PROLOGUE

The landscape spread out below his office window, muted hues under the impending night. The sun pulled its cloak of gold and pink about it, letting its last sliver slip below the horizon. The three moons rose in procession, bathing the trees and buildings in a silver light barely dimmer than the radiance of their planet's captive sun. Stars came out, gradually, as they were allowed, winking in their across the tapestry of the galaxy, their showcase to be admired.

It was in this time, past the bustle of his daylight hours, that he could find the peace to think. Not that peace came with thought. Unless confronting ones conscience afforded peace.

But he knew what he had to do.No, he had only convinced himself that he did. He knew only

what he was supposed to do. For them, not for him.He was playing a game of God, he realized with sinking

weariness, killing one so that another might live. The question was which?

But that was not an option. The decision had already been reached. He had his orders. It wasn't what he felt was right, but right meant nothing to them, and should mean the same to him.

If the sacrifice of one person could save thousand, would it be worth it? In the grand scale the people on this world were painfully insignificant. Should that matter? Should that stand in the way of the loyalty he was now contesting to his people?

The ones that told him what he had to do didn't know how things were here. They could dictate all they cared to, but how could they decide fate when they sat comfortably in their positions so far away?

He would decide what he had to do. Not for his dictators. Not for his race. For himself and his conscience.

CHAPTER1

Station Log, Commander Benjamin Sisko, Stardate 48932.4:

The Bennharrae, a humanoid species originating from a world in Cardassian Space, have officially requested an exchange of officials as a prelude to trade negotiations with, and possible later membership in the Federation. Deep Space Nine has been awarded responsibility over the mission. The closest thing Starfleet that has been able to find to experts on the Bennharrae will be arriving this morning, officers from the U.S.S. Valdosta, the only Federation ship that has had contact with the Bennharrae. The Bennharrae themselves are due to dock sometime tomorrow.

Part of the arrangement is that three of their representatives will arrive here for a short while, to gather information on the Federation. We in turn are required to send three of our own back to the Bennharrae home world. This is an invaluable opportunity to familiarize ourselves with these people, with whom contacts have been limited. I must chose from my staff those who will best utilize it. The problem is that this is a position most of them could easily fill, and that's where the dilemma stands for me...

"I--I think... I think I've got it!" Lieutenant George Hamlen announced in triumph, infinitely pleased with himself until the console's innards exploded in his face. Sparks flowed out of the opening which his body was positioned in and he scrambled out cursing. Smoke began to roll out from under the console, filling the cockpit of the shuttle craft Kirin immediately. Lights flickered on the Kirin's control panel, then winked and died along with the rest of the crafts internal lighting. A second passed before the emergency systems compensated and the little vessel surged back to life.

Lieutenant Richard Proust did the best he could to suppress his coughing. He gripped the edge of the console rigidly, watching Hamlen curse and rant in the back of the shuttle craft.

"What was I suppose to do?" Hamlen snapped as he noticed Proust's gaze, construing it as a personal insult. Proust shrunk away from him, staring in timid alarm. "Sit here deaf, blind, and dead until someone ran across us? I think the conveniences of warp have made you forget just how big space is. We could wait out here until we're old and no one would find us if they weren't looking." He bared his teeth, slamming both fists down on the console's shiny black surface,

swearing again as the action jarred the electrical scores on his hands. "No sensors! No communications! Not even impulse! Why the hell didn't someone think to run a diagnostic on this damn thing before we left the Valdosta? Doesn't anyone follow procedure anymore?"

Proust hurriedly directed his eyes from Hamlen, concentrating instead on the shuttles timetable. "We were due to rendezvous with the Cochrane over four hours ago. You'd have thought she would have missed us by now." He licked his lips nervously, a bad feeling beginning to well up. It was one he hated to pair with the claustrophobia he was experiencing in this small, awful place, nor with the paranoia he was prone to. His voice dropped to a whisper, "Something must have happened to her."

Hamlen stared at him, his face contorted in disbelief, then disgust, "Proust, you idiot! That's ridiculous! Proust?" Hamlen's tone became warning, reacting to the Lieutenant's stricken expression. "Don't start this again. You promised me you wouldn't go into hysterics. You promised me. Do you remember? You promised me."

Proust clenched the sides of his seat, trying with all his power to control himself, to force the panic out of his mind. "I can't help it," his voice trembled against his best efforts to keep it level, "It's too small in here. It's...it's just close. I knew I shouldn't have come. I knew. I told them that I couldn't take being in a place like this. I knew."

"Proust," Hamlen reached over to grip his arm, putting up a false smile of reassurance. "We'll get this shuttle running and before you know it we'll be on Deep Space Nine. All right?"

Proust nodded slowly, more to satisfy Hamlen than actually believing it himself. He concentrated instead on trying to keep from hyperventilating.

People like me don't belong in Starfleet! People like me belong on research grants where we can't get in anyone's way. He squeezed his eyes shut, attempting to relax his muscles, imagining himself sitting in a green, open meadow filled with black-eyed Susans, back home on Earth. Unfortunately he was to smart to fall for it. Why do these shuttles have to be like coffins? A coffin out in the middle of nothing. No air. No substance. No way out. Nothing. Millions and millions of miles of nothing. The thought of dying out here immediately instilled him with horror. He wanted to scream, to relieve some of that terror in some way, but wouldn't allow himself. He didn't want to appear any weaker then he already did, especially not in front of the insufferable Hamlen. He couldn't lose what shred of respect he had left for himself. He couldn't.

How he hated himself for this. Every time a situation got mildly out of control he acted like the world was coming to an end. He told himself over and over again that this was nothing to worry himself over. Hamlen was at least a partially capable engineer, and soon he would get the communications working and call the Valdosta or the

Cochrane or some other ship to come pick them up. Soon. But soon enough?I feel like I'm drowning. Drowning in a sea of nothing. No

escape. No way to escape. Nothing. Just wait and wait until--"Proust!"Proust's eyes shot open, Hamlen's voice shattering his thoughts,

"What?" Proust looked to where Hamlen pointed. A small gray craft

identical to the one they occupied was approaching, growing to fill the screen. It's warp nacelles glowed blue as it glided toward them, their savior in the dark.

Proust let out his breath, a pressure jerked from him. He gasped, breathing the praises of whoever was in that shuttlecraft. They would have anything he could offer them as payment for this.

"They missed us," he said in relief, "They missed us and they came looking for us." He smiled weakly, resting his face in his hands, breathing freely now that he felt able. The Kirin didn't seem so much like a death trap anymore.

I have a feeling, he thought to himself, that someone is with me today.

The world went black around him.

Proust slumped forward, limp on the conn.Hamlen glanced over at him, What the--Quick reflexes were all that saved him from the same condition

as he felt a light, cold pressure on the side of his neck. He leapt up with a yelp, slamming in between two bodies positioned directly behind him. He heard their expressions of disgust and felt one of them snatch at him, catching the shoulder of his uniform, but without enough strength to hold him. He scampered away, instinctively going for the phaser at his hip--damn! Not there! It had been pinching him when he was working on the console and he'd stored it away. It sat safely in a compartment at the fore of the ship. He was at the aft. Stupid! He should have been prepared for anything. That was the first thing they taught at the Academy, something the greenest cadet knew. Even had he been able to reach the compartment he couldn't have gotten a weapon out in time. His assailants would have blasted him down before he got the door open. How could he possibly have not heard them beam in?

He glared at his attackers, standing stupidly beside Proust who was...dead? No, asleep. One of the men, a Cardassian, had a hypospray. He was taller and leaner than the younger, dark haired human, his expression dread as he watched Hamlen tensely.

"Don't worry," the Cardassian spoke, his voice uncomfortably neutral. He brought both hands up in front of him, assuming an

unthreatening stance. "We don't want to hurt you. We mean you no harm, but you need to come with us. We didn't want any trouble, so we were going to sedate you, like your friend." He motioned to the dozing Proust. "Please, don't make us use drastic measures." He began walking toward Hamlen. "Do not be concerned. If you do as you're told we will return you to your ship very shortly. This is Judson Kutter," he jerked his head at the man behind him. "My name is Wi--"

"I don't care who you are!" Hamlen bellowed impertinently. "If you take us prisoner your names won't matter a lick because Starfleet will have your heads!"

"Yes," the Cardassian smiled, his tone humoring, "I have no question of that. Now please, if you'll settle down this will be so much easier for all of--"

Hamlen hit him. He hit him so hard that the Cardassian flew backwards, crumpling into the helm chair. Had the Cardassian been ready Hamlen's punch would not have been so effective, but as it was the he hadn't expected it.

Before Hamlen had time to respond any further to the crisis, the man called Judson Kutter dove for his legs, knocking him of balance. He fell backwards, the force of the impact knocking the breath out of him. It took him only a moment to recover, however, as Judson Kutter was up and crawling forward, trying to pin him. Hamlen took an opening to kick Judson Kutter in the stomach, however not as hard as he intended. The blow did not deter Judson Kutter. He gasped and hissed something at Hamlen, bringing the base of his hand to Hamlen's jaw, forcing it back sharply, sending a tingling through the nerves of his body.

At the helm the Cardassian struggled to his feet, swiftly retrieving his hypospray from under the conn seat, where it had lodged beneath one of Proust's feet. He was at the aft then, coming down forcefully with one of his knees on Hamlen's chest, applying just enough of his body weight to the sternum for pain to debilitate him, the other pinning an arm. One hand went to Hamlen's free arm, pinning it while the other sought his neck with the hypo. It discharged with a hiss of air and Hamlen ceased to struggle, drug induced sleep flooding over him.

There was silence then, except for the harsh breathing of the assailants.

The Cardassian hauled himself off the unconscious man, a hand moving to his bruised jaw. He rotated it gingerly, feeling it with gravid fingers.

"Are you all right?" Judson asked, out of courtesy more than concern.

"Yeah." the Cardassian spoke absently, dropping his hand. "But sometimes I wonder if any of this is worth it."

"Sure it is, sir. You know it is," Judson bent to assess Hamlen's

condition, "in the end." He nodded up at the Cardassian."I'm not sure of that," he said, pressing a finger to Proust's neck,

satisfied as he felt his pulse beat slow and rhythmic against his skin, "It seems a lot of work for what little gain we have achieved." He placed his hands on his hips, regarding Hamlen on the floor. "I wonder if he'd have given us as much trouble if we'd had time to explain that we're trying to help."

"Hana to Reis," an irritated female voice crackled over the Cardassian's comm link. "Are the two of you planning to come back anytime soon? Did you run into problems?"

The Cardassian tapped the communicator, hidden under his clothes. "A minor one, Hana. Don't worry. Can you lock a tractor beam onto this shuttle and take it in tow? I don't know what these people did, but it looks like they blew out half the systems in this thing. Our luck that something did happen. I doubt we would have caught up with them otherwise."

"Are you coming back over here or staying there?" Hana Hali asked.

"Judson will. I'll stay here with the prisoners." The Cardassian grinned. "I gave them enough sedative to keep them down for hours, but I'd like to keep an eye on them, just to make sure."

"Understood, sir." Her tone was mocking. But it always was.The Cardassian turned and nodded to Judson. "Energize."Judson returned the gesture, gave him a pert thumbs-up sign,

and evaporated in the blue static of the transporter beam.Once he was gone the Cardassian settled into the helm seat,

leaning comfortably back in the chair, glancing over at the sleeping Proust. He steepled his fingers and waited. It was a long way home.

Though not so long as for some...

CHAPTER2

"Doctor!"Doctor Julian Bashir started. The next thing he knew he was on

the ground next to his couch. Disorientation of his first waking moments clung, and he wasn't quite sure why he was on the floor, and why he wasn't in his bed, or at least the floor beside his bed. He

rubbed the back of his head gingerly where it had snapped back to strike the ground, floor panels hard under the thin carpeting. He grumbled a weak complaint.

"Doctor Bashir!" The voice was more insistent this time.Sisko, Bashir's mind slowly acknowledged, however more quickly

than his physical form could respond."Hmmm? What?" he fumbled around, trying with little success to

pull himself into some semblance of order."Would you care to join us, Doctor?" Commander Sisko's voice

grated across the comm, as well as across Bashir's nerves.Bashir frowned. What in the world is he talking about? "For

what, Commander?" It came out with no suggestion that he had any sort of intelligence at all. Then he remembered.

He swore, stumbling to his feet, "I'll be there in a moment, Commander. Bashir ou--" he failed to notice a negligently discarded boot and tripped over it, managing to regain his balance only before careening into the floor again. He kicked the erring attire out of his way prior to realizing he needed it and had to retrieve it from across the room.

Bashir forced himself through his morning routine with less than the bare essentials. Anything that took more than a few seconds held no priority. Tearing out of his pajamas and into his uniform in nearly the same step, he managed to fall over almost everything in his quarters before finally completing the task. He spared no more than a nanosecond's glance in the mirror, snatched his communicator from where it lay on the table, and ran out the door before it had opened entirely.

It had completely slipped his mind.Bashir had been conversing with Lieutenant Dax over raktajino

the previous evening when Sisko had passed the Replimat, joining them at their request. Casually among topics Sisko had interjected a request for Dax and Bashir to join the rest of the senior staff the next morning. "To welcome two Starfleet mediators," Sisko had informed them, for some pre-trade agreement with a race Bashir had never heard of before that night.

"I'd get to bed if I were you," Sisko suggested as he'd gotten up to leave. "Four hundred hours, sharp." He'd cast a quick glance at Bashir. He had no doubt of Dax's punctuality, but had seemed to think that the young doctor needed a reminder. "I expect you both there, lower docking pylon two." He had then retired with promises from both of his officers to do the same soon. Dax had remained true to her word, leaving Bashir with the same warning about getting to bed at a reasonable hour. Bashir had lingered for an hour more, enjoying the peacefulness of the Promenade at that late hour.

Once back at his quarters he had settled on his couch with The Valley of the Sun, a piece of historical literature Garak had insisted he

read. Garak, the stations sole remaining Cardassian, said that he had not cared for it personally, but for all Bashir griped about Cardassian literature--and what opinions he'd voiced on it--the book seemed to be something he would like. It was one of the more radical works, not particularly popular on Cardassia.

Bashir had expected the same awful stuff Garak had forced on him over the past few years. Cardassian literature was extremely long drawn and redundant, if well suited to its reptilian creators. But contrary to his view of it, once he'd gotten into the story it was like nothing he'd ever read. It seemed almost like most human literature, with a distinctly alien spice that he had found irresistible. He hadn't been able to make himself put it down, and had fallen asleep on his couch, the book completed but Sisko's orders forgotten.

Ripping through the corridors of Deep Space Nine, Bashir barely avoided a collision with a pair of ensigns in the crossover bridge and rammed straight into a Bajorian security officer in the docking ring. Hastening apologies to both, he continued his bee line for lower pylon two. first place.

Bashir didn't have the slightest idea of who he was suppose to be meeting. As far as he knew they were the high head admirals of Starfleet itself, except that he doubted anyone of that prowess would be sent all the way out here to deal over a simple pre-trade agreement which didn't seem that important in the first place. But Starfleet held everything, no matter how small, as important. They cared a great deal for the affairs of the galaxy, which went on at their arms length.

Bashir went past a turbolift port, realizing that it would probably be a better idea to take it, rather than run to the docking pylon straight. He disliked mornings, thought processes so disrupted and slow as they were.

The turbolift took too long arriving for him, too long opening, too long closing, and too long getting to where it was directed. He fidgeted, urging it speed. But what awaited him once there? No telling what his commander had in store for him, though it was unlikely that he would react very strongly to such a minor offense as this.

Sisko was lenient, as commanding officers went, highly personable and easy to get along with, though he disliked things getting out of his control, as most people did. Bashir recalled stories friends from the Academy told him when their ships had cause to stop at DS9. A good many conversations revolved around their ship's captains and as many distinct flaws as they could pick apart, everything from incredibly resolute to completely incompetent. The more accounts he heard the more Bashir became grateful for this assignment, this crew, and Sisko, who was almost as much confidant as he was commander. But he was still the commanding officer of this station. Bashir never forgot that.

Sisko must have been hovering tightly over his arrival, for the

moment the lift dropped to rest at the bottom of the pylon a swift reprise was at his ears.

"Nice of you to join us, Doctor." Sisko's voice was flat and measured, itself enough to bring anyone to attention, but when coupled with his expression...

Bashir felt heat rising in his face at the numerous eyes on him. Normally he delighted in being the center of attention, but definitely not this way.

Besides Sisko, there was Major Kira Nerys, Lieutenant Jadzia Dax, Chief of Operations Miles O'Brien and Constable Odo, the make-up of Deep Space Nine's senior staff, all uncomfortably intent on him. And aside from the gazes of his colleges two sets were unfamiliar. An alien female and a human man, both Starfleet, who stood watching him with the others.

When Bashir looked back from them Sisko had fixed him with a void expression. He swallowed hard, "Commander, I apologize. I--"

"Just" he mercifully broke the uneasy silence, "make sure it doesn't happen again."

He bobbed his head tightly, "Yes, sir." Sisko inclined his head in return. "Doctor, allow me to introduce

our trade delegates, Lieutenant Kel Terr'Essh," Sisko gestured to the woman, who bowed to Bashir, "and Ensign Thom Brekka," the human smiled.

"Doctor Julian Bashir," he replied, trying to suppress the urge to breath heavily from his sprint here. He leaned forward to shake hands with Lieutenant Terr'Essh, finding her skin oddly cool and smooth to the touch. "Forgive my lateness."

Terr'Essh smiled, an expression unusual in it's merriment. She was a remarkable fair skinned woman with black hair wrapped in a formal style atop her head. Her most distinguishing aspect--as well as the trademark of her culture--was a dappled, blue triangular marking, visible to her hairline, which started directly up from the center of her eyes and came to a point a few centimeters from the bridge of her nose. It's form was not completely straight, it's edges wavering and erratic. Bashir didn't recognize her race.

Beside her was Brekka, obviously a very new junior officer. He had the sparkle in his eyes of someone who has great expectations of his Starfleet career. He was about Bashir's height and build, with an angular face, ash blond hair, and sharp blue eyes that probably didn't miss much. Brekka took Bashir's hand and pumped it enthusiastically. Others had probably seen him the same way once, Bashir mused, offering welcome to the ensign.

"There's nothing to forgive, Doctor," Terr'Essh's voice was rich and light in an unfamiliar accent. She smiled deeply. "It is to early to be up." She turned back to Sisko and the others. "Please accept my apologies on the part of the Cochrane's captain. I should have

insisted more strongly that she wait until a half-way decent hour to off-load us. But she claimed that she had more urgent matters to attend to, and it is her ship, after all." Terr'Essh shrugged. "We weren't in a position to argue with her. I don't think anyone likes their passengers telling them how to run their ship. I know that we never cared for it on ours, anyway, and we've had our share."

"As have we," Sisko grinned."Well, I promise you that I won't inflict that on you either,

Commander. I will, however, judge you on how well you manage to handle these negotiations of Starfleet's. Be warned," she wagged a finger at him, "I'm difficult to please."

"No more than a few admirals I'm aquatinted with. Admiral Tanaka contacted me just yesterday to stress how important Starfleet holds this as a stepping stone to better relations with the Bennharrae--"

"Tanaka?" Terr'Essh asked, brow creasing in confusion. "Is Tanaka in charge of this?"

"I had been informed that Admiral Tanaka had jurisdiction over these negotiations."

"Oh? I was told it was Admiral Maxwel, and that's who we've dealt with so far. Tanaka was never involved with us..." Terr'Essh gripped her chin in thought.

"I may be mistaken," Sisko amended. "Starfleet should contact us again soon. I'll straighten this out then."

Terr'Essh nodded absently, still thinking. "Constable Odo will escort you to your quarters," Sisko

continued, indicating Odo to her. "I would myself, but Major Kira and I have business to attend to. I'm sorry to push you off so quickly, but as you said it is early and I assume you would both like to get some rest. I've scheduled a briefing at 0900 hours. I assume that allows adequate time to prepare for the Bennharrae's arrival."

"Yes. Of course, Commander." Terr'Essh dipped her head in acknowledgment. "We'll tell you everything you want to know, if we can."

