Silently, she moved throughout the corridors of the alien station, eyes studying each figure which passed with cold calculation. Without scarcely a glance, she made her way across the Promenade and walked into the security office, holding a cylindrical tube around one third a meter in height, almost one half meter in diameter. Inside the clear tube, a silver-metallic substance sloshed with each footstep.

Scanning the office, she spotted the object of her desire in the furthermost corner of the seemingly vacant room: a battered, medium sized bucket, which at the moment, contained an exhausted security chief.

Cautiously approaching the container so not to disturb the resting shapeshifter, she placed the cylindrical tube she had been carrying on the floor beside her. Gently lifting Odo's bucket from the floor, she quickly switched its contents with those of the tube she just brought in.

Holding her breath, she waited for the security chief to suddenly reform in front of her, but he didn't. Expelling a sigh of relief, she completed the task at hand and prepared to exit onto the already bustling Promenade. If only she could escape Quark's scrutinizing gaze, there was a good chance she could reach the ship without incident, but it was a long shot.

Gathering her wits about her, she stepped out of the office and headed for the nearest corridor that would take her to the ship. Looking straight ahead, she ignored everyone she ran into, and concentrated only on getting to her destination. Somehow, she managed to elude the Ferengi on the Promenade, but decided to remain alert, just in case she happened to bump into the commander, or anyone else who might question where she was heading.

Slipping through the airlock at upper pylon three, she deposited the shapeshifter inside a specially designed room on board the ship, and left to seek out her next victim, the newly arrived Lwaxana Troi.

Lwaxana Troi moved the dress from her case to the atrociously tiny closet in the guest quarters. She missed Mr. Homm, he had a knack for dealing with such mundane things as unpacking. She was back at the station because not everything had been accomplished during her last visit; considering the troubles the station had before, she was lucky she still wasn't trapped in that lift. Of course, at least the company had been pleasant, after she'd loosened that Odo fellow up a little.

Odo...now she wouldn't mind seeing him again, and of course he'd want to see her. I mean she had held him the last time, shared something with him no other being had...now if only she could get him into her bed. These ramblings skittered throughout her head as she meandered about the room.

Troi walked to the replicator, yearning for something cold and wet. On the little platform a flower rested against the grid, paper wrapped around its long, thorny stem. Carefully she unrolled the sheath from the rose, reading the writing on its inner side. "Upper Pylon 3...thought you'd never ask." The ambassador returned to the closet, retrieving her gown and moving to the bathroom; she had to primp, make herself look even more breathtaking. After all, she would be his first.

Troi made herself presentable, went to the pylon, boarded the ship, and had the adventure of her life....

Kira simply walked into the Sisko family quarters, heading straight to one of the bedrooms and the sleeping occupant tucked serenely beneath a mountain of covers. Kira took the bundled form into her arms, heading back to the corridor once more. The unmistakable sound of footsteps against the grating caused the major to duck into a cross-corridor and hide in the shadows, just in time to see the commander and Dax enter his quarters. Holding her breath, the Bajoran waited for a security team to come rushing down the hallway, but none came. To her relief, she ran into no one else, and safely got her charge onto the ship. * * *

Bashir bolted upright, gasping for breath, fearful of choking on nonexistent blood. He leaned forward in relief, sweat rolling down his heaving chest, breath coming in bellows. The material of his pajamas stuck to him like a second skin, stretching across tensed muscles. Finally his lungs slowed, his adrenalized body coming down from its terror, his heart beat subsiding.

Julian moved to the shower, hoping to wash away the sweat and fear emanating from his pores, trying to drive the dream images out of his head. He should have known better than to read a horror novel in his current state; he was just asking for the monster under the bed to gobble him up, chomp on his bones, and spit him out. He could hear it go patooee.

Afterwards, he moved to the closet, and dressed in a fresh uniform, deciding he might as well catch up on some work. He knew there was no way, except for a two-by-four across his head, that he was going to sleep the rest of the night.

As he applied the finishing touch to his hair, Bashir reached for his communicator, but instead, found nothing where the shiny, gold emblem should have been. Searching desperately for his communicator, the third one in the last week, he knelt down upon his knees and began digging out all the tunics stuffed beneath his bed, vaguely remembering kicking it under there, where they always ended up when he brought home a conquest.

With a sigh of relief, the doctor rose to his feet and turned toward the door, but was stopped cold in his tracks as the young physician ran head-on into Major Kira. Startled, he dropped the communicator on the floor, and cursed aloud as he knelt down to pick it up. Affixing the pin to his uniform, Bashir proceeded to give her a piece of his mind, then brushed past her as he started once again towards the door.

As soon as his back was turned however, Kira picked up a tennis trophy from his dresser, raised it high above her, then clobbered the young man across the back of the head. The brunt of the impact sent Bashir crashing into the wall, confusion moving through him before he finally submitted to unconsciousness and collapsed on the floor.

Dragging him to the awaiting ship, through the ventilation ducts, she placed him into the room with the others before falling to the floor herself. The task at hand completed, the ship left its moorings, heading straight toward the wormhole, the Gamma Quadrant...and the unknown.

It had been almost three days since the Bajoran arbitrary cleared Quark of the charges brought against him by Major Kira and Dr. Bashir.

Down on the Promenade, Bashir and Dax were talking at their usual table, and the young doctor was still trying to sweet talk the Trill into joining him for a nightcap at his place.

"Julian, you know that there's nothing between us. No matter how many times you ask, I'm still going to refuse. It's just that simple."

"Well, you should also know by now that no matter how many times you refuse, I'm still going to ask."

Jadzia smiled and shook her head. "I guess you've heard the rumors circulating around the station about you and the major."

"Yes, but she means nothing to me. You're the only woman that can satisfy the yearning hunger within my soul."

"Now, Julian, you know good and well that's not your soul yearning for me."

Shock and embarrassment spread rapidly across the young man's face.

That should cool him off for a while, Jadzia thought to herself before changing the subject of their conversation back to the rumors of him and the major. "Why don't you tell the truth about what happened...or should I say what didn't happen?"

Regaining his composure, Bashir answered, "It's too late for that now. Let them believe what they want. It'll pass."

"Maybe so, but I don't think she's quite ready to forgive and forget," Dax said as she glanced up and saw Kira approaching their table.

Bashir turned around in his chair and gulped as he saw Major Kira angrily storming across the Promenade, heading straight towards them.

"Quick, hide me," Bashir said hastily as he tried to crawl under the table.

"Oh no you don't!" Kira said as she grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled the squirming doctor back towards his seat.

"Hey," he said as he rose to his feet. "That hurts," he whined.

"Good! Because when I get through with you, you're not going to be able to get out of bed for a week!" she said furiously.

"Major, please..." Bashir pleaded. "I have no wish to go bald at such an early age."

Relaxing her grip, she allowed the doctor to return to his chair, then pulled another up next to him and sat down. A chill traveled up and down his spine as the major's icy stare pierced and probed the very depths of his mind, not to mention his heart.

Gulping nervously, he shifted in his chair so that he could make a fast getaway from the major, unsure of what she might try in her crazed state at the moment.

"Well get on with it, Doc! Or maybe you would prefer me to strangle it out of you," Kira said as she leaned closer to the physician.

Realizing the situation was getting entirely out of control, Dax decided to intervene before the major fulfilled her threat. "Major, there's no need to get violent."

"Oh butt-out, this doesn't concern you," Kira snapped back.

"No, but I don't believe Odo would like it very much if you smeared the chief medical officer across his Promenade."

"Major," Bashir said, seizing the opportunity before Kira could react. "I had nothing to do with those damned rumors. That is Chief O'Brien's fault."

"Really. Do you actually think I'm stupid enough to fall for that one?"

"You must be, Major, you just did," Bashir answered in defiance.

Rising to her feet, Kira threw her chair out of the way and slammed her hands down on the table in front of the doctor. "What did you say?" Kira asked calmly.

"You...you heard me," Bashir stammered as he prepared to hightail it out of there the instant she made a move towards him.

"Doctor, if I were you, I'd start making out a will right away."

At that moment, Dax's communicator sounded, just before she was about to call for Odo. Tapping it to activate the comm channel, she answered, "Dax here."

"Is Major Kira with you?" O'Brien asked.

"Yes she is, but she was just about to leave," Dax replied, making sure to stress the last syllable.

"Uh...right. Well, anyway, the commander wants the two of you to meet him in his office in fifteen minutes for a special meeting."

"A special meeting?" she asked, curiously.

"You'll find out once you get there," he said, then severed the link.

Having finally torn the major's attention away from the doctor's throat, Dax shrugged her shoulders in response to Kira's questioning eyes and started to walk off towards the nearest turbolift.

"Hey, can I come along?" Bashir called after them.

"If you want to spend the rest of your life in a freezer, be my guest," Kira said.

"A simple no would have been sufficient, Major."

"No is such a dull word. I prefer...dead."

"Julian, I don't think you should. I'll tell you about it later at lunch, okay?" Dax said.

"Well...all right...I guess," he answered dejectedly.

Pulling the Bajoran's arm, Dax said, "Come on, Major. We shouldn't keep Benjamin waiting."

Kira reluctantly followed Jadzia away from the table and picked up her pace to catch the Trill. "I swear, if I ever catch him alone, I'll..." the Bajoran began.

"You'll what?" a familiar voice from behind the two women asked.

Spinning around, Kira frowned in displeasure once she saw who it was. "Constable, nice to see you," she said hesitantly.

"A pleasure I'm sure, Major," he replied in his usual warm, affectionate way. "What seems to be the problem?"

"The problem is that I am sick and tired of hearing Bashir whine and complain about every nit-picky thing on this station. If he can't handle the pressure, then I suggest that he search for adventure elsewhere," the major hissed angrily.

"Kira, why did you have to be so hard on him? He was just trying to apologize in his own way. What are you going to do if he does decide to leave?"

"Help him pack."

"Ladies, I believe Commander Sisko is waiting," Odo said.

"How did you know?" Dax asked.

"Chief O'Brien told me five minutes ago, and he also asked me to drag the two of you with me if I happened to run into either of you along the way."

"That won't be necessary. I believe we can manage from here," Dax said.

"Very well. Tell the commander I'll join him shortly, right after I get Quark."

"Quark was invited?" Kira asked.

"For some bizarre reason, yes."

"Well, good luck," Kira added as she and Dax made their way to the turbolift.

"Luck? I've never needed luck to drag him out by his ear; Quark's a coward."

Five minutes later, Odo entered the commander's office, dragging Quark by the lobe of his ear, inciting pain just as the upper portion incited pleasure.

"Wait...ARGHHH...Odo, stop! Odo...please!" the Ferengi begged.

Flinging the howling man towards the nearest chair, Odo smiled inwardly to himself as Quark sank wearily into the seat, gently massaging his throbbing lobe.

"I'm glad the two of you could join us," Sisko replied as he eyed the Ferengi with mild amusement.

"I am sorry we're late, sir, but Quark is an idiot...a very slow idiot."

"I am not!" Quark said angrily.

"Gentlemen, please! This is a space station, not a wrestling ring! Now, I suggest each of you start acting your age, with maybe an exception here and there," he said as he glanced over at Dax, then continued, "Is that understood, Quark, and especially you, Major?" Sisko commanded.

"You're comparing me to that troll?" Kira fumed. "I don't have to listen to this! I'm leaving!" She forcefully shoved her chair out of her way and stomped towards the door.

"Major, if you walk out that door, you might as well keep on walking," Sisko calmly called after her.

Stopping dead in her tracks, she turned around to face the commander, confusion etched across her face.

"Yes, Major, you heard me correctly. If so much as a toenail crosses that threshold, you're through."

"You can't be serious, Commander."

"Try me," he said, and leaned forward to rest his chin on his hands.

"But...how...you can't possibly...you've got to be joking."

"I'm not laughing, Major. Either pack-up or shut-up, your choice."

Kira took a moment to ponder her options. There was a remotely slim chance that Sisko was bluffing, and that he could care less about whether she left or not, but there was always the possibility that he meant every word of it.

"I'm waiting, Major," Sisko prompted.

Gritting her teeth, she slowly inched her way to her discarded chair, and sat down.

"Wise decision, but don't think this is the end of our discussion, not by a long shot."

Reclining back in his chair, Sisko propped his feet on his desk. Settling comfortably in this new position, he said, "Chief, I believe you have something that you would like to share with the others."

"Well, sir, I just thought that maybe everyone would like to unwind after the past few days and all."

"What exactly were you planning to do?" Sisko asked, his curiosity piqued.

"Sir, I've been looking through everyone's...well, almost everyone's records and I believe I have found what I was looking for."

"And that is?"

"A birthday party!" O'Brien exclaimed excitedly. "Complete with O'Brien's special entertainment. Oh, and ladies, you can bring something to do too."

The commander rolled his eyes. "For whom?" Sisko asked, dreading to hear the answer.

"Dr. Bashir!" he said.

"Thank, God," Sisko whispered as he expelled a sigh of relief.

"Absolutely not!" Kira cried out in exasperation. "After everything he's put me through during the past few nights--days, we are not going to throw him a party!"

"Major, Dr. Bashir didn't do anything to you. You brought it all upon yourself," O'Brien pointed out.

