Time Destined

By

Carrie Gascoigne

Disclaimer: Paramount, as always, owns the world of Star Trek and any familiar names people, places, or things, associated with it. (Must be nice to own your own universe.) The Dalmir, and the characters of Teel and K'Tangh, and the story in which the above are mentioned are of my own imagination and are not to be duplicated or reproduced without my permission.

(Author's note: Some minor words are written in the Trill and Klingon language. Lam're (Trill) - mother, Lep're (Trill) - father, MagQa ((Klingon) - Well done, and Vavoy (Klingon) - daddy. Thanks go to the DS9 Encyclopedia and Lexicon found at http://members.iquest.net/~n9doo/ds9enc.htm [Thanks to Cheile for 'Vavoy' J ])
 
 

2417 a.d.

It was a warm day. The kind filled with birdsongs and sunlight that made it seem like the day could go on forever but always ended too soon. The great Retana trees, once saplings, harbored the memories of a family now scattered and gone. Children playing, parties, and evenings under the moons and stars, wrapped only in each other's arms for warmth. They had seen it all. Silent trees, yet demanding to be seen, looming over every other creature with such beauty that came and went with the changing seasons. A woman sat, quietly thinking, under the tallest of the trees, her grayed hair blowing against the great trunk with the gentle ocean breeze that swept across her face. She stared into the deep purple of the water close to her home and let her thoughts whisk her away to a happier time.

She must have sat there for hours, thinking about her wedding day, the birth of their children, holding him in her arms. She could still feel his untamed hair brushing against her shoulder. If only she could have him hear with her now. Now that she was all alone. Well of course the children visited. And the grandchildren leaped upon her and begged for stories of her days with the Federation. They wanted to know more and more of their Klingon heritage and cousins on the Klingon homeworld. But no matter how much she loved her family, she still had a piece missing. Always her thoughts led to that heartache. The missing piece of her soul belonged to Worf.

2377 a.d.

Worf held his beautiful wife in his arms. He knew she would be gone at least a month, and he always hated to see her go. Of course, being a Klingon, he never said so. But Jadzia always knew.

"Don't forget will you, that Teel has her checkup with Dr. Bashir in a couple of weeks." She was scurrying for the rest of her things. "Maybe I should get Julian to remind you." At this point she was just muttering to herself while picking up the rest of her P.A.D.D.S. Worf just stood in the middle of the room, pivoting with her every move to memorize all of her features, making sure however he was not in the way of her mini tornado. "And K'Tangh has his play group Thursday. Keiko will be here around about 1000 hours. And it's your turn to supervise the group the following Tuesday."

"Yes". Worf need to give her some acknowledgement, but didn't want to distract her too much. She was already running late, and the Defiant left in less than fifteen minutes. He was thinking that leaving the children with Nerys and Odo last night wasn't a very good idea. As if Jadzia could read his mind, she stopped stuffing her Starfleet issue duffle bag, and walked over to him. She stepped on her toes, wrapped her arms around his neck. "Last night." she grinned, she kissed him feverishly. Immediately he knew that Nerys and Odo had done them a huge favor.

She looked up at him. "I could tell Ben I changed my mind."

Worf returned the longing gaze, "No Jadzia. The children and I will be fine. It is not often you get to attend something of this magnitude." He was of course, talking of the very reason she was going to leave him to play house-husband for what seemed to him, an eternity. One of the stipulations of the treaty signed by the Federation and the Dominion was to have 3 outposts in the quadrant; one in each major sector. The Cardassians opposed, almost with force, until they learned that there would be less than 50 Jem'Hadar in the Quadrant. The Klingons welcomed the opportunity for the Dominion to give them a reason to attack. Martok was a great Chancellor, but he really did hate politics. When comparing the captain's chair of the Rotarran to his seat in the middle of the High Council he preferred to sit in the middle of the action. Jadzia had discovered, while on a runabout mission to locate any Dominian outpost activity in Federation territory, a pocket in space, where warp drive was not functional, and almost any Federation technology was useless. While probing this pocket further she had inadvertently made first contact with a race, known as the Dalmir, contained with in this pocket in space. Through talks and meetings a trade route was established. They reached an amiable agreement, which would allow the Federation to explore the "pocket" using a valued native ore to their planets, known as 'balgatrinium", which used in conjunction with the power source of a starship, enables it to use all systems, normally found inoperable in this region of space. In exchange, the Federation would help them with any technological know-how.

Worf was extremely proud of his wife. She was a warrior, and intellect, and very much a woman. She won his heart, made first contact with a new species, and bore him two beautiful children. She was his lover and his friend. He would awake every morning, her lying beside him, and realize how lucky he was to even be with her. When he awoke this morning he placed their wedding picture and placed it on his side of the bed. If he couldn't wake looking into her eyes, he needed the next best thing.
 

2417 a.d.

It was growing late. The breeze had picked up, and although the heat was still hanging in the air, there was a humidity that suggested rain. She walked along the beach barefoot, letting the water lap at her feet every few seconds when the wind forced it upon land. She wrapped herself in the fur blanket she had with her. She thought back to when she first rubbed her hands in its fur.

*******

"Worf, it's so soft." she said.

"It is not soft." He replied. "It is dead."

"Well if you want to look at it that way, it doesn't make it nearly as attractive to sleep in."

"It is not intended to be attractive Jadzia. It was a wild beast killed by my brother." Worf sat on top of the bed.

She smiled. He looked at her.

"What?"

"You DO have a soft spot. I think I'm going to like this blanket." She smiled and beckoned him to lay beside her.

*******

She walked along the beach hugging the blanket close to her body. She wished so desperately that all she would have to do was whisper his name and he would be walking towards her in the distance. She thought of their children. Teel had grown up to be such a beautiful woman. She had her father's deep brown eyes and thick hair. And K'Tangh looked so much like his father; the spitting image of him when they had first met. She grinned in spite of herself. 'He has his sense of humor as well, which is none.' Teel and K'Tangh kept a close relationship with Alexander, who had long since decided being a warrior was not his due course. Jadzia talked with him in the months after his father's death and he realized that Worf had come to accept the fact that he was a better diplomat than warrior, and he still loved him, and more than anything was proud of his firstborn. For years now Alexander was a diplomatic liaison for the Klingon Empire to everyone from the Federation to the Romulan Star Empire. His fame was compared to that of the mute Riva. She was proud of her family and sure in heart that Worf was a proud father and husband, doing nothing but talking of his family in Sto'vo'kor and celebrating the victory of his life.

She reached the cobbled path that led to the porch of her house. She went inside and walked to the replicator in the dining area.

"Balso tonic, chilled."

The replicator made the familiar whirring noise, and a tall glass appeared before her and almost instantly condensation appeared in tiny droplets on the outside. She no longer drank raktijino all day long. It seemed the symbiont was getting a little tired of it. Or at least she blamed it on the symbiont. While still living on the station years after Worf's death, she had to had to take a leave of absence to visit a physician on Trill. It was then she decided to retire her commission. It wasn't until she arrived on Trill and had been here several months that she started drinking the balso tonic. Many aspects of her life changed when she moved, yet some things were still as familiar to her as they were they day she packed up her family and left. Still wrapped in the blanket, she walked to the other end of the large main room. She grabbed a P.A.D.D. in her other hand. She momentarily let her hand slide across the smooth surface of the desk that had once been Worf's favorite place to work. Some days were harder to live through than others. She managed though, through it all. She had her ways to deal with her grief. She took her tonic and P.A.D.D. and sat on the stoop outside.

She hit a button and the P.A.D.D. chirped. She didn't know where to start. She'd said the same things year after year, letter after letter, sent to a man who doesn't know about them, to a man who no longer exists. But, it helped before, the same would help again.
 

'My only love, Worf'

When was the last time I did this? Last week, more than that? I don't remember. I was thinking of you today. I think of you everyday. Sometimes I smile, sometimes I cry. I heard a wild bird while I was outside tonight, sitting under my favorite tree. It reminded me of when we were on Soukara and we heard the wild animals. I wish more than anything you could sit with me and hear wild animals once more. I wish many things, my love. I wish you could see the children. Teel was just a baby when you came after me. She's grown up to be just like you. So headstrong. Sometimes she'll say something and it's almost like it's her body and voice, but it's really you talking. I miss you, Worf. I haven't been complete. I can still hear you. I can see you and smell you. It's been forty years. I can't shake you. I hope that you know I love you and know what I'm doing. I want you to be able to see our babies. But the one thing I want is for you to not have gone to get me. You are stronger than me. You always have been. I don't know how I've come this far. I know you would've made it better than me. Oh Worf. I want so many things I know I can't have. I've never told the children, but I want things to be reversed. I know it sounds cruel, but I wish when you heard about the accident, you didn't come to get me. You may have saved my life, but you took a big piece of it with you when you died in my place. I wish I had been the one. I wish I was the one that died. I wish you never came to me when I needed you."

