in the Cardassian Empire that
had these officers at each other's throats?
    "I find myself somewhat confused, Gul Kaidan,"
Sisko said. "I had thought that the Empire kept a
watchful eye on its subordinates."
     "Ordinarily it does, Commander," Kaidan agreed.
 "The situation just now, however, is far from ordi-
 nary."
     "Perhaps we could discuss this situation, then,"
 Sisko suggested, fishing for more information.
     "I would be delighted, Commander," the Cardas-
 sian replied, once again smiling. "But surely, not over
 an open channel like this."

    That was it--that was why Gul Kaidan was lying so
obviously. The Cardassian wanted an invitation to a
private discussion.
 That was intriguing.
    "Of course not," Sisko agreed. "If you'd care to
come aboard the station, perhaps we could speak
somewhere more congenial."
    "I accept your kind invitation, Commander,"
Kaidan said. "If you could provide the transport
coordinates..."
    "Of course." Sisko nodded to O'Brien, who had
observed the conversation with interest.
    "Yes, sir," O'Brien said. He stepped over to the
transporter control panel.
    Sisko, watching him, thought O'Brien seemed dis-
pleased about something--perhaps allowing a
Cardassian on the station, perhaps that Sisko had
agreed not to allow anyone aboard the strange ship
with its fascinating computers.
    The ship would just have to wait. It didn't pose any
immediate danger as long as no one went near it.
    A Cardassian warship, on the other hand, was
always an immediate danger.




CHAPTER
       5

THE CARDASSIAN COMMANDER seemed oddly reluctant
when Sisko suggested that they might speak in his
office.
    Well, Sisko thought, there was no harm in humoring
the fellow, and his son Jake would be in Keiko
O'Brien's schoolroom down on the Promenade for
another hour or more. "An office seems so formal,
though," he said. "Perhaps we'd be more comfortable
in my quarters."
    The Cardassian brightened. "Ah, that would be
fine, Commander."
    A moment later they settled into chairs, Sisko with
a mug of coffee, Kaidan with a Cardassian brew that
smelled to Sisko like some unholy mix of lime and
onion.
    Sisko noted wryly that judging by Gul Kaidan's
expression after his first sip of his drink, the station's
Cardassian-built replicators seemed to do no better
with that stuff than they did with coffee.

    "Gul Kaidan," Sisko said, after a second or two of
polite silence, keeping his tone quite friendly, "I find
it hard to believe that you know nothing at all of the
recent incursions into Bajoran space."
    The Cardassian smiled over his cup. He looked
about the room before answering, then remarked,
"This seems a rather spartan accommodation, Com-
mander-but at least it's private, eh?"
    Sisko considered that. Private? Just who did Kaidan
think might be listening in, either in the station
commander's office or aboard the Cardassian's own
ship?
  "Private enough," he said.
    Kaidan put down his cup. "One can never be too
careful," he said.
    "I take it, Gul Kaidan, that you have some reason to
be concerned about privacy?"
    "Oh, well, in these unsettled times..." He made
an odd gesture with one hand that Sisko judged to be
the Cardassian equivalent of a shrug.
    "I have, of course, noticed that there seem to be
some difficulties occurring within the Cardassian Em-
pire," Sisko said. "And just what is it that has so
unsettled matters, Gul Kaidan?"
    "I would have thought you would have heard, even
here," Kaidan replied.
  Heard what? Sisko thought that over.
    Somehow, Sisko had come to doubt that honesty
was the best policy when dealing with Cardassians.
Certainly other Cardassians didn't seem to think
much of the direct approach. Bluffing would be prefer-
able, but given how little he actually knew Sisko
couldn't see how to manage it.
    He decided that he would have to do his best at
mixing fact and fiction. "If you refer to the death of




 Kag Duzek," he said, "naturally, we are aware of it.
 However, the connection to recent events eludes me."
    The station's computer records had been of very
limited assistance on this subject; Sisko had learned
something of Kag Duzek's family background and
early career, that he had belonged to one of the
political factions currently out of power, but no more
than that.
    "Oh, come, Commander," Kaidan said. "Surely
you know that Kag Duzek had been named as the
Goran Tokar's heir?"
    Sisko let none of his confusion show on his face. He
steepled his fingers and nodded thoughtfully.
    Who the devil was the Goran Tokar? The name was
vaguely familiar, and Sisko had the impression that a
Goran was a high-ranking official in the Cardassian
hierarchy, but beyond that either F~is memory or his
education ihiled him. Why was Kag Duzek's connec-
tion to him, her, or it supposed to explain anything?
What did it have to do with intrusions into Bajoran
space, or preventing Gul Dukat from stealing the
derelict ship?
    "And just how does this bring you here, Gul
Kaidan?" Sisko asked.
    Kaidan smiled in that charmingly insincere way
that so many Cardassians seemed to have. "Naturally,
you would not know my own political affiliations,"
Kaidan acknowledged. "I'm told that Gul Dukat's
people were fairly thorough in erasing this station's
records."
    Actually, the erasure had been very spotty, but that
was hardly something Sisko would admit to a
Cardassian. Virtually everything about Cardassian
internal politics was gone, however, so the erasure
might as well have been complete as far as this
particular discussion went.

42

 Sisko nodded noncommittally.
    "As anyone who knows me will attest, Command-
er," Kaidan said, "I have always supported the poli-
cies of the current administration. I have, in fact,
pinned my hopes of advancement on that fact. As a
fellow political appointee, I'm sure you'll appreciate
that."
    "My own appointment was not political," Sisko
objected quietly.
    "Oh, come," Kaidan said. "All appointments are
political, surely. You were sent here prior to the
discovery of the wormhole, as I recall--perhaps you
have enemies in the bureaucracy? And the wormhole
has given you an opportunity to turn the tables on
them, has it not?"
    'This was fascinating; the Cardassian was clearly
reading his own experience into Sisko's situation. "I
take it the wormhole has stirred up your own adminis-
tration," Sisko said, neither denying nor admitting
anything.
    "Well, naturally," Gul Kaidan acknowledged. "We
abandoned Bajor as worthless, and to have this re-
source of incalculable value found here almost as soon
as we had left--of course there was some political
damage. We face challenges now from two competing
factions that, frankly, were not serious threats before
the discovery of the wormhole."
    "I see," Sisko said, steepling his fingers. "And Gul
Dukat has affiliated himself with one of those other
factions?"
    "Gul Dukat," Gul Kaidan said venomously, "is a
rank opportunist, who has refused to commit himself
on any side, as yet."
    Sisko nodded. "I take it you believe he intends to
exploit the political damage the wormhole has caused,




while you're here to try to repair some of that political
damage?"
    "Rather, I hope to prevent any further deteriora-
tion," the Cardassian answered. "If I could demon-
strate, for example, that we will still receive benefits
from the wormhole's presence, such as that ship you
have, without the cost of maintaining this station, that
would go quite some distance toward consolidating
our political position."
  "I see," Sisko said again.
    "Or if I could prove that the ship is worthless, that
might serve to quiet a few voices in the opposition,"
Kaidan said. "Our major weakness is that we are seen
as having given up something of great value; if we
could imply that it is, in fact, not valuable at all, that
would serve us as well." He smiled. "I speak frankly,
Commander, because I hope you will help us to retain
our dominant position in the Empire."
    "Oh?" Sisko frowned. "Why would you expect me
to help you?"
      "Really, Commander, ! should think it would be to
your benefit if my party remains in power."
  "Oh?"
    "Certainly. If our rivals come to power, war is
virtually assured, and if there is war, the glory will go
to the ship captains and the fleet admirals, not to you
or this station; if there is peace, surely a successful
regime here can serve as a stepping-stone to higher
office."
 He smiled.
 "Surely," he said, "you don't want a war?"

CHAPTER
       6

TuE OPEN MENTION of the possibility of war was
startling. Sisko had wondered whether the Cardassian
intrusionslincluding Gut Dukat's attempt at strong-
arm robbery--might be a deliberate attempt to start a
war, and perhaps they were, but Kaidan's words
implied that it wasn't the current Cardassian adminis-
tration that was behind it, that Kaidan himself
wanted peace.
    That was a reliefi Sisko had had a bellyful of war
long ago. "And what is it you want of me, then?" he
asked. "Do you expect me to simply hand over an
alien artifact?"
  "It would be helpful," Gul Kaidan said.
    "It would set an intolerable precedent," Sisko re-
plied.
    "Ah," Gul Kaidan said. "And if we simply took it,
as Gul Dukat proposed to do? I don't doubt that my
ship has the firepower to overwhelm this station's
defenses."

