"Albert to Captain O'Brien.... Um... *Chief* O'Brien is here, sir."

As he shimmied out from under the main console in engineering,
Captain O'Brien called out, "On my way," before walking over to
the Jefferies tube Jake was holed up in. He gave the engineer a light
tap on the foot and said, "We've got ourselves some new toys."

Jake grabbed his tricorder. "I hope they're giving us something
compatible."

"Aw, Jake!" teased the older man. "Don't like a challenge now? You
can't tell me you're not the least bit interested in their tech. I saw
you monkeying with the replicator last night."

"The rokassa juice tasted terrible," he defended, not wanting to
admit to pulling off the cover to the replicator and studying the
inner workings. The captain didn't pursue the matter further, only
clapped him good-naturedly on the shoulder as they made their way to
the airlock.

Standing guard was Josh Albert who acknowledged them both and
then stepped aside as they approached. "Looks like they filled your
wish list, sir."

O'Brien peered through the windows and smiled. "So it seems,
ensign. C'mon, Jake, let's see what we've got." 

Once they got past the second set of rolling doors, Chief O'Brien
stepped forward. The two O'Briens stared at each other for a moment,
but the thrill of meeting his alternate self had worn off long ago, at
least for Captain O'Brien. Perhaps it was the same for the chief
because, although the man looked a bit uncomfortable, he didn't seem
overtly distracted. The chief held out a padd.

Nodding to both the captain and Jake, he said, "We've been able to
find most of the equipment and parts on your list. There were a few
items we didn't have in stock and the replicators couldn't reproduce,
so I took the liberty of tossing in a few things which... may or may
not help."

The captain accepted the padd and glanced over it. "Looks like we'll
have most of the things to get us underway." He handed the board to
Jake as he continued to speak to the chief. "Pass along my thanks.
It's not often we find a friendly port."

"I will," the chief replied, but watched Jake as the younger man
began inspecting the pile on the anti-grav cart. Jake then picked up
an oddly shaped tool and studied it for a few moments. The chief
called out, "That's a modified conduit welder." He sounded almost
apologetic in his explanation, as if worried he would insult Jake.

Sisko suddenly grinned, "Let me guess... for that one circuit at
Juncture K5B3. The one that always blows whenever she takes a
shot to the aft port shield?"

"You probably already have one then," the chief chuckled.

"Actually, no... but this will be great! Um..." he glanced over to the
captain with a hopeful look in his eyes. "Sir, could he and I... um...
go over this stuff together? That is, if you," he nodded to the chief,
"have time."

"That's why they sent me," the chief replied and walked over to the
cart. If Jake had any ill-will or uncertainty dealing with the
alternate O'Brien, it didn't show in his face. He probably saw it as
an opportunity to compare notes with another engineer. The two began
talking, both hesitant at first, but once they focused on the actual
equipment, the tension eased immediately. After Brahms' outburst in
the meeting just thirty minutes ago, the chief had probably expected
an icy reception.

The captain stepped back, not wanting to interfere with the
conference, and crossed his arms across his chest. Miles sighed, his
thoughts traveling back to Brahms' formal protest of handing over the
tracking technology. Already it had caused an uneasy stir with the
crew; Miles had no doubt rumors that the entire crew would be
court-martialed and executed because they committed "treason" were now
circulating. Brahms' ranting the moment she stepped off the
transporter hadn't helped matters either. Even though he had
painstakingly explained at the briefing this morning that they were
*not* committing treason because they were *not* in the proper
universe and that they had *no* other alternative, he knew a majority
of his crew didn't accept that rationalization.

The sound of the airlock doors rolling open snapped him out of his
internal musings. Troi exited, first giving the "all clear" hand
signal to Jake to assure the engineer that there was no shifter hidden
inside of the equipment, and then walked towards the captain. Chief
O'Brien had caught the sign as well and glanced briefly over his
shoulder to meet the captain's eyes before returning to his
conversation with Jake.

Troi stood by his side and watched the two engineers. Her voice was
deliberately pitched low as she gave her assessment. "Mister O'Brien
is slightly disoriented, a feeling directly attributable to the
current circumstances and Brahms' outburst at the meeting this
morning. He is understandably wary, however explaining the equipment
with Jake sets him at ease. He has a genuine affection for Jake and a
sympathy for our situation." She hesitated, waiting for the captain to
absorb her words. "Jake doesn't harbor any ill-will towards Mister
O'Brien. He can't. He sees you when he talks to him. He knows what
you're doing is right."

Empaths. If a commanding officer didn't start a conversation with them
right away, they always thought they had to give an opinion of
people's feelings, Troi especially. O'Brien appreciated her
commentary; he always liked to compare his impressions of the person
in question with hers. Her unrequested presence here was a clear
indication she firmly believed she felt they needed to discuss
something although she had disguised it as a "security check." Yes,
she was certainly clever when she wanted to be.

He knew what she was driving at: the crew's reaction to sharing the
anti-Dominion tech. The UFP and BPG may be prejudiced against
Cardassians (and to some extent Carjorans), but neither group could
even match the racism O'Brien's crew felt towards the Dominion and
anyone who "collaborated" with them. Having a Founder on this station
and functioning in a position of command had been bad enough, but the
announcement that the tracking system would be handed over had sent
the more paranoid, militant factions of O'Brien's crew literally on
the warpath. Before, when his crew had been divided, the solidarity of
O'Brien's command staff had been the one factor which eventually led
to a reconciliation, or at least a grudging acceptance of events.
Brahms' dissent had been untimely as well as a striking blow against
the captain's efforts to keep his crew calm and in-line; Prophets only
knew how the fallout would affect them when and *if* they returned to
their proper reality.

In his mind, Miles really had no other alternative. Captain Sisko
allowed the Defiant to dock and complete repairs, not to mention
giving O'Brien's crew a place to stay while they fixed the ship. Maybe
he adhered to an archaic, unspoken law of space travel that it was
only polite to show appreciation to the people who, as his grandfather
would say, "pulled your ass out of the fire." Dukat seemed to follow
that rule as well, although the Cardassian would quickly claim his
reasoning was due to an interpretation of Federation law, not some
out-dated "Code of Honor" among captains. As for Bashir... O'Brien
snorted to himself. The ambassador's motivations, in this case, were
obvious.

O'Brien pursed his lips as he watched Jake and Troi's words echoed in
his mind, <He knows what you're doing is right.> He huffed ruefully,
"Yeah, but he may be the only one."

If the doctor was surprised he had uncharacteristically kicked open
the door for her to waltz in and counsel him, she gave no indication.
Her voice was hushed and even. "The only one? Dukat and Bashir don't
count?" she queried almost teasingly. He answered with a scowl. She
shrugged her shoulders. "Hmm...  Ziyal and I know this is the only way
for us to secure the items we need. Nog, Sito, and Sutter are
intensely loyal to you especially and Dukat to a lesser degree. But
you are correct. Most of them feel this is wrong. You've done an
admirable job of squelching the feelings of opposition, but you are
fighting a greater enemy: time. They have time to think. They have
time to feel."

"How close am I to a mutiny, doctor?"

"I believe 'mutiny' is too strong of a term. The discord will not
result in a complete revolt against authority. They know the
Federation needs you... needs Dukat if we are to defeat the 'Hadar.
They will continue to follow you, but their faith has been weakened."

"They're going to break."

"*We* are going to break," she corrected. "Despite their feelings of
malice towards the residents of this station, they desire a chance
to... to forget for just a few hours. To *live* a few moments. Surely
you can understand that, captain. After all, you did grant Ambassador
Bashir his..." she trailed off, not wanting to discuss the matter more
specifically, and then fixed him with a cool stare. "Not extending a
similar courtesy to the rest of your crew will result in even more
discontent."

"Carpe diem."

"Sir?"

"It was something Garak said to me once, something he made Julian
promise he'd do. Seize the day."

"Sequestering the crew when we first docked was the correct
choice, captain. At that time, it was best for them. Now, however...
My father once said, 'In for a penny, in for a pound.'"

He squeezed her shoulder. "Thanks, Kes."

She patted his hand affectionately, pleased he'd used her nickname.
"It's not often I can counsel you, captain."

***

Ben Sisko wasn't expecting Captain Miles O'Brien. Neither was
Nechayev, Shakaar, Kira. . . hell, no one foresaw the captain of the
Defiant calling a quiet meeting in the corridors of DS9 twenty minutes
after Dukat had joined Dax, Odo and Chief O'Brien in Science Lab Three
to work on the tracking system.

Ben and O'Brien walked down the corridor, the same fateful
corridor where Ambassador Bashir and Dukat had met Garak and
Ziyal. They didn't have a security entourage. O'Brien had been
specific about the meeting, citing there was no reason for all the
security hype and Ben had conceded to O'Brien's point.

O'Brien still looked exhausted, though, and Ben recognized the
thicker accent which always characterized the after-effects of Chief
O'Brien's occasional multi-shift engineering marathons. Still, the
Irish captain seemed in a relatively good mood.

"You understand our hesitancy about revealing our technology,"
O'Brien said.

"I know about your crew's feelings towards Odo."

"Ah! Sharp as always," O'Brien chuckled, obviously used to
addressing Sisko by the way the captain immediately dropped the
formalism. "Saves time. Don't have to be explaining every little
thing. Should have heard the arguments about treaties and the whole
list of regulations. The biggest problem is that we can't track your
security chief. Driving my engineers nuts, it is, and since they're so
young and the Dominion has been able to create such paranoia in the
past... Hell, I'm sure you understand about that, being a captain and
all."

"Somewhat."

"You see, they're working themselves to death trying to get the ship
fixed, so they can get back to a place where they know the rules,
where they know who the enemy is. This is the first time in six or
seven months at least we haven't been on yellow or red alert. They
have time to think."

Ben glanced over to O'Brien who was busy taking in the Cardassian
architecture. "Things going that bad for your side?"

O'Brien raised an eyebrow and fixed Ben with a penetrating gaze.
"There are only thirteen ships like the Defiant left." He paused, as
if letting the number sink in. "That's why we tote the ambassador
around. It's his job to convince non-aligned governments to join our
fight. Done a damned fine job at it, adding sixteen or seventeen since
he became part of my crew. He's a bit brash, a bit arrogant, and
damned annoying when he wants to be, but that's just part of what he
does."

"Sounds like my chief of operations' assessment of my chief medical
officer," Ben commented, wondering just where O'Brien was going with
this conversation.

O'Brien laughed then turned serious again, "There are a few other odds
and ends we can send you. Maybe a polaron emitter? That keeps a
Founder from shapeshifting. It's a rather nasty bit of tech, but it
has its advantages."

"I'm sure it does."