The assembly parted, allowing a pathway for the pair to follow Odo, who disappeared with them into the turbolift Bashir had just exited.

Bashir watched them until the lift rose out of sight. When he glanced back he met Sisko's eyes. "You wanted me down here for that?" His voice came out low and tired. He was disappointed that he had been drug out of bed for such a brief event. He hadn't expected anything grand or monumental, but it should have been something a bit more substantial. He ran a hand back through his unruly hair. "Frankly, Commander, I wonder if I'd have done you more good by staying in bed."

"Courtesy impresses a lot, Doctor. We'll be dealing with these

people for a while, so we might as well be on good terms with them.""Yes," Bashir nodded to himself. "I know."

The turbolift hissed to a halt in the habitat ring, doors parting for it's occupants to pass.

"If you'll follow me," Odo motioned the Starfleet mediators to proceed him into the passageway outside.

The corridor into which they passed was dimly lit, as was a great deal of Deep Space Nine. The station as a whole had brightened considerably since the time when Cardassians had occupied it, with light and with the happiness that flourished in absence of oppression. The old mining station still reflected the ominous presence of it's former owners in its form, and in the dark, curving passages, where better lighting was yet to be installed. But it was no longer a dismal darkness. Not that it mattered to Odo, but just the same.

"Odo, is it?"The shape-shifter hadn't expected anyone to speak to him, or

had perhaps only wished it that way. Sisko had disturbed his liquid state in order to meet these people. Since he was up in a solid form he had decided that he might as well get some work done. He wanted to drop these two off and get down to security as soon as possible. Conversation would only delay him. "Yes, it is," he responded curtly.

Terr'Essh had spoken. In their progression through the corridor she had fallen into step with him. "An interesting name. It isn't often that I find one to compare with mine." Odo could see her smile out of the corner of his eye. "Am I correct in assuming that 'Constable' is a title and not your given name. Or surname, if you abide to Bajorian culture."

Odo started to answer, but Ensign Brekka cut him off."'Constable' is an Earth title, Lieutenant. An officer of the peace

with minor judicial function." He watched Odo tersely as he spoke. "It's an old word. I haven't heard it in a while."

Terr'Essh glanced at Brekka, then back at Odo, "Is he correct."Odo had never heard the definition of the title aloud, though he

knew the just of it. It was an expression of affection that he barely tolerated, but had accepted from Sisko and the others. But somehow, coming from Brekka, an outsider of the station, the word seemed terribly insulting and belittling. His insides churned in aggravation. "It's a nickname Major Kira gave me several years ago. It stuck, unfortunately."

"I see. I heard Commander Sisko use it. I'd never heard a security title like that before. Excuse me for my ignorance, but I'm not an expert on all aspects of Earth culture." She directed the last sentence at Brekka, who merely shrugged.

She inhaled deeply, turning her eyes away from anything

particular, allowing them to roam the walls. "This was the old Cardassian station, wasn't it?" She smiled again, thoughtfully. "It's beautiful."

"Beautiful is not quite the word I would ascribe to it," Odo rumbled.

"Elegant?" She said the word as if asking whether it were more to his liking, eyes sliding to the ceiling, "I admit, I haven't seen much in the way of Cardassian handiwork, but this station is very defiantly elegant, and yes, I'd even say beautiful in it's own way. Nothing like those ships of their's. Ugly things. No lines of grace."

Brekka made a noise behind them, "I don't see how you can apply grace to a wreck thrown together out of metal."

Terr'Essh's wispy expression at the aesthetics of the station's construction tightened abruptly and her tone became abrasive, "What is it your people say? 'Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.'"

Brekka didn't respond.It seemed that the conversation had been terminated at that.

Odo saw it as an opportunity to break off, picking up speed toward their destination. He hoped they'd catch his hint one way or another.

"You're the Changeling?" Brekka asked swiftly. Odo sighed inwardly, biting off a sharp return. He closed his

eyes, measuring his voice carefully, filtering out the annoyance before he spoke. "Yes." Even so he didn't get all the harshness out.

Brekka grinned suddenly, his face expanding in excitement. "I've heard about shape-shifters," he sounded no less than ecstatic, his eyes running over Odo as though looking at some new species under a microscope. It had been a good while since anyone had regarded him that way. Odo didn't care for it. "I've never seen one before, though. God," he laughed, "I bet you're something."

An expression of horror crossed Terr'Essh's face before the full impact of the comment had even registered on Odo, "He is not one of your laboratory specimens, Ensign."

Brekka was still smiling, but the countenance slowly dispersed as he realized what he'd said. His face drooped, "Oh. Oh, I'm sorry! Look, I didn't mean it. It's just that I...I... What I meant was that, well..." he looked at Terr'Essh in alarm.

Terr'Essh bit her lip, directing herself apologetically back at Odo. "Excuse him, Constable. He's young and unmannered. Most of the time he doesn't think before he opens his mouth. A shortcoming of most young humans, I'm afraid." Brekka straightened visibly under Terr'Essh's cold words.

"I...I'm sorry..." Brekka stammered, "I didn't mean it, sir. It's just that...well, one doesn't see something like you every day."

Terr'Essh let out a short, unamused bark of laughter, "A figurative Loch Ness Monster, hmmm, Brekka?"

Brekka's eyes widened. He was starting to panic, caught in a

corner. He clenched his fists to his sides, "No! No, I didn't mean it that way! All I'm trying to say is that...that..."

"You don't know when you've dug a deep enough hole, do you, Ensign?"

"No, Lieutenant, I..." he groaned, dropping his head in dejection, stopping before he had to swallow his foot entirely.

Terr'Essh grinned lopsidedly at him, shaking her head, and diverted her attention elsewhere. She observed the corridor as they walked, drawn into it as most humanoids would be to a sunset. Odo couldn't see what fascination it held for her. "Is there any chance I could find someone to oblige us the privilege of a tour of this station?" she asked, and jerked her head at Brekka. "You perhaps?" she picked up her stride to walk far enough ahead to look back at him, "It seems, being the chief of security you'd know it well through. That is, if we haven't sufficiently insulted you already."

"Oh, come on, Lieutenant. You're not being fair," Brekka looked hurt.

Terr'Essh opened her mouth to speak to him, and though she looked like it was just going to be a round of teasing, Brekka didn't look like his self-esteem could take it.

Odo felt the need to intervene, though he would have been almost pleased to let Brekka take his bashing. "No, really, it's all right. I'm use to this sort of thing."

Terr'Essh cocked her head at him, with an odd expression that almost bordered sympathy, "I see. And what of my request? Is it not your diplomatic duty? Or is diplomacy a purely Starfleet trait?" she glowered in a fashion which suggested that, more often than not, she'd had to deal with people that saw diplomacy as a vulgar thing.

"My office is in the Promenade." Odo said simply, wondering if Sisko had thrown him into this intentionally. Their commander had a way of picking people for duties by how much they detested them sometimes. "I could accommodate you myself. Or I could send you with one of my deputies, if you prefer." He wished she preferred the latter.

"No, you will be fine. Besides, it will give Thom the opportunity to work on your bad side. You can never have enough enemies." She beamed coyly at Brekka, who seemed entirely defeated. "But," she shifted gears, sighing overexasperatedly, "I don't know if we'll get the opportunity, with these proceedings. I do disrelish negotiations: they fry nerves like you wouldn't believe." Her voice dropped to a whisper so silent that Odo was the only one that possibly could have heard it, "And the Bennharrae at that!"

Bennharrae. The name was unfamiliar to the public in general; no one seemed to know who they were. Nor did Odo, for that matter, who had a habit of knowing a great deal, even of that not directly related to the affairs of Deep Space Nine, as the Bennharrae had not

been until recently. He had not known about it, or them, until Sisko had asked that he join the rest of the senior staff in greeting the events delegates. This had been late the night before, when Odo had just closed his office. And even then Sisko had not been particularly clear about it. Of course Odo had voiced his complaint on not being notified of such matters in due time to prepare for them, but Sisko had said that he himself had not known about them until only a few hours before. It wasn't common that Starfleet just threw something like this on it's unsuspecting members, but it did happen, and they'd just have to make the best of a bad situation.

With permission Odo had gone through most of the information that the Federation had sent about the Bennharrae, which wasn't much. There had only been one known contact between the Bennharrae and the Federation, and very little was known about them. They avoided contact with other races staunchly.

The Federation and the Bennharrae, however, had been working for trade for several months now. So far no face to face dealings had been initiated, and had not been planned for some while yet. It seemed that the reason these negotiations had been jumped on DS9 was entirely Bennharrae doing. All at once they had insisted that this stage must be opened immediately. If not complied to they had threatened to break off contact and return to their previous isolated existence, upon which all the work that had gone into getting this far would be lost. Apparently the Bennharrae were a testy species, and would almost certainly carry out the threat with the slightest provocation. The Federation had catered to their request, and Deep Space Nine, the closest outpost to the Bennharrae home world, had found itself in the posision of hosting these preliminary negotiations. There was nothing that could be done.

This had been three days ago, and yet it had only yesterday gotten to them, after being caught up in the system several times. It had all been explained and made perfect sense given the facts, but somehow it didn't seem like something Starfleet, as well structured as it was, would let happen. It wouldn't let any of it's possible members--or members, for that matter--walk on it, for one; and two, it didn't want any of its people in the dark, and would have notified DS9 on the first opportunity, not three days later. It worked against the grain, but just the same Odo dismissed it, pushing it to the back of his mind. He didn't forget it, though. He had long since learned never to ignore his instincts.

At that point they came to the quarters that had been assigned to Brekka, to which Odo informed him. He inquired whether he knew how to operate Cardassian replicators, computers, et cetera, or not. Brekka, on an edge, said that he could figure it out by himself, thanked Odo, and retreated to his quarters.

"Don't hold anything against Brekka," Terr'Essh said, eyes fixed

on the door as it closed. "He really does mean well."(This is a bad seque... I need to fill in with something magical,

like a conversation between the two, or something.)Terr'Essh, for her part, was something entirely different, and he

wasn't quite sure what that something was. She carried an air of very superior intelligence, but there was a vacantness about her that suggested she wasn't bright at all, perky almost to the point of annoyance if one had to take too much of her in one sitting. The embodiment of a contradiction of terms, he was genuinely perplexed by her. Not to mention the fact that she seemed strangely familiar...

She looked up and smiled at him, "I confound a lot of people, you know."

Odo blinked. "I'm not sure what it is," she continued before he could utter a

sound, "but most can't make heads or tails of me. Unfortunate, really. Makes a lot of difficulty for me."

Odo tilted his head, trying to get a better perspective of her. "You're a telepath?" That seemed an impossible rationalization. Telepaths couldn't read him.

"Oh, certainly not. Not at all. But I've gotten that look a thousand times. I'd know it at a distance." She folded her arms, "I didn't expect it from you, though. From what I've heard you don't apply to most humanoid mannerisms, and surely not to any that I would get from every other person I met. I'm afraid this is quite perplexing to me. I pride myself on knowing all those concerned when I'm involved in something. Maybe I shouldn't put so much faith in my sources."

Odo was unable to conceal the expression of confusion on his face.

Terr'Essh peered at him for a moment, as if measuring how much he had gathered, "I make an effort," she said, considering each word as she spoke, "to have an idea of who I will be dealing with when I'm going into a situation. I read all the personnel reports for everyone I suspected would be involved: Commander Sisko and most of the senior staff. I didn't think of security being very involved, but when your name came up I made a point of reading it anyway, because, like Brekka, I have heard a good deal about you. I have a good many acquaintances in several ports, and they always have stories. I've heard a few tellings of encounters with 'that shape-shifter.' I'm afraid that many of my friends aren't reputable, and if I took the time to name them, you'd probably recall a few. Suffice it to say that I hear a great deal, and fortunately you don't appear fit most of it. Consider yourself lucky, because if you did someone would have likely killed you by now, and if not, I would." She beamed, peering at him playfully from under her dark eyelashes.

Odo paused, "I see."

"And since I won't have to kill you," her voice drifted after him as he turned to show her to her quarters, "how about dinner?"

Odo wrenched back to stare at her. She arched an eyebrow, amused, and Odo was relieved to note--

after a fleeting fear that he had another Lwaxana Troi to contend with--that there was about as much romantic intent in that offer as if it had been Quark inviting him for a drink on the house.

"I don't--""Eat?" She smirked, "I know. I've heard. But you can talk, and

that's the best sort of meal companion, in my eyes. How about it?""Madam, I'm afraid--""Oh, I'm sure you can fit half an hour into your hectic schedule.

I'll probably have to pass over the tour, but I have to do something while I'm here. You've no idea how dull it can be, on the same star ships for so many years. Run out of leisure activities after a while. I want to make the best of this station while I can. What better way than spending some time with one of the most unique people I could ever have the chance of knowing. Ahh," she put up a hand to deflect any arguments, "I won't take 'no' for an answer."

"Then what" Odo didn't bother to erase the edge from his voice, "would be the point of refusing?"

Terr'Essh grinned, "I'm glad you see my side. Most rarely do.""I'm sure.""Indeed. Are those mine?" She indicated a set of doors."Yes.""Good. It's been a long day already, and I'd like to freshen up

before restarting it." she walked to the entrance, and then paused, "Of course you realize I'll be calling on you for everything now." She left him without another word or even a backward glance.

CHAPTER3

The coffee was too hot. Dax had let it sit for a few minutes, but it was still sufficiently scalding to scorch her tongue when she drank it. She frowned and set it aside, returning her full attention to the report she was studying.

It was the U.S.S. Valdosta's account of the first contact with the Bennharrae. So far, from what she'd read, they weren't a particularly friendly people. They had exhibited no hostile behavior to the Valdosta during the encounter, but had made it fairly clear that they had no interest in the Federation in general and Starfleet in particular. In their exact words, they "disposed in the idea of contact with such a backward alliance."

The Bennharrae didn't believe in contact to such a degree as the Federation practiced on a daily basis. They believed in staying to their own, that one should not openly involve one's self with races other than one's own. To them, intermingling with other species was a ridiculous concept, and therefore everything the Federation stood for in it's spirit of coexistence was inconceivable. They dwelled on their world in ignorance, discouraging contact with their neighbors in the galaxy. Or so the Cardassians said.

The Cardassians were the only people who'd had significant exposure to the Bennharrae, since their home world was in the

Cardassian sector of space. Cardassia had attempted relations with the Bennharrae on several occasions, but had eventually given up on the idea due to the race's total lack of cooperation.

Of course all that might not be true. The Cardassians had been unusually forth coming with the information. The first contact with the Bennharrae had been only a shortly after the Federation had taken control of Deep Space Nine and the wormhole had been discovered. The Cardassians had been rather sore at that time, and could well lied about it as a way of achieving some sort of meager revenge against the Federation.

But if it is true, she wondered, why the change of heart?Dax set the data pad down and took her mug between her

hands, sipping it slowly in thought.The Promenade was bustling with morning traffic: people like

herself taking breakfast at any of the stations numerable restaurants, some browsing the shops and kiosks. Little activity came from Quark's bar, for there were few people that liked to start either drinking or gambling this early in the day. The little Feringi himself could be seen through his service window from Dax's position, dictating the days orders to Rom and his other waiters. Quark seemed irritated, pointing sternly to each of his employees as he spoke to them, waving his arms in exasperation when he finished his speech, shooing them away to their tasks so that they scattered like flies disturbed from a carcass. Quark shook his head in annoyance and Dax could see his shoulders rise and fall in what must have been a sigh. He continued shaking his bulbous head and walked out of her sight.

Dax grinned in amusement and surveyed the other direction of station. She immediately noticed Bashir farther down the Promenade chatting with Garak, the Cardassian tailor, walking slowly toward the Replimat. Bashir was talking with his hands, gesturing, looking as if his purpose was to get Garak to agree with him on some point. For his part Garak didn't appear to be buying it: he was shaking his head, which only made Bashir more desperate. Pursing his lips and rethinking his tactics, Bashir began his argument again. Garak's expression became more strained, his mouth tightening. He was starting to lose patients with the doctor. As they neared Dax was able to catch their conversation.

"...was magnificent. Stradi's interpretation of historical events was absolutely brilliant. I don't understand why you can't seem to grasp" Bashir clenched the air with both fists "my perspective on it."

Garak was attempting with great expense of effort to keep his composure, "Stradi's interpretations were ignorant and one sided. I can't see how you could possibly refer to them as anything remotely close to brilliant. The man was as pathetic a historian as he was a writer."

That struck Bashir very deeply. His volume increased, "History is

suppose to be boring, Garak. Stradi's account was by far more interesting than any of the fictional works by anyone that I've read thus far in Cardassian literature."

"Well, maybe you haven't read enough Cardassian literature.""I assure you, Garak, that if more of your respective Cardassian

authors wrote like Stradi I'd definitely make a point of it. As it is most of them are extremely dull!"

The two quarreled unceasingly. Dax wondered why they remained friends when they were constantly at such ends with each other. Whenever she happened to see them together they were heatedly discussing one subject or another, most commonly exactly the same subject they were finding contention from now. It was an appreciation for that art that bound them to a certain extent. One day they'll run out of books, Dax mused, and then we'll see.

Bashir decided to ignore Garak, turning instead to Dax, who's table they had approached. He bid her a sharp good morning and sat down in the chair opposite hers, arms folded firmly across his chest.

Garak regarded Bashir for an second more, then sighed wearily. "Fine, Doctor, hold your opinions. Now, if you'll excuse me I must attend my shop."

"Oh, don't go," Dax caught Garak as he turned to leave, "Please join us," she offered him one of the table's vacant chairs.

Garak smiled graciously, "Thank you, Lieutenant, but I'd hate to intrude on you and the doctor--"

"Nonsense." She stood, pulling out the seat for him. "Can I get you anything?"

Garak considered this a moment as he sat, "Macchiato, perhaps."Dax glanced at Bashir, "Tarkalean tea?" she asked. It was what

the doctor usually ordered."Yes, please." She made a quick trip to the replicator, ordering the drinks and

turning to watch the pair, who seemed to have found another subject to discuss, one they both appeared to have less contention over, for they were more at ease. Hearing the hum of the drinks materializing she took up the cups, returning to the table.

"One macchiato..." she placed the Cardassian's beverage before him, "...and one Tarkalean tea." She gave Bashir his and slid back into her seat.

Bashir took it from her, still in thought, and sipped at it, oblivious to it's extreme temperature.

A few moments passed in monotonous silence, which Dax elected to break.

"What's your opinion on this whole ordeal with the Bennharrae, Julian?"

"I'm not sure I have an opinion yet," he replied, staring contemplatively into his tea. "Quite frankly I'd be happy just to know

anything. I've never heard of them before." "That's the general feeling," Garak interjected. "It's not often

that a race just pops out of nowhere and requests a trade agreement. I'd mark this day for posterity if I were you."

Bashir stared at him, "How is it that you came to know of them?" He knew the answer before Garak spoke it.

"One learns much when he keeps his ears open, Doctor." Garak grinned. The Cardassian did indeed keep his ears open, a habit that had more often then not proved to DS9's advantage in past years.

Bashir smiled barely at the comment. "I'm not sure I'm entirely comfortable with it," Dax continued

mindfully. "I just finished reading the report about them, and they've never wanted anything to do with us until now. In fact, they were extremely adamant about avoiding us. Why change their mind so suddenly?" She thought a moment, "Benjamin also mentioned something about trade with the Federation being a way of the Bennharrae getting their foot in the door for membership..." she trailed off, wondering if anyone else was disputing this the way she was.

"Well, right now we're hardly in any position to pass judgment when we know so little about them and even less about their motives." Bashir said, playing with his tea mug, carefully enough for the hot liquid to not slosh over the sides.

Dax smiled at him, "Your absolutely right, Julian. Hopefully Lieutenant Terr'Essh and Ensign Brekka will clear the water a little. You are coming to the meeting?" It was more command than question.

He returned again from his thoughts, "Am I suppose to be?""All senior staff." She grinned, "And I wouldn't be late if I were

you. Benjamin might not be as merciful this time.""What will he do? Behead me in the briefing room?"