She couldn't even finish the letter. Tears were rolling down her cheeks. If Worf could see her now. She was graying. "Distinguished" Ben would call it. This coming from a man who deliberately stayed bald all his life. She and Ben stayed in touch after she left the DS9. True, it was painful to even think of time on the station when she was happy with Worf, but Ben was her best friend, and really, other than the letters, her only confident. She stood to go back inside rest when she saw her reflection in the window. She took the edge of the blanket and wiped the tears from her cheeks. Dark circles under her eyes, and fair alibastre skin, that looked like it lost it's elasticity. But she was sure if Worf were still here, he would look past her aging appearance and still love the woman inside. The same woman that lost her youth the day he died.

Crying always made her sleepy. She decided now was as good a time as any to go to bed, she finished her balso tonic and placed the P.A.D.D. lovingly back on the desk where she had found it. She thought she should delete the letter first, but decided against it. She thought that maybe she could finish it tomorrow. If not, she would delete it then.

2377 a.d.
 

"Grrrrr!." Worf crawled around the corner of the sofa, to find K'Tangh, ready to hit him on the head with a cloth stuffed bat'telh. Worf rolled over on his back and made gutteral noises, his arms and legs waving in the air, and suddenly everything stopped. He was pretending to be dead. K'Tangh, wary of his father's tricks, carefully crawled over to him. He looked at his father and decided that maybe it was okay to touch his ribs. Worf slowly opened one eye and looked at his son. He was proud. He would make a fine warrior one day. When K'Tangh realized his father was looking at him, he took his play bat'telh and hit him once more, this time in the stomach. Worf rolled over and picked up his young son. Still on his back, with his strong hands, Worf held the baby in the air. "magQa'!" (Well done) he said to his son. There was definitely a little bit of his mother in him. He started to giggle. He thought to the future. He would be a warrior with a habit of giggling.

'Be-dee-beep". 'That must be Keiko here for K'Tangh.' He thought. He placed his son on the sofa. He made sure while he stood that his uniform was straightened. "Enter." His voice seemed to vibrate everything. "Good morning, Worf." Sure enough there stood Keiko with her two children, and a handful of Bajoran civilian children who lived on the station. K'Tangh jumped off the sofa and ran to where Kirayoshi and the others were standing outside the door. Molly tugged on her mother's shirt. She looked down at her daughter. "Yes honey?" She bent down to hear what her daughter had to say. She returned her gaze to Worf. "Molly would like to know if Teel could play with her today.?" Jadzia and Teel usually went to Garak's on the first Tuesday of every month to buy a new dress. Sometimes they would get matching dresses, but mostly, Teel got to bring home a dress when Jadzia came home rarely with a new garment. Worf decided it was better to let Teel go play than to go dress shopping. No doubt Garak would overcharge him and try to get any operative secrets from him. "I will get her." He turned to find his daughter dressed, armed with her favorite doll and standing not 4 metres away. It was obvious she didn't trust her father's fashion sense. Her hair was long. She took after both of her parents that way. "Come in. I will finish getting her ready." The children leaped and bounded their way into the small quarters, and as Worf ushered Teel into her room, he took a peek over his shoulder to make sure nothing would be broken.

"Lep're?", she asked. He sat her on the bed and started to brush her thick hair. He usually had to braid her hair, like he did his own. If it was just pulled back into a barrette as Jadzia usually did, there would be screams and tears at the end of the day when they tried to brush it out.

"Yes?" he responded.

"When is lam're coming home? I miss her." She hugged her doll. It was a replica of 'Flotter'. She had almost all of his storybook holonovels and played in them at least once a week.

"She will be back in four weeks." Worf was almost done braiding her hair. He had to practice on her for quite sometime before he got it right. Braiding her hair compared to his own was almost backward. It was, in truth, one of his favorite moments he got to spend with his daughter. They were usually alone while he did it, so it was like a bonding between them.

"How long is four weeks?" Teel was a very inquisitive child. She didn't get irritable when things in her surrounding environment changed but she did like to know why things happened the way they did. She was going to grow up to be like her mother.

"You will play with 'Flotter' at least four times before your mother returns." He made sure the string holding her braid was secure at the base and the end. His daughter turned around to face her father. Worf was always taken aback by her beauty. It was a difficult pregnancy for Jadzia, but to look at their daughter, it was if she was meant to be. Her light brown spots seemed to meld perfectly with the soft, elegant ridges on her forehead. She held up her hand to him and looked at him. Worf gently, and lovingly took one finger after another and bent them down into her hand and counted each one until he reached four. Teel took her hand away, inspected the bent fingers and looked satisfied.

"Otay" she said. She grabbed 'Flotter' and hugged her father with her other arm. She kissed him on the cheek. He smiled and hugged her back. Jadzia had tried to instill in their children, that their father was an affectionate man, he just didn't show it all the time. But in this instance, he slipped his daughter a kiss on the cheek in return.

When they appeared out of Teel's bedroom, Keiko had all the children calmly sitting on proper furniture and was reading them a story that Martok had given K'Tangh, a story of course, about Kahless. Her enthusiasm while reading was admirable, but her accent was off. Keiko looked up when she heard the whish of the door. "Well children, we'll finish this later. Now it's time to go to the holosuite." Molly left her father's side and became a part of the excited group of children.

"We'll have them back for dinner this evening, Worf." Keiko said, as she ushered the children out of the door into the hallway. K'Tangh peeked out from in front of Keiko's left leg to see his father watching them leave. He reached up a small, pudgy hand and waved (although it was more like he was swinging his arm in the air, but Worf knew the difference.) "Ba-ba vavoy. (K-father)" He then ran off to be with the others of his group, laughing the entire way. Worf felt his heartstrings play a small melody. He very much loved his family. Often, little moments such as these, made him realize just how much.

Now that he was alone, it was time for work. He went to his desk, not a Starfleet issue, but a very functional, attractive piece of furnishing Jadzia had won at a Tongo game with Quark when he ran out of latinum. Worf was very fond of the desk. He decided now was as good a time as any to go over O'Briens's report on the malfunctioning ODN ciruit of the the stuctural integrity field. Usually it was something O'Brien himself could handle, but Dominion activity had picked up recently, and this was not something Sisko wanted handled with kid gloves. He sat as his desk and picked up the first P.A.D.D. Something was different. He had done some officer reviews the night before and almost cleared his desk of P.A.D.D.s save five. Now there were six. Worf scooped them up in his massive hands and sorted through them.

"Brayer, Carson, Vilix'pran, Jimenez, Haj." Worf stopped speaking out loud when his eyes fell upon the last one. It was saved as "A letter to Worf". It must be from Jadzia. He was certain he had done almost all of his work last night, but it was late when he went to bed. It was entirely possible he may have been mistaken. Jadzia could have hidden a love note for him in his work, and he wouldn't have noticed. She would be gone a long time, and she was always thinking of him. He put the rest of his work aside and decided to read the letter. He turned in his swivel chair and rested one arm on the side of his desk.

'My only love, Worf'

When was the last time I did this? Last week, more than that? I don't remember. I was thinking of you today. I think of you everyday. Sometimes I smile, sometimes I cry. I heard a wild bird while I was outside tonight, sitting under my favorite tree. It reminded me of when we were on Soukara and we heard the wild animals. I wish more than anything you could sit with me and hear wild animals once more. I wish many things, my love. I wish you could see the children. Teel was just a baby when you came after me. She's grown up to be just like you."

What was she rambling on about? 'Teel is still a young girl.' Worf's rational thinking was becoming clouded as he read the rest of the letter. He shifted his position while reading the letter almost as if it would make the words make sense. It was no help. He still didn't understand, she thought he had died? When? He looked at his arm and wiggled it in the air. He seemed very much alive to himself. What was she talking about? He read the letter again and again in the span of half an hour. It wasn't until he read it for the eleventh time he saw the stardate encryption. Quick arithmetic told him the date was 40 years in the future. 'This is not possible!' he thought to himself. 'It must be one of Jadzia's jokes.' If it was one of her jokes, it wasn't very funny. There was no way to contact her. It would take at least three days to install the balgatrinium into the warp core of the Defiant. O'Brien said it may take longer. Until then, he had to wait to hear from her. She promised she would contact him as soon as she could. But the urgency in that letter, it was nothing like the Jadzia he knew. He wouldn't take the letter to O'Brien. He feared O'Brien would dismiss it as a well devised joke because everyone was well aware of Jadzia's fine health. Also he was afraid he would tell Julian. If it wasn't a joke it would get back to Jadzia. Telling someone something that important and not telling Jadzia, well.. there was only one thing he could do that could possibly clear everything for him, and ensure he not have an angry mate. He would write back.