The Irishman snorted, "Captain Sisko, let me explain one thing to you:
Our technology was never designed to be benevolent to shapeshifters."

"I figured as much," he said drily as a thought struck him. O'Brien
was appealing to him as a command officer, as a man fiercely
protecting his crew against the enemy, and simply as another man. Like
Bashir and Dukat, there was always a reason behind the captain's
words, that certain hidden meaning which made them all sound so damned
elusive it was frustrating. O'Brien sounded as if he were trying to
convince himself of something, or work up the courage to ask a favor,
one captain to another. He pointedly reminded Sisko that their
Starfleet and Federation were *different* from Sisko's, but had also
emphasized his crew reacted just as any other Starfleet crew would to
the situation. Ben gave the other captain a piercing look. "You want
something else, don't you, captain?"

"Never could slip one by you, could I?" O'Brien chuckled quietly. He
sighed and returned his attention to the bulkheads, as if he was
fascinated by them. "Troi's pushing for a night on the town. You know
how CMO's can be about things like this." He paused, yet still refused
to look at Sisko. His voice was soft, lacking boisterousness which
characterized both O'Briens' speech. He sounded exhausted, almost
defeated, and as if hating himself for making the request in the first
place. "Just a few hours, say two or three. With the way things are
going, Captain Sisko, I need all the inspiration I can get. We have an
opportunity, and damned if Troi is going to miss out on an
opportunity."

"We're Collaborators, captain," Ben reminded him. "At least,
according to your chief science officer we are."

"Perhaps," he conceded and then looked directly at Sisko. "But
*you* are the Emissary of the Prophets." He said it as if it explained
everything, as if it solved all the potential problems. Perhaps, for
O'Brien's clan, it did.

"I'll see what I can do."

***

He held back a growl before tapping in a new set of commands to
the computer. After four solid hours, he had accomplished nothing. He
remembered his words to Brahms, how she couldn't be expected to solve
in a few hours what had taken their Federation almost 10 years to
figure out. However, she did not have to contend with Odo who stood in
the middle of Science Lab Three with a half-mocking grin on his face.
Dukat did his best to ignore the Founder but found it increasingly
difficult. Each time he had attempted to scan for the shifter in a
vain hope it would detect *something,* he had failed. Commander Dax
worked on the console to his left while Chief O'Brien moved about the
room adjusting sensors.

The Trill, at least, had sense enough not to point out the
shortcomings of the equipment. The chief had refrained from
disparaging comments as well, but offered suggestions on boosting the
power to the tricorder or modifying the lab's internal sensors to
match the configurations of the tricorder.

It was more than mildly annoying; Dukat could think of dozens of
more productive ways to waste time than trying to detect a
molecular distortion on a being who just didn't have said distortion.
He couldn't take his frustration out on the Trill or the human since
it would be a frightening display of poor manners and self-control,
but the infernal, mocking smile that played across the Founder's face
made it increasingly difficult to focus on the task at hand.

Dax sighed and flopped back in her chair. "I, for one, could use a
round at Quark's."

"Same here," the chief agreed, but didn't look up from the sensor unit
he was tinkering with.

"It's a little early in the day, commander," Odo sharply replied. The
voice caused Dukat to automatically look up and find the owner; the
changeling crossed his arms triumphantly, as if thrilled he'd been
able to attract the Cardassian's attention.

"For you, maybe," the Trill shot back playfully, "but for me... I
could at least go for a decent meal."

"At Quark's?" O'Brien laughed in disbelief. "You must be more tired
than I am to think Quark's has decent food."

"The replicators on the blink again?"

"Well, if Quark would stop trying to reprogram the damned things, it
wouldn't be so much of a problem," the chief bantered. The two shared
a chuckle before becoming somber.

"C'mon, Dukat," Dax tried again, "we're not in a red alert situation.
Not yet anyway. Besides, we've waited years to have this type of tech.
I'm sure we can wait another thirty minutes."

"Only if Odo will join us," Dukat countered pleasantly as he stood up.
"After all," he nodded to the shapeshifter, "you have been most
generous with your time."

"If you think I'm going to let you out of my sight, Dukat," grunted
the changeling, "you're wrong."

Dax and Odo probably didn't hear the slight huff O'Brien made; the
only reason Dukat heard it was because of his subderm, but he
understood the meaning all too well. The changeling had been making
remarks, almost insulting on several occasions, since Dukat had joined
their group four hours ago, and the chief was clearly tired of it.
Unfortunately, this O'Brien did not have the rank to back himself up
if he told Odo to stop. Dax did, but the commander had obviously
decided to let Dukat fend for himself.

The Cardassian noted how the human seemed to linger in the room
and then remembered what he had read about this O'Brien. A
decorated hero from the Federation-Cardassian War. The Setlik III
Massacre. If anyone in the group had justification to hurl
indignities, it would be O'Brien, not a being who claimed he wished to
help. Of course, Odo could still harbor resentment from their first
encounter. It was, after all, possible. Dukat never claimed he
understood the psychology of Founders.

"I am curious, Dukat," Odo began as they exited the science lab out
onto the Promenade, "as to what Commander Brahms had said."

There was slight emphasis on the rank, another subtle prick at
Dukat's pride. Yes, the Cardassian had "slipped" during this
morning's meeting in calling down the science officer, but it was the
only way to keep her outburst from being more damaging than it already
had been. Dax, who had been leading, glanced back briefly. O'Brien,
who brought up the rear, huffed again. Dukat simply nodded for Odo to
continue.

"A changeling offered to assist your Federation and you accepted. As
cautious as you are, Dukat, I find it hard to believe you would trust
them."

"Oh, I'm sure you are familiar with the story. A diplomatic envoy from
the Gamma Quadrant arrives, offers are made, treaties are signed,
exchanges of worthless technology take place, and embassies are set
up."

"A Founder did all this?"

"Yes."

"And that Founder committed murder."

"During a embassy invitational dinner, no less. Fifty-seven civilians,
twenty-six diplomats, and fourteen Starfleet officers were killed that
evening."

"And you are positive it was a Founder."

"It was their quite clever way of justifying their first attack on
Bajor. I believe Ambassador Bashir shared with Captain Sisko the
details of the initial invasion by the 'Hadar."

"You didn't answer my question, Dukat."

The Cardassian regarded the Founder with a icy stare. "Yes. We are
positive a Founder committed that atrocity. And in response to what
will no doubt be your next question, no, the Founder bore no
resemblance to you. The name *she* chose to be addressed by was Kirsen
Yavren."

Dukat held back a malicious grin, wondering if this Odo who had
served under Gul Dukat was fluent enough in Kardasi to get the
joke. Yet before another argument could start, Dax intervened and
introduced a safer topic. "Deep Space Nine... I guess it would be
Terek Nor in your universe."

Oh yes. His comment earlier about Picard's mistresses being snuck back
and forth to the prefect's office had apparently been circulated.
These people were phenomenally curious, desiring to know so much about
the construct of his reality. Then again, Dukat had never spent an
extended period of time in an alternate universe with counterparts who
*wanted* to be friendly; two days had been the longest and most of
that had been spent in a monastery with a kai.

Well, he could play along with the lie about Picard's mistresses as
well as anyone else. There was no need to clarify that Robert Picard,
in fact, had commanded Empok Nor and the station was different in
design from this one. "The stations which were not destroyed during
the Borg Wars have either been heavily damaged or destroyed during
this conflict with the Dominion."

"The risk of being on the front line," O'Brien murmured.

Dukat turned to the chief. "Precisely. Collapsing the wormhole is,
perhaps, the solution if an invasion were to begin. It can be
accomplished several different ways. In our case, the Bajoran kai
insisted she directly contact the Prophets by entering the wormhole
herself instead of relying on more scientific means."

"Scientific means?" Dax prompted.

"Surely, commander, your Starfleet has already devised numerous
ways to accomplish such a task. However, I do caution against
relying solely on technology as a method to seal the wormhole."

"And your reason?"

"Collaborators. Traitors. Those who have been offered luxury in
exchange for a promise of peace and understanding by the
Dominion. They can be anyone or anything; they can sabotage
equipment. We live in a very dangerous time, commander."

***

"He requested a night on the town."


"That's quite a turnaround from, 'we have to sequester our crew,'"
Kira commented as she sat in the chair across from Sisko's desk.

"It came from O'Brien, not Bashir," Sisko clarified. "He's facing a
morale problem. You saw how Brahms reacted when Dukat explained about
their technology. Dukat said himself they were committing treason and
these are two of O'Brien's command staff. >From the little I've
gathered from O'Brien, they're losing the fight."

"I know how they feel," she empathized. "There were moments
during the Occupation we never thought we'd rid ourselves of the
Cardassians."

"How did Shakaar deal with it?"

Kira smirked, "I don't think you want to know the answer to that,
captain."

"Oh."

"We were never sent to an alternate universe, either," she laughed
darkly. "We always knew who the enemy was...."

"That's what O'Brien said," Sisko added absently.

"Captain, these are soldiers," she said. "All they know how to do is
fight because that's all they *can* do and it's what they *have* to
do. They are *young*. Now they're stuck in a place where they don't
know the rules...."

"Are you sure you didn't overhear my conversation with Captain
O'Brien?"

Kira gave a sad smile. "I know what they're going through. Every
member of the Bajoran Resistance understands *exactly* what those
people are dealing with. To us, the Cardassians were as deadly as the
Borg and the Dominion, maybe even worse because there were people out
there who refused to help us." She met Sisko's direct gaze with an
unapologetic one of her own. "O'Brien has to be pretty desperate to
flirt with a charge of treason. You said he even offered some type of
field generator?"

"It sounds like the one the Obsidian Order created to keep Odo from
shapeshifting," Sisko replied. "According to the Cardassians, the
prototype and the plans for it were lost during their offensive
against the Founder homeworld. The Romulans claim they had no part in
developing it. Speaking of them, I'm surprised they haven't been
knocking at our doors."

"They're waiting to see what we're given and if it works," she
retorted.

"I'm sure you're right, major. Right now, I have to worry about
clearing the Promenade for these people."

"And hoping none of them starts a fight because we're
Collaborators?"

"Something like that."

*** End Part 13 ***

"Bullseye!"

Ambassador Bashir glanced down to the lower level of Quark's at
the shouts of triumph, the Defiant's crew rallying behind their
captain as he made his shots. Julian couldn't recall the last time
they had been so relaxed and happy, their upbeat mood taking the edge
off some of his depression. Even those who had spread the rumors about
the court martial and possible execution when they returned home were
now on their second or third drinks and laughing with the
"Collaborators."

<The Emissary walks among them.> Oh, O'Brien's speech had been
one of the best the captain had ever given, drawing upon the Faith of
those who believed and the logic of those who didn't. Even Brahms
refrained from protesting, although she, Lavelle, and Bartel outright
refused to join them, using the pretense of "guarding the ship" as
their excuse.