"You never know.""That should impress the mediators."Dax drained her mug, "I've got to get to Ops. I have systems

diagnostics to run with O'Brien before 0900 hours." She gave Bashir a hard look, "Don't be late."

He dismissed her with the wave of a hand."And don't fight," she added as she stepped down from the

Replimat's slightly raised area."Quit acting like my mother!" Dax smiled again, stepping into the lift and directing it to Ops.

"Doctor Bashir!"Bashir paused, turning to peer through the crowd on the

Promenade, searching for the person that had called him. He would not wait long for them; he didn't want to be late for the briefing, least Dax's idea of Sisko's displeasure prove true. Seeing no one, he began

to return to his destination, then catching sight of a figure advancing toward him.

"Lieutenant," he said when Terr'Essh was within normal speaking distance. "I'd thought that you would have been in the briefing room by now."

"It's just Terr'Essh, Doctor," she said firmly, coming up beside him. "And I was just on my way there. My, you may not know it, but this station of yours is like a maze. I spent the whole morning lost. It's a wonder I found my way out at all." She laced her arm through his, beaming up at him, "Surely you wouldn't mind escorting me, so that I don't lose my way again."

"Not at all." He motioned toward the nearest turbolift, "Just this way."

"Ah," she inclined her head, following him as he began to walk. "Thank you, Doctor. I appreciate your assistance."

"Think nothing of it. The pleasure is all mine."Terr'Essh looked up at him for an instant, then flashed her eyes

to the ground. "And a gentleman," she shook her head. "This is the Julian Bashir I've heard so much about."

Bashir blinked, "I beg your pardon?""Don't be modest, Doctor. Oh, but modesty is such an marvelous

quality." She patted his arm gently, "The way I understand it you're the most accomplished young doctor in Starfleet. It's something you should acknowledge."

"Well," Bashir shrugged, trying to hide his embarrassment, "I don't know about that. I'm sure there are a many other physicians that far excel me."

"You see, you aren't acknowledging it. Well, suit yourself." She released his arm and allowed him to step into the turbolift first, then joined him.

Bashir gave the turbolift it's destination, and in the seconds while doing so, when Terr'Essh was looking away from him, he took the chance to get a good look at the alien woman. She reminded him on many levels of an Earth flowering plant he hadn't seen for many years: a water lily. A white, delicate water lily.

Well, she was indeed white. Her skin was so devoid of pigment that she quite resembled porcelain, just as flawless. Too perfect, in fact. No one had skin that perfect. No visible pores, no blemishes, or even traces that there had ever been any. The only color to her the marking on her forehead; her eyes, gray and luminescent in her face, surrounded by great, long black lashes; and her well shaped, clover colored lips, their hue not a result of make-up, for she wore none.

Delicate? Somewhat. She was tall and thin, slender and refined. She had a well balanced face, her cheek bones defined, high on her face. Her nose was straight, the line of her jaw sloping, her chin sharp. Her forehead curved back nicely, finishing off her profile, well adorned

by the dappled blue marking, like sunlight through the leaves of a tree. All was framed by that magnificently black hair of hers, sleek and glossy, dark and absolute as night without the stars. She had as unusual attractiveness, foreign. She's indeed a rival for Dax, he mused, because Dax wanted nothing for looks.

"So," Bashir attempted to make conversation, "how long have you served on the Valdosta?"

"Nearly five years now. What of you? Three, isn't it? I can imagine it's been wonderful."

"It has it's ups and downs. There's never a dull moment, though."

Terr'Essh laughed, "Yes. I would suppose not, with the Dominion and all." Her face fell, "Poor Odo. I can only imagine what it must be like for him. You know him: how does he fair with it?"

"Odo," Bashir smiled, "Odo does well enough. I doubt it phases him much, but then you can never quite tell with him."

"An enigma, is he." She arched an eyebrow, "Yes, he is at that. Distant."

"That's his choice. He prefers to keep to himself most of the time."

"Hmmm," Terr'Essh nodded thoughtfully, "I can understand that." She brightened quickly, "Well then, enough of that. What of everyone else. And you. What do you think of it."

"Well, it goes without saying that none of us like not knowing what the Dominions next move will be. We've tried to anticipate, but so far little has come of it. We just have to wait and see."

"That's all you can do, Doctor. But it should be all right. Between the Federation, the Klingon Empire and everyone else, they should not be able to overcome us."

"Yes, well, the Romulans and Cardassians didn't think the Dominion would be able to overcome them, and look what it got them."

Terr'Essh inclined her head at him, then pinched her chin thoughtfully. "You are right, Doctor. It's better to think yourself on the short end of the stick. It keeps you on your toes. But yes," she sighed, "wait is all you can do for the meantime."

The turbolift halted, and the pair exited. The briefing room was almost directly across from where the lift came to rest, so they said no more.

Bashir proceeded Terr'Essh into the room, walking immediately to his position at the table. Deep Space Nine's briefing room had a Starfleet format, but carried the stations distinctive taste. At the head of the massive table that occupied most of the room sat Sisko, with Kira on his left. Beyond her was Dax and then Odo. On the right was O'Brien, and it was beside him that Bashir sat. Ensign Brekka was already present and two seats down on Bashir's other side.

"Lieutenant Terr'Essh," Sisko stood, motioning her to a chair at the far end of the table.

Lieutenant Terr'Essh had stopped near the entrance to the room and there held her ground, making a check of the room, apparently not finding what she sought. Her gaze eventually fell back to Sisko, and her brows knitting. "Where's Ensign Tadris?"

"We were about to ask you the same question," Kira said, sounding testy.

Bashir glanced at her. She was mad about something again. Very much so, he observed. She quite often was.

Terr'Essh looked at her in surprise for a moment, then her frown returned. "We can do just as well without him," she said sharply, and made her way around the table, settling herself gracefully into a seat beside Odo, flashing him a smile that he pretended not to notice, then looked back to Sisko. "Ask anything you want of me, Commander," she interlaced her sculptured fingers, angling her body casually, "I cannot anticipate your questions."

"Basically anything you can tell us about the Bennharrae would be helpful." Sisko suggested, folding his own hands in each other. "We know next to nothing about them."

"Only a fraction less than I know, Commander." Terr'Essh said."What about Ensign Tadris?" Kira inquired tartly, drawing

attention to herself. By now everyone knew at least the Bennharrae Basics. Sisko shot her a warning glance, which she disregarded.

Terr'Essh's smile wavered a fraction. Kira hadn't impressed her to much on her earlier; hostility had been counterproductive on that level. She seemed to be falling farther and farther from Terr'Essh's favor. "What about him?" She queried with forced sweetness.

"He's Bennharrae, isn't he? Wouldn't it be best to have him tell us what he knows?"

"Ensign Tadris" Terr'Essh's voice carried an acid edge "is Bennharrae by blood only. That's why Starfleet claimed no contact with the Bennharrae. Tadris was raised outside the influence of his people." She shook her head, her eyes still dark on Kira, "He's as good as human. I know more about his own race than he does, so he's of little use. As for his absence, he was still ordered to be here, and I shall deal with him personally later. For some reason he feels that since he is not directly under my command he does not have to comply with me."

At least that cleared up something of what he and Dax had been discussing that morning: Tadris did not represent a clear contact with the Bennharrae to speak of.

"You'll have to excuse Major Kira," Sisko said, jaw set hard against his first officer. "I have to assign three of my staff to go on a fact finding mission back to the Bennharrae home world. She was elected, and is...reluctant to attend her duties."

Kira's scowl grew deeper.Terr'Essh suddenly burst out laughing, startling them all with it's

abruptness. Not an entirely pleasant laugh, either. Just as suddenly she stopped.

"Fact finding? And who told you that?" She didn't allow time for an answer, "Starfleet? Surely not the Bennharrae--I don't think they would dissemble about their motives. That doesn't fit them, not that I've seen. Yes, Starfleet must have concocted that...or you assumed it."

Sisko forced a grin, "I'm afraid I don't understand."Terr'Essh snorted, an action that really didn't suit her in Bashir's

mind, and rolled her eyes in exasperation. "First of all, where did you get that idea?"

"We were told that we were to send three of our people back to the Bennharrae home world, to gather information while their representatives are here."

"Well," Terr'Essh changed the position she was sitting in, "somewhere along the line the message got muddled. Beginning, end or somewhere in-between, it doesn't matter. Fact finding? No. the Bennharrae won't tell you a shred about themselves, Commander. Of that I am sure. All you're going to learn about them is what your people can see from the outside, and they won't allow that to be much. Whatever you've heard is what someone decided for themselves. The Bennharrae say, 'We will send you three of ours, and you will give us three of your own. We will take them back to our world, while our people stay with you.' So someone thinks, 'Oh, that must mean they want to exchange information and good relations!'" She slapped her knee in a gesture of mock revelation, "No, Commander. The Bennharrae don't give like that. They're a cautious, untrusting race. They know enough not to let themselves get caught at a disadvantage. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a hand for a hand."

"Ah," Odo nodded understandingly, not aware the expression had been vocal.

"Constable?"Odo glanced up at Sisko, "Insurance, Commander. Or so I

understand it. It's their way of insuring their delegates safety. We'll be sure to take care of their delegates as long as our people are in their hands, with penalty of death if anything happens. Effective, if brash."

Terr'Essh grinned at the Constable, her approval growing of Odo where disapproval fell on Kira.

"Wait," Sisko spoke when a small wave of tension built in the assembled, "we really shouldn't jump to conclusions at this point."

"Besides," Terr'Essh said, "no endangerment, Commander. As long as nothing happens to Denaaro and his cronies."

"Denaaro?"

"Denaaro is the prime delegate of the Bennharrae government. His title is Skkleral, which means that he is in charge of external affairs. We don't know of who else he'll bring, but he is sure to come."

"You seem to know a great deal about the Bennharrae." Kira said.

Terr'Essh was starting to lose her temper with Kira. "All that I know is what has been passed along to us through Admiral Maxwel and all others involved. Denaaro has presided over all our dealings so far."

"There's something I'd like to know," Dax interjected. "Why would the Bennharrae all at once want trade with the Federation, after going to such lengths to avoid any contact?"

"I've no idea on Bennharrae motives, Lieutenant. The Bennharrae themselves perplex me greatly. They might be so generous to tell you when they get here, if you ask nicely."

"But why would they avoid us in the first place? With so many opportunities outside their world surely they'd see the benefit?"

"The Bennharrae are a very blind and one sided race, Lieutenant. They refuse to see beyond their own eyes, cringe at what they don't understand. If you avoid what you're not familiar with it can't hurt you and no matter the benefits, fear is a strong opponent. I don't know why they changed their mind. I'm sure they have good reason."

"What can you tell us about dealing with the delegates themselves?" Sisko asked, "I don't think it would be wise to offend them."

"It doesn't matter what you do, Commander, you'll probably offend them. The Bennharrae are touchy and hot-headed. All you can really do is tolerate them, and whatever you do don't lose your temper with them. Denaaro especially. He's a dangerous man; he could kill if crossed. Just so long as you keep your wits about you things should be fine; unfortunately they have no wits at all. A Bennharrae will try to push you into a fight, but if you don't react to them they always back down. The females are generally more docile true to position, but difficult none the less. With that you have luck. Denaaro prefers working with women" Terr'Essh made a face Bashir couldn't identify, "his aids are most likely female." She stared at Kira, "And I know that, Major, because I was told it. Not because I'm involved in some conspiracy as your paranoid notion seems to be implying."

Kira scowled deeply, her eyes narrowing at the Lieutenant.Sisko frowned thoughtfully, ignoring Terr'Essh and his first

officer's exchange. He was liking this business less and less by the minute.

"The Bennharrae have certain nutritional needs." Terr'Essh continued, dragging her glare away from Kira. "They can't go more than a day or two without them or they grow ill. I doubt that you would want to chance any of your crew on one over zealous delegate calling the Government, claiming he's dying when he's only malnourished.

They're not foresighted enough to consider their body's needs in advance, so I'll leave the information with your doctor," she inclined her head at Bashir. "You can program it into their replicators so they won't be bothered by it.

"Please forgive them if they inconvenience you or your crew, Commander. Heed the fact that they've been isolated on their planet for millennia. They know no better."

Terr'Essh paused a moment, letting her head run through it's thoughts.

"Who do you intend to exchange with the Bennharrae, Commander?" She asked finally.

"Besides Major Kira, I had originally elected on sending Lieutenant Dax and Doctor Bashir."

"Me?!" Bashir couldn't bite the syllable off quickly enough to keep it from coming. It appeared that he'd have far more to do with the Bennharrae than he'd originally thought.

"I'd carefully consider who you deprive this station of, Commander," Terr'Essh cautioned him, pulling attention back to herself before anyone had a chance to react to Bashir. "They'll be on no more than a vacation, though to a world few have beheld. If they'll be of use to you here don't send them. I wouldn't be rid of your first officer. It would be far better to have her here." The comment obviously goaded her very badly to speak it. "As for your doctor and science officer, you could find substitutes, but if I were you I'd send junior officers: people I wouldn't mind losing if bad came to worse."

"I'd mind losing any of my crew, Lieutenant," Sisko said smoothly.

Terr'Essh smiled, or wider at least, "You know, I never know the response to a comment like that. You'd be surprised how many captains have taken my advice on such matters. I said I'd be testing you." She nodded curtly, "It's far better to send more experienced officers. They avoid conflicts more easily than younger ones. But just in case, if something by chance just happens to any of your people, kill Denaaro first. I don't know him personally, but from what I've heard he's a complete blackguard. It's the Bennharrae way. They won't mind, as long as you play by their rules."

Bashir couldn't figure out if she was kidding or not. Apparently neither could anyone else. Sisko grinned good humoredly, visibly hoping that she was.

"Well," she shrugged a little to herself, indecisively, "when it comes down to it, I suppose I don't have that much to tell, besides be wary. I'll do all I can here, but I can't do anything for those you send to the Bennharrae home world, except wish you luck. Whoever ends up going," she addressed the entire table, "keep in mind that it will not be easy. Remember, aggression is the key. Do not dare let them think they can have power over you. That would be a fatal mistake. I wish I

could do more. I'm just not in the position.""Thank you, Lieutenant. No, you've been of great help.""As I hope I shall continue to be, Commander.""And I expect you all there tomorrow to greet the Bennharrae,

dress uniform," Sisko said, taking in his people. "I'll inform you of the time when I myself am informed. Dismissed."

Bashir slid up from the table, unexpectedly weary.This was turning into a long day.

CHAPTER4

"So they have arrived safely then?"Admiral Brent Maxwel was a small, balding man, a size one

doesn't usually see. He was dwarfed behind his monstrous desk at Starfleet headquarters, cluttered with papers, pieces of this and that, family pictures, etc. Sisko could barely see him behind the mess.

Sisko nodded, sitting behind his own great, metal desk in what had once been the prefect Gul Dukat's office light years away. "They arrived early this morning. We've already gotten the preliminary matters underway."

"Very good," Maxwel seemed immensely pleased. "Terr'Essh and Brekka are both good officers. They should prove to be of great value for you."

"They have already been of great value. I doubt we'd be able to handle the Bennharrae mediations without them."

"You have my best wishes, Commander. Give my regards to Terr'Essh, if you would."

"I wasn't aware you knew her personally.""Passively. I don't know her well, but I do know her.""I will convey that message, Admiral.""You have my thanks for that. And I do need to make it clear

that we are extremely apologetic for throwing this on you, Commander. Believe me, it was not something we intended."

"It's nothing to be concerned about. We'll handle it. We've seen worse."

Maxwel nodded approvingly, "I have the greatest of faith in your abilities, Commander. Thank you."

"But," Sisko interrupted as Maxwel was about to sign off. The question had been nagging him all day. "There is something I need to clear up. When I was first contacted and informed of this assignment I was told that Admiral Joyce Tanaka had control over this matter. When I mentioned it to Lieutenant Terr'Essh she said that she had no knowledge of it, that you were the only one she'd been involved with."

"Admiral Tanaka..." Maxwel seemed trying to place a face to the name, "Oh, yes. Admiral Tanaka and I had a joint operation on this, but she was called away for a family emergency. I now have full control. I'm sorry if this causes you any sort of inconvenience."

"No," Sisko informed him."Good," he grinned, "I hope it doesn't yet. Thank you again,

Commander." He inclined his head to Dax, standing behind Sisko. She had entered Sisko's office for as of yet unknown reasons only seconds before Maxwel's communiqué had come in. Dax had offered to leave,

but Admiral Maxwel had insisted against it. His message wasn't long, he was only checking on the welfare of his trio, which wasn't that high on Starfleet's list of security interests. He figured he could trust her not to leak this particular information to any of their enemies. "Lieutenant." Maxwel's image vanished, replaced by the Federation's blue and white star field emblem.

"Humph." Sisko leaned back in his chair, scrubbing his beard thoughtfully.

Dax arched an eyebrow in query."Admiral Maxwel." Sisko said in way of explanation when he

noticed her interest, "When I talked to Admiral Tanaka yesterday she didn't mention him. I assumed she was solely in charge of the Bennharrae dealings." He shrugged, "But then these dealings are already so far from text book scenarios that one more variation shouldn't make that much of a difference."

"You anticipate problems?""I'm not counting on anything in particular, if that's what you

mean, but if it's one thing I've learned it's that events run in patterns. From what we've seen so far this isn't going to be the smoothest operation we've experienced."

Dax smiled lightly, "We'll survive.""Haven't we always?" Dax deposited a data padd in front of him, the object of her visit,

"This just came in.""What is it?""A communication from the Bennharrae. They are arriving at

1100 hours tomorrow on the Fbol Rejelkimen. Their chief delegate is Skkleral Denaaro."

Sisko chuckled, "What do you know. She was right.""I agree with Kira," Dax gripped her hands behind her back.

"Terr'Essh knows a great deal more than she appears to.""There's no question of that." Sisko said, "She seems entirely

willing to help us as far as she thinks necessary, though. She doesn't have to reveal all her secrets, so long as she uses enough of them to get us through this assignment successfully."

Dax continued, summarizing as Sisko scrolled the message. "He also brings assistants: Dnnoll and Briine. He's sent word for your choices on trade for himself and his people to be ready to leave on his arrival. The Rejelkimen doesn't wish to be detained and wants to return to Kythera as soon as possible."

"Kythera?""The Bennharrae home world."Sisko nodded again, "I'll be sure to inform Bashir."Dax tilted her head, "You're still sending us?""I don't know who else to send. I've decided that we'd best have

Kira here. If complications should develop she'll be invaluable. You

and Bashir are the most logical choices besides... Unless you have grievances?"

"None that I can think of." Dax grinned, "Terr'Essh said it would be no more than a vacation. A vacation would be welcome."

Sisko glanced up at her, "I wasn't aware you felt that way. If you needed a vacation you should have told me."

"It's not that I need one, but if one is handy I'm more than happy to take it. I'm sure Julian will feel the same way."

"Yes. But you're only two," Sisko clasped his hands together, leaning forward on his desk, "The question remains: who is number three? I can't send Odo or O'Brien. They'd be as happy to go as Kira was."

"We won't be doing anything of use, Benjamin; it doesn't matter who you send. Just pick someone to fill the Bennharrae's quota."

"Who would you suggest?""Lieutenant Lorca, Ensign Catsby." Dax shrugged, "We have

hundreds of people on this station. They don't even have to be Starfleet." Her eyebrows shot up, "Send Quark."

Sisko issued a short bark of laughter and shook his head against the idea. "I have until tomorrow. I'll think about it."

"Well, don't think on it to long. I don't know of anyone that would like to be called within an hour's notice to pack their things and run off to a place they've never heard of."

"You know I'd never do that, old man." Sisko rose, giving a short, sharp nod, "I'll know by tonight." Dax walked along side him, matching his stride down the steps from his office, "If you think of anyone--"

"I'll be sure to tell you."

"Doctor?"Bashir hadn't been expecting anyone--not that he had come to.

Emergencies infrequently made appointments for themselves. He'd been going over a patients records when the figure appeared in the infirmary's doorway, standing as if she needed an invitation to come in. He glanced at her quickly over his shoulder. Terr'Essh, which pleasantly surprised him. She must have brought him the Bennharrae dietary requirements she'd mentioned at the conference.

