LEGACY 
An Alternative History of the Dominion War 

Year 1 

Part 1 - Flight 

	Chapter 2

The rest gathered where they could see, along the 
splintered shops of the Promenade. It was important to 
watch the Antelope as it left, and to see if any of the 
Dominion ships followed. None really knew if it was a 
ruse. But they knew that now they no longer had any 
protection. The Bajoran extremists had seen to that. 

When the lumbering ship seemed to get away peacefully, 
there was a heartfelt, if brief, cheer. Then the 
remaining population of the station went back to what
they'd been doing for several days, hours of stripping 
and packing. 

Kira was in command of the station, Bashir the last of 
the senior staff. But little of this mattered. The two of 
them, the Starfleet people left behind to do important 
work, the Bajorans, and the scattering of foreign 
nationals all shared a sense of foreboding that was 
almost palpable. They were being allowed to stay, 
unharmed, only because the Dominion hadn't bothered with 
them . . .yet. 

If anyone had not believed they were on their own before, 
there was no doubt now. 

The packing was very important. Their original 
destination had been a starbase with supplies, but none 
had any idea what would happen when they left. The little 
Ag colony wouldn't be prepared. Starfleet might be busy 
and it might take time. 

Sisko's group had had less time to wonder. Bashir and 
Kira's would have longer to doubt. If things had gone 
very badly for Starfleet, conditions could get very
hard. 

The Bajorans knew about refugee camps. Kira had made sure 
Bashir took everything he could pry from the medical 
equipment. Despite Barrett's opinions, blankets and as 
much food as they could store were added to the cargo. 
The containers, when full, were labeled and moved to the 
dock, ready to load. 

They wouldn't waste any time, but would fill the little 
ship with as much cargo as would fit. The passengers 
would have to live with the crowding. It wasn't going to 
be that long of a trip, anyway. 

But nobody complained. If it got them away from those 
ships, they were willing to put up with almost anything. 
It was going to be a very long two days before the 
Antelope returned. 

	***** 

It had been garbled, but Kira had recognized the private 
code Keiko used when leaving personal messages to her 
husband. It was for messages not to be shared. But at the 
moment Miles was on his way, reluctantly, to Federation 
territory. 

Kira took it upon herself to read the message. 

It was brief and hurried, slipped out between noise so it 
might not be traced. They were all right, and had made it 
to the rendezvous point. The others werethere too. They 
all hoped to leave Bajor soon. 

Kira knew the place well. Sitting in the darkness of her 
quarters, surrounded by enemy ships, she wondered if it 
might be possible to slip a runabout in quickly enough 
and bring their people back to the station. 

Sisko might have agreed, if persuaded. But he was with 
Miles. Kira was in charge, and there was nobody to tell 
her not to. 

She went looking for Bashir, and was told he was busy 
packing food and medicine as fast as it could be located. 
Everyone was working, carrying supplies to the
crates, packing or moving filled ones to the loading 
dock. Already, they'd set up the final orders Sisko had 
discussed, and stripped most all that could be
brought along. 

She passed a few of the stores, abandoned after the 
attack. Inside, there were useful things, some not of 
immediate value, but she knew how much a token of
comfort could mean in a few months if things went wrong. 

There might be room. She found a few Bajorans pushing an 
empty crate past the stores and ordered them to fill it 
with as much as they could. Just in case they got 
stranded, she said, and they understood. 

The Starfleet people wouldn't. They probably assumed the 
Federation would come and rescue them. 

She caught up with Bashir on the dock. Someone had 
discovered it was easier to bring things to crates than 
to move them full. He was dirty and tired, a gleam of 
sweat on his face from the work.

She had gotten a drink for him, knowing he'd like one. 

In an isolated corner, she made her proposal. 

"I think I can slip in with the mountain cover and get to 
them. It's too risky for everyone else for the transport 
to get that near, so if they're on the station that 
problem is solved," she explained. 

He listened carefully. It wasn't normal procedures, but 
then, he wasn't opposed to bending them when it was more 
important. His best friend's family was stranded there, 
too. If there was a way to save them without risking 
everyone else's lives, she bet he'd agree. 

"Just you?" he asked, sipping the bottle of soda she'd 
taken from Quark's bar. 

"I have a few volunteers. If they get stranded on Bajor 
they'd rather be there anyway. And the Rio Grande isn't 
going to help anybody get away from here." 

"And you'll stay," he said. "You and Odo." 

She looked away. "I don't know. They'll need a good 
pilot. If they don't have anyone I'll come back." 

He looked at the dock with its frantic activity. "Do what 
you have to do," he said grimly. 

She watched as he walked away, trying to remember when he 
didn't understand, too. 

	***** 

Bashir was in command now. The Rio Grande had left a few 
hours before, with Kira and several eager Bajoran 
volunteers. He assumed she'd return, but doubted the 
others would. 

