"This way!"

"Cover me!"

"You- get down to the brig and see where he might have gone. You- check the cargo holds."

As Worf listened in smug satisfaction over eluding them, he noted that some of the voices didn't have the same deep, rumbling, raspy quality like the Jem'Hadar. Cardassian, maybe? Although it was rare to find a Cardassian on a Dominion ship. That was one of the many things keeping their unsteady alliance from being perfect.

The Jem'Hadar insisted on serving on the Cardassian ships, yet wouldn't let the Cardassians board their vessels unless it was absolutely necessary. It was the Dominion's selfishness that might one day work against them. One voice was vaguely familiar, and Worf recognized it as the Romulan who'd come from a side corridor to talk to the Jem'Hadar and Bajoran not long ago.

How many different species were on this ship? The guards' conversation faded, indicating they had moved on to search a different area. Instead of squeezing back out into the corridor, Worf executed a tight 180-degree turn and crawled down the conduit. Since he had gone through the trouble of stuffing his broad-shouldered frame in here, he might as well see what he could sabotage.

After he had gone about ten feet, a bright orange panel caught his eye. Rolling onto his back, he detached the panel. None of the components inside looked familiar. The Klingon was hesitant about touching anything, not knowing what it was.

He might activate the auto-destruct sequence if he yanked the wrong wire. Worf replaced the panel reluctantly and continued forward. When he finally came to the end of the access tunnel, he called up the schematic in his head once more. If he had entered the conduit near the Jem'Hadar barracks and went straight until he came to this green door, beyond that hatch lay the bridge!

The phaser rifle hung over his shoulder by a thick woven strap. After a struggle with it in the claustrophobically small tunnel, he maneuvered the weapon up in front of him. Jadzia fit so much better in tight spaces.

I may have had the advantage of size in our bat'leth combats, but there are times when smaller is better.

Worf listened carefully for any noise coming from the other side of the panel. The walls are probably soundproof, he concluded when silence met his ears. Oh, well. The Dominion might have been on home turf, but the Klingon had the advantage of surprise on his side. Not hesitating any longer, he slammed forward, sending the door hurtling out onto the bridge. Worf tumbled out of the conduit, rolled expertly as he hit the floor, and came up standing, phaser poised and ready.

"If anyone moves, it will be their last!"

He had expected shock to be present on the faces of the bridge crew. Maybe fear. At least a little annoyance that he had burst into their command center uninvited. But their expressions gave away nothing. The officers- an odd mix of Jem'Hadar, Cardassians, Bajorans, Bolians, even Humans- regarded him as they might look at a mendicant on the side of the road, begging them for money or a tiny morsel of food. Barely a glance to acknowledge his presence, then back to what you were doing with no second thoughts.

"Hello, Commander Worf."

The Klingon swung towards the new male voice, phaser still raised. The speaker stood in the shadows behind the expansive weapons station, hidden by a massive Jem'Hadar.

"I see you've found the bridge. How clever of you."

Worf's lip curled, and he snarled, "Show yourself, you coward!"

"Oh, come now, Commander, there's no need to be nasty."

Judging by the slightly sarcastic tone, the speaker was probably a Vorta. Before he could shoot back an answer, the owner of the voice continued, "I suppose you're wondering how we know your name. We did a simple DNA scan when you were beamed aboard."

Now the speaker stepped out of the shadows, revealing himself, much to Worf's surprise, as not a Vorta but the Bajoran from the corridor. He was short, about five feet, and was dwarfed by the Jem'Hadar behind which he'd been standing. His hair was a radiant red that matched the stone in his traditional clan earring, and his eyes were an unnerving, piercing emerald. When the light glinted off them just right, they almost- glowed?

"I apologize about your little stay in the brig. Normally we allow our cooperative passengers free roam of the ship, to a certain extent, but you proved yourself to be the exact opposite to the Jem'Hadar who beamed over to your runabout. The Shenandoah, by the way, is being towed in our tractor beam. She's in good condition, considering the action we had to take when you tried to elude us."

Worf did not lower his phaser rifle. Passengers? More like prisoners. He hadn't seen anyone else wandering the corridors, so apparently they hadn't capitulated easily either. Good.

"Who are you?"

The Bajoran smiled. "Well, I guess that's fair."

Striding forward, he held out his hand. "Molina Elij."

Worf didn't take the proffered hand, instead shoving the tip of the phaser into Molina's chest. Finally taking the hint, he backed off, smiling, and raised both hands in the air for peace. "If that's the way you want it."