2417 a.d.

The day started bright and sunny, but cool enough from the light breeze off the sea, that she could perhaps do a bit of gardening. Yes, gardening always took up much of the day and it always made her relax. She would have a light breakfast first, probably just some fruit like Alvinian melons or Chee'lash fruit and some Fanalian tea. She would walk to the market today to get some fresh Azna for dinner. She would steam it with Altair water. 'Yes,' she thought 'today will be a good day.' She lifted the fur blanket from her body and eased herself out of bed. She put on a simple dress, with thin straps. She had a light sweater that matched perfectly and wrapped herself in it. She made the bed with a precision only fitting of Starfleet. She smiled in spite of herself. 'What was it Julian used to say? Something about a "quarter"?' In any case she was sure this would have fit the bidding. She opened the window fully and let the smell of the ocean front waft through the air. She smiled. She really did feel much better today. She looked into the mirror. She brushed her hair and pulled up one side with a brass barrette that Worf had gotten her before their engagement. She put on her Klingon earrings that Lenara Kahn had once given her, She thought that even though she had gotten older, and ragged around the edges that she still kept most of her physique and was sure if Worf was still alive, he would find her just as irresistable now as he had then.

She walked out to the dining area and opened the front door, but left the screen door closed to watch the sun continue to rise. She asked the replicator for half an Alvinian melon, sliced and the Fanalian tea she wanted. She sat at the table and ate, silently contemplating her day. She was finished eating in 15 minutes, but kept her tea to sip. When she went to return the dish the melon was on to the replicator, she noticed that a P.A.D.D. that was on the desk that once belonged to her husband, was flashing.

"I suppose I didn't close that foolish letter last night. I may as well delete it now before I forget."

She walked over, plate still in hand, to the desk and picked up the P.A.D.D. with her left hand. She used her thumb to hit a few buttons. 'What the??..' The file that was flashing was not her letter. She quickly eyed the desk and realized this was the same very P.A.D.D. she had used the night before when she vented her emotions. But where was that damned letter? She couldn't find it. Frustrated she opened the file that she had initially thought to be her writings, but wasn't. She started to read.

"Jadzia,

I must admit to confusion. I do not understand what you mean. I received your letter today, and assume it must be a joke. I am not dead."

Jadzia felt like the world was swirling around her like a raging river. The plate she carried with her was on the floor in hundreds of pieces no larger than small pebbles while the hand that carried it now held her mouth. She sat down at the table, where her tea still sat, getting cold, to keep her from falling on the floor as well. 'Not dead, not dead!?' She was convinced it was a cruel antic, but something, an inkling of hope of no longer being condemned to loneliness perhaps, beckoned her to continue to read the new letter.

"Teel is still a young girl. She and K'Tangh are in Keiko O'Brien's playgroup right now. I do not understand Jadzia, nor do I like it. I cannot contact you because the Balgatrinium isn't yet installed in the Defiant. You have not contacted the children and I if it is. Which leads me to speculate as to the validity of the note I received from you. I find your humour usually most stimulating, but the content of the letter I found today is distasteful and maybe a very well shrouded prank. I have not contacted Chief O'Brien however, I do not wish to disturb his duties for him to tell me this is a game. Nor do I wish for him to tell the Doctor. We would look foolish. But because you are my mate, and I am as of yet, still uncertain of the origins of this letter I received this morning, I reply. Whenever your feelings are involved, parmach'ai, you know I will do anything to make sure that what it is troubling you is of no consequence. I assure you, nothing has changed. I will see you when you return from your mission. I am proud of you parmach'ai. Qapla'."

It was signed "Worf". As in her husband who died forty years ago. She sat at the table and read the letter again and again, thinking there had to be some sort of mistake. 'How could there be a mistake?' She had left the letter she had written on the desk the night before, and no one had entered her house. She hadn't received any transmissions. The letter just appeared there. The date encryption confused her even more. If, in a blatant attempt to make this hoax seem real, the encryption had been tampered with to make it look like it had actually been written forty years ago. Her skin was pale and made the light lilac colour of her summer dress seem to be a deep purple. Tears were pouring down her face uncontrollably, she didn't know whether or not to believe what she was reading. One name in the letter, seemed familiar. Balgatrinium. She knew that name. She stopped crying for a moment. 'Yes! Of course! It's the ore Starfleet adapted from the Dalmir.' She immediately realized that this must be from her Worf. 'But how?' was the only question. Somehow, he received her letter. She managed to send a letter to her lover forty years in the past. If she could do it once. then there had to be a way to stop him. She had to convince him to not go to the Dalmir homeworld to save her. She must die there, he must live. Quicky, she gathered the pieces of the broken plate, and used the opportunity to gather the thoughts in her head of how to ask her husband to let her die. The sadness faded, and became determination. She placed the solid atoms that resembled bone china back into the replicator and hit a button. They disappeared. Soon, if Worf heeded her word, everything she knew from the moment of his death would be gone. She wouldn't have lived the memories she has. It would be Worf in her place. She replicated some tissue and sat at the table and started to write the letter that would try to convince her wary husband that what he read was true. And to try to convince him to not come to her aid.

"Worf,

I don't know if it's really you reading this so I don't know what to say. I just wish there were a way for me to actually see you, and to touch you. It's been four decades since I've seen your face, and heard your voice. You don't realize, par'machai, how I've longed to be with you these long days and nights. I have been alone for a long time and the fact, as much as I wonder if it is real to talk with you makes me turn into a basket case. I haven't been in love with anyone since you. There are so many things I have wanted to tell you. But most importantly, on the day you come to rescue me while I was drifting in Dalmir space, you died while trying to rescue me from a leaking plasma conduit. Worf, I honestly don't know how I made it this far without you. I'm an independent woman, but having to live without you is harder than trying to live without the symbiont.. I gave myself to you and when you died, there were many, many days when I wished to be with you in Sto'Vo'Kor so badly, that the only thing stopping me was our two children. I want you to believe, Worf, that it this is no joke. You know me. My humour is not so cruel. I'm going to ask something of you now, and because you are Klingon, I know you can do this. Two days from now, you will receive a Priority One message from Benjamin. He will tell you that I went out in a runabout by myself to make a "formal first contact" before the Defiant entered Dalmir space and that I'm missing. He fears for me since the balgatrinium isn't installed in my runabout. Worf, please don't come to the Dalmir system. If you come, you will die. If you don't, I will die an honorable death rather than live a miserable life. I've already watched the children grow up once without a father. I know they are strong and independent. They can live without me. I can no longer live without you Worf. I wish be the one to go to Sto'Vo'Kor. I know you are strong, and you are a good father. Teel and K'Tangh will always be in my heart, just as you have been for the past forty years. I haven't even forgotten what you look like.

I don't know how us communicating like this is possible, but I know it is and opportunity and I wish to take it. I am just thankful, that once more before the end of my existence, I get to have your words fall upon me. Worf. I love you. I always have. And where ever I am, you know I always will. Please don't go to the Dalmir system. If it were honorable, I would beg it of you. Goodbye my love.

Forever yours in life and death,

Jadzia"

She read the letter over again. Everything was there. She took a deep breath, and through the dampness that descended her aging visage she hit 'SEND'. She crossed her hands and placed them near to her mouth. This was what she wanted. So why did she feel she had to convince herself? She slowly rocked back and forth, the symbiont stirring inside her gently. All she had to do now was wait.

2377 a.d.

Worf awoke that day to the mild sound of giggles and snickers. Letting emotions once more take control of this stoic warrior where his offspring were concerned, he pretended to not have been disturbed. Peeking throught the rough mane that was his hair, he saw the tops of two, young heads at the base of his bed. He smiled. With a primal grunt and snort he tossed the blankets a bit, and rolled onto Jadzia's side of the bed. Teel and K'Tangh tried their hardest to stifle their giggles. Eyes poked above the mattress to see the figure of Worf 'sleeping'. K'Tangh, in his excitement, went to Worf's side of the bed and crouched on the floor. He played with his thumbs to keep from laughing. Getting a signal from his older sister, they started to quietly climb onto the bed. By now, Worf figured he held out long enough. He rolled over quickly, growled and grabbed K'Tangh around the waist and started to tickle his ribs. Squeals and wails of delight erupted from the children. Teel, in an attempt to defend her sibling climbed atop her father and tried to tickle his feet. Worf grabbed them both under his arms, and leaped off the bed, and spun aound a couple of times. Their play continued for another ten minutes until rumbles of hunger from their bellies threatened to drown out the sound of laughter.

