Worf was clutching the chisel so hard his fingers were beginning to ache. When he tried to let it drop to the ground, he found that he could not.

"Dukat allowed himself to be possessed by the Pagh'Wraiths and transported onto the station and into the Bajoran shrine, where my wife was paying homage to the Prophets. A Bajoran friend of ours had said a prayer for us there when she heard we were trying to have children."

The guards were returning, flanked by a horde of prisoners who still looked more dead than alive, even after the rest they'd been given to take a drink, so the Klingon girl took her tool in hand again and went back to work. Her brow was furrowed and she looked like she had a question, but she didn't interrupt.

"Dukat injured her with an energy field, badly enough that the Dax symbiont had to be removed. And of course, once that was done…"

Holding up her hand, Tonika indicated that she knew what he was going to say next; he didn't have to spell it out. But he pushed on anyway.

"When Jadzia died, I felt as if a part of me had expired as well. I can never truly be happy again, now that I have lost her. Not with anyone else, not on my own."

He stared intensely into his companion's eyes, attempting to make her understand the love he'd shared with his parmach'kai. "Without Jadzia, I was an incomplete man. Now that she is gone, I am…unfinished once more."

Tonika sat silently, the hot afternoon wind ruffling her long hair, sharp teeth playing at her bottom lip. Then she said, "So what are you going to do about it?"

"That is the reason I am here. I was captured while en route into Cardassian space, where I was going to find Dukat and kill him. In order to finish what I started, I need to get out of Bal'gurna. Do you know a way?"

Her voice somehow grew older, burdened. "I wish I did. Others have tried, failed, and been executed. But if I figure something out, you and the rest of Seven will be the first ones to know."

Worf took little comfort in that promise.

The Master walked down the long hall, his footsteps reverberating. He nodded in response to Kolara's respectful bow as they passed each other. Just as he turned the corner and pushed open the heavy wooden door leading to his library, images swarmed into his mind, causing him to stumble.

When he looked up, reddish, surreal illumination from nowhere made the hallway glow. Kolara was standing in the open door, her hood laying on her shoulders, pale hair dangling towards the floor as she gazed downward. But that was impossible- she'd just gone the opposite way! Then he gasped in understanding.

"What do you wish of me, almighty ones?" he whispered hoarsely, dropping to his knees in awe. The Kolara-wraith's head slowly lifted. Her eyes, normally purple, were two glowing rubies.

As they fixed on the Master, prostrated on the ground, he shuddered with an almost physical pleasure. To be mere feet from one's revered god was a truly wondrous experience. Frightening as well, for this was the time when they would judge you, deem for themselves whether or not you were pleasing them with your services. The Kolara-wraith's voice seemed to echo.

"Many fates rest in your hands."

She's talking about my followers, the inhabitants of Bal'gurna.

The Master nodded eagerly. "Yes! My followers- they depend on me for guidance. I want only to lead them down the right path, so that at the end they may find your love."

The apparition before him announced,

"It is time for you to guide them."

But that's what I've been doing- I just said that! The Master frowned worriedly.

"I… I don't understand, oh almighty ones."

"It is time for you to guide them," the Kolara-wraith repeated in an infuriatingly patient tone of voice, as if speaking to a small child.

What do they mean? He found himself wondering if the Emissary of the Prophets ever had this much trouble understanding the gods. I must not think of…them. The false gods. The Pagh'Wraiths will sense my disloyal thoughts. Suddenly he gasped.

"You want me to speak to them!" Unanticipated anxiety swept over him. He had only addressed his followers in person on a single occasion: when Bal'gurna was first begun. Since then he'd lived in seclusion, not associating with them other than his rare incognito trips down into the city to observe the construction firsthand or to check on a certain worker, such as the Klingon.

"What-what do you want me to say? Is it time for them to build my palace? What about the Klingon? Should I make myself known to him? Please, help me!" The Pagh'Wraith in the form of Kolara glided away from the library doorway, revealing another ghostly figure resembling his other female servant, Dela.