Like everyone else, they wanted to go home. 

There was nothing left on the station that could save 
them. If the Antelope didn't make it back, they'd end up 
as prisoners. He stared at the screen, taking some time 
from packing, waiting to hear that the families were on 
board and safely headed back. 

Or dead. Or lost. He knew Kira's plan wasn't safe or 
smart, but it wouldn't hurt to try. If Miles hadn't been 
forced to go, he'd have helped her *take* the Rio Grande 
without permission if necessary. 

Odo had stayed. Bashir was a little surprised, but 
assumed Odo had some secret plan of his own if things 
went wrong. How hard would it be for *them* to find a
shapeshifter who didn't want to be found? 

His quiet was interrupted by Odo. There had been a 
transmission. As the most senior of the remaining staff, 
he had to answer. 

He didn't like having to be in Sisko's office, sitting in 
Sisko's chair, but told himself he could maintain his 
control long enough to get this over with. 

It was Weyoun. He recognized Bashir by name. The smile 
gave him the creeps.  He did his best to not let it show. 

"Well, Doctor. I'm surprised you're still here. I would 
think you would have left early. I'll have to amend our 
records." 

They know, thought Bashir. 

"What do you want?" he asked. 

"I have a message for you. Your shuttle was forced to 
land and was destroyed. Should you send anything else 
near Bajor there won't be anyone on the station to
rescue when your barge arrives. Is this clear, or do I 
need to stage a demonstration?" 

Bashir was perfectly well aware of the range of Dominion 
transporters. And there was nothing more to send to Bajor 
anyway. 

"No, that won't be necessary." he said in the calmest 
voice he could manage. "We'll leave Bajor alone." 

"I hope so. I'm not ready to deal with prisoners." 

Bashir gathered his courage to explain. "The people on 
the shuttle were Bajorans. They just wanted to go home. 
Perhaps you could suggest a safer way for them to do 
that." 

Weyoun looked amused. "Your Bajorans could stay on the 
station when you leave. We'll take care of them. As for 
you, Doctor, take care. There could be a nice dark little 
box waiting for you." 

Bashir didn't manage to cover all of the reaction. 

Weyoun smiled. "I'm glad you remember. Keep that in mind 
before you try any heroics." 

	***** 

Kira knew, as soon as she was near Bajor, that it wasn't 
likely to succeed. There were too many ships. There was a 
chance they might land, but leaving with a full runabout 
and making it away without being destroyed would be 
almost impossible. 

But she had to try. Sliding into the atmosphere she 
caught the attention of a Jem'Hadar ship. It fired, but 
the runabout was small and it wasn't that hard to avoid 
being hit. But she wasn't as lucky when the second ship 
fired. 

The bolt of energy hit at midship. It wasn't strong 
enough to destroy the runabout, but it damaged a number 
of systems. She was hit several more times, and then the 
runabout was nearly out of control. 

Nearly. It could still be nudged one direction or the 
other. Kira sent it away from the rendezvous point. At 
least she would not endanger any more of them and
might be able to make it back on foot to get them to a 
much safer locations in the mountains. 

	***** 

Bashir was so tired he decided to try to sleep. 

Late that night, he had again been awakened by a beep. 
There was another message. Taking a deep breath, he told 
himself they had done nothing to Weyoun. Or so he hoped. 
He had it patched into his quarters. 

It was garbled and scratchy, but it was a working 
connection to Bajor. Kira's face filled the screen. 

"You don't look very dead. According to Weyoun you were 
forced to land." 

"He's right about that part. But they didn't find us. 
What matters is that we have the families. We're sending 
them to various places so it will be harder to find 
them." 

"We can't transport them then." 

"If you do, they'll destroy the ship. The fighting here 
won't last much longer. We have to get them into hiding 
now." 

He was frustrated. He needed to help, but there was 
nothing he could do. 

She could tell. She'd understood how he'd changed when he 
came back from the prison, too. He couldn't help Tain or 
Worf then, either. 

"There is a request I'm to pass on. Any Bajorans on the 
station or elsewhere should be evacuated. Don't ask them. 
They will be needed away from Bajor." 

That was a lot of people they hadn't planned on having 
along. It was going to be very crowded. 

He had decided to take the mantle of authority and 
ordered everyone to stay within the habitat ring or the 
docking bay unless they had a good reason to be 
elsewhere. That one hadn't been popular, but it kept the 
security people open for real threats. This one was going 
to be less popular. 

"I will. I can't force anyone to go, but Weyoun offered 
to take care of any Bajorans who wanted to stay on the 
station." 

"Interesting choice of words." 

"I don't think he'll have any takers." 

"Look, tell Odo goodbye for me." 

He thought of Miles, and how hard it would be for him 
when he knew his family was lost, how many times he'd 
wish he'd found a way to stay behind. At least Odo would 
know before. 

