Admiral Nechayev's icy features nearly caused Ben to shiver from the intensity as she hammered out the words. "I will personally be there to negotiate on the Federation's behalf. If we have a chance to obtain technology which will defend us from the Dominion, I don't want to lose it. I don't want another misstep like Picard made with the Borg." The reference made Ben involuntarily flinch and he hoped Nechayev didn't catch it. "Admiral, they have made it quite clear they just want to fix their ship and leave." "Your report quoted the ambassador as saying their 'Federation is dedicated to assisting worlds to prepare for Dominion attacks,'" she shot back. "Those were his exact words." "He also said he was concerned about the balance of power," Sisko replied, trying to maintain his calmness. "They have rules just like we do. . .." The admiral's mouth puckered. "I don't need a lesson on the Prime Directive, captain. Your job is to keep the line of communications open and ensure the Federation stays on good standing with them until I arrive. We cannot afford to lose this opportunity." The last sentence caused Sisko's eyebrows to raise. Nechayev sounded like a certain bartender. "And any other dignitaries who wish to welcome our guests?" Her cheeks drew in, giving her an almost skeletal look. "Monitor them." "Yes, admiral." She lanced him with a stern stare. "Nechayev out." When the Federation seal blinked onto his console, Ben allowed his head to drop into his hands, fingers massaging his scalp in an effort to relieve the pressure. The door chime rang. He raised his head to see Kira standing, arms firmly clasped behind her back. It seemed everyone picked up on that Dax-like move and with Kira, he knew exactly what it meant. "Come in." She strode in with her usual confidence although her face was set almost apologetically. "Things didn't go well with the admiral?" "Things went as expected with Nechayev. I have to make sure our guests are willing to negotiate when she arrives," he replied steadily before leaning back and steepling his fingers. "When can I expect the First Minister to be on the station?" "Three hours. The Ministers of Trade and Defense will be here as well." Sisko nodded. "You realize once word has gotten out, every government will want to get their hands on this anti-Dominion technology." "I realize that, captain. Ambassador Bashir sounded like he was expecting such a confrontation, both friendly and unfriendly." "We just have to convince him of the wisdom of trusting us first." Kira almost rolled her eyes, wondering why the captain was painstakingly spelling all of this out. "The ambassador seems to have a firm grasp of what's going on. I don't think you'll have to worry about that." "Odo to Sisko." The captain automatically glanced to the ceiling, a strange habit all Starfleet officers had when being paged, and then he realized it was something Ambassador Bashir had never done during their discussions. Either Bashir wasn't in contact with his ship during their initial meeting or he was so used to having a voice in his head he never registered surprise. "Go ahead, constable." "Our guests have been kind enough to lower the defense system surrounding their assigned quarters," the changeling snarled. "Ambassador Bashir has requested a meeting with both you and the major." Sisko glanced over to Kira who vigorously nodded her consent. "Ask the ambassador to lunch, Odo. The wardroom at 1300 hours." "Acknowledged. Odo out." "Dax couldn't even get a passive scan through those shields. They value their privacy or are trying their best to keep us out of the middle," Kira commented. "They seem to be trying *too* hard," Sisko darkly said. "Entirely too hard." He looked behind Kira to find Doctor Bashir debating on ringing the door chime before realizing the captain was watching him. Sisko motioned the man in and Bashir immediately entered, professional demeanor mixed oddly with self-consciousness. The captain guessed, "You'd like permission to check on your patients." Slightly taken aback, Bashir managed to get out, "Well. . . yes, sir. I was going to ask if I could. The three who were in the Infirmary were taken back to quarters under Doctor Troi's supervision. It's not that I doubt her skills as a physician, but I would like to offer my assistance." "Think you can sneak another tricorder through?" Kira asked, her tone halfway between mocking and serious. Julian blushed slightly and dropped his head a fraction of an inch. "I don't believe I have a good enough excuse this time, if I were caught." Sisko stopped the teasing. "We have a meeting with the ambassador later this afternoon. Unless Doctor Troi specifically requests your help, you should refrain from any contact with them. That goes for *everyone*, including civilians." *** "Damage assessments," Jake reported and handed a datapadd to the captain. Gathered in O'Brien's quarters, the senior staff met for another impromptu meeting, this one spawned by the completion of Jake and Leah's analysis of just what their latest challenge was. Even now, in the relative calm of being somewhat off duty because of the situation, they still functioned as if they were on yellow alert. Miles didn't blame them. This wasn't exactly a vacation spot, although DS9 was far more hospitable than any other alternate universe O'Brien had dealt with. Of them all, Jake was the most eager to return to the proper reality, even surpassing Dukat's blatant desire to leave. The captain understood Jake's feelings perfectly. The young man who just celebrated his eighteenth birthday held down a position normally reserved for someone at least a decade older than he. Jake had a resolute maturity about him, one O'Brien knew he couldn't take credit for. It went beyond Jake proving himself a consummate officer and being as valuable as Dukat or Brahms. The engineer never wanted to be a burden, a belief he refused to let go of despite Miles' constant reassurances to his foster son that he, Jake Sisko, was anything but a burden. Now Jake faced something Miles knew the teenager wasn't equipped to handle. It wasn't something he could fix. It wasn't something he could jettison into space. It wasn't something he could easily forget. Here, in this universe, Ben Sisko was alive and holding down a position of command. Jake refused to meet Miles' eyes as he continued with his report. "It also includes list of materials we'll need to complete repairs and bring the ship back up to 90%. I've placed them in order of importance, we can get by with the ones marked, and the availability is favorable. If we can't get them here, we're going to have to replicate them which will obviously take longer." O'Brien nodded once and glanced over at Dukat who took the cue. "Since our arrival, there have been twenty-three covert messages sent and received. Of them, two have been on officially secured channels coded to Captain Sisko's terminal and another pair to Major Kira's." "How long before we have people knocking on our doors?" Miles asked. Dukat shook his head slightly. "The Bajoran delegation arrives in about three hours and the official Starfleet group in four. The two closest non-Federation alliances are the Klingons and Cardassians and they will probably send diplomatic envoys within the next twelve hours." "If you want a cliched saying, I know several which describe this situation," Bashir wryly added. "Especially, 'damned if we do, damned if we don't.' It won't matter to these other parties only a doctor and his two assistants came on board our ship and were confined to the medical areas except when they exited the ship. Their point will be UFP representatives were on board. We can easily deny the UFP's request for a technology exchange on a technicality. For us, to give this the information could be considered an act of treason since the UFP and Bajor, for that matter, have a shapeshifter as part of their staff. Our Federation law is quite strict in that regard no matter what the circumstances." "And this opens the door for the Klingons, Cardassians, and whoever else decides to pop in," O'Brien sighed. "No doubt they will pull out all the trumps to convince us to turn over what we have and if they can't have it, they'll fight for it." He paused and tapped at the side of his coffee mug. "Captain Sisko's invitation to lunch," Bashir continued, "gives our hosts enough time to receive their official negotiators. If Dukat, maybe even Rekelen or Hogue, were to accompany me, it would be an obvious reminder of the differences in political structures." O'Brien chuckled, "Sounds to me like you want to intimidate them." "And you don't think our hosts will try every tactic of their own so I will 'make the right choice'?" "I know, ambassador. Believe me, I know." Troi suddenly tapped her foot, getting their attention. "Captain, I do have to finish my rounds with our crew. It would be nice to have a second opinion, especially Doctor Bashir's. This Federation could have medical advances. . .." "Stop right there," O'Brien warned. "We are *not* putting ourselves in that position, medical reasons or not. The release of information goes across the board. I'm sorry, doctor, but I don't want to give *anyone* an excuse to start shooting at us." "At least allow the ambassador to deliver a report to the doctor," she protested and then held out a datapadd. "Doctor Bashir is an excellent physician and he will want to know the condition of those he treated." O'Brien fixed her with a stare, one which would send junior officers to their knees begging forgiveness for offending the captain. "Out of the question, doctor. *No one* is trouncing about this station." Troi silently implored the ambassador, her usual ally when it came to arguing with either O'Brien or Dukat. Bashir shrugged his shoulders and took the pad from the doctor, tapping it against his palm. Jake's eyes widened, obviously surprised the ambassador would defy orders, and he glanced over to Brahms who had crossed her arms and did her best to look uninterested. "I have to agree with the captain," Bashir concurred. "I can, however, pass this information along to our hosts and they, in turn, should give it to their doctor." "You're going to taunt them with it," O'Brien guessed. The ambassador grinned, "The thought has crossed my mind." "Don't provoke them," the captain warned. "I fully intend on taking this opportunity to allow everyone to rest up, if only for a day or two." "Of course, captain." *** Julian flopped down on the couch