"Lieutenant! What can I do for y--"He broke off as he noticed the blood flowing heavily between her

fingers, clasped firmly around her wrist. "I seem to have scathed myself," she seemed to find some sort

of humor with her predicament. Only the quaver in her voice and her gray color defied her. "Is there any chance I could enlist your assistance?"

Bashir rushed over, herding her silently to the nearest biobed. He ordered her to sit while he searched for his equipment. It was

where it belonged: in order. It didn't pay not to be organized. He got it quickly and returned to Terr'Essh.

"Remove your hand carefully." he instructed her. As she did Bashir saw what had happened.

"How in the world did you manage this?" It was a latent instinct of his to keep patients talking, as if he feared that they would slip away, no mater how minor the injury, without some anchor to reality.

"I snagged," she clicked her tongue off the top of her mouth ruefully. "Have you ever thought of sanding down the corners in this place?"

"Surely you didn't do this on a corner?""My skin is thin," Terr'Essh said simply."Not that thin.""Haste makes for accidents," she chirped. "At least I've learned

my lesson. But then, knowing me I haven't."Bashir examined her injury. It was extremely nasty. The skin

had been ripped almost all the way around her wrist. It clung on to the rest of her by a small bit at the base of her thumb. The detached skin hung in folds like an oversized glove down about her hand, exposing a great deal of her unusually bright red flesh. "There's no possible way you could have done this on a corner," he commented at last.

She hesitated, frowning. Then she smiled and laughed suddenly. "Do you always question your patients accidents, doctor? One would assume, seeing that they were there and you were not, that they would know the cause of their injuries?" The cheer in her face suddenly vanished. Her free hand flew to her mouth, "Oh! Doctor, I'm sorry. That was very rude. I'm so, so sorry. I just don't think sometimes!"

If ever. The thought flitted through his mind involuntarily. He felt a little ashamed, for his comment was a great deal ruder than anything Terr'Essh could have said. She was such a sweet person. A pity she didn't have enough intelligence to fill a sock. He pursed his lips, running a sterilization field over her hand , effectively cleansing the area, removing blood and the clots that had collected on her flesh. He pushed the offending layers together gently, sealing them neatly, leaving not so much as a mar on Terr'Essh's white skin.

"There you are," Bashir carefully rubbed a thumb over the area in experimentation, the task completed, "Good as new." Her skin slipped curiously, as if it had nothing holding it to the muscle and bone beneath. He jerked away impulsively, afraid he'd harmed her.

Terr'Essh inspected her hand, oblivious to Bashir's reaction. "It certainly is. Thank you, Doctor." She glanced up pleasantly, but frowned again when she saw Bashir's expression. "What is it?"

"Your...skin.""What about it?""Is--is it suppose to be like that?"

"Like what?" She stared down at her hand like it was foreign, rubbing the top of it. "Oh! I see. Yes. Yes, it is." She beamed back up at him. "What? You've never seen anything like it?"

"No. I haven't." Bashir was silent a moment, then extended his own hand before her. "May I?"

She offered him the same hand, but he promptly requested the other.

"Don't be afraid of hurting me, Doctor. For all, I'm not quite as frail as I look."

Bashir didn't hear her, immediately caught up in his scientific examination. Remarkable, he thought to himself, closely inspecting Terr'Essh's hand. Her skin was exactly as flawless as he had first presumed at a distance, without line, visible pore or crease, though it appeared unnaturally dry. Her veins rose slightly above the rest of the plain, blue through the transparency, her bones making whiter, delicate lines. He turned it, examining the palm, which was just as featureless.

"No finger prints," he said, mostly to himself, then looked up at Terr'Essh. "However do you manage? Some sort of discontinuity is required for any sort of grip."

"Not required, Doctor, but very useful. One does eventually learn to adapt."

Out of curiosity Bashir found his tricorder and ran a scan of her; she sat patiently under the scrutiny. The instrument processed the data almost instantaneously and flashed it's readings to him. His eyes widened. He glanced at Terr'Essh considerably, examined the readout again and looked at her in perplexion. "You're amphibious?" he hazarded the guess, which all facts pointed to.

"In a way," she jerked up a shoulder."I've seen amphibian races," Bashir said absently, in wonder,

"but none quite so... human." Quite the contrary. Most of the sentient amphibian species he had encountered bore close resemblance to the frogs and salamanders that were common back on Earth.

"No. You misunderstand. I'm not amphibian. I'm adapted for land and water, yes. Amphibious, but not an amphibian."

He couldn't retain his smile, "Remarkable.""No. P'Lebberrian." she smiled back.Bashir regarded the information on his tricorder again, and

peered up at Terr'Essh expectantly."You scientists!" she laughed, knowing what the doctor

requested. "I'm of that mind myself. If I wasn't of my own breed I'd be wondering about the same." She leaned her head forward, brushing the lose ringlets of hair that hung down from her bun away, and she pulled the high lavender neck of her uniform down.

The tricorder had said it, but Bashir wouldn't have believed it until he'd seen it.

"You have gills?" He sounded so awed that he felt ridiculous.Four slits opened on the back of her neck, at the base, two on

each side of her spine. They were closed, almost invisible lines."The out-takes are between my shoulder blades," she spoke as if

it were common knowledge. "My species comes from a water-world, obviously. Of course my environment is more humid than you other humanoids keep yours. I keep them sealed most of the time because your air is so dry."

"You can breath partially with your skin, as well?" "Yes. That's not good for me either. You make all your clothes

so heavy. But I have adjusted. I had webbing, too, but that was such a nuisance that I just got rid of it." She lifted her head back up.

"This is absolutely astounding," Bashir shook his head, flipping his tricorder shut.

"Well, it's not so much as your making it," she said, sliding off the bed. She picked a long stride and headed out of the infirmary, "I'm indebted to you, Doctor. You have my sincere gratitude." She stopped mid-step, "Oh, dear! I forgot the Bennharrae requirements I mentioned, didn't I? I'm sorry...but the urgency of the need, you see."

"I think I can find it in myself to understand."Terr'Essh smiled thankfully, "I'll bring them to you. Just let me

run get them." She headed for the infirmary door, but paused once again, "Doctor, are you still going to the Bennharrae home world?"

"As far as I know.""Do me a favor, please." She started walking again, "Be careful.

I'd really hate to see you get killed."Bashir watched her leave and sighed heavily. This was looking

more and more like a kamikaze mission by the minute.

Skkleral Denaaro turned back from the veiwport, his form silhouette against the points of stars streaking past the window of the transport ship Fbol Rejelkimen.

He had grown weary of looking at their faces...The tempestuous beauty of his wife Briine's features had become

drier over the years. So much that he saw nothing of what he had in her pretty face, now only the flaws that lay there. A nose slightly too short; cheek bones too broad; a mouth too large; a forehead too high; a body too small and thin. He wondered what he had ever seen in her, besides that sensual fire that had been wondrous during the first few years, but had died away almost completely as she, too, grew weary of him. He had married her for the power, wealth, and prestige that would come with the allegiance to her family. Granted, all that had been gleaned from the wedlock, but it hadn't been nearly enough to compensate for the years behind and ahead of him of grief in which he

would have to tolerate. Such a pity Bennharrae mated for life.And his assistant, Dnnoll. A scrawny girl, to tall and sparse of

flesh for his liking. She had absolutely no shape to her, all bones and no curves. Her eyes were large and expressive, a violet shade that was the only point of attractiveness about her. Her face was too long for beauty of much sort. An ugly, ugly child. Why had he not been offered a pretty escort, as he was entitled.

Denaaro leaned forward, placing his hands on the desk and letting his glare fall on the two.

By Bennharrae standards Denaaro was average, with the blond hair, black rimmed eyes, and hard features characteristic of his race. All Bennharrae were fairly angular, with sharp edged, chiseled and unyielding faces. Males tended to be bulky, while females were light and finely built. Dnnoll was an exception with her height. Denaaro was out of place as well, smaller than most males of his race, one position that had given him a generally bad attitude about everything that walked and breathed, though Bennharrae themselves were ill-tempered as a whole.

"So," his voice came as a deep rumble of displeasure, "we can expect interference from that party."

"We have come to expect nothing from them," Briine said harshly, "just as nothing can be anticipated from them."

"They will intervene." Denaaro growled, "Of that I am sure.""You have never been sure of anything in your life," Briine's voice

was scorning. "Everything you know is what you have been told to know."

"They will cause difficulty," Denaaro said tightly, ignoring the blow, "The question is how. And who?"

He gripped his hands behind his back, walking the perimeter of the room, "We are aware of only a fraction of who is contained in the Prrzhevaal." From some trial and mostly error, he noted distaste. Out of the how-ever-many individuals contained in the organization known to the Bennharrae as the Prrzhevaal, a sort of rebel movement on Kythera, only a dozen or so had been captured, and out of those only three--ones that had been killed when trying to be taken--had been eliminated. The rest had escaped and eluded execution. "Our dealing with this infraction will vary with who we are forced to vie against."

"Surely they wouldn't risk Colfax with this?" Briine asked, sounding concerned.

Colfax, Denaaro bristled. Colfax was the Prrzhevaal's leader, a clever and very dangerous man. He was like some phantom, known only by name and reputation. There were many that doubted his existence, that he was no more than a figurehead. But he did live, Denaaro knew, and he would not like confronting him.

"No," he said slowly. "If they lost Colfax this revolution of theirs would fall to ashes."

Briine filled the long silence that followed with a deep scowl. "If we must face someone like that," she said finally, "can we possibly succeed?"

"Of course we will succeed!" Denaaro barked at her, "The Bennharrae always succeed!"

"To much self assurance," Dnnoll said slowly, speaking at this rare occasion, "is not a good thing."

Denaaro whirled to glare at her, then snarled, taking a paperweight from the table and hurtling it at her. She ducked it easily, looking back at Denaaro with fear in her eyes.

"Get out of here! Get out!"Dnnoll played the whipped dog, and did as commanded, turning

an hurrying out the door. But once outside it was something entirely different.

She smiled in her own fashion, looking back at the closed door. She was pleased that Denaaro was acting so much the way she wanted him to. It gave her just that much more incentive to do what she well intended to in the end.

He would pay, she noted in satisfaction. He would.

CHAPTER5

The Fbol Rejelkimen arrived exactly on schedule that morning, an unusual occurrence, as Terr'Essh claimed.

"Bennharrae punctuality leaves much to be desired," she commented, walking beside Sisko through the docking ring. "They don't care about inconveniencing others, rather enjoy it, in fact."

So far, in the long day that had now passed, many unexpected turns had appeared in the road that was now becoming the narrow, winding trail of the Bennharrae proceedings. Many more than Sisko had originally foreseen in the worst case, and they hadn't even begun to start. He was beginning to wonder how much of a simple pre-trade arrangement this was going to be.

"Nothing is ever simple with the Bennharrae," Terr'Essh had said. She, for one, had wished that it would be simple. The Bennharrae had been a pain in her neck; she hoped that he would have an easier time with them than she had.

As they rounded the curve of the station to the port the Rejelkimen was docked Bashir and Dax, in standard uniform, stood waiting with Ensign Nina Catsby--whom had become his third person--bags slung across their shoulders.

Ensign Catsby was a dark woman who had been assigned to DS9 a year ago straight out of the Academy, posted with O'Brein in engineering. Assigning her to this was more an act of pity than anything else, for she hadn't seen much action, even out here. She was extremely excited about this, and was forcing herself to stay at attention.

Sisko had realized belatedly that he was the only one in dress uniform, too late to change. He hadn't seen the need for Ensign Catsby or his senior officers to endure the tight, hot uniforms, since they'd hardly be comfortable to travel in. He hadn't required O'Brien or Odo to put up an appearance, since neither were necessary. Terr'Essh said that the Bennharrae abhorred unrequired things. They wouldn't see the purpose of the operations chief, and would be insulted if the chief of security was there to greet them on arrival. Terr'Essh and Brekka were in standard, so that left Major Kira, who was Bajorian militia and therefore wouldn't be in Starfleet issue.

Sisko tugged detestingly at his collar, in a futile attempt to lessen the constriction, then focused his attention on the waiting trio. "Has the Rejelkimen docked?" he asked of no one particular.

"A few moments ago, Commander," Bashir responded.Sisko acknowledged this and inclined his head to Dax, standing

nearest to the airlocks control panel. She tapped it smartly to open.The great gear rolled aside mid-bellow.A man appeared so quickly in the port hole that he seemed to

come from nowhere, his head and shoulders jutting out of the airlock.

The green rings of his eyes were flashing, his jaw set in the firm line of anger, his body taunt. He seemed not to see any of them for a while, then glowered in distaste when he did.

A rumble started in his throat as his gaze swept them, his jaw working, muscles tensing under the skin. His eyes flitted about, pausing on each of the officers, eventually catching on Terr'Essh, standing farthest to the right. They remained there until he growled suddenly, turning to bellow back at the ship again. "Dnnoll! Briine! Now!"

When no immediate response came to his summons he cursed profusely and stalked away, muttering to himself down the passageway.

Terr'Essh let out an exasperated sigh, running a hand down her face. She said something in what must have been her native tongue, shaking her head from side to side. Sisko wondered passively why the universal translator didn't work it out.

"Denaaro?" he asked."Unfortunately."Denaaro ranted inside, his voice increasing and decreasing in

volume as he moved about his ship. "Charming man," Kira remarked dryly."Wait until you get to know him, Major," Terr'Essh's voice was

hard. Whether from to the encounter with Denaaro or her lack of fondness for Kira, Sisko couldn't be sure. "You'll be amazed at how charming a Bennharrae can be."

Denaaro began shouting an innumerable amount of extremely vulgar profanities. He reappeared, dragging a tall, blond woman after him. He released her as he neared the airlock again, bringing a foot up to kick her in the small of her back. She lost balance, sprawling forward, landing on her face. Along in the same motion she rolled back to her feet with a yelp, scampering for the slight protection offered behind Sisko, peering around him in terror.

"Denaaro! Stop it!" a very tiny, painfully thin woman stormed out, her fists planted firmly on her hips.

Denaaro whirled on her, bringing his hand back to cuff her.Bashir was the one to react, and if he hadn't Sisko would have.

No one would have tolerated Denaaro striking the frail little woman.Bashir intervened, positioning himself between the two, "Now

see here--"Denaaro snarled, preparing to lunge on Bashir, rethought it at

the last second and recoiled.The first woman quivered behind Sisko, frightened, but the

second stood facing Denaaro, seething indignation. Sisko cleared his throat, though it did little to clear the tension that hung thick in the air.

"Skkleral Denaaro, may I introduce my first officer, Major Kira Nery--"

"Are these our compensation, human?" Denaaro snapped, whirling sharply to eye Bashir, Dax and Catsby appraisingly.

Sisko swallowed bile, but kept his voice level, "I am Commander Benjamin Sisko, the senior officer on Deep Space Nine."

Denaaro scowled at him, looking him up and down, "Yes, so you are. Are they," he indicated Terr'Essh and Brekka, "the mediators?" They didn't appear to measure up to his expectations.

"We are," Brekka said, smiling too cheerfully.Denaaro made a guttural noise, leering back at Sisko. He

snorted, "You should do, I suppose. Show us our to our quarters." He walked past Sisko as if he were nothing, glared at Kira suspiciously, and paced down the hall way.

"Bastard," the small woman hissed and walked after Denaaro, followed by the reluctant tall woman.

Kira had the most unusual look of bewilderment on her face as they watched the lot tread down the corridor, dumbfounded by the stand. She looked at Terr'Essh with a blank expression.

Terr'Essh grinned coldly at her."That" Kira spoke to Sisko, "is what the Federation wants trade

with?""That was the idea, Major."An exhalation came from Bashir behind them, who looked

disappointed. He smirked in dire humor. "Some vacation." Sisko gritted his teeth. This was going to be a complete mess. He felt a pressure as Terr'Essh gripped his shoulder."I know, I know." He waved her off, "Keep my wits. I've dealt

with worse.""No. Trust me," Terr'Essh stepped around him to precede the

Bennharrae, "you haven't."

Senses flowed back, slowly replacing the cold, empty, dreamless black as Lieutenant Proust awoke, back pressed against a hard, freezing surface, unable to remember what had happened, mind fuzzy and numb.

Proust rolled his head to one side, opening his eyes. The lighting, though dim, hurt eyes accustomed to dark and he closed them immediately, putting both hands up to shield the brightness. Focusing on the light directly above through eyelids, he allowed his eyes to adjust this time before peeling them back to a blue florescent fixture, flickering feebly, bolted crookedly to a poorly cut stone ceiling. He frowned up at it, the thought running through his mind that it was quite possibly one of the ugliest things he'd seen in his life.

The sound of dripping water, slow, arrhythmic, hollow in the expanse of somewhere very large. The air about him was clammy, cellar-like, smelling of long moist dirt and decomposition. He moved

forcefully, muscles stretching stiffly, bones aching dully from the prolonged chill. A compulsive shiver ran down his back, and he pressed his arms to his chest for what warmth the action afforded him.

Where am I?Proust sat up too quickly, the blood flowing out of his head. He

teetered in dizziness, vision swimming until the moment passed. His head throbbed slightly and felt oversized with the pressure on his ears and sinuses. He sniffed heavily as his nose began to run.

There were walls on three sides of his cell, the fourth blockaded by an intimidating set of thick, metal bars. Just his luck. A force-field he might have been able to over ride, but this? Maybe that was why his captors had chosen it. He checked... No, he didn't have anything to pick the lock with. He sniffled dejectedly, running his fingers through his thinning blond hair.

He tried to recall exactly what had happened back on the Kirin, but all he could remember was something about systems malfunctions, the appearance of the other shuttlecraft, then nothing. Where was Hamlen? Not that it would have mattered to Proust if something had happened to the insufferable bastard, but he did wonder. He wasn't in this cell. There wasn't much here, only a small wooden bench.

Proust tried with little success to shrivel away from his damp, cold uniform. It had soaked in the room's atmosphere and stuck to him like a second skin. He didn't have enough body fat to keep him warm in normal conditions on the Valdosta, let alone here in this icebox. He longed to be back home on the Valdosta--a place he had so long hated passionately--safe and warm in his quarters. He bit his lip, wishing humanity had the power to act on wishful thinking. His stomach rumbled loudly and he wondered how long he'd been unconscious. He'd been fool enough to skip breakfast that morning, or whenever it had been from now. Proust sighed deeply, peering around his cell, wishing he hadn't let himself be talked into this mission.

Four days ago the captain of the U.S.S. Valdosta, Jonathan Lanie, had called Lieutenant Hamlen and himself in to speak about this posting, mediating over the trade agreement the Federation was organizing with the Bennharrae, a race the Valdosta had encountered three years ago. The two of them had been independently requested for this placing by Admiral Joyce Tanaka, and certainly not out of any influence from Captain Lanie. It had been quite obvious to Proust that he and Hamlen were not, in the captain's eyes, the most ideal choices. Truth be known--though Hamlen was too self-centered and high on his horse to admit it--Richard Proust and George Hamlen were thought to be two of the poorest officers aboard the Valdosta. Proust had seen it clearly in the captain's face as he had given them the basics of their assignment. Lanie couldn't figure out what was going through Tanaka's head, picking these two, with the choice of any other on the ship. Frankly, Proust couldn't figure it either. He wasn't the ideal

person for much of anything, let alone something that could be held of any importance what so ever. On the Valdosta he usually got stuck doing the dirty, insubstantial work. It wasn't that he was incapable, but he had neither the confidence nor the self-esteem to stand up, cast off the impressions of others and endeavor to better himself. He could do anything he put his mind to, but so rarely had he been given the opportunity to do more than be walked on that he never set himself to doing anything anymore. It was a waste of time. No one cared, so neither did he. In Starfleet you had to get noticed if you ever wanted to be worth anything. Proust didn't really want to be noticed, far to content to stand outside the lime-light, to slip through the cracks as people like himself did.

He had sat on the Kirin for the past day trying to decide why he had been sent when there was a whole ship full of people better suited for this mission than he was, all of which knew a lot more about the Bennharrae than he did. He hadn't been on the bridge when the encounter had occurred, at the time searching replicator files for a present for his youngest sister's sixteenth birthday. He hadn't even known about the event until it was long over.