"All right. Now it is time to eat." The children ran to the table with tousled hair. K'Tangh struggled to get his little body up into the chair. He layed his belly across the seat, and tried to hold onto the table. Finally, Worf, proud of the effort his little son gave just to sit to eat, hoisted him into a proper upright position. Teel was already at the table, leaning on it with her elbow and face in her hands. "Father, can I have some moba this morning?" She asked of him. Worf didn't answer, but simply went to the replicator, only a metre or so from where K'Tang sat. When Worf was finished he took the plates and glasses and set them on the table. There was makapa bread, kava rolls, uttaberry crepes, and Trixian bubble juice for the children and togud gagh and prune juice for Worf. Worf watched as his children ate. They paid little attention to their food, but chattered amongst themselves about the antics they would be up to today. He saw Jadzia in their two children. Teel was beautiful. She had lighter brown spots than Jadzia, and a sofly defined ridge on her forehead. She looked like Jadzia, but Worf was inwardly pleased she acted more like himself. She was a miracle. K'Tang, look very much like his father did when he was a boy, but he had his mother's eyes. She was also very stubborn and so was K'Tang. Worf's thoughts were interupted when the gagh started to crawl off of his plate.

When breakfast was finished the children had their sonic showers and were clothed in their best play clothes in only 20 minutes. "Lep're?" Teel asked.

"Yes?" Worf acknowledged her question.

"Uncle Julian said he would play with us today." She walked to the sofa and sat holding her stuffed Targ doll. Worf looked at his oldest child questioningly.

"I thought he would be with Chief O'Brien in the holosuite today." Everyone onboard DS9 knew Friday was 'Alamo Day' for the Doctor and the Chief.

"Well, yesterday while Molly and I were playing with our targs, Mrs. O'Brien got a message from a bot-a-list on Bajor." Worf looked at his daughter. Botanist wasn't a difficult word, but his four year old just couldn't get it right. But she tried. "Anyway," she started to play with the acrylic fur on the head of the stuffed targ. "I guess she has to go look at some plant. So when Chief O'Brien came home, Uncle Julian was with him and said he'd play with us today, because they're all going to Bajor today."

Worf, already dressed, tapped his com badge. "Worf to Bashir."

A voice boomed from what seemed to be out of nowhere. "Bashir here. What can I do for you today Worf?"

"Teel tells me you will play with her and K'Tangh today."

"Yes. Actually, I was just about to hand my duties over to Dr. Girani and come right over, if that is okay with you?"

"That is fine. The children are ready"

"Alright, let's say I'll be there in ten minutes. Bashir out."

Worf sat K'Tang near the table to finish the bubble juice he had left there before changing. At the sofa in the living room he braided Teel's hair. Today there were no words exchanged. They sat in silence as Worf tied the leather string about her hair and she watched the random ships pass by their windows. Not even ten minutes since their conversation, Julian Bashir showed up. When he entered the quarters, the children had just cleared the table and pounced on him like wild animals.

"Well now. where shall we go today?" The children looked up at him and smiled. Anywhere Uncle Julian took them always led to an adventure, and they knew it. "I was thinking we'd go see Garak for a few minutes, then maybe go to the promenade for some jumja sticks." Their smiles broadened. Glop-on-a-stick was their favorite treat, and they didn't get it often enough for their tastes. "And instead of going to the Alamo. I still have that holosuite booked at Quark's. How about going to the Mitrainiad Carnival Exhibition. The one that's usually held on Rhymus Major." With that, the children jumped off of Julian and started to jump up and down. Julian had O'Brien working on that program for months. The children didn't know what it was, or when it would be finished, until he told them. They had been expecting a surprise, but this went beyond their child-like dreams.

Julian turned to face Worf, who was keeping a mindful eye on his children. "I'll probably take them to the Promenade again for dinner, if that's okay with you. I hear the Klingon Restaurant serves Bregit Lung on Fridays." Julian flashed Worf a small grin, knowing that the children hadn't fully accustomed their pallettes to Klingon cuisine, which meant they would probably eat somewhere like the Celestial Café. Worf played along with the joke.

"It is best with Grapok sauce." The children winced mildly, but Worf assumed they would eat anything to go to a simulation of the quadrent's largest carnival.

"I guess we'll be going now Worf. We've a long day ahead of us, now don't we children?" Any notion of Klingon food had slipped their minds. They were now, just as excited as before. I will see you after the dinner hour then.

With that, Worf watched as his busy children waved good-bye and skipped out the door. Julian was a good man, and he had nothing to fear with his children under his care. He was, after all, a doctor.

Worf walked over to his desk. He was on limited duty now that Jadzia was gone. Their shift rotation left little time for each other, but when she was here, one of them was always with the children. They switched rotations weekly so that one didn't have the night shift constantly. Now that she was gone, Worf had to plan time at the day care for the children, but his shifts were never longer than five hours out of every day. He sat in his chair. It wasn't an aesthetic piece, but the desk and chair matched the surroundings of his family's quarters nicely. And surprisingly enough, although it had no padding, his chair was quite comfortable. Although he was Klingon. He had a high tolerance for things that were uncomfortable. He picked up the P.A.D.Ds scattered on his desk. He remembered the day before and the strange 'letter' he had received from Jadzia. He was still confused about the matter. He had thought he had sorted things out in his head. Thumbing through the P.A.D.D.s the first one he noticed was flashing. He picked it up cautiously. Fear actually settled upon Worf. His first thought was to call upon the doctor and have him look at him to make sure he wasn't going crazy. Worf thought his hand might be shaking. He hit a few buttons, and text flowed across the small screen. He could see his name and Jadzia's name. He set it down carefully and stood. He walked to the window and crossed his arms behind his back in a very Starfleet manner. He stood there thinking all the same thoughts he had the day before. He decided he could tell no one. He turned to walk back to his desk. The P.A.D.D. seemed to be the only thing in the room. He took normal strides towards the corner of the room which his desk occupied. It seemed to take an eternity to get there. He felt like each step forward was taking a risk with his mind. He stood at the edge of the desk. It was now 30 minutes since the children had left. He picked up the flashing document and read the first few lines. He wanted to be sure that he wasn't in a dream, this wasn't a twisted vision. The authenticity of the document was the same as the one he had received a day earlier. With that in mind, he read the rest of the letter.

Two hours later, Worf had read the letter more than twenty times. He had played out scenarios in his head. He was sitting in the middle of the bed he and Jadzia shared. He didn't want to think that less than a week ago would be the last time they shared it. He didn't want to think that if he went to her that she would not have the warmth of his body every night for the rest of her life. He didn't want to think that that if he didn't go to her that he would have to live without the sweet smell of her every morning, and the smiles she flaunted his way in the course of a day. Many thoughts had swelled his head. He wasn't sure what to think. He tried to focus on something else, but his work didn't seem that important today. He paced. He never paced. There must be something he could do. But what if this was just a shameless prank? What would happen then? He thought about his wife and their children. She said in two days he would hear from Ben. 'So that must mean. what if I could get to her before anything happened? What if I could save her?' Immediately he started looking for the Starfleet issue duffle bags belonging to Jadzia. She had taken all of his luggage for her trip. He would only need a few things anyway. 'A clean shirt, power cells, a phaser, a mek'leth, some rations and.' He grabbed the wedding photo of he and Jadzia from the table on her side of the bed. He looked at it and ran his finger along the silverish frame. 'Par'machai, neither of us will be without.' He grabbed the P.A.D.D. and cleared the screen. He wrote back for a second and final time. He wouldn't be around to see the response.

"Par'machai,

I am leaving today, the day after I received your second letter. I know it is not what you wanted to hear, but I have not yet heard from Benjamin. There may still be a way to find you and bring you back. I wish as much as you to not be without the other. I thank you for the warning. But, Jadzia, as long as I can try to stop it, you will know no pain like that you have edured. I will see you soon.

Worf"

He left the P.A.D.D. on the desk, turned and walked out the door, and heard it swish behind him. He didn't look back. If he did, he might stay on DS9. If he did that, he would damn himself to a life without Jadzia.

"Worf to Bashir." He walked his way to the docking rings oblivious of his surroundings.

"Bashir here." Worf could hear loud music in the background and many, many people, having a good time.

"Doctor, would it be possible for you to take care of Teel and K'Tangh for a few days? Something has come up."

"Well Worf, oh, Computer, adjust carnival noise to minimum. Sorry Worf. As I was saying, Serena is coming back from Rigel VII tomorrow." Worf could hear him much clearer now.

"It is important. Perhaps if you find yourself too preoccupied, the O'Brien's would take the opportunity." Worf was nearing Upper Pylon Three.

"Worf, this sounds serious. What is it?" Julian's concern didn't slow him.

"It has to do with Jadzia. Will you take the children?"

"Well, yes, of course."

"Good. I will return in three days. Worf out." He was nearing the platform for the Rio Grande. "Worf to Kira."

"Yes, Worf." The Major's voice echoed authority.