"Why are we going to Soukara?" Worf interrogated, not expecting an answer. He didn't get a good one, but was satisfied to see the Bajoran's face twitch slightly, not expecting him to know their heading.

"The Master requires your presence."

Oh, that helps.

"Who is the Master?"

The crew responded more to this simple inquiry than to his dramatic entrance onto the bridge. As one, their heads jerked up from their consoles. All chatter instantly ceased. Even the computer's background noise seemed to fade. Worf looked back to Molina for the answer to his question. Molina's face had paled, and his eyes had opened wide. When he spoke, it was in a whisper so low that Worf had to strain to hear him.

"His sacred name may not be spoken by such unworthy followers as us. And you."

Worf, ignoring the hypnotized looks of the bridge crew, snapped back,

"I follow no one."

Molina's unexpected sinister smile sent an involuntary shiver down the Klingon's spine.

"Not yet."

As if silently summoned, a scaly Jem'Hadar appeared and placed a viewing headset in Molina's hand. He slipped it on as the Jem'Hadar retreated and turned towards where a viewscreen would normally be, staring at the wall and ignoring Worf entirely. Worf, left to look at Molina's back, was completely frustrated. The rest of the incongruous crew paid him no attention either. Poised to leap forward, he aimed his phaser at Molina. And that was when he saw the Bajoran's red armband.

The construction was going well. The Master gazed out over his domain, feeling a growing sense of satisfaction. How glorious it would be when all this was finally complete! An entire city devoted to the worship of the wondrous gods! He adjusted his cloak around his shoulders and stepped away from the window of his private dwelling, located on one of the tallest hills in this area. One day soon his grand palace would be erected on the hillside, overlooking the city that his loyal followers had built.

And they were his followers, even if they didn't know it. When this project was finished, they all would come to see how caring the Pagh'Wraiths were and how lucky they were to have their blessings. Many of them didn't understand at the moment. They just wanted to stay wrapped up in their own selfish lives, not willing to sacrifice now and contribute to a cause that would one day bring them more joy and prosperity than they had ever dreamed about.

A high-power telescope was set up on his balcony, allowing him a close-up view of the workers who were building the holy city, stone by stone, temple by temple. It was rare that he actually journeyed down into the city. He preferred to remain unseen, keeping a shroud of mystery between him and his followers for the time being. But on the occasions when he did enter Bal'gurna- a beautiful name, it translated as "Garden of Flame"- he always wore loose, concealing garments, hiding his face in the folds of a hood. Only his personal attendants, who had made their own decisions to serve him, had ever seen and spoken to him directly.

He utterly trusted the four of them, especially Elij. When he'd first come here, the Bajoran had been hateful and rebellious. But then he'd realized the true divinity of the city unfolding around him, and come to the Master, begging to do all he could to aid in its construction. Elij was his most loyal servant now, and had risked his life on many occasions for the good of Bal'gurna.

The Master went to his telescope and peered through the eyepiece, focusing on a group of workers gathered around a pile of large stones. As he observed them with a sense of pride, they broke their huddle and each bent over, wrapping their arms around a rock and lifting it with much effort. Everyone except a single female, a young Klingon.

She stood defiantly in front of the group's three Jem'Hadar guards and yelled something at them, unintelligible from where he watched. The first Jem'Hadar immediately drew his arm back, and a long, razorlike plasma whip unfolded in the scorching sunlight. The whip descended on the Klingon, who staggered but made an obscene gesture at the guards. Now the other two Jem'Hadar raised their glittering weapons, identical to the first, and proceeded to beat her until she was forced to her knees.

As soon as the Jem'Hadar had backed off, she tried to get up but was shaking too badly. Another worker, an older Romulan, approached the girl and wrapped a hand around her upper arm, forcing her to her feet. He looked ready to help her with her rock, but she shook off his hand and hefted it herself, leading the rest of her work group around a corner and out of the Master's line of sight.

He sighed somewhat sympathetically and straightened up. It was a dreadful shame about that Klingon. Her whole group, really. They were the most unpredictable of anyone in Bal'gurna. Attempts to lead rebellions always began with them. Over time, additional Jem'Hadar soldiers had been necessary to keep them under control.

The Master disliked having to use force on his followers, but sometimes it had to be done to remind them who they were working for. Barrack 7, into which the Klingon, the Romulan, a Bolian, a Bajoran, and a Human had been separated when they proved to be exceedingly difficult, never failed to stir up trouble.