45




    "I don't doubt it, either," Sisko said, "but that
would, of course, mean war between the Empire and
the Federation. Would you really start a war over a
worthless relic?"
"Ah," Gut Kaidan said, "but wouM it start a war?"
Sisko noticed that he didn't ask whether the relic
was really worthless--an indication, perhaps, of just
where Gul Kaidan's interests really lay? He seemed
far more concerned with broad issues of war and
peace than with obtaining the derelict.
    "The Federation has promised to defend this sta-
tion, as well as the Bajoran system," Sisko pointed
out.
    "Against intrusions of every sort, yes," Gul Kaidan
said.
    The words stung; so far, the Federation had done
nothing about the half-dozen raids into the Bajoran
system, and both Sisko and the Cardassian knew it.
    "Against serious breaches of the peace, yes," Sisko
said. "A response to the recent intrusions is under
consideration."
  "But it's not definite?"
  "What are you getting at, Gul Kaidan?"
    "I am suggesting," Gul Kaidan said, "that the
Federation might be too busy to worry about the loss
of this station--that they might not think it worth an
all-out war."
    "Are you willing to risk that for a worthless arti-
fact?" Sisko asked. "That ship doesn't even have wall>
drive."
    "That ship," Gul Kaidan said, "represents all the
potential treasures that the wormhole could be deliv-
ering into Cardassian hands--and whichever faction
delivers it to Cardassia will be demonstrating their
ability to acquire those treasures."
 "And if you propose to take it in any case," Sisko

asked, "why does it matter to us which faction takes
it?"
    "Because, Commander," Gul Kaidan replied, "my
people would use it to support our argument that we
can obtain everything we want from the Bajoran
system without fighting for it, while the Dja Bajora
Karass would argue that it proves we should reoccupy
Bajor."
 Sisko blinked. That was not what he had expected.
 "Reoccupy?" he asked.
 Kaidan nodded.
    "That wouM mean war," Sisko said. "It would be a
disaster for everyone."
    "So my faction maintains," Kaidan agreed. "The
opposition argues otherwise." He glanced about, then
leaned forward and said quietly, "I thought perhaps
you might be able to assure me that the Federation
will, indeed, go to war if we make any attempt to
reoccupy Bajor." He added, "I understand, of course,
the Federation's official position."
    At least it was now plain why Kaidan had come in
person and insisted on speaking in private--he could
hardly expect Sisko to vary from the official position
in public. He was hoping that here in private, Sisko
would tell him the truth.
    Sisko wished he knew the truth himself. He thought
the Federation's official position was sincere, but
resources were stretched thin, the Romulan threat was
always there...
    "I think you will see that it is in both our interests to
establish beyond question that the Federation is genu-
inely determined to defend Bajor," Kaidan said.
"And since the present administration on Cardassia
may be forced to yield power at any time, so that I
cannot guarantee that no attempt will be made to
reoccupy, you would not be wise to attempt a bluff.

46                                                                 47




 That could easily hurt us both. A true exchange of
 insight here could give us both a reputation for
 prescience that could be quite valuable."  Sisko nodded. "I see that," he said.
    "The ship is not important, if it's truly valueless,"
Kaidan said. "We are served equally well by its
possession or its worthlessness, so long as our oppo-
nents are unable to capitalize upon it. Give it to me, or
destroy it, as you please--but you must not let it fall
into the hands of the D~ja Bajora Karass or the
Revanche Party. Either group could use its capture for
propaganda."
    "We have no intention of turning it over to any-
one," Sisko said.
    "And what do you intend to do?" Kaidan looked at
him expectantly.
  Sisko thought this through carefully.
    The ship was, as he had thought, an excuse--this
Gul Kaidan was concerned with the political situation
on Cardassia, not with possible profits.
But what did Sisko know of the political situation?
Kag Duzek had reportedly died in a sudden disa-
greement that had turned violent--apparently a per-
sonal matter involving a female who had previous
attachments elsewhere. Duzek had been active in a
political faction opposed to the present policies of the
Cardassian government, and his death had seemingly
triggered a series of intrusions into Bajoran space.
    Now this Gul Kaidan had turned up, claiming to
side with the Cardassian government, implying that
the intrusions were the actions of the opposing fac~
tion, looking for assurance that the Federation would
defend Bajor, and arguing that the derelict might
wind up as a political tool.
 Sisko hoped that Kaidan was telling the truth, and

48

this wasn't all an elaborate setup to lure Starfleet into
some sort of trap.
    He also wished he knew more of just what the
Federation actually wouM do in the face of Cardassian
aggressionrathe latest reports had been less definite
than Sisko might have liked, and as yet there was no
word on any direct response to the recent intrusions.
That implied that some people back on Earth might
not be very enthusiastic about defending Bajor.
    But they were committed to do so, and the Federa-
tion kept its promises.
    Kag Duzek, Kaidan had said, had been the heir to
someone called the Goran Tokar. Kaidan took it for
granted that the connection between this and the
intrusions, and the political crisis, was obvious.
    Sisko could guess at the connection, but he wanted
it verified.
    "Your pardon, Gul Kaidan," he said, "but I would
like to be certain I understand. The recent violations
of Bajoran space--am I to take it that these were
made by people vying for Kag Duzek's position?"
    "Of course," Kaidan answered, startled. "Though
of course, this is all unofficial and off the record, and I
hope this room is as private as you believe it is. The
Goran Tokar has argued all along that we gave up
Bajor too readily, that there are surely undiscovered
resources here that we abandoned because we were
too easily deterred by the Bajoran terrorists--he used
the fact that the Bajorans had somehow successfully
hidden one of those 'Celestial Orbs' of theirs from us
as evidence that there could be assets we had missed.
The Goran Tokar is a sick old man, with no family,
and now with no heir, the person who brings him
proof that he was right stands a good chance of being
named as his successor, which would mean inheriting




a considerable estate, as well as the leadership of the
Dja Bajora Karass, in the not too distant future."
    "The D~ja Bajora Karass? You've mentioned that
three or four times now, and I'm afraid I don't know
the term."
      "An approximate translation would be the 'Bajor Is
Ours' Party," Gul Kaidan replied.  Sisko nodded.
    This explained the deep sensor scans the Cardas-
sian intruders had been running--they had been
searching for those untapped resources that the Goran
Tokar believed in.
    Finding them would surely be a potent weapon in
the political conflict.
    "You think that Gul Dukat is hoping to become the
Goran Tokar's heir?" Sisko asked.
    "He's one of the four leading candidates," Gul
Kaidan replied.
    That made sense--and explained why Gul Dukat
had tried to claim the ship from the Gamma Quad-
rant. Dukat, who had served as prefect of Bajor and
supervised the final searches for resources before the
Cardassian withdrawal, knew as well as anyone that
no such resources existed--he had tied his bid for the
Goran Tokar's legacy to claiming resources from the
wormhole, instead.
    "And proof of overlooked resources would also
further damage your own party's standing," Sisko
suggested.
    "Exactly," Gul Kaidan said. ~'Such a discovery
combined with the presence of a strong new leader
among the Djja Bajora Karass could provide the
impetus they need to assume power--especially if
that new leader is able to arrange an alliance with the
Revanche Party, something the Goran Tokar has
refused to pursue, due to the pragmatic approach the