Julian was surprised the bar was not more crowded than it was.
Perhaps Captain Sisko had drawn up a strict "guest list" which even
the BPG and Gul Dukat had adhered to. There was a pleasant mix of
Starfleet, Bajoran and Cardassian personnel, although the Cardassian
contingent seemed content to haunt the dabo wheel.

Both Starfleet crews rooted for both O'Briens as the men engaged in a
feisty round of darts, although always a bit louder and more
rambunctious for their respective man. Bashir's counterpart was down
there too, leading the cheers as each O'Brien took his turn and
earning a few looks of embarrassed exasperation from the chief.
Captain O'Brien, however, clapped the doctor several times on the
shoulder as if appreciative this Bashir wasn't as dour and
disconsolate as the diplomat.

Those who weren't paying attention to the game, like the Defiant's
chief engineer and Dukat's daughter, found tables away from the main
throng of the crowd. Jake and Ziyal sat shoulder to shoulder,
occasionally whispering and laughing between themselves, as they
dined. They weren't the only two who had paired off, nor were they the
most obvious, but by far they were the ones most noted by the DS9
residents.

Kestra and Worf stood by the lower level entrance, barely
acknowledging one another as they seemed to guard the patrons.
Perhaps that's why the Defiant's personnel seemed less edgy: they knew
they had Troi to sense if a shapeshifter were to come near them. Major
Kira occasionally approached the duo, made a few short comments,
before drifting through the rest of the crowd. Conspicuously absent
were Captain Sisko, First Minister Shakaar, Gul Dukat, and Admiral
Nechayev; they were probably locked away in Sisko's office fighting
over technology or rights to the research information or something
inane like that.

Julian twirled the glass of kanar between his fingers, wondering what
possessed him to isolate himself from the rest of the party. Perhaps
Garak had managed to procure an invitation to the soiree. Perhaps Elim
would enter the upper level of Quark's. Perhaps Elim had changed his
mind. Maybe, just maybe, the Prophets would again let Julian....

Bashir shook his head. They granted his wish last night. What more
could he want?

The crowd hushed slightly for a moment and Julian glanced down to find
the reason: Dukat and Commander Dax had entered the bar. The
Cardassian surveyed the crowd before he caught sight of Bashir
gloomily staring down at him. He nodded, the ambassador reciprocated
the salute, and Dukat continued his conversation with the Trill but
steered her toward the staircase. She complied once she saw Bashir,
and the Cardassian and Trill quickly ascended the stairs and walked
over. He was forced to put on a smile and at least act like he was
having a nice time.

"Watching over the brood, ambassador?"

Julian refrained from grimacing, annoyed at the double meaning of
"brood." Still, he gamely replied, "I spend all my life talking. I
thought someone would appreciate me shutting up for once."

That earned a chuckle from Dax as Dukat gallantly held out the
chair next to the railing, across from Bashir. She accepted it with a
slight curtsey. "Thank you, Dukat."

"You're welcome, commander." The Cardassian then pulled a chair
over from a neighboring table and joined them. 

Julian bit back a teasing remark. A Cardassian, especially one of
Dukat's prestige, showing deference to a lower ranking officer was
almost unheard of. It was usually only done as an insult or, as was
more likely the case here, a prelude to a courtship. Dukat's flourish
of chivalry also hinted at his current mood; he was willing to forego
the aching formality if Bashir was.

Another loud cheer erupted from those who were observing the dart
game. Both O'Briens were grinning, exchanging comments between
themselves before sharing the conversation with their fans. Bashir
searched for Kestra, wondering how she was faring in a crowd this
size, but from this distance, her features were unreadable. Captain
Sisko then walked through the door, pausing to talk with Worf and then
shaking Troi's hand. When the crowd noticed the captain, they became
eerily silent. Sisko, with Kira at his right side, said a few words,
but his voice didn't carry to the upper level. Afterwards, the crowd
resumed their celebration, albeit a bit quieter.

Julian dragged his eyes from the gala below and found himself being
politely scrutinized by the Starfleet science officer. "I want you to
know we do appreciate the information you have given us, ambassador,"
the Trill began and then waved over the bartender who had just
finished climbing the stairs. "I know you probably don't want to talk
about business, but I thought you may want to hear it from someone
other than an admiral or a gul or a captain."

She was honoring him with diplomatic rhetoric. She was also
explaining why she had been staring at him. Julian replied, "Of
course, commander."

The Ferengi, dressed in a maroon and navy patterned cutaway coat,
clapped his hands together when he saw the trio and grinned,
immediately putting Dukat and Bashir on the defensive. "Good evening,
commander! Gentlemen! Another round of kanar for you, ambassador?"

Dax glanced over to Bashir who shrugged noncommittally and she
addressed both Defiant officers, "Would you care to share a bottle of
champagne? I believe tonight is good night to celebrate."

"I'm sure we can handle such an 'exotic' intoxicant," Dukat replied.
The ambassador only nodded.

"Oh, and Quark," she added, "bring up a round of appetizers."

"Anything in particular?" the Ferengi asked. Dax looked to the
Cardassian and human for some hint.

"Commander," Dukat gestured grandly, "this is your station. I am
sure you have already sampled the various cuisines and know which ones
are the best. We are at your mercy." Julian rolled his eyes at the
comment and Dax pressed her lips together to hold back a smile at the
ambassador's reaction, as if she got the joke the Cardassian's
behavior was over the top. She did take the opportunity to order a
smattering of foods and Quark hurried down the stairs when she was
finished.

"I hope your daughter is able to be here, tonight," Dax told Dukat
earnestly. It was an interesting tactic, to say the least, and a
subject which always delighted the verbose Cardassian.

Both Bashir and Dukat knew precisely why the Trill had chosen the
topic; she knew it was relatively safe and neutral. Obviously, Odo and
Worf had relayed Dukat's reaction yesterday to Ziyal's alternate to
the rest of DS9's command staff. The Cardassian exuded the pride of a
father. "I believe Ziyal is with Mister Sisko this evening, although I
have to admit I did not see them when we arrived."

"Down and to the left," Julian said absently and pointed.

The Trill craned her neck to see where he indicated. At that moment,
Jake gave Ziyal a more than friendly kiss. Dax's eyebrows shot up in
surprise and she turned to Dukat. "So," she nudged him and winked, "do
you approve?"

Clearly, the science officer had taken Dukat's early joviality as some
sign of friendship. Why else would she suddenly believe it proper to
ask immensely personal questions? Trills, at least in Julian's
universe, were either impish as Dax seemed to be or stolid as a
Vulcan; there was no in-between. Dukat met her eyes, she drew in a
slow breath as if she realized she probably stepped over the line of
good manners and offended him, but his lips curved into a smile. "I
approve whole- heartedly.

Mister Sisko is an admirable and dedicated young man."

Julian laughed to himself. Dukat would have said "yes" even if he did
not accept the relationship since disapproving of the couple would
undoubtedly be interpreted as a slight against Captain Sisko. He
watched as the Trill accepted the answer and decided upon her next
question. This time, however, she did not give the Cardassian a poke
in the arm. "So, how long have they been going steady?"

"Going steady?" Dukat echoed, obviously unfamiliar with the
colloquialism, and looked to Bashir for an explanation.

Julian opted for the informal Kardasi translation. "Sarkhret." 

The Trill's eyes widened, evidently her translator gave the literal
meaning of the word, and she protested. "No! That's not what I mean."
She fumbled for a few seconds before coming up with, "Nooretli."

The ambassador inwardly winced at her pronunciation but was
extremely amused at the misconception of Cardassian linguistics.
She recognized the first part of the word he had used; it was the
Kardasi equivalent to "fuck" in Standard. However, her word choice was
more of an insult than she probably knew. Although "nooret" strictly
translated as "loving couple," the "li" suffix insinuated Ziyal's
relationship with Jake was nothing more than a convenience, not a long
term relationship.

"You mean 'nooret,' commander," Julian corrected gently and then
cast a significant look in Dukat's direction.

The Cardassian theatrically sighed, "Sarkhret... nooret... they are
the same. The only difference is in the formality." Dax raised a
dubious eyebrow at his attempt to smooth over the misinterpretation.
Dukat continued, sounding fatherly and romantic at the same time as he
played along with the conversation. "It is so hard to tell, commander,
when relationships like this begin and end. Under normal
circumstances, such a union would be frowned upon since I am the chief
of security for the ship and Mister Sisko is the chief engineer. There
would be concern for a certain type of nepotism and/or favoritism
since Ziyal is under the command of Doctor Troi. But given the current
state of affairs, it is permissible."

"By the Prophets, Dukat," chided Julian, "you make it sound as if
Ziyal is forbidden!" Dukat looked at him archly. The ambassador
grinned. "Of course, the thought of having you as a father-in-law is
enough to frighten away any young suitor."

"And I suppose the prospect of having you or perhaps Captain
O'Brien as one is less threatening?" the Cardassian shot back. "Think
of all the Terran customs you will insist upon."

"Terran customs? Surely they are no different than the wealth of
Cardassian ones you'll put your foot down about," the ambassador
countered. "With any luck, they'll opt for the Bajoran ones and send
you into a tizzy."

"Ambassador Bashir, I am not one who 'goes into a tizzy,'" Dukat
retorted.

The Trill, who had been silent as the two bantered, could no longer
hold back the giggles. "Maybe they'll elope."

Dukat looked appropriately indignant and Bashir chortled, "I can see
it now. They'll knock on my door at 0300 hours and ask for the
standard Starfleet, 'Do you love him? Do you love her? Boom! You're
married!' ceremony. Feeling pity for the poor couple who has been
besieged by everyone's insistence all *three* heritages must be
honored, I perform it. Next thing I know, I'm... Hmm... I don't know
quite what you would do, Dukat."

"Rura Penthe."

"Oh, Dukat! That's a bit harsh, don't you think? And far less creative
than I had hoped."

"My first choice is not suitable for explanation in mixed company."

Laughter suddenly erupted from the Trill, her eyes watering as she
gasped for breath. Quark, who finally came back with the champagne,
glasses, and the appetizers, paused before setting the tray of food on
the table between Dukat and Bashir and then handed out the glasses. He
popped open the bottle and then poured modest amounts in each of the
champagne flutes.

"Anything else?" the Ferengi's tone was between hopeful and
lecherous.

"No," Bashir said as he delivered a don't-even-try-it look to the
bartender, "that will be all. Thank you." 