Too bad.

The five of them were a strong group, and he was certain they would have worked well together if they had been so inclined. Approaching footsteps on the tile floor made him turn. A Bajoran woman stood in the doorway, her hands folded in front of her.

She said, with her eyes cast downward, "I'm sorry to interrupt you, Master, but we've just received word that the latest group of workers will be here within two days."

"I'm glad to hear it."

He smiled. He had gotten to like this particular woman, known only to him as Kolara, as she hadn't provided him with a family name. She was easy to talk to, most likely because she was so quiet. Kolara kept to herself and wasn't likely to divulge any information he revealed to her.

"Come," he beckoned, holding out his hand to her.

The Bajoran was quite lovely, even though she wore a long robe and hood concealing her face. Under the fabric, her hair was an almost white blond, similar to the pale tone of her skin, and her eyes an oddly attractive purple. She approached hesitantly, and looked where he pointed out of the window.

"Bal'gurna," he said with satisfaction. "Beautiful, don't you agree?"

"Yes, Master."

It was about 2030 in the evening now; the sun was sinking still lower in Soukara's sky. Its light, cast on the half-completed city before them, threw a gleam over the buildings and domed temples as if they had been set aflame.

Magnificent.

The Master reached for Kolara's hand and squeezed it briefly before glancing at her. The Bajoran seemed to become entranced as well whenever she gazed out over Bal'gurna. She was very fortunate. Not many were privileged enough to have a view like this. It made a person feel almost almighty themselves to witness it. He turned to Kolara.

"I want you at my side when this is all completed, my child."

"I would like nothing more, Master."

He smiled and gently pushed the hood back from her face. Startled, she fell back a step. The Master required all his servants to wear a robe similar to his own, plus a draped hood, which he himself only wore when he entered Bal'gurna. His pleased expression, though, put her at ease.

"I'm grateful that you speak your mind with me, child. Many of my followers- those who have spoken to me in person, that is- find it hard to trust me with their inner thoughts."

Kolara's timid eyes flicked upward to meet his for an instant, then back down at the floor.

"I do not see why, Master. You are benevolent."

His hands, large and powerful, enveloped hers.

"You see? We have advanced beyond the roles of speaker and listener to friends, conversing as equals. Maybe even more than that."

The Master's fingers tightened around her delicate ones, and she could sense his eyes roaming over her body, outlined as slender despite the layered garments. Kolara looked up at him again, and saw an order in his piercing eyes. She complied. After all, even though he spoke with the Pagh'Wraiths, there were some things even they weren't capable of giving him.

Captain Sisko almost fell out of his chair with relief when Ezri Dax appeared in the doorway of his office, her fingers intertwined behind her back, one of the many things she did that reminded him of Jadzia. Before he could tell her what was on his mind she announced,

"Chief O'Brien stopped me on the way up here. He said to tell you that the master differential relay checked out perfectly and that they would begin installing it sometime today."

"Good."

He started to say more, but as an afterthought leapt up and propelled her away from the glass doors, away from the eyes of anyone in Ops. The Trill gave him a strange look.

"What is it, Ben?"

"It's about Worf."

She probably hadn't meant to let it show, but she looked so happy when he said it that he wished he had good news.

"You've located him?"

"I'm afraid not." A part of him melted with his old friend. The disappointment on her pixielike face was evident, and she asked,

"Then what?"

"Worf received a message from Gul Dukat the morning he went to Empok Nor. Surprisingly enough, I found out about it from none other than our good friend Weyoun."

Ezri was more startled than he'd anticipated she'd be. She gaped at him.

"You mean Worf didn't tell you about it?" Sisko tugged on his ear.

"No, not quite. You see, the transmission came in an hour after he left, so he never got the message. But I took the liberty of going up to his quarters and reading it myself."

"What did it say?"

"It was very strange. It said 'No sacrifice is in vain. You'll understand soon.' Any idea what that means?"

Ezri shrugged. "How would I know? I haven't had any contact with Dukat since- well, since he killed Jadzia."

"Don't think about Dukat," said Sisko. "Think about Worf. Is there anything he might have told you or Jadzia that would have anything to do with this message?"

Ezri was drawing a blank.

"I'm sorry, Ben. I don't remember anything."

The Trill thought a moment.

"Why did Weyoun tell you about the message?"

Now it was the captain's turn to shrug.

"He said Dukat was a traitor, that the Federation was hiding him in our space."

This is where things got confusing.