Revanchists have taken regarding the Orbs and other
matters. A sufficiently impressive discovery of over-
looked resources in the Bajoran system could put the
D~ja Bajora Karass in control of such an alliance and
relegate the Revanchists, who we've always consid-
ered the more serious threat, to a secondary role."
    Sisko nodded. He had no idea what the Revanche
Party might be, or how it differed from the D~ja Bajora
Karass, but he didn't suppose that really mattered.
The internal complexities of Cardassian politics did
not concern him.
    "If it's any comfort, the Federation has yet to find
anything your people missed," he said. "We don't
believe any such resources exist."
    Kaidan nodded a polite acknowledgment. "Thank
you, Commander; that's a useful tidbit. About Fed-
eration policy, though..."
    "I'm afraid that I am not in a position to say," Sisko
said. Gul Kaidan had come looking for honesty, and
Sisko decided to provide it. "As you noted yourself,"
he continued, "this post was hardly a political plum
prior to the discovery of the wormhole; I am not in the
confidence of the Federation Council. To the best of
my knowledge, the official policy is the actual policy. I
regret, Gul Kaidan, that I cannot add any further
assurance than that."
    "So do I, Commander," Kaidan said, putting down
his mug. "Ordinarily, I might hesitate to believe
you--but you are a sensible man; why would you lie
to me, when to do so can only harm your own
position?"
    Sisko didn't answer that; he stiflened in his seat at
the hint that he might have lied.
    "You nmst have made some enemies," Kaidan said,
"but surely you have friends, as well. Should you learn
more, I hope you will find the means to communicate




it to me. Now, about this ship from the Gamma
Quadrant . . ."
    Sisko frowned. "I'm afraid that I cannot recognize
the Cardass/an claim to the derelict; it originated in
the Gamma Quadrant, and was intercepted in
Bajoran space. My own people were studying it, in
hopes of tracing its origins and dealing with it appro-
priately; the most I can consent to, without an agree-
ment among all parties involved, is to stop our
investigations until the ship's ownership is settled."
  "You will not give it up?"
  "No, Gul Kaidan, I will not."
  "Yet you say it's worthless."
    "Its value is not the point," Sisko said. "Gul
Kaidan, the ship is driven by a fission-powered ion
engine, and used centrifugal force to simulate gravity
mhow valuable can it be?"
    This was true, but deliberately misleadingmSisko
was careful not to mention the derelict's computers.
    "Its political value may have little to do with its
actual value," Gul Kaidan said. "Perhaps we could
make an arrangement of some sort?"
    Sisko considered that. "Perhaps," he said. "If the
intrusions into Bajoran space were to be halted, and
reparations made..."
    It was Kaidan's turn to frown. "You drive a hard
bargain," he said.
    "On the contrary," Sisko said. "I think that those
would be the minimum requirements for any negotia-
tion."
    "It is not the Cardassian government, or any mem-
ber of my own faction, that is responsible for the
intrusions," Gul Kaidan said. "I realize that."
    "Then I'm afraid we cannot reach any agreement as
yet," Kaidan said. "I regret to say that I may find it

necessary to use force to obtain that ship." He started
to rise, but there was a certain hesitancy to his
movement, as if he were hoping Sisko would object.
Sisko did not object immediately; he stood as well.
This visit had been informative, and it was also an
opportunity he didn't want to waste, but he was
unsure just what more Kaidan was after.
    Then a thought struck him. If the intrusions were an
attempt to settle the political succession in the D~ja
Bajora Karass. . .
    "Gul Kaidan," he said, "I am sure we can find ways
to help each other, rather than resorting to conflict--
as you say, it is in both our interests to settle this
peacefully, and not risk starting a war. Perhaps an
exchange of information might help--perhaps there
is something we can do that will benefit us both, and
be more valuable to you than that ship. Already, by
clarifying the situation regarding the Goran Tokar,
you have helped me considerably, and I'm in your
debt; I think that you've helped yourself, as well. If
there is any more you can tell me..."
    Kaidan eyed him carefully; he said nothing, but did
not move to depart.
    "For example," Sisko continued, "you went to
some trouble to prevent Gul Dukat from obtaining
that ship; I take it that your people would not be
happy if the Goran Tokar chose Gul Dukat as his heir.
Could you perhaps tell us whether we might want to
somehow encourage one of the candidates among the
Goran Tokar's would-be heirs, or whether there is one
we might especially wish to hamper? Might that not
be of surfrelent value to make the ship irrelevant?"
    "Commander Sisko," Kaidan said, seating himself
again, "you are indeed a man of good sense."


CHAPTER
       7

O'BRIEN WAITED IMPATIENTLY for Sisko and the
Cardassian to emerge from the commander's quar-
ters, but he had turned away from the turbolift for a
moment to look at a display--he had been thinking
about the derelict so much that for a moment he
thought he saw an image of one of the dead crablike
aliens on the screen. When he looked again it was
gone, but he was sufficiently distracted that he was
caught off-guard when at last the two commanders
reappeared.
    "Chief O'Brien," Sisko called, "would you please
see Gul Kaidan safely back to his ship?"
    "Yes, sir," O'Brien answered. He turned to the
transporter console as the Cardassian captain strode
over and stepped up onto the platform.
    O'Brien saw Major Kira staring hatefully at the Car-
dassian and tried not to notice as he set the controls.
She probably didn't even realize she was doing it, he
thought.

    "Major," Sisko said, beckoning to Kira, "I'd like to
speak to you in my office, please,"
    O'Brien checked the coordinates, then announced,
"Energizing."
    The Cardassian flickered and vanished, and
O'Brien turned quickly, to catch the commander
before he and the major vanished into his sanctum.
"Commander," he called, "about the alien ship on
upper pylon two..."
    "It can wait, Chief," Sisko answered, mounting the
office steps.
 "But sir..."
    Sisko paused. "Does it pose any immediate threat,
Chief?. Lieutenant Dax?"
    "Well, no," O'Brien admitted, "no immediate
threat, but it is radioactive .... "
    "So were those four reactors the Cardassians sabo-
taged before they left, Chief; they don't seem to have
done any permanent harm, and they were closer in
than that ship is, out at the end of upper pylon two."
  "The computers..."
  "The computers can wait."
"But the crew, Commander..." Dr. Bashir began.
"The crew of that ship is dead, Dr. Bashir?" The
doctor nodded. "Then they can wait, as well." Sisko
entered his office; Major Kira followed, and the door
closed behind them.
    O'Brien stared up at it in frustration. He desperate-
ly wanted to get another look at the alien ship's
computer systems--how had they made a Besrethine
neural net that didn't wind up in self-destructive
involutions?
    Then he sighed and turned away. There was plenty
of work to be done here on the station, after all; the
replicatom on the Promenade were slipping out of
adjustment again, producing food and drink unfit for




humanoid consumption. Quark had logged several
calls complaining about that and requesting immedi-
ate repairs.
    At least Quark's complaints had been polite this
time; in the past he had occasionally accused O'Brien
of delaying repairs deliberately in an attempt to drive
away Quark's customers and sabotage his business.
    Work before pleasure, O'Brien told himself as he
headed for the turbolift.

  "Reoccupy?" Major Kira shouted.
    "That is the course of action espoused by the Goran
Tokar and the DJa Bajora Karass, yes," Sisko said. "I
understand the Revanche Party recommends it, as
well--unlike the D~ja Bajora Karass, they acknowl-
edge that the withdrawal was reasonable, but argue
that the wormhole should be reclaimed, by force if
necessary, now that its existence is known."
    "The Federation won't allow that, will they?
Starfleet... if the Cardassians..."
    Sisko could not resist teasing her slightly. "I thought
you didn't approve of Federation interference in
Bajoran affairs, Major."
 "That's not funny, Commander!" Kira snapped.
    Sisko didn't reply; he gave her a moment to calm
down.
    He had to admit that it wasn't funny, and he
regretted giving into the impulse.
    "I don't approve of Federation interference in
Bajoran affairs," Kira said at last through clenched
teeth, "but it's infinitely preferable to Cardassian
interference in Bajoran affairs!"
 Sisko nodded. "I agree completely."
    "Don't the Cardassians realize that a reoccupation
would mean war with the Federation?"