Quark nodded once and retreated, a move which sobered Dax
immediately. "I have to remember that expression," she nodded to
the ambassador, "next time I want him to disappear quickly."
Neither Dukat or Bashir commented. She picked up a glass and the
two men did the same. Holding it up she toasted, "To old friends, new
acquaintances, and the Season of the Mists. May we each live to give
the Devil his due."

"Sahneyr," Dukat and Bashir saluted in Kardasi and together they
drank.

"Have you ever had pipius claw?" she offered. "I assure you it is safe
for both humans and Cardassians. The Klingons...."

The Cardassian nodded as Dax launched into an invigorating
discourse on Klingon cuisine. He asked questions, listened intently as
if this were a mission briefing, and then gave his opinion. Julian,
however, found himself watching the dart game and more interested in
who was winning than in the conversation at his table. Was he being
rude? Yes. By every definition of the term, Julian was. However, Dukat
allowed him such an indulgence by maintaining the innocuous banter
with the Trill. Perhaps she had recognized the truth in Julian's words
earlier, how refraining from a conversation was his way of relaxing,
since she did not inquire as to his opinion on Dukat's commentary.

The crowd suddenly roared as people saluted Chief O'Brien by
raising their drinks high in the air. Captain O'Brien nodded towards
Doctor Bashir, who pointed to himself and then waved his hands as if
declining. Those closest to the physician elbowed him a few times and
then pushed him forward. The ambassador watched as his alternate
dramatically shrugged his shoulders and shook his head, finally
accepting O'Brien's challenge to a round of darts. Too bad the
physician didn't know his ego was about to be sacrificed for the
morale of the Defiant's crew.

Julian blindly reached down for an appetizer, hoped Dukat and Dax had
not devoured the entire plate, and latched onto a piece. He raised it
up, barely turning his head away from the sight below, and took a
tentative bite. His mind immediately identified what he was eating:
keema samosa.

It was one of the few Terran foods Elim favored.

Julian forced himself to swallow and made himself finish the second
half without choking it down, without giving any indication of the
agony he had just brought upon himself.

<Look before you leap, my dear ambassador.>

He took another sip of the champagne to cleanse the taste from his
mouth. He couldn't stand this; even after last night, he was
miserable. Julian wiped his fingers on the napkin by his glass and
then stood. "Please, excuse me. I think will retire for the evening."
Dukat slid his chair out slightly, obviously ready to escort him, but
the ambassador motioned for him to stop. "I hardly think such action
is necessary, Dukat. I promise to behave myself in a manner befitting
a Starfleet officer." The words did not mollify the Cardassian or the
Trill commander, but they heeded his request. Julian bowed formally
toward Dax. "Thank you for an enjoyable evening, commander. Good
night."

***

He wanted to say, after almost five years, he was used to the
reactions, the sudden quiet and the wide-eyed, reverent stares. He
should have been prepared for their responses; Captain O'Brien had
given him sufficient warning. He shouldn't have given in to Kira's
badgering; she had been quite clever in how she presented her
argument, appealing to his sense of command as O'Brien had done. "He
said his people *believe.* They're not expecting a sermon. They don't
need a service. You don't have to preside over anything. Just *be*
there." 

Captain O'Brien had used the word "inspiration." Kira understood,
perhaps better than Ben Sisko could, what those alternates were going
through. Fighting against the odds. Resisting a greater force.
Protecting what little they had left. O'Brien was a savvy enough
captain to use whatever resources available to keep his troops going,
even if it meant asking an odd favor from people he didn't quite trust
and facing a multitude of charges when he returned to his universe.

Ben had to admire it. He'd probably do the same thing.

He entered Quark's.

At first, he thought there would only be a mild reaction to his
presence; Doctor Troi treated him with the respect one gave a
higher ranking officer, even if the officer was of a different
military organization. She smiled, shook his hand, and thanked him for
his generosity. Then the other members of O'Brien's crew spotted him;
the noise level dropped to an embarrassingly low decibel. The only
ones who continued talking were the Cardassians from Gul Dukat's ship
and DS9's Starfleet personnel, but even they quieted down.

Sisko smiled tightly and oddly enough was unsure of what to say.
During his tenure as station's commander, he had refrained from as
many religious ceremonies as possible in accordance with Starfleet's
wishes (not to mention his own personal preference). It was the
expression on their faces which tore at him: joyful the Emissary was
here yet angry theirs had been taken away.

"A blessing, captain," Kira whispered matter-of-factly.

Captain O'Brien and Chief O'Brien watched him, sharing the exact
same look: "What now? You have everyone's attention."

"May your journey be filled with triumphs," he told him, barely
raising his voice above his normal speaking volume, "and your path be
guided by the Prophets." The crowd murmured. Nechayev would be
displeased, Gul Dukat would probably make a snide comment, and
Shakaar... Ben wasn't quite sure what the Bajoran minister's reaction
would be. The words did have an affect; Captain O'Brien nodded
appreciatively and almost as quickly as the party had died down, it
began again. Kira simply beamed at him. However, his attention locked
on the sight diagonally from him.

Jake. No... it wasn't his Jake. The boy carried himself differently.
Ziyal. No... it wasn't Gul Dukat's Ziyal. Her hair was drastically
different. But they were together. Sharing dinner. Holding hands.
*Kissing.*

Sisko again found himself at a loss. His mind told him over and over
they were the alternates of his son and Dukat's daughter, but it
didn't help.

"They've been like that the whole evening," Kira said quietly. Of
course, she probably had time to acclimatize herself to the sight.
"According to some of O'Brien's crew, they're due to get married."

He idly wondered what Gul Dukat's reaction would be if such an
event would happen in their universe. He had to chuckle. "I wonder
what kind of ceremony it will be."

She shrugged her shoulders. "Trying to imagine yourself with Dukat as
an in-law?"

"I try not to," Sisko replied with a sharp smile. "But you have to
admit they make a handsome couple."

"That they do, captain."

At that moment, Ziyal glanced over and saw he was watching them.
Her eyes widened and her features immediately brightened. She
tugged at Jake's arm and pointed; the young man's eyes met Ben's
and his features sobered. Ziyal whispered something, and he shook his
head in protest but never broke eye contact with Ben. The Carjoran
then stood up and practically dragged Jake to his feet. The chief
turned to her, argued briefly again, but lost. She grabbed his arm and
pulled him towards the captain, beaming the entire time. 

Kira glanced up at the captain, wondering why Ziyal had insisted the
obviously reluctant Jake meet the alternate of his dead, or at least
despised, father.

When they came to a halt a scant one and a half meters from Sisko and
Kira, Ziyal cleared her throat a few times, obviously nervous, and
then spoke. "Emissary...." Ziyal's features became almost worshipful.
"The Prophets have spoken of an Emissary for many years, but they have
never revealed him or her to us. It is...." she trailed off, unsure of
how to formulate the sentence, and looked to Jake for guidance. "It
is...."

"... a great honor to meet you," Jake finished for the now completely
awe-struck Ziyal. He looked ready to shoot himself out of the
proverbial photon torpedo tube.

"Likewise," Ben replied. The Defiant's engineering chief gave him an
ambivalent look before almost shrugging his shoulders. The captain
recognized the expression; it was the same his Jake had whenever
someone stressed just how important DS9 and his father were in the
Federation's grand scheme.

"If you will please excuse us, sir," Jake's voice was painfully formal
as he gave Ziyal a slight push.

"Of course," murmured Ben. The two moved away, leaving the
captain even more uncomfortable than before. Kira remained silent, as
if knowing her commentary would not be appropriate or appreciated at
the moment. The captain turned on heel and found Doctor Troi a few
steps behind him, her features set in the classic Starfleet counselor
pose.

"In our universe, captain," she told him softly, "seconds feel like
days, days seem like years, and years feel like eternity."

In other words, Chief Jake Sisko's father had been dead a
significantly long time. Alive long enough for Jake to have some
good memories; dead long enough to harbor justifiable resentment
towards a universe where he was still alive. It was better to escape
than remember.

"My god," Ben whispered to himself, "*he*... is *me.*"

***

"Do you always follow him around," the Trill asked as they exited the
upper level of Quark's, "even when he asked you not to?"

Dukat lanced her with a less than favorable stare. "Commander,
security is my responsibility. To have such a prominent officer in a
vulnerable position is not acceptable."

"You don't trust him."

"I realize your scientific curiosity demands you question my
motivations," he said flatly, "but your inquiries are becoming quite
tedious."

"If you would answer my question the first time, Dukat, I wouldn't
have to keep repeating myself."

The Cardassian rolled his shoulders back, mimicking the Starfleet
Klingon. If she recognized the posture, she said nothing. "Commander,
Ambassador Bashir is a well respected and consummate officer. However,
we are on a foreign station. Surely you can understand my concern."

"He doesn't have a personal vendetta against Odo, does he?"

"Commander, if this is an attempt to impress upon me the virtues of
your Starfleet over mine, I do ask you discontinue." He searched the
upper level of the Promenade before catching sight of Bashir below,
slowly walking past the deserted kiosks. Dukat moved to the closest
staircase and  the Trill followed. He paused, realizing she wasn't
going to drop the subject so easily, and then gave her a hard stare.
"I will state this only once. You are not at war with the Dominion. We
are. You do not understand the sacrifices we have made. You cannot
comprehend our situation. I sincerely hope you never have the
opportunity. My people have set aside their opinions for these few
hours. I ask you do the same."

She wasn't the least bit intimidated. "You didn't answer my
question."

Of course these people would challenge him. If Captain O'Brien had
given such a response, they may have accepted it because O'Brien was
human and a captain. Being Cardassian was already a strike against
Dukat, but they saw Dukat as O'Brien's subordinate and would treat him
as such. Dax reached out and grabbed his elbow. His glare was lethal.
She released him.

"Commander, I have no reason to doubt Ambassador Bashir's earlier
declaration: he will conduct himself in the manner of a Starfleet
officer and a representative of the First Federation. For us, such a
proclamation is considered a binding oath. For me to suspect his
intentions are disreputable is unacceptable. He has given his word."
Dukat watched the Trill's face twist in barely hidden disgust and then
he gave a dismissive shake of his head. "I see our blended culture has
again baffled you. Our tendency is to explain the reason for our
answer, not a simplistic yes or no. For your benefit, I will reply to
your question in terms which you can understand. No, Ambassador Bashir
does not have a 'personal vendetta' against your chief of security.
However, the same may not be true of your shapeshifter. After all, he
has challenged the ambassador twice since we have arrived. To
paraphrase the astute observation by your insightful Doctor Bashir, I
would think after that first incident your changeling would have known
better than to 'sneak up' on the ambassador."

He was about to congratulate himself on such a fine speech, one
which had achieved his goal of pointing out the failings of Dax's
Federation while venerating his own, when he realized what he had
said.