in his assigned quarters, the cushions wonderfully solid and firm underneath him, and he stared at the gracefully arched ceiling and the distinct bulkheads. It had been far too long since he had been on Cardassia. The chime rang and Julian bade his guest welcome. Dukat walked in and glanced around the quarters before sitting across from the ambassador. "Let me guess," Julian sighed as he crossed his arms, "you're here to give me the security speech." "You make it sound as if I am an overbearing teacher and you're my recalcitrant student," Dukat laughed. "Actually, I wanted to see if your furniture is as comfortable as mine. I do miss this. If the Founders knew my affinity for authentic Cardassian-styled lounge chairs and sofas, they would have disposed of me long ago. Hmm... it would make for quite an embarrassing epitaph: 'Here lies Dukat, Killed by a shapeshifting loveseat.' My titles will be useless. My rank would be forgotten. I would just be He who was Suffocated by Furniture." "I don't find that amusing," Julian snapped and glared at the mirthful Cardassian. Dukat sobered slightly, "My apologies, ambassador. You were never one for Cardassian humor, were you?" "No." Shrugging his shoulders, the Cardassian changed subjects. "It would be to our advantage to stave off any attempts at 'chance meetings' during these negotiations." "We cannot show any weakness, I know," Bashir mumbled sullenly. "I am sure they have already drawn some conclusions," Dukat remarked. "It's only natural to assume that we possess the same motivations, the same likes and dislikes, as our counterparts." They remained silent for a few moments before the Cardassian cleared his throat. "Ambassador, I realize you do not wish my counsel on this matter, but I highly suggest you...." "I know the rules," Julian replied sharply. "There's no need to reiterate them every time you think I will have a lapse in judgement." He knew he was under Dukat's careful scrutiny, just by the way the Cardassian was sitting. Bashir guessed the Cardassian had already accessed vital information concerning DS9's residents and Dukat's phenomenal memory combined with O'Brien's legendary shrewdness, those two probably had their game plan outlined the moment the Defiant docked on the station. "Ziyal's counterpart is under the watchful care of Major Kira. My alternate hunts down Klingons for invading Cardassian colonies. Quite the rogue pirate he is." Bashir snorted. "That explains their resident Carjoran. And the Cardassian is...?" "Garak." "Oh." "Come now, ambassador," Dukat lightly admonished, "it is not as if you didn't already know." "He isn't the Cardassian liaison, is he?" The ambassador asked, trying to keep the trace of hope out of his voice. "No. He lives in exile. He is a tailor." "I see." "A clever choice of professions for one in exile," Dukat commented. "Restaurants come and go, depending on people's tastes and when running that type of business, the hours are terrible. However, a clothing shop has specific hours, you must cater to the egos of your patrons, and best of all, it is rather simple to modify your merchandise to comply with the latest trends in fashion. It's also quite unassuming." "It sounds as if you have given this a lot of thought." The Cardassian coyly smiled, "Just simple musings, ambassador. Nothing more." "Nothing is simple with you, Dukat. Ever. *And* I know what you're thinking as well. Garak may use this opportunity to end his exile. After all, securing information which could and would make Cardassia a formidable power against the Dominion as well as the rest of this quadrant may be precisely what he needs," Bashir stated flatly. "Garak has to reach us *before* the official Cardassian delegation arrives. Our dilemma is if we should encourage such contact." "You are as perceptive as ever, ambassador," the Cardassian praised. The human snorted derisively but refrained from commenting. "Our behavior should be based, obviously, on how Garak presents himself, but I'm sure you already realize that. If he wishes to become embroiled in the politicking, than he is more than welcome to." "Not at the risk of his life!" Julian spat. "Ambassador," Dukat reminded him softly, "he is not the same Elim Garak you and I knew. While this *is* your first encounter with an alternate Garak, do not make the mistakes our hosts are." He paused, allowing the ambassador to calm down slightly, before resuming his commentary. "The incoming Starfleet admiral will no doubt try to bully you into releasing information because of your youth and her position as a higher-ranking officer. She may even attempt to bypass you in favor of discussions with the captain." Bashir didn't respond immediately, which was Dukat's cue to give a detailed briefing of the information which had been officially released to them and what the Cardassian had pilfered from the system. Julian listened intently, making mental notes and a few comments aloud. At 1245 hours, five minutes before DS9's escorts were to show up at the impromptu border, the two stood and walked to the door. Dukat and Bashir kept a comfortable pace as they approached the opaque forcefield separating their area from the rest of the station. Lavelle, standing guard, acknowledged the superior officers with a curt nod which Dukat returned. "Report, ensign," Dukat ordered, not worried the conversation would carry through to whomever was on the other side of the force field. The sound dampeners had been set to allow sound to travel one way, from the other side into theirs. "A human female, a human male, a Bajoran female, a Bajoran male and one. . . Klingon male are waiting," Lavelle announced. The latter species obviously impressed the younger man, who was probably eager to see a member of the notoriously xenophobic race. "The Klingon is armed with a standard phaser and the escorts have compressed phaser rifles. I am having difficulty obtaining an accurate reading, sir. I've adjusted the tricorder to compensate for possible interference. The station's conduits use two different and almost incompatible technologies, sir." Lavelle held out his tricorder so Dukat could verify his information. The Cardassian tapped in a few commands and then nodded his approval. "Did they discuss anything of interest?" Dukat queried. Lavelle seemed almost embarrassed as he reported, "Keeping an eye on you, sir." He indicated the Cardassian. "They do not believe the ambassador will be a threat. However, they believe you are the. . um. . . wild card, sir." Julian grinned and nudged Dukat's elbow, "Try not to spook our hosts too much, no matter how tempting it is." "Me? My dear ambassador, I'm not the one who suggested I be the obvious reminder of Cardassia's presence." Dukat signaled Lavelle, who lowered the defense field. Bashir and Dukat turned and stared. Lavelle muffled a gasp. The shapeshifter stood less than three meters away from them with his arms crossed and a smirk carved into his face. He met their gazes with a defiant one of his own. Julian could feel Dukat tense up, even though the Cardassian refrained from any outward appearance of being upset. "Dukat, Ambassador Bashir," the changeling sounded as if he were taunting them, "We were never formally introduced. I am Odo, chief of station security." He held out his hand towards Bashir, obviously waiting for a handshake. A strangled gurgle escaped from Lavelle and Julian couldn't blame the ensign. The thought of actually *touching* a shapeshifter with the intent of friendship was revolting enough, but it was also considered treason. Julian matched Odo's calculating look and shook the Founder's hand; however, the human's mind rebelled against any pleasantry he normally used in a situation like this. It was hardly a pleasure to meet a Founder. The only words his brain allowed him to formulate were, "Chief Odo." "Odo," the shapeshifter corrected. "Nothing else. Just Odo." "Odo," Bashir repeated, keeping his nerves steady and not recoiling at the touch of the Founder. Shifters always "felt" like they were supposed to, whether it be humanoid flesh or a burlap sack or a vole, but Julian could detect the slightest tremor, although he wasn't sure if it was himself or the changeling. They released their grips. The shifter then tried to do the same handshake trick with Dukat, but the Cardassian's lips peeled back into a smile. "Cardassians do not share that particular nuance with our Terran compatriots. We prefer this salute," Dukat tilted his head in a very formal nod, "over the clasping of hands." "Of course," Odo conceded, although there was unmistakable triumph in his voice as the shifter returned Dukat's nod. "I believe you have already met Commander Worf, the Strategic Operations Officer." The Klingon shook his head once, squaring his shoulders as his eyes roved over Dukat. The officer was clearly trying to either impress or intimidate Dukat. "There is one more thing." The shifter pointed to weapon strapped to the Cardassian's left thigh. "*That* will not be necessary. Captain Sisko sends his pledge you will be protected." Dukat's hand dropped to his holster, Worf and the militia changed their stances ready to aim and fire if necessary, and the Cardassian plucked the offending weapon and handed it to Lavelle. "Sir!" Lavelle protested hotly, refusing to accept the relinquished weapon by keeping his hands firmly at his sides. "Mister Lavelle," Dukat calmly reasoned, "there is no need for such an outburst." "But sir. . ." Lavelle began again, "allow me to accompany you, sir." Dukat lanced the ensign with a stare, "I appreciate your concern; however, I do believe it is unnecessary." Lavelle reluctantly backed down as he took the weapon. Bashir glanced over to the militia who shared Lavelle's uneasiness, except they had weapons to toy around with. He noted how most of the attention was focused on Dukat. As Lavelle had said, they were more worried about the Cardassian than they were about a Terran and Bashir knew he had to use it to his advantage. "Odo, Commander," Julian cordially said and then waved forward. "Carry on. The meeting is due to start in a few minutes and I do not wish to be late." The group seemed to notice Bashir again. No doubt they were galled by his haughty command, but the human maintained his pleasant, almost eager look. It was one Odo and Worf seemed to recognize. The Klingon commander finally said, "This way." Dukat and Bashir walked out into the middle of the security team, the militia immediately flanking either side of