"I need to take the Rio Grande. I received a Priority One message from Jadzia. The crew may be in danger." He punched in his personal acess code and the doors to the Rio Grande opened. He climbed inside.

"Worf, don't you think you should take someone with you?"

"Major, with all due respect, this will be a delicate mission. I am to understand, that only one person may perform it, and grave danger will be risked on my behalf. I must do this alone."

"Very well Worf. Docking clamps are released. When will do you expect to return?"

"I should be gone only three days. Thank you Major." Worf started to program the automatic navigational control for the Dalmir system. Kira's voice came through the com system on the Rio Grande. "Penetration of Hull shield in 3-2-1. He's cleared. May the Prophets be with you Worf." Worf steered the runabout in the direction of the Dalmir. Back at Ops, Kira looked through the communication logs for the day so far. "Kira to Worf. I just checked. there have been no Priority One messages sent to the station from the crew of the Defiant." With that, he went to warp.

It took the Rio Grande only one and a half days to get to the Dalmir system. Ignoring the Federation speed limit of only warp 5, Worf ran the aging Runabout at warp 7.35 as much as he could. Any higher than that, and she started to shake.

He plotted the exact co-ordinates for entry into the Dalmir pocket of space and as he entered everything suddenly went dead. Control panels now became plain flat surfaces, and lights went out. Worf was now drifting. No one knew of his arrival. There had been no way to let anyone know of his coming, save for the Jadzia in the future. it was all so confusing. Now, if he waited hopefully his path would lead him straight to Jadzia.

Hours passed. He removed the customary water canteen from the pouch that was on the side of his Starfleet duffle bag. He took a small sip. He must save it in case Jadzia had none when he found her. He nibbled on his Starfleet rations. The parchedness of his mouth as a result of the rations made him want to drink even more water, but he held himself in restraint. He decided it was time to try to tinker with the sensor array. It would do him nor Jadzia any good if he ran headlong into her and killed them both. He opened a panel on the floor near the pilot's seat. Inside was a black box full of tools; such as an anodyne capacitor, a coil spanner and a duolytic inverter. Worf grabbed the coil spanner and opened a panel on the wall, almost directly across from where the tools were hidden. 'How can I find Jadzia when I can't see where she is?' He took the coil spanner, and immediately started to work on the subspace transponder. His leaving to find her before he was supposed to know she was gone would be all for naught if he couldn't find her in time. He needed the subspace transponder to find her. He worked on that for almost two hours. It finally came online just as he was about to give up hope. He had a renewed sense of vigor, and went to work on the biospectral phase discriminator. Hunger consumed him, but he ignored the pain in his belly. In fact, he almost didn't notice. He was too busy working on the component of the sensor array. His optimism was growing. He was thankful for the long inventory days now with the Chief, or else he would not know how to have done all this. He would thank the Chief when he returned. He would get him a replica of a terran animal hat. Raccoon he believed it was called. made out of wild targ. Yes, that would serve him well on his holosuite expeditions with the doctor.

All of a sudden the computer beeped. After being alone for nearly six hours, he almost jumped. The only thing he had the computer programmed to locate was any Federation shuttlecraft. He hurdled to the pilot seat, anxious to see what was causing the disturbance. He nearly tripped over the box of tools. With a few taps on the console he determined it was a Federation craft. But was it the Defiant, or the runabout Jadzia was in? At this point both were too far away to determine. He would have to wait. He did not like to wait. He quickly completed his work on the biosectral phase discriminator and put the tools back where they belonged. He retuned to his seat, and tried to find something to do while he waited. He determined that he was travelling 0.04 parsecs per hour and each hour, the mileage got less and less. He had been there for nearly eight hours already.

Three hours later, the computer beeped again. Worf had started to take a nap in the seat and then was jolted awake. He quickly reacallibrated the sensors. 'Par'machai.' It was Jadzia. Her shuttle was almost completely disabled. The life support was still operating, but barely survivable. He had no idea how long she had been in the pocket of space. He re-opened the panel where the tools were hidden. He seized the phase matrix recallibrator and started to work on the transporter's phase transition inhibitor. He needed the transporter to work. Sparks flew this way and that as he tried to get the pattern buffers operational. He worked twenty minutes and was satisfied with his make-shift handyman work. But he was not satisfied enough to try to transport his frail wife aboard. He wouldn't risk her life after he'd come this far. He set up his com badge to emit a constant transport lock on board the Rio Grande. He made sure he had a medical tricorder with him. He would give himself a ten minute warning from the Runabout to get his wife out of her tight quarters. He had to make sure she would survive the transport. Only if he did first however.

The arva nodes he had reconfigured earlier were on line. He needed the extra fuel to get them out of the pocket, or at least to the Defiant, when they were both on board. He took the wedding photo from the duffle bag. He stared at it, then at the static filled image of the runabout on the viewscreen. He hoped she would not be angry with him in the future if he did not succeed. Then again, if things were different, he'd never be able to forgive himself. He set the photo on the console under the screen. In a matter of moments, the future would either stay the same or be changed forever. With a deep breath he stepped onto the transporter pad. He hit a few buttons and with that, he sparkled out of sight.

Jadzia's shuttle was in unsound condition. The inertia dampeners were offline. Oxygen was at a minimul level. Glancing at a flashing console, he noticed there was only 7:42 minutes left until the air was unbreathable. He had to find Jadzia soon. He walked to the pilot control seat. He picked up her scent. Unmistakable. He walked to the rear of the shuttle. It was small, but where could she have gone? He let his instinct take over. He smelled the air. She was near. Her scent was greatest here. He looked around. 'The escape pod!' He tried to open it, but the door would not open. He knew she was in there. It was the only place she could be. He had to open it. If she was hurt. He kept a mindful eye the entire time for the leaking plasma conduits. They weren't as critical as he had initially thought, but they would get worse. He just had to remember to stay away from them. He opened the small panel on the wall beside the door to the escape pod. He had to work fast. He had four minutes left on his own time, but Jadzia only had a minute or so of air left, and he had no idea if she was severely injured or not. He used his entire uppper body strength to turn the emergency hand acutator crank. He could hear the air whizzing in the cracked opening. Once the levels inside and out were level, his accute Klingon hearing could determine his love was still breathing. Once, he used the talent to hunt wild animals, to hasten his heart rate with excitement. Now the same skill eased his heart and cleared his mind. He retrieved a metal rod, once part of an interior railing and wedged it in the door. Jadzia stirred and a slight moan escaped her throat. Fueling his fire to rescue her, he pushed on the rod until sweat beaded upon his brow. He pushed harder and swifter than his normal strength. Finally there was enough room to crawl in to her space with her. Her hair was mussed, and there were streaks on her face. There was an unfamilar stench. He looked around the cylindrical space and saw the bright blue ooze of a leaking plasma conduit. This must be the one that would rupture in a matter of a day or so and supposedly kill him.

He located her com badge and placed it delicately on her chest.

"Worf to Rio Grande. Two for emergency beam out." He had done it. He rescued his par'machai and now, there would be no fear of them ever living without each other. For the first time since the massacre at Khitomer, Worf had been scared. He held the body of his precious wife close to his raging heart as the whir of the transporter mingled their bodies together.

2377 a.d.
 

The evening had fallen, and still Jadzia felt uneasy. She had received Worf's letter the afternoon before, in the usual place. On his desk; the one that she had kept after his death. She couldn't eat. She couldn't rest. She had asked him not to go. He did so anyway, only he went two days early. This was not what she had been praying for. Things were different now. She could feel it. She did nothing but fidget all day long. The daylight gone, she had to find rest somewhere. She walked up the narrow stair case and fetched the fur blanket on her bed. Why did she all of a sudden feel like he was actually there. She could swear she could feel his warm breath on her neck. In a reaction, she stoked her neck with the back of her hand. She stopped, and walked back down the small staircase and continued until she was outside and along the winding path that led to the ocean.

She sat the blanket on the fine sand and intended to use it as a pallet in a few moments. First, however, she lifted the material from each pantleg and started to walk barefoot towards the water. Slowly, she dipped one foot into the water and then another. The tiny waves lapped at her feet. She always felt at such peace whilst by the ocean. She let her thoughts wander, as she always did. They always led to Worf. Worf. Her head started to get a mild ache. She remembered the discussion over names when Teel was born. She lifted a hand to her spots. The ache was becoming a built up pressure. She started to turn and walk to her blanket, when she became dizzy. The entire world started to swirl. Memories not of her own thought started to eddy around her mind. She fell to her knees, the water now lapping at her midriff. She could swear it was the planet moving and not herself. Thoughts of yesterday, and thoughts of Starfleet mesmorized her. They all seemed to resurface backwards. The one thought that remained throughout all was that Worf said no to her. He refused her wishes and went to rescue her. She tried to push aside the recollections, but they got stronger. Finally, her mind flooded her with raw emotion, all of the things she had felt through the course of a lifetime swelled upon her in one dose. The world went black. The feeling of the water on her body disappeared. Everytime she tried to open her eyes, there was a long distant memory in front of her. She felt like her body was being crushed and her mind being ripped from her soul and thrown in front of her face. She lifted both hands to her head. No matter where she seemed to think she was, everything was lost in the white sound of her scream.