The shapeshifter *should* have known better. Plain and simple.
Granted, no changeling in Dukat's universe had either survived or
stayed around long enough to make a second or third attempt at
mocking; he had no basis upon which to formulate his theory. However,
he reflected on the time he had spent in Science Lab Three. 

Odo had continued his campaign to annoy Dukat, tossing out sharp
comments, trying to incite the Cardassian's anger. The Founder
didn't even react to the somewhat vulgar slur of "kirsenyavren" even
if Dax had interrupted before Odo could respond.

Yesterday, Bashir had declared Odo had tested him with that
incident on the Promenade.

Yesterday, Odo had deliberately stood in front of the opaque
shielding, waiting for the shields to drop. He probably had done it
not only to startle Dukat or Bashir, but to see if the newcomers could
*detect* him. The handshake trick. The smugness.

Was it a death wish? No. According to the ambassador's report
about what happened on the Promenade, Doctor Bashir had brashly
defended Odo.  The doctor stated clearly how the Founder had
killed one of his own kind in order to save the Starfleets and that
action had resulted in Odo's exile. If the Founder had chosen to live
among the "solids" and participated in exercises designed to train
personnel on how to effectively search for and disable a shapeshifter,
would he continually attempt to intimidate a group of people who could
ultimately help this Alpha Quadrant?

The solution was as obvious as the ridges on his neck. Dukat
clenched his fists; a collection of profanities which rivaled
O'Brien's pounded through his head. He suddenly stared at the ceiling,
willing his temper to cool.

The Trill was appropriately alarmed. "Dukat?"

"It seems, my dear commander, our arrogance has again been used
against us."

*** End Part 14 ***

He wished the kiosks had been allowed to remain open; their
absence somewhat dispelled the illusion the crew of the Defiant
under Captain O'Brien's command had a night of freedom. His
people had one evening of carefully controlled revelry, but it gave
Julian the impression of imprisonment. Of course, everything felt like
a prison nowadays. He had so little joy in his life. The time spent
here on this station full of Collaborators was oddly enough one of the
few bright moments of the past six months.

It wasn't often he had the opportunity to scandalize a joined Trill.
It was a habit he had picked up during his mentorship with Kyle Riker
and now Julian fully appreciated Riker's addiction to it. Nothing beat
a sudden rush of power as centuries of wisdom were defeated by simple
knowledge and a quick wit.

Julian lingered by the Temple which was almost directly across from
Quark's. He wondered whose sense of irony had devised that particular
arrangement. He glanced towards the bar and found Troi standing almost
outside of the establishment. She met his curious stare, gave the hand
signal for "shifter," and then gestured toward the security office. He
signed his thanks and continued his unhurried pace as he approached
the tailoring shop.

<What is that Terran expression, my dear ambassador? A 'glutton
for punishment'?>

As Fate would have it, Garak exited his shop, typed in the command to
close the door, and as it slid shut, he entered his security code. Had
the Cardassian been waiting for the ambassador? Or was Julian simply
indulging in a whim that this particular Garak had some sort of
affection for him?

The tailor caught sight of him out of the corner of his eye, turned,
and nodded once. "Novetse terneyri, Legat Bashir."

Garak remembered. Then again, that small detail of Bashir's
preference for Kardasi rather than Federation standard was a hard one
to forget. Julian tilted his head slightly and responded in the same
language. "Good evening, Garak." 

The two maintained eye contact, obviously waiting for the other to
continue with the conversation. Julian drew a blank. What was he
supposed to say? Thank Elim for last evening and invite him back
tonight? The ambassador was desperate for something clever to say, but
his mind stalled and his mouth grew dry. The only thought he could
conjure up was so obscure that it would show Julian's weakness.

Perhaps... that was a good thing. Not subtle by any stretch of the
imagination, but it showed an obvious vulnerability, how much Julian
truly wanted/needed/desired/craved Elim, even if it wasn't the best
tactic. It was the only one he could think of.

Bashir forged on, "You know, for all the Vorta's claims of
understanding us, they don't seem to quite get the fact a majority of
Federation peoples will resist to their dying breaths."

Garak blinked in surprise then narrowed his eyes, waiting for the
explanation of why Julian had chosen such a topic.

"Triumph over adversity," Julian's voice almost shook, but he forced
himself to calm down. "What was that one quote? We will fight for many
things, our spouses, our children, our family, our homeland, our
people... Take those away and you have a much more dangerous
adversary, for the person has absolutely nothing to lose."

"A very interesting observation."

Julian was about to continue when he heard Dukat's voice from the
upper level of the Promenade and the door hydraulics from the
direction of the security office. He turned and immediately located
Odo; the shapeshifter had exited his office and was striding
purposefully toward him. Dukat was now standing at the top of the
spiral staircase, but Julian had not readjusted his subderm after he
had turned it down in Quark's, so he could not hear what Dukat was
saying. The ambassador then looked for Troi, but she had gone back
inside Quark's. Including himself, there were a total of five people
on the Promenade that he could see.

Odo continued walking toward him and Garak.

"Ambassador," the Cardassian's voice was exceptionally calm, as if he
sensed the turmoil in Julian, "there really is no need to have a
repeat performance of yesterday. Although, I have to say Odo's
persistence in this matter is perhaps foolish."

"Repeat performance? Are you implying my reaction to his
appearance was unjustified?"

"No, ambassador. Simply unnecessary."

Odo was now less than twenty meters away. Julian heard two sets of
footsteps clanking against the metal of the staircase, but he remained
focused on the shifter. Garak stepped away from the entrance of his
shop and stood to the left of the ambassador.

"Good evening, Odo!" the Cardassian called in Standard, when the
shapeshifter was only seven meters away. "I believe the expression is
'Are you out walking the beat?'"

The changeling didn't respond. Instead, he launched forward, his
body reforming into a thin column of molten gold, a spiked tip which
spread to five centimeters in diameter, and aimed himself directly
at...

"GARAK!" Julian shouted. He pulled out his phaser,
unceremoniously pushed the Cardassian to the ground, and aimed.

Unfortunately, he was too late.

Dukat broke into a run. He was only thirty five meters away when
his instinct told him the shifter was going to attack. He already had
his phaser ready and fired at the base of the shifter as it morphed
into the columned spike and arched itself at the ambassador. He
couldn't afford to aim anywhere else; he risked obliterating Bashir
and Garak. The shifter pulled itself off the deckplate nanoseconds
before the blast hit.

Dax began yelling that he shouldn't be trying to kill the thing she
thought was Odo.

Cold fury descended upon Dukat, encasing his emotions in glacial
ice. He was too much a soldier, far too disciplined to allow the
memory of a similar attack superimpose itself upon this scene. No...
they were not in the Badlands. No... this was not Margo IV. No... he
had not traveled back in time two years, three months, six days. No...
this was not the last defiant act of a shifter. No... it was not Garak
who was the target. Remorse and damnation did not intrude upon his
thoughts.

He did not allow himself to lament withholding from Julian the exact
details of Gul Garak's death. Dukat refused to dwell upon the fact
that, had the ambassador known what precisely had happened to the gul,
Bashir would not have been so trusting when the being which claimed to
be Odo approached him. Guilt was a distinctly un-Cardassian emotion.

Yes, he shouldered a majority of the blame. He should not have

allowed Bashir to wander far. He should have recognized the pattern of
events. The shifter had continually tested the ambassador and to some
extent Dukat himself, making both accept the fact there was a Founder
present at all times. In the interest of returning to their own
reality, they could not kill the shifter, no matter how tempting it
was. It had to have known Julian was distracted by Garak's presence;
it understood the preferential treatment the tailor had been given was
more from habit and affection than just because Garak was Cardassian.
From a tactical standpoint, the plan was well executed.

Lightning, as the Terran phrasing went, was about to strike twice.

"Shifter!" Dukat yelled, in a vain attempt to distract the changeling.
Subconsciously, he knew it would not work but he still did it.

The shifter impaled the ambassador's midsection. Bashir's weapon
toppled from his grip as he was lifted upward by the shifter. Blood
erupted from his lips as he attempted to scream.

Dukat ordered Troi to the Promenade and didn't wait for her
acknowledgment. He fired again, this time scoring a hit on the
shifter, but his weapon was set too low for the shifter to completely
lose its shape. A second shot from a new direction hit; Garak had
retrieved Julian's weapon and joined in the fight. However, he was
concerned with the ambassador's fate as well. The weapon had been set
at the standard 3.5 setting. Enough to cause the shifter to lose its
shape but not enough to kill it. Since it was already in a gelatinous
state, their efforts were almost useless.

It released its hold on Julian. The ambassador dropped to the
ground, gasping and clutching his wound. The shifter darted away
from the group as Dukat and Garak opened fire. It was faster and
more agile than Dukat had expected. A third barrage of fire joined the
Cardassians'; Jake charged head-on toward the slithering shifter. The
engineer must have been on his way back to the ship for that was the
direction from which he came and his weapon was set at the highest
setting. With the precision and accuracy of a security officer, Jake
targeted the offending creature and fired his weapon.

The Founder exploded in a cascade of molten gold and fluorescent
orange blobs.

Garak pulled himself closer to the trembling human, gently cradling
the ambassador's head in his lap. Bashir's skin was now ashen, so pale
against the garnet red of human blood, and his eyes were wide and
frantically darting, but it was obvious he could not see. Easing the
human's hands from his bleeding midsection, Garak used his own fingers
and palms to press down in a feeble effort to staunch the wound.

"I'm afraid my knowledge of human physiology is somewhat
lacking," Garak said with a sad smile, his words in Kardasi. "But you
must not worry! I can hear your O'Brien swearing like a freighter
captain. Ah! He's dragging your counterpart along with him. And look!
Doctor Troi is going to join them. You are going to be treated with
the best of both worlds, my dear ambassador."

"Elim..." the words were slurred. "Hurt?"

"My dear ambassador, I am unscathed, thanks to your heroic
efforts," he soothed, bending his head closer to whisper the final
comment in Julian's ear. "No wonder I am smitten by you, my Chosen." A
bubble of laughter escaped from the ambassador, followed by an
unhealthy amount of blood flowing from his lips. 

Doctor Bashir was shouting orders about immediate transporting as he
knelt at the ambassador's side and inspected the damage. "My god!" the
doctor breathed as he placed his hands over the Cardassian's. Troi
skidded to stop behind him. Then the doctor yelled, "Energize now!"

Troi, Garak, and both Bashirs dematerialized.

***

Dax, Worf, Chief O'Brien, Kira and select DS9 security personnel
searched for the real Odo. The Defiant's crew had returned to their
secured area except for Captain O'Brien, who insisted he remain in the
Infirmary, and Doctor Troi, who assisted Bashir. Ben chose to wait in
Ops for news on Odo and the ambassador.