While Hamlen had preached and smirked about how glad he was that someone had finally noticed his potential and given him something important to do, Proust had thought, yet had never come to a conclusion.

Proust rubbed his temples in small, circular patterns, trying to ease the ache and pressure that had grown between his ears, now feeling less like a minor headache and more like he'd been run over by a Romulan War Bird.

Proust stood up slowly, stiffly, stretching his legs carefully, smoothing his uniform in habit, shivering as damp patches, not yet warmed by body heat, contacted skin. He ascertained his condition, noticing immediately that his communicator was missing. Everything else was fully intact though, he was pleased to note.

He walked to the bars of the cell and spent a few minutes inspecting them at a distance before tapping one with an index finger. They appeared to be no more than what they were: plain, simple, metal bars.

Proust gripped the bars, rubbing them with his thumbs as he surveyed the interior of his prison, biting the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. There was a key to every lock, he only had to find it. There had to be something here he could use.

But no, he realized as his gaze reswept the cell, there was nothing. Nothing but the rotting old bench in the corner, and such a thing would be of very little use in an escape attempt.

Proust crouched to examine the base of the bars, brushing away the thin layer of dust accumulated on the stone floor, raising a flurry of powder that aggravated his sinuses, causing him to sneeze repeatedly.

He was disappointed to see that the bars had been merged seamlessly somehow, not driven or drilled, into the stone so that the two seemed to become a single object. He kicked them experimentally. The metal did not so much as reverberate. Well, no chance there. The same applied where the bars met the ceiling. He peered up at them, hands on his hips. The bars had been beamed in, he supposed. There were few other ways that the metal could have been fitted into solid rack as if it were water. He wondered passively how far down the bars went into the ground.

"What are you doing?" The voice surprised Proust half out of his wits. He yelped and

jumped backwards, tripped on his own feet and careened flat into the rotting wooden bench. It crumbled to a pile under him, more dust wafting in a halo around him. He started sneezing again.

The fit passed reluctantly, and he rubbed his watering eyes with the back of a hand. Somewhere in the midst of the violent reaction he almost forgot the woman standing at the bars.

When Proust finally acknowledged her with a dim look she was scowling darkly, arms folded loosely across her breasts. She was a young woman, by all appearances not far into her twenties, blond hair plaited past her shoulders, blue eyes steely and cold. The shirt she wore was several sizes too large, belted at the waist, her skirt ragged as if from too many washings, it's bottom reaching almost to the floor. Despite that she was clean and neat. And annoyed. Extremely annoyed.

At first Proust thought she was human, but the light cast odd shadows down from the bridge of her nose, betraying her as Bajorian.

Bajorian? Proust questioned internally. His captors could be Bajorian, but that made no sense. True, many of the political parties on Bajor were rather tumultuous, many of them still wanting a fight, but even those needed a reason to be stirred to action. It was entirely possible that someone was opposed to trade between the Bennharrae and the Federation, but trade between the two had nothing to do with Bajor. Most would not trouble to involve themselves unless it did. The closest it came was the fact that one step on the way to getting there, a very minor step indeed, was being taken on Deep Space Nine.

The next sneeze caught Proust off guard. He convulsed violently with it.

The Bajorian woman's scowl deepened and she wrinkled her nose. She brought a hand up to tap a spot above her heart, an action that, for a moment, seemed pointless. "Hana to Reis."

Proust flinched as her voice, barely feminine, bounced loudly of the walls. His head throbbed a little harder for it.

"Reis here." This voice was male, tinny over the comm link."Are you busy?" Proust could hear the man make and odd little sound. "Am I

ever?" He seemed amused. "Why? What do you want?""It seems that one of our guests isn't entirely well. I think you

should come down here and take a look at him."There was a moment of silence. "Proust?" Reis asked finally.

"What are the symptoms?""I don't know," Hana snapped. "He looks sick, he's sick. You're

the doctor, so get down here and do what you were made to do. Hana out." She cut the link and frowned firmly at the floor, then at Proust when she noticed he was staring at her. "What?"

Proust said nothing, ducking his eyes and shrinking farther against the wall. The ensuing time was passed in silence, Proust avoiding any more than fleeting glances at Hana, Hana tapping her foot sharply on the floor, looking as if she had a thousand things she'd rather be doing. It seemed as if an eternity passed until footsteps could be heard, echoing dimly in the distance, down the dark corridor that Hana had emerged from. They grew louder, until a figure emerged into view.

Proust barely contained his expression of alarm, wishing that he wasn't against a wall, so that he could escape further for what comfort the action would offer.

Proust had never seen a Cardassian before. In pictures at Starfleet Academy, of course, but never had he been face to face with the living, breathing thing. Nor had he ever wished to be. He had heard enough tales of their atrocities that he'd done his best to avoid the creatures.

This one stopped directly behind Hana, peering at Proust silently. Hana glanced over her shoulder. "It's about time you got here,"

she said sharply. "What took you so long?"Hana's reaction to the Cardassian confused Proust momentarily.

Bajorians hated Cardassians, so this Cardassian proved that the endeavor was not purely Bajorian. He deleted his first theory. But all the same, if Bajorians hated Cardassians, it seemed odd that Hana would show him only the perpetual irritation it was evident she exhibited to everyone?

The Cardassian frowned at Hana, his scaled brows drawing together, "I had to come all the way down from level eight. It's not exactly what you'd call a Sunday stroll." His gaze shifted to Proust, his expression turning professional. "How do you feel?"

Indeed the man was Cardassian, yet he wasn't the way Proust had expected a Cardassian to be. His voice was soft, almost soothing, his eyes a deep, warm blue rather than piercing black, his features kind despite the scales. Cardassians were perhaps not the awful dragon creatures that stories set them up to be, Proust considered. But whether that or not was not a matter to him at the moment. The Cardassian was, none the less, among his captors.

Proust pulled his knees to him, hiding his eyes against them. He

heard the Cardassian sigh."Is he all right?" Hana asked."It's hard to tell without his input. But no, I'd say he isn't. All of

us were immunized before we set foot planet-side, otherwise we would have suffered the same as he is now. We have no immunities to the viruses on this planet." He paused. "It's my fault. It slipped my mind to do it, and I figured Judson would. Oh, but he's busy enough as it is, and it was my responsibility. Oh well, there's nothing we can do now except let the illness run it's course. All our technology and we still haven't found a cure for the common cold beyond bed rest and chicken soup."

Proust peeked up from his knees. The Cardassian had his back turned him. Proust didn't know that Cardassians had chicken soup.

The Cardassian turned abruptly toward Proust, not giving him time to shrink before he spoke. "You know, we can't help you if you don't let us." He inclined his head, then turned back to Hana, as if another thought had come to mind. "Who put him down here?"

"That Bennharrae woman. What's-her-name."Bennharrae? Proust cocked his head slightly, hoping to catch a

clue to his whereabouts.The Cardassian grumbled under his breath. "We ought to have

this place sealed up. It isn't fit to keep meat in, let alone a person. He might not have even gotten sick if it weren't for being down in this dungeon. What about the other one? Where's he?"

Hana snorted, rolling her eyes. "Prophets, Reis, that man is more asinine than any other single person I've met in my life."

"I'm sure, but where is he?""With Jaral. Mrrshaal wanted to interrogate him, but Jaral said

that he couldn't set an eye on him until we'd had our turn, and then only under supervision."

"Good for Jaral. I wouldn't trust a Bennharrae within and inch of my life."

"Or Lieutenant Hamlen's." Hana smirked grimly.The Cardassian, Reis, looked back at Proust again. "How about

it, Mr. Proust? Would you like to get out of this meat locker, or have you grown somehow attached to it?" He smiled. It was an odd smile. Every race has a smile distinctive to their own, but his wasn't odd because it was alien, it was odd because it was familiar. Human, one that Proust could see had been cultivated. Reis was peculiar, he thought. It seemed, almost, that he was trying not to be Cardassian--

Proust wasn't the one that flinched this time. Hana and Reis jumped out of the way in the same instant as a woman came silently from nowhere, shoving the unlikely duo out of her way like paper.

"Get out of my path!" she hissed, bringing up a string of strangely shaped keys, quickly fitting one into the lock to Proust's cell.

Reis stared at her blankly for an instant before his expression

became alarmed. He forced himself in front of her, arms spread. "What are you doing?"

The woman narrowed her eyes at Reis. It was only then that Proust noticed them. They were black.

"Co-Massor Mrrshaal has been kept waiting too long. Your people are hindering this operation with your interrogation methods. They are slow and ineffective. We do not care that you continue with the one you have, but since there are two we are entitled to this one. Move aside, Cardassian."

Proust blinked in perplexion. Interrogation? Suddenly the reality of his situation hit him. His stomach turned hollowly.

"No!" Reis stood firmly."This is Bennharrae business, Cardassian. It is not your

concern." She tried to push him out of her way."Listen, Vallsenn, Bennharrae interrogation methods are

dangerous for a healthy person." Proust could hear panic ringing in Reis's voice. "Lieutenant Proust is sick. If you interrogate him you could kill him."

Vallsenn stared savagely at Reis, then emitted a short burst of harsh laughter. "Do you think that we care. So long as we get what we need from him it does not matter what happens to him."

"It matters to us." Reis's face turned hard with anger. "He's one of us. We won't let you do this to him."

Vallsenn scowled, losing her respective patience with him. "What should you care, Cardassian. He is not one of you. Besides, your people's interrogation methods are no less humane than ours. Worse in some regards."

Reis's face tightened further. "Perhaps, but that is not the issue."

Vallsenn snarled, shoving Reis hard enough to distance him substantially from her.

Proust felt numb, separated from his body so much that he did nothing but watch as Vallsenn fit the key in the lock and turned it, opened the cell, stormed in to grip him by the arm and hauled him forcibly out. Her grip hurt, but it was a distant hurt, not quite his own. He followed obediently, soundlessly.

Out of the corner of one eye Proust could see Reis start for Vallsenn, saw Hana jump to grasp him desperately, shaking her head. Reis stared helplessly after him.

Vallsenn dragged Proust after her.

"I will not tolerate this insult to my people, human!" Denaaro was so close that Sisko could see the faint lines of almost invisible veins in his black eyes. The man shook with fury, his breath coming rapidly, his bronze complexion flushed red.

"Insult to you, Mr. Denaaro. Not to your people." Terr'Essh had kept herself under control for the past hour of Denaaro's numerous complaints--about his accommodations, the state of conditions not to his preference, and the general inadequacy of the station--but her rope was wearing thin. A hand covered the patch on her forehead as she fought to command herself. "The Government could care less about your dissatisfaction over a few ridiculous pieces of furniture. I'm positive they have more to deal with than the fact that you think you lack a suitable bed. Did you so much as look at it before going into a fit?"

Denaaro flushed a different shade, whirling on her, "Shut up!"Terr'Essh's eyes flashed up to him, "I am trying, Mr. Denaaro, to

absolve this situation as quickly and easily as possible. You are not doing much to aid me in my task."

Denaaro glared at her for a moment, then looked back to Sisko. "A female mediator, human? A Bennharrae female, perhaps, but a... whatever she is? Females have not the intelligence for such a task."

Sisko wasn't given the opportunity to explain that among most cultures females were considered equal, in some cases superior to males, when Terr'Essh shot to her feet, frame quivering in suddenly released rage. The hand at her forehead dropped to her side, clenched so tightly that her turned knuckles white.

Sisko tensed, wondering if he should call Odo. He'd hate to throw Terr'Essh in the brig, but if she threw the first punch something would have to be done. Not that he wasn't considering doing the same. Though how Terr'Essh could lose control? True, Denaaro had a way of promptly wearing out his welcome, but after she'd so strongly warned him to keep his temper, to not pressure a Bennharrae into a fight...

But Terr'Essh did the last thing Sisko would have expected: he would not have been the least bit surprised if she had attacked Denaaro over his desk. Instead the fury drained out of her in an instant. Terr'Essh smiled abruptly, sinking back into her chair, gripping her chin in relaxed thought. "Surely, Commander," she said calmly, after long consideration, "you could replicate Mr. Denaaro a cushy mattress, or whatever he thinks he requires. In the way of good relations to the Bennharrae people." She beamed at Denaaro in her most winning way.

Denaaro's jaw dropped slack.Oh, Sisko thought, she was good."And anything else you or your assistants feel they need," he

said, watching the inscrutable countenance on Terr'Essh's face, "we will provide within our abilities."

Denaaro stared at first one, then the other of them in astonishment.

"The Federation is always generous, Mr. Denaaro," Terr'Essh said

sweetly, "I hope this does something to soothe your temperament and realize we mean business with this, even if you do not."

Glaring at her, Denaaro began to shake again, forcing himself to say in his place where otherwise he would have beat that retort out of her. He couldn't get away with that, not on this station and in Sisko's presence, so he searched to find a rebuttal for what had just turned on him. In the end he nearly threw a tantrum, but instead raged out of Sisko's office, through a pathway quickly cleared by those in his way on Ops.

"I must say," Terr'Essh replied smugly as the office door slid shut, "that was one of the high point in my life."

Sisko suppressed his amusement at the girl, who continued to watch Denaaro until he dipped from view in the turbolift. "You've had a lot practice at that sort of thing?"

She grinned lopsidedly."I take it you don't have many hobbies.""Not many, Commander. You eventually figure out how to

entertain yourself, even if it is something so petty as irritating people." She glanced up at him. "It will all work out, Commander. I promise you it will." Terr'Essh's voice carried a tinge of candid sympathy. "I forget what it is for people to deal with the Bennharrae that don't know them."

"It's not quite that. I've had to cope with difficult scenarios before, I've just never underestimated any of them so badly as this."

"Few don't make the mistake of underestimating the Bennharrae. The Valdosta did the same. Only we didn't have anyone to even the sides then, though. You do. I will not lie to you, Commander, this will not be an easy thing." She rose. "I want to doubt that this is worth the trouble for you, really." She walked out of his office, down the levels of Ops and was gone.

CHAPTER6

"Good evening, Mr. Proust."Proust couldn't tell where the voice came from, out in the

shadows beyond the reach of the light. Vallsenn gave a final jerk to the restraints on his arms, and he felt circulation cease. He flexed his hands, but it didn't help. He momentarily considered requesting that the straps be loosened a little, but decided it wasn't the best idea.

Proust heard precise, measured steps start directly beside him. He kept his head forward tensely, but his eyes shifted to catch sight of the approaching figure. Feet came into view first, the luminescence from the blearing light directly in front of him crawling up legs and torso until the man had emerged completely. Proust's heart sunk.

The man was massive. Proust had never in his life seen such a being. He stood easily above six and a half feet, with broad shoulder and a powerfully muscled chest. Yet he did not seem heavy for his size, walking easily, looking down at Proust from his enormous altitude, black eyes gray ringed and gleaming, mouth curved in an unpleasant smile.

Proust stared in astonishment, unable to breath. Being

interrogated by such a man was not a comforting thought at all.The man halted and knelt down slowly beside Proust, an action

that almost wasn't enough to bring him to eye level. He cocked his head, examining Proust indifferently. When he spoke it was pleasantly, though his voice was so deep that Proust felt it in his chest. "How are you today?"

Proust remained silent. He knew it was prudent to answer the Bennharrae's questions as quickly as possible, but what was he suppose to say? Fine, thank you?

The Bennharrae's face filled slowly with disappointment, "What? Do not tell me you cannot speak. It would be such a pity if you could not. Ah, well." He patted Proust knee reassuringly. "You will speak eventually. They all do."

Proust swallowed hard, his blood rushing cold. The Bennharrae rose fluidity, in a strangely graceful fashion, and

walked to stand in front of Proust. He gripped his hands behind his back, his manner businesslike. "We will start simply, Mr. Proust. I am not a heartless man," he smiled again. The countenance was friendly, but his tone was unmistakably deadly. "I will not throw you into hard questions directly. After all, it would not be proper." He fixed his eyes on Proust, all previous affability gone. "Your name is Proust, Richard Douglas. Your rank is lieutenant. Your current assignment is the U.S.S Valdosta; registration number NCC-54069. Is all of this true, Mr. Proust?"

Again Proust remained silent, staring blankly at the Bennharrae. Whatever they were getting at he wasn't going to be part of it. If they were trying to find out something about the Federation, something that could potentially be used against it... No. He would divulge nothing, would not cooperate even so far as verifying who he was. He would be no traitor.

"I repeat," the Bennharrae's tone became firmer, "your name is Proust, Richard Douglas. Your rank is lieutenant. Your current assignment--"

Proust closed his eyes, shutting himself away from the outside world and the reality of a nightmare that could only get worse. Could this be just a nightmare, he wished fervorently. Maybe, if he wanted it hard enough, he could wake up and all this would be nothing more than the distant, awful impression of a dream that could be forgotten. He turned his head down, away from this, but his chin had not so much as contacted his chest when a hand constricted around his neck. He choked, his eyes flying open.

This was no dream.The Bennharrae smiled still, that horrible expression. "It would

benefit you greatly to cooperate with us, Mr. Proust. I really would hate to kill you, but if it comes to that I will. And I grant you, it will be no simple death."

The Bennharrae released him. Proust gasped. "You are going to cooperate with us, Mr. Proust. You are going to

tell us everything you know." His voice was frigid. "Are you not?"

Kel Terr'Essh watched the turbolift doors close, blocking Ops from view. Or more importantly, view of her from Ops. She exhaled wearily, grasping the lift's rails for support. "Habitat ring; level seven; section thirteen." The lift dropped swiftly under her, rushing to follow it's instructions. She shook her head silently to herself, mind cluttered beyond organization with the events of the day.

Terr'Essh was beginning to see her life as one great, enormously important matter, demanding attention at every turn, which could never be resolved. Granted, her tedious existence had run much smoother on this edge of the galaxy, but there was consistently something outside the door with which to be reckoned. Terr'Essh didn't like being saddled with matters of consequence anymore, thought she had run far enough to escape them. How quaint, that she had assumed this a quiet place, little disturbed by difficulties such as the ones she sought to escape. But of course it was not. Perhaps she could never have peace.

To Starfleet this was a prelude to trade agreement. To her it was the life or death of the Federation.

Terr'Essh brought a hand up to rub her eyes. There were times when she longed for the relatively short life span most humanoids enjoyed, and so been long dead and too far from the Alpha Quadrant to have had any involvement in this ordeal.

All Terr'Essh had known to a point was the long existence of the races inhabiting the Arrista system of her home world, P'Lebber, far distant in the Delta Quadrant. She had never viewed her people's longevity as unusual, had as a child thought it too short. But once she'd seen beyond, to other humanoid races, time had become a drastically different thing. Most humanoid species lived one or two hundred years, with exceptions like herself. Terr'Essh was nearing her seventh century, and had barely ventured age. She looked forward to a good millennium yet.

Looked forward to? Certainly not. A few centuries and things began to get dull, not to mention that everyone around her grew old and died while she remained young and vibrant. One did adjust in time, though. But wasn't time all she had?

Terr'Essh smiled ruefully to herself. One thing she had discovered over the years was that the bitterness and pessimism, the foundation for her personality, tended to have ill effect on most people. But what could one expect? Being practically immortal and utterly miserable hadn't done much to improve her outlook on life. To her it was no more than one worthless moment after another stretching on

into eternity. The more days that passed the longer those worthless moments seemed and the more she came to despise them. All the same, she did her clench her teeth and act as pleasant as possible for everyone else's benefit. She was disconsolate enough that she didn't need to make others the same.

This particular situation was not contributing a lot to improving her view, either. It was but a small part of what was a growing aggravation for Terr'Essh: the Bennharrae.

Are they one demon that will follow me to the ends of the universe? Terr'Essh smirked in dire humor. The Bennharrae truly were demons, a race bred true. Not the only ones, though. Unfortunately it had taken her too long to discover that.

Bajorians called the Cardassians monsters. Terr'Essh had spent many a day listening to them curse this Cardassian, that one, and the race as a whole, proclaiming their evil, and so often she had wanted to stand up and slap them. They had no idea what evil was. The Cardassians were God forsaken angels compared to the Bennharrae! Surely, had the Dark One that of endless worlds had found purchase in this universe, the Bennharrae were it's spawn.