    "My impression is," Sisko said judiciously, "that
some of them don't believe that the Federation would
fight for Bajor, and others don't care. And some may
want a war."
    "But the Federation would fight, wouldn't it?" Kira
asked warily.
  "I think so," Sisko replied judiciously.
    "And win? There isn't any way the Cardassians
could win, is there?"
    "I wouldn't think so," Sisko said. "Of course, I'm
not privy to all the latest military data, and Starfleet is
not currently at its peak, but I believe such a war
would mean the destruction of the Cardassian Empire
rebut probably the destruction of Bajor as well, and
at incalculable cost to the Federation." "Then how can they..."
    "I repeat, Major," Sisko said, "some of the
Cardassians don't believe the Federation would fight,
and others don't care. My impression is that this
Goran Tokar would rather see Cardassia itself de-
stroyed in a final glorious battle than to willingly give
up any part of what he sees as Cardassian territory.
He reportedly threatened to suicide when the Celes-
tial Orbs were returned to Bajor in exchange for access
to the wormhole--he claimed that that was kowtow-
ing to inferiors and a disgrace to the species."
  "That's insane!"
 Sisko didn't argue with that.
    "But we've got to stop it. Surely, if there were
Federation starships guarding Bajor..."
    "I doubt the Cardassians would be mad enough to
attack a prepared enemy," Sisko agreed. "The Goran
Tokar might, but he is hardly typical."
    "So are you going to call for Starfleet's help?" Kira
demanded.




    "No," Sisko said. "Because as yet, neither the D~ia
Bajora Karass nor the Revanche Party is in power, and
until they are, there is no direct threat to Bajor.
Federation starships on the border would be seen as
needless provocation. Furthermore, it would be a
significant expense for the Federation at a time when
resources are stretched thin, and it would hardly do
any good to Bajoran self-confidence. It's far too soon
to call in Starfleet."
    "But there won't be time if you wait," Kira pro-
tested. "The Cardassian Empire is just across the
border, and the nearest Federation starbase is dozens
of light-years away!"
    "I think you overestimate Cardassian prepared-
ness," Sisko argued. "I doubt they would be able to
launch an occupation fleet immediately if the D~ja
Bajora Karass or the Revanchists came to power.
These things do require some advance planning, and I
would expect some time-consuming debate."
    "But not that much planning or debate," Kira said.
"If I know the Cardassians, they probably have a
contingency plan already worked up."
    "My own knowledge of Cardassian history would
suggest a tendency toward clever improvisation, actu-
ally," Sisko said mildly.
     "Which isn't any better. Commander, we need
Federation assistance out here!" "I don't think..."
    "Commander," Kira said, "do you want Bajor to be
reoccupied? So that you'll be sent back to Mars, and
Jake can be back with other humans? Sacrificing an
entire people..."
 She stopped in midsentence.
    Sisko stared at her, genuinely shocked. "Major!" he
snapped.

"I'm sorry," she said, not sounding sorry at all.
"Major Kira," Sisko said, forcing himself to speak
calmly, "I don't want a war. I've told you that before.
Sending starships out to patrol the Cardassian border
would be seen as provocation, and you know itmit
might well bring about exactly the war we wish to
stop."
    Kira struggled with this; all her instincts said that
the Cardassians had to be opposed by force, that they
would understand nothing else, but she knew Sisko's
arguments were sound.
    "Well, then just what do you propose to do?" she
said at last.
    "Major, it seems to me that you've been jumping
ahead in your concerns," Sisko replied. "I told you
that Gul Kaidan suggests that a war may happen if the
Dja Bajora Karass takes power--not when they take
power, but if If we can prevent that from ever
happening, then perhaps we can prevent any attempt
at reoccupying, as the present Cardassian administra-
tion has a great deal of their reputation tied up in their
insistence that Bajor was worthless to them at the
time of the withdrawal--as long as the Dja Bajora
Karass opposes them, they will never attempt a reoc-
cupation."
    "What about that other group you mentioned, the
Revanchists?"
    Sisko frowned. "I'm afraid I don't know much
about them, but Gul Kaidan seemed to feel they could
be managed without our help. It was the D~ja Bajora
Karass that he felt posed the more immediate threat
just now."
    Kira looked at him doubtfully. "I don't see how we
can influence Cardassian politics. You know they
don't pay any attention to outsiders."




    "It shouldn't be so difficult as all that," Sisko said.
"True, we can't do anything about it openly, but there
are other ways."
Kira settled into a chair and listened dubiously.
"Gul Kaidan tells me that there are four serious
contenders for the position of heir to the Goran
Tokar," Sisko explained. "The first is Gul Kudesh, the
noted commander who won the Battle of Regannin--
he's also the most likely, once in power, to start a war,
if only for the chance to display his military prowess.
In fact, since he was never even in the Bajoran system
during the occupation, and took no interest in it, it
would seem he's been active in the DJa Bajora Karass
only because it's the more warlike faction, and be-
cause he has too many enemies among the Revanch-
ists."
"I've heard of him," Kira said with a shudder.
"It would appear, though Gul Kaidan did not say so
in so many words, that Gul Kudesh is responsible for
the intrusions into Bajoran space," Sisko said.
    "Why?" Kira asked, half-rising from her seat. "Is he
trying to start a war?"
    "No," Sisko said, shaking his head. "He's looking
for resources that his compatriots might have missed
during the occupation. It seems that he doesn't trust
anyone else's reports on the matter."
  "That's absurd," Kira said.
  Sisko didn't reply.
    "All right, that's one," Kira said. "Who are the
others?"
    "The other three all held office in the Bajoran
system prior to the withdrawal," Sisko said. "Gul
Burot was stationed on Bajor itself only briefly before
being promoted to an administrative post back on
Cardassia. Gul Peshor oversaw several deep-mining
operations. And the last contender, of course, is our

old friend Gul Dukat, who ran this station and wants
this office back."
    "Gul Dukat? Is that what he was doing here, trying
to steal that ship? He was trying to impress the Goran
Tokar?"
  Sisko nodded.
    "But isn't he..." Kira paused, gathering her
thoughts, then said, "But Gul Dukat was the prefect
here under the present Cardassian government,
wasn't he? He's not a member of the opposition--or
is Cardassian politics that different from Bajoran?"
    "I asked Gul Kaidan the same thing," Sisko said.
"As I understand it, Gul Dukat is more an opportun-
ist than anything else--he is indeed nominally a part
of the ruling faction at present, yes, but he's been
feeling underappreciated, and his record as prefect
here is sufficient grounds for his elevation to leader-
ship in the DJa Bajora Karass. He appears to have
privately expressed an interest in such a role."
    "That's just like him," Kira said bitterly. She
thought for a moment, then added, "I know about
Peshor and Dukat, but I never heard of this Burot
before."
    "Neither did I, until I spoke with Kaidan," Sisko
acknowledged. "I'm afraid I don't know much about
him." He brushed that aside, and continued, "At any
rate, those are the four major candidates. There are
also two possible long shots, but we'll ignore them for
now--Gul Kaidan assures me that they can be dealt
with by his own faction."
"And what does Gul Kaidan want of us, then?"
"Well," Sisko said, "if any of those four leading
contenders should be embarrassed somehow--
embarrassed by Cardassian standards, of course--
then that one would become a less likely candidate."
 Kira considered that for a moment, then de-




manded, "Why are we bothering with this, Com-
mander? What difference does it make who becomes
the heir? They're all Cardassians ...."
 "Major."
 She glared silently at him.
    "For one thing, Major," Sisko said, "once the
Goran Tokar has made his choice, Gul Kudesh will
have no reason to continue his searches on Bajor and
Andros."
    Kira had to concede that much. "So we want a fast
decision," she said, "but does it matter which is
chosen?"
    "According to Gul Kaidan, it does," Sisko ex-
plained. "He tells me that one of the contenders, Gul
Burot, has a weakness that will prevent him from ever
assuming power."
 "What sort of weakness?" Kira asked warily.
    "I don't know--officially," Sisko said. "I think,
however, that it's fairly clear that what Gul Kaidan
was referring to is some form of blackmail; his faction
has some hold over this Gul Burot." "What sort of hold?"
    "I don't know--and Major, I don't want to know.
Neither do you. We don't want to involve ourselves
too deeply in Cardassian internal affairs."
    Kira started to say something, then caught herself as
she realized that Sisko was right.
    "At any rate, I think it might be best for Bajor if the
Goran Tokar were to name this Gul Burot as his heir,"
Sisko said. "And I think that if we put your contacts
on Bajor to work with us, and do a little careful
research, we can improve Gul Burot's chances."
    Kira looked at him for a long moment, then said,
"You want to set it up so that one faction can
blackmail the leader of the other."
  "Bluntly, yes."