"Hmpphh! He made a big deal out of the entire situation, and now my reputation is ruined because of it!"

"Major!" Sisko warned.

"What reputation? You're only the biggest ice princess this side of the galaxy has seen in the past 400 years!"

"Thank you, Chief, I'm glad you approve!"

"Major Kira, that will be quite enough!" Sisko rose to his feet, hot blood coursing throughout his veins. "Get out."

"Sir?" Kira asked, unsure if she had heard the commander correctly.

"You are hereby confined to quarters, indefinitely."

"Commander, you can't!" Kira blurted.

"Dismissed, Major."

"But--"

"Dismissed!" Sisko repeated, his jaw muscles tensing.

"Yes, sir," she replied with barely suppressed anger as she stormed out the door.

Legs suddenly becoming like jello, Sisko collapsed into his chair, breathing heavily. Closing his eyes, he gently massaged his throbbing temple with trembling fingers; the stress of the past few days and Kira's constant insubordination had finally taking its toll.

Immediately recognizing the commander's distress, Jadzia moved silently to his side, but was just as quickly shrugged off. Sighing, she asked, "Benjamin, do you want me to call for Dr. Bashir?"

Opening his eyes, he shook his head and said, "Thank you, but that won't be necessary. I'll be fine. It's just a headache."

"Why don't you take a break, lie down and rest a while."

"Maybe later, but for right now...Chief, I've decided to okay your request."

"I'll start making preparations right away, sir," O'Brien happily replied.

While O'Brien rambled on about who he was going to invite and who was in charge of what, Quark quietly raised his hand. "Uh...Commander? Chief?"

"Oh, Quark, you still here? I guess we forgot all about you." Sisko said honestly. "Something you need?"

"I was just wondering where I fit into all this."

"I'm glad you asked, Quark," Sisko replied.

"Oh boy", he whispered, then asked, "Why is that?"

"My dear Quark, you're going to be the host."

"You can't be serious."

"Oh but I am. You have caused me so much trouble in the past few days, I just wanted to return the favor."

"You're so very kind, Commander. I assume you'll be needing the usual party favors and hats," Quark replied sarcastically as he glared at the three individuals before him.

"Of course, and don't forget the cake and ice cream."

"Of course. How could I possibly forget that?" Quark answered distastefully.

Turning to the shapeshifter, who had long since been forgotten, Sisko asked, "Constable, will you be joining us?"

"Sir? Ah, no thank you. I don't do parties."

"Come on," O'Brien insisted.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I won't be attending the party," Odo repeated.

The shapeshifter rarely expressed any emotions, but Sisko noticed how uncomfortable Odo was becoming by the minute, especially after he first mentioned the party. He had never seen the constable so unsettled before.

"I understand, Constable. You probably have more pressing matters to tend to, especially after Mrs. Troi arrives."

"What?" Odo asked after a doubletake.

"I didn't tell you? I'm sorry, I thought that was the reason why you didn't want to come."

"No...sir, you didn't...tell me."

"Well, you remember her last visit with the other three ambassadors. After all the excitement, they didn't quite finish their inspection of the station so Starfleet decided to send one of them back to finish the job, and guess who volunteered."

"But sir..."

"There's no getting out of this one, Odo. She specifically requested you to be her guide around the station."

"Commander, can't you..."

"I could, but who would I give the job to? Bashir? I think he's had enough fun to last a lifetime. I'm sorry, Odo, but I guess you're stuck with her," Sisko said as he rose to his feet and started for the door.

"Indeed," Odo mumbled as he followed everyone out of the office. As he stepped onto the turbolift, his mind racing with thoughts of having that woman on board again, he didn't hear Dax calling for Sisko.

"Benjamin, are we expecting anymore visitors from the Gamma Quadrant today?"

"No, Lieutenant, why do you ask?"

"A ship has just emerged from the wormhole; sensors are unable to penetrate the vessel."

"Can you identify it, Chief?"

"Computer has found no match with any known configurations, sir."

"Can the sensors pick up anything useful?" Sisko asked hopefully.

"The vessel is constructed out of some sort of alloy with magnetic properties that render our sensors useless. There is no way for us to scan for life signs or anything else for that matter," O'Brien replied.

"Damn. Just by looking at the thing, can you tell what sort of propulsion it uses?"

"Negative, sir...Hold on, I think I've got something. Scanners showing possible warp drives, but they haven't been fired up in years."

"It's just a derelict, Chief?"

"I'm afraid so, sir."

"Thank God," Sisko whispered as he breathed a sigh of relief. "Chief, lock on tractors and bring it to dock at upper pylon three."

"Aye, sir," O'Brien answered as he punched in the coordinates and brought the ship in closer to the station.

Tapping his communicator, Sisko opened a channel to the major, and after a brief period of silence, she answered his persistent hail. "Kira here," the voice replied flatly.

"Major, I have a proposition for you."

"I'm listening, sir," she added as an after thought.

"Good. If you can put your grudges aside for the moment, then I have a mission for you."

"Which is, sir?" Obviously, she was more than a tad suspicious; for all she knew, that sniveling little doctor was there right now and Sisko was wiping his nose for him.

"Come up here, and I'll enlighten you, Major." After a beat, "Sisko out."

Kira sat in her bed, weighing her options: she could either remain in her quarters and sulk until hell froze over, or she could properly put the doctor in his place, the way only a Bajoran could. She smiled; life was good. * * *

Kira grimaced; life wasn't as good as she thought. Here she was, tinkering around in a derelict that smelled of dust and decay with Dax on one side, Bashir on the other, and Primmin in front. Obviously the Prophets had a warped sense of karma; what had she done in this or any previous life to deserve this?

To her right the sound of Bashir's chattering teeth filled her ears. "Never been cold before, Doc?" she snapped.

"Yes, Major, but usually the away team leader notifies all the participants to wear jackets." Enviously he eyed the warm insulated coats the remainder of the team wore. "If I get hypothermia, Kira, I'm filing a complaint." To his annoyance she shrugged. Oh, was she going to pay: perhaps a portion of her medical file would just up and vanish, be swallowed by the less than reliable Cardassian system, and then he'd run the full gambit of tests; she'd be in the infirmary for days.

"Still no life signs," Dax interrupted the dagger glares thrown by the doctor and the major. "Perhaps we would cover more ground if we split up."

Kira nodded once, "Doc, you're with me."

Dax interjected, "I was hoping we could stay together, Kira, give the guys time to talk."

She shook her head. "Come on, Bashir, we haven't got all day."

As Kira moved from earshot, he mumbled, "Splendid."

\\Most peculiar. There seems to be a great deal of tension between those two of the animals.\\

\\The others are possibly aberrations; they all may act that way toward each other. Then again, perhaps it is a mating ritual.\\

The conversation was taking place in a closed off section of the ship, up in the ventilation ducts among three glowing orbs. The spheres of light greatly resembled ball lightning; the team members went on with their scans, unable to discern the sentient presences on their tricorders and unable to hear the telepathic communication.

\\She is different.\\ The third orb, slightly larger than the other two, spoke of Kira.

\\So is the other with her external structure. The larger two appear to be the same.\\ Pausing for a moment, \\These animals have the ability to travel to see different animals, so perhaps they originate from three separate planets.\\

The larger, more brilliant glow resumed control of the discussion. \\Yes, that is possible. These entities are very curious, require further examination. The hostile one might prove useful.\\ The other two flared brighter, gathered closer to their leader in excitement. Before their attempts had not been so successful; hopefully, that would all change. * * *

She sighed, other than an opportunity to browbeat Bashir, the mission was a total waste of time and energy. "You can go now, I'll close up shop."

Bashir didn't have to hear her twice, out the hatch in a blue streak; with a shrug Primmin followed. Only Dax lingered. "Perhaps you shouldn't be alone..."

"How many people can it take to close the hatch? I won't get lost; go drink some Klingon coffee and down that writhing food you and Bashir find so appealing." Jadzia nodded, left. The major moved toward the exit, stopped short as an echo moved through the metal. She held her breath, listened intently; there it was again. All right, if that's how he wanted to play she'd show him, and the person who'd transported that annoyance back onto the ship. "I'm coming to get you, Doc, and when you're caught there won't be anyone to pry my hands from your scrawny throat."

Nerys moved further back into the recesses of the ship; the metallic echo sounded once more, closer and on her left. She turned into an open hatchway and stopped short. Only an inaudible gasp escaped as the bright sphere engulfed her; the exterior hatch slowly closed of its own accord, and Kira was drawn further into the derelict. Her communicator tumbled to the floor.

"Great party, O'Brien, better watch out for people swinging from the rafters."

"Oh, just shut up, Quark, shut up." O'Brien cast a despairing look around the bar; the revelers weren't merry, they looked more along the lines of a lynch mob. So far, this birthday bash was about as successful as a two-for-one special at the proctologist.

And where the hell was Bashir? Next time he gave that annoying man a party, it'd be his wake. The chief slid from his stool at the bar, moving across the floor to Sisko. "Sir, I thought you said you'd get him here." The commander nodded. "Well then pardon my French, but where the hell are you hiding him?"

"It's the major's job to get him here; we came to an understanding."

"Sir, excuse me, but that was a daft idea; you know Kira's about ready to bite off his head, or some other portion of his anatomy he's fond of." Sisko nearly spurted his drink from his nose. By now he should be used to the colorful Irish talk, but O'Brien still could catch him off guard.

Sisko cast the man a reproachful look. Slapping his comm badge, "Sisko to Kira." No response. He tapped the emblem once more, more forcefully, "Sisko to Kira, respond." Beside him, the Irishman murmured an expletive below his breath. "Sisko to Bashir." That attempt was as successful as his first two.

"Oh, no, sir, you don't think they could've killed each other?"

Sisko's lips pursed, despite the fact that the thought had crossed his mind as well. "Computer, location of Major Kira."

The smooth mechanical tones replied, "Major Kira is not aboard the station." He got a similar answer as to Bashir's whereabouts.

Motioning for Dax, he whispered confidentially, "Bashir and Kira are missing. Inform Odo and bring him up to Ops." She nodded, disappearing onto the Promenade. "Let's get some answers, Chief."

O'Brien nodded, took Sisko's lead. Too bad his celebration was ruined, such a waste. Ahead, from a huge and extravagantly decorated cake, a young woman popped up, yelling "Surprise."

It sure was. "Ensign McVay?" The young woman folded her arms across her chest.

O'Brien stood there with his mouth dragging the ground for a moment. "You're supposed to be dressed."

"This was supposed to be a private surprise," she countered. "Don't just stand there, somebody get me some clothes."

From across the room Quark beamed, "My pleasure, dear."

Feeling slightly guilt-ridden Sisko and the chief left the young officer to the Ferengi's insidious devices. He wouldn't reproach O'Brien; it wasn't as bad as he'd expected. Too bad, he was kinda looking forward to the Rockettes. * * *

"Any other unaccounted station inhabitants, Chief?"

"Checking, sir."

The turbolift came up, Dax just visible as it ascended into Ops; she was alone. "Odo's gone, I can't find him anywhere."

"Gone?" Sisko turned to O'Brien for confirmation; Dax took her station.

Finally the information scrolled across his screen, "Yep, the computer confirms it. Unaccounted for: Kira, Bashir, Odo, Ambassador Troi, and...Jake."

Sisko's mind reeled. "I want some answers, people."

"Benjamin," The confusion lacing her voice was evident; he turned toward Dax. "Did you release the derelict docked at upper pylon three?" Cautiously he shook his head. "Then why is it gone?"

He spun to face O'Brien. "Checking, sir."

Dax's features dropped. Her voice was barely audible. "I'm picking up debris on the sensors." She stopped for a second, unwilling to go on, "Traces of humanoid remains as well. They're dead." 4.

Unbeknownst to anyone on the station the derelict ship escaped safely into the wormhole, traveling across a thousand light years in the blink of an eye to a small sector of space, completely uncharted, completely unknown. Establishing an orbit around a tiny planet, the beings transported their prisoners off the ship, their only means of escape, and onto the planet.

Kira was sent to a tiny edifice on the planet's terrain, to be held and studied by herself, until the beings decided otherwise. The remainder of the group would awake to find themselves in the desert, left to survive on their own on the alien planet, relying completely on each other for their every need.

Odo stirred, the equivalent of a human stretch, shifting from the container to the sandy earth, assuming humanoid form. This was not his office. "Quark!" He was certain that pesky Ferengi was to blame for this, and even if he weren't Odo'd try to hold him responsible anyway. His office was gone, his Promenade was gone, and worst of all his bucket was gone.

The security chief looked to his feet; a grimacing Dr. Bashir lay there, out cold and blessedly quiet. A slight groan came from the young man; Odo sighed, he hadn't really expected it to last that long, after all, Bashir would try to talk to an angry rhinoceros with a toothache rather than stay silent. One meter away Jake Sisko was curled up in the fetal position, at least his thumb was no where in the vicinity of his mouth. And to his horror on the other side of Bashir, Lwaxana Troi laid sprawled across the sandy earth, that damnable smile still on her face.

Even more to the shapeshifter's horror, he saw the woman stir, eyes fluttering in an attempt to rise above unconsciousness. Odo held his breath, not daring to make a noise. He knew he should have learned some of those Bajoran lullabies! Damn his principles, if not for them he'd run away from this motley crew right away, putting as much distance between him and them as quickly as possible. "Why must you be such a good person?"