The similitude was uncanny; she had the same short-cropped brown hair and prettily ridged nose, the same earring, the same birthmark above her lip. Yet her eyes flamed with the same ethereal rubescence that could only mean he was in the holy presence of another Pagh'Wraith. The new arrival moved silently forward.

"The selected ones shall construct the gateway. All whose lives are yours must know this."

"You want me to…go down and tell them all to build my palace?"

The Kolara-wraith stepped noiselessly to the Dela-wraith's side. They spoke simultaneously:

"The selected ones shall construct the gateway."

"Who are the selected ones?"

"He who you have selected is among them."

A familiar face filled the Master's mind.

"The occupants of Barrack 7!"

The Master had reasoned that since the rebels were so resistant to the rightful gods, the perfect way to make them see the truth was to have them work on the building in which their intermediary to the Pagh'Wraiths would reside. Of course! The Pagh'Wraiths had given him the inspiration to think of having Seven build his palace! The Dela-wraith pointed down the hall. Only she remained now; the god in the form of Kolara had disappeared as mysteriously as she had come.

"Go."

With that, she was gone as well. The Master closed his eyes, reveling in what he had been told. Overwhelmed by the experience, he took in several deep breaths. After regaining some control, he got shakily to his feet and continued into the library, to consult his texts, pray, and prepare for the task that the Pagh'Wraiths had assigned him.

Ezri Dax awoke with a start, suddenly feeling as if she weren't alone. Momentary disorientation accompanied her waking before she realized where she was. Back here again. It seemed as if she were spending every waking moment in Worf's quarters. Ezri was finding it easier to be in these rooms now.

During the week she'd become able to tolerate and repress most of the memories that threatened to overtake her tired and pressured mind. The Trill raised her head from her arms. She'd been kneeling at the foot of Worf and Jadzia's bed and had apparently fallen asleep. Her legs had done just that; she stiffly stood and stretched them out, wincing as her blood began to circulate once more. Ezri turned, surveying the room, and felt hopelessness sweep over her.

It had been…how many days now? Six? Seven?

During that time, she'd rummaged through Worf's quarters, perused his comm logs, racked her memory for facts, and come up with nothing. Benjamin was frustrated, too. Since Worf had always been such a loyal officer, he was dismayed that the Klingon had run off like this, noble as his cause may have been. He pitied Worf; the disciplinary action that Starfleet would have in store was going to be anything but pleasant.

Ezri noticed the time on the chronometer hanging on the wall. Ben had called a meeting this afternoon to check up on the crew's progress. She still had a little time to spare before her presence was required in the wardroom. Pacing back out into the living room and walking slowly around the perimeter, she danced her fingers wearily over the items hanging on the walls.

A picture she had missed before was hung next to the window. Ezri stopped and studied it, feeling tears well up in the corners of her eyes. The milieu for this photo was, again, Risa. Worf stood on a dock on a beautiful sunny day, holding Jadzia as easily as a child in his arms. Her lips were poised to plant a kiss on his cheek. There had presumably been wind that day on the beach, for Jadzia's short blue dress and long hair were fluttering gently. Ezri closed her eyes, remembering that Julian had taken the picture, trying unsuccessfully as he did so to hide his expression of jealousy.

A smile flitted across her lips at the memory of Worf tossing Jadzia into the ocean after that pose. She certainly hadn't expected that. Jadzia had trusted the Klingon not to drop her, and he hadn't- not on the dock, anyway.

A chirp and a voice came from thin air.

"Sisko to Dax."

Ezri's eyelids snapped open. The meeting!

"Dax here."

"Where are you, Old Man? We're all waiting."

"Sorry, Ben, I'll be right up. Time sort of got away from me."

Ezri left Worf's quarters and took the shortest route to the wardroom. When she entered, she saw that the rest of the crew and Garak were indeed already gathered and looked as if they had been for some time. Sisko waited until she'd seated herself to ask,

"Now that we're all here, who's got something positive to share?"