He watched the screen go blank. He pushed back his chair, 
staring at the screen as he forced open the door, no 
longer sliding open to his command. 

There was a strange feeling on the station, a mixture of 
fear and worry and unity. Everyone knew that should they 
do something to offend the Dominion they would be dead 
and the station empty. He wasn't alone anymore. It was 
easier if everyone was scared, but did what had to be 
done anyway. 

	***** 

The Promenade was almost dark, a gloomy dark that matched 
night at the internment camp. In the deserted replimat, 
he sat alone. He had tried sleeping, but the nightmares 
were too vivid. He had listened to the reports from Bajor 
for awhile, but it just made things worse. Those left 
behind after the first transport had left were keeping 
busy, trying to pack what they could off the station, but 
it didn't help the sense of helplessness. With the Rio
Grande gone, they had no way to leave. He wondered if he 
should have tried to stop Kira, somehow. But he suspected 
she would have tried anyway. 

The next day the transport would be back. Everything was 
ready. If then Dominion chose not to wait and turned 
their attention to the station, it was his fault his 
patients were still here. 

There was a sound and he jumped. A hand rested on his 
shoulder. 

"I didn't mean to startle you, Doctor. I'm not medically 
trained, but even I can see you should perhaps get some 
sleep." 

Garak. He had frozen at the touch. Teeth clenched, he 
said, "Please, don't touch me." It surprised Garak, but 
he moved. He sat down in a nearby chair, looking oddly at 
the doctor. Bashir felt a little ashamed of himself, but 
did not feel like explaining. Garak could figure it out 
himself. "Do you know," he began slowly, "what happens to 
us if we are taken prisoner?" 

Garak sighed, resigned. "I suppose I would be executed. 
Perhaps you as well." 

"I think I could live with that," said Bashir. "Rather 
that than spending the rest of my life in that hellhole." 

There was a prolonged silence. 

"Have you had any word from the Major?" 

"A short message. The runabout was destroyed. She and the 
others got away.  They are going to try to help the 
families, see if they can get them to a better hiding 
place. At least I can tell Miles they were alive this 
long. Assuming I have the chance." 

There was another silence. 

"I'm sorry about before. Something that happened there." 

"I quite understand, Doctor. They are a little too close 
for comfort for myself as well." 

It was ironic, he thought. Kira had understood. Garak had 
as well. Miles probably would have. But most of the 
people he'd called friends before, on Earth, would not 
have had a clue. At least not yet, he thought grimly. 

Another silence came. 

"You know, Doctor, since neither of us are likely to 
sleep, and this gloom isn't going to help, perhaps we 
should be making ourselves useful instead." 

"That's a very good idea." 

	***** 

Right up to the last minute, they were still filling 
crates. Nobody was in any mood to sleep, and Bashir had 
ordered everyone to stay close to the area. There
wasn't going to be time to look for anyone who wandered. 
Following up on Kira's idea, he did allow a select group 
to go through cabins and shops, taking what might not be 
easily replaced. 

None of those left on the station for the second run were 
very confident of a quick rescue. The comm system picked 
up news from Bajor, and none of the news was good. 
Perhaps those who lived when the Cardassians had first 
taken Bajor might have disagreed, but so far the Dominion 
was proving a colder, more dangerous enemy than the old 
one. Acts of terrorism were met with ruthless 
destruction. The existing government of Bajor had been 
rounded up and shot. The Jem'Hadar were everywhere. The 
resistance would not last long. 

The masters of the Dominion gave no value to the life of 
solids, not even their own soldiers. They could just make 
more. 

If anything went wrong, the future would be a hard, cold 
place. 

Then a young Bajoran ran into the dock without a word. 
The Antelope was almost there. The already frantic pace 
got worse, in hopes of packing a few more crates and 
saving a few more things which might make the difference. 

The remaining patients were carried to the dock in 
preparation, cots ready for them to rest. When the old 
freighter docked with the station, everyone was waiting. 
All of the crates were lined up ready to move into the 
ship. 

	***** 

Aside from a headcount, nobody took records. The patients 
were carried in first, fortunately only a few, and given 
their own corner of a bay. The cargo was loaded by the 
rest, working together to load the two bays at once. When
filled, crates were shoved into one end of the large area 
as well. 

Bashir made his last walk to Ops. Enough of main power 
was on to run the final program which would disable the 
computer and destroy the remaining controls. The Dominion 
could take the station, but would have to fix it first. 

It was done. The lights flashed and died. Every control 
went blank. He walked back to the docking bay as the last 
crates were loaded and the final crew was boarding. 

Barrett asked him to the bridge. He was still carrying 
his bags, unsure where to put them. There was much less 
room than they'd imagined. 

"Permission to leave dock?" asked Barrett. 