them, Worf stepping behind them and Odo taking the lead. "The route, ambassador," Dukat reminded Bashir. "It would be to our benefit." Falling into the young, innocent ambassador counseled by the seasoned war veteran personas the Terran and Cardassian had perfected over the last year, Bashir immediately brightened, tossing off a radiant, yet embarrassed smile. "Yes yes yes. Please, Odo, will we be traversing the Promenade?" "No, ambassador," Odo said, appraising Bashir with a more obvious eye now, and he outlined their path. Dukat made the appropriate faces, nodding where he was supposed to, and then agreed. "An excellent plan," the Cardassian approved and then tacked on a rather wistful statement. "I believe that was the same route Picard used to sneak his mistresses back and forth from the prefect's office." The comment earned a low growl from Worf, barely on the threshold of human hearing and completely out of range for a Cardassian, but Bashir's and Dukat's subderms dutifully amplified the noise. Dukat's lie had its desired effect: Bashir knew the Cardassian knew the way and Lavelle had been alerted where exactly they would be. Bashir smiled again, "Now is not the time to reminisce about old times." "Of course, ambassador," Dukat conceded and then turned to Lavelle. "As you were." "Yes, sir!" Lavelle barked, still distraught over his commanding officer being unarmed, and the shield immediately popped back on. The journey to the wardroom was spent in silence. *** End Part 5 *** Shakaar and Admiral Nechayev chatted so amicably they made Ben wonder if *he* was in the right universe. While each had advisers and officers poised to join them, the two leaders opted to leave their staffs on their respective ships to make this lunch more informal. Each had agreed that they desired to assist the wayward travelers, to acquire scientific and military information for the benefit of both the Federation and the Provisional Government, and to help the Defiant back into its own universe without causing a sector scandal. That last part was a remote possibility but always included in diplomatic rhetoric. The doors slid open and Odo straddled the doorway with a "This way," before stepping all the way in to allow the Defiant's party in. Bashir came in, looking freshly scrubbed and more like Doctor Bashir than a ragged, soot-covered diplomat. Although Bashir was still dressed entirely in black, he now had an overcoat which ended at mid-hip to cover the "standard" uniform and he sported an intricate metal pin the size of a normal commbadge. The design matched the First Federation's seal on the datapadd Bashir had sent earlier. A thin line of gold trim accented the collar, cuffs, and lapels of the coat but there was no other adornment. Bashir was followed by Dukat. Although the ambassador was the same height, the Cardassian's impressive shoulders were still much wider and accented by his thickly corded neck. His uniform was slightly dressed up as well: an overcoat reminding Ben of Starfleet's casual captain's jacket but solid black and a medallion like Bashir's, glittering like a beacon in the sea of ebony. Sisko strode over and greeted them warmly, "Good afternoon, gentlemen. Thank you for attending." Bashir's smile was dazzling. "How could we refuse such a gracious offer? You remember our chief of security, Dukat." Even though Sisko had addressed both officers, Bashir opted to reintroduce the Cardassian for the benefit of the rest of the room and again failed to attach a rank to one of the command staff. Captain O'Brien had been the only one presented with a military designation while the others only used "Chief of" and inserted their respective departments. The omission bothered the captain, mainly because his crew (and now the admiral and Shakaar) had to guess just how important Dukat was in the grand scheme of things. "Of course," the captain replied the two exchanged nods. Only Sisko and Bashir walked closer to the table, Dukat lingering behind with Worf and Odo. The captain began the introductions. "May I present Admiral Nechayev of Starfleet and Shakaar, First Minister of Bajoran Provisional Government. Ambassador Julian Bashir and Dukat of the First Federation." Bashir acknowledged each with a slight dip of his head when Sisko named them, and when the captain was finished, the ambassador opened his arms in an universal peaceful gesture. "On behalf of the First Federation, thank you for allowing us to dock at Deep Space Nine. Captain Sisko, Major Kira and their staff have been exceptionally considerate hosts. But you haven't traveled all the way here for a mere exchange of pleasantries. Shall we?" Just like their initial meeting, the ambassador established control of the situation and interjected a remark which could be taken both ironically and sarcastically. While everyone moved towards their seats, Dukat remained lurking behind the ambassador. Ben's logical voice kept repeating Dukat was Bashir's protection and was acting in the same manner Odo and Worf were doing now. However, it was damned unnerving, especially since Ben was used to verbal duels with Dukat not with Bashir. Both Shakaar and Nechayev expressed their sympathies for the loss of the Defiant's helmsman (a bit of information Doctor Bashir had picked up while on the alternate ship) and concern for the remaining crew members who were injured. The ambassador had charm and wit, fielding the minister's and the admiral's comments with a gentle ease, almost as if he were playing a lazy game of springball. After a few minutes of skirting conversations, the business of trade cropped up after a direct question regarding the Defiant. "We need a place to repair our ship," Bashir told them. "Most of the materials we have on board, but our chief engineer has made detailed list of what would greatly increase the speed of our work." Out of the folds of his jacket, the ambassador produced a datapadd and slid it to Sisko. The admiral threw a glance in the captain's direction, obviously surprised Bashir considered Sisko a negotiator since the captain hadn't spoken since the introductions. Sisko ignored the admiral and scanned the list. "It's not as extensive as I thought it would be." The ambassador laughed, "For us, having a wish list is a futile effort. We make do with what is available. The captain and the chief can be quite creative." "I'm sure they can be," replied Sisko. "Starfleet and," Nechayev cut a quick look over at the minister who gave his assent, "the Provisional Government will do whatever we can to help secure these materials. The station engineers are also very familiar with blended Federation, Bajoran and Cardassian technologies." Bashir pursed his lips for a moment, a break in his calm demeanor, before answering. Ben wondered. Instead of a pleasant, almost light-hearted tone he had used before, Bashir sounded almost bitterly disappointed. "While they may be highly qualified, only experience will accelerate our departure. The longer we stay here, the greater danger we pose to both Bajor and the Federation. Not because the Jem'Hadar will find a way here, but because there are other governments willing to forego any hard-worked peace treaties just to get their hands on more powerful weapons. Just like your Federation, admiral, we are bound by our own set of rules and principles which must be adhered to." "We recognize your concern and share it," Shakaar replied. "We also know our worlds are vastly different and there is no guarantee we will encounter or experience the same things you have or will." "We are mostly concerned with defending ourselves," the admiral added. "The reports indicate you have a dual shielding system on the Defiant, acting as a deterrent to scans or boarding parties. Also, your ship is modified from the one currently stationed here. A tour of the ship or information on upgrades would be highly welcomed." "Perhaps a way to effectively detect shapeshifters," Shakaar suggested. "Currently, we rely on blood screenings, but those can be altered. If you have developed a better way to track them, it is information which can be shared with all interested parties." Bashir clearly mulled over the options for a moment before responding, "I will to consider the proposal and have an answer for you by 2300 hours." "If you require more time to discuss it with your superiors. . ." Nechayev began to offer. The ambassador scoffed, "I *have* no superior here, admiral." The haughtily spoken words hung in the air, Ben wincing because of Nechayev's unwelcome challenge to Bashir's authority. Ben wondered what impact this would have on Bashir's decision to exchange technology. Bashir stood and everyone followed suit. "If you will excuse us," the ambassador stepped back from the table. "Everyone has said what they have needed to and there is no need to drag this out any further." Dukat had moved forward but instead of saying anything, he waited until Bashir faced him before fixing a curious stare on the diplomat. Then Bashir let out a slight exclamation as if he were forgetting something, turned towards the group again, and fished out another datapadd from his jacket. Shaking his head slightly as one of Doctor Julian Bashir's trademark apologetic grins spread across his face, the ambassador handed the item to Sisko. "I almost forgot. Doctor Troi asked if this could be delivered to your chief medical officer. She wanted him to see the follow up reports on the patients he treated." The captain glanced over towards Nechayev and Shakaar, who were both almost salivating over the temptation they thought Bashir was offering. Ben knew what both were thinking: Bashir could be giving them information in a more covert manner, a spirit versus letter of the law scenario the captain had done more than once in his career. >From the outside, the ambassador had temporarily slammed the door in the UFP and BPG's faces, but the Cardassians, Klingons, Romulans and whoever else showed up at DS9's docking pylons would see the transparent action. Ben almost welcomed the bit of dramatics, another of Doctor Bashir's characteristics showing in the ambassador's smoothly polished demeanor, which meant they stood a chance at gaining the technology after all. "I'll make sure he gets it." Bashir beamed again. "Thank you, captain." "You're welcome, ambassador." Ben motioned towards the changeling, "Odo and Commander Worf will show you the way." "Good day." The ambassador curtly nodded towards Sisko, ignoring the admiral, Shakaar, and Kira, and