"Odo?" Swallowing a curse, he planted a slight smile on his face, a rare treat; around the station there were bets if Odo even knew how to smile, of course Quark played bookie. Finally Troi's eyes opened, fixing on the form of her knight, her Odo. "Odo, darling, what---where are we?"

"Kansas." Troi's lips pursed at his sarcastic remark. Tiredly, "I don't know, Madam Ambassador, but it doesn't look promising." Tilting his head in their companions' directions, "Let's try to get them up." With a fake smile, "You take Bashir."

Shrugging, "If you insist. Personally I think the young doctor would make a splendid companion, he's so young and full of life." Odo was no longer listening, instead poking at Jake Sisko's shoulder. Troi knelt down, just beside the young man. Tapping his forehead, "Doctor, wake up." No response came, "I don't blame you for wanting to stay out of it. This planet does lack the basic amenities, but you've got to get up and get us out of here." Poking at his ribs, "Get up, young man, this is no time for a nap." Lightly patting his cheek, "Get up---ehh!"

Bashir awoke in a rather agitated state, only to flip Mrs. Troi to her back, drawing back a fist. Just before it connected he made out her features and brought the blow to a halt. "You're not Kira."

"Very astute, Doctor. Now get off of me, young man." Bashir rolled away with a groan, rubbing the heel of his hand against his eyes. Abruptly Troi grabbed the nape of his neck, "Oh, you poor dear! You're bleeding."

Touching the wound on the back of his head, "Compliments of Major Kira." Drawing back blood stained fingers, "This is not what I signed up for. No where in my contract does it mention assault by a superior officer. I expect one helluva bonus." Shifting his attention elsewhere, "I better check on Jake." Leaving Mrs. Troi he moved the short distance to where Odo stood over the teenager. "Give me some room please, Constable." The young man checked pulse and respiration before pulling up an eyelid. Odo grimaced. "Still under the influence of the medication. He should awaken soon, nothing to worry about, Odo, other than how to get out of this fix."

"I'm sure I'll find a way, Doctor."

Bashir's gaze shot up, "You, Constable? Who died and made you team captain?" Sighing, "Hate to burst your bubble, Constable, but I'm in charge of this situation. This is a Starfleet matter."

"This is also a security matter, JG Lieutenant." Bashir shot him a dirty look. "I was head of security when you were still going to junior high and drooling with adolescent fantasies."

"I had a lot more than fantasies, Constable, which is more than you can say." Odo bristled.

Troi moved between them, "Behave, gentlemen, or I'm going to take over."

"With all due respect, Madam Ambassador, please let us settle this between ourselves." Bashir returned his attention back to the brooding shapeshifter. "Now, Odo, let's get one thing straight, this isn't arbitrating disputes about blankets or harassing Quark on the Promenade. I've been trained for situations such as this, and I plan on putting that training to use." Folding his arms across his chest, "Besides, your jurisdiction ended when we left the station, which you have seemed to forgotten.

"I haven't, Doctor, I simply want to get these people back to the station alive and in one piece. Do you think you can do that?" Odo's tone was insulting, inferring to Bashir that the chief thought he was incompetent, soft, and stupid.

Drawing a deep breath, "Listen, Constable," Now their titles seemed to be used as an affront. "My father was a Federation diplomat, and I've traveled all over the known galaxy, often finding myself in less than hospitable situations, so don't talk to me like I'm an imbecile. I can get us out of here; I know that."

With a slight nod, "Fine, you do that." Bashir nodded in return and began to move toward his patient. "Doctor." The human turned back. "Just be certain that when it gets too much for you and your traveling excursions you'll hand over control so I can secure rescue."

Bashir's mouth popped open to blurt a curse but closed again. After a moment he calmly replied, "When there are snowball fights in Hell, Constable, and I go into the priesthood." Finally he turned away and toward a just awakening Jake. "Take it easy, Jake, don't try to get up just yet. There's no rush; rest until you feel up to standing." The boy nodded and allowed his head to loll back against the sandy earth.

Bashir clapped his hands together and looked toward the ambassador and a brooding Odo, "So, it seems best for us to get out of the desert before we dehydrate and suffer from exposure." Scanning their surroundings and squinting against the harsh sunlight, "Looks like a set of mountain ranges just over the horizon there, probably our best chance of shelter and sustenance." Looking back to the other adults, "When Jake feels up to it and my head stops spinning we'll start out for it."

Below his breath Odo grumbled, "Whatever you say, Doctor. You lead and we'll follow your fearless command."

Ignoring the comment the young man studied Ms. Troi's attire, "Madam Ambassador, with all due respect, within ten more minutes you're going to resemble a lobster."

Running fingers over the gauzy material of her blouse, "Yes, well I wasn't exactly planning to sun bathe in this atrocious waste land." Sighing, Bashir removed his uniform tunic and offered it to her; Troi took it with a smile, "Thank you, dear boy. Tell me, are you involved? I have a daughter..."

Bashir weakly smiled; why did parents assume that their children needed help to find romantic attachments? All parents. His mother was a notorious matchmaker throughout three sectors. "Madame Ambassador, not now, I don't have time to discuss this."

He motioned for the others to follow; thankfully, Jake now felt up to beginning the trip. Mrs. Troi took Odo by the arm and strolled along side Bashir. "Nonsense, dear boy, you've got to make time for love; like I tell Deanna, you Starfleet types are always so involved with machines and gadgets that you never have time for romance..." Bashir sighed inwardly. It was going to be a very long trip.

Kira reluctantly allowed the cold reality to pull her from her dream world, a world filled with strange and alien images, acts of violence against her comrades, and a gauzy form of self- existence. Her head pounded like she'd been hit with a phaser on maximum stun or she'd had one of Quark's Klingon concoctions. Either way she wished she'd ducked or never stepped foot into the bar last night. The groan came on its own volition, passing over sore vocal cords and a dry mouth. Nerys opened her eyes.

And wished she hadn't. Her head spun; terror gripped her in its iron embrace. Stale, hot air whispered into her lungs, the stench of decay and fear turning her stomach into knots. The cell was small, barely adequate for one, let alone the two or three souls who often had to share its meager space. Cold gun metal gray walls, long turned dingy and filthy from numerous occupants, surrounded her. Shelf-like projections meant to serve as beds hung on opposite sides of the wall.

A heavy, rusted door rested shut with hinges locked together from lack of use. A tiny window admitted the shadowy light from the corridor on the door's other side. The cell was a memory from Kira's past, a place she'd spent three long and desolate months in. A place where she'd felt her inner fires reach their heights and plummet to the point where she simply wanted to find a permanent means of escape, when she'd welcomed death.

Now she simply wanted to awaken from this nightmare, let the past reside in the realm of dreams, fading with the light of day. She'd left this world behind long ago, escaped to the safe sanctity of her posting on DS9. DS9! Deep within her she knew it was a million miles away, of no help to her predicament now. Where were the others, those she'd brought to the derelict ship?

Kira Nerys, despite her self-sufficient attitude, knew that within a few weeks her solitude would drive her to doubt her own sanity, the memories of her new home and comrades. Deep within her she faced that demon every day; every time she closed her eyes to dream, opened them to face the morning, she dreaded that all the progress might just be her imagination, that she might awaken to find herself in the trenches again...or a prison...

Mrs. Troi had finally gotten to the point where her dry throat brought the endless chatter to a stop, much to all of the men's delight. Now she silently walked beside Odo, leaning on him now and again for support. Jake and Bashir strolled side by side ahead of them, slowing their normal pace in respect for the ambassador and the restricting dress which kept her from taking lengthy strides. "I hate sand unless there's a woman on a towel who's letting me rub oil on her back," Bashir grumbled, pausing to shake the offending substance from his boots.

"Yeah, that's not bad." Jake agreed, "But I don't mind it when you have a diamond and bases either."

"Tell me about baseball." Jake shot him a look of surprise. "That or let me tell you about the time I was sector tennis champion---"

"Baseball first, sir, then you can tell me. Looks like we have plenty of time for both."

The officer nodded, pausing for a moment, "Oh, and Jake, call me Julian, if you'll feel comfortable."

Mumbling to himself, "Julian; yeah, I think I can handle that."

Nodding once, "Good; now what's the purpose of this game?" The conversation ebbed on as the caravan continued to lessen the distance to their only means of shelter from the blistering heat. The sun beat down relentlessly, despite its steady descent in the sky, and thoughts of water filtered through every mind; well, nearly every mind.

In Odo's head the idea concentrated upon was that of a pail. He really wasn't in the mood to take a nap in Mrs. Troi's dress again, once was more than enough for that experience. Besides, the skirt looked far too tight to be folded into a basin, which delegated him to sleep in Bashir's shirt; that was a thought he relished even less. Odo would have sighed, but at the moment he was far too perturbed to. He was not happy. Quark was going to pay through the nose.

"Are you feeling well, Odo dear?"

Someone had spoken to him, and the shapeshifter broke from his reverie, "Hmm? Oh, not yet, Madame Ambassador, I still have several hours before I must return to my natural state." Troi gave his arm a squeeze of assurance, flashed him a smile. He had to get out of here and pronto. Being stuck with Quark for his entire life was his worst nightmare on a scale of 1 to 10. On the same scale, this situation rated about an eight. Whatever god, be it a Bajoran, human, or Klingon deity, who'd dropped him in this purgatory, he only wished they'd finish getting their kicks. He had a station to run, for goodness sakes; he didn't have time to sight see.

Bashir turned back, "We'll rest for a few minutes here before continuing on."

Mrs. Troi smiled gratefully. Below his breath Odo commented, "Oh, goody." At this rate they were never getting out of here. Humans, Betazoids, all other species besides the Bajora could be so taxing; he understood Bajorans, had lived with them his entire existence. Starfleet, with its Federation employees, opened up a whole new can of worms. They were all right, he supposed, but in extremely tiny doses. Mrs. Troi began to complain. Extremely tiny.

After an eternity of endless sand and a slue of reptilian creatures, they finally entered into a small scattering of trees, the growth thickening and surrounding them. Long before, the sun had set, leaving the group enshrouded in murky and unfamiliar shadows; as far as Odo was concerned the young doctor hadn't done any more than a trained monkey could so far. Needless to say, their leader had yet to amaze Odo with any brilliant leadership qualities; up to now, Bashir had simply been the fastest walker, automatically putting him in front.

In Odo's opinion, they'd already passed several sites suitable for a camp; Bashir, on the other hand, didn't agree. So they continued to walk, moving deeper and deeper into the forest, probably getting hopelessly disoriented as to their surroundings. Odo'd just about had enough of this leader; maybe it was time for him to abdicate.

Up ahead Bashir halted, coming back to take Odo aside. Confidentially, "Odo, you're probably getting a tad suspicious as to why I haven't stopped yet."

"No, Doctor," Odo said in mock horror, "What would make you think that?"

Julian's lips thinned. "I don't wish to distress the others, but I think we're being followed. Something is tracking us, staying back in the trees, but keeping up none the less."

Odo's eyes darted in the young man's direction before moving to the trees. So it wasn't just his imagination. Odo was impressed, marginally. Perhaps Bashir wasn't a total incompetent after all. "I'll take a look; you keep on."

Bashir nodded in agreement, "I'll make up something to explain your absence. Try not to get too far away, just to be safe."

The physician took point once more, directing the remainder of his subjects. His eyes tried not to focus on the trees closing in upon them, averted from the moon above, full and bright. This mirrored a childhood nightmare, his worse and most recurring. Bashir shivered slightly, dismissed the silly notions running through his head, and forged onward.

Hours of travel lay behind them, hard and grueling to say the least. Odo still hadn't rejoined them, tracking their tailer. Bashir still hadn't shaken the feeling of impending doom inside him; instead it grew by the hour, causing him to jump at every tiny noise, dread every forward step. Up ahead the trees thinned, opened up to a field; Bashir stopped, weighing the disadvantage the clearing presented: although it provided no coverage for their follower, it also meant they were completely out in the open, waiting there like defenseless babies.

Well, he certainly couldn't order retreat for no good reason, and a gut feeling just wouldn't cut it as an explanation. "Stay close." He whispered back, walking in a crouch; by now Jake and the ambassador had to be aware that something was up, so he didn't bother to hide his precautions.

Time to be a hero. At this point, a coward's life was looking pretty good. He knew the saying, "A coward dies a thousand deaths, a brave man only one." But hell, that's all it took. Halfway across, the thought of making it through unscathed actually crossed his mind. Instantly his eyes caught on shadowy figures lurking ahead, a chill pervading him. "Run," he whispered. Beside him, the two stood as mannequins, frozen from a mixture of fear and confusion. "Run!" They didn't react. "Go! Get Odo."

Mrs. Troi didn't require any further prompting, hiking up that skirt and nearly taking flight. Jake hesitated, torn between retreat and taking a stand with Bashir. "Get your butt in gear, Sisko, that's an order!" He started to hesitate a moment more, inciting Bashir to shoot him a dagger- filled glance. Regretfully, the young man turned, dashing to catch up with the Betazoid.

Bashir gave the boy one final look, digging his heels into the soft grass. He wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.

This wasn't what he'd signed up for.