Sisko had been in the middle of the bar when he had heard the
shouting on the Promenade. Troi and Worf had moved away from
the door, closer to the Dabo tables, and had been engrossed in
conversation. Captain O'Brien had been waiting his turn in his game
against Doctor Bashir and joking with the spectators, especially the
chief.

When Dukat had bolted past the entrance of Quark's firing a phaser and
shouting out "Shifter" at a volume which could only be described as
"at the top of his lungs," chaos had broken loose. Captain O'Brien had
barreled past him, wielding a phaser in one hand and dragging Bashir
by the front of the doctor's uniform with the other. When people had
gathered by the door to gape at what was going on, O'Brien had
bellowed, "Get out of my fucking way now!"

The patrons had immediately parted, giving O'Brien a clear path to the
Promenade. Worf had ordered the people in front of him to move as
well, although the Klingon had refrained from using profanity, and had
allowed Troi to dash out to join O'Brien. Worf and Ben had followed.
Kira and the chief had remained behind to control the crowd.

Ben had arrived on the Promenade in time to see his son... no... no...
it had not been *his son*... It had been *Chief* Jake Sisko aiming a
phaser at a fast moving gelatinous golden glob, firing the weapon, and
killing Odo. Ben had been too shocked, too devastated for those few
moments to say anything. Jake hadn't even looked toward him; instead
the engineering chief's attention had been focused on the commotion in
front of Garak's shop.

Ambassador Bashir had been lying there, blood seeping from his
mouth and pooling around his body. His head had been pillowed in
Garak's lap, the Cardassian's hands pressing on the obvious belly
wound as the scarlet of Bashir's blood stained his gray skin. Captain
O'Brien had let go of Doctor Bashir and had begun snapping out orders
for the Defiant's crew to return to their secured area immediately.
His crew did not protest.

It had been the first time Ben had ever seen an open display of
Dukat's anger. He'd seen the Cardassian outraged, incensed, but
never livid enough to spit explanations out with such passion as to
make a joined Trill pale.

"That shifter," Dukat had snarled at Dax, looming over her and
radiating unadulterated fury, "replaced your chief of security!" Worf
had stepped dangerously close to the arguing pair, enough to catch the
Cardassian's attention. Dukat's blue ice eyes bored into the Klingon.
"Your shifter is somewhere on the station. Either you find him, or *I*
will."

The hunt had then begun. That had been one hour, fifty-seven
minutes and twenty-three seconds ago. Sisko had to face the distinct
possibility Odo had attempted to assassinate Ambassador Bashir. Dax
confirmed Dukat's claim Odo attacked the diplomat. Nechayev, Shakaar,
and Gul Dukat had been surprised, but opted to wait for an update from
Sisko before they reconvened to discuss this latest disaster.

Ben, however, was still reliving the moment Jake had killed Odo.
His boy... his boy had committed murder. His boy had killed Odo.
Odo... one of Ben's "most trusted officers." Ben remembered the
coldness in Jake's eyes, the grim determination set in the boy's
features, and the almost casual way he put away his phaser. At
eighteen, his boy was a bona fide soldier. The attitude Jake had
displayed made it seem like this wasn't the first time he'd had to
defend himself.

That boy was a Sisko. There was no doubt. He was more like Ben
than the captain dared to admit.

"Kira to Sisko!"

Her sharp voice broke his thoughts. "Go ahead, major."

"We've found Odo. They put him in a container similar to the one
when Verad tried to hijack Dax's symbiont. They placed it in a
holding compartment at the assay office."

Of course the Founders wouldn't kill one of their own, even if Odo had
taken the life of one of them. Sisko immediately remembered the device
Kira referred to, the octagonal metal box rigged with magnetic seals
preventing Odo's escape. Sisko rubbed the bridge of his nose. "How is
he?"

Kira seethed, "We're going to have to get Chief O'Brien down here to
unlock this thing. It has an encryption code."

"Major, has Captain O'Brien been notified?"

"No, sir. I called you first."

"Good. I'll tell Captain O'Brien and you alert the rest of the teams.
When the chief gets Odo out of there, I want round-the-clock security
for the constable. "

"Yes, sir!"

Ben left for the Infirmary.

***

His clothing was soaked in blood. It had seeped up the length of his
sleeves, saturated the material covering his thighs and knees, and
splattered across his chest. He supposed the only reason he was not
literally dripping in blood was because Tarkalean wool was
particularly absorbent.

Upon materializing in the Infirmary, the doctors whisked the
ambassador to surgery, leaving Garak kneeling in the middle of the
main room. Those of Bashir's mostly Bajoran staff who had not gone to
assist the doctors made no effort to inquire as to his health. They
favored him with curious stares mingled with disgust as they busied
themselves with their inconsequential tasks. He stood, ready to leave,
when Captain O'Brien charged in.

The medical staff immediately perked up. They peppered the Terran with
questions, asking if he was hurt, if he'd like something to drink, and
if he'd like to wait in Bashir's office until the doctors had some
news. O'Brien waved them silent and stared directly at Garak.

"I would like to hear what happened on the Promenade from your
perspective, Mister Garak."

It was a request, not a demand. O'Brien understood he had no
jurisdiction here, he could not order Garak to answer his questions,
so he chose instead to ask politely. Garak nodded once, "Of course,
captain."

They proceeded directly to Bashir's office amid gasps from Bashir's
staff. The captain asked a few uninspired questions: "What had
happened? How many shots did you fire? Did you notice any part of the
shapeshifter breaking off?" The last inquiry had been unnerving as had
O'Brien's subsequent explanation. "Sometimes, we get shifters that are
like Terran earthworms. You can slice them in half, but they can
function as two separate beings."

The conversation only lasted fifteen minutes before O'Brien seemed
satisfied enough with Garak's account, thanked him, and lapsed into
silence. Ninety minutes passed.

Garak couldn't quite figure out why he had chosen to stay here,
sitting next to this Terran captain, reeking from the foul smell of
human blood, and pondering what had happened. He wanted to say Bashir
was not his responsibility. He wanted to say he felt no obligation to
the ambassador. He was not afraid to pass by his shop, walk over the
deckplates where the incident had occurred, and shed these ruined
garments, the fibers now hardening as the blood dried.

Captain O'Brien had not asked him to leave. He hadn't dismissed
him. He hadn't even asked why Garak was still here.

<Garak, you fool, you are becoming soft. These Terrans show you
the smallest courtesy, treat you with a minuscule amount of respect,
and you are ready to sell your Cardassian soul.>

Bashir's injuries had been grisly, grotesque in the sense Garak had
never witnessed anything quite like them. Abdominal wounds on humanoid
species were perhaps the sloppiest of all and the commingling of
digestive fluids and blood made for a most unappetizing odor. Yet it
had gone beyond the sense of sight and smell for Garak. It was the way
Julian had shouted his name, unselfishly hurling himself in front of
the shifter and fully believing he, Elim Garak, Exile of Cardassia,
was the Founder's target.

No one had ever sacrificed himself for Elim Garak.

He wanted to be disappointed that Julian had been so short-sighted as
to not realize attacking a First Federation officer would be the
Founder's primary goal. Perhaps the changeling had decided the
assassination would jolt Captain O'Brien into surrendering all of his
Federation's precious technology and intelligence reports. What better
way to protect the Dominion than to possess the same knowledge as
one's enemies? The Obsidian Order trained part of him respected the
strategy. 

If only his Obsidian Order training had served him better....

The ambassador had instincts. Excellent ones, in fact. The moment the
doors to the security office had opened, Bashir had turned around
searching for Odo. Garak, who had not wanted another standoff, had
persuaded the ambassador to remain calm, not to draw his weapon, not
to be prepared. Whether it was because of the sound of Garak's voice
giving him an order or complacency which had held back the ambassador,
he did not know. He didn't care to find the answer either.

The tailor glanced at the captain, who had closed his eyes as if in
meditation. Chief O'Brien would never have remained in the same room
with a Cardassian unless it was absolutely necessary; this O'Brien
seemed to welcome his company. In an odd way, Garak enjoyed the
companionable silence as well. The ambassador had implied Gul Garak
and Captain O'Brien knew each other; there was simply no other way to
interpret "you lost the bet with Miles," unless Bashir was just making
up a story.

"You're fidgeting." O'Brien's eyes were still shut, his hands folded
neatly in his lap.

"I was unaware I was disturbing you, captain."

"I didn't say you were. I just stated a fact."

"You wish me to leave."

"Didn't say that either. Just said you were fidgeting."

Was this a prelude to the "Ambassador Bashir thought you were the
target" discussion? Chief O'Brien was relatively easy to read; this
O'Brien was almost unfathomable. Or was the captain wondering why
Garak had stayed after he had answered all the questions?

Before the tailor had time to postulate another reason to O'Brien's
observation, Captain Sisko walked into the room. The Irishman opened
his eyes and stood, perhaps in recognition that he and Sisko held the
same rank. The angle he was at, however, did not afford Garak a view
of the man's features. Sisko focused on Garak first then turned to
O'Brien.

O'Brien shrugged his shoulders. "Been asking him what happened on the
Promenade."

"For almost two hours?" Sisko asked.

"Ever get a straight answer from *him* before, captain?"

To Garak, it was disconcerting to have O'Brien defend him, even if the
last comment had been a bit of an insult. He did not particularly wish
to witness this exchange but since Sisko blocked his exit and O'Brien
had implied his company was welcome, Garak had no choice. He remained
seated.

Sisko ignored the comment and instead announced. "Major Kira has
located Odo."

O'Brien nodded but did not say anything.

"Will your crew retaliate?"

The captain straightened. "The shifter who attempted to kill my
officer has been dealt with. My crew is a bit more civilized than you
give them credit for. They don't possess the lynch mob mentality."

"I'll be more specific then, captain. I don't want any of your
people...."

"I guess you didn't hear my earlier orders, *captain,*" O'Brien said
coldly. "My people will be busting their asses to get our ship
repaired. Odo doesn't merit their attention."

"And yourself?"

"I won't be hunting him down, Sisko. Frankly, he's not worth it."

"Yet earlier you said...."

"Earlier, your changeling friend was getting off threatening my
officers. If he's stupid enough to try it again, we will neutralize
him."

"Neutralize him in what way?"

"Whatever works, Captain Sisko."

"We *both* made mistakes."

"Yes. We did. I was too eager to believe that maybe the Prophets
sent us to a place where They would smile upon us. I missed all the
warning signs of the switch-up. You'd think a man with my experience
would realize Odo should still have been recovering from the effects
of that blast Dukat gave him. And you... well, you were so damned busy
proving to us about your implicit trust in Odo, you didn't question
his actions, especially after that bit with Bashir on the Promenade
yesterday."