turned to leave. Dukat followed, making eye contact with Kira and ducking his head once, and the group exited. Nechayev waited until the doors whooshed closed before snapping, "Captain?" Ben knew the unspoken question and activated the datapadd. There were no cryptic messages, no word puzzles, only three medical reports on Nog, Sito and Ari, the same ones Doctor Bashir had listed he had treated. Sisko let out a sigh of disappointment. "It looks like medical reports. I'll have Doctor Bashir go over it as well as Chief O'Brien to see if there are any discrepancies or hidden messages." *** "Now that you've shown you can throw a tantrum, what is your next move?" Dukat quietly inquired, using a butchered variation of Kardasi as he and the ambassador were escorted from the wardroom to their quarters. The Terran standard equivalent of the dialect was called "pig Latin" although this version of Kardasi also used idiomatic expressions, which would render DS9's translators almost useless. If the translator was able to discern the words and come up with the comparable translation in standard, it still would be gibberish. Odo was a few feet in front of them, trying to be oblivious to their conversation, but Dukat recognized the slight turn of the Founder's head as the officer tried to hear their words. "Oh, Dukat! You can't be serious," Julian protested. "Your pride was insulted, someone dared to question your authority, and your first reaction is to rely on the most blatant stereotypes of your profession," the Cardassian retorted. "A reflexive action," he declared as the group rounded the corner and went down the long corridor leading back to their designated area, going the same route as they had used before. Again, Odo led the group, Bashir and Dukat were flanked by the four security officers, and Worf was behind them. Dukat snorted, "At least you didn't spout off about treason. That would have certainly set them at ease. Your authority wouldn't have been questioned, only what I would do to you if you made the wrong decision." "Just as it is difficult for you *not* to bottle up our most gracious tour director, it's difficult for me to keep reminding myself a majority of the people on this station view your presence the same manner in which we view the changelings." "Perhaps my bloody corpse will serve as an incentive for remembering." "I honestly can't believe you're being so petulant about the entire situation!" "Petulance implies, my dear ambassador," cooed the nearly irate Cardassian, "I am distraught over their assessment of me personally. *My* concern, however, centers on what if *our* technology cannot detect *their* changelings." The militia, alarmed by the banter between the two, tinkered idly with their weapons. Dukat and Bashir fell silent, content to wait until they were in a private setting to continue their debate. "Lieutenant Gashini said he's here! I have to see him!" Ziyal's voice echoed from a connecting corridor just ahead of the group. Reaching up to casually tap his ear ridge with his right hand, Dukat adjusted his subderm for clarity while the Bajoran guard followed the Cardassian's movement with his rifle. Bashir must have heard her as well; Dukat could tell by the way the ambassador's lips suddenly pursed. "Ziyal," chastised another voice, distinct in cadence, "He is not your father. He is your father's counterpart from the other side." "That's not what Gashini said," the girl told him defiantly. "And you believe the word of an officer of the Bajoran militia? What else did he tell you? That Captain Sisko was arresting your father for some violation of Federation law? That your father was being held prisoner for crimes against the Bajoran people? How did he explain the fact there are *two* Starfleet vessels of nearly the same design and both bearing the name 'Defiant'? Really, my dear. As distasteful and childish as it may sound, I believe the good lieutenant was simply...." "People lie to me all the time, Garak. That's why I have to see for myself. Gashini said they would be coming this way. I have to see him." "They will be surrounded by the militia who will use any excuse to fire those weapons, I assure you," Garak tried again. "It doesn't matter!" There was sound of a slight struggle and then the fast click-clack of shoes against the carpeted metal deck plates. Ziyal bolted out into the hallway, stopping and staring at the entourage. The security officers swung their weapons up, ready to fire, and Odo brought the group to an abrupt halt. "Father?" she called, the joy and uncertainty in her voice ringing in Dukat's head. Dukat had to act surprised to see her, otherwise someone in the group would realize Bashir and he had amplified hearing and/or that they had accessed the station's computer. The young woman dressed in a prim lavender gown wasn't his Ziyal; he knew immediately by, of all things, her hair style. When Dukat automatically searched behind and around her, his gaze met that of the Cardassian tailor who had walked into the main corridor but stayed a few meters behind Ziyal. "Garak," Julian breathed, too quietly Dukat was sure, for anyone else but himself to hear. "Father! What is happening? Why have you been arrested?" Ziyal demanded and continued to approach the party. She ignored the weapons pointed at her, confusion etched in her face. Dukat moved in front of Odo and stood before his alternate's daughter, switching to standard for the benefit of his audience. "I am not the Dukat you wish for, Ziyal, but it gives me great pleasure to see my counterpart is as blessed as I am." Ziyal blinked a few times, uncertain how to react, and looked Garak for guidance. The tailor offered a fleeting smile and called out, "I believe these are our guests from the other universe." "Then he does not. . .." she couldn't get the words past her lips as she looked back and forth from Dukat to Garak. "You are not. . .." "Bajor and Cardassia have shared peace for over a millennia," Dukat stated. "Why should I not be proud of the beautiful sight before me?" The Cardassian didn't have to glance behind to know an impassive mask had slipped over Bashir's features, probably the same one Elim had coached him on endlessly. "I presume you are the Cardassian delegation?" The Founder answered before Garak could speak, but addressed Bashir instead of Dukat. "Ambassador, they are residents of the station. Nothing more." Bashir deliberately moved to Dukat's side. The human suddenly grinned, but it lacked the distinct charm and warmth of Doctor Bashir's expression. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Ziyal. I am Ambassador Bashir of the First Federation." The Carjoran became flustered and held out a shaky hand. Bashir gently grasped it while nodding slightly. She sputtered, "It is nice to meet you as well, ambassador." She paused, looking into his eyes and then noticing he was now staring over her shoulder. With a small exclamation she released his hand and turned towards the tailor. "Um... let me introduce... Um.... This is Garak." With a sharp click of his boot heels and a very dignified bow of his head, the ambassador saluted Garak. The Cardassian returned the gesture except he didn't tap his boots against each other. The ambassador's smile softened slightly. "Are you representatives of Cardassia?" "In a manner of speaking," Garak replied, matching Bashir's calculating gaze with one of his own. "He's an exile," Odo growled. "Such name-calling," Dukat sighed in the altered version of Kardasi, "is so unbecoming of these people." Bashir chuckled before he addressed the tailor in standard, "There is a meeting at 2300 hours, Mister Garak. You are more than welcome to attend." "Ambassador," the changeling warned again, "as I have said...." "I heard what you have said, Odo." Bashir bit off each word but he did not turn to face the changeling. "Then there is no need for this conversation to continue, ambassador," rumbled Worf. Dukat swivelled to meet the scathing glower of the Klingon. He had to admit it was surprising these officers were so adamant about ending this confrontation, so resolute in fact it only piqued Bashir's curiosity even more. the Cardassian mentally berated, before amending his thoughts. Although Bashir did not have the restraint Dukat or Captain O'Brien had from years of experience, the ambassador had just enough to know how to use this situation to his advantage. Worf and Odo obviously misjudged the ambassador. Did they think by challenging Bashir's authority for a second and third time that the human would react the same way he had with Nechayev by storming off in a huff? Of course, what the Klingon and the Founder had done was far worse than toe-stepping; they snubbed Dukat by ignoring the Cardassian and insulted Garak by not allowing the tailor to answer the ambassador's questions. Those two sins were something a man of Bashir's particular faith and profession could not easily forgive, much less walk away from. Annoyed that the Klingon regarded him as if he were a vole, Dukat returned the Klingon's stare with a bland, semi-amused one of his own. It had the desired effect: Worf rolled his shoulders back and puffed his chest, again trying to intimidate the Cardassian. Dukat would have found the entire situation rather amusing if a Founder wasn't standing as close as he was. "Ambassador...." the changeling began a second time. Dukat gave the Klingon a look of disdain before returning his attention to the standoff between Garak, Bashir and Odo. The ambassador's posture had become almost rigid, a sure sign of the human's ire. Bashir was not going to tolerate the way Worf and Odo dismissed the tailor for being worthless. Clearly, Sisko's henchmen were not skilled in the art of diplomacy since neither seemed to realize Bashir was not going to just walk away, not without scoring a few insults of his own. "Is there a reason for their overt concern, Mister Garak?" Bashir asked teasingly. "I am a plain and simple tailor, ambassador." "No matter." The ambassador shrugged the comment off, as if it were inconsequential, and then gave another formal nod. "My offer still stands, Mister Garak." "You are most generous, ambassador." Garak returned the salute and then called over to Ziyal. "My dear, I believe it is time for us to depart." Ziyal had remained silent, perhaps frightened by the open hostilities and realizing whatever immunity her relationship with Kira had granted her in the past was not valid here. She shook her head, acknowledging Garak's