No one spoke. Sisko looked around. "Okay. Anything at all, encouraging or otherwise?"

O'Brien, seated at the captain's right, made his report first. "I've been trying to trace the Shenandoah's ion trail like you said, sir, but it was nearly impossible to find any residue from the nacelles. For one thing, it's been too long, so the trail's dissipated considerably. Secondly, the cloak masked the neutrino emissions. All I can tell you is what we saw: Worf went into Cardassian space. Nothing more detailed. Sorry, sir."

"Thank you, Chief."

Odo was next.

"Starfleet Intelligence reports gave no indication to Dukat's whereabouts," he said in his gravelly voice, "nor did they have anything new about Dukat's transient admission back into the Dominion. I asked Starfleet to forward any future information directly here, so we'll be among the first to know if anything does turn up."

Kira was sitting on Odo's other side.

"I contacted various religious circles on Bajor, but they weren't willing to volunteer any information. As you know, my people can be very touchy when it comes to matters of religion, especially the Pagh'Wraiths. I did get a few leads from an anonymous source, though, and I'm still checking up on those."

The captain nodded, somewhat encouraged that they had this tiny bit of possibility to cling to.

"Good, Colonel. Old Man, what've you got?"

"Take three guesses, and the first two don't count."

Sisko sighed and resisted the urge to massage his temples to ward off a headache.

"Oh well, you've been trying."

Without waiting to be asked, Garak cut in,

"I for one have information that will prove interesting. It seems Weyoun didn't tell you the whole story, Captain. According to my sources, Dukat is wanted not just for defection, but for the murders of at least three Dominion citizens."

"I'm not surprised," Kira said, slouching in her chair. "The only reason he formed the alliance with the Dominion in the first place was to get Cardassia back on its feet, not because he had any liking for them." Garak corrected,

"Oh, I'm not talking about Jem'Hadar, Colonel. Only one of the victims was a Vorta. The other two were Cardassian."

The Bajoran raised her eyebrows.

"Now I'm surprised."

"My contacts weren't able to give me reasons for the murders, but I would suspect they were something good. Dukat is one of the most ethnocentric men I've had the pleasure of knowing. To kill his fellow Cardassians would border on sacrilegious." Sisko nodded.

"Thank you, Mr. Garak. Good work. Does anyone have anything else to add?" No one did, so he ended the meeting with "All right, people, keep on it. Dismissed."

The captain brought up the rear of the line into Ops. He was just heading for the turbolift and the tranquillity of his quarters when a beep sounded at his back and an officer announced,

"Captain, we're receiving a message from Dominion space. It's Weyoun, sir."

The senior staff froze in their tracks, then as one turned toward him. Sisko didn't meet any of their gazes.

"In my office," he said evenly. It wasn't long before he was again looking at the deceptive Vorta.

"We still don't have Dukat, if that's what you want to talk to me about."

For once Weyoun didn't have that nauseating smile plastered on his face. Sisko wasn't sure which he would have preferred: the insincere grin or the words that came next.

"I'm afraid we can't believe you, Captain Sisko. On behalf of the Dominion, I am informing you that this is your final warning. Hand Dukat over to us or we will come and find him ourselves."

"I'm telling you we don't have him!" Sisko exploded, regretting losing his composure as soon as the outburst passed his lips. But it was too late; the screen was dark and Weyoun was gone. Snatching up his baseball, he squeezed it as hard as he could, imagining that it was going to be crushed despite the tightly wound material inside. Getting his impotent fury under control, he stood up, replaced the ball on his desk, adjusted his uniform jacket, and went down into Ops to tell his crew the news.

The Klingon seemed to be adjusting well to life in Bal'gurna. He no longer appeared so weary at the conclusion of the day, the Master observed as he watched from the lengthening shadows. Now his stride was longer, his walk more confident. The Master wasn't sure if that was a sign of rebelliousness or not. Anxiously he looked down at the object he clutched between his damp palms.