"But I thought they gave him a ship! Now he defected? Can't he make up his mind? Besides, why would we help him? He committed countless atrocities against the Federation and Bajor, took DS9, led a war against us, murdered Jadzia-," Ezri's recitation of accusations was cut off when Sisko held up a hand.

"Thank you, Old Man, but I don't need a list. And that's the same question I asked myself," He paused. "Dukat couldn't have been contacting Worf for help like Weyoun claimed, could he? Worf, of all people."

"I doubt it. Worf despised him. I don't think he would have helped him for anything," Ezri sighed, suddenly feeling very lonely and abandoned. What if Worf is dead out there? "If only Worf was here. He might be able to give us some answers."

Sisko was silent as he watched her sink down on the couch. She looked up at him, suddenly appearing her three-hundred-some years.

"Has there been any word on him at all?"

The captain shook his head.

"I wouldn't mind knowing his whereabouts myself. He completed his mission, we saw that much since we have the relay, but why did he run off again? That's not like him at all. I suppose those Dominion vessels on his tail might've had something to do with it. Somehow they seemed to be able to see through the cloak, or else they were just guessing where he was going. He could have been thinking that since our weapons weren't operational, they might have attacked us. So he led them away from DS9."

Ezri sputtered, "But that's crazy! The Shenandoah's no match for two Jem'Hadar fighters and a Cardassian cruiser. Worf knows that!"

"Worf's also a Klingon. He'd be willing to sacrifice himself to ensure that DS9 remains safe."

"You're right." Ezri smiled fondly, her expression not quite hiding the worry she felt. "That's so like him." Then a frown crossed her face. "Do you think he got away?"

"I don't know. I hope so." Sisko paced his office. "So now the Dominion sees Dukat as the enemy instead of an ally. What changed their minds? And where exactly is Dukat right now? If the Dominion thinks we have him but we think they do, where is he?"

The Trill folded her hands in her lap and crossed her legs.

"Starfleet Command would have the latest reports at their disposal. What did they have to say about this whole thing, anyway?"

Sisko winced. He'd known this was going to come back and bite him in the rear.

"I haven't exactly let the brass in on any of this yet."

Ezri repeated incredulously, "You haven't told them yet?"

"No." The captain stopped pacing and pointed a finger at her. "And don't you tell anyone either, at this point."

"Fine. Then what do you want me to do, Ben?"

"Go to Worf's quarters. If anyone asks why you're going in tell them you have my authorization. Read Dukat's transmission and look for any clues that might help us."

Ezri grimaced, not liking the idea of invading Worf's privacy any more than he had.

"Couldn't you send in a security team? Why me?" She already knew what he was going to say.

"You've been in there enough times. You know your way around. You're perfect for the job."

She stood reluctantly. "I don't know what I'm looking for, but I'll give it my best shot."

"Good luck, Old Man."

The corner of her cute mouth quirked up in a small smile, then she was gone, heading back down through Ops and into the turbolift. Sisko sighed and sat on the couch, still warm from Ezri's body. Hopefully she'd have more success than he'd had.

The armbands. The red armbands. Worf's thoughts focused on the only thing that that particular ornamentation could mean. A Pagh'Wraith cult. That would explain the candles and the morbid murals in the corridors. Since he'd been brought here by force, the Klingon had assumed that he was a prisoner, and they had referred to him as an intruder when he'd escaped from the holding cell in which he'd swam unsteadily back to consciousness.

But on the bridge, Molina had said that they allowed their "passengers" to go wherever they pleased on the ship, supposedly to instill in them a false sense of security.

After that Worf had been given quarters in which he was to remain for the rest of the trip to Soukara. He couldn't move throughout the vessel because of his "earlier conduct" (Worf had snarled when he heard Molina's words; they made him sound like a disobedient child) but they had had enough faith that he wouldn't attempt escape again and hadn't locked him in, even though they'd taken the phaser.

What did this odd cult want with him? They might have been planning an execution, maybe a ritual sacrifice no doubt involving fire. The Pagh'Wraith followers seemed to be incurable pyromaniacs. Worf wasn't a Bajoran and worshipped neither the Prophets nor the Pagh'Wraiths. That was another strange thing about the crew of this ship.

The Klingon would have expected to see only Bajorans, but in addition, there were Romulans, Humans, Jem'Hadar, even Cardassians, all boasting the significant red armbands. He sighed and attempted to get comfortable on a rock-hard bunk in his temporary quarters, formerly Jem'Hadar barracks.