command, but her eyes were still locked on Dukat as if she feared he was going to be executed when she left. She held up her right hand, her palm perpendicular to her wrist, and stretched her arm towards Dukat. He, in turn, pressed his palm against hers, returning the salutation which was only used between family members and honored friends. Ziyal beamed as her trepidation was overshadowed by a bit of regality. "Please, if you will excuse us," the ambassador said to Garak and Ziyal. Garak nodded and Bashir and Dukat resumed their walk toward their quarters, momentarily leaving the security brigade behind. "Whatever game you're playing, Garak," Odo harshly whispered, "you'd better be careful. Just because the ambassador favors you doesn't mean anyone else does. Another incident like this and I *will* incarcerate you." Bashir stopped in mid-stride as did Dukat. Both turned and faced the changeling who stood in front of Garak. The tailor had pushed Ziyal behind him, a protective arm outstretched to prevent Odo from coming closer to her. "That overwhelming necessity for order," the ambassador commented, "is one trait I had hoped you didn't possess, Odo. These people haven't seen nor have felt the effects of Founder imposed law. They have not lived through, they have not suffered from, nor have they battled against it. I did truly desire this universe to be different somehow. I pray to the Prophets you do not become like our Founders, Odo. Perhaps I will be granted that one wish." Bashir sharply turned and marched away. The four security officers gaped, Worf growled, and Odo glared at Dukat. Ziyal remained behind Garak while the tailor favored Dukat with a curious stare. Dukat gave a short laugh. "It seems you have underestimated humans. Pity. Their insights, emotions, and intuitiveness can be most enlightening. Good day." He waited a few moments, wary to turn his back on the enraged group, and then followed Bashir whose anger fueled his pace. Neither spoke during the minutes it took to travel to the glowing forcefield which blocked the corridor and shimmered in a vast array of colors. The forcefield shut off and Dukat and Bashir crossed into their designated area. Lavelle glanced behind the two officers, obviously searching for their escort, before resetting the shield and noise dampening field to full strength. "Thank you, ensign," Dukat said as the ambassador stalked towards the captain's quarters. "Alert me if we have any more visitors." "Aye, sir!" Lavelle barked and then handed the Cardassian his phaser. "Your weapon, sir." With a curt nod, Dukat accepted the phaser and walked down the corridor. As he came to the door, he noted it was still open, probably O'Brien's way of eliminating the need to ring the door chime. He entered the room, found Bashir and O'Brien seated at the small dining table, and joined them. "The negotiations went as expected," the ambassador reported frostily, jaw set so tightly the muscles seemed to throb with each syllable. "They want technology in exchange for allowing us to repair our ship and obtaining supplies. They even spouted about sharing with other cultures. The longer we can stave them off and get our ship repaired, the better. I don't trust Nechayev or Shakaar, the Starfleet and Bajoran representatives, respectively. If I did have to go through negotiations, I will work directly with Sisko and Kira." "We will need to throw them a bone," O'Brien reasoned carefully, obviously aware of the ambassador's volatile emotional state. "Without those first five items on that list, we're going to be stuck here longer than four days." "A bone?" Bashir snorted as he crossed his arms. "They want the tracking system. They still use blood screenings." "Been awhile for those." "Yes, captain, it has. Perhaps their shifter," he spat harshly, "will be a willing test subject. Dukat has the expertise, although given their attitudes towards Cardassians, I don't know if they will welcome his help." O'Brien laughed darkly, "Julian, you know as well as I do those people out there will drop to their knees and suck him off if it meant they could have that tech." "Honestly, captain," Dukat huffed with mock indignation, "as if I would court such treatment." "The meeting is scheduled for 2300 hours. Our escort will be here at 2245 hours to ensure I don't stray from their designated path." The hostility in Bashir's words was more tangible than O'Brien had expected. The captain guessed, "You ran into some alternates?" "Ziyal and Garak," Dukat explained. "They were walking down the corridor. Ziyal believed I was her father and insisted she meet me. Commander Worf and Odo were none too pleased with the encounter, especially Odo. Given the records the Founder has kept on Garak, it is no surprise. He kept reminding the ambassador of Garak's status as an exile." "And your reaction to that, ambassador?" O'Brien prodded although he knew the answer. "I invited Garak to the meeting." "Did he accept?" "My guess is his attendance will depend solely on if the official Cardassian delegation arrives before the meeting," Bashir stated darkly. "Since the Founder was so intent on dissuading me of Garak's importance, I felt the invitation was more than necessary. It also was a reminder that we can and will entertain other dignitaries besides the UFP and BPG. Now, if you will excuse me, I think I am going to follow your order, captain, and get some rest." The ambassador rose from the table and departed, fists clenched at his side. Once the doors were closed, O'Brien looked at the Cardassian. "That bad?" Dukat stated with a disappointed sigh, "If these people knew one of your titles was 'gul,' it would be more difficult to procure the items we need." "But Julian... he doesn't know about...." "If he did, that shifter wouldn't be alive." *** End Part 6 *** Sisko winced as Odo and Worf relayed their reports. Not only had his two security officers seemed to have insulted Bashir more than Nechayev had, the captain was now dealing with the possibility of Garak bidding on behalf of Cardassia. With the ambassador's obvious favoritism to Cardassia, for whatever reason it was, the behavior of the two officers standing before him had only made it seem that the Federation and Provisional Government weren't willing to share information. "I informed him of Garak's status and he seemed not to care," Odo harrumphed. Sisko shook his head. "He most likely interpreted your warnings as challenges to his authority, an insult to his decision making skills, or even worse, hostilities towards Cardassians. But you said Garak admitted he was an exile." "Bashir asked Garak if he was a representative of Cardassia and Garak gave his typical evasive answer," the shapeshifter grunted. "Our erstwhile Obsidian Order operative then told the ambassador he was a 'plain and simple tailor,' his usual rhetoric when it comes to his status. Of course, the ambassador was intrigued by this." "Whatever role Garak plays in their universe," Sisko mused more to himself, "it must be very important." "Or they want us to think that," Worf said. "Did Garak indicate whether or not he was going to attend?" "No. He just complimented the ambassador," the Klingon replied. "And Dukat didn't seemed bothered by any of this." "He was too busy admiring his daughter," Odo snorted. "He seemed genuine in his praise," Worf observed. The shapeshifter eyed the Klingon dubiously, "Commander, you obviously haven't been around Cardassians long enough." *** He tried to sleep. He honestly did. He got into bed, pulled up the covers, decreased the lighting, increased the room temperature, and closed his eyes. Ambassador Julian Bashir knew exactly what the problem was: the quarters were too large. On the Defiant, he had a small, single room with two bunks, a replicator, and a computer terminal, all of which were built into the walls. The only piece of furniture not bolted down or recessed into the wall was a barely ergonomically correct chair magnetically sealed to the deck. There were no shelves to display personal items or trinkets of art. Closets were considered a waste of space so a covered cubby between the two berths and another between the bottom bunk and the floor were the only places to store clothing. This suite was simply too spacious. It unnerved him. It reminded him of everything he had been forced to give up. Julian had tried to ignore the amenities of his suite: the dining table with two chairs, the sofa, the two lounge chairs, the coffee table, the colorful yet subdued paintings on the walls and the sculptures displayed on the tables and shelves. He had tried not to spend too many moments gazing out of the two portals in the main room and the single portal in the bedroom. He had refrained from hanging his clothing in the somewhat spacious closet or placing one or two articles in each of the six drawers of the dresser. Julian had to remain focused. It was the only way. He could certainly rationalize these events, invoke the "It Is Will of the Prophets" dogma, and console himself that the Prophets were merely testing his faith. That tried and true explanation for unlikely and emotionally distressing events was far too hackneyed and angst-ridden for Julian's tastes. It wasn't as if the Prophets didn't have better things to do than torment a young human whose lover had been murdered. In the grand scheme of things, Julian Bashir did not garner that kind of attention. He wasn't the Emissary. He flopped on his side, tugging the blankets over his shoulder again. After sleeping in a tomb-like berth for over a year, Julian couldn't stand the bed being in the middle of the room. His back was not against the wall as he had become accustomed to; he couldn't touch the cool metal of the bunk above him. Those factors had almost become a reassurance he was safe and that nothing could come crashing in upon him no matter how irrational the concept sounded. Here, he was vulnerable. He was not sheltered by solid duranium. The only thing comforting about his sleeping arrangements was the mattress. Julian rolled on to his back, wondering why he had thought it such a great idea to try and get some sleep. Oh, yes. It was his excuse from the meeting. "This isn't going to work," he muttered aloud and flung the covers off himself and sat up. Like a good soldier, a faithful lieutenant, and a loyal officer, Bashir had tried to set an example for their young crew, but with memories and uncertainties swarming in his head, he knew sleep, at least right now, wasn't