Hidden in the folds of his sleeves, the silver mek'leth still gleamed, despite the elements it had been recently exposed to. He felt a sort of alliance with the Klingon when he held the weapon. When he glanced up again, the Klingon had continued on to round the corner of a building and was no longer visible. No matter. From the podium tomorrow, looking down over all his followers, gathered to hear his enlightened words, he would have an excellent view.

He stole closer to the center of the city, keeping to the shadows like a predator on the prowl. Elij, Dela, and two of his followers were erecting a makeshift platform, from which he would address Bal'gurna's population. In a later time, perhaps the Klingon could stand there with him, preaching the goodness of the Pagh'Wraiths. As their community of worshippers expanded to include other worlds, other quadrants, and eventually the entire universe, they would be side by side, the two people with the deepest understanding and love for their gods, the only two who saw their true perfection.

With that inspiring thought, the Master stepped back and faded into the darkness, withdrawing again into the pool of secrecy and intrigue in which he resided…for now.

Dark had lain its velvet cloak completely upon Bal'gurna, but Tonika wasn't back yet. Worf and the rest of Barrack Seven were growing concerned, as her labor shift had ended over an hour ago. Kavi was pacing the small room worriedly.

"Where is she? They couldn't possibly have kept her working, could they?"

"Perhaps someone should go search for her," Worf suggested. "I will go, if necessary. If I keep to the shadows I should be able to stay out of sight of the guards."

Kavi nodded but didn't stop her restless movement.

"Good idea."

"Wait, wait, wait," interrupted Pradak, holding up his hands. "Tonika's a big girl, remember? She can take care of herself. It probably wouldn't go over well if we came looking for her like she was a two-year-old lost on a busy street. Give her time; she'll be back."

Kavi continued to argue, and Worf had to admit he wanted to go search for the girl. In addition to the fact that she was his friend, he felt an almost paternal instinct toward her, and wanted to protect and nurture her like the child he'd never had. She reminded him in so many ways of Jadzia.

The bickering of his cellmates ceased abruptly as a steady creaking announced that someone was entering the barrack. A brown hand clasped the doorframe, and Tonika all but dragged herself inside. Her jumpsuit was torn and smudged, and a trickle of blood dripped from her split lip. Kavi was at her side at an instant.

"Where were you? What happened? Are you all right?"

"No." Hearing her hoarse voice croak out the word, Worf hurried across the room to support her on the other side. Together they helped Tonika hobble stiffly to the nearest bunk and sit down. Callahan sat next to her and put an arm around her shoulders.

"Tonika? Talk to us." His voice had lost its usual playful tone. Tonika raised her head, locking her eyes with Worf's. In them he could see shock, anger, and a sense of violation.

"It was the Cardassian guard," she finally elucidated. "The one that was in here the other day, after Jeric had stolen the biscuits. I'd quit working on time and was headed back here when he just jumped out from behind a building and grabbed me."

Worf had a dreadful feeling he knew what was coming. Apparently Pradak's and Jeric's minds were going in the same direction, as they both stiffened.

"I couldn't see who he was at first because it was so dark. At first I thought it was you, Dan, trying to play a joke on me. But then he shoved me up against the side of a building and started whispering…things…"

"By the Prophets…" Kavi murmured, stunned. "Oh, Tonika, I'm so sorry."

She moved onto the bunk and put her arms around the Klingon. Worf could see that this made Tonika slightly uncomfortable. She didn't want to be soothed- it could be seen as a sign of weakness- but she stayed still, more for the distressed Bajoran's sake than her own. No one, least of all Worf, was sure what to say. Despite the fact that he sympathized for Tonika, he couldn't help but think what he would have done if his beloved Jadzia had been violated in this manner.