    "That stinks," Kira said. "I thought I was done with
anything this dirty once the Cardassians left."
    Sisko could sympathize with that. "Diplomacy is
war by other means," he said. "And isn't it better to
fight this way than with phasers and photon torpe-
does?"
    Kira considered that for a long, silent moment, then
said, "So we have to find ways to embarrass the other
three candidates?"
  "If we can, yes."
  "What embarrasses a Cardassian?"
 Sisko smiled. "Failure," he said. "What else?"
 "And what if we fail?"
 The smile vanished.
    "In that case, Major," Sisko said, "we will have a
war. I don't think the Cardassians will take kindly to
any attempts at influencing their internal politics. I
doubt the Federation will look favorably on it, for that
matter. We're risking our careers, our lives, this
station, and the entire Bajoran system on this."
     It was Kira's turn to smile. "Now you sound like my
old comrades in the Resistance," she said. "Is that good?"
    Kira nodded. "I think we can probably arrange
something where at least one or two candidates are
concerned. Gul Burot might be tricky--he was on
Bajor so little..."
    "But we don't want to eliminate him anyway,"
Sisko said, completing her sentence.
    "Exactly," Kira said enthusiastically. "Gul Dukat
and Gul Peshor ought to have some sort of weakness
in their records we can exploit--or manufacture, if
necessary. I'll need to talk to some people on Bajor
about that, people I knew during the occupation. And
I'll have to see my friends in person; we don't want
anyone overhearing."




  "That will still leave Gul Kudesh."
    Kira frowned. "He's going to be the difficuli one--
unless there's something..." She paused, obviously
deep in thought, and Sisko waited patiently.
    "I wonder," she said finally, "since Gul Kudesh is
behind the raids--if he really is--whether we can do
something with that," Kira said. "If something were
to go spectacularly wrong with one of his little
investigations..." Her voice trailed off as she
thought. Then she roused herself, and said, "At the
very least we ought to be able to come up with a way to
embarrass Dukat and Peshor." She gestured impa-
tiently. "When do we start?"

    "That should do it," O'Brien said. He closed the
panel, typed in a quick order, and waited while the
replicator produced a cup of coffee.
    "It's not really coffee I'm concerned with," Quark
said, as the engineer picked up the cup and took a sip.
    O'Brien glanced at the Ferengi barkeep. Far shorter
than most adult humans, with immense ears and
hairless, bulging heads, the Ferengi looked rather
foolish to many humans, at least until the pointed
teeth showed, but O'Brien was used to them. While he
wasn't sure he liked Quark, he knew the Ferengi was
an intelligent person.
    "I like to use coffee as my test sample," he ex-
plained. "To be honest, Quark, I don't think I'd better
sample any of your usual goods when I'm on duty."
He didn't mention that he had more of a reason than
usual for wanting to stay sober--he had now seen the
crablike creatures on computer displays on three
separate occasions. His imagination was running
away with him, and liquor could only make it worse.
    He took another sip, tasting it carefully, then said,
"And besides, coffee seems to be what gives it the

most trouble. This tastes fine to me, so I'd say we've
got it."
 "Well, if not, you'll be hearing from me."
    "I'm sure,," O'Brien said. "That's why I try to do it
right the first time; if I don't, I'll spend the rest of my
life fixing these infernal replicators of yours." He
gulped the rest of the coffee, while Quark typed in an
order for something rather more exotic.
    While he waited, the Ferengi said jestingly, "Oh,
come now, O'Brien, you love tinkering with these
machines, and you know it. If you weren't fixing them,
what would you do with yourself?."
    "I'd see a lot more of my wife, for one thing,"
O'Brien replied, disposing of the empty cup. "And
maybe I'd get a better look at the computers on that
ship out on upper pylon two."
 He didn't see Quark's eyes light up with interest.
 "What ship is that?" Quark asked.
    O'Brien glanced at him. "Oh, Dax picked up a
derelict that had come through the wormhole," he
said. "It's mostly pretty primitive, but the computer
circuitry is something special--it looks like a
Besrethine neural net, and the folks at the Daystrom
Institute would just love to know how to make one
work."
  "A Besrethine what?"
    "Besrethine neural net. It's a computer design the-
ory that no one's ever gotten to work--or no one in
,adpha Quadrant, at any rate. It'd be a major advance
if we could build the things."
  "And this ship has one of these?"
  "It appears to..."
    Just then O'Brien's comm badge chirped. "Dax to
O'Brien," it said.
    With a sigh, O'Brien tapped it. "O'Brien here," he
said. "What's broken now?"




CHAPTER
       8

"A SIMPLE FISSION P1LE iS hardly an indication of an
advanced technology," Dax remarked as she studied a
display screen.
    "You know as well as I do that a culture can be more
advanced in some areas than others," O'Brien replied
from behind the console as he worked on the circuits
feeding Dax's display. The station's computers were
malfunctioning againmor at any rate, not operating
the way Dax and O'Brien wanted them to, but wheth-
er that was because something was broken or because
something was Cardassian-built was not always clear.
"We can't make a Besrethine net work, and they can."
    "If that's really what the ship's computer is," Dax
said.
    O'Brien shrugged. "It certainly looks like one. And
even if it isn't, those information conduits weren't
quite like anything I ever saw. Sometimes just being
different can teach us a lot."
 "The crew was certainly different," Dr. Bashir

added. He was not working at the moment, but simply
hanging around, watching the others. 'Tve checked
the records, and there isn't anything quite like those
beings reported anywhere in the entire Alpha Quad-
rant. I'd love to get one of them into the lab."
    "You will not take them apart," Commander Sisko
said, startling the three of them. Bashit turned and
Dax looked up to find that Commander Sisko had
emerged from his office and was standing nearby, with
Major Kira just behind him.
    O'Brien started, but kept his attention on the
isolinear optical chips.
 "I didn't hear you come out," Bashit said.
"I didn't particularly want you to," Sisko replied.
"Commander, you said I wasn't to dissect them?
Certainly not right now, but I don't see why I
shouldn't have that opportunity eventually .... "
    "Dr. Bashit," Sisko said, "quite aside from the fact
that both Cardassia and Bajor claim ownership of the
derelict, so that I have agreed not to interfere with it
until further notice, we know nothing about the
culture or mores of these visitors. Many cultures,
including most of those developed by our own species,
have strong prohibitions against disturbing the re-
mains of the dead; until we know otherwise, we must
assume that these beings may have had similar restric-
tions. It may well be that they were sent through the
wormhole in a sort of Viking funeralmafter all, all
other known wormholes are unstable; it may be that
whoever sent these unfortunates expected the worm-
hole to collapse on them. It may also be that the ship
was sent as a trial run, and others may be appearing at
any time, others who might not be pleased to learn
that we have disassembled their dead compatriots.
Until more is known about the customs and beliefs of
the ship's crew, we must show whatever respect we




can~ and that being the case, it would be inappropriate
to remove them from their ship, let alone to dissect
them."
  "But, Commander..."
    "Doctor, we don't even know for certain what
killed them, do we?"
    Reluctantly, Bashir admitted, "No. But I still think
asphyxiation is the most likely cause."
    "Chief, I believe you said the ship's computer
technology could be quite valuable?" Major Kira
asked.
    O'Brien tapped the final circuit card into place and
asked, "How's that, Lieutenant?"
  'tit checks out now, Chief," Dax replied.
    O'Brien got to his feet~ brushing dust from his
uniform, and said, "Yes, Major, I was mentioning that
that ship's computer appears to use a Besrethine
neural net, and if so, yes, it's priceless."
    "Valuable enough that the Federation might send a
starship to protect it?"
    Sisko refused to react, but inside he seethed. Kira
was supposed to be thinking about how to discredit
three Cardassian politicians and prevent a war, so that
a starship wouldn't be needed. She wasn't still sup-
posed to be figuring ways to coax Federation firepower
out here. She generally had a tendency to hang on to
ideas too long.
    Sisko did not particularly want any starships out
here; he preferred to handle matters himself.
    O'Brien looked at Sisko for guidance, but the com-
mander's expression gave nothing away. "I wouldn't
know about that, Major," he said.
"Protect it from whom?" Dr. Bashir asked, puzzled.
"From the Cardassians," Kira said. "They do claim
to own it, Doctor--and if that computer technology is
so powerful, I doubt we want them to have it."