going to be an option. He couldn't go see Dukat; the Cardassian was probably enjoying some private time with Ziyal, discussing whatever fathers and daughters talked about. O'Brien was off the list as well. The captain would be busy in his role as surrogate father to Jake, talking about whatever surrogate fathers talked to their surrogate sons about. Brahms and Bashir never spent any time with one another; he found her stubborn and close-minded and she thought he was a manipulative bastard. The only remaining crew member Julian could conceivably chat with was Troi, but the last thing Julian wanted was a "how do you feel" session from the physician who also doubled as the ship's counselor. He got out of bed, slipped on his trousers, and walked over to the portal. Leaning against the cold frame, he stared at the flat canvas of stars, a sight he rarely enjoyed anymore. He didn't have anyone to share it with. The Commander of the First Order was dead, killed in a Dominion attack over two years ago. Julian had lost his mentor, his friend, his lover... a man for whom he would have sacrificed everything. Garak had taught him the finer points of command, how to manipulate his voice to convey more than one message at a time, and the subtle art of verbal tactics. What had Julian offered the one Starfleet officer who could have had any post, any ship, and any position in the First Federation? Undying loyalty. Unswerving faith. A haven where a captain didn't have to be a captain. A wealth of affection unmatched by anyone or anything. Faith. Elim had though so little of it yet respected Julian's beliefs. It was an odd compromise. Everything between Elim and Julian had been a compromise. They balanced each other. Eloquence versus exuberance. Wisdom versus knowledge. Bold statements versus cryptic musings. Passion matched passion. Julian laughed darkly. Poor Jake wanted to leave; he wanted to escape from the reminder of what he could never have. Bashir, on the other hand, wanted to stay or at least cajole a certain "plain and simple tailor" to join him. Neither O'Brien nor Dukat would deny a request for Garak to cross over with them. Neither gul would think much of it, just bury the small detail in one of their reports and by the time someone in Starfleet Command discovered the additional crew member, Garak would be commanding an Order again, or whatever was left of one. Maybe this Elim would be content to revel in political intrigue with Julian. No. It was out of the question. Elim the Tailor, Elim the Exile, would never agree. Yet if Julian were to plead his case properly, to present it to the Cardassian in a manner which would appeal to him.... But the Elim who resided on this station was not his, the reasons for Garak's exile as murky as his past. Bashir was assuming this Elim was a perfect duplicate, a mirror image to the soul of his Chosen. For all Julian's posturing about knowing his duty, playing the game, and ignoring the dopplegangers because one must always assume alternate realities were fundamentally different from his own, he was failing. Dukat and O'Brien knew it as well. Self-control. It was all about self-control. Elim's words, his phrasings, the cadence.... they were all the same.... Julian had given away too much. Clicking his boot heels was a salute on *his* Cardassia that the person being acknowledged was of higher rank, was more prominent, and held more prestige. But who was Julian Bashir to ask for such a favor? He wasn't anyone important. He was just like a billion others whose lovers had been taken away from them. His subderm beeped. "Ambassador, sorry to disturb you," Ensign Kurland apologized, "but a vessel has just decloaked off the Defiant's port side. According to the station's computer, it is a Klingon Bird of Prey." "Thank you, ensign," he replied, "Bashir out." He quickly dressed and went directly to O'Brien's quarters. The doors slid opened and O'Brien walked out, sliding on his jacket. "Never a dull moment, is there?" The captain quipped. "Kurland's picked up a communique from that ship to the station. They're requesting permission to dock and come on board. Lavelle says three more security teams have been dispatched to our two borders. Mighty nervous, these Starfleets." "Lavelle to Captain O'Brien and Ambassador Bashir. Three Cardassians have just beamed over to my checkpoint, sirs. Uh... Gul Dukat is requesting an audience with you." Julian closed his eyes, balling his fists in anger at the injustice. Gul Dukat, former Commander of the Second Order or whatever designation he held now, would be Cardassia's official delegation. The opportunity for Julian to interact with Elim was annihilated. "Julian," the captain began, his voice carrying a hint of warning. the ambassador wondered, making a conscious effort to unclench his hands. Aggravated by O'Brien's coddling, Julian snapped, "Damn it, Miles, I know what the hell I have to do! If you question my competence, then you are more than welcome to handle the negotiations yourself." O'Brien held up his hands in defeat but didn't respond. Bashir forced himself to calm down. He had to be rational. He had to present the same image to Dukat as he had with Nechayev and Shakaar. "Having you and I present may give this Gul Dukat a feeling of superiority, since he probably knows only I spoke with the Federation and Bajoran delegations." "What? Am I not allowed to entertain my double?" Dukat asked with mock disappointment as he approached the two. The insult slipped out before Julian could stop it. "I didn't think one room could contain the egos of two Dukats." *** "Gul Dukat beamed directly to their checkpoint," Dax reported, "and requested a meeting." "Did the ambassador grant him an audience?" Sisko demanded, storming over to her station and leaning over her shoulder. "The shield lowered and they let him in," the Trill said. "Given what happened earlier today, I guess we shouldn't be too surprised." "Just disappointed, old man." "Nechayev is going to have a fit, isn't she?" "Between you and me, I don't think I'm going to have much of my posterior left after this is all over," Ben admitted in a low tone, "and I'm damned tired of it." "We still have three hours before the meeting reconvenes," Jadzia attempted to reassure him. "Maybe the ambassador just wants to make sure all players are involved. If he's making us wait, he'll probably do the same to Gul Dukat. He needs us, Benjamin, whether he likes it or not. They have to repair their ship and they're docked on our station. If Bashir doesn't realize this, I'm sure Captain O'Brien will remind him. Several times." "I hope you're right, old man." *** The ambassador did not rise out of his chair to greet his guest. He remained seated with his elbows resting on the armrests and his hands neatly folded in his lap. In Bashir's universe, standing and greeting Gul Dukat would have indicated they were equals. The ambassador didn't particularly care what it meant here, but he did wonder if Dukat recognized the snub. The gul had entered alone, leaving his two guards outside of the ambassador's quarters. While it seemed noble and courageous to enter a foreign diplomat's private chambers without an escort, the gesture reeked with the type of arrogance which was annoying. There were several reasons Bashir was in a foul mood, the most recent being O'Brien insisting that the Defiant's security chief be present during the gul's audience with the ambassador. Julian had thought to himself, His Dukat had stationed himself just inside of the ambassador's bedroom to observe the proceedings. "Good afternoon, Ambassador Bashir," Dukat began with a sharp nod. There was no offer of a handshake, no traditional Terran gestures of greetings, just the formal Cardassian salute. Perhaps Julian had misjudged the situation. Perhaps this Dukat was an ally of Garak's. Someone had to have relayed his penchant for Cardassian customs, and the ambassador wondered if Garak was trying to use this opportunity to get back into the good graces of Central Command. "On behalf of the Cardassian Empire, I bid you welcome. We are most pleased to have this opportunity to speak with you." Bashir returned the salute with a slight tip of his head, but chose to ignore the flowery greetings. He stared at the Cardassian before him, tallying up his odds of winning this verbal confrontation as he mentally recalled the information he had been given earlier about this Cardassian officer. "Your title is gul. Am I correct?" "Yes, ambassador," the Cardassian smiled and seemed pleased with the question. "I am Gul Dukat. When I was informed of your crossover, I immediately came here. I hope you are being treated well." "As well as I can be in an alternate universe," the ambassador replied evasively. The Cardassian clasped his hands behind his back, his armor creaking with the movement. It was a strange sound, one Bashir was unused to. One of the many reasons First Federation Starfleet uniforms were designed as such was to eliminate the squeaks and jangles which could alert an enemy to an officer's location. While gul's uniform was a fascinating piece of work -- impressive body armor which emphasized the unique scales and ridges of Cardassians -- it wasn't a uniform Bashir particularly cared for. Besides looking cumbersome, it made the wearer automatically seem more pompous and conceited, two characteristics this Dukat seem to have in spades. Gul Dukat didn't fidget or pace as he spoke or as he waited for Bashir's response. Instead, the gul stood at a respectful distance andposture conveying he was at ease with the situation. Dukat's bandoleer, styled much like the one the Klingon sported and worn the same way, glittered in the low lighting of the quarters. Julian mentally shook himself, wanting to get this meeting over with as soon as possible. He modulated his voice to sound bland and disinterested. He couldn't allow the anger and resentment over the gul's appearance to mar his tone. "You are the official representative from Cardassia." "That is correct, ambassador." "Yet you arrived in a Klingon Bird of Prey." "The Klingons invaded the Cardassian Empire, ambassador," Dukat informed him, "and they continue to attack our colonies. I am merely protecting my people from these barbarities. The Klingon ship is a..." "Trophy," Bashir filled in. "My choice of words, ambassador, would not have been trophy," the gul corrected politely. "It is a reminder to the Klingons Cardassia will not tolerate the murder of innocents." Julian