"Certainly," said Bashir, and the Antelope retracted its 
docking locks and sailed away. 

It had all been accomplished in less than an hour. 

	***** 

The delegation numbered four, though they represented 
twenty individuals wishing to leave for Bajor. Among them 
was Odo. The Antelope had just moved away from the 
station when they arrived. 

Captain Barrett looked hard at them. Bashir was standing 
in the back, watching. 

"It will be very fast," said Odo. "Just before you go to 
warp will be a good time." 

"I see. You’re assuming that I'm planning to go to warp." 

"Captain," said one of the Bajorans, trying to look 
confident, "there are one hundred and fifty passengers on 
this ship which is currently equipped for no more than 
eighty. Having twenty less passengers could be very 
advantageous." 

The Captain had looked at the two bays, filled way past 
capacity, and was worried about his ship. He studied 
Bashir, still watching from the back, and motioned for 
him to come forward. 

Bashir looked exhausted. He studied the captain for a 
moment. "Yes?" he asked. 

"You've been sitting in the middle of this target range 
for a couple of days. How risky is this?" 

"There is some risk," said Bashir, a hint of warning in 
his tone. 

"How much is some?" 

"Some. I don't know. Ask Weyoun if you want to know." 

He gave the doctor an annoyed look. 

"Will they destroy us if we beam these men over?" 

Bashir paused for a moment, thinking of Kira, and of 
these men who wanted to be
with their families. 

"They might. But if you time it right you can do it just 
before going to warp." 

Barrett watched the doctor's face. Bashir wasn't saying 
it but it was plain he would risk it. 

"In other words, you don't know. They might shoot us to 
pieces. Or they might let us go. But you'd do it. Tell 
me, why should I do this?" 

"We want to be with our families." said the younger 
Bajoran that had said nothing yet. He was simple but very 
eloquent. 

The captain stared at the four of them for a moment. 

"All right, get them in position." 

"We thank you." said the young man as they left the room. 

	***** 

The Antelope moved away slowly, this time taking a 
slightly different course than the first trip. This time 
she veered a bit closer to Bajor. Picking up speed, she 
sailed even nearer the planet, attempting to "skip" off 
the gravitational pull and increase speed. 

It was a classic maneuver for slower ships, one even the 
Dominion should recognize. 

At the closest proximity to Bajor, a signal beeped in the 
ship’s transporter room. Ten men sparkled and vanished. 
Ten more rushed to take their place. A Starfleet engineer 
stood by the controls, watching for confirmation. "It's
good," he said and the next ten were gone. 

Then something hit the ship, shaking it violently. 
Apparently the Dominion did mind, or knew about the 
transport. Grabbing the console, he looked at the
instruments. "They made it. Let's hope we do." 

Bashir, watching the button blinking, pressed it down. 
The freighter shot out at full impulse. 

His communicator chirped. He answered, tapping it 
lightly. "Doctor, we have injuries. Hurry up." 

He took off in a sprint. 

	***** 

Most of the injuries were not critical, but there were 
far too many. Passengers with regular accommodations were 
better able to take direct hits to the ship than the 
Antelope's passengers. Bashir had had little sleep in the 
last few days, hardly any at all, and having patched up 
the casualties he stood ready to collapse himself. 

Jabara guided him to an empty bed. 

"You need sleep. We can handle things from here." 

He'd wanted to check the other bay for problems before he 
went to sleep, but it seemed just too far away at the 
moment. "Wake me if anything comes up," he said,
yawning. 

"Certainly, Doctor. Only if it can't wait." 

But he was already asleep. 

	***** 

Nurse Jabara covered him up and removed his boots, and 
watched both the doctor and his patients. Despite the 
exhaustion, he slept restlessly, almost falling off the 
narrow bed. He mumbled constantly, the words almost 
understandable, but the fear unmistakable. When he 
started sobbing she checked on him, worried, but
he was still quite asleep. He was too tired to let the 
nightmares wake him up.She laid a sleep inducer on his 
forehead, forcing him to a deep, dreamless sleep, and 
watched as he ceased the restless movement. Quiet and 
relaxed, he would get more rest. 

He'd have plenty to do tomorrow. 

She watched the men worked quietly, and the shadows 
danced in the dim light. 

It was going to be a long trip. She only hoped that was 
the last emergency. 

	***** 

Hours later, when he woke, he pulled the sleep inducer 
from his forehead. It was so quiet. He'd been dreaming, a 
distant, pleasant dream, and stayed very still with his 
eyes closed. He let his dream fade slowly, finally 
remembering where he was. The Antelope must still be 
safe, he thought. At least the panic before the ship 
arrived was done. Now they would wait. 

He was still exhausted, but much less, and opened his 
eyes. 

The bay was so still. It was a murky dark except for 
lights attached to the beds. Beyond, where the furniture 
had been were mats and cots and beds. Most of the space 
was taken up by them. Sleeping forms filled almost all. 