    Sisko came to O'Brien's rescue. "Major, fight now
we aren't concerned with the derelict; there will be
plenty of time to deal with it later."
    "Of course, Commander," Kira agreed. "You un-
derstand, I'm sure, that as Bajor's senior representa-
tive here on DS-Nine I take an interest in the property
of the Bajoran people. That ship was salvaged in
Bajoran space by a Bajoran station, so that makes it,
and the design of its computers, Bajoran property; the
Federation has no claim to it."
    "That remains to be determined, Major..." Sisko
objected.
    "Of course, fight now we aren't concerned with the
derelict, are we, Commander?" Kira asked sweetly.
    Sisko glared at her, then glanced at the others.
"Chief, don't you have work to do elsewhere? Dr.
Basfir, don't you have any patients waiting?"
    Neither man answered in words; instead, reluctant-
ly, they both headed for the main turbolift.
    "Lieutenant Dax, would you see that a runabout is
prepared for launch?" Kira said, as O'Brien and
Bashir departed. "I'm going clown for a conference
with some people on Bajor." She glanced at Sisko, and
then added, "And while I'm gone, I trust that any
salvaged vessels belonging to the Bajoran people will
remain undisturbed by our Federation guests?"
    "No one will be interfering with any salvaged ships
while you're gone," Sisko said, "whether they're the
property of the Bajoran people or not--and the
question of who owns what will wait, as well."
    Major Kira stepped onto the other turbolift without
replying, and sank out of sight.

 Quark wiped idly at the bar as he thought.
    Business at Quark's Place was much as usual--a
few people were playing Dabo for disgustingly low




 stakes, while a few more were sitting about chatting as
 they ate and drank, and upstairs a couple of customers
 with more money and more time on their hands than
 they needed were sampling the erotic possibilities of
 the holosuites.
     He made a decent living off this place, but it wasn't
 about to make him rich, and the goal of every Ferengi,
 himself included, was to become rich. Very rich.
 Fabulously rich. Incredibly, unbelievably rich.
    And while owning a bar, restaurant, casino, or other
such business--Quark's Place partook of all of them
mcould provide a good start on a fortune, it was
never going to make him that wealthy.  So why was he here?
    Never mind that that Earthman, Sisko, had black-
mailed him into staying on when the Cardassians had
first pulled out; why hadn't he left since then?
    Because a place like Deep Space Nine was fraught
with possibilities, that was why. Out here on the
frontier, with all the traffic passing through to and
from the wormhole, business opportunities ought to
be popping up on all sides.
    So why, Quark asked himself, hadn't he cashed in
on those possibilities yet?
    He glanced up, and saw his nemesis walking by--
Odo, the station's constable.
    That was why he hadn't cashed in--because Odo
had prevented it.
    Odo was a shapeshifter--he generally wore a
humanoid form to fit in, and managed reasonably
well, though there was always a certain unfinished
look to the features, and the skin color was a bit off.
His natural form, however, was a thick orange-red
liquid. And with a little effort, he could disguise
himself as almost anything.
 Quark had never quite figured out why Odo could

do such a flawless job of imitating tables, chairs, wall
panels, glassware, and the like, but still couldn't do a
nose properly. Maybe it was a trick to make Quark
forget how good Odo was at inanimate objects, be-
cause that was how Odo had foiled most of Quark's
best schemes. An extra table or chair would never be
noticed, so Odo could listen in on all those private
conversations that were essential for any really lucra-
tive business deal.
    And all the best deals, of course, were on the wrong
side of the law, and that annoying shapeshifter had
therefore insisted on scuttling them.
    Quark suspected... no, Quark was convinced that
Odo was out to get him, that the constable had set
himself a goal of finding a way to utterly ruin Quark
once and for all, and that any time he wasn't busy
elsewhere, Odo was somewhere in Quark's Place,
disguised as a customer or a bottle or a Dabo wheel,
listening for some way to destroy Quark.
    But right now, there was Odo, walking away
through the crowd farther down the Promenade,
which meant that for the next five minutes or so
Quark could be absolutely sure that none of the tables
or walls were watching and listening.
    And that was important, because O'Brien's visit to
repair the replicators had let Quark know about
another of those tempting business possibilities.
O'Brien had said that there was an alien derelict out at
the end of upper pylon two, one with a unique
computer design ....
    As Quark quickly broke through the station's com-
puter security to get at the complete reports on this
find, he wondered whether he could get more for a
completely unknown technology through a private
sale, or at an open auction.




CHAPTER
       9

HER SHIFT WAS OVER, and Jadzia Dax called up her
daily log to check before leaving Ops.
    She was startled to see that part of it was missing--
the record skipped from the neutrmo surge that had
indicated an arrival through the wormhole to prepar-
ing the Ganges for Major Kira's departure. Everything
concerning the capture and exploration of the alien
derelict was gone.
    She ran a quick computer check; the data did not
appear anywhere. Whether it was really irretrievably
lost, or had simply been temporarily mislaid some-
where in the computer's memory, she couldn't
determine--at least, not without a great deal of work.
    Perhaps this was yet another manifestation of the
Cardassian-built computer's obsession with security
and proper procedure--or perhaps it was an actual
malfunction.
 In either case, Dax was tired--besides capturing

and exploring the derelict, and all her usual duties, she
had been trying to make sense of the situation with
the Ashtarian scientific expedition. The technicians
making the adjustments to the Ashtarian ship's en-
gines, to allow it to go through the wormhole to
Gamma Quadrant without disturbing the entities that
lived in and maintained the wormhole, had reported a
problem of some kind that they were unwilling to
explain; they had insisted that Dax had to see the
situation for herself. She had promised that she would
do so.
    She had spent all her spare time for this shift, when
she might ordinarily have been meditating and restor-
ing her energies, in trying to find information on the
Ashtarian cultures and technologies, and failing. The
only reports she found simply gave the date of initial
contact with the Federation and a few other basic facts
and statistics, such as the interesting datum that
Ashtarians and most of the other species on their
home planet had only one sex; nothing in the records
said anything at all about anything in Ashtarian
technology that might cause problems for the techni-
cians.
    Had that omission perhaps been due to a computer
failure, too? She had assumed it simply meant that
nothing else was on record about the Ashtarians.
    Whether it had been a malfunction or not, the
computer was definitely misbehaving now.
    Well, dealing with it was not her job, and the
Ashtarians were waiting. It was another problem for
Chief O'Brien, she supposed.
    She hesitated; O'Brien had gone off duty a few
minutes before, and would be meeting his wife,
Keiko, about now. The two were planning a quiet
dinner together.




From what Dax had seen of them lately, they
needed a quiet dinner together.
    She wasn't going to interrupt them. It was just as
important--probably more so--to keep the human
elements of Deep Space Nine working properly as it
was the mechanical ones, and their emotional well-
being was more important than the merely physical.
    She wasn't going to interrupt the O'Briens--but
should she see if she could find the problem herself?.
    No, she decided, the Ashtarians were important,
too.
    The computer malfunction was trivial, really; it
could wait for a shift or two. She logged off, signaled
to the ensign on watch that she was departing, and
then headed for her own quarters.

    Quark had studied the reports with interest, then
tried to remove every trace of his intrusion--but
when he went back to check, he found that the
relevant chunk of the Ops duty officer's log had
vanished completely.
    That wasn't anything he had done--he couldn't
possibly have been so clumsy!
Was someone else interested in the derelict, as well?
That meant Quark would need to move quickly if
he was to obtain this prize before his unknown
competition, whoever it might be, could get to it.
    He wished he had some idea of how to move; as long
as that ship was moored to the station, he couldn't see
any way he could get at it and get away with it.
    He certainly couldn't just sneak aboard; the reports
made it clear that Sisko had had the vessel sealed, and
even if Quark did get aboard--by transporter,
perhaps--the radioactivity would be lethal. Besides,
even if he could figure out the computer design that

O'Brien was so excited about--and he wasn't sure he
could; he wasn't an expert--it wouldn't be as valuable
if Sisko and Kira had it, as well. Quark wanted an
exclusive.
    For that, he had to have the ship entirely to himself,
and the only way he could do that was if he could
claim ownership and make it stick.
    To do that, he needed to claim salvage rights, and he
couldn't do that while it was docked to Deep Space
Nine.
    And he couldn't see any way to get it loose. Sisko
would never be foolish enough to let such a treasure
go..,,
 Would he?
    Not in the ordinary course of events, but Sisko
could be flexible in some ways. Quark knew that the
big Earthman would never take a bribe, or anything so
obvious as that, but under the right circumstances he
would send that derelict away. If he thought it was a
danger, that its presence threatened the station, or if
he believed someone else had a valid claim to it, or if
he thought, for any other reason in his bizarre altruis-
tic logic, that removing it from the station would be
the right thing to do.
    Of course, there was no reason for Sisko to think
that removing it was the right thing to do.
    Quark decided that he would just have to convince
Sisko to remove it anyway.