The room held four beds, but he was the only one there for the time being. He had pondered escape, but decided it was wise to wait. It would do him no good to get killed, after all. He hadn't completed his self-assigned mission yet. As long as Gul Dukat remained alive, Worf had work to do.

There probably wasn't a guard stationed outside the door, but he hadn't gone to look. For right now, he was content to lay low and try to put his jumbled thoughts into some kind of order. But no matter how hard he tried to concentrate on the matters at hand, he couldn't stop thinking of Jadzia.

Her perfect face kept appearing in his mind, breaking through the clouds of his violent, chaotic thoughts with a radiant smile. Finally he surrendered to the memories.

Jadzia had been gone for almost an hour now. Bajor's blazing sun was dropping down below the mountains, regally beautiful as the color of the sunset spread across the sky like spilled paint. The rest of the senior staff, who had come down to the planet to celebrate Kira's birthday, was playing baseball under Sisko's supervision a short distance away and hadn't noticed that she'd slipped off.

Worf himself only realized she was gone when he'd looked for her to select her for his team. Seeing as she wasn't there, he made up an excuse to get out of playing and set off across the field to find Jadzia. When he finally discovered her, she was merely a silhouette in the dim light. The long grass and tall flowers among which she sat almost concealed her entirely. Worf would have walked right past his parmach'kai if she hadn't shifted position as he passed.

"Jadzia."

The Trill hadn't heard him approach and almost jumped out of her spots.

"Worf!" She punched him lightly in the shoulder as he sat down next to her. "Don't scare me like that!"

"Where have you been, Jadzia?"

"Right here."

"What have you been doing?"

"Nothing, really. I just felt like being alone for a while."

Worf began to stand up in order to respect her wishes.

"Shall I leave?"

"No, you don't have to." She grabbed his arm and pulled him back down. "Stay with me for a little while. I was just going to come back."

"All right."

For some time they sat in comfortable silence, enjoying the coolness of the pure mountain night air on their skin. Without warning, Jadzia spoke.

"I'd love to live in a place like this."

When Worf looked at her questioningly, she clarified, "Not right now, of course. After I retire from Starfleet and I'm old and gray."

"I cannot imagine you old and gray."

The Trill laughed. As long as that laugh stayed the same, her youthfulness would be eternal.

"It happens to the best of us, parmach'kai."

He smiled and asked, "So you want to live on Bajor when you retire, of course first reaching the rank of admiral with all the privileges?"

She wrinkled her nose. "Who wants to be a stuffy old admiral? I for one don't want to spend my last years in Starfleet sitting behind a desk not having any fun." A pause, then "I can't see you as an admiral either. I'm envisioning you as a captain, commanding your own ship. An Enterprise maybe."

Her words unintentionally sobered them up slightly. She knew as well as he did that the chances of the Klingon getting his own command were slim to none, thanks to their unpleasant mission to Soukara, on which Worf had sacrificed the chance to get information that could have saved millions of lives in order to rescue his wife after she'd been mortally wounded by a Jem'Hadar patrol. Jadzia had lived, but at the cost of Worf's future career. He wouldn't be court-martialed, but Starfleet wouldn't trust him with his own ship.

No problem, he'd assured her. A command was nothing compared to her life.

Such a true Klingon. He was willing to sacrifice the honor of a command in order to keep his precious parmach'kai alive. But Jadzia could tell Worf was hurting. One of his greatest triumphs in life would have been to have a ship, possibly a future Enterprise.

The Trill quickly changed the subject. "Where would you like to live?"

"Risa," he answered instantly. She stared at him.

"You can't be serious!"

"I am not."

Sitting back, she sighed,

"Good." Worf considered for a moment.

"I would like to retire on Qo'nos."

"That would be nice, too." They stopped and grinned at each other. Jadzia sighed happily.

"Oh well, we certainly don't have to decide now."

She scooted closer to him and snuggled against his side as his arm snaked around her. Worf nodded and confirmed, "We should enjoy the present while it lasts."

She gave him a seductive smile.

"Oh, I'm enjoying you all right."

Kissing him demandingly, she forced him onto his back among the flowers. From the hill, as the fly ball landed in his mitt with a satisfying smack, Chief O'Brien caught a glimpse of Worf and Jadzia sinking down below the tall grass and smiled to himself. Throwing the baseball to Jake Sisko, he thought, Worf's the happiest I've ever seen him. He was never really content with anyone like he is now. Jadzia couldn't be more perfect for him. /

Thoughts of Jadzia were temporarily shoved to the back of Worf's mind when a voice blared over the shipwide comm system.