"Point taken, captain."

"I'm glad it is. Now because we both made these errors in
judgement, I may lose one of my best officers. It doesn't put me in a
good mood."

"I understand."

"No, captain. I don't think you do." O'Brien paused. "The deal's off."

Sisko stared at him. "What do you mean, the deal is off?"

"You get the tracking system and that's it."

His eyes flicked towards Garak. "We should discuss this elsewhere,
perhaps at a better time."

"You mean I should wait until I find out one way or another about
Bashir and make my decision based on that? Sorry, Sisko. It isn't
going to happen. You have your laws, I have mine. Exchanging
technology for equipment is one thing. You asked us to trust your
security chief. We did. He attempted to assassinate an ambassador of
the First Federation who also happens to be a Starfleet officer."

"Captain," Sisko said reasonably, "we both know the Founder who
attacked the ambassador was not Odo."

"Do I now? The shifter Kira has found *claims* to be Odo. Can you say
with absolute certainty that *that* shifter is, in fact, *your* Odo?
Or will you have to meet him, talk with him, and test him somehow to
make sure he's yours? Your own officers firmly believed the shifter
who attacked Bashir was the same one they'd been working with for
years, as did you. I cannot accept your testimony as valid, captain."

"I see."

"I doubt it, captain. I really do."

Sisko briefly looked at Garak. O'Brien crossed his arms over his
chest, as if he refused to acknowledge Sisko's implication that Garak
had filled the Irishman's head with lies. The Cardassian, however,
grew weary of the implied accusations from Sisko and decided that
while he would accept partial responsibility for the ambassador's
grievous wounds, he would not tolerate being blamed for Captain
O'Brien's decision to rescind the offer of technology. He got to his
feet, tugged at the blood-caked cuffs of his tunic, and approached the
two men.

"Gentlemen, while this conversation has been most enlightening, I
believe my presence is really unnecessary."

"You should have said something earlier," Sisko bit the words off,
flashing a sharp smile.

"And interrupt?" he queried as he feigned wide-eyed disbelief. "That
would certainly be a breach of etiquette, now wouldn't it? Ah, but I
see such a discussion on manners is, perhaps, unwelcome at this time.
Good evening, captains."

*** End Part 15 ***

"There's nothing more we can do now."

That was perhaps the most hated phrase in a doctor's repertoire:
"There's nothing more I can do." It was an admission of defeat. It
declared one had reached an impasse. Every time Doctor Julian Bashir
used it, he despised it.  With all the phenomenal equipment and
detailed knowledge Doctors Troi and Bashir possessed, there were still
limits, still boundaries, still obstacles that they could not conquer.
It was frustrating.

"Computer, elapsed time?" Julian called out as he stripped off his
surgical hood and stretched.

"Four hours, two minutes."

Troi rubbed her eyes and stifled a yawn as she trudged out of the main
operating room to the small changing area. "I've only done one
multi-organ replacement operation in my life... and that was in
medical school."

He chuckled sympathetically, "I think this is my third or fourth,
but," Julian paused until he had her attention, "but this is the first
time on myself. Quite disconcerting when you look over and see
yourself lying there." She snorted good-naturedly, but he could see
the weariness in the way her shoulders slumped and her head drooped.
"Doctor... you need to rest. I can take care of things here."

"I have to report to Captain O'Brien."

Julian crossed his arms. "Doctor...."

She glanced over at him with bloodshot eyes. "You're going to use your
position as chief medical officer of the station to invoke some order,
aren't you?"

"If I have to, I will."

Troi sighed and peeled off the surgical gown. "Not even a report to
O'Brien?"

"Not even a report to O'Brien," he confirmed. "You're more than
welcome to use the quarantine area. It's quiet, away from the
bustle...."

"And away from my crew...."

"If you'd like."

A smile barely lit her features. "I want to stay close to the
ambassador."

"Of course, doctor." He pointed to another offshoot of the main
operating room. She tilted her head toward him in silent thanks and
then walked to the quarantine room and closed the door behind her.
Julian let out a breath, relieved she'd actually followed his advice
without too much of an argument, and then removed his own gown.

Surgery had been brutal. There was no other way to describe it.
Multi-organ repair/replacement operations were difficult under
normal conditions and positively nightmarish when the patient had been
impaled by.... Julian closed his eyes. He'd seen a multitude of
injuries, ranging from scrapes to knife wounds to charred husks. He
added a 7 centimeter in diameter puncture wound to the abdomen to the
list. Organs were simply not there, arteries and blood vessels ripped
away, and nerve endings severed. Troi knew all the shortcuts,
procedures which immediately stabilized the patient so the more
delicate work could be done, but he had performed the intricate organ
replacements. All she had said was, "You have more experience."

With clinical detachment, he operated, refusing to acknowledge his
patient was actually an alternate of himself. There were differences:
scar tissue and highly defined muscles. The latter made him realize he
wasn't as physically fit as he thought he was, but he had pushed it
aside.

He wasn't going to let himself die. Troi probably sensed that
dedication. It was another reason she had stepped aside, content to be
his assistant.

After splashing a few handfuls of cold water on his face and
toweling off, he headed toward his office, wondering how to go
about locating Captain O'Brien. Julian stopped at the threshold.
O'Brien sat there. He wasn't snoring nor did his head loll to one
side; he emulated a near-perfect meditative trace. His hands rested in
his lap, his eyes were closed, and his features were peaceful. not
slack. For the first time, Bashir noticed how much older this O'Brien
looked compared to the chief.

How many years had these people been at war? Ten? Fifteen?
Twenty? O'Brien probably had served in Starfleet all those years as
well. No wonder the lines around his eyes and mouth and the gray tufts
of hair at his temples were more pronounced. He looked at ease,
sitting there and waiting, and Julian was hesitant to wake him. This
O'Brien looked the type to wake up swinging, and judging from the
sheer power with which he had dragged the doctor through Quark's and
almost thrown him toward the fallen ambassador, Julian did not want to
be on the receiving end of a blow.

Quietly, he edged over to his desk and stood, typing in commands
instead of verbalizing them.

"I'm awake, you know."

Startled, Julian looked over his shoulder to find O'Brien staring at
him. "I-I didn't want to disturb you."

"Then the ambassador's still alive?"

The comment struck Julian cold, his hands froze over the keypad,
and he forced himself to fully turn and sit down in the chair to face
the captain. There were a lot of factors mulling through Julian's
mind: the fact this O'Brien apparently cared enough for Ambassador
Bashir to wait for four agonizing hours sitting in what was not one of
the more comfortable chairs on the station and that this O'Brien was
so... blunt.

"The surgery was a success," Julian said slowly. "H-he's stabilized
for now."

O'Brien nodded and then closed his eyes again, leaving Julian at a
complete loss. It was an obvious "end of conversation" gesture;
clearly the captain did not want to hear the gory details of what
Bashir and Troi had accomplished during those four hours. A few
moments passed before the captain asked, "Troi taking a rest?"

"Yes... in the quarantine area. She wanted to stay close to the
ambassador."

Again, there was the silent acceptance. Finally, O'Brien roused
himself, moving his neck around to elicit pops from the joints, and
then settled his forearms on his knees and leaned forward,
expectantly. He shrugged his shoulders. "Troi's been my CMO for over a
decade. A captain can get spoiled by that."

Of course. She was empathic. O'Brien was used to her sensing his
thoughts and providing a report based on those impressions. Julian
floundered for a moment, trying to think of an appropriate response,
but O'Brien beat him to the apology.

"If I were Captain Sisko, you would know exactly what information I
wanted to hear. With Troi being empathic and all... hell... she
usually tells me what I don't want to *admit* I want to know." He
shook his head with a laugh. "Sorry about that, doctor. I've been
making a lot of assumptions these days... should know better by now."

"It's no one's fault."

Another few seconds of silence passed. "I wasn't looking for
absolution, doctor," O'Brien said but it lacked the biting sarcasm or
harshness Julian expected. "I want to know the odds. How bad is he?"

"It depends on if the ambassador's body rejects the replacement
organs," Julian responded. "Even if they are accepted, he faces a long
convalescence. Three weeks complete bed rest at least followed by six
weeks of light duty. He won't be one hundred percent for at least 6
months."

O'Brien's face remained passive. "Botched him up real good then."

"Yes."

A smile twitched at his lips. "You know, I do outrank you."

"Oh...." Julian realized he'd been addressing the captain as if he
were the chief, forgetting to insert the "sir" that Chief O'Brien
adamantly refused to be called by his subordinates. This man, he was a
captain, and he probably expected to hear at least some deference to
his rank as a commanding officer. Julian winced. "I didn't mean..."

"Prophets, doctor! I was just teasing! Hell... I thought *we* were the
serious ones." He snorted at his own joke.

"I'm glad I haven't offended you."

O'Brien waved off the comment. "Well..." he stood up and stretched
again, rolling his shoulders a few times. "They found your chief of
security locked up in some contraption in the assay office." He then
looked directly at Julian and then extended a hand. The doctor stood
and they clasped hands. This O'Brien's handshake was stronger, more
authoritative, than the chief's. "Sorry about dragging you through
Quark's. Used to an empath, you know." He tapped his temple and then
smiled sincerely. "Thanks for what you've done, doctor. You're a good
man."

The praise caught Julian off-guard, the flush of pleasure from this
O'Brien's assessment making him pause before responding. Yet before
Julian could say, "You're welcome," the captain released his hand,
gave a Garak-like nod, and departed.

Suddenly, Bashir understood.

The Cardassian salute. Troi had done it as had O'Brien. The only
reason why Julian recognized it was because Garak, in one of his
more playful and instructional moods, had explained the subtleties of
Cardassian body language. The nods Troi and O'Brien had saluted him
with were more informal, an unspoken appreciation for his efforts. The
one Garak usually favored meant "Good day/evening." At least, that's
what the tailor had always told him.

Garak. The scene on the Promenade came rushing back. Garak had
cradled the ambassador. The soft words the Cardassian had spoken
in his native language had been in a tone the doctor had only heard
him use once, when Garak had asked for forgiveness lying on that bed
in the Infirmary after telling all those lies about why he was exiled.
Julian dropped into his chair.

The tailor was never one for public displays; Julian fully believed
the embarrassing drunkenness in Quark's two years ago was Garak's way
of asking for help. Yet there he had been, holding the ambassador with
a sort of protectiveness almost in a direct contrast to the flippant
but enigmatic image Garak usually projected. Was it that Elim Garak
actually cared about the welfare of Julian Bashir? Or was it, perhaps,
an unspoken repayment for the business about the implant? Still, that
particular ordeal had earned Julian what he perceived as the trust
(somewhat) and admiration (possibly) of the tailor.