    Dax stepped into her quarters with the intention of
getting a quick snack and a fresh uniform before going
out to the Ashtarian ship, and sensed that something
was wrong.
    She quite couldn't place what it was; she paused just
inside the door and looked about, listening intently.




    She could hear something, she realizedwa faint
growling or rumbling sound. She couldn't identify it,
or locate it.
    She listened for a moment, then shrugged and went
on about her business.

    Miles O'Brien had been looking forward to his
dinner with Keiko all day. She had arranged for
someone to look after their daughter, Molly; this
would be just the two of them, in a private room at
one of the Promenade's eating establishments--not
Quark's Place, but a more elegant one that offered
patrons whatever computer-generated decor they
might want.
    He was waiting for his wife at the entrance when he
heard something moving behind him; he glanced
back, into the restaurant's dim interior.
      A large crablike creature was moving about, appar-
ently aimlessly, paying no attention to O'Brien.
  O'Brien blinked.
    Now, that was interesting, he thought. Up until he
had boarded the derelict, he'd never seen anything
sentient that even vaguely resembled the poor dead
beings from the Gamma Quadrant--but here was a
rather similar fellow, right here on DS9. It seemed to
be a bit smaller, and he couldn't see its color in the
poor light, but the general configuration was very
much like that of the crew of the derelict.
  That was quite an odd coincidence:
  "Miles!"
    O'Brien turned and found Keiko practically in his
arms. He embraced and kissed her quickly.
    When he turned to lead her into the restaurant, the
crablike being was gone.

    Dax stared down at the little rodentlike creature in
its clear plastic compartment; it stared back up at her,
chittering happily.
    It was roughly the size and shape of an Earth
chipmunk, but a darker brown, with no stripeswand
with tiny seven-fingered hands. It held a tool resem-
bling a screwdriver in one little black glove.
    This creature, she was told, was a snuguortwthe
Ashtarian equivalent of a servomotor.
    "You see, it's not so much a technical problem," the
Bajoran technician explained, "as it is an ethical one.
The way the Ashtarians use those poor little things
just seems so cruel!"
    "It's not cruel at all!" the Ashtarian chief scientist
protested. "The snuguorts have been genetically engi-
neered for their functionwthey live for it!"
    Dax looked up at the one-eyed alien that towered
over her. "You're sure of that?"
    "Lieutenant," the Ashtarian replied, "if we don't
keep them busy, they sicken and die. They love their
work. This is what they were created for. Besides, our
ship can't function without themwthe snuguorts
regulate the matter-antimatter mix for us. We're quite
incapable of operating the drive without themweven
if we had reflexes fast enough, and the snuguorts'
intuitive understanding of the drive's proper equilib-
rium, our hands are far too large to operate the
controls."
    The Ashtarian raised its own immense seven-
fingered hand to demonstrate; its thumb alone was
almost as big as the snuguort's entire body.
    "They can't use their warp drive inside the Celestial
Temple anyway," the Bajoran said. "I'd say that we
should keep these poor creatures of theirs here, and let
the Ashtarians go on without them!"




    "Oh, and are we then to explore the Gamma
Quadrant on impulse power? And starve while we do
it?" the Ashtarian demanded.
    "Starve?" Dax's attention had largely fallen back to
the furry little animal; now she looked back up at the
Ashtarian, startled.
    The Ashtarian managed to look uncomfortable,
despite its inhuman features. "Perhaps I shouldn't
have mentioned that," it said.
"But you did, you monster!" the Bajoran said.
Dax held up a hand. "Please, Ensign, no racial
epithets. Chief scientist, now that you have mentioned
it, would you care to explain?"
    The Ashtarian hesitated, then said, "Well, you see,
Lieutenant, snuguorts breed quite rapidly, which not
only supplies us with plenty of spare parts, but also
augments our diet. We Ashtarians are carnivores,
requiring fresh meat, and the snuguorts are the
only livestock aboard." It shrugged--which was an
interesting procedure, since Dax had not realized
it had shoulders; its meter4ong neck had seemed
to blend seamlessly into its chest. "It's simple effi-
ciency."
    "It's heartless cruelty, Lieutenant," the Bajoran
insisted, "and if you allow this ship to proceed
through the wormhole, and risk offending the Proph-
ets with this barbarism, I'll file a complaint with the
provisional government."
    Dax sighed. She hadn't had to handle anything
like this in centuries, not with any of her recent hosts
--not since, as Penzak Dax, she had negotiated
a truce among the three sentient species of Lauan
XII.
    'Tll need to investigate this further," she said.
"Chief scientist, if you could provide the station's

computers with some information on the nature
and history of these... snuguorts, I'll see what I
can do."
    She didn't mention that she intended to get some
rest first. This, like the alien derelict and the lost
computer records, could wait until later.




CHAPTER
      10

TnE FORMER CARDASSIAN mining station that the Fed-
eration had renamed Deep Space Nine was a big place.
Its three hundred or so inhabitants mostly huddled in
the central core, around Ops and the Promenade and
the upper levels of the habitat ring. Visitors came and
went, but they stayed mostly in limited areas, as well.
Therefore, at any given time, large parts of the station
were likely to be empty.
    And naturally, the areas where equipment wasn't
working right were among the most neglected.
    That meant that although Chief O'Brien himself
was usually kept busy handling emergencies in the
core, some of his crew spent much of their time
wandering empty corridors, tracing faulty circuits and
repairing machinery no one was currently using.
    Ensign Waru Teyshan, a Bajoran volunteer in
Starfleet service, found such assignments creepy in the
extreme, but he could hardly refuse them on that
basis. O'Brien and most of the other native Federation

people didn't seem to worry about spiritual matters
much; troubles of the soul and concerns about imma-
terial entities didn't interest them.
    Waru wished he could be so calm about the unseen
realms, but his mother had been Vaiora to their
village, and he had grown up hearing regular reports
on the doings of the dead, and the actions, moods, and
preferences of gods and spirits of every sort.
    Waru didn't have any of the higher perceptions
himself, at least not in any useful degree~ so he had
never actually been sure that he had seen a ghost or
other supernatural manifestation, but he was none-
theless convinced that the empty corridors of the
station still held the spirits of many of those the
Cardassians had slain during their brutal occupation
mand quite possibly various other ghosts as well.
  Sometimes he thought he could hear them.
    As he struggled to repair the connections in a
burned-out junction box halfway up upper pylon two,
he was sure he could hear something.
    At first he had thougilt it was just the air currents in
a damaged ventilator somewhere, but as he spot-
welded the power couplings he realized it couldn't be
that--the sound was getting louder, and it wasn't
steady or rhythmic enough for a bad ventilator.
    It wasn't much like voices, either--at least, not
Bajoran voices. It had the right sort of patterning for
speech, but it was a deep croaking noise, not quite like
any sound a human throat could produce.
     What did ghosts actually sound like, though? Waru
 had always assumed they still sounded Bajoran, but
 really, why should they? After all, they were dead--
 they didn't have throats anymore.
     The sound grew still louder, and Waru put down the
 welding torch to listen.
  It was coming from farther up the pylon, toward the




alien ship that Chief O'Brien had been talking about
earlier, and Waru suddenly understood.
    These weren't the Bajoran ghosts he was hearing;
these were the ghosts of the dead aliens that had been
found aboard that ship from the wormhole.
    Waru wondered what they wanted. Could anyone
else hear them, or had he perhaps finally developed a
bit of his mother's talent?
    He considered calling in a report about it, then
decided against it.
    Chief O'Brien was a good man and a fine technolo-
gist, but he didn't know anything about ghosts.