"My people often quote an ancient Romulan philosopher," Pradak said finally, breaking the awkward, ominous silence. " 'The rivers run crimson with the blood of the slaughtered and the fields lay infertile, devastated by the flames as destructive as the hatred that separates two enemies. In those times of despair, somewhere therein dwells a flicker of hope. Seek it, grasp it, and all will not be lost.'"

"What does that mean?" the Klingon girl inquired wearily.

"It means that even when things may seem bleak and desperate, or when things are going especially bad, there's always something you can believe in."

She was quiet for a long moment, then said, "I just want to sleep now."

"We all need to rest," agreed Worf. A short while after, the lamp was blown out and the barrack was dark. No one slept much that night.

There was none of the usual forced banter around the breakfast circle the next morning. The mood was somber and the tension thick.

After a long stretch of silence, Tonika suddenly said, "When we go out today, you all have to act like nothing happened last night."

"Why?" Pradak asked. Tonika picked up a biscuit but didn't bite it.

"If the guards get any idea that something's wrong, I guarantee you they'll find a way to use it against us."

She was right, as usual. It was surprising how much wisdom and experience could be concealed in such a young body.

"Did you hear about the gathering this morning?" Jeric asked. It was rare that the Bolian spoke more than a few words, but in this case he apparently felt obligated to steer the conversation away from sexual abuse. There was a chorus of "no's" from around the room.

"I heard some of the guards talking about it yesterday," Jeric continued. "There's supposed to be an important announcement."

"Important to them, you mean," Kavi scoffed. "No doubt it means more work for us."

"Oh, I don't know," said Callahan. "Maybe they just want to tell us that Thursday is free beer night from now on."

The Bajoran rolled her eyes, but the quip elicited a good-natured snort from Pradak, and Tonika punched the commander lightly in the arm. He moved as if to return her playful blow, but suddenly he hesitated and hastily returned his fist to his lap, face flushing red. The room lapsed into uncomfortable silence. Tonika stared gloomily at the biscuit she held and tossed it back into the bag.

The slump of her shoulders said What's wrong with you? Just because I was in the wrong place at the wrong time last night doesn't mean I'm a different person, or a dirty one. I need your support, more now than ever, so don't go shying away from me just because you're ill at ease with the fact that a fellow man decided to take what wasn't his. Hey, it wasn't exactly a party for me, either. It's not my fault.

As if on cue, the door burst open and a Cardassian, thankfully not the head guard, barged in with the abruptness that was characteristic of all the soldiers.

"The assembly's in five minutes. Be there or you work double shifts."

He hurried out as quickly as he'd come, as if being in the same room with his prisoners would reduce him to their level. Callahan stood, ironically grateful for the diversion, and sighed,

"Let's go."

As the group walked towards the center of Bal'gurna, an increasing rumble of voices met their ears, indicating that a large crowd had gathered. And it was quite large; Worf hadn't even known that this many people could fit inside the walls of the city. It surprised him also how few guards there were compared to the sheer number of prisoners. Every once in a while, he would catch a glimpse of an armor-clad Cardassian scattered through the swarms of people.

How easy it would be to rebel if all who gathered here turned on them at once! One of those guards approached Tonika and fell into step beside her. She ignored him until he sneered,

"I hear you had a meeting with one of our officers last night. Was it business or pleasure?"

Apparently the head guard had been boasting to his comrades about his conquest. Tonika didn't miss a beat.

"I'd dislodge that dead animal crammed up your ass sometime soon if I were you."

In the background, Worf heard Kavi and Callahan choking back laughter. The Cardassian's eyes widened, and his pasty gray lips curled into a snarl.

"How dare you speak to me in that manner!"

"It's easy."

Before the guard knew it, his nose had been introduced to Tonika's knuckles with a bone-jarring crunch. He howled in pain and staggered back, clapping his hands to his face to assess the damage. Unfortunately for him, he'd needed both hands to hold his phaser, and since those two appendages were unavailable, the weapon lay temptingly in the dust.