"Attention all hands. We will be entering the Soukara system in five minutes and landing on Soukara in ten. Prepare your supplies and lock down all systems except navigation, propulsion, and life support."

The Klingon sat up and swung his feet off the top bunk, jumping heavily to the ground. The crew had been ordered to lock down the ship's systems. That was a rarely used procedure, only implemented when the ship was going to be left stationary and uninhabited for a long period of time in a hostile area.

Access to the computer was blocked and the doors locked with a complex series of codes that changed every time they were used. That must mean they planned to leave the ship! That made sense. Since the transporter scramblers around Soukara prevented beaming, the only way to get to the surface was to land. If he could somehow stay on board, he could crack the codes and hijack it. Worf didn't even have time to consider doing it.

The door to the barracks slid open and the Romulan he'd seen earlier with the Bajoran and Jem'Hadar stepped in, a disruptor pistol in his bony hand.

"Come with me, Commander. I have been ordered to bring you to the bridge."

Worf walked down the corridor ahead of the Romulan, aware of the weapon at his back. They had almost reached the bridge when the ship ceased humming around them and the lights dimmed, then faded entirely, throwing them into blackness. Near the deck, small rectangular illuminated plates flashed on, revealing Worf's boots and the tips of the Romulan's but nothing else. A perfect ambush situation.

The Klingon aimed a punch towards where his guard's head had been and was gratified to feel his fist connect with solid muscle and bone. He heard a grunt and was groping for the disruptor when the weapon slammed brutally into his solar plexus. The air escaped his lungs in one big, gasping exhalation and he fell to the ground, weakened by the blow to such a sensitive area.

The door to the bridge opened suddenly, and assailant and victim were joined in the corridor by Molina and a Jem'Hadar, each wielding lightsticks. The Jem'Hadar also carried a phaser.

"That will be quite enough!" Molina looked furious. "Damn you, Adrar, you were told not to damage him in any way!" The Romulan retorted indignantly, as he tried to staunch the blood gushing from his nose with his sleeve,

"He attacked me!"

"You should have controlled yourself," the Bajoran snarled. "You will be disciplined later. Right now our duty is to land safely and make sure that these passengers get to the Master."

As Worf struggled to breathe with his bruised chest muscles, he thought, Passengers? The only person that the Klingon had seen on board the vessel without a red armband was himself. He was dragged onto the bridge, which was stuffed to capacity with what must have been the ship's entire crew. Molina put on a viewing headset, squinted, and adjusted it. When the display was to his liking, he turned to the Cardassian at the navigation console.

"Take us into orbit until we near our landing site."

"Orbiting." It took a moment before the helmsman announced, "Landing site ahead. Taking us down."

Worf, an experienced engineer, didn't even feel the ship shudder under him during the sudden change in atmospheric pressure. From that he concluded that their shields must be heavily reinforced or they had developed some sort of other protection for fast descent onto a planet's surface. Sooner then he had expected, the vessel settled onto its landing legs and hummed to a stop. The Cardassian punched a few controls, and the navigation console went dark.

"Nav console offline," he told Molina. "All systems locked down."

Molina's expression reminded Worf of a feral animal.

"Excellent." Yanking off the headset, he grimaced and rubbed his temples. "I despise wearing those cursed things. They give me such a headache!"

The Bajoran led the way, lightstick held high, to the airlock door and ordered two Jem'Hadar to force it open manually. When they did so, bright sunlight accosted their eyes as the rays of a real sun streamed into the ship.

Something immediately seemed strange as Worf got his first familiar whiff of humid Soukara air. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but something about this place gave it a feeling of impending doom, like a black storm cloud hanging ominously over a picnic site. Worf was jostled out onto the damp soil by the rest of the eager crew and found a phaser jammed into his back once more by the Romulan, who had a nasty-looking bruise and streaks of blood on his face from the Klingon's earlier assault.

He turned to voice his annoyance and his words froze in his throat. In addition to the Jem'Hadar ship he had been prisoner on, another identical vessel and a massive, chunky Cardassian Galor-class cruiser had landed, creating quite a stunning spectacle that looked out of place here on the outskirts of a jungle. But that wasn't all. Their airlocks were being pried open as well and dispensing more people.

About half proudly displayed the red armbands which Worf now knew so well. But the other half was a scared, confused mass of prisoners, herded like animals by guards with phasers and disruptors.

Go to Part Three