He wondered how long Jabara'd let him sleep. The feeling 
that this wasn't real was fading, and he marveled at the 
energy the others had had. When boarding, nothing had 
been organized. He liked the feel of the room, so dark 
and quiet. He wasn't the only one needing sleep. Sitting 
up, he looked around, relieved his patients were also 
resting. There were no empty beds that should have been
filled. The nurses would have awakened him, of course, 
but sometimes there wasn't time for that. 

It was peaceful here. After the rush and panic of the 
days before it was so welcome. Whatever the future 
brought, he'd always remember that moment. 

He hated to leave. But he was in command here, at least 
of the passengers, and had to fill his role. He 
stretched, stepping down from the low cot, so different 
from his own bed. Or what had been his. 

The station was gone now. It belonged to them. The fear 
was better here, not so overwhelming, but it would never 
really leave him. He reached for his boots, but they'd 
been moved. Standing, he folded the blanket and put it 
back on the cot. 

Someone else would need it later. There were so many more 
people here than space. But they'd already made it 
better. 

Walking softly so as not to wake anyone, he moved towards 
the nurse. She looked up, holding up a boot. He barely 
knew her, one of the Starfleet personnel that
had arrived very recently. He came to get his boots, and 
whispered softly, unwilling to break the spell. "Someone 
had a good idea." 

"We were told the ship had reduced speed because of the 
damage and it was going to be at least another day, maybe 
two. You're not the only one who needed sleep, so we made 
a quiet area." 

She spoke in hushed tones. He looked over her list of 
patients, trying to see if any were worse. He didn't want 
to make noise and disturb anyone. "Any problems?" he 
finally asked. 

"No. Mostly they're catching up on sleep." 

He nodded, sticking the boots under his arm. "I'll be 
looking around if you need me. Good work." 

She nodded. "Food's in the big bay," she whispered. 

He realized he was hungry. There had been too much to do 
before to worry about eating. 

"What is there to eat?" he asked, hoping for real food. 
Barrett had replicators on this tub. 

"Rations. Replicators are down from the damage," she 
whispered. 

Somehow, it didn't surprise him. It was as if it had 
always been that way. The unreality of the day was 
fading. This half-lit world was beginning to be more
real than the one they'd left. 

He sighed. "I got the impression if they weren't he 
wouldn't offer, especially after the transport." 

"There are some bad rumors, Sir." 

"Yes?" 

"They say there's a lot of damage. Nobody's sure what 
that means, except the crew looked very unhappy." 

"I wouldn't be surprised if they always did, but I'll 
ask." 

"Thank you, Sir. Nobody will tell us anything." 

	***** 

Stepping carefully past the patients, carrying his shoes, 
he was relieved that he wasn't needed right then. He had 
to find out what had happened. He needed to see how well 
the others were doing, and what they'd done with the rest 
of the space. Stepping outside, he slipped on his shoes 
and headed for the other bay. 

The murmur was noticeable outside in the hallway. 
Stepping into it, he was surprised the volume wasn't as 
loud as he expected. It was full of people trying to fill 
the time. After the rush, now there was time to think. 
Some sat eating their rations, nibbling them slowly. Some 
were reading, lost in other worlds.  A few just sat, 
staring at the walls and crates that surrounded them. 

Looking around the room, he noticed Garak sitting in a 
corner by himself. Taking out his own rations, he picked 
up a cup of water from a dispenser and sat next to the 
Cardassian. 

Chairs had been lined up along the wall, and Garak had 
picked a corner to sit, back to the wall. "Greetings, 
Doctor. I must say you look much more refreshed." 

"I feel better." He opened one of the ration packets. 
Idly, he began chewing off hunks of it. They were very 
nutritious, but he couldn't think of anything else to 
recommend them. 

"I'm sorry to say I've already dined," said Garak 

Bashir was hungry and continued to eat. When he was done 
he added, "I wouldn't call this dining exactly." 

"I suppose you've been told about the rumor." 

"Yes." 

"Perhaps the captain will see fit to inform you about the 
ship's condition." 

"I've already been asked to see him," mumbled Bashir, 
watching the people. 

"You know, it is amazing. This entire re-organization was 
done very cooperatively and quickly. You may be not as 
important as you think." 

"Most of these people have had much worse to put up with. 
I hope the mood stays this cooperative, though." 

"When you're done with your discussion with the captain I 
believe you'll have a lot of listeners." 

Bashir's badge chirped. It was the captain. 

	***** 

Captain Barrett was in a no-nonsense mood. 

"Doctor, I have some bad news. That hit we took didn't 
seem too severe, but this is an old tub, and it wouldn't 
take much. Our engines were somewhat damaged. It's going 
to be a lot longer trip that was planned." 