P'Lebberrians', her people, had endured a long association with these creatures. Some of her races own legends even suggested a common origin, a species that colonized the Arrista system millions of years before. It was a child's fairy tale which both P'Lebberrians and the Bennharrae had always dismissed as absurd. For how could the soft-natured, gentle P'Lebberrians carry even a distant relation to the awful, evil Bennharrae? Even Terr'Essh had wondered this in her youth.

But some similarities proved uncanny. Both races shared the same nearly unique longevity; both required the same minerals that were commonly inert to other humanoid races. Even the nucleotide sequences which scientists of both races had analyzed to disprove relation had shown that key genes were indeed shared. All humanoid races were related to one another to some degree, but not as closely as P'Lebberrians seemed to the Bennharrae. A shared ancestry? The prospect had been disturbing to say the least.

Her people and the Bennharrae had stood on uneasy terms with each other for as long as any one could remember. Never entirely enemies, surely never allies. Indeed they still had when Terr'Essh left Arrista over four centuries ago. Much could have changed in the time since, though little had in their people's many thousands of years of association. Her people allowed the Bennharrae to go about their business, and the Bennharrae left them in peace. Not that the Bennharrae would dare to challenge P'Lebber. The very prospect was regarded as ridiculous to the populous. The Bennharrae were far smarter than to challenge their sister world.

It was said that the Bennharrae were conquerors from the time

they lay their cradles, born with the need to destroy. They would annihilate entire races to their whim, sometimes for sheer pleasure. They found rapture over the pain of others, joy in the devastation and misery they caused, feeding on the lives they ravaged as if it were some perverse energy. What deficiency could they have experienced that they required the ruin of countless worlds in order to live until the morning? Terr'Essh would have given, still would give, half her mind to know. She had been a victim of that requirement once.

Her people accepted the Bennharrae just as they accepted that the world must turn. Bennharrae comings and goings were as much a part of everyday life as breathing. After she'd seen that races darkest side, what they were capable of Terr'Essh had spent a very long time trying desperately to understand: How could her people have let the Bennharrae do the things that they did, knowing full that they were, and not lift a finger when they could easily have stopped them?

But slowly a young, innocent Terr'Essh had begun to understand, and the reality that had been fuzzy became suddenly clear. That day she earned a new respect for the Bennharrae--a respect not of fear, but reverence--and lost all for her own race. The relation that her people had so strongly denied had become as indisputable to Terr'Essh as the stars in the sky. Bennharrae at least worn their devil cloak, unafraid of their face, while her own people buried theirs under self-righteousness and ignorance, fearing to see their reflection.

Terr'Essh had done the only thing she thought she could at the time: she ran. She ran in hate, in fear to know that she'd not seen what was so clearly under her nose. She ran because there was no place for her on her own world, among her own people anymore. They had betrayed her, had almost destroyed her, but she had survived. As humans said, "What does not kill you can only make you stronger." She was strong now. And she could never go home again.

Respect for the Bennharrae had never waned in all the years since Terr'Essh had gone. Though she had never expected to see any of them again. She had come to the Alpha Quadrant because it was as far from her evil cousins as she could venture. And indeed she had lived three centuries until encountering them again.

But the Bennharrae of Kythera were not true, though that made them no less of what they were. This was despite their being nothing compared to those born on Bennhar: tame, moderate beings. Kythera was a colony long separate from the home world, the years separating the two numerous enough to make them their own species, paired with the original colonists crossing with the planet's native inhabitants, thinning the blood. But to Terr'Essh they were as good as the same. They had enough of the inheritance to make them dangerous, the inborn ruthlessness. They couldn't help it. One cannot use a shuttle as a starship, no more than she could help who she was under the masks she wore, concealing her motives on this station.

I'm no better than they were, Terr'Essh mused, sadly reminded of her people and distant home. I hide myself under so many masks it's a wonder I even know who I am. At least I do, not like them. They call themselves deities in their goodness of heart when their hearts are as black and cold as this space that has become my home. At least I know who I am. I may deceive others, but I'll never deceive myself.

But do I deceive myself? This doubt had entered Terr'Essh's mind before. P'Lebberrians are skilled liars, and it is entirely possible that I could lie to myself and not realize it. All these separate lives I've lead across this galaxy, forming myself to fit a place because I have no place of my own. My place is lost. I will never be able to replace it, no matter how hard I look and however many masks I may wear. I tell myself I have a place, a purpose. But it's all a lie, a cherade I play to trick myself.

But isn't that the way it is? Something hurts, so you truss it up and try to hide it under duty and responsibility and hope you will forget. But you can't always lie to yourself. It isn't something so easily covered up or sanded away. I could run my life away, trying to escape. But I never will. New dangers, old demons. Everyone has black places, mine only follow me.

Terr'Essh altered the course of her thoughts, turning to more urgent matters. I must not forget that this is bigger than me, bigger than any of us. I won't forget. I know my duty; I've never failed in that. Nor will Brekka, though I would have been wise to bring someone more experienced. But the mission will be completed, however, successfully as it must. Too much rests on this. Failure is not an option. Though it may end up being the only one there is...

Terr'Essh sighed again, reaching to pull the pins from her hair, pulling fingers through it until the black mass fell loosely about her shoulders. She could barely wait to get to her quarters, to take a long bath. Her skin was dry and itched unbearably. Beings adapted to a terrestrial environment could not begin to imagine what life was like for aquatic beings trapped in their surroundings. Beside her skin all the muscles of her body ached, her mind was frayed. It was no simple task to lie, lie convincingly for extended periods of time. But it wasn't lying, she corrected. It was deception. A very complicated web of it.

Terr'Essh forced herself to find amusement in the irony of her position. She scorned those who were brainless and slow of wit, and now found herself playing one. The part had, however, given her an intriguing perspective into such people's lives. She had to wonder, after consideration, how many of them acted as they did for the pleasure of witnessing others reactions, and not that they were merely stupid. Already she had come to relish the way Major Kira rolled eyes at her, and how Commander Sisko seemed to respect somewhat airy intelligence, but spoke carefully as if he feared she might fail to follow him on some important matter. But most of all she enjoyed Odo's

response. The shape-shifter tired with half-honest effort not to be irritated with her, though he made no attempt to feign interest as she babbled pointlessly and unceasingly. She did hate to subject him to this particular guise, which even she found near impossible to tolerate. The advantage to acting like you didn't know much was that people tended to underestimate you, someone had taught her long ago. Right now that was exactly what she needed. Though she'd only known him a short time Terr'Essh had already grown quite fond of Odo. He reminded her in many ways of herself, if younger and not yet so bitter. He changed his form to fit the situation, she changed herself. Terr'Essh hoped that she would one day have the opportunity to know him, and he would know the true Terr'Essh.

Yet even as she wished to befriend him Terr'Essh knew enough to be cautious. Odo was a definite danger to her mission. For if anyone would uncover her assignment it would be him. It was, after all, his job, and from what she had heard he was exceedingly good at it. She would make a concerted effort to keep him under thumb as long as possible, but, being what her was, he would likely ooze out at one point or another. She would simply have bide her time and see.

The opening of the lift doors surprised Terr'Essh, jerking her out of her reflections. She ran fingers through her hair once more, tucking the pins behind her ears. Straightening the shoulders of her turquoise uniform, she exited the lift with an expression of vacantness, smiling sweetly to herself.

Terr'Essh's foot had barley passed the threshold when she caught a streak of motion from the corner of her eye. It was rare for anyone to catch Terr'Essh unaware, unwise as it was to be caught in a position where someone could sneak behind and slit your throat. She tried always to be wary, though was not always entirely successful. But then, it wasn't as if she'd been expecting an ambush awaiting her in the corridor.

Instantly Terr'Essh's mind started working, searching for a solution to the problem which had presented itself. But not quick enough. She didn't have time to utter a sound before the form barreled into her, knocking the air out of her lungs, slamming her against into the wall next to the turbolift. A hand cupped her mouth forcefully. "Do not say a word."

Terr'Essh took a moment to identify the figure, then allowed her eyebrows to drop in an expression of irritation. She reached up to pull his hand off her mouth in an unconcerned fashion, which Denaaro allowed her to do. "Odd way you have of treating people when you expect them to aid you," she said in irritation.

Denaaro's scowl dissolved quickly into confusion. "What?""You expect me to help you, yet you assault me from the back."

His closeness against her body was disconcerting. "Would you please let go of me. I won't run."

Denaaro hesitated, a moment's indecision, then his scowl returned and he pressed her more firmly against the wall. He shook his head, the green rings of his eyes never leaving hers.

Terr'Essh pursed her lips, hiding the concern that flitted through her mind. "What do you want, then?"

His eyes narrowed further at her. "You humiliated me in front of the human," he said brusquely.

"So, is that what this is about?" Terr'Essh smirked inwardly at Denaaro's pettiness. "I could not submit to you compliantly as some inferior, Mr. Denaaro. My assumption was that we wished to be believable. As a delegate in these pre-trade agreements I cannot avoid opposing you. It's unnatural. People would become suspicious."

Denaaro's face twitched almost imperceptibly. He hated to think that, simply because she had a cause for it, Terr'Essh could get away with bruising his pride. "You were not the one's pre-arranged," he said with less confidence than before.

Denaaro was a man of few and seldom complex words, Terr'Essh ascertained from the obvious, and most commonly in the form of demands he expected to be followed explicitly. He certainly offered no prelude to conversation. "No," she replied, "we are not."

Denaaro's frown deepened. "Explain yourself." "I do not know the whole of it, but I was informed that the ones pre-planned were intercepted by a faction that opposes the Bennharrae government--"

"The Prrzhevaal." "Yes. The Prrzhevaal. Mr. Brekka and I were sent to replace

them."Denaaro seemed skeptical. "Who sent you?" "Co-Mallor Korollemm." The name rolled smoothly off her

tongue, practiced in the proper pronunciation of Bennharrae names. "After Tanaka's agents failed. As I understand it you are lucky that they did. The one's Tanaka sent were rumored loyal to the Federation. They knew nothing of the plan."

An expression of puzzlement filled Denaaro hard features. "But Tanaka was paid well to aid us. She should have carried out her part of the plan..."

"Starfleet officers are harder to buy than you may think, Mr. Denaaro. Most are true to their colors. Your people should have stuck to those whose loyalty can be purchased in the first place," she arched an eyebrow, "among those who make it our profession."

Denaaro looked at her thoughtfully, his jaw working. "You said that you were following orders." He leaned closer to her. "Tell me those orders."

Terr'Essh blinked in surprise, straightening. She glanced both directions down the corridor, "Mr. Denaaro," she murmured, "I hardly think this is an appropriate place for conversations that should be

conducted in private."Denaaro had loosed his grip on her, but quickly shoved her back

to the wall. He made no effort to dampen his voice. "Tell me the plan!"

Terr'Essh stared at him for a moment. "For a matter held to be of such importance to the Government you certainly are not taking this very seriously."

"If Korollemm hired you then you are bound under my orders," Denaaro said firmly.

Terr'Essh regarded him a moment more, then jerked her eyebrows up fleetingly in an indication of indifference. "The plan..." she said, searching her memory for the orders she had down verbatim. "'Though distinctly separate from the rest of the Alpha Quadrant, the Bennharrae have, none-the-less, kept an eye on off-world events. One point of outsider affairs that has caught our attention is the situation being faced with the Dominion. From what we have seen the Dominion, and the Founders, are more like us than not, and therefore more acceptable than other outsiders. It has been contrived among certain members of the Government that relations with the Dominion would be extremely beneficial, especially when the Dominion launches it's strike against the Alpha Quadrant. If it could be arranged that the Bennharrae are allies of the Dominion, then we would be left alone when the rest of the quadrant falls to pieces, possibly let in on the spoils should we prove helpful. Relations will be attempted.' We, sir, were employed to aide in these relations under the guise of a trade agreement which has never actually been negotiated--which, of course, Commander Sisko does not know. The presence of two Starfleet mediators helps to sure the guise. This station was chosen because it is naturally the best place for relations to be attempted, near the mouth of the wormhole, where a transmission could be sent to the Founders, offering your allegiance. And whether it succeeds or not is yet to be seen. But I can guarantee that we will do our best to assist you. We remain true to our contracts until such time as the mission is completed."

Denaaro's expression was blank yet again, but this time it was replaced by a smile. "You have an excellent memory, my dear."

"Not my only talent, I assure you.""I can only imagine," his gaze roamed her entire length

appraisingly. She contained her expression of disgust.He released her carelessly, turned and started away."But," Terr'Essh said, "it goes beyond that."Denaaro paused, pivoting back to her. "Does it?" He queried

innocently."It has to," she looked away from him, down corridor, avoiding

his gaze. Her tone was thoughtful. "After all, the Dominion doesn't simply lay down it's loyalty to every lowly race that comes begging

allegiance." She fell silent."Go on," Denaaro said warily "Something drastic needed to be done, something to show that

the Bennharrae were willing to do anything for the Dominion, no matter the cost."

She heard Denaaro advancing back to her. He clenched her arm, moving her to face him. "This was not in your orders."

Terr'Essh furrowed her brow at him. "You needed help, Mr. Denaaro, and this is a matter of great importance. You needed the best, and I am the best boughten agent in the quadrant. Perhaps the galaxy. You don't get to be the best if you don't have the ability to figure things out."

A peculiar expression flooded Denaaro's face. He was beginning to realize that he'd underestimated the apparently simpleminded Terr'Essh. Just as she had wanted.

"If you wanted to show the Dominion that you meant business," she continued, "what better way than to contend the strongest power in the Alpha Quadrant, the major hurtle to their conquest: the Federation. And what would be the most effective way to contend the Federation in the eyes of the Dominion?

"There is a space station at the mouth of the wormhole controlled jointly by the Federation and the Bajorian government. Why not destroy it in the name of the Dominion? Once it's gone their conquest through the wormhole will be just that much easier. That station is this one, Deep Space Nine."

Denaaro looked at her soberly for a moment, "You figured this out all by yourself?"

She nodded singly.Denaaro grinned briefly, "Clever girl.""Be glad I'm working for and not against you, Mr. Denaaro.""Yes," he appraised her again, "I am. But not everyone is

working for us. There will be agents here.""We know. We are wary." Denaaro grunted approval, turned abruptly and walked away.

Terr'Essh watched him go, allowing herself a tired sigh once he fell from sight.

And so it began.

Proust felt awful. He couldn't remember why, only that he did. He was hot, sickeningly hot. Not from the outside, but internally. His skin was slick with sweat, but chilled in contrast to his scalding blood. His head seemed enormous and throbbed painfully, a knife twisting inside his skull. His entire body ached. His hands were completely numb, though he couldn't, for the life of him, figure out why. And there was that insufferable voice again. It seemed very distant now, so

that he strained in order to hear what it said. Even then the words were a murmur scrambled amid a blur of other sounds and images. There was something odd about the voice, though. Something almost familiar...

He suddenly jerked back to reality. The voice was his own.Focusing his eyes, Proust could see the immense Bennharrae

man towering above him, his face twisted, suffused with anger. What was it that he wanted? Proust couldn't remember anymore.

"What did Tanaka tell you? What was your mission?"Tanaka? Ah, yes, he remembered who Tanaka was. She was the

one that had damned him to this torture. But he didn't know what the mission was; the Bennharrae wouldn't believe that. "I told you before," he said desperately, "I don't know! I don't know anything!"

"You know, Mr. Proust. You will tell us.""I don't know!""You are lying.""I'm not lying! I'm telling you, I don't know what you're talking

about! I don't know anything!"The Bennharrae snarled, clenching his fists in frustration. "Mr.

Proust, if you refuse to cooperate we can be more persuasive. We will--"

"Then do it!" Proust snarled. He was surprised at the force of his voice, the vehemence with which he spoke. He had never in his life raised his voice to anyone, but he was sick and tired and fed up with the Bennharrae's repeated threats of death. "Kill me if you want, but I don't know anything." He shook his head weakly. "I don't know what you're talking about. I don't know anything."

The Bennharrae cursed, drawing his fist back to strike Proust. "That's enough, Mrrshaal!" The new, tenor voice was a strong

contrast to the Bennharrae's deafening bass, still droning in Proust's ears.

The Bennharrae jerked in surprise, whirling toward the source of the voice. He lowered the fist back to his side, calmness eliminated by the interrogation returning. "This is none of your business," he said coldly.

A stolid faced, middle-aged man stepped within reach of the light. He was dwarfed by the Bennharrae, but seemed unintimidated. "Well," he said smoothly, "the way I see it this is my business. And if not it is now."

The Bennharrae Mrrshaal appeared only mildly irritated, "I have not concluded my interrogation."

"You have concluded," the man said firmly.Mrrshaal opened his mouth to speak, halting as the man drew a

phaser, leveling it on his chest. "You have concluded," he repeated.Mrrshaal looked at him nully for a moment. He didn't appear to

think the man a threat. He did, however, seem respect him. "Very

well, " he said. "If you insist." The man returned his phaser slowly to it's holster, flashing a

smile of congenial gratitude. Yet he didn't remove his gaze from Mrrshaal. "Reis, Judson."

From the dark behind the man Reis and another young gentleman emerged, moving to Proust. The Cardassian glared harshly at Mrrshaal as he passed; Mrrshaal ignored him entirely. The other, Judson, knelt beside Proust, beginning to remove the restraints. "Don't worry, my friend," he smiled kindly, "we'll take care of you. You'll be all right." His voice dropped to a whisper, "I hope."

"Humans are weak," Mrrshaal said in what could only be compared to amusement, "but not that weak. He will live."

"He might not!" Reis growled, his face drawn in anger. "Not after what you've done to him. He was sick, and what you've subjected him to here can only help the virus progress, perhaps even make the condition fatal. If he dies I'm holding you personally responsible."

Mrrshaal chuckled, "Is that suppose to be a threat?""I wouldn't take his lightly, Mrrshaal." The middle-aged man

smiled mirthlessly, "I'll side with him. If I do so will the rest of the Prrzhevaal. I don't think you want that."

Mrrshaal's smirk fell away. "You are over-reacting.""Over-reacting?!" Reis hissed, eyes narrowed with outrage. "We

have the right to over-react. Get out of here!" he pointed rigidly at the door. "Get out! Now!"

Mrrshaal rolled his eyes, "I do not--""Mrrshaal," the man's voice was flat, "get out."Mrrshaal stared at him silently, grunted, and disappeared from

Proust's field of view.Reis grumbled something and dipped down next to Judson,

"Diagnosis."Judson looked at him soberly but made no other indication. Reis

sighed."Do you always talk about the possibility of death in front of your

patients?" Again Proust was surprised at his own force. It didn't seem like him, so distant. He didn't barely thought the words he said.

"Sorry," Reis mumbled."Humph," Proust felt his mouth tug in a smile, began to feel

himself drifting away. Whether into unconsciousness or death, he didn't know. Either way, how nice to be gone, away from this nightmare of existence. "Thanks anyway."

CHAPTER7

The night sky was cloudless, stars sharp points of brilliance as Dax made her way down the ramp of the Fbol Rejelkimen. The air was crisp and invigorating, tinted with the fragrance of what must have been night-blooming flowers from the forest that spread out behind them. Otherwise they were encompassed by high, lush grass, stirring in the slight breeze. She inhaled deeply, smiling to herself. It was always nice to be on a planet again, where the air was recycled by nature and not technology, the blanket that protected her from space atmosphere rather than metal and shielding.

Readjusting the strap of the bag on her shoulder, Dax surveyed her surroundings, noticing first the sleek hulk of the Rejelkimen towering above her. The Bennharrae had been in such a hurry to return home that this was the first opportunity she'd gotten to look at it: an apparently seamless, massive black ship, it's surface absorbing any light that touched it. Dax couldn't discern the fine details, only a general shape where the ship blocked a large patch of stars from view. It was shaped roughly like a smashed bullet, with small, body hugging fins on either lateral.