mentally repeated. He didn't laugh aloud at the contradiction; the Cardassian Empire had slaughtered millions of Bajorans during the Occupation and Dukat was obviously waiting for Bashir to bring up that particular point. "Captain Sisko was most kind to provide me with an interpretation of Cardassian politics," Julian stated. The gul merely tilted his head forward expectantly and did not launch into an automatic defense. However, the ambassador did hear the gul's breathy snort. He'd scored a point against Dukat, a feeling he savored for a few nanoseconds, and then gave the Cardassian an opportunity to launch into the glories of his Empire. "There are some similarities to the government which I represent." "Ambassador, I believe the Terran expression is comparing 'apples to oranges,'" Dukat responded. While it was an unusual answer, it wasn't an unexpected one. "I'm glad we understand each other, gul," the ambassador praised. He narrowed his eyes as he tacked on, "Your intelligence operatives should be applauded for their work. However, I am surprised that you did not bring Ziyal with you. A shame, actually, since she is a very charming woman." Dukat laughed, shaking his head as he spoke. "You are to be admired, ambassador, for your astute observations and direction of conversation. I will, of course, pass along your assessment of my daughter. She will be most pleased." "There is a meeting at 2300 hours at the wardroom. I highly suggest you attend, gul." The smile temporarily froze on Dukat's face; he was surprised he was being dismissed before even having a chance to plead whatever his case was. As Bashir was about to make a comment about Garak, his subderm beeped and O'Brien's voice pounded through his head. "Their wormhole's opened. We've got two Type One 'Hadar ships. Sisko's station and ship can barely handle them." The ambassador rocketed to his feet, startling Gul Dukat who immediately took a step back and assumed a defense posture. O'Brien continued, "The 'Hadar's weapons are powered up. The Defiant's systems are too damaged to go after them, let alone take any more hits. They'll be in range in two minutes." Bashir's Dukat then stepped out of the shadows and approached his surprised double. He relayed O'Brien's message to the gul and added, "What type of weapon systems do you use?" "Modified disruptors and photon torpedoes," the gul responded warily. "Why?" "Transport me to your ship," the security chief demanded. "Between your vessel, the station, and Sisko's Defiant, we should be able to rid ourselves of our unexpected guests. Otherwise you will have one less ship to kill Klingons with." With a sharp nod, Gul Dukat opened a comm channel, gave the necessary orders, and both Cardassians were beamed out of the ambassador's quarters. "Julian, I need you in Ops," O'Brien commanded. "Tell them what to shoot at. Tell them how to rotate their shields. I'll be on the Defiant, arguing with that Klingon. O'Brien out." *** End Part 7 *** "You are not authorized to be on this ship!" "You wanted our help, right? You want to defeat those 'Hadar? I have twelve years experience to your one. I win. Now get the hell out of that fucking chair!" Captain O'Brien roared at the Klingon. The bridge crew of the Defiant, including a very stunned Trill and a gaping Bajoran major, held their breaths. O'Brien's impromptu appearance surprised everyone, especially Worf who had initially believed the chief had mistakenly transported to the bridge. However, Chief O'Brien had never publicly challenged the Klingon and never looked so absolutely irate. Worf stood, using his height in an attempt to intimidate the shorter, stockier Irishman. "Sisko to Defiant! Why haven't you launched?" "Captain Sisko," O'Brien answered before Worf had a chance to speak, "I've beamed directly on board this ship and offer my services as a seasoned captain who battles with these bastards every damned day. Do you accept?" There was a brief pause, perhaps from shock but more than likely Sisko was listening to the shrill-toned admiral giving him an order. "Mister Worf," Sisko finally said, "transfer command to Captain O'Brien. Captain, I want my ship back. In one piece." "Wouldn't have it any other way," O'Brien grinned and then clapped Worf on the shoulder. "Strategic Operations Officer, eh? Is that a fancy name for tactician?" Worf glowered, obviously humiliated, as he stepped down from the command chair. "I hold a level five. . ..." "That doesn't mean shit to me, commander," O'Brien replied, still smiling. "Just man your post." Reluctantly, the Klingon went over to the tactical station. "Commander Dax, get us underway." *** The title of ambassador, in Julian's case, was a misnomer. Besides being a diplomat, he was also an accomplished pilot and tactical officer, two positions borne from years of being at war with one polity or another. With Dukat on the Klingon ship and O'Brien commanding the alternate version of the Defiant, it only made sense he advise those in the Operations center of this station on how to defend themselves. Bashir had ordered Jake to accompany him, and although the young man protested the interruption of his work on the Defiant, he followed Bashir's directive. The ambassador did not want to surprise Captain Sisko by beaming into the station's command center, so he and Jake arrived via the turbolift. As the turbolift stopped and he and Jake stepped off, Captain Sisko drily commented, "I suppose you're here to offer your expertise as well." Bashir smiled as he walked down to the command center. "If that is acceptable, captain." Sisko barely nodded; instead he was focused on the young man standing at the head of the stairs. The ambassador cleared his throat slightly. "Captain Sisko, this is our chief engineer, Jake Sisko." "Sir," Jake curtly acknowledged, almost refusing to look at Benjamin Sisko. "Mister Sisko," the captain replied. "I'd like the chief to man the operations console, captain, while I handle tactical," Bashir said. Captain Sisko nodded silently and Bashir and Jake went to their respective stations. The ambassador began punching up station schematics and suddenly felt the presence of the captain over his shoulder. "Get Sisko to initiate contact," O'Brien ordered through Julian's subderm. The ambassador tapped the back of his ear, realizing everyone was watching him. "Acknowledged." Bashir glanced to Captain Sisko. "Captain O'Brien suggests you open the dialogue, captain. The Jem'Hadar will be expecting you. We can't tip our hand just yet." "Hail them," the captain said. "Comm line open," Jake crisply responded. Ben Sisko steadied himself as he inwardly reminded himself the young man acting as his operations officer was not his son. "Sisko to Jem'Hadar vessel...." The ship answered by releasing a volley of phaser fire. "Incoming!" Bashir warned. The station rocked from the blasts. "Rotating the shield modulations. They are targeting the Defiant." "Reconfiguring the phaser banks to fire at higher frequencies," Jake called back. "The Defiant and the Klingon ship are returning fire," the ambassador announced. "Switching to tactical view." The Ops main view screen switched from the Jem'Hadar warship that had fired upon the station to the readout the ambassador requested. The crew watched as Dukat's ship jockeyed into position behind the first Jem'Hadar warship while the Defiant remained protectively in front of the station. Admiral Nechayev and First Minister Shakaar exited from Sisko's office and went directly to the central command station, their eyes glued to the tactical scan. Ben cursed inwardly, wondering how the hell the Jem'Hadar warships were able to get here so fast. Having his son's counterpart acting as an officer was also disconcerting, enough so that it drew his attention away from the pyrotechnics which were registering on the screen. "Yes, sir. I know that, sir." Jake sounded exasperated. "But they don't *have* those type phasers.... Three hours at the earliest, and that's with Sito *and* Nog!" "Ambassador," the captain hissed, tired of being privy to only one side of the conversation, "I want your communiques broadcasted for all of us to hear." Bashir met the angered captain's glare and then gave his assent, his hands flying over the comm controls and then he announced, "Broadcasting to Ops, audio only." Sisko didn't know which captain Bashir was addressing, but he didn't care. "Minor damage to the upper pylons," the ambassador reported. "Rerouting all auxiliary power to shields," Jake said. The four ships continued to exchange volleys as they flew around the station. Occasionally, Bashir would target and fire the station's phasers, but his attempts seemed anemic compared to Dukat and O'Brien's continual barrage of the Jem'Hadar. "Alpha is going after the NX. O'Brien to intercept," Jake relayed. "Dukat's engaging Beta." "Bashir," O'Brien's voice thundered through the comm link, "torpedo starboard aft on my mark!" "Acknowledged." "Three... two... one... MARK!" Bashir fired the weapons just as the Jem'Hadar ship Jake had termed Alpha arched over the upper pylon to chase after the Defiant. At the same moment, the Defiant released her torpedoes and scored hits on the port aft of the ship. The Alpha ship exploded, debris slamming into the station's shields which in turn caused DS9 to shudder. "Captain O'Brien," Jake called out, "these shields can't take another buffeting like that, sir!" He paused, frowned at the console. "Sir, I'm picking up a low band comm frequency emanating from Beta." Bashir glanced over to Captain Sisko. "Do you have a communications relay system on the other side of the wormhole?" "Yes." "Dukat's ship is deflecting the signal.... Attempt failed," Jake announced. "I'm accessing the comm relay... reprogramming receiver...." His eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Beta is broadcasting recon information... Standard 'Hadar coding... I've activated the diagnostic system...." Jake furiously worked the console. Muniz, the engineer who had been manning the Ops station before Jake had taken over, hovered next to Jake, paying close attention to what the young engineer was doing just as Ben was with Bashir. Even if the ambassador would refuse to share their anti-Dominion technology, the Federation and the BPG now had raw data from which to analyze the tactical maneuvers of these alternates. It was a small consolation, but one which Ben doubted anyone would complain about. "Comm blackout achieved!" Jake declared with a broad grin, but