For how often did a Starfleet officer sail into Cardassian space,
barge into the home of the former head of the Obsidian Order, and
demand information to save the life of an exile?

The ambassador and Garak had been in front of Garak's shop. They
must have been talking when Odo... no it wasn't Odo but another
Founder posing as Odo...  attacked. And Garak had gathered the
wounded ambassador to him, shamelessly thrust his hands into the
bleeding body in an attempt to staunch the wounds, and spoken to
him in such a gentle, coaxing tone that only now sent shivers up
Julian's spine.

What did those words mean? And why did the ambassador seem to
calm down after Garak said them?

Cardassia was part of their Federation. For the past two days, the
command staff had been dropping comments about the ambassador's
"Cardassian mannerisms." Had Garak performed some Cardassian Rite of
Death, the words spoken to an officer when he was grievously injured
in the line of duty? That type of ritual was not uncommon; several
cultures incorporated such ceremonies, informal or not.

Why would Garak care?

It had nothing to do with *Doctor* Julian Bashir. It had everything to
do with *Ambassador* Julian Bashir. What was the difference? The
diplomat had not spent countless hours reading and then debating
literature with Garak. The ambassador could not have possibly risked
his life to save....

Oh... but he had. Yesterday. On the Promenade. Odo coalesced
behind the ambassador who in turn, placed himself protectively in
front of Julian and Garak and drew his phaser. And while Julian had
intervened, he had heard Garak mutter something. A few seconds later,
the diplomat lowered his weapon. Julian remembered more of the
details. The ambassador had been standing *in front of* Garak the
entire time. There was no concern for himself or Julian, just for
Garak.

Julian concentrated harder, trying to recall movement which would give
him a clue to Garak's role in the diplomat's universe. The salute. The
ambassador's had been slower, more reverent than either Troi's or
O'Brien's, even Garak's nod in return. His mind made a connection: the
gesture had been similar to the one Ziyal had favored when she and
Garak first began associating with one another. It was formal. It was
the one given by a student to a teacher.

Elim Garak was Ambassador Bashir's mentor?

It also would certainly explain the similarities in speech patterns
and the way the diplomat almost mirrored Garak in tone and facial
expressions. Julian had noticed that yesterday. And Julian knew that
he himself always picked up a habit or two from his own mentors. Well,
*there* was an interesting notion. With the subtleties of Cardassian
manners, the ambassador had probably relayed all this information to
the tailor without having to say a word.

Astonishing.

But why would the ambassador reveal such a thing? Wouldn't such a
disclosure be seen as a vulnerability? Were these people so arrogant
as to believe no one else could interpret Cardassian mannerisms? If he
were the ambassador, why would he tell the alternate of his mentor
what role he played in the other universe? What purpose would it
serve? Or had it been something so automatic, so ingrained in the
ambassador's behavior he didn't realize he was doing it? But it still
didn't explain why Garak did what he did.

"Sisko to Bashir."

The page rocketed him back to reality. "Yes, captain?"

"Jabara said the surgery was a success." Sisko's tone was even,
without a hint of anger or indignation.

Julian winced. He'd told Captain O'Brien but he hadn't informed his
own commanding officer of the ambassador's condition. Maybe the
captain would chalk the mistake up to Bashir having to perform
critical surgery on the likeness of himself. Maybe not. "Yes, it was.
I'm working on the report now."

Okay... so it was a lie, but until Captain O'Brien had given that
salute, Julian had had every intention of putting together a written
report to give to Sisko.

"I'd like to hear it in person, doctor. Oh. And bring up a portable
medkit. I have a security officer who requires your attention."

<Odo. They found Odo.>

"Right away, sir."

He grabbed his kit, told Jabara where he'd be, and sped to Ops.

***

The structural integrity field grid located in the captain's quarters
of the Defiant sparked and sputtered in protest as Miles made the
adjustment. He wasn't paying close enough attention to what he was
doing.

It was becoming a habit.

He must be getting old. And tired. And worn out. He wondered if
Troi had sensed his perverse desire to stay here, to bungle the
crossover so they were forced to remain in this universe where they
could actually... Rest? Relax? Do some good? Hell, with the attitudes
this Federation displayed, these Starfleets would be lucky if they
lasted six months. There had to be more to these people than sheer
luck.

Defeating the Borg in only... what had Dukat said? A week? By the
Prophets, these people were blessed! The feeble weapons of these
Jem'Hadar ships! Did this Starfleet know with one simple phaser
modification that they could....

O'Brien sighed. Poor Doctor Bashir. Forced to perform surgery
upon his own likeness. Then Miles had fully expected him to give the
run down of the ambassador's condition without having to ask a
question. Prophets! No wonder he had missed the shifter switch.

Jake's latest update had the Defiant up to 85% complete in repairs
within the next three hours, which was the crew's way of stating quite
clearly they wanted to leave. They were more scared than they ever had
been. Why else had they spent the last six hours since the Founder
attacked fixing the ship? Had they really grown that reliant on the
simple fact they could detect a shifter? Troi wasn't on board. That
was a huge factor. And until the empathic doctor made her return,
inspected the ship, and declared it "all clear," O'Brien didn't have a
prayer in the universe to calm his people with.

The attack had spurred his young crew into frantic action. O'Brien
would have to perform a full engineering inspection, concocting some
captain's lie about this being one of the few times he could actually
do such a thing. At least Dukat had been on board to oversee the work
which meant the likelihood it was done correctly and short cuts only
taken when absolutely necessary was very high. Even if the Defiant
wasn't his ship, Dukat wasn't about to allow shoddy engineering to be
their downfall.

As hard as his people were working, it didn't stop the whispered
rumors. "Y'know what I heard? It was *inside* him... if Dukat
hadn't have blasted it when he did... it would have gone in him and
then..." the pause was dramatic as the voice became low, "*exploded.*"

Kurland always had a flair for dramatics. He loved to spin tales, as
much as Paris used to. But at least Tom had had the sense of decorum
not to spout off such exaggerations within earshot of the captain of
his ship. Kurland had paled appropriately and immediately went back to
work, leaving Sito, Rekelen and Hajar to gape in embarrassment for
listening in the first place. Miles had said nothing and walked away.
What could he have said? Something like that had never happened
before? But it had.

And now Julian was near death.

<Should have told him. Should have told him.>

"There is a way."

Miles turned away from the grid he'd been staring at for the past five
minutes and faced Dukat. He hadn't even heard the doors open. The
Cardassian took a few steps in, allowing the doors to shut behind him,
and then moved so he could lean against the wall. O'Brien fixed him
with a tired stare. "How d'ya mean?"

"Oh... Their Starfleet will never listen to such an idea. It is
against their principles. But there is one person, however, who will
consider the option."

The captain almost smiled to himself. Dukat loved being cryptic,
testing a person to see if he or she could follow the impossible path
of logic the Cardassian sometimes chose. O'Brien, however, knew
exactly what he was implying so he skipped over the needless
explanation. His only question was, "You or me then?"

"You. Simply because he... may give credence to your words."

<Credence to my words?> he laughed to himself. No. That wasn't it.
Dukat had other plans. O'Brien tossed the tool he had been using on
the bunk and went onto the next subject. "Julian'll be down for three
weeks. At least. That's Doctor Bashir's opinion."

"And Doctor Troi?"

"Sleeping it off right now."

Silence.

"We seemed to have let our guard down." It was the Cardassian way of
admitting to screwing up. Dukat wasn't looking for absolution any more
than O'Brien had when he said the same thing to Doctor Bashir. It was
simply a statement of fact; neither wanted sympathy or understanding.

"Among other things," O'Brien chuckled darkly. "Bet those boys,"
he thumbed in the general direction of the station as he referred to
Captain Sisko's crew, "are getting a perverse pleasure from knowing
we're not as infallible as we'd like to think." Dukat nodded and the
captain tacked on, "I'm surprised Brahms and Lavelle haven't relieved
us of duty."

"Oh... they're content to be smug about being 'right,' nothing more.
They know they cannot lead the ship. They know they do not possess the
abilities. Brahms will only remind you on occasion that you have made
a misjudgment."

"Remind me occasionally? Hell, she'll have it tattooed on my hide if
it were her choice."

"Actually, she would have it done to me." Dukat sounded almost
amused. "You know how much she despises me."

"Still blames you for her man's death?"

"Irrationally, yes." Pause. "It does help that Jake neutralized the
shapeshifter."

"Neutralized. Such a polite word. I would have said, 'Blown to
fucking bits.'"

"There is no Kardasi or Karjoran translation for 'blown to fucking
bits,' captain."

"Pity. Another shortfall of your language."

"Hmpf."

"Troi's still over there, with him. They're not going to calm down
until she's back."

"True. But the ship has been phaser-swept."

"And if one of those bastards is masquerading as a damned
bioconduit, we're fu...."

"Ah. Mister Sisko *was* correct."

"Beg your pardon?"

"You can conjugate any profane word and use it in a sentence."

"Hah-hah. It's a talent."

"I'm sure it is."

"Ziyal holding up?"

"After causing a scandal for appearing on DS9 in Mister Sisko's
company? She is fine. Apparently, the thought of my alternate being an
in-law to Captain Sisko is a nightmare."

"Wonder where they get *that* attitude."

"And Jake?"

"Revenge always soothes the soul."

"Ah. I see."

"One less threat to them is how he sees it."

"A commendable attitude."

Pause. "He's saying six hours."

"Julian will not be sufficiently recovered to endure a crossover."

"Put him in stasis. The quantum level oscillation delays won't affect
him. We can't stay here longer than that."

"Has Brahms completed the computations?"

"Half hour ago. Surprised she didn't thwack you in the neck with it
when she was done." Dukat gave him a scathing look. O'Brien attempted
a light-hearted chuckle but it came out flat as a short, "Hah." He
scratched the back of his head. "Been thinking. Brahms says the bias
in the subspace field is still there. That's how we're getting back.
Only problem is, it may not close when we leave."

"You want to collapse it, so nothing from our side comes here and vice
versa. An excellent precaution."

"But it is going to take one hell of a blast to make sure nothing gets
through."

"I see."

"Only problem is, we just got done with fixing this ship. The last
time this type of thing had to be done...."

"Please, I'd rather not dwell upon those events."

Silence.

The Cardassian lifted his hand to his temple, dropping his gaze to the
floor as his fingers gently rubbed the side of his eyeridge. It was a
silent admission of weariness, of guilt, of sorrow, of
self-beratement. As much as Cardassians like to think they were immune
from Terran influence, that one gesture signified that they, indeed,
had absorbed those particular emotions into the Kardasi collective.

"We trusted them," was all Dukat said.

*** End Part 16 ***