2377 a.d.

Jadzia awoke on the Defiant in the quarters that she usually shared with Worf. Her strenght of heart was there, but when she tried to lift herself on her arms, they wobbled. Worf, hearing the stirring of her body was by her side in an instant to help ease her. She remembered little of the trip in her shuttle, but she knew something had happened. She began to tell Worf her story. It wasn't until she neared the end of what she remembered happening on the ship that something gave way in her mind.

'The letters! Worf must have known to come rescue me from the letters.' Time had been altered. She had lived a life without Worf, but helped him change the future. 'But how do I know this to be true? Sitting in long contemplation, Worf shared with her his relay of events surrounding her letter.

"Worf?"

"Yes, par'machai?" Worf asked while putting his hands atop hers.

"Do you realize what just happened?" The colour started to come back to her face as she said things that stared to sound beyond belief. "Our love was strong enough to bounce through time to make sure we were together. We are never going to be apart like that again."

As her excitement level grew so did her strength. Although it was just days since she saw her children as babies, she needed to do so again.

"Dax to Sisko." She tapped on her scratched badge.

"Old man, am I glad to hear your voice. Is there anything I can do?" Sisko was always sincere.

"I was wondering if the Trade talks could be post-poned. I really would like to be with my gran- er, children right now." It would be difficult learning to live through both one life she knew nothing about and one she wished to forget.

"I thought you would like things that way. I have already set up negotiations talks to take place on DS9 in a few months. We'll be home in no time. Sisko out."

She hauled herself closer to Worf and he stroked her hair. She was about to relive the life she never knew she would have again. Again, she would do all the right things, and say all the right words. But this time she would have a smile on her face because Worf would be by her side, as her favorite song says, all the way.
 
 

~The End~

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Go back to the Archive -----------------------------2610056315590 Content-Disposition: form-data; name="userfile"; filename="D:\seema - desktop\wdfa\stories\timesofdespair.html" Content-Type: text/html Times of Despair, Part I

Times of Despair, Part I

By Trillgirl

Disclaimer: Deep Space Nine and the Deep Space Nine characters belong to Paramount. I'm just using them in my story. Tonika, Kavi, Elij, Pradak, Jeric, Callahan, Lanya, and Rilo are mine.

Author's Note: This story is dedicated to Terry Farrell and Michael Dorn, the two wonderful people who brought the beautiful union of Dax and Worf to life.

Editor's Note: This story is part three of four in the "Death Avenged, Honor Restored" series.

~ * ~

There was no direction in the void. Up, down, sideways, backward- none of those existed, yet he was aware that he was constantly moving. There was no sound, either. Absolute silence reigned. Time meant nothing here. He didn't know how long he'd been mindlessly drifting; it could have been five minutes or five hundred years. All he could focus on was that he shouldn't be here.

Sometimes the darkness seemed inviting, and he wanted nothing more than to surrender to it and become a part of all this nothingness. Other times it was the enemy, surrounding him, oppressing him with its smothering layers and cryptic folds, so that if he gave in to the temptation he would be swallowed forever, all traces of individuality swept away, and he would be forgotten. And that was more frightening than death.

Then a white light penetrated the blackness in a scintillating shaft, intriguing even as an inner voice commanded him to turn away and ignore it. No, let it fade. You can stay here. It's safe here. Nothing can happen to you if you stay. As the illumination began to fade, he was suddenly seized by desperation, and reached out to it, summoning the strength to follow the light wherever it might lead.

The moment Worf awoke, swimming in vertigo and disorientation, he knew he had a problem. The gray walls around the hard bunk on which he lay were unfamiliar. Gone was the clean, bright, sharp-edged ambiance characteristic to Starfleet ships. It was obvious he was no longer aboard the Shenandoah.

Now all the unpleasant details flooded his mind once more. The last thing he remembered was a Jem'Hadar soldier firing a phaser rifle into his chest. So how could he still be alive pondering his situation? A blast from that close range and into such a vital area of the body should have killed him instantly. Hesitantly, he touched the front of his uniform. His hand came away clean, with no traces of the blood that should have been saturating the fabric.

A glance down confirmed it: it was like the events of the past few hours- if it had been that short a time- had never happened. Presumably whoever's brig he was sitting in was an ally, since they had healed him. But any hopes Worf had of being in hospitable hands were shattered when he stiffly hauled himself to a sitting position and saw the scaly Jem'Hadar pace in front of the forcefield. His hand drifted down and felt the empty holster where his phaser had been.

This was not good. The Klingon needed time to gather his thoughts. Thankful that the Jem'Hadar had not noticed he was awake, he lay back down on the uncomfortable bunk and closed his eyes, feigning unconsciousness. It was obvious how he'd gotten here. The Jem'Hadar had taken him prisoner when they left the Shenandoah. And where was the runabout? Most likely destroyed. But why had they bothered to heal him? The Dominion didn't show that kind of mercy. Where were they going? Back to Cardassia? Only time would tell, he supposed.

His musing was interrupted when the guard's heavy footsteps stopped in front of his cell. Worf lay still as the forcefield was deactivated. His body instinctively tensed for battle when he heard the Jem'Hadar's heavy footsteps encroach into the tiny room. If he could take his guard by surprise, there might be a chance of escape. The instant he felt a meaty hand clamp onto his shoulder, he sprang up from his prone position on the bunk and whipped his fist up into the soldier's face.

As the reptilian sentry stumbled back, caught off guard, Worf seized the phaser and ripped it from his hands, turning it on the Jem'Hadar and transforming his face into a charred, oozing mess. His armored body thumped to the floor in a splatter of blood. The Klingon cautiously exited the cell and swung around, scanning for any other guards. No one was in sight, so he made his way to the door of the brig and out into the maze of corridors.

He recognized the arrangement of the halls from the ship schematic that Captain Sisko had ordered the entire crew to memorize some time ago in case a situation like this ever occurred. All Dominion attack ships were constructed using identical design except for the larger battle cruisers. The layout was relatively simple- no fancy detours, just a direct, efficient route to wherever you needed to go. That was the Dominion: efficient.

The bridge was located on the middle deck of the ship, where it would be the most protected from enemy fire. Since there were no viewscreens, only small headsets worn by the commander of the vessel, it didn't have to be on the top deck like Starfleet ships.

And of course no chairs cluttered up the bridge: the Jem'Hadar didn't require rest, only a replenishment of ketracel-white when the supply in their neck tubes had diminished. The infirmary was nonexistent. Why bother to waste time and resources healing a wounded Jem'Hadar- or Vorta, for that matter- when you could just create a new one? No replicators or mess hall around, either. The Jem'Hadar didn't eat, and neither did the Founders. The lack of proper food had been quite a problem when Captain Sisko, along with the rest of the crew, had taken a captured Dominion vessel into Cardassian space and destroyed a major ketracel-white facility.

Worf had been on the Rotarran with General Martok at the time, but had heard stories about it later. That mission had been extremely confidential at first. They could discuss it with no one, not even their most trusted friends and colleagues from other posts. Because of that complete secrecy, they had almost been destroyed by an uninformed Starfleet ship, the Centaur, commanded by Sisko's old friend Charlie Reynolds.

Cadet Nog, the least experienced, had been optimistic, reminding a woeful Chief O'Brien of the field rations that they had brought along. But O'Brien, who had had to survive on only packaged, freeze-dried food on more than one occasion, still had his doubts. A gourmet meal became the least of their worries when the bomb they had beamed down to the facility, disguised as a ketracel-white container, detonated prematurely.

Trapped inside the security net, they'd had to rely on sheer luck and Lieutenant Commander Jadzia Dax's piloting skills to get out safely. Jadzia had done her job well as always, but to no avail. The explosion had damaged the ship's warp core matrix, leaving them stranded in Dominion territory without warp drive. No sooner had they begun the seventeen-year trip home than two more Dominion vessels had marooned them on a deserted planet in an uncharted nebula. An explosion at the helm console had injured Jadzia and left her and the ancient symbiont she carried near death. The handful of crew members who'd survived the impact struggled to shore after crashing in the ocean and set up camp in a sheltered cavern while, unbeknownst to them, ten Jem'Hadar and their fatally wounded Vorta were suffering the same fate after their ship had been damaged.

Only when Nog and Garak were captured while on a scouting mission and taken to the Dominion camp was the Starfleet team made aware of their presence. The Vorta, Keevan, cared nothing for the Jem'Hadar he commanded, only about taking care of his injuries. So Doctor Bashir and Captain Sisko had exchanged themselves for Garak and Nog. Bashir's revered Hippocratic Oath kicked in when he got his first glimpse of the injured Vorta.