Bashir wasn't surprised. "How long a trip, then?" he ask 
carefully. 

"I can't guarantee a figure, but if nothing else goes 
wrong, probably another week. I think you'll have enough 
food. Comfort is another thing. But I can't help you 
there." 

In his head he tried to remember how many extra crates of 
food had been brought. Not enough, probably. That was for 
after they arrived at the drop-off point. 

"It's a bit more than lack of comfort," he said 
carefully. "People are doing all right now, but they are 
going to be rather frustrated in a week." 

"I know, Doctor. I have eyes. And a *nose* as well. I 
don't like it either, but I can't do anything about it." 

"We have some of the engineering personnel on board. 
Perhaps they could help." 

"If we had the parts, I'd be glad to let them. But I'm 
afraid we're stripped bare. All we have is you." 

"Is there *anything* we can do to help?" he asked, 
hopefully. 

"Not really. I'd suggest that you start some kind of 
rationing. They won't like it, but I really can't 
guarantee it will take *only* a week. I'll still get you 
there." 

Bashir couldn't think of anything else to say. They 
wouldn't be happy, but under the circumstances people 
would cooperate. "I guess we all do our best, then,
Captain." 

It was going to be a very long week. 

	***** 

The mood did not last. The announcement that they had 
another week on the Antelope did nothing to make it 
better. Federation rations were dull and tasteless, but 
having to extend them was worse. Nobody would go hungry; 
the rations were designed to be extendable without 
effecting health. But it didn't make anybody any happier. 

And then there were the rumors, which persisted at a 
never-slowing pace. One system after another had gone 
off-line on the Antelope. The crew transporters were the 
latest to fail. That would mean no one could beam off the 
ship. That could be a critical problem. 

The refusal of the DS9's engineers' help was another bad 
blow. There was a deep suspicion among the passengers 
that there was much more damage than anyone was willing 
to say. 

	***** 

The first few days had gone well, considering they hadn't 
really had room for amusements in their bags. People 
read, or played games, or talked quietly with friends. 
They were trying hard to look agreeable. 

But boredom set in--that and the effect of the short 
rations. They weren't hungry, but weren't full either. It 
was making everybody a little more hair-trigger with the 
tempers. 

With time to sleep, everyone became rested. Then they had 
too much energy, but nowhere to use it. And then they 
couldn't sleep. 

Bashir had pulled the remaining Security people together 
to keep an eye out for fights. They had broken up more 
than a few, though luckily there had been no real 
injuries. But security couldn't always be there, and just 
in case Medical had a trauma team ready at all times. 

	***** 

Bashir was tired. He'd slept, on and off, but he didn't 
really rest. The rumors of more failures continued to 
grow, and Barrett continued to refuse help.  Boredom was 
hitting them now, and even little things about your 
neighbor became annoying. Attempts at organizing some 
distraction had not really worked. Nobody was in the mood 
for them. 

All they wanted was to get to the planet where the others 
had gone and get off the ship. 

It was hard to sleep. Every time he managed, there was 
another problem he had to deal with. He was ready to 
reach this Ag colony and let Sisko worry about decisions, 
too. 

But there were few patients and things had been 
relatively calm. One of the beds was empty and he needed 
a nap. He could even sleep now. After the palpable threat 
on the station, the relative sense of safety was a 
relief. The nightmares had finally faded enough to let 
him sleep. 

The nurse, however, was waking him again after a few 
hours. 

"Doctor, wake up. There is an emergency." 

He responded to the tone. Shaking off sleep, he grabbed 
his field kit and followed her. 

They hurried to the main bay. There were three men. All 
were drunk. One had a large knife sticking out of his 
side. 

"Get some Security over here," he ordered, pointing at 
the other two. Running a tricorder over the knife, he 
added "Get a stretcher ready too. He's bleeding 
internally." 

Using a wad to apply pressure against the wound, he slid 
out the knife.  Security people carefully took the weapon 
and bagged it. 

He started working on the patient with a couple of nurses 
to control the bleeding. The knife had nicked a few 
internal organs, which needed repairing, but it wasn't a 
fatal wound. A crowd had gathered to watch, enjoying the 
show since there wasn't much else to do. 

Bashir was feeling crowded. He looked up, getting 
Security's attention. "Get these people out of the way." 

Security began breaking up the disappointed crowd. 

Everyone fervently hoped that they got to where ever they 
were going soon. 

	***** 

A few hours later, the patient asleep and recovering, he 
dealt with the other drunks. "How did the fight start?" 
he asked. 

The booze was wearing off, and they were feeling wary. 
"Rations," one of them said. 

It figured. They were all a little edgy over that. "Where 
did the alcohol come from?" 

The two eyed each other. They pointed vaguely towards the 
hospital area. "He had it." 