"You couldn't beam us down?" Dax asked in curiosity.The captain of the Rejelkimen, whom had proceeded her down

the ramp, glanced irritably back. "The Bennharrae do not posses the same things as the Federation," he spoke the name in contempt. "We

do not 'transport.' We must land our ships when we wish to disembark them." He turned his gaze to the lights of what appeared to be a city perhaps a kilometer away, three huge spires jutting from it's core, their bodies dotted with innumerable tiny flecks of illumination.

Dax heard someone coming down the ramp. What she had identified as the ship's first officer halted beside her, his gaze also intent on the glow of the city.

The ship's first officer was one of the more tolerant Bennharrae Dax had seen so far. Aboard the Rejelkimen the crew had been slightly less than hospitable. The captain appeared to dislike them the most, for his own unrevealed reasons; she'd caught the glimmer of hate in his eyes on more than one occasion. Only the first officer had even so much as inquired about there well-being, but it was clear that he was not entirely fond of them either. It was true that the Bennharrae despised outsiders. Dax would go so far to say it went beyond that.

"What's it called?" she inquired.The ship's first officer glanced at her, not speaking but his

expression questioning."The city," she pointed toward the lights.He looked the way her finger indicated. "Syybase," he said after

a prolonged silence."The capital," the captain added on his own accord, glowering in

it's direction. He folded his arms tightly across his chest, grumbling. "Your keepers are late."

"More pleasant creatures I've never seen," Bashir whispered in the ear opposite the Bennharrae first officer.

Dax hadn't noticed his approach, the rich British accent startling her. "Julian!" Her own whisper was harsher, brows drawing together at him.

Bashir looked at her absently for a moment, "Well, they can't help what they are." Dax shook her head, directing her attention down the path that lead from the landing pad to the city, it's exterior traced by blue lights, the distance between each diminishing until they became an unbroken line, the two converging on the outskirts of the city.

On the landing pad had been painted neatly, in blue, alien characters, five lines of symbols. To the left of each was a teardrop shaped mark, the point of one in the direction of Syybase. One pointed left, another behind Dax. Two indicated right and slightly backwards. She looked that way to see another path traced in blue lights, which forked and continued until they disappeared into the trees. She ventured the guess that they too lead to communities, "What cities are they?"

"You ask to many questions," the captain snapped, not moving otherwise.

"Hammanna and Cerrateth lie there," the first officer replied when it was clear his captain wound not. His captain whirled to glare at him, but the officer ignored him. "Serrena is behind us, and Kar is there," he swung an arm left. "The five cities by the River."

Dax smiled sweetly at him, "Thank you." She heard the captain snort in disgust behind her. She disregarded him.

"I've never seen anything like it in my life," Ensign Catsby said from behind Bashir, her voice low in sheer awe, excitement showing though she tired to disguise it.

"It is marvelous, isn't it," Bashir said, his own tone calm. He grinned in the unusual, half-amused way Dax associated solely to him.

"Bennharrae places are said to be the most beautiful in all the galaxy," the first officer said quietly so his captain would not hear. "Is it so?"

"You've never seen anywhere else before?" Bashir frowned. "You're the second highest ranking officer on a starship. How could you not have?"

"No Bennharrae has ever been to another place. We know nothing but our own."

The officer's tone was so wistful that Dax felt a twinge of sympathy. "It's very beautiful," she said sincerely. Her thoughts returned unexpectedly to a place she had seen once that was very similar to Syybase, a place that had not been in her thoughts for many years. "The only place I could even compare it to has been gone for over three centuries."

The officer looked at her blankly, "You are not taussccal." The term was unfamiliar to her. "I beg your pardon?""Tausscal: our ancestors. The ancestors of the Bennharrae lived

many years more than we do now. They lived much more than three hundred, and you are more than that if you remember a place that old. You are not taussccal, though."

"No," Dax amended, "you misunderstand. I'm not three hundred years old, I'm only thirty-two."

The officer inclined his head, "How then could you have seen a place that has been gone three hundred years, if you are only thirty-two?"

"I didn't see the place," she attempted to explain. "One of my previous hosts did. A woman named Lela, only a short time before the planet was destroyed by a super nova."

The degree of confusion on his face increased."You see," Dax tried again, "my species, the Trill, play host to

symbiotic organisms. They live inside of us. The creature inside of me is three hundred years old, and I can remember every event that it's previous hosts experienced."

The officer frowned, "It lives inside you as a child would?"Dax grinned, "You could compare it to that, I suppose."

"Do you have any organisms on this planet that live inside of and are sustained by other animals?" Bashir asked, stepping in.

The officer looked at him for a moment and considered. "We have in the southern hemisphere a small, soft bodied creature that lives in the veins," he spoke thoughtfully. "It draws strength from its victim and causes death if not destroyed." A look of alarm suddenly swept over his face. He lurched away from her, "You have a parasite in you!"

"No!" Dax held her hands up to him. She cast a harsh glance at Bashir, who should have known better than to compare her symbiont to a parasite. She had no desire for the Bennharrae to think she was introducing some new plague into their world. "It's not a parasite. Symbionts cause no harm. In my culture it is an honor to possess a symbiont, an honor that is vigorously competed for."

The officer frowned in disgust, "You compete for a parasite?""They aren't parasites. They take very little from us and give

much in return. We have the memories and experiences of all the people that have lived before us to draw from rather than just our own. It's a gift, not an affliction."

The officer peered at her in silence for a moment. "How many others have come before you?" He asked at last.

"Six now." His face tightened slightly, "Is it odd to have lived six times

before?"Dax exhaled in relief. "You get used to it."Through the course of this the captain had watched with a dark

eye, and now that eye became sinister. "And what exactly would become of you if this symbiont of yours were somehow...eliminated?"

There was something in that look that chilled Dax. Was there a moment in their days that a Bennharrae thought of anything but evil.

Dax felt Bashir's hand rest warningly on the small of her back. Glancing at him out of the corner of her eye his face was inscrutable. "I would not advise it," he said coolly. "The symbiont is docile unless threatened, but I wouldn't like to be the one forcing it into retaliation."

The chill evaporated into humor as the vision of the sluggish, worm-like creature inside of her rebuking against the captain flitted through Dax's head. She hid her expression of amusement behind a hand. Though Bashir's face remained unreadable she could make out a sparkle in his eyes.

The captain's snide expression fell away. He mumbled something under his breath and turned his face back to Syybase. "We ordered a transport to come retrieve you," he said aloud. "It should have been here by now."

"It will make it's way here in it's own time," the first officer said. The captain mumbled again, indistinguishably.

Dax felt the doctor tap her on the back again, this time to catch

her attention. He walked slowly toward the edge of the ramp, dropping his bag down to the flight pad and lowering himself to settle on the ramps edge. Dax joined him, nodding permission for Ensign Catsby to come also. Catsby smiled and shook her head. I'm fine, she mouthed.

"So far, I'm not terribly optimistic about this trip," Bashir said as Dax settled beside him. He spoke so quietly that she had to more read his lips than hear him audibly.

"The journey there is always the worst part," Dax assured him. "I'm sure it will get better."

Bashir shook his head skeptically and ran a hand back through his hair. "I'll be glad to sleep tonight," he pulled the hand down his face. "For only being a few light years away that was one the longest trips I've ever taken. I can't figure out if it's to be attributed to Bennharrae hospitality or if we never hit over warp three."

"I doubt the Bennharrae have the capability for very high rates of warp, but they didn't exactly make us feel welcome either." She inhaled deeply again, "But for all their lacking they do have a beautiful planet."

"True. It's such a waste for it to be locked away from the rest of the galaxy, Bashir said roughly. "It's hard to believe that a race would encourage ignorance and close-mindedness. But I suppose there's always one, whether it's a cult among one people, or a single people among all races."

"Sir--" Catsby placed a hand on Bashir's shoulder."Get up," the captain boomed, his statement catching the tail

end of Catsby's, "your transport com--"The captain's own words were drown out by a sudden, deafening

roar. A blast of hot air caught Dax square in the face. She shaded her eyes under both hands to protect them from the dust and debris, looking to where the transport's jets spouted bright orange flame high above them. The ship itself she could not see, its hull apparently made of the same light absorbing stuff as the Rejelkimen. It lowered itself steadily toward the landing pad, the burn of its jets becoming less the closer it came to the ground. The air that blasted in her face stank acridly of exhaust. Primitive they were if they still burned fuel as an energy source. She didn't see how their planet could still be so pristine if they used such methods.

The transport settled heavily on the landing pad, an exit in its side flinging open even before the engines had been completely cut. A figure jumped out, identifiably male, and advanced toward them. He strode past the captain, ignoring him entirely, and stopped directly in front of Bashir.

"Doctor Bashir. Lieutenant Dax. Ensign Catsby. We have been expecting you--"

"If you had expected them you should have been here to accept

them," the captain said in irritation. "We have better things to do with our time and our ship than baby-sitting your package."

The new-comer glowered back at the captain. "Waiting would not have been an issue if you had been here at the appointed time," he growled through his teeth. "The Government does not look well upon it's servants being twelve hours late. We were waiting for them; you were not here to deliver."

"I am a free trader," the captain said. "I am no servant of the Government, and abide only to my ways." He folded his arms firmly across his chest.

The new-comer ground his teeth. "That is what we get for paying before service is delivered," he murmured to himself, then turned back to Dax and the others. "My name is Vrenna," he said briskly. "I have been assigned to you for the duration of your stay. Anything you need, come to me. I believe the 'hand shake' is the initial human greeting," he stuck his hand out to Bashir, who took it after hesitation, then to Catsby. "Though I was not informed of the Trill form of greeting..."

"A hand shake is fine," Dax said, taking his hand as well."Ah, well enough," Vrenna nodded. "Our officials were waiting to

see you, but it is to late now for that." He lowered his voice, "Have no doubt that our good captain will pay for his delay, as well as for any other inconvenience he may have caused to you. All you need do is inform us of his conduct. It will be rewarded." Vrenna grinned savagely, exposing his white teeth.

Dax and Bashir exchanged a glance. "That really won't be necessary," Bashir said uneasily.

Vrenna looked mildly confused, "But it is. Oh," the previous expression was replaced with understanding. "Yes, I see. I had forgotten that Starfleet does not deal with dissension in the same way we do."

"But he was only late," Catsby said quietly, her brows knitted loosely. "It's hardly dissension."

"Ha!" Vrenna shook his head. He motioned the three to follow and started back toward the transport. He waved the captain away as he passed, not looking him in the face. The captain scowled after him, as well as at Dax, Bashir, and Catsby as they passed. He snorted, turned and stomped up the ramp of the Fbol Rejelkimen, commanding his first officer back to his post. The officer followed him obediently.

"You do not understand the Bennharrae way, Miss Ensign," Vrenna continued, "so do not question it. I do not mean you offense, but you do not know how we do things. We do what we do because we must. After all, the people must be kept at bay."

Catsby's mouth tightened. "In the Federation we don't kill people when they make mistakes. We've done well that way."

Vrenna chuckled lightly, glancing back at her. "Your people are

your people, Miss Ensign. Ours are ours. The Bennharrae are a bit more... shall we say 'inspirited' than those of your Federation. Give a Bennharrae a head of grain and they'll burn the entire field. Besides, a mistake is a mistake--what our good Captain Ehlrrich did was design. Oh, we are not an entirely unforgiving people. Everyone is allowed to err, but it has become obvious to us that what Captain Ehlrrich has been doing is testing his limits. This is but the latest in a line of disgressions. The more he thinks he can get away with the more he will do. Something must be done to prevent that. We'll make an example of him," he shrugged indifferently. "That should discourage at least a half dozen others from trying the Government. And Captain Ehlrrich's first officer is a fine man." He winked at Ensign Catsby. "We've been looking for a way to move him up in the ranks." He chuckled again, "It seems we've found it."

Ensign Catsby's mouth fell open, eyes wide in horror."Don't concern yourself, Miss Ensign." Vrenna tried to grasp

Catsby's shoulder, but she jerked away from him, stepping closer to Bashir as if for protection.

"It does seem a rather drastic action," Bashir said flatly in her defense, touching Catsby's forearm briefly with the back of his hand in reassurance.

"We do not care what your Federation does, Doctor," Vrenna sounded mildly irritated. "You should do the same for us."

They had arrived at the transport, and Vrenna jumped back up into the entrance, leaning back down to offer them aid up. Catsby seemed reluctant, but took the hand up, followed by Dax and then Bashir.

"Take a seat," Vrenna said as he pulled the hatch shut. He walked to the front to the transport, spoke to someone there, then returned. He settled into one of the seats, folding his hands in his lap. "We are taking you into Syybase, the capital of the northern continent of Kabbaal, one of the five major cities on the river of Zhena Tellea. If I'm given the opportunity tomorrow I will take you to see Syybase. The Government is not entirely plea--"

Vrenna was cut off as the transport suddenly roared to life and lurched upward abruptly. Vrenna gripped the side of his chair quickly and glared to where the pilot was located in the fore of the ship.

"The Government," he continued, "is not entirely pleased about outsiders being shown the city, but they realize that if trade is to be accomplished between our two peoples they cannot treat you like the enemy. I tell you, it was worth a lot to see co-Mallor Korollemm give permission for that. He hated to do it. Oh, did he ever hate to do it." Vrenna smiled to himself and looked out the window. He said no more.

Dax watched him for a while, but he made no indication that he even registered their presence. She exhaled longly, directing her attention out her own window. The lights of Syybase floated languidly

in a sea of black. Certainly, Dax thought, the Bennharrae will make for interesting

bed-fellows.

The turbolift came into view on Ops, bearing Chief of Operations Miles O'Brien. The lift seemed to forget it's destination momentarily, sliding past, halting abruptly and dropping with a sharp jerk back to floor level. It was something the lift did from time to time, a source of perpetual annoyance for O'Brien, but at the moment he took no notice of it. He departed the lift, frowning to himself, preoccupied.

Major Kira Nerys glanced up from her position at the operations table, watching as O'Brien paced from the turbolift to a position near Dax's console, currently occupied by a junior lieutenant named Jurgenson who also took note of the chief as he passed. O'Brien stooped over the console, his hands darting in practiced patterns across it's surface, his frown deepening.

Kira craned her neck, trying to get a better view of what O'Brien was doing. "Problem, Chief?"

O'Brien didn't bother to look at her. "The communications array," he said nully. "Something's wrong with it."

"Would you care to be more specific on that?"O'Brien didn't respond for a few moments, but when he did he

seemed fit to let his frustration out on someone. "I was trying to contact Keiko to tell her that I'd received a package she'd asked her grandmother to send her, and I was going to ship it to her on the next transport to Bajor, but I can't get the blasted communications to work." The sentence ran together in a stream, which he punctuated by bringing the heels of his hands down on the console. "I can't figure out what the bloody problem is."

"I wouldn't worry about it," Kira directed herself back to her post. "We've been having problems with it all morning. I ran a scan, and there doesn't seem to be anything wrong with the systems. Sensors detected an ion storm in the next sector. I thought maybe it was having some effect."

"Could be. This looks more like a systems glitch than interference, but since I can't seem to find the source I suppose that's what it is. Ah, I'll just send Keiko the package. She doesn't need to know it's coming. I'll guess this means we haven't heard from Bashir or Dax?"

Kira shook her head. "That Terr'Essh woman said that it would be unlikely we'd be able to speak with them until they returned," her tone was laced with distaste. "The Bennharrae wouldn't allow it."

"Humph," O'Brien exhaled. "That reminds me, why didn't you go instead of Ensign Catsby? Lord knows you're more suited." The engineer smiled lopsidedly, with his usual Irish wit.

Kira frowned down at the operations console. Why is indeed the question, Chief.

It had been three nights ago that Sisko had come to her, requesting that she represent the Federation and Bajor by going to Kythera. At first Sisko had said only that it was part of pre-trade negotiations with a neighboring race, and Kira had been more than happy to represent her people. But then Sisko had said that the name of the race was the Bennharrae. Immediately she had informed him that no, she would rather not. Naturally he had questioned her motivation. Kira had given him no explanation, hadn't felt that she could. She didn't want to tell Sisko that the reason for not doing her job was a piece of cultural myth.

The Cardassians had called them haribener, "the dark ones." The Bajorians had come to know of them as thenel khama, to the same end.

Kira had heard of the thenel khama for the first time when she was five, on a night when her parents had worked late in the mines and she was left alone. Unable to sleep, she had wandered outside. Some of the elder children spent evenings around a fire near the camps central plaza, and there she had set her destination.

On the way she had been forced to pass a group of Cardassian soldiers, there being no safe, round-about path to the plaza. She was but a child, and they ignored her completely, going about their conversation as if she were nothing. They had been speaking in the native dialect, for one reason or another. One large, ominous looking soldier had said loudly as she passed, "And I hear that Central Command is having trouble with those damn haribener again." He snorted, "I don't see why we don't just take what we want from them, whip them out if they resist."

A smaller, brighter looking soldier had spoken mildly, "They are not as defenseless as they look, Tenel. Remember, a voles bite is much nastier than you'd guess. I hear that the haribener's teeth are a great deal sharper than most'd think."

To this the large soldier had scoffed, and the group had gone on to some other topic.

Young Kira had never heard of a haribener before, and this thing keyed her interest. She scurried away from the soldiers, making her way to the older children's meeting place.

Once there, an teenage boy named Shenal had invited her to come sit near him, where she did come to settle.

"Shenal," she said after a time, "what's a haribener?"The boy had smiled down at her, "Where did you hear about one

of those?""From the Cardassians. They were talking about them.""Ohhh," Shenal had drolled in amusement. "Well, we don't call

them that around here. That's what the Cardassians call them.

They're thenel khama."To this Kira had been awed. "What are they?" "They're monsters, creatures with black eyes and no pagh." He

had poked her in the stomach then, causing her to giggle. "They once belonged to the Cardassians, they were their servants until they revolted and left Cardassia."

"They're servants, slaves like we are." Kira had brightened, "They fought, like we are. They won, and so can we!"

"No, Nerys," Shenal had said somberly. "They aren't like us. They're evil and wicked. They have no heart. They won because they killed many innocent people, people that didn't deserve to die."

"All Cardassians deserve to die!" Kira said vehemently."Most Cardassians, yes. All, no. You can't judge the whole by

the majority, Nerys."Kira had ignored his words, "They should all die. All of them."Shenal had looked illy upon so young a child having such an

adverse view. He had always held the opinion that the Occupation could have been ended without further bloodshed. Perhaps it was some of that hopeless optimism and open-mindedness that played part in his death the following year. Kira mourned him still.

The stories of the thenel khama became well known during the Occupation (She was surprised that Odo didn't know of them. Apparently he hadn't paid much attention to the tales of children during that time. Not that she expected him to.), one spread by children such as herself, around campfires like the one she had visited. That very night near the plaza Shenal and the others, spurred by Kira's mention of the dark ones, had spun into stories of the thenel khama and their evils, which Kira soaked up until her mother had retrieved her and sent her to bed. The thenel khama were to Bajorian children an equivalent of the Terran Boogie Man, a thing that hulkered in the shadows, waiting for parents to sleep so that they could prey on the young ones unimpeded. The Cardassians spoke of them in tones of annoyance, but children feared them into irrationality, and adults harbored some of that trama throughout their years. From the time that word of the Bennharrae negotiations had first spread the Bajorians of the station had been on edge. They did not want the Federation dealing with the Bennharrae, but no one had spoken against it. After all, there was nothing any of them could do, and it wasn't their concern anyway. Everyone knew what everyone else thought in respect to the Bennharrae, but no one uttered a word. No one wanted to chance being mocked for breathing truth into a child's myth. Not even Kira had told Sisko of it when he had demanded an explanation for her behavior. Had he ordered her to Kythera she would have had to have gone, since she had no legitimate reason, but Sisko had spared her. So silence ensued, and the trade negotiations went on unhendered.