Before him stood the visage from one of his nightmares; looming shadows crept toward him, red-stained lips curling into snarls. His stomach clinching in knots, Bashir shifted his stance, taking one of a defensive posture. In the back of his head a tiny voice spoke out, telling him to turn tail and run, that if he didn't do so now he wouldn't live to see the light of day. "No..." came across his lips, not a denial of his impending death, but a disapproval of second thoughts. It was his job to give the others a chance of escape, and that was exactly what he intended to do.

The image of a wild west sheriff holding off an outlaw gang flitted through his awareness for a second; oh what he'd give for a six shooter to be strapped to his hip right now.

In his peripheral vision the shadows began to spread out to flank him. One broke from the group, coming into the semblance of light Julian's night vision allowed. A wolf's head sat atop a humanoid body, hands with stretched fingers and claws for nails hanging at its side. Downy fur covered the body in its entirety, as white as snow on Christmas day.

The form advanced in slow fluid movements, those of an accomplished hunter. Inside his chest Julian's heart shivered in accompaniment to his spine. Despite the instinct to step back, the man didn't retreat an inch when the thing came to a halt before him, so close rancid breath assaulted his nostrils.

He towered over the form, but that didn't bring any sort of relief to him; clinical assessment began as his doctor's mind kicked into gear. He let it go, hoping that maybe some weakness could be ascertained from cursory examination.

He knew that unless a gun loaded with silver bullets dropped from the sky or he dropped from this dream to the safe sanctity of his bed not much could save him now. Amazingly enough he had no fear of death; that either stemmed from the ability to let go of life or an inability to grasp the futility of his present situation. He only feared one aspect of death: the pain.

A hand came up, in a movement reminiscent of...it dawned on him...in a movement reminiscent of a woman. The palm caressed his face, cupping his cheek, a thumb tracing his lower lip; in animal eyes a longing showed beneath the inhuman gaze. Fingers moved into his hair, shifting those dark tendrils so that they pulled away from his forehead. A tranquil composure gave the eyes a new light; Bashir actually expelled a sigh of relief.

Pain erupted across his scalp as the claws dug into skin; his hands flew up to the thing's head as he jerked away from claws embedded in him. Skin gave way with an explosion of agony, ripping from his face like falling wallpaper. In the back of his head he heard panicky, inarticulate screams; occasionally the word disfigurement made its way above the jumbled cries. Bashir shut it out, focusing on the form before him.

In slow motion the she-wolf lunged for the physician's throat; Julian's hands jerked her head in an odd direction. A sharp yelp came from the form before she collapsed like building in demolition; behind him the charging figures skidded to a halt. Disbelief made the pack look from its fallen leader to her killer, who turned to face them with determined eyes. Half his face was unrecognizable, the skin ripped away almost completely; however, the right side contorted with rage. "Come on..." he urged the hunched growling animals, who only stood like fun house creatures, movements clumsy and uncoordinated. "Do it!" he yelled, standing in wait of attack.

Blood rolled down his face, a drop resting on his chin before dropping to the ground; as it hit dirt a thunderous noise rose up, that of running feet and growls. Bashir went down beneath the stampede; teeth tore into him, forcing out all rational thought. Shrieks echoed off the trees, carrying for miles. Abruptly the pain faded, a sense of floating surrounding him, sending him up above the grisly scene.

He looked down, viewing the desecration of his body as an outsider; a numbness filled him, replacing the fear, doubt, and anguish. He felt nothing. Below him the thing that had once housed his consciousness was lifted up, raised by bloodied hands. They began pulling, tugging at him from two sides, lifting the slumped head off his chest. A tongue reached out, licking stray blood from the unmarred skin; teeth scraped the surface, bringing fresh serum up in rivulets of scarlet. The thing threw back its head and howled, staring at the bright full moon above. It dove down, teeth digging into the soft flesh and the veins barely pulsing beneath it; redness flew with one last cry from the body. Breath rattled in the lungs, the heart stopped in the chest and it slumped lifelessly into their arms.

Julian was dead.

Jake Sisko ran along side the shapeshifter, panting for breath but refusing to lag behind; he hadn't realized Odo could run so fast. Mrs. Troi came into view, kneeling where he had left her, her hands clenched into fists. "Hurry," she managed to hiss out through clamped teeth. "They're killing him!" The security chief continued on; Jake helped the ambassador to her feet, supporting her as they neared the field where they'd left Dr. Bashir.

Ahead Odo had stopped. "What's wrong?" A scream answered the boy, who came forward just in time to see Dr. Bashir go completely limp. Lwaxana shrieked as well, dropping to her knees as the harsh telepathic input abruptly ended. Jake finally got a good view of the things Bashir had insisted they run from; his skin crawled, his pounding heart increased its beating. Now Jake was glad that he had listened to the young man. As a group the wolf-like things lifted Bashir's body over their heads, carrying him off into the forest. Odo stood there for a moment, looking from the spot where the pack had disappeared into the trees to his charges. "Go," Troi said. "We owe him that much." In response Odo shifted his gaze to the human, who nodded bleakly in agreement.

Cautiously Security Chief Odo strode into the clearing, for once glad he had no sense of smell, otherwise he, like the others, would find the odor of blood overwhelming. Moon light danced along the grassy meadow, reflecting off the red liquid pool and the shiny gold object partially submerged in it. Odo reached to pick up Bashir's communicator then thought better of it; since neither Ambassador Troi nor Jake had a comm badge it would be useful, but he doubted either would feel comfortable wearing it. Deep, ragged scratches marred the normally smooth surface, blood encrusting in the grooves.

He continued on, purely for the sake of his companions; even with his limited knowledge of humanoid bodies, Odo knew that no one could survive such blood loss. Bashir was dead, of that he had no doubts; bloodied feet lead a trail directly to the spot where the gang had entered the trees once more. Odo followed, moving into the foliage for several meters. The footprints, trail, small splatterings of blood stopped, simply came to a dead end.

Odo turned full circle, scanning in every possible direction for any sign of the pack or Bashir's body. Around him the forest had gone completely quiet, as if all the animals, the breeze, everything had stopped moving, stopped living. A death-like calm enshrouded the area; if he'd been human, goose bumps would have cropped up on his flesh. But Odo wasn't human, didn't have that type of physiological reaction to tell him how wrong the situation felt. He didn't need it; the metamorph backed out of the forest, walking across the clearing to the people he'd left behind. Thankfully, they were still there.

To questioning eyes he simply shook his head. A heavy silence hung among them, no one daring break it, almost as if taking a moment for the young man who'd sacrificed himself for the others. Finally Odo took a step back into the meadow, motioning the other two to follow close behind; carefully detouring the attack site, the trio entered into the forest, searching for an appropriate spot for shelter and rest. Just over the horizon, redness tinged the tree tops as the sun arose to a new day.

Dead. The word still rang in Sisko's head hours after Dax first announced it. Was it possible that Kira, Bashir, Odo, Ambassador Troi and...and his son were all on the derelict when it was destroyed? Why hadn't he heard the explosion?

"Dear Lord, so many unanswered questions, so little time," Sisko whispered aloud. He closed his eyes and shook his head, trying to free his mind of the images that bombarded it. Opening them, he saw his wife, Jennifer, buried under rubble with him frantically trying to rescue her. Frustrated, he manages to free his son instead. Then suddenly, the image shifts and he is now inside an escape pod, staring with horror at the Saratoga as she flares up and the light washes over Sisko's stunned face. No. Not again. Not my son, too. Why? What have I done to deserve this? he pleaded silently.

From behind came the sound of his office doors parting. He didn't turn around; he knew who it was. Subdued, "What happened, old man? It seems like if so many people disappeared in such a short span of time, someone would have noticed. We would have noticed it; Jake's call came not thirty minutes before we went back to my quarters, not nearly enough time for someone to abduct so many people." "Like a thief in the night..." Her voice seemed more worn, far too old and tired for the youthful appearance it came from. Turning to look into her eyes, "I want the identity of this thief found."

The breath caught in her throat. An apology was etched onto her features. "The security monitors from your quarters and Julian's have just been analyzed..."

"And?" "Benjamin, it was Kira." "Kira?" Disbelief emanated from every pore. "She's a victim here too; what would she have to gain by taking these innocents? That's...that's insane."

Dax steadied herself visibly. "You know the stress she's been under as of late; you are well aware of the hostilities between her and Julian---"

"But that has nothing to do with my son!"

Sighing, "I know, Benjamin, but we can't give any black and white answers in this case. They're just too many unknowns."

"That may be good enough for Starfleet or the Bajoran Provisional Government, but that won't cut it with me. I know it'll be difficult, old man, but if anyone can find the answers I'm looking for it's you."

Dax nodded once, squeezed his hand in slight reassurance. "If you need me, you know where to find me."

"Just give me an explanation; I know I won't be able to go on unless I at least have that much." Dax extended a weak smile, left the commander to his solitude. Benjamin Sisko sat heavily in his chair, pondering the ever-present question of why this had happened to his son. His eyes skimmed across the leather-stitched ball in its place of display, and Sisko lowered his face into his hands and cried...

Run. Go with them, just don't stand there. They'll kill you, you heroic moron! He couldn't hear her; after all, she was merely dreaming; Bashir was safe, probably out there climbing trees or something. He had to be safe.

When the first cry came, Kira turned her back, clamping hands over her ears in a worthless attempt to drown out the screams. Noises clawed their way into her head, slipping between her fingers and into her ears like some demonic, wispy phantom.

After an eternity, silence came, enshrouding her in its cruel embrace. Kira screamed, falling to her knees with the force of realization; driven to sobs by despair, anger, and guilt she slumped against the damp earth, her tears adding to the dew. Deep in her bones she knew this nightmare was no dream, that this horror had taken place. And she knew it was her fault.

A hand fell on her shoulder. "Go ahead, kill me too," she whispered, hoping her own demise would be quick.

"No, Major, that would be too kind." Kira lifted her head from her hands; Odo stood over her, and pain ripped through her soul like a blade. She'd never witnessed such a harsh degree of hatred, pure loathing on his face, not even in response to a Cardassian.

"Kill her!" In response Kira spun on her knees to find Jake Sisko not far behind the shapeshifter, standing in a pool of blood; he walked forward, the liquid splashing up onto his boots and pant's leg. "She brought us here! If not for her Bashir would be alive right now." Tears streaked her face, washing away grime in tiny streams; she found herself begging, pleading for their understanding, their forgiveness. "Murderer!" The back of his hand caught her across the face, sent her tumbling toward the ground.

In shock she looked up, metal surrounding her instead of nature; Commander Sisko stood in his son's place. "Butcher! Tell the truth, you wanted him dead." Kira shook her head, emphatically, desperately wanting to be heard. "Don't lie, ever since he stepped foot on this station, you've had it in for him."

"You hated him." The voice was filled with rancor; Dax walked forward, phaser in hand, her features contorted in rage. "You deserve to die."

O'Brien appeared beside her, a laser welder in his hand, "You're a murderer, always have been." The instrument hummed to life, a tiny beam leaping from its tip. "Let's give her the proper send off to Hell." Dax was behind her, pinning her arms back. The light approached, so close sweat popped out on her skin.

"Justice." The voice was mangled, warbly with a gravelly quality to it; it drifted from behind her, and Kira couldn't discern its owner. A massive grin broke out onto O'Brien's face, and a smirk came across Sisko's lips. Dax roughly spun her around, face to face with a monster. Kira's eyes widened in horror; a shriek attempted to claw its way from her throat, but she was suddenly struck mute.

Bashir snaked forward, dragging a lame leg behind him, his boot scraped against the grating, sending a cold shiver down her spine. In back of him, a cold metal door stood, swinging open on rusty hinges to reveal a terror from a memory. Forlornly she glanced around, searching for a friendly face; she found none, only pleasurous contempt.

The bloodied figure continued toward her, a giddy smile planted on mutilated features. Dax released her, pushing the Bajoran into the dead man's out stretched arms. "Take her, Julian, do yourself justice." Leaning forward, the woman brought her lips to his, giving a good bye kiss; as she pulled away, Kira saw blood coating her lips; she felt her stomach lurch. O'Brien and Sisko gave the man a hearty slap on the shoulder, wishing him a fond farewell; Odo merely gave a nod.

The dead thing began walking backwards, hauling a struggling Kira with him. Over his shoulder she saw the distance closing, squashing her hopes with each step he took. Finally as the couple passed the threshold, she found her voice; a scream leapt from her, drowned out by the resounding clang of the door slamming shut behind her...

She catapulted back into consciousness, lungs heaving and buckets of sweat pouring from her like torrents of rain. Immediately the metallic odor permeated her nasal passages, forcing its way into her sinuses and down her throat. Acid churned in her stomach, accompanying the bile rushing to coat her esophagus. For several seconds she refused to look, closing her eyes and deeply inhaling the foul air in hopes that this hallucination would shatter, sending the images hurtling back to the recess they'd escaped from in her mind.

The odor became even more oppressant, tugging at her thoughts, dragging them into dreadful directions. Behind closed lids the vision stood, imagination allowing the horrible figure to linger. Surely the scent was simply a remnant of her dream, a hazy veil of her subconscious hanging on slightly longer than necessary. Kira inhaled deeply, unsuccessfully trying not to gag on the putrid air; as if daring fate, her eyes flew open.