Bashir was tired and wanted to try getting some sleep 
again. He wasn't in the mood for this. "That really 
doesn't matter. What matters is you were drunk." 
They were just sober enough to be reasoned with, he 
thought. 

"How did it happen?" he asked them, impatiently. 

"It was an accident," said the younger of the two. "He 
was gonna take my rations. He rushed me. I was trying to 
get the knife out of his way, but . . .
. " 

Tired and irritable, he asked, exasperated, "And who owns 
the knife?" 

The older one said, readily. "Oh, that's mine. Hunting 
knife . . . . " 

"Too bad we can't go hunt some Jem'Hadar with it," piped 
in the younger one. 

An unpleasant memory flashed in Bashir's head. He 
remembered the sound the knife had made in the Jem'Hadar 
as he stabbed it in his neck.

His impatience vanished. He became very quiet. Everyone 
noticed. 

"All right, the patient will survive. Both of you will be 
detained," he said, looking at the Security people, 
implying that where was their problem, "by Security until 
we reach the drop off point." He didn't care how they 
managed this as long as he didn't get awakened again by 
them. 

He went back to bed but couldn't sleep. He watched Garak 
die again when he finally did. 

But everyone was very quiet for the last day before they 
arrived at their future. 

	***** 

The tension, approaching the destination, was almost as 
bad as just before the Antelope's second docking. The 
last news, such as it was, that they had heard was over 
two weeks old. During the long trip from the station, no 
communications had been possible because of jamming. It 
wasn't until they were less than a day away from the 
destination that they were able to get a message through 
to the small agricultural colony where they would land. 
Even then, the signal was weak; the jamming extended even 
that far. Everyone knew about the jamming. Nobody really 
wanted to consider what it meant. They just wanted to get 
there. 

	***** 

Bashir knew it wouldn't be good news when Captain Barrett 
asked him into his office again. In six hours they would 
arrive. He couldn't wait to turn over his first command 
to Sisko. 

Bad news was an understatement. 

He stared at the captain, utterly stunned. 

"What are our chances?" he finally asked. 

"We're going to beam all the cargo down first, and that 
will help. I can't safely beam you down with the cargo 
transporter, the safety filters just aren't good enough. 
We've tried to fix the personal transporters, but we just 
don't have the parts. So we are going to do our best." 

Bashir thought of the amount of injuries they had 
sustained just from one hit. If the captain's plan for a 
controlled descent without landing gear didn't work
there were going to be a lot of deaths. Even if it 
succeeded there would be a lot of injuries. 

"I need to contact Captain Sisko. They need to be ready 
for us." 

"Certainly, Doctor. As soon as you're ready." 

"Just in case, our engineering people will want to see if 
there is anything you missed. I'm not doubting your 
people, but in this case if there is even a small chance 
. . . . " Bashir's voice was steady, only his eyes 
betraying the fear, he thought. 

"Just bring them in. I'm sure my people would welcome the 
help." 

Bashir wondered if his people could have helped a week 
ago. Now he'd never know. 

"How soon do you want to tell them?" asked the captain. 

"As soon as possible, I think. If not, the rumors will be 
worse. And just in case, they should have a chance to 
leave something behind." His tone was very somber. 

Barrett eyed him. "I wish I could make promises, Doctor. 
I prefer truth. 

"I appreciate that, Captain. Thank you." 

	***** 

He kept his voice as even as possible, hoping he didn't 
make things worse. 

"With the help of the crew," he said, "we will move to 
the safest possible location. Captain Barrett believes 
that a controlled descent is possible, and should the 
location be ideal, injuries should be minimal." 

The audience was silent, stunned as he had been an hour 
ago. As the last act of his command, he had to tell them 
about the crash. It did not bode well for the future. 

	***** 

The Bajorans were holding some sort of ceremony. It was 
somber and quiet, and a handful of the Starfleet personal 
had moved closer to watch, all of whom had been stationed 
on DS9 for all five years. They were listening closely, 
sitting just a little back from the others. Something was 
being passed around, and when it came to the end of the 
assembly, one of the Bajorans carried it back a row to
the human onlookers. Slowly realizing they were invited 
to join in, they moved their chairs closer. 

Sitting near the end of the bay, watching the ceremony, 
Bashir noticed Garak approach. 

"I will miss our lunches, Doctor. I assume that whatever 
happens it will be difficult. I suspect you will be 
rather busy." 

"I'd rather not think about that right now, if you don't 
mind," said Bashir quietly. 

"I assume our chances are somewhat less rosy than your 
speech implies." 

"According to what I'm told, it really does depend on all 
those conditions," he sighed. 

"And this is the Captain telling you these things, I take 
it," said Garak. 

"Captain Barrett and his chief engineer. I suspect the 
real truth is they really don't know." 

"I assume they still maintain that they only recently 
discovered the fused control as well." 

"Of course. At this point I'm not sure. There has been a 
lot of . . .half-answers from the start." 