Kira had to wonder where the stories had come from. Later in her life she had made checks on the truth in the old thenel khama stories, of which there were little. Incongruencies in descriptions of them--such as their being servants of the Cardassians-- abounded. The extent of contact between the two species had not gone beyond the Cardassians acknowledging the Bennharrae's existence, trying to work out a double- handed deal--to their gain--over trading for materials during the Occupation, and the Bennharrae telling Cardassia exactly where to put their offer. If there was so much incorrect, then perhaps there was no truth to the stories at all. Maybe that was all they were: stories dreamt up by a lot of impoverished, miserable children, piecing together monsters from fragments of Cardassian conversation. Though certainly bad tempered, the Bennharrae did not so far seem to be the beasts their reputations had set them up to be. Really, they seemed no more than an ignorant, pathetic people, hiding from outside existence in the recesses of their little world. All the same, Kira did not trust these dark ones, the Bennharrae. She thought of an old human axiom about not wanting to touch distasteful things, even with a long stick. She felt the same about the Bennharrae, and she had a bad feeling about the Federation's decision to even prod relations with them.

She said nothing of this: it was not her place, and if there was no truth in it she didn't want to be the one that ruined a deal that would have benefited the Federation. No, she would not chance it, not over a child's tale.

"I have my reasons, Chief."

"As the representative of my people," Vrenna said with watered down pride, "I welcome you to Syybase. Watch your step as you disembark this transport."

Bashir barely heeded him as he jumped down from the transports exit, his head upturned, mouth gaping in astonishment as his eyes scaled up the height of an enormous building they had landed by. He made a rough estimate at it's height based on the number of lighted windows, finding himself dizzy before even reaching the top. "Remarkable," he whispered.

"Syybec," Vrenna said in disinterest as he too hopped from the transport. "Our government offices are located here. Here you will come tomorrow."

"I've never seen anything so enormous in my life. Within the strains of gravity, that is," he corrected quickly, glancing back to the others while so doing. He noticed Dax smiling at his wonderment. "I had no idea that anything of such a size could exist under the gravitational forces of a planet."

"But it is nothing, Doctor." The Bennharrae dismissed it, waving

a hand. "The wonders of Kythera are many. I will show you what I can. Our planet is one of much magic."

Bashir's eyes trailed back up the building. "That I can see.""Yes, but now is not the time for you to see. Now is the time for

you to sleep, and me as well." He appeared more concerned with the latter. "Your trip has been long and I see that you are weary. Please, come. I will show you to your rooms." He clapped the doctor on the back and set off with his characteristic sense of destination toward a path, traced in blue lights as the landing pad had been, not checking to see if his charges followed.

"Sounds like an adventure," Dax commented as she passed Bashir, still steadfast, shooting him a playful glance before jogging up to join Vrenna. Bashir watched her for a moment, shook his head and followed at a walk.

"Sir?"Bashir peered back over his shoulder and felt a twinge of guilt

that he had almost forgotten Ensign Catsby's accompaniment. She stood, as if waiting for orders, her expression strained. "Ensign," he grinned, trying to ease her tension. "You don't want to be left behind, do you?"

She smiled in return, grateful for the informality in his voice. From speaking to her on the Fbol Rejelkimen, Bashir had seen that she possessed the same view of ranking officers that most junior crewmen held: that they were inhuman, the whole of their personality built out of rules, regulations, and protocols. Not unlike half my professors at the academy, Bashir mused. He understood where the idea had come from, though he had never been a victim of it. When he had come to DS9 he'd thought himself capable to take on the sum of the entire Cardassian Occupation, plus some. Ranking officers had been the least of his concern. All the same, he'd be happy to show Catsby that all officers were not so stuff-shirted as the reputation that preceded them.

"No, sir," she responded."Well, come on then." "Yes, sir." "And what's this 'sir' business?""It's protocol, sir."Bashir scowled, "Forget protocol. Call me Julian.""If you don't mind, Julian, I'd rather call you sir. I'm more

comfortable with protocol. Unless that's an order, sir.""Well, no. Whatever you're comfortable with, Ensign.""I really prefer sir, sir. Thank you, sir.""Yes." He frowned, starting after Vrenna and Dax. "You're

welcome."Vrenna lead them through Syybase's maze of pathways without

trouble or delay, though it took Bashir only a few minutes to lose track

of which direction the transport had landed. The Bennharrae pointed out various points of interest as they went, clearly visible in the dead of night for the glow of Kythera's three moons, all in different phases, the smallest no more than the sliver of a crescent. The buildings opened up at one point and they passed through a large open area where the smooth path they were walking on gave way to stone cobbling, the stones different colors so that it formed a radial pattern, it's axis in the squares center.

"This is Caabo Market," Vrenna said, spreading his arms to the square. "It is an old part of Syybase, known throughout our world. Thing's from all over Kythera are sold here, wonderful things. I am sure that of all the places here you will enjoy this one the most. My superiors did not want you to have the ability to purchase anything from our world, but I will make sure that you are supplied with currency. It will be from my own account, of course, but we will just consider it my contribution to the peace process." Before anyone had time to object he jumped subjects. "I apologize that you have such a long walk to your lodging, but transports are not allowed to land within the city boundaries, unless there are special areas for such a thing. The landing pad at Syybec was the closest. Usually there are land transports, but there are none running this early. I could have asked our pilot to set down in Caabo, but my superiors would have had my head for it, which is not something I would appreciate very greatly. I find myself rather attached to it at the moment." He wrinkled his nose.

"There's no need to apologize," Dax said."I feel that there is. But it is of no matter now. We are here."The four story flat that Vrenna indicated lay on the edge of the

market straight ahead of them, made in an older architecture than most of the other surrounding buildings, lovely brick work and stucco, where as most everything else looked to be made of the same stuff as the pathway. It was a contrast as the opening of the Caabo Market had been. There were several trees around the building, a small leafed variety with light, smooth bark, their tops reaching above the roof. Small noises came from them, the creeks of what was most likely some sort of animal or insect. Beyond that there was no sound, something Bashir had not noticed up to that point.

"It's so quiet.""Of course it's quiet." Vrenna seemed puzzled by Bashir's

comment. "Everyone is asleep.""But usually there's someone about, even at night.""On your world, perhaps. Citizens are not permitted on the

streets two hours after sundown until sunrise. Our rules forbid it.""You seem to have a lot of rules.""In your eyes, Doctor. They are common place to us. I must

remember to inform you of our rules, so that you do not break them. So rarely are there exceptions to forgo chastisement, and I doubt that

you being not from this world would be one of them. You must remind me."

They had approached the buildings door, and Vrenna was about to key it open when he paused, his focus directed to the left of them. Bashir followed his gaze to where a woman stood, arms folded.

Vrenna cleared his throat, returning to the door's controls. "Uh, I'm afraid you will have to excuse me. Just go inside. There will be someone to escort you to your quarters."

"Is there something wrong?" Dax asked in concern."No. At least I hope not. My lord wishes to speak with me, I

think. Why, I do not know."Bashir frowned. "Your lord?""Our co-Mallor, one of our leaders. Our equivalent of a president,

I think you call it. Do not worry. It is probably nothing. Go inside. Get what sleep you can. I will see you in the morning." He shook each of their hands again hastily and jogged over to the woman. Without passing a word they vanished behind the building.

Bashir frowned after them. "What do you suppose that was all about?"

Dax shrugged. "I have as much of an idea as you."

Vrenna was fuming as stormed into the twelfth story office of Syybec, stopping a few paces from the heavy, intricately carved wooden desk that was the center piece of the room, fists clenched to his sides. The high backed chair behind the desk had it's back to him, it's occupant hidden from view. Vrenna hated that chair, for on more that one occasion, when he had entered the room in a huff to voice his objection over some matter, that chair had been vacant and he had ranted and complained to thin air without knowing it. But this time he knew that it was not empty, and he let lose. "What the hell business do you have calling me away from them? It was you that assigned me, and I had assumed that you would allow me to do my part. I would have come once I had them settled, you know that. What is it that you want? What is so dreadfully important?"

"Oh, I just wanted to know if they were here safe and sound." The voice that came from behind the high backed chair was smooth and articulate. Arrogant, conceited, the sort that would lend some clue to its owners appearance. Attractive, intelligent, well kept. These he was. "I wanted to be able to tell the human co-Mander that his people made it here unharmed."

Vrenna's eyes widened. "What? That is all? You interrupted me for that? Could you not have waited a few more minutes to know if they had come to us unharmed?"

"Well, have they?"Vrenna mouth fell open. "In the Bloody Heavens, Korollemm, I

did not believe it possible, but you are even more petty than I have ever thought."

The Bennharrae president swiveled in his chair to face Vrenna, the brown rings of his eyes shining, color barely distinguishable from black. "Your point being?"

Vrenna scowled in disbelief, but his expression shifted abruptly. "What are you up to?"

Co-Mallor Korollemm inclined his head innocently, laying one hand over his heart as if the accusation had been a defeating blow. "Up to? I am up to nothing."

"Yes you are. You are up to something. What is it? You drew me away from them for a reason. Why?"

"It is nothing for you to worry about, Vrenna.""Nothing for me to worry about, perhaps, but what of them?"Korollemm grinned, but said nothing.Vrenna shook his head. "You are like a child, with all your games

to amuse yourself at the cost of others. And I suppose the incident with Captain Ehlrrich's delay was part of your little plan, as well."

"Yes, of course it was. Do you really think Ehlrrich would have pulled a trick like that without being ordered to?"

Vrenna frowned. "I had wondered. And what, you intend to make this whole trip as miserable as possible for them?"

Korollemm chuckled. "You truly are the bleeding heart, Vrenna.""No, co-Mallor. I just think that we should not torment them so."Korollemm inclined his head, his expression still amused. "You

and your compassion. Such a rare, endearing quality. To think that I ever wonder why it was I picked you as my advisor.

"It is nice to have an alternate opinion," Vrenna said flatly, "even if you never take it."

Korollemm laughed. "I really am fond of you, my bleeding heart. What would I do without you?" He waved his hand in dismissal. "Go then. Go back to your charges. You have my permission to do with them as you like. Show them the time of their lives, if you wish it. I shall leave them be."

"Would you swear an oath to that? Would you promise to leave them be?"

"I make no promises, Vrenna. To no one. Not even you.""Yes, I know." Vrenna said tightly. "But still I thank you, co-

Mallor, for what you have allowed me with them. You are indeed gracious."

"Yes, I know." He grinned barely. "Now get out of here.""Yes, co-Mallor." Vrenna bowed to his master and left."He does not like you very well," a female voice said flatly upon

Vrenna's departure.Korollemm glanced back at Vallsenn, the woman who had

escorted Vrenna in, meeting her eyes.

"No, he does not. That is why I trust him. He does not try to hide the fact, as some do." He rose a brow to her.

She did not react to this. "He is impetuous.""He is honest," Korollemm corrected."You trust him perhaps too much," Vallsenn added, dropping her

eyebrows. "Such trust is dangerous.""Yes, perhaps." Korollemm rested his head on a hand. "But he

has yet to lead me wrong. You speak true, Vallsenn. It may prove my undoing. But truly, if I cannot trust him, who can I trust?"

CHAPTER8

The room that the tenant showed them surprised Dax to say the least. Taking into account their treatment thus far she would have expected something not quite so acceptable, and certainly not beautiful. She walked into the room with an awed silence, taking in as much as she could in the span of a few seconds. It filled her eyes.

From where she stood at the entrance the room dropped down several levels: the raised area she was standing on, down two steps, a large area where the furniture was placed, and a third level that opened to a glass door and a balcony outside. The room was more lavish than anything she had ever seen in her many lives: floor tiled with lime green, rough stone, covered in places by the most intricately woven rugs; ceiling and walls plaster, hung with abstract paintings, depiction's of objects and creatures that Dax could not identify, their colors flowing together fluidly, merging in a motion that almost made them dance. The furniture was all hand made, Dax knew, for the look of it could not be fabricated. Wood intricately carved, oiled to a luster and upholstered with a rough textured, maroon fabric, it surrounded a glass and wood table near the center of the room. The whole scape of the room was aesthetically pleasing and felt very old somehow, that it had seen many generations before them. There were doors leading to two other rooms, it seemed, one near the balcony and one on the other side of the room. What wonders they held, she could only guess. Dax exhaled breathlessly.

"These will be your quarters," the attendant said, watching Dax and Bashir with the same suspicion he had cast upon them from first seeing them.

"Hers or mine?" Bashir asked, not looking at the attendant but sweeping the room as Dax did.

"Both."Bashir glanced back at the Bennharrae in surprise, "But--" "We have no other rooms," the attendant said in irritation. "You

gave the other room to the dark-skinned one. There is left only this for the two of you."

"Oh. I see." Bashir frowned, taking in the situation. "You know, I think Dax would be more comfortable rooming with the Ensign. Is there any chance I could switch rooms with--"

"You have made it this way. You must live with it." Without any further pleasantries the attendant unceremoniously slammed the door shut.

Bashir's face tightened and he sighed deeply.Dax gripped his shoulder, "Don't worry, Julian. I'm not afraid of

you.""I realize that," he said with mild irritation, "but still...""But still nothing. It'll be fine." She released the shoulder,

dropping her bag to the floor, starting down the levels of the room.She made her way to one of the doors, opening it manually by

the knob and peeking inside. It was the bedroom, tiled in the same form as the main room had been, decorated in the same style. One bed, banistered, a dresser, a filled bookshelf, a large closet, and a door that most likely lead to the bathroom. Dax surveyed it quickly and closed the door back.

When she turned back to the main room Bashir was exiting the other door she had noticed. She rose an eyebrow to him in query.

"It looks like a breakfast room," he shrugged to indicate his lack of certainty on the matter.

"This ones the bedroom," Dax responded, looking back at it. "Well," Bashir's mouth tightened, "I guess that's that. I get the

couch.""Oh," Dax objected, "you don't have to do that. I could--""No, I insist on it. There's no reason why you should have to

suffer."She frowned at him for a second, then smiled, "Thank you, Julian.

I appreciate it. Maybe we'll alternate.""Maybe."She nodded singly, and with the matter resolved swept past the

doctor to the sliding glass door. When it didn't open to her efforts she had to search for the locking mechanism, at which point it slid aside without difficulty.

She stepped out onto the balcony, which was more deck sized, and was immediately greeted by a sweet breeze. She inhaled deeply again, leaning forward on the balconies railing.

The room they had been assigned to was on the third floor of the building, it's balcony looking out over the market, near enough to the light barked, small leafed trees that the outermost of their branches touched the stucco exterior, and a main branch reached out across the balcony just over Dax's head. Here the creeks were louder, and Dax squinted into the foliage, trying to catch sight of whatever it was that was making the noise.

Bashir had joined her, and leaned beside her on the railing. "Am I mistaken," he asked, "or is it getting lighter?"

Dax drew her eyes from the tree to Bashir. His own gaze was directed toward the horizon, barely visible between the buildings. It glowed slightly rosy, color bleeding into the black.

"Dawn." Dax said.Bashir sighed again. "Who-rah," he murmured dully. "Do you

suppose they planned it this way?" Dax glanced at him, "Would they go to that much trouble.""So far, it fits them."Dax sighed herself, peering back at the horizon. "We should get

what sleep we can. I'm going to bet that tomorrow will be a long day."

Hana Hali sat near the entrance of the Prrzhevaal's granite labyrinth hiding place, absorbing the pre-dawn, regarding the still starry sky with a weary eye. The patterns of unfamiliar constellations played out their sagas in the alien sky, their stories unknown to her. The trio of moons obscured them, fading their brilliance so that only

the brightest were visible, those made even less evident by the dim glow of the rising sun that would not peek the horizon for an hour yet.

Warmth soaked through to her hands from the mug pressed between them. The liquid in it steamed, wafting it's fragrance into her nostrils, wrapping her in it's heat. It smelt bitter, masking what sweetness there was of the sugar she had dumped liberally into it, the heated juice of a berry someone had discovered and brewed much of the time, despite the rank taste. At first she hadn't been able to stand the stuff, but as the months on this planet passed she had developed an affinity for it, so much that she hated starting a day without it. Her liking of it made it no less bitter or nasty on the tongue, however, though she clung to it. So much like life these days.

She tipped her head back against the rock behind her, draped with plants and vines who's roots reached desperately into any crack or crevice to find a foot hold. The rock face spread up above her, a gigantic green granite formation. Her eyes shifted up to the trio of Kytheran moons. Sherrtha. Tellgath. Ferrthlaa. She let the foreign names roll in her head, her gaze running over the patterns of basalt seas and craters, finding images where she could. A flower there. A bird there. A fish there. Anything to occupy her mind.

Hana yawned, covering her mouth with a hand. She was so weary. But she could not sleep. She never slept well, dozing a few hours late in the night, laying awake until finally pulling herself from bed to rove corridor's and passages until someone else awoke to keep her company. It was an affliction that Laura Rysck, their second in command, had suffered, and many night's she and Hana had sat, keeping each other's company into the lonely hours of the night, solving the problems of the universe. But Laura was gone now, killed in the service of the Prrzhevaal, this Prophet forsaken resistance that did no more good than to make people dead.

Jennifer Varel. Michael Connolly. Laura Rysck. The names of those dead compatriots hung in her head, their faces before her mind's eye. Laura's face in particular stuck there, smiling at Hana from imagination, dark Betazoid eyes, long red hair and the laugh lines that danced about her eyes and mouth. She remembered her so clearly, everything about her from the exact sound of her tinkling laugh to the scent of her soap that clung to her. Could it have been a month already since she had been killed? Hana could have sworn she'd spoken to her yesterday, in her dreams perhaps. Laura had told her again the stories of her childhood, a youth so much happier that Hana's. Hana had liked to listen to the reminisces of those tales and pretend that they were her own, to feel herself playing with her brothers in the rain, then laughing over the majesty of a rainbow. Instead she had lived in the squalor of refugee camps where the rain could bring illness, and there was no time for laughing or rainbows. She would miss Laura and the false memories and joy she had given

her. She felt that she'd probably miss her more than she would ever really know.

The thing that gauled her most about her friends death was the circumstances. If she had died for a cause Hana would have been able to let the grief at her passing slip away, but instead the futility of her sacrifice clung, along with the sourness of her memory.

Hana wrinkled her nose, brushing her bangs back out of her face. She mused over a point last month when she had voiced her opinion on the matter, the day after Laura had died, leaning over their new second, scowling at him with more intensity than she had ever expressed to anyone, "Talk to him Jaral," she'd hissed. "He won't listen to me, but he will to you. You have the influence to sway him. Make him stop. Make him take us and leave. He's going to get us all killed."

"He's doing what he thinks is right, Hana," Jaral Seig had said distantly, concentration fixed on the cane of the chair he had been mending, fingers working a treated native reed in and out of the weaving, patching the worn through holes. He was a mild, unjoined, blond Trill gentleman, and he paused in his work to gaze up at Hana. He had smiled at her kindly, sympathetically with his soft blue eyes and angular face. "I understand how you feel. We all feel that way when one of us is killed. More so for you because you were close to her, but what we're doing is necessary. Colfax knows that. I know that. You need to know that."

Hana had snorted, throwing her head and rolling her eyes."He needs our support, Hana," Jaral continued. "We can't be

divided in following him."Hana scowled at him, her head at a cant, "You're just like the

others. If Colfax asked you right now to walk back to Trill straight, you'd do it in a heart beat. You and all the others, you follow him blindly. I'm the only one that ever questions him."

"We don't follow him blindly, we just haven't had a reason to question him yet. All his choices have been acceptable, so far. When I think he's wrong, I'll tell him."

"Well, I think he's wrong, I tell him, and he doesn't listen to me!" Hana folded her arms, glaring at the wall.

Jaral sighed, watching her. "Consider what we go through on this planet, Hana. With all the things we do it's surprising that more of us aren't dead. Now, I consider it a mark of good leadership that in the past eight months only three people have gotten themselves killed."

"It doesn't matter if it was three or three hundred, people are still dying for no reason." She'd spread her arms in exasperation. "I'm the only one that sees what's happening here. We're doing no good at all, and we're killing our friends for it. The price is too high, Jaral. We can't afford it. And who of us will be next? Reis? Judson? Me?" She moved into his face, "You? Well, I know at least that it won't be Colfax, our magnificent leader. Has he ever put himself in the line of danger? Has

he ever stuck his neck out for us? We put ourselves on the line every day, and he sits there ordering us what to do and don't. Where does it end, Jaral? Where?"

Jaral ignored the blow to their commander, furrowing his brow at the young Bajorian woman, cutting lines through his spots