Her heart stopped, sitting silently in her chest for what seemed an eternity; her eyes fixed on the floor, unable to tear away, unable to close, forcing her to stare at the humanoid form lying between the two shelf-like beds attached to the walls. Starting at its feet, her gaze slowly swept upward, skimming over the dark-colored trousers, the gaping holes in the material and bloody tissue beneath them. Bone peeked through some areas, and Kira felt an anger rising up inside her, a slow storm brewing.

Racing over the decimated torso, her eyes reached the shoulders; faint tinges of blue stood out against the ripped, blood-soaked cloth. Her breath caught in her throat for nearly a minute until forcing her lungs to work, her gaze to continue on. Over the torn, ragged throat, along the exposed facial muscles, and to the matted brown hair; reluctantly she reached out, trembling fingers hovering over the half-exposed face. Finally touching him, the Bajoran turned his head, expecting that side to be skinless as well. What she found was far worse.

On this half the handsome features of Dr. Julian Bashir remained intact, a serene expression covering the unmarred skin, almost as if he were just sleeping soundly. Eyes slipping shut, the reality finally clicked into place, and along with it the guilty remorse. Tears stung at the corners of her eyes, threatening to spill out over her cheeks. This wasn't the first time someone under her command had died, but no longer was she fighting a war, sacrificing lives for freedom and principle. She had brought him here, lead him straight to his death. It was her fault...her fault.

Unlike her he had a family, people who cared and worried about him, and she would have to face them, take responsibility for this tragedy. A life so full of promise and potential had been squelched, snuffed out like a candle; he could have saved thousands of people, broke through so many medical barriers. Now all that was gone; it was all so senseless.

A hollowness engulfed her insides, rapidly filling with guilt, self-disgust, and sorrow. When the noise came she had been so self-absorbed a small shriek of surprise jumped from her, her eyes skimming over the cell in search of its origins. Brown eyes stared back at her, glazed over in shock and pain, sheer terror in their depths.

On the floor the form of Julian Bashir began to tremble slightly, small whimpers emanating from the ruined throat, sending an arctic rush along her spine. The body began to quake, convulsing ever so slightly, the sounds broke and punctuated by ragged breathing, a struggle for air by blood-filled lungs. Around him the pools of blood began to run, coalescing together and drawing to him, through the torn skin and severed arteries; tissues began to shiver, fibers coming together, areas closing up almost completely. Abruptly Kira realized: he was being put back together, piece by piece like some perverse Humpty Dumpty.

The sounds coming from him were in no way remotely human, pain driving out any civilized notions; he screamed like a human banshee, wordless, inarticulate cries straining his vocal cords to their limits, until Kira thought they would snap like a rubber band pulled too tight. Finally he managed to etch out a sentence, broken and harsh, "What's happening to me!" Pleading brown eyes turned in her direction, and despite the irony of it, Kira couldn't help to think how much they reminded her of a canine's; puppy dog eyes stared at her from a half human face.

His face was etched in harsh lines of pain, at least the right side of it; Kira couldn't make herself look at the exposed portion for more than a millisecond. Shrill, harsh breathing slowed just a tad, prompting the Bajoran to slide from the bed, perch on the filthy dirt floor. "Doctor?" A hand hovered over his shoulder, wanting to give some touch of comfort but fearful of invoking pain.

His head turned in her direction, a grimace firmly planted on his features. Even his body seemed to grimace, muscles tense like a spring. "Kira..." The word was weak, barely audible but it made her draw a deep breath, force back her disgust. He struggled to focus his eyes, try to study his surroundings. "Where..."

She kept her voice low, trying to make it as soothing as possible, "I don't know, in some cell somewhere. Do you remember how you got here?"

Bashir closed his eyes, either in thought or to rest a moment, Kira didn't know which. "The others..."

"What about them? Are they alive?" He couldn't answer her verbally, but the perverse parody of a shrug came in response. Kira looked to the floor, trying to think of the best way to make him more comfortable. "I'm going to move you to a bed; it'll hurt, but you'll probably be more comfortable in the long run."

The Bajoran hesitantly touched him, uncertain where to put her hands; he was like one huge open wound. She decided it would be easiest to just do it as quickly as possible, like in the olden days when you just ripped off a band aid all at once. Kira moved behind him, lifting the man to a half-sitting position, wrapping her arms under his, and dragging him up. She felt the scream before hearing it, his chest expanding as his lungs drew in breath with the pain.

"Almost there, just one more second." Both had their teeth gritted, one in pain, the other in the straining effort to haul the dead weight to the shelf-like projection on the left wall. The Bajoran managed to maneuver the doctor halfway onto the cot before lowering him into a fully horizontal position. Staccato breathing filled the enclosed space, echoing off the walls until the woman thought the noise was deafening.

"Who or what is doing this?" Absently she wiped her blood-covered hands against her thighs, staining one of the few clean spots on her uniform. What sadistic thrill did this entity receive by killing a man in such a vile and excruciating manner, only to bring him back to life and restore that body just enough to keep the person clinging to life? If she didn't know better, she'd think she and the doctor had stumbled into the hands of the Cardassians. Unfortunately, logic dictated against her biased theory; Cardassians didn't possess such power, and besides, Bashir wouldn't have gotten off so easily.

His breathing steadied just a bit, the noise subsiding to a dull roar. Trembling fingers reached out, brushing Kira's leg; his eyes closed in relief. "I'm here, we'll get out of this somehow." She wished she felt as confident as she sounded; at the moment she had no idea how she was going to keep him alive, much less get him to safety.

"Kira..." His eyes hung at half mast, his movements slow and uncoordinated, but he finally managed to look at her. An involuntary shiver ran through him, his body racked with cold. "So cold...I...I think I'm...going into shock."

"What can I do to help?"

Bashir started a slight laugh which became a grimace and moan of pain. He managed to get out, "Got a phaser?" Kira's look of reproach made his training kick in. "Ok, warmth, gotta keep the patient warm." Bashir didn't study the figure beside him, instead turning to the pictures in his head of the lectures he'd had during his training; Kira was glad he focused elsewhere, he couldn't see her wince every time he inhaled sharply, stammering so that the words were barely coherent, the long pauses as he fought to force out the words. "And somehow replace lost fluids. Elevate the legs." Irony tainted the physician's voice, "And get the patient immediate medical treatment by a qualified physician...Got all the qualifications in the world, but I can't do a damn thing." Turning to the Bajoran, "Sure you ain't got a phaser? I'll settle for a state-of-the-art Starfleet med center. Beggars can't be choosers; how bout an old fashioned dose of morphine?" Kira had no idea what morphine was, but something told her it wasn't good.

For warmth she gave him the only thing she could: the jacket from her uniform, draping it over his chest, attempting to make it cover him completely. For the moment, that was all the help she could provide; not true, she could help him emotionally. Of course, what did you do to ease a man who'd been brought back from the dead in such a manner?

She didn't know, but she owed him something; after all, all this was her fault. "I'm so sorry." She whispered as his eyes closed and he drifted away. "I'll get you out of this somehow, I promise..." Kira moved across the space, settling on the bed and watching her companion. She knew she wouldn't sleep, she was far too wired. Exhaustion, however, had other ideas, and Kira fell into slumber, with dreams of a dead man occupying her thoughts...

Days passed, seemingly endless passages of time filled with the chore of walking, gathering food and water, making what progress they could. Morale, to say the least, was low among the troops, and the constable kept them at a steady pace; the group rested with Odo's cycles of regeneration, Troi and Sisko taking turns as sentinels. The loss of Dr. Bashir weighed heavily on them, and the recurrence of an attack lingered in the back of every mind.

Troi took the young man's demise the worst, having been subjected to the intense experience on a telepathic level, directly in his mind as Julian Bashir died. No longer did her bubblably personality uplift her companions' spirits; now, the Betazoid ambassador was unusually quiet and pensive. For once, Odo wished the woman would chatter, anything to keep his mind diverted with endless uselessness.

Oh no, was this what he was coming to? May the Prophets help his poor soul.

Depression enveloped Lwaxana Troi; every once and a while, under her breath, she muttered a Betazoid prayer for the young man, even some human ones her husband had taught her. She hated death and the emotions associated with it, especially an untimely death; it brought back too many painful memories. In a vain attempt to change the subject of her thoughts she scanned her companions, finding only gloomy reflections there as well. Troi pulled her telepathic probing from them, extending the probe in hopes of finding Kira. Later she would...and another familiar presence.

She awoke to a scream, nearly bolting to her feet in an instant; across the way Bashir writhed and shrieked. At first, believing him to be in the throws of a dream, reliving his death, Kira scurried over to him; fingers brushing against his cheek, soothingly whispering to him in hopes of calming.

This tactic was to no avail for he continued his cries; in the shadows a lumpy object shifted, and Nerys met glowing orbs. Two pair of beady-yellow eyes glared through the darkness; her eyes focused on the forms, twitchy noses covered with a bloody film. Her stomach lurched, inciting the execution of a sweeping motion by her arm; the rat couple was hurled back from Bashir's leg, thumping against the metal wall with protesting squeals.

Tears burned at the corners of her eyes, temporarily blurring her vision; Kira bent down, brushed the pale, frigid cheek once more, talking softly into his ear. Already his eyes were slipping together, sinking back into the blessedly painless state of unconsciousness. As of late, Bashir seemed to reside there more and more.

Nerys slumped to the floor, knees drawn up and back pressing against the bed-shelf. She cast a glance at her surroundings, her companion, and finally herself and laid her face in her hands. At least that muffled the sobs emanating from her throat, didn't want to disturb Julian; but in her gut, she doubted any noise she made could've caught his attention.

Kira drew up, reining in the emotions threatening to sweep over her in a massive tide; her eyes darted to the form of her cell mate behind her, and to her astonishment, he opened his eyes and admonished her with a semblance of a smile; a finger, in turn, stroked her cheek. Don't worry, the gesture said, I'll be just fine.

Kira extended a smile of her own, and softly, tenderly went into the beginnings of a Bajoran lullaby. Like a babe, Bashir's eyes drifted shut on a smile to travel to a far better land, a place in his mind free of pain, or cells, or rats, and the major bade him a safe journey.

Kira gathered her wits about her; she had no idea how long she could fight the specter of sleep, but would find out soon enough. Another glance. Not even a measly rock to fend off the rats...

The pain was receding, agony dulling to a mere throbbing in her brain; no longer did it feel as if her cranium would split in half. A comfortable numbness enveloped her, and Lwaxana Troi expelled the stale breath clogging her lungs. In her lap, Odo rippled slightly; the mercury-colored gelatinous liquid flowed from the make-shift trough, allowing her to pull her tight skirt to a more modest length; not that she really cared about indecent exposure, after all, she was Betazoid.

Above her crossed-leg form the constable reconstituted to his familiar humanoid shape; instantly he knelt down, touching her forearm with veiled reluctance. "Ambassador?" He couldn't quite decipher the expression on her face; too many emotions were surfacing there. "Are you okay?" No answer. "Are you ill?"

Absently Troi shook her head. "No. I'm fine." Finally bringing all the mental emanations into focus, "Odo," there was a distinctive breathless quality to her voice, an excitement, "he's alive." A blank stare met her enthusiasm. "Dr. Bashir, he's not dead."

"But---"

"I know what it looked like, what I sensed, but now I've sensed him again, still in pain but living." Odo remained silent, let her drone on; he wasn't sure if he bought all this or not. "And he's not alone; your Major Kira is sharing some type of cell with him."

Immediately Odo's attention perked up, "They're prisoners; by whom?" Troi, taken aback by his sudden passionate interest, could only shrug. The shapeshifter made a noise of annoyance and rose to his full height, scanning the sun through high tree limbs. Exasperation and impatience gnawed at him; how was he supposed to find Kira and the doctor? How was he to find transport from this primitive planet? Now more than ever Odo wished his abilities encompassed the know- how to shift into a functional runabout. While he was at it why not add a wish to find the knowledge as to his origins?

"Get Jake up. Tell him everything." He began to walk into the denser foliage.

"Where are you going?"

"On a quest; I'm missing something here, right under my nose." He said no more, disappearing into the green brush; Troi gave him a longing glance.

Jake Sisko's eyes fluttered and parted with a smile, "Hi, Mrs. Troi." A stretch later he sat up, eyeing Odo's retreating form in confusion.

Patting his hand, "Not to worry, Jake dear, everything will be all rosy, just perfect..." * * *

A small noise of contentment filled her ears; Kira turned onto her side, stiff muscles protesting with twinges of pain. Her eyelids blinked rapidly, attempting to bring uncooperative eyes into focus. Before her Julian Bashir lay with legs tucked up toward his chest, a hand beneath his cheek. Nerys blinked hard, rubbed the heels of her hands into her eyes, and looked again. Relief washed through her, riding straight over the nagging doubts in her mind; Kira hopped to her feet, fingers hesitantly reaching out to touch him, skimming over skin which had not been there when she'd shut her eyes. If not for the uniform, still in rags and bloody, Nerys would have dismissed it all as a dream.

And then she saw it, just in front of the door, a fresh uniform and new basin of water; the procedure was similar to the way in which Kira had been provided with food and water. By the cloth and soap-looking bar lying by it, she ascertained that the liquid's purpose wasn't drinking.