Tonika snatched it up and stuffed it into her boot. Worf stepped easily in and grasped the guard's head, twisting it around with a satisfying snap. He fell, dead, at the Klingon's feet. As Worf watched the body hit the ground, he felt an overwhelming surge of power. He hadn't known how much he'd needed an outlet for his anger.

A familiar voice spoke in his head. You're such a true Klingon, parmach'kai. I love that about you. Never change.

"I love you, Jadzia," he whispered, not realizing he had spoken aloud until Kavi asked, "Worf? Did you say something?"

"I did not," he answered hurriedly, striding towards the mass of people again. Tonika turned to him and murmured, so the others couldn't hear,

"I needed that. How about you?"

"It was…invigorating," he agreed. They split up, Jeric and Kavi going in one direction, Callahan and Pradak in the other, and the two Klingons shoving up to the front to get a better idea of what was going on. A hush fell over the crowd as a robed figure stepped up onto the raised platform.

The folds of fabric obscured the person's face and gender, but they carried themself proudly upright, like someone accustomed to being obeyed. The believers were the first to fall to their knees. Everyone else followed after urging from the guards. Tonika's fingers grasped Worf's arm.

"By Kahless!" she hissed in his ear. "Worf, that's the Master!"

He stared at her.

"Are you positive?"

"Well, who else would it be if we're on the ground like this? A Pagh'Wraith?"

Stranger things have happened, he wanted to argue, but she had a point. The figure spoke.

"My loyal followers." Worf's head snapped up.

It can't be…

"The glorious Pagh'Wraiths themselves have instructed me to speak to you."

Elij appeared from nowhere and slipped a wrinkled scroll into the hand of the Master, who unrolled it. "Your labors have been fruitful in the eyes of your gods. The city of Bal'gurna is nearing completion. Have no doubt: you will be rewarded."

A string of Bajoran obscenities rose from somewhere to Worf's right. A phaser blast rang out, and then the voice was silent.

The Master continued, not seeming to notice.

"The Pagh'Wraiths have informed me that the time will soon be upon us when they will come down from their holy realm and speak to you all, with me as their physical intermediary." Cheers rang out from the believers in the crowd. The people imprisoned against their will answered with scornful yells of their own, and soon the noise had escalated to an unbearable level.

"Hear me!" bellowed the Master in a booming voice. The crowd was deathly quiet. "However, you are required to perform one more task before this privilege is given to you. Six of you- a unique six- have been selected to build a gateway for the Pagh'Wraiths in the form of a magnificent palace, where I will reside to give me easier access to speak to the gods. The fortunate few inhabit Barrack 7."

Dispersed throughout the throngs of prisoners, the jaws of Pradak, Kavi, Jeric, Callahan, and Tonika dropped, disbelieving. Anger would come a moment later. Worf, however, did not react.

"They may seem unlikely for the task, but they have been chosen because they are so. By constructing the gateway, the rebels will be raising themselves in the eyes of the gods. Their own eyes, hearts, and minds will be opened, and they will finally see the heaven that they have been denying themselves. You will all feel the love of the Pagh'Wraiths!"

The Master spread his arms as if trying to gather the stunned crowd into them.

Tonika muttered, "Sorry, Dan- no free beer."

But Worf didn't hear her, as he had heard nothing beyond the Master's first words. Two voices were sounding in his mind. One was Jadzia's last soft, desperate whisper, penetrating his heart and soul like a sharpened blade.

The other was the same voice that had haunted and enraged him ever since he parted with that whisper, the voice that ignited such a burning, passionate fire of hatred within him that every inch of his body seemed to be aflame with fury and an uncontrollable urge to do one thing: strike…and kill. The voice of the Master, so infuriatingly near, and so evil.

It was the voice of Gul Dukat.

~The End~

Author's Note:I came up with the "Master" plot line way before "Covenant" aired, so boy was I surprised when I saw it! Just so you know, I didn't copy TPTB, they copied me. No grudges here…grrr…. The ep had some nifty details, though, so I just borrowed 'em.

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