the moment his eyes met Ben's, the smile faded, and he was back to his somber self. The rejection stung. Ben tried to brush it off, but it didn't want to leave. The tactical screen was still devoted to Dukat and O'Brien's fending off the remaining Jem'Hadar, the Klingon ship effectively blocking the wormhole from the enemy vessel. Ben peered closer at the readouts Bashir had called out, impressed with the ambassador's obvious skills as a tactical officer and ease with which the man handled the equipment. Admittedly, the captain was bothered by the almost lethargic manner in which Bashir was defending the station. DS9's weapon systems had been upgraded to the level of the Defiant's but they weren't being exploited. Then he recalled O'Brien's specific order to Bashir before they destroyed the first Jem'Hadar warship. The station's phaser shots, while intermittent, had been specifically targeted to the area which had been pummeled moments before by the Defiant's torpedoes. The higher calibration of the station's phasers weakened the Jem'Hadar shields and Dukat followed up with disruptor fire. They were weakening the shields, capitalizing on three different types of weapons, and the final one-two punch from the Defiant and DS9 had destroyed the first Jem'Hadar ship. "Captain O'Brien," Dukat's voice boomed, "target the forward starboard shields! Sisko, recalibrate to configuration Sig Ep Four!" "Acknowledged," the two men responded. Jake glanced over to the ambassador, curiosity clear in his features. "The Temple?" "I know, chief," Bashir sounded as if he were amused, "I know." Ben refrained from grabbing the ambassador's shoulder and turning the man to face him so he would explain. There were a few nanoseconds while both Bashir and Jake punched in commands and then the ambassador's head jerked up, his eyes on the view screen. "Dukat will negatively charge the neutrino waves from the wormhole entrance to cause shield failure to the Jem'Hadar ship." "He could destroy the wormhole!" Shakaar protested. "No," the ambassador corrected with the tone of a schoolteacher reprimanding an errant student, "the Temple will remain intact." Ben thought. Dukat's ship shot towards the wormhole, the Jem'Hadar doggedly following, and the wormhole flared to life. Just as Bashir had described, Dukat used the neutrino waves to neutralize the Jem'Hadar shields and torpedoes from the Defiant struck the enemy vessel. "Beta destroyed!" A cheer went up in Ops as Sisko ordered the stand down to yellow alert. Nechayev marched over to the ambassador and extended her hand. "Thank you, ambassador." *** "Well executed!" Dukat vacated the command chair and faced his alternate. "An interesting choice of words." "It is appropriate," the gul smiled and clapped his hands once. "You are an splendid tactician and have an understanding of a foreign vessel which is most impressive." "You assume this is the first time I have commanded a Klingon Bird of Prey," he said with condescension. It was a lie, a blatant one in fact, but he delivered it convincingly enough that his alternate became wary. The gul nodded and then gestured towards a door to his right, "Perhaps we can discuss this in a quieter setting." Dukat refrained from sneering, but agreed, knowing the gul did not want his crew to overhear any disparaging comments he, the gul's counterpart in another universe, would make. The Cardassian crew had been taken aback when both Dukats appeared on the bridge and had been made even more uneasy when the Defiant's Dukat took command and ordered a series of recalibrations. The crew operated efficiently, acknowledging the changes even though their gul had been relegated to an observer. Now, the battle was over, victory was achieved, and this gul was now poised to make his argument for his Empire and give his speech, one Cardassian to another. They entered the small cabin, Dukat surprised that it was not a captain's office but instead a stark little room with a table and two chairs. He knew the design and layout of a ship gave a unique perspective of a culture. While his Defiant was technically a warship, the amenities discarded in favor of sleeker design, there was still a captain's office and conference room which was, at least in Dukat's opinion, quite posh. Here, the Klingons obviously didn't believe in conferences nor had this gul made any structural changes to indicate otherwise. To most, having a conversation with yourself was disconcerting. O'Brien had a few choice words about the subject and almost always included a discourse on temporal mechanics, one of the few things the Terran captain despised more than alternate realities and botched phases. The two occasions Dukat had an opportunity to engage in conversation with his doppleganger, he had found it positively fascinating. Both had been striking contrasts to himself, one a physician and another... the Cardassian inwardly smiled. The second alternate had been so unlike him that O'Brien still found the idea humorous and always seemed to make a less-than-veiled reference to that particular alternate in situations involving "miracles." Kai Dukat indeed. This version however, was a gul. He was a former commander of the Second Order. He was the former Prefect of Terek Nor and oversaw the occupational forces of Bajor. They were duties and titles Dukat could respect and even somewhat admire. However, these positions were all "former" appointments. This gul now chased down errant Klingons without official sanction or opposition of his government. Ambassador Bashir was supposed to believe Gul Dukat was the official representative of Cardassia. Of course, the vessel was probably the closest the Empire had to the station and the gul was a proven negotiator. "My compliment was sincere." Dukat waved away the comment as he sat down. "You have never fought against 'Hadar, have you?" "Not directly." "Then you do not realize how lucky you just were. Without the Defiant or DS9, you would have been utterly defeated." "I realize that. Why else would you have volunteered your services? The Empire needs commanders like yourself, who know Jem'Hadar tactics." "You will have to learn those tactics on your own. To assume both Jem'Hadars are the same is to believe we are the same, gul. We are not. They are not." "You were surprised, then, of your victory." "Your 'Hadar are not as lethal as ours." "Then the weapons you possess will...." "I am not the person whom you should be convincing, gul. It is Ambassador Bashir." "You will let your own brethren..." "You are not my brethren, gul. If you were, you would have been executed the moment you allowed that Founder to become your chief of security on Terek Nor." "Ah, so you charge us of ignorance when we did not know of Odo's true origins or of the wormhole?" "Your people have no foresight then? You had the opportunity to *study* a being who could assume any form yet you let it slip through your fingers. He could have been *your* asset. Instead, you fight this futile war with the Klingons. Do you not realize when the Dominion decides to invade the Alpha Quadrant, your private war has not liberated Cardassia from the Klingons, but has weakened your people!" "I don't need a lecture...." "But you do, gul. I am afraid you have no inkling of what awaits you. Perhaps you will be fortunate. Perhaps you will not have to constantly defend your homeland, your people, from the Dominion. The Dominion give you two choices: fight or become their puppets. If you think Klingons invading your Empire is horrific, you have never seen the carnage the Dominion is capable of. It goes beyond mere battles in space. They poison your people. They impersonate your leaders. They induce such paranoia that one can never be sure that who they meet or what they see is not a changeling. My own people have fallen victim to it. You are only facilitating the Dominion, gul, with what you are doing." "Then you will not share your technology." "To do so will be committing treason. The punishment is execution." "People may try and take the information by force." "I highly suggest you do not try that tactic, gul. You will be destroyed." Dukat rose from his seat, eye to eye with his alternate who was clenching his fists in frustration. "Good day, Gul Dukat." *** "You handled her like a..." "Professional?" Captain O'Brien filled in, meeting Dax's gaze with cool stare as they walked down the Defiant's corridor toward the airlock. "It's what I do for a living, commander." "I meant it as a compliment." "Everyone does, commander," the captain returned flatly. "If you want to be kissing up to someone, it should be Bashir. I don't know what your fellow officers did, but he's mighty angry. It's been a while since I've seem him this aggravated." "We don't get crossovers, captain," the Trill replied with a small smile. "It's hard for people to separate Ambassador Bashir from Doctor Bashir, just as it's difficult for people to remember you're a captain not a chief of operations." "I know the excuses, commander," O'Brien sighed and ran a hand through his hair. A smiled twitched at her lips as she recognized the gesture which was the chief's way of silently conveying he was frustrated or tired or both. The captain looked no better than he had when his ship had first docked and sympathy flooded her. "People always want something from you, don't they?" she guessed. "They want you to defend them, to attack the Jem'Hadar, to give words of wisdom, to share technology...." "You sound like a friend of mine," he interrupted as they walked through the airlock. "Who?" "His name doesn't matter, commander." "If it didn't, you wouldn't have brought it up." "I brought it up to change the subject, commander." The sharp, succinct comment threw Jadzia off enough for her to scramble for something to say. "Captain Sisko says you've been at war for over eighteen years." As she finished the sentence, she realized how asinine it sounded. Dax blushed, wondering why the wisdom of seven hosts suddenly vanished when she tried to make conversation with Captain O'Brien. "I've been at it long enough to know you've got an information leak on your station, commander," O'Brien shot back crisply, "beyond your usual intelligence agents too. Someone had to get a message to those 'Hadar warships. They specifically went after my Defiant. First guess would be your changeling, but I'm just an old captain who has lost a helluva lot to those bastards. Regardless, you've got yourself a problem, commander." *** End Part 8 ***