Her fingertips skimmed along his jaw; the physician smiled, made a slight gurgling noise in the back of his throat. "Bashir," tugging at his shoulder, grimacing as the encrusted material tore away from his skin. "Wake up." He murmured her name softly.

Long lashes parted, and Bashir met her appearance with a smile; vaguely Kira wondered if he remembered any of the last few days. Something deep within her prayed he didn't. "Are you in any pain?"

Stretching, Julian shook his head; that grin on his face was infectious for it spread to her lips as well. Sighing, "Kira, you are a beautiful sight." That caught her off-guard, unbalanced her a bit; his gaze swept over their lovely two-bed room suite. "Wish I could say the same about our surroundings." She nodded bleakly in agreement. Running his hands over his face, as if to make certain it was there, it was whole, "When did this happen?"

Good question, she thought. "I don't really know; I...I fell asleep." Some great protectress she was; they could've taken him away or worse during her little indiscretionary nap.

Bashir's fingers brushed her hand; she forced herself not to flinch as the red-stained skin came in contact with hers. "You're only hu---Bajoran, Major, and you're mortal. Like it or not, we all have our physical weaknesses." Spoken like a true doctor. "You've done excellent under the circumstances." He seemed sincere, but there was that 'I'm the doctor, you're the patient' tone creeping into his voice. Kira hated when he pulled that.

The woman drew a deep breath, shook herself out of the abysmal pit of despair she seemed to be residing in as of late. "Why don't we get you cleaned up." With that she covered the meager distance to the door, tossing him the uniform, cloth, and soap before taking the basin over to the shelf-bed.

His eyes darted nervously in her direction, but he slid down the zipper on his uniform anyway; he glanced at her again as he pulled it back off his shoulders. Her back was turned, arms folded tightly across her chest. Nervously she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, awkwardly attempting to make idle conversation. The fact that all of Bashir's clothes went sailing past her one article at a time didn't help matters.

The conversation, once she got it going, was almost completely one-sided; Bashir responded with a grunt here and there but mostly concentrated on scrubbing away the dirt, blood, and top layer of skin. Finally he ventured to ask, "Major, why were you so angry about those silly rumors?"

Bashir was the one over there standing as naked as the day he was born; then why was it Kira who felt so vulnerable, so exposed? Her heart fluttered, her mouth went dry, and Kira felt color rush into her cheeks; thank goodness Julian couldn't see her face. "I---I don't really know, Doc, I just flew off the handle."

He nodded automatically, although she couldn't see the movement. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

Kira's mouth flew open to respond; she spun in his direction, instantly turned back. "There's nothing to tell." He gave a slight noise of acknowledge; he didn't believe her! "I---I've just been under a lot of stress; you should know how that can affect a person's temper." That annoying little sound again. "Would you please stop that!" Smirking, he answered her again in the same fashion. He watched her ball her fists at her sides; he continued to wash up after a shake of his head. Kira was something, that was for certain. Abruptly he ran into an impasse; an exasperated sigh came from him. "Kira," the address was hesitant. "Um, could you give me a hand?" Remember the last time that expression had come up with her in a conversation; she was so mad she had been ready to hand his heart to him on a platter.

She turned, her eyes steadfastly staying on his face. "It's okay," pointing to the towel around his waist. "Apparently these entities understand the idea of modesty." A smile flickered at the corner of her lips; she let the opportunity for insult slide by, this time. Extending the cloth, "I can't reach all of my back. Help?"

She took it, doing the desired task. "This is why women are the ones who wear dresses. Men can't manipulate a zipper all the way up by themselves." Bashir chuckled, nodded in agreement. "All finished." She tossed the cloth into the basin; it landed with a splash, red-tinted water flying up into the air. She took it back to its place by the entrance. Bashir began to pull the uniform on, tossing the towel to land on the pile of rumpled, bloodied clothes.

Pulling his zipper up most of the way, he plopped down on his bunk, gazed at Kira as she took her place across from him. "Let's compare notes."

"Commander, you have been given a direct order from Starfleet Command to drop all formal investigation into this matter!"

"But Admiral Flinn, you can't expect me to sit idly by and simply dismiss the disappearance of my son, three of my senior officers, and a Federation ambassador!" Sisko angrily shot back. "The circumstances surrounding their disappearance are too ambiguous to warrant the declaration of their deaths! We need more time!"

"We don't have the time! Dammit Benjamin, why can't you just accept the fact that they're dead! You're already facing a possible reprimand for disobeying Admiral Meyer's order! Don't throw your career down the drain; close the matter now and I may be able to get Nick to drop the disciplinary hearing. If, however, you persist to stick your nose where it does not belong, you may as well start packing."

Tensing his lower jaw, Sisko curtly nodded his acceptance of the terms and severed the channel. The image of the admiral faded, leaving only a darkened screen as cold and desolate as his own heart.

Benjamin Sisko rose from his chair and emerged from his office, an aura of unwonted calmness radiating from every fiber of his being. It was futile to argue; he had to accept the tragic truth that his son and the others were gone, that he would never see Jake's youthful face again. There would be no more reprimands to Major Kira, or Bashir swearing that Garak was a spy for the Cardassians, nor would there be any complaints from Odo concerning Quark or even Lwaxana Troi. All that and much, much more was gone. Starfleet was determined to smother the last flicker of hope he clung so desperately to; the fond memories and the adventures they had been through was all that he had left.

All eyes turned towards him as he descended the stairs. He was exhausted, but there was no time for rest; he had one final duty to complete before he could sleep. Directing his gaze towards Dax, "Has Bashir's temporary replacement from Bajor arrived yet?"

"Yes, Benjamin, but the Provisional Government still hasn't appointed a new liaison to the station."

"What about Security?" he asked as unemotionally as the first. "Odo's deputy is taking up the slack on the Promenade," a ghost of a smile touched her lips, "but I think Quark's gone into mourning."

Sisko allowed a weak smile, but it was just as quickly replaced by a grimace. Clearing his throat, "Everyone please give me your attention. As of this moment, the formal investigation into the disappearance of my son, Kira, Bashir, Odo, and Ambassador Troi has been officially closed by order of Starfleet Command."

A murmur of disapproval rose from the crew as Sisko mounted the stairs once more, only to be halted by Jadzia's hand on his arm. "Benjamin, what we do off-duty is our decision, right?"

With a questioning glance, he nodded.

"So if I wanted to...oh...play detective for the sake of argument, then I wouldn't be in violation of any direct orders from...let's say Starfleet Command, would I?"

"No, Lieutenant. What you do off-duty is at your discretion," he replied knowing full well what she was implying.

As the others settled back down at their stations, Sisko knew there was no use in prolonging the inevitable. Sighing aloud, "Chief?"

"Sir?"

"Open a channel to Earth...and the Enterprise."

"You have no clue if these entities are able to---"

"Listen," Kira, more than a little perturbed, announced for the umpteenth time, "all I know is that this bright ball of light took control of my body, pillaged my mind, and after forcing me to escort you onto the ship, plopped me down here." Running a hand through her hair, "I was privileged," the sarcasm was thinly laced, "to watch your demise by it--them--I don't know what."

Stifling a yawn, "I know I've prodded for a long time, but I'm only trying to determine the extent of this entity's abilities."

Kira chuckled, although the laughter wasn't very humorous, or the subject for that matter. "They brought you back from the dead, Bashir. What does that tell you?"

"Did they?" He countered. Shrugging, "In med school we studied the psychological as well as the physical aspects of death. Although I did feel the pain, did my body really and actually suffer the damage?"

Shaking her head at the seemingly insane question, "I watched you come back---you've talked about floating above your body."

"A common Dissociative disorder." At her confusion, "Depersonalization, the feeling of being outside of one's body or of existing in a dream world. Such occurrences have been recorded in numerous cases of abrupt psychological and physical shock." Continuing the theorizing, "If I thought I was dying, if my mind was being tricked into sending out those signals from my neurons, then my body would react in that fashion."

"So what does this come down to in English, Doctor?"

"A little neurochemical manipulation, and you have the means for one helluva show."

"I saw you," she objected, "smelled the blood, heard your screams!"

"Sensory stimuli could be controlled in the same way. Release the proper chemical in the proper areas of the brain, and a person could be made to believe anything." Waving his arms to take in their surroundings, "What if this, all this, were just one big, massive hallucination? What if we never left the ship?"

A cold shiver ran through her at the thought; it was plausible. "What would this entity have to gain by playing mind games with us?"

"Data."

\\What have you done?!\\ Had the demand been verbal, the metal walls would have rang.

\\We were only curious---\\

\\Curious?\\ Incredulously, \\Curious! Curiosity is satisfied by watching the subjects, not killing one of them!\\ The glowing orb flowed in one direction, then another, reminiscent of pacing.

\\But we learned so much!\\

A sigh responded. \\I hope you're happy. Then by all means, perhaps we should torture them all!\\

\\But now we know these animals form bonds and attachments to each other---\\

Shushing its other companion, it stopped its movement, hovered very still. \\If this is so, then those we left on that mechanical structure may be experiencing these unpleasant sensations you witnessed from the female. It requires further investigation.\\ A sound of agreement rose from the other two balls of light. \\I will return there. And you will continue to watch the subjects. When I return, I expect them to be unharmed. If I find that something unpleasant has occurred, I will be very displeased. Do you understand this?\\ Like naughty children who were being given a second chance, they agreed obediently. The chief watcher left...

"This is never going to work!"

"Please be quiet, Major. Channel that energy into trying to get these hinges loose." Presently, the two officers were attempting to pry the pins from the hinges with the edges of the water pans.

"Where did you get this idea from?"

He cleared his throat. "A twentieth century movie." Kira dropped the pan for a moment and stared at him in disbelief. "It worked for that spy; it should work for us." She shook her head; with logic like that, she was surprised Bashir wasn't dead yet. Starfleet definitely had its hands full. "Well, have you got a better idea?" She didn't answer him, simply returned to her former task. Bashir's mouth flickered with the beginnings of a smirk.

The work was slow, tedious, and frustrating; it had been hours, yet only a minimal amount of progress had taken place. Kira had to admit that Bashir's idea was good, if you had two hundred years to spare implementing it. If you were in a hurry, however, then like the human saying said, you were up a river. Somehow that wasn't quite right, but she didn't care. Humans had hundreds of such useless, little sayings they spouted off religiously. That and endless amounts of technobabble.

Hours, days, years later a cry of triumph erupted from the doctor. Kira jumped in response to the abrupt outburst, sending him a glare--half annoyance and half gratitude. He pulled out a pin, held it up as proof of the validity of his idea. Kira stared up in disbelief. It had worked; the plan had actually not been wishful thinking. Above, Bashir's lips formed a broad grin; he stood there, staring down at her, waiting for some expression of congratulations for his brilliance. "I can't believe it..." was all the thanks he got. It wasn't quite the standing ovation he'd expected.

"See, Major, I can do other things than open heart surgery. And you're welcome."

She sent him a look that said she really didn't care. "What are you waiting for, a medal? Get down here and help me already." He complied and set about to prying the rusty nail from its corroded cylinder. Kira bent to help; both took an edge of the tiny pan, the major pushing from below, Bashir pulling from above, in a team effort to loosen the stubborn restraint. Her hand slipped, and with a shriek Kira released the make-shift tool, cradling her hand against her chest.

The injury didn't go unrewarded, however, for the pin was jerked free violently; the door pitched forward off its hinges, and Kira let go of another short scream, throwing her hands and arms up to shield her head. The unbearable force of impact didn't come, and after a moment she peeked upward. "Could you please move, Kira? This is heavier than it looks." She complied, and Bashir released the door; it hit the floor hard, a soft vibration coming up through the two officers' feet. He came over to her, took the injured extremity to examine it.

As gently as possible he felt around the edges of the gash; despite his attempts to incite as little pain as possible, Kira still bit her lip as he explored the depth and severity of the wound. "We should clean and cover this. It needs more attention than I can give it here: either dermal regeneration or old-fashioned stitches." She gave him a questioning look; he explained the procedure, not half finished before Kira asked him to stop, her stomach churning.

He tore a portion of his shirt, dipping it into their meager water reserves and allowing the liquid to drip onto the opening, wash away the blood. He ripped away another strip of material and bandaged it. "There. Dressing a la' Bashir." Kira rolled her eyes, moved toward the opening; he followed.

"I don't like this," she whispered.

From behind, "Yeah, I keep expecting something to come and drag us back to the cell by our hair." She suppressed a smile, put a finger to her lips to designate silence from here on out. He nodded affirmatively, glancing back over his shoulder, half expecting to find a guy the size of Frankenstein's big brother. They continued through the prison corridors like that for several meters, meeting no opposition. That, however, was about to come to an end.

Kira listened intently, heard only the steady rhythm of Bashir's footfalls behind her. Well, obviously whoever held them here must have been deaf; she was about to turn to tell him to keep it down when the noise subsided. She continued forward for a few feet before the sound of a falling body echoed in her ears. Nerys held her breath, slowly pivoted to allow her gaze to fall on her companion; her hopes and her heart plummeted straight to her feet, crashing through the floor.