"Just as the answers you gave about the beam-out to 
Bajor," reminded Garak. 

"Perhaps. It is true that I really didn't know what 
they'd do. And I suppose it wouldn't have helped the 
situation if we'd had this to think about." He stretched, 
tiredly. "Twenty more people here wouldn't have been that 
bad." 

Garak looked at him and sighed. "You don't know that was 
the reason. Perhaps it was the close pass towards Bajor. 
And it's done. It can't be changed now." 

Bashir watched as the cup was passed around the group. 
"Like the fused control." He paused, watching Garak. "I 
think I'm looking forward to not being in charge of 
anyone but my patients. I'd like to just be a doctor 
again." 

The two men sat and watched as the ceremony drew more of 
the onlookers, Garak finally speaking. "If this does not 
go well, I hope you'll remember our lunches. It was a 
most pleasant way to spend a meal." 

Bashir just stared at the room. He remembered the first 
time he'd met Garak, and the way he'd hurried to tell 
Sisko about the Cardassian. But Garak was a friend now, 
and that time seemed like a lifetime ago. 

"Yes. Perhaps it can be again." 

But he knew, deep inside, that that world was as dead as 
the station. 

	***** 

All the cargo was on the surface. All the passengers and 
crew had been moved to the most shielded parts of the 
ship. It was time. 

Hunched down with his medkit in hand, Bashir held his 
breath in anticipation of the alarm that would signal the 
deceleration and attempted landing. Or controlled crash. 
He had his staff scattered among the others, ready with
medkits, just in case. 

Garak whispered, "I recommend deep breaths, Doctor." 

He blew out his breath slowly, feeling his pulse slow a 
little. 

The alarm sounded and they all covered their heads. 

The first sensation was of falling, as the ship dropped 
faster than normal into the atmosphere, giving it speed 
to attempt to glide. For those hunched over on the deck, 
the desire was strong to find something to hold tight to. 

The ship began a sudden drop, and for a moment they were 
weightless. Those who could, grabbed on to whatever they 
could reach. As the ship evened its descent, gravity 
reasserted itself and they dropped. Bashir was one of the 
lucky ones who lay flat on the deck trying to breath from 
the impact. Others were unconscious, or injured, but 
nobody could help them then. 

For a time the ride was smooth. Then something went 
wrong. Bashir could feel the ship tilting down, going too 
fast, and put his arms over his head. Then, suddenly, the 
ship righted itself and everyone around him started to 
breath again. 

But it was falling very fast. Everything inside was 
shaking, the vibrations loosening clamped wall plates and 
other unsecured things. Nothing fell around them, but 
they could hear things crash in other places. 

There would be more injuries. Bashir put his head down on 
his hands, arms folded over his head and knees tucked 
under. 

He'd have a lot to do when they hit. The ship was already 
starting to fall apart. 

Then, suddenly, the ship tilted again, worse this time. 
People slid down the deck in front of him, blocking his 
own slide. They grabbed onto each other and a few 
protruding edges to keep from falling. 

The speed was worse. The ship was plummeting straight 
down when it smashed into the ground. 

The shock rippled through the ship. Metal seems started 
to buckle, and the warm outside air rushed inside. Ducts, 
their sides ruptured, spilled over people and walls. The 
heavy odor of chemicals pervaded the ship. Anyone awake 
who could stand started to scramble to safety. 

But some still lay unconscious, not even knowing they 
were breathing poison. Some were trapped, desperately 
trying to dig themselves out before it was too late. The 
ship was still breaking up, supports snapping and walls 
bending into odd curves. 

They knew it would crash, but expected it to land on its 
belly. Those trapped inside were placed in the safest 
places for that kind of crash, not one head-on into a 
heap of sand. 

The chemicals were so strong it was hard to breath. Here 
and there, where people were trapped, the screams echoed 
through the broken wreck. 

Everyone in Bashir's group had gotten free except two in 
the back, and Bashir and Garak tried to check on them. 
They were already dead. Above them, several beams were 
swaying, ready to fall. Garak pulled the doctor away, 
Bashir trying to scramble out. 

But not fast enough. One beam fell, and its jagged edge, 
covered in some sticky fluid, was pinning his leg on the 
ground, cutting deeply into the flesh. 

He didn't scream. He could feel the burning sensation of 
the fluid on the exposed tissue, and was rapidly going 
into shock. 

Garak let go of him and began to lift the beam. One of 
the Bajorans began to drag the now unconscious doctor 
away from the obstacle in a trail of blood. 

The ceiling collapsed after the beams had fallen, 
trapping Garak under a heavy pile of metal scraps and 
dripping fluids. He was either unconscious or dead,
making no sound, but there was no time to move the rubble 
and find out. 

Garak's exile had finally ended.

end, Legacy Year 1, Part 1