    Jake Sisko was tired and ready for bed; his Ferengi
buddy, Nog, had gone back to his own quarters, Jake's
father was busy somewhere as usual, and Jake just
wanted to drop onto his bed and go to sleep.
    But now the stupid door of his room wouldn't open
to let him in.
    He supposed it was just another stupid malfunction
in the crummy Cardassian equipment, and he should
call someone about getting it fixed, but he was too
tired. He curled up on a couch instead, and fell
instantly to sleep.

    At first, independent contractor Muhammed Gold-
berg was embarrassed to be in Quark's Holosuite B,
but he told himself that was foolish. He was a grown
man, and if he wanted to try out one of the Ferengi's
sex fantasies, it wasn't anyone's business but his own.
He did his job, earned his pay, and if he wanted to
spend his free time and extra cash here, he had that
right. His Starfleet employers wouldn't mind--a per-
son's off-duty hours were his own.
 And it wasn't as if he had any family on the station,

or as if any of the women here had shown any interest
in him,
    That was what he told himself, and he knew that it
was true, but he was still embarrassed. His mother's
voice lingered somewhere in the back of his mind,
telling him that nice boys found better ways to express
their sexuality.
    "Have fun," Quark said, with an amazingly offen-
sive leer, bringing Goldberg's thoughts back to the
here and now. "I'm sure you will," Quark added as he
backed out, grinning, and closed the door.
    Goldberg didn't answer Quark's little sally. The
Ferengi hadn't exactly made him feel welcome when
he had inquired about the suite; Quark had acted as if
Goldberg was distracting him from more important
things. Goldberg resented that. He had almost turned
around and left.
  But he was here now.
    When the Ferengi was gone and the holosuite was
sealed, Goldberg looked around at the blank gridded
walls, took a deep breath, and said, "Computer, run
program XTC-four."
    His palms were sweaty with anticipation, and he
wiped them on the thighs of his coverails as he waited.
    The grid vanished, and he was standing in a col-
umned marble hall, looking down from a dais as a line
of women, chained at the wrists, entered the chamber
through a great golden door. A burly guard in open
vest and baggy pants directed them forward, and the
women obeyed. The fine golden chains jingled musi-
cally as they advanced toward him, eyes downcast;
one by one, in quick succession, they reached the foot
of the dais and knelt before him, the guard standing
behind them, his arms folded across his chest.
     Goldberg caught his breath, then smiled. He looked
 them over carefully.




     A fine selection, he thought--blondes, brunettes,
 redheads, a dozen women in all, kneeling at his feet.
     A sound distracted him from his study of the slaves.
 He looked up at the far door.
     Something was coming through it, something low
 and wide and a dull purple color. Goldberg blinked.
 What was that? What was it doing in this fantasy?
 Quark hadn't mentioned anything like that when he
 went over the catalog of fantasies. Had the Ferengi
 been so busy with his other business, whatever it was,
 that he forgot to mention some feature of this sce-
 nario?
     The thing moved into the hall, walking on half a
 dozen barbed and jointed legs; it looked something
 like a crab with tentacles.
  What was something like that doing here?
    And whatever it was, whatever it was supposed to
be doing, Goldberg decided that he didn't want it
there.
    "Computer," he said, "edit program; remove all
nonhumanoid intelligences."
    Nothing happened, except that the purple thing
advanced toward him and began making ugly croak-
ing noises. The women were still kneeling silently, the
guard standing motionless behind them, all waiting.
They paid no attention to the intruding monstrosity.
      "Computer, edit program," he repeated. "Remove
all nonhumanoid life-forms, now."  The thing was still approaching.
      "It's ruining my fantasy!" Goldberg shouted. "If
Quark thinks I'm paying for this... !"  The creature paid no attention.
    The slave gifts were still kneeling before him, the
guard still standing there; Goldberg decided that if
they could ignore the thing, so could he.

    Or maybe, he thought, he could incorporate it into
the fantasy.
    "If the one I choose displeases me," he said uncer-
tainly, "perhaps I'll give it to that monster." He had to
shout to be heard over the croaking.
    The guard shifted his weight uneasily. "What mon-
ster, master?" he asked.
    Goldberg blinked in astonishment. "That mon-
steW' he said, pointing.
    The guard turned--and the crab-thing walked right
through him, clambered up onto the dais toward
Goldberg.
    It wasn't part of the program, Goldberg realized
instantly; one hologram wouldn't go through another
from the same program like that. In fact, nothing
should be able to go through the hologram like that
unless something was wrong--the computer should
have compensated, to retain the illusion.
    And if it wasn't part of the program, that meant that
the crab-thing was real.
    And if the computer didn't compensate for it, then
the computer didn't know it was in here!
    "Computer, end program? Goldberg shrieked, as
the crab-thing reached up toward him with a lumpy
tentacle. "Let me out of here!"
    The marble walls vanished; guard and slave girls
were gone; but the crab-thing was still there, and the
door of the holosuite didn't open.
    The tentacle touched Goldberg's face; the croaking
made his ears ring.
  He screamed, and fainted.

    Odo looked down over the railing at the Prome-
nade, at the late-shift crowd. Most of the people below
him were Bajorans, going about their business--




 visiting the temple, getting a drink at Quark's, what-
 ever. A few humans were scattered in among them,
 brought by the Federation, and a handful of other
 species were present, as well--a Ferengi, a pair of
 Klingons, and others.
     None of the Ashtarians were in sight; after one or
 two visits shortly after their arrival, they had appar-
 ently decided to keep to themselves.
     Perhaps they got tired of having to stoop; many of
 the doorways and ceilings were too low for them.
     That might be just as well. A new species on the
 station meant new possibilities for trouble.
     Several of the shops were closed, and Odo let his
 gaze pass quickly across them--and then stop.
    Something had moved, down there in the darkness
of one of the businesses that was shut down for the
night.
    He froze, then stared, hoping to see the movement
again.
    Yes, there it was, in that boutique--a flicker of light
that shouldn't have been there.
    The quickest way down was not the steps or the lift;
instead, Odo leapt over the rail, transforming himself
as he went, and drifted down to the lower level in the
shape of a small balloon.
    The moment he touched down he transformed
again, to a small, furry animal that wasn't quite any
real species, but an approximation of several. In that
shape he scampered up to the closed doors of the
boutique, where he reared up on his hind legs and
peered in through the glass.
    He saw the counter, the thickly carpeted consulta-
tion area with its chairs and displays, the holographic
equipment that allowed a customer to "try on"
clothes that didn't yet exist, the replicators that pro-
duced the garments to specification after all adjust-

86

ments had been made--but he didn't see anything
that didn't belong. No one was visible in the shop;
nothing moved. The only lights were the normal
indicators on the various machines.
    He resumed his humanoid form, and used his
security clearance to open the locked door.
    He searched the boutique carefully, and found
nothing out of the ordinary.
    For a moment, he stood in the center of the room,
frowning.
    He had seen a light in here--but no one was here
now. He had had the door of the shop in sight at all
times; no one could have left that way, and there were
not supposed to be any other exits.
    Odo knew the station as well as anyone--quite
possibly better than anyone else. He had been here
since it was first built. This shop had no hidden exits.
    But he had seen something in here, and it wasn't
here now.
  Had someone beamed out, perhaps?
    He would have to check the station's computer and
see whether any of the transporters had been used. He
would also check on the construction of this shop.
And he would keep a close eye on it for a time.
  And that was about all he could do for the moment.
    But he had seen someone or something in here, he
was sure; it had been real. He didn't imagine things.
  And it couldn't very well have been a ghost.




 CHAPTER
      11

QUARK STOOD iN the doorway of Holosuite B, hands on
his hips, glaring at the blank walls.
    He did not need this. He was busy trying to come up
with a scheme to get his hands on that ship from the
Gamma Quadrant, with its Besrethine computer; he
did not need to be distracted by whatever it was that
had terrified Goldberg.
    He supposed it was another equipment failure.
Goldberg's description hadn't been very coherent, but
Quark didn't see