Once more the horrific vision of a mutilated Julian Bashir was before her; the garish smell of blood overwhelmed her once again as did the sounds of his moans. Kira knelt beside him, realized that their warden had just sentenced them to more time, denied their self-achieved parole. The easiest means of doing so was to place Bashir in the same predicament as he had been when he first joined her in their cell; it also placed her in a no-win situation. She couldn't leave him here, couldn't move him without help or without inflicting more pain or further injury. They were stuck. Kira whispered something to her charge, settled back against the wall beside him, completely and utterly silent. She was imagining how she was going to rip out this person's liver and make him eat it; they'd thought they'd seen Kira Nerys as angry as she could get. They were wrong.

He idly strolled through the woody area, ever mindful of his companions and their situation; he had no wish for a repeat of Dr. Bashir's demise, or was it only a disappearance? Did he believe the ambassador's perceptions as to the sudden resurrection of the young man, or was it simply a trick of her mind, a means to extinguish the painful memories with a new hope? He wanted to believe; that he had to admit. The death of anyone he knew would incite such a wish in him, especially the circumstances of the man's...end.

That solely made the idea of a living officer so much more acceptable. Bashir had been attacked, mutilated, and then had simply vanished into thin air, left no trace. Neither people, nor most animals, were capable of such a means of escape; if it had solely been the attackers, Odo might have grudgingly compromised with that possibility, but Bashir had been a dead human, not capable of breathing or thinking, much less transporting or camouflaging himself. And well, the shapeshifter wasn't one to believe in extraordinary powers; in his experience most humanoids were pretty much the same, barring language and a bump on the head here and there. Probability was on his side, and Odo would play the slight risk; if lucky he wouldn't roll snake eyes.

His thoughts were torn away as the world shimmered around him; the trees, flowers, even the sky began to shift to only vague images. Odo studied the phenomena for a moment before it hit him. Their surroundings weren't real, were like one big holosuite from Hell. Security Chief Odo strode past the winking visions, headed straight to his charges; apparently the masters of this charade were having difficulty holding it together. If Kira would just do her part, then with team work, they might make it out of this in one piece...or at least, in enough parts to be reassembled.

She had an idea. Far too horrible for her to be contemplating, far too desperate not to. She'd left Julian for a moment, backtracking to their cell, the smaller prison they'd been held in. She had retrieved a sheet before returning to him, searching diligently for the proper equipment to set the game in motion. She found it, taking the necessary steps, making certain the lovely necklace fit just so. It slid over the beam, fluttering back toward the floor, swishing there almost as if mocking her. She would need an anchor.

Her eyes drifted to him; the prone figure which would provide her with the weight needed to make the attempt successful. Her legs moved of their own accord, functioning independent of her mind, without regard to the emotions coursing through her, making her heart flutter, her hands tremble. The brown eyes stared at her, relief and a little fear showing in their depths. He understood, lay there waiting for her next move, offering forth no resistance. His lips parted to convey his thoughts, slipped shut with only a whisper of a breath. Words were no longer needed, no longer adequate.

A hand took hers when she hesitated, brought it to rest against the broken skin of his throat; his eyes conveyed it all: understanding, thanks,...forgiveness. Nerys attempted to inhale; a silent sob erupted from her throat, one lone tear accompanying it. She bent down, brought her lips to the unmarred portion of his forehead; his eyes slipped shut. Her grip tightened, and the major readied herself to snap his neck...

He leapt up, sweat rolling down him, his lungs panting for air; Benjamin Sisko leaned back against his elbows, unsuccessfully trying to dismiss the lingering fingers of death that had brushed against the trembling skin of his neck, had set about to crushing the life from his frail, human body. The eyes focused on him caused his skin to shiver ever so slightly, and the commander turned to meet a sapphire gaze. "How long have you been there, old man?"

"For a while." A smile tempted the corners of her ruby lips. "I thought you were going to have something done about that snoring, Benjamin."

He didn't take the bait she'd dangled before him. "What are you doing here, Dax?"

Compassion brightened the light in her eyes. "I thought you might need a shoulder." Sorrow diminished the glow ever so slightly. "I thought I might need one. Between the two of us, there's four to go around." Threatening tears choked the humor from her voice. Looking at her like this made him realize how similar Jadzia was to the familiar Curzon, and how different. Beneath the wisdom and experience, there was still a young woman with the same emotions as every other young woman, the same giddy laughter, the same overpowering grief. Five people had been taken from them in one fatal swoop; it was five too many for anyone to handle, three hundred years or not.

He moved from the bed, draped an arm about the hair-covered shoulder with a flicker of endearment; she returned the gesture lightly before throwing her arms about his neck. The two friends sat there for a long time, clinging to each other, allowing the tears to flow freely without regards to the silly ideas of protocol. Eventually they pulled back, looked into grief-ridden features. "It's not over, is it?" he asked. She could only shake her head before wiping the tiny streams from her face and moving to a computer terminal; he joined her, and together, they set about to getting some answers.

In all likelihood the Bajoran had completed the means necessary to take the attention from Odo and his charges. By the time he had found them, the forest no longer existed, instead, taking on the appearance of a derelict ship. Now, as long as they met no opposition, for the first time, the group actually had a chance of returning to the station, to safety. Had a possibility of going...home.

The thought warmed him somewhat, much to his astonishment; the station had become his home, the only true dwelling he had lived in on his own free will, without scientists poking and prodding at all hours. He would miss it.

But he wasn't going to get a chance to; he wasn't planning on taking an extended leave of absence from his duties; by now Quark had probably imported enough riff-raff and scum to bring the Promenade into a total state of chaos. That was just too much for Odo to bear; his sole reason for escape was to keep that pesky little Ferengi in line, nothing more.

So he went into action. "We must find a means of escape, somehow take control of this ship."

"If it's like most other starships," Jake volunteered, "the bridge will be on one of the upper levels."

With a nod, "Let's find it."

A hand brushed his arm. "What about the others?"

"I believe, Madame Ambassador, they are providing the diversion we need. I have no idea how or if they realize it, but we can't let this opportunity pass us by." She nodded in agreement. "Now if you have no further inquiries..." They moved through the vacant corridors, using a turbolift, or the equivalent there of, to ascend to the upper levels of the derelict.

Strange symbols adorned the wall at regular intervals and at the entrance of every door. Unfortunately none of them could decipher the hieroglyphics. They snuck a peak through each door, searching for something to pass for a humanoid bridge. And came up empty-handed over and over. "How many more?" Troi asked wearily.

"Six hundred seventy eight." Jake responded deadpan. "Give or take a million."

A sigh responded, and Lwaxana leaned against a wall for support. She was an ambassador, daughter of the Fifth House, holder of the Sacred Chalise of Riix, heir to the Holy Rings of Betazed, not a bloody archaeologist. She could use a drink, some colorful concoction with one of those little tiny umbrellas like in Hawaii. She wondered whose job it was on Earth to manufacture those.

\\Little tiny umbrellas?\\

Troi gasped, jumped away from the wall. "What the..." Odo was at her side in a flash; oh, she could always count on her liquid knight. "I...in my head, I heard something in my mind."

"What? What did you hear?"

Shaking his question aside, "That's not important. Let me concentrate." He quieted instantly, and she drew into herself, attempting to make contact once more. \Is anyone there?\

\\Awaiting command.\\

\Command? You're the ship?\

\\Affirmative. Awaiting orders.\\

A slow grin spread over her face. "Odo, dear, I'm going to get us out of here." He met her with a confused look. "The ship, darling, it operates by telepathic input. Just sit back and let me handle it." Troi took a deep breath; it was time to get to work. \Now, um, computer, where are we?\

\\No! Not like the others. We have to do something. Think, we have to stop her.\\ They looked on as Kira made the preparations, distressed as she knelt down and brought her hands to Julian's neck.

Kira's arms tensed. "Good-bye, Bashir," she whispered. Humans were so fragile, so easily was their hold on life severed. All it took was one quick jerk. Prophets, it was so simple! Then why was she lingering? Nerys felt a shiver run through the form below her. Quit stalling, let him go to the Temple---Heaven with some dignity. "Farewell, Julian." Now she was ready; the trial run was over.

Abruptly her hands were forced away, arms brought to rest against her sides. Out of the corner of her eye she spied the sheet, flying through the air, whipping across her thighs and wrapping around her body in continuous circles. Up past her hips, over her chest, stopping just below her shoulders until the Bajoran was completely immobilized. Kira was yanked to her feet by an unknown force, hurled against the wall by some demonic puppeteer. The dingy material cut into her uniform, pressed against her skin painfully.

Nerys studied the restraints, squirming unsuccessfully against the bonds. What was she, some Egyptian mummy? Something scraped against the flooring ahead. Her breath caught in her throat. Mere seconds later it sounded again, more like a click. Ever so slowly Kira raised her head. Blood pounded in her ears; the lub dub of her heart beating out a rapid rhythm in her head. Her mouth went dry, itchy as if loaded with mounds of cotton. Short, incomplete pants were all she could force from her lungs as she met the gaze of a monster.

The form before her was a purely human myth; Bajorans had no tales of a man who upon the full moon transformed into a beast. The legend moved slowly, steadily closing the distance one methodical footstep at a time. Automatically her gaze shot to Bashir, scrutinizing the horrendous injuries; her stomach twisted, and Kira bit her lip in an attempt to quell her sickness. Adrenaline was released, shooting through her veins like an Olympic class luge. Tiny whimpers escaped her throat, tears stinging her eyes as the major redoubled efforts to escape the bonds.

The wolf lingered beside Bashir a moment, slipping claws into the ruined flesh to extract a chunk of meat. He brought the morsel to his lips as Julian's cry ebbed into nothingness. Afterward nothing hampered the beast's casual approach toward its fresh prey. Despite a valiant fight the sheets were victorious, and when it pressed its body to hers, she could put forth no defense, could only ball her fists and attempt to press her way through a solid wall. The beast fit snugly into the contours of her form, so snugly that the Bajoran fought the impulse to retch. In a lightning movement its left hand shot up, cupping her cheek and chin; warm, sticky moisture oozed across her skin. Her head jerked back against the wall in response; the other hand---paw slid from her waist up along her ribcage, inching to her breast. Once more her teeth ground into the tender flesh of her lip.

Just kill me and get it over with, she prayed. No, Wolfie-boy wanted to have a bit of fun first. Claw-tipped digits dug sharply into her flesh; a palm flattened against the soft rise of her chest. Its face descended toward her, and Kira stifled a scream. Rancid breath assaulted her nostrils as she fought to hold onto the remnants of her sanity. The mouth came closer and closer. It was going to kiss her...Kira was positive she'd much rather be ripped asunder.

Closer, closer. The tongue crept over blood-moistened lips, lapped the deliciousness up. The rough sandpaper tongue slid over her cheek, and finally Kira found the strength to cry out. The snout transformed with sick laughter as its mouth came within mere centimeters of hers. She tried to squirm from its approach, but knew that she could do nothing.

The moistness brushed ever so slightly against her lips when it pulled away. An exasperated expression popped up on the beast's face, and its eyes rolled as it slowly turned. One hand flew back, connected against something. That something was Bashir's face, and a weak grunt emanated from his throat as he was propelled to the floor. The wolf stared down at the prone form, a form which resembled an old, abandoned rag doll more than a human being.

The thing took a step forward, its mouth spreading in the perverse parody of a smile. A low growl rumbled in the back of its throat. Kira could not see the human's face, could only stare at his booted feet between two hairy legs, only hear his rapid breath. Ahead, Bashir pushed up on his elbows, vainly attempted to scoot away.

His heart hammered against his ribs as Julian stared up into the heated gaze of the thing which had killed him once. His mind flashed back to the incident, the fear and the pain alighting once more in his body. Teeth tore into his flesh, ripped away hunks of muscle and tissue with ravenous glee; he could actually see blood flying into the air. He wanted to scream, tried to, but his scream mechanism seemed to have a malfunction. All Julian Bashir could do was sit there and whimper, sit there and wait for the hallucination to take hold of reality once more. All he could do was sit there and wait to die for a second time.

"Julian..."

Ah, yes, he wasn't alone in this predicament. Now he remembered why he'd placed his head in the lion's mouth. Kira was just behind the beast, and its plans for her would be far more diabolical than the torture it would inflict upon him. He couldn't just sit here and wait to die. The longer it took out its sadistic lusts on him the longer Kira would have a chance to escape. After all, he'd been dead once. The second time around couldn't be any worst.

He forced himself up, ignored the screams and shrieks sent through his body by his ever faithful central nervous system, and dragged himself onto his stomach, drew himself forward with his arms, pushed with his legs. He squirmed forward mere inches, panting with the pain and effort, forced himself to go on. A mere foot behind his heels claws scraped the floor as the beast's foot descended. A slight laugh actually echoed in the close confines of the corridor.

He allowed Bashir to continue on for a few moments before its foot came crashing into the struggling man's back, stopping him dead in his tracks. Julian struggled for a moment, stopped the useless exertion. Time to pay the piper...

A hand swooped down, clutching a fistful of dark hair, flipped him onto his back. The human hit hard, agony darting through his scalp and his shoulders. Bashir moved to sit up, received a kick in the chest for his troubles. He made no further attempts to get up. The beast accommodated Julian's low altitude by knelling beside the injured man; it reached out, drew Bashir's arm up ever so slowly. Its eyes never left the soft brown ones as a tongue darted out, ran along the contours of an uninjured wrist. The mouth touched his skin in a sick imitation of a kiss as the lips skimmed down his wrist, over a palm, to rest against a fingertip.