After the surgery and a long talk with Keevan, Sisko and Bashir were allowed to go free. Keevan had given them his soldiers' attack plan, to be implemented the next morning. After they had been forced to kill all ten Jem'Hadar, the Starfleet team had taken the Vorta into custody and repaired a damaged Dominion comm system to contact the Rotarran for rescue. Worf's stomach had clenched with anxiety when he heard that his precious Jadzia, his fiancee, his parmach'kai, had been injured.

The uneventful day on the Rotarran instantly livened up when N'Garan glanced up from her console and reported, "General, we are receiving a distress call- with a Dominion signature."

Martok frowned.

"Put it through."

The magnified face that appeared on the screen, though, was not the placid face of a Vorta or the perpetually angry expression of a Jem'Hadar, but the welcome, familiar face of Captain Benjamin Sisko.

"Captain!" roared Martok gleefully. "What is your position?"

Sisko gave him the coordinates and waited patiently while the general instructed Ch'Targ, his helmsman, to plot a course. When he'd turned back to the viewscreen, Sisko informed him,

"When you arrive, we need medical supplies immediately to prepare Dax for transport."

Worf, standing quietly at Martok's side in case he was needed, stepped forward with obvious fear for Dax in his eyes and blurted, "What happened to Jadzia? Is she all right?"

Sisko gave him a reassuring smile.

"She'll be fine, Mr. Worf, as long as she gets proper medical attention soon."

The Klingon had so many more frantic questions, but was interrupted when the image on the screen flickered and was overcome by static. N'Garan tried to reestablish contact, but could not find the signal. Martok noticed his expression and said quietly,

"Jadzia will live, my friend. She is a strong woman, very strong. Besides, she is engaged. She wouldn't even consider dying before her own wedding!"

At the thought of the upcoming ceremony Worf couldn't hide a grin.

"No." Even at maximum warp, the Rotarran seemed to be moving as slow as a gagh worm. Worf was on his way to the transporter room as soon as the planet where Jadzia and the others were stranded appeared on the viewscreen. When he materialized on the surface, a warm gust of wind struck him from the side, blowing sharp, biting particles of sand into his eyes. He pivoted fully around, but saw no Starfleet officers waiting for him. Instead, the inert bodies of ten dead Jem'Hadar soldiers lay at the bottom of a deep ravine.

"Commander Worf!" The Klingon turned upon hearing his name being called by a strained female voice. Not Jadzia's. Lieutenant Neeley emerged from behind a large outcropping of rocks and motioned to him. He scrambled up to join her, and they jogged side by side back to their camp while she filled him in on the details.

When they reached the caves, they found Sisko, O'Brien, Bashir, Garak, and Nog gone. Since they hadn't expected that the Rotarran would arrive so soon, Sisko had taken the team and was searching for food and drinkable water.

Neeley told him, "I'll contact the captain. Commander Dax is inside." She pointed to the cavern's mouth.

"Thank you, Lieutenant."

Without waiting for her to show him the way, he plunged into the cave opening. Jadzia lay on a hard slab of rock protruding from the wall, eyes closed, hands clutched around the thin blanket that covered her. She was shivering from cold, or pain, or both.

It was obvious that the Trill was wearing nothing under the blanket, as her uniform, neatly folded, lay next to her boots on the dusty floor of the cave.

"Jadzia!"

She flinched as the silence in the cavern was suddenly broken by his voice, but gasped, instantly recognizing him.

"Worf!" she croaked weakly, and rolled towards him, only to yelp in pain and fall back. The Klingon was at her side in an instant, gently stroking her sweat-dampened hair.

"Are you injured badly?"

She smiled in spite of the discomfort of her wounds and grasped his hand, ecstatic over seeing him again. Now that Worf was here, she knew everything was going to turn out all right. Jadzia craved for him to pick her up in his strong arms so she would feel enveloped in safety.

"It's not so bad anymore. Julian did what he could. He says I'm stable for the moment."

Worf's eyes fell to where the blanket provided what little modesty it could.

"Did the doctor…?" He hated to think of anyone seeing Jadzia undressed except him, but was embarrassed to voice his concern. She laughed in understanding.

"No, Worf. Lieutenant Neeley helped me take my uniform off. Julian didn't see anything."

"Good." Uncomfortable with this discussion now, he reached for her uniform and shook the dust off of it.

"General Martok is waiting with the Rotarran. I will help you dress."

Their eyes locked, and he bent down to kiss her gently. She chuckled as he helped her stand and slip carefully into her uniform.

"Usually you're helping me get undressed- very quickly. This is certainly a change."

"Yes, it is." Jadzia struggled to hold onto him and tug her shirt over her head at the same time. The Klingon paused in assisting his parmach'kai and gazed at her, devouring her beauty and perfection. /

He had loved her so much, but had sometimes found it hard to tell her in words. No spoken sentence could ever describe the love that bound them together. He couldn't fathom life without her. During his time on the Enterprise, Worf had seen his share of women, but never found anyone so perfect, so understanding, so easy to love as Jadzia. She was very mysterious, the centuries-old symbiont she bore within her like a perpetually unborn child possessing so many combined memories from multiple lifetimes.

Yet that was one of the innumerable things he adored about her. Her complexity was intriguing. Curzon, her previous host, had been the Federation ambassador to the Klingon Empire and a famed negotiator of the Khitomer Accords. The old man's experiences gave Jadzia a zest for Klingon food, traditions, combat, opera- anything related to their culture. Her partiality to everything Klingon made her the perfect match for Worf from almost the moment they met. First they had shared a deep friendship, spending almost every free moment together.

Later on, it had actually been Jadzia who made the first move towards romance. Grilka, a Klingon woman who was Quark's ex-wife, caught Worf's attentions, irritating the Trill, who'd been after him herself. A complicated series of events quickly unfolded, ending with the two of them alone in a holosuite.

Much to his surprise, Jadzia had challenged him to combat, then confronted him with the traditional Klingon words to express deep passion. He finally realized what a wonderful woman had been right in front of him all along and surrendered to her advances. Needless to say, the two of them had ended up in Bashir's infirmary with a few broken bones, a lot of bruises, and avid eagerness to see what the future held.

Those had been glorious times.

He felt immortal when he lay awake during the night, watching her sleep in his arms, usually with one of hers thrown across his broad, muscle-toned chest. Beautiful did not even begin to describe her. Jadzia was as radiant as a goddess, especially in her sleep, with her smooth skin and provocative mottling of spots venturing down beneath where the blanket covered her. She was fortunate that she was also muscular and able to endure the unbridled vigorousness associated with Klingon lovemaking.

This had not surprised him. He tended to forget that Jadzia was not Klingon and lost himself in the joy of having a companion as concordant as her. Time just flew by. It seemed as if only days had passed when they actually married. On that exhausting night, after the ceremony and the reception and a party of their own in their new quarters, the two of them had agreed that to go to Bashir's infirmary to have their many bruises and sprains treated would be to invalidate the significance and honor of their newlywed state.

What normally would have been discomfort from their wounds was replaced by an invigorating feeling of excitement about their new and greatly improved lives together, and that joy had led them to make love again. When they woke in the morning, wrapped up together in the blankets, aching pleasantly from the night before, they couldn't even remember falling asleep, fatigued as they'd been. It just seemed so right for them to be together.

Worf made mental notes of his surroundings as he crept stealthily through the corridors of the Dominion ship, unnoticed as of the moment. At first glance, the Klingon could have been on any Jem'Hadar vessel. Most of the walls were gray, drab, and undecorated, as was the carpet. Come to think of it, the entire Dominion was gray. Their ships, their soldiers, their uniforms, their allies….

It seemed to be the Founders' favorite color, except that the Changelings themselves were more of a tan. But there were certain things about this vessel that were different. Every ten feet or so, a tarnished silver plate balanced on a thin metal post, holding what looked like a fat ceremonial candle. All the candles were lit and oozing wax. The thin, runny streams, though, didn't quite conceal the detailed designs carved into the sides. Every once in a while, as Worf slipped quietly past another closed door, he would pass a colorful painting hung in between two candle stands.

The artwork displayed upon them depicted not famous, revered people, not a picturesque nature scene that might have been a favorite vacation spot of someone on board, but fierce, raging fire. Solid walls of flame,

moving like an advancing army to annihilate anything in its path. Tongues of fire, hovering above objects as if marking them for a curse. And a disturbingly realistic picture of a man consumed in flames, writhing in agony as his skin dripped off of him like the melting wax off these eerie candles, his face contorted in a scream, captured for eternity in this artist's perception of hell. Whoever had painted these was either very talented or possessed. Or both. No sane person could have created these hideous works of art.