Its face, snout, nuzzled his palm as it sniffed him, drinking in the sweet savory scent of fear and hatred. Attention wavered for only a second before its lips returned to caress his index finger, to draw it into the smelly mouth. Teeth dug into Bashir's skin, sawed away at the bone methodically; finally the scream mechanism kicked in as the physician shrieked; he could hear the bones in his finger as they were splintered to bits.

"Stop, you exjos!" The major was so angry she began to hammer the werewolf with Bajoran curses. It turned its eyes toward her once more. "Yeah, that's right, big boy, you forgot about me, didn't ya?" Her voice became an ultimatum. "Come on, if you think you can take me. Try it." He accepted her offer, walked up to her until a person wouldn't be able to slip a piece of paper between them.

"God, Kira, no!" He found his voice. "I was sacrificing myself for you. I just got my damn finger chomped off, and now you're calling him over there!"

"Sorry." He had a point.

"You have a lousy sense of timing, Nerys," he muttered below his breath. Obviously the pain was affecting his disposition.

"Well, excuse me," she snapped. Kira drew a deep breath, closed her eyes, and readied herself to face the Prophets. "See you at the Temple, Bashir." If They'll let a heathen in, she thought to herself. Warm breath fanned her ear, followed by nibbling teeth. Kira inhaled sharply, a grimace planted firmly on her features. It would have done the wolf better to ask Bashir about technique than to make him a snack, she thought insanely. Its tongue swirled into her ear...Kira prayed that her heart would explode on the spot.

It didn't, but abruptly the tongue vacated her ear canal. Kira stood there, barely breathing, awaiting the next disgusting move the wolf would lay on her. Moments passed; she refused to open her eyes, scared to lose her resolve. Hands brushed against her waist, and she stifled a scream. "Shh, it's gone; I'm just trying to figure out how to unravel you." She opened her eyes; Bashir stood before her, whole once more.

"I could kiss you!"

"Now, now, Major, the Vedek would be jealous." She giggled. "Now, Cleopatra, how are we going to get you out of this?" He proceeded to locate the wrap's end and commenced to unravel it from Kira. Minutes later she was free. "Let's get the hell outta here."

"Yeah, it seems we've overstayed our welcome." They started off again, just as they had before this whole fiasco began, but this time the human took point. He rounded a corner, skidded to a halt. Kira nearly plowed over him. "What, what is it?" What now, some giant multi-headed monster? He moved aside allowed her to look. Outside a viewport hung the station. It was the most beautiful sight she'd ever seen. "Is it real?" she managed to ask.

He shrugged. "It damn well better be." Above, in one of the ventilation ducts, the chief entity looked down upon the couple, empathy rippling through the luminescent sphere.

\\I'm sorry. It will never happen again.\\ With that a brightness engulfed them and momentarily Kira and Bashir found themselves standing smack dab in the middle of the bustling Promenade. Odo, Jake Sisko, and Ambassador Troi stood beside them. No one paid them no attention, well except for the drunk Orion who pushed the doctor out of her way. It seemed everything was back to normal.

"Could someone tell me what the hell just happened?" Bashir asked.

Odo opened his mouth to respond when he heard, "Odo!" He turned, saw a Ferengi hurtling toward him at top speed. Not that the speed was all that fast. Quark pushed everyone else aside, wrapped Odo in a bear hug. "Thank goodness you're back." Odo's features were transformed with horror and at that moment he fell to the floor in a huge puddle which sloshed about his companions' feet. Yep, everything was back to normal.

Wearily tossing the PADD aside, Odo slowly rose to his feet and stretched. "Why me?" He and the others hadn't even been back a day, and Starfleet was already demanding a full, comprehensive report. "Why couldn't the entities have chosen Dax or Commander Sisko?"

Glancing at the security monitors, Odo longed to be on the Promenade harassing Quark at every turn, locking up drunkards, or even breaking up a bar room brawl. But no, Starfleet wanted to make his life a living hell by forcing him to fill out tons of useless and time-wasting paperwork. Even poor Jake Sisko wasn't exempt from those damnable reports.

Returning to his desk, Odo silently prayed that a Cardassian warship would open fire upon the station or that maybe a bomb would go off, causing widespread panic and a riot, but it was just wishful thinking; Quark hadn't poisoned anyone in over two weeks, so why would all hell break loose now.

At that moment, a call for the constable came over the intercom. Tapping his comm badge to open the channel, "Odo here."

"Uh...Odo?" came the hesitant reply.

"Quark? What do you want? I told you not to disturb me while I am finishing this damn report."

"But...you told me to call you when your...uh...package was ready."

"My what? Quark is this some sort of a joke?"

"Odo, your picnic basket is ready and already on its way to upper pylon three."

"Shhh! I don't want the entire station to know!"

"Too late. And it was my pleasure."

"Quark, you better hope that I'm in a good mood when I get back," Odo warned.

"From what my sources told me about Lwaxana Troi, I have absolutely nothing to worry about," Quark replied then severed the channel.

The shapeshifter glanced at the PADD then toward the door. "It can wait." Odo crossed the security office and walked onto the Promenade. "Computer, location of Ambassador Troi."

"Ambassador Troi is currently located in her assigned quarters on level five, section three."

Ambassador Troi flopped down into the nearest chair, exhaustion washing over her like a tidal wave. Never before had she spoken to so many high-ranking Starfleet officials and representatives in one day than she had in the last five hours. "Why couldn't the entities have taken that Vulcan fellow...Spook...Spoke...Spock...whatever his name is? My feet hurt, my head hurts, my back aches, and this damn brassiere is killing me! The gentleman that invented this torture device should be shot...better yet, he should be forced to wear it himself and so should that blasted admiral who instructed me to get one!" Mrs. Troi complained. "What right does he think he has to order me, Lwaxana Troi, Daughter of the Fifth House, Holder of the Sacred Chalise of Riix, Heir to the Holy Rings of Betazed to wear a bra!?"

Lwaxana reached for the nearest object on the table beside her, which happened to be her favorite teapot full of freshly boiled water, and hurled it towards the door. Unfortunately, it was at that very moment when Odo chose to enter her quarters. Before the security chief could react, the pot hit him squarely in the head, completely drenching him with the boiling, hot water and knocked him out cold.

"Oh my," Mrs. Troi exclaimed as she leapt to her feet and dashed over toward the fallen figure. "I've killed my darling liquid knight, whatever shall I do!" Kneeling beside the shapeshifter, she discovered to her relief that Odo was indeed still alive, only unconscious.

"Odo dear, can you hear me?" Lwaxana asked, tentatively touching a cheek.

Odo moaned, his eyelids fluttering in response to her touch.

"Odo?" Mrs. Troi asked with increased concern.

Her soft, tender voice broke through the thick haze that clouded his mind and pulled him into the clearing. A brief groan of pain escaped from the security chief's lips; eyes opening slowly, the Betazoid's features blurred above him, fading in and out of focus.

"Welcome back; you gave me quite a scare."

"What happened?" Odo asked as he struggled to his feet.

"Not too quickly now, you're still a bit woozy." She helped him inside her quarters and onto the couch.

Massaging his throbbing temple, the shapeshifter asked again, "Ambassador, what happened? The door opened and everything suddenly went black."

"Odo dear, I'm sorry; it was my fault."

"What do you mean?" he asked, his curiosity piqued.

"I was angry and I threw that," she said and indicated the teapot lying on the floor by the door. "Unfortunately, you walked in and I hit you instead. I'm sorry; I didn't mean to hurt you," Mrs. Troi apologized.

"Let me get this straight. You knocked me out with a teapot?" Odo asked, dumfounded.

"I'm afraid so. And it was my favorite one, too," she commented as she went over and picked it up from the floor. After examining it, "Not a scratch on it. I'm sorry I can't say the same about you though. Are you sure you're all right? Maybe I should call that nice doctor, Julian."

"No thank you. I'll be just fine." That is until the others find out that I was rendered unconscious by a teapot. Quark will never let me live this down, Odo thought to himself.

"By the way, dear, what was it you stopped by for? Not that I'm complaining or anything though, but you didn't seem to be all that comfortable with me the last time I visited."

Well, here goes nothing, Odo thought. "In lieu of everything that has happened to us the past few days, I believe I owe you an apology and a picnic."

"An apology and a picnic? What on earth for?"

"Once again, I failed in my task of being a good host during your stay aboard this station, and in preserving your safety by allowing you to be kidnapped by the entities."

"Oh, Odo, don't say that. It wasn't your fault. Besides, I rather enjoyed your company." "And I yours, which is the reason why I wanted to ask you if you would mind joining me for a picnic. I believe it was interrupted the last time you were here by a faulty turbolift."

"You want me to join you for a picnic?"

"If you're not busy, yes, I would."

"Busy? Nonsense, I'm never too busy for you!"

Odo rose and offered an arm to the ambassador, which she graciously accepted as the two strolled out the door and into the corridor towards the Promenade. As they emerged from the dark passageway, all eyes were trained on them as they walked arm-in-arm to the turbolift.

Lwaxana tugged at the shapeshifter's shirt sleeve. "Odo, everyone's staring."

"I noticed, but I believe I can fix that." He turned toward the crowd that had gathered behind them and shouted, "Free drinks and refills for everyone; Quark's buying."

All at once, a stampede of Humans, Bajorans, and Ferengi alike dashed toward the little troll's establishment screaming and shouting at the top of their lungs, "Free drinks, free refills."

Howling in rage, Quark dove behind the bar. "Damn you, Odo! I'll get you for this!"

Smirking in amusement, Odo and Mrs. Troi walked into the lift as the door swished closed behind them.

A faint smile crossed the security chief's lips. Understanding completely, Lwaxana tapped the turbolift's inner wall. "Computer? Upper pylon three..."

Benjamin Sisko and his son were nearly trampled by the stampede rushing to break the Ferengi barkeep. The Siskos exchanged a confused look. Quark never gave out free drinks, ever.

Dabo girls left their posts, sidling up to the overcrowded bar. Quark's was packed to the rafters. Luckily for the two gentlemen, the same wasn't true of the holosuites, and the two of them soon found themselves in Fulton County Stadium, the London Kings---Buck Boki's team--- being kicked about the field by the Atlanta Braves. In the stands fans tomahawked and chanted like there was no tomorrow.

Despite a brave and valiant effort, the Siskos could not pull out a victory, and the Kings went back to England in disgrace. But at least they got free tomahawks, iced tea, and some boiled peanuts for their troubles. Ah, that Southern hospitality....

Off in the Gamma Quadrant, in a remote corner of a remote sector, \\If you ever, ever think of proposing another cockamamy idea like this one, why I'll....\\

While Benjamin Sisko and his son batted against the legendary Greg Maddox in the holosuite above, Julian Bashir sat at a corner table, surrounded by jubilant faces and the remains of brightly wrapped packages. His features reflected the joyous mood of his companions. "Thank you, Dax; I'll read it as soon as possible." He put the Stephen King novel aside, prayed that his hands didn't tremble.

"I'm sorry; you seemed to enjoy them so much before." She brightened a bit, her spots perking up. "Tell you what, I'll go find you some nice mysteries." He nodded his approval. "We're late for our shift." She and O'Brien rose, pausing to shake his hand and kiss his cheek. Miles declined the kiss. "Happy Birthday, Julian." He thanked them, watched as they disappeared into the crowd.

His gaze shifted to the book cover; a demonic clown smirked at him, the eyes seeming to bore into his. He flipped it over quickly. "Hi." He forced himself not to jump, eyes darting up to the major's face. "Mind if I join you?"

He shook his head. "No, company would be great at the moment." And every moment for the next few years.

She sat across from him, extending a smile and small package. "This is for you."

More than a little surprised, "Thank you, Kira." Ripping away the colorful paper, he finally exposed a little box. After glancing up at her smiling face, he opened it. Inside lay a smooth oval stone, jade in color with brilliant streaks of gold running through it. It was rather beautiful. "Thank you." What do I do with it?

"It's an anyas rock." Obviously the meaning was lost on him. "It's supposed to bring the owner pleasant dreams."

Ah. "Thank you, Kira. I certainly hope it'll work." At that moment Rom appeared with a tray which he set before them; the Ferengi left without a word, hustling back to the rowdy crowd at the bar. "What's this?" He was referring to the cupcake slathered with heaps of chocolate icing and dotted with a tiny candle.

"Chief O'Brien informed me that it was customary for humans to celebrate the date of their birth with a cake. I could have opted for a larger one, but we don't need our doctor sick."

He laughed, picked up a knife. "How big a piece do you want, Major?"

"A little one, I've got to watch my figure." After blowing out the candle with a wish for pleasant dreams, he cut the cake in half. He transferred her portion to the plate in front of her. "Where's a fork?"

He looked at her as if she'd grown a third eye. "Fork?" And proceeded to stuff half his piece into that ever babbling mouth. He had icing on his nose. Kira giggled. And found a huge glop smeared across hers. She tossed the wrapper at him; he threw the candle at her. Both fell into a bout of giggles. Life was good.......