Suddenly the sound of approaching footsteps met his alert ears. Reacting with a warrior's lightning-quick thinking, Worf ducked into an alcove that housed an emergency communications console and held his confiscated phaser rifle up against his chest. His heart was pounding with battle lust so loudly that the Klingon feared for a moment that the approaching enemy might hear its beats. Two faint shadows appeared on the floor, preceding their owners. When the soldiers came past his hiding spot a moment later, Worf was shocked.

One of them was a Jem'Hadar, as would be expected on a Dominion ship. The other was a Bajoran. He almost leaped out of the shadows to jump the Jem'Hadar and attempt to free his prisoner and gain an ally. Then he took a closer look. The Bajoran's wrists weren't clamped into stasis restraints, nor were any weapons drawn. No, he was walking beside the Dominion soldier, and the two were talking almost companionably. This was very strange, seeing a face other than one with cold gray scales aboard a ship of this type.

It was entirely possible that the Bajoran was a collaborator and working with the Dominion, but very unlikely. Since the Cardassians were also members of the opposing side, the Bajorans had developed an even deeper hatred of them. The Klingon's astonishment grew as a third person, a Romulan, emerged from a side corridor and joined the first two. Worf was able to overhear a fragment of their conversation as the three men continued past him.

"We should be arriving at Soukara in approximately four hours," the Romulan informed the Bajoran, who gave him a toothy grin in response.

"Excellent. And the prisoners?"

"Collectively, there are currently fifty-nine prisoners," answered the Jem'Hadar. "They are being prepared for transport as we speak, but we lost much time on this mission."

"So we'll be a little late. It doesn't matter," the Bajoran mused, rubbing his hands together. He appeared to be in charge of this strange situation. "The Master will understand. Never has such a large collection been brought in at once. And remember who we have in our brig."

"It was unanticipated that we would locate the Klingon," agreed the Romulan. "I wonder if there will be a reward for finding the man that the Master wanted so badly."

The Jem'Hadar asked, "Why is this particular Klingon so important to him? He is not a prominent political figure or spiritual leader."

They were talking about him, Worf realized with a shudder of something resembling both anger and dread.

"We could have gotten any Klingon instead of going out of our way to get this one."

The Bajoran's head swung around at the topic of their bickering.

"That is none of our business," he shot at them, his voice unexpectedly tinged with ice. "The Master's desires are not for us to question. Do you understand that?" The Jem'Hadar cast his eyes downward.

"I serve the Master," he muttered.

"As do we all."

Satisfied now, the Bajoran turned and stared straight ahead. The Romulan began to speak, but by now the men were out of earshot. Worf slumped against the wall. This complicated things even more. Whoever this "Master" was apparently wanted him for something. And they were headed to Soukara! There was a Dominion base on the jungle-blanketed planet, but it was becoming increasingly obvious that this wasn't an ordinary Dominion ship. Time to get moving. The Klingon desperately needed more information if he was to survive.

Captain Sisko twirled his well-worn leather baseball between his fingers and stared out into Ops, not really seeing the hustle going on down in the command center of Deep Space Nine. An unfinished weekly report for Starfleet Command lay untouched on his desk. His thoughts were continually being drawn to the message from Gul Dukat that Worf was supposed to have received five days ago, but had come in shortly after his departure on the Shenandoah.

"No sacrifice is in vain. You'll understand soon."

What the hell did that mean? Dukat was not one to speak in riddles. In the past he hadn't hesitated to be perfectly blunt and straightforward about what he wanted. Most Cardassians were like that. But now all of a sudden Dukat was hiding his true intentions behind enigmatic words.

Sisko supposed he should have informed Starfleet Command of the message and its contents. But something held him back. Worry, maybe, for Worf's sake. Or perhaps it was the feeling that this went a little deeper than what Dukat alone wanted. That he planned to use Worf to contribute to something bigger. Whatever it was, the captain knew that the Cardassian would never succeed.

Worf was just too strong, too loyal, to give in to anything Dukat wanted. Sisko sighed. He deeply hated this war.

His father, Joseph Sisko, had complained once, "You know, there's something I just don't understand. You're always telling me that space is big, that it's an endless frontier, filled with infinite wonders."

To which Ben had eagerly replied, "It's true!"

Joseph Sisko had answered, "Well, if that's the case, you would think it would be more than enough room for people to just leave each other alone."

Wouldn't that be nice? But things just didn't work that way. There were always the dictatorial, power-hungry people who had to have things their own way. Like this damned, ever-present Dominion. Why couldn't they just stay in the Gamma Quadrant where they belonged?

At the thought of the Dominion, Sisko's concentration was drawn to the abnormally large presence at Cardassia Prime. There were always ships stationed at the Dominion headquarters, but for so many massive fleets to rendezvous there had to signify danger. A plan was no doubt being schemed up at this very moment.

What were they going to do?

His thoughts turned ominously to the coveted Deep Space Nine under his command. It had been humiliating for the Dominion troops to pull out, after finally detonating the mine field and preparing for the arrival of reinforcements, only to discover that the thousands of Jem'Hadar ships were nowhere in sight and they were about to be overrun by many very angry, very heavily armed Starfleet vessels. DS9 was still a much-desired target.

It was likely that the Founders would want it under Dominion rule once more. And what about this confusing situation with Gul Dukat? Weyoun had stated in no uncertain terms that the Dominion was looking for Dukat because he had supposedly defected. If they thought the Federation was aiding him, things could get quite ugly.

Hopefully their weapons system would be operational soon, after Chief O'Brien installed the master differential relay that Worf had brought back. The Klingon had had an unexpected escort: two Jem'Hadar attack ships and a Cardassian Galor-class cruiser.

The three Dominion vessels had given Sisko and his crew quite a scare, since they'd been without weapons at the time of their arrival. Amazingly, Worf had been the one to fire on the station, disabling their shields just long enough to beam them the new and greatly appreciated relay. But then he'd turned and gone back towards Cardassian space under cloak. At least, Sisko assumed that's where he'd gone, since his pursuers had reversed course as well.

The captain was worried about the Klingon's safety, and the rest of the crew obviously had their doubts about whether or not he still lived. Kira was trying to keep their spirits up by assuring them that if anyone was faster, stronger, and smarter than the Dominion, it was Worf. They all pretended to believe her, and Sisko was grateful to them for trying.

Ezri Dax was the only one who couldn't hide it. She was terrified for Worf; anyone could see that. The Jadzia in her wanted desperately to be out there searching for him, even though in her rational mind she knew she would be more help to everyone here on DS9. Suddenly the captain needed to talk to someone. He tapped his comm badge.

"Sisko to Dax."

He half expected to hear Jadzia's melodious voice over the comm channel, and it was always a shock when a different one spoke.

"Dax here, Benjamin."

"Would you mind coming to my office, Old Man?" Sisko smiled to himself; that nickname had stuck with the host of the Dax symbiont for three lifetimes now.

"I've got a patient right now. I'll be up after I finish this counseling session. Dax out."

Sisko leaned back in his chair, threw the baseball up, and caught it, looking out over Ops once more.

Worf, sweat saturating the back of his neck and the collar of his uniform, cradled his commandeered Jem'Hadar phaser rifle and moved stealthily along the corridors of the mysterious ship. He closed his eyes briefly and visualized the schematic floating through his brain.

Right now, if his memory served him correctly, he was in a corridor containing nothing but cargo holds. Around the corner were the crew barracks.

Why did the Jem'Hadar need quarters anyway? They didn't eat, sleep, or have sex. One would have thought they'd be perfectly content to stay on the bridge all the time. Past the barracks and down a level was his target: the bridge. True, he was only one man with one weapon, but with any luck he would surprise the bridge crew enough to be able to lock his phaser on the Vorta in charge. The Jem'Hadar would do whatever they were told in order to ensure the safety of their precious overseer. An alarm whooped suddenly and flooded the corridors with noise like a child who's just woken up and discovered that he's thirsty.

"Intruder alert!" boomed a deep voice over the shipwide comm system. "Security to brig!"

Now it was starting. Someone had discovered the dead guard outside his cell and found him gone. From this point on they would be looking for him. They were thirsty, all right- for blood.

The broadcast continued, "Prisoner may be armed. I repeat, prisoner may be armed."

You're damned right I'm armed.

The Klingon ran down the hall of cargo holds and turned past the barracks. A turbolift lay to his left, but he knew better than to take it. The Jem'Hadar could easily cut the power while he was inside, stranding him until they came to his "rescue."

There was a removable conduit access panel a few feet from the turbolift doors. Pulling it off, he wriggled inside and, with some difficulty, snapped it back on behind him. As soon as the panel was on, he heard heavy bootsteps pounding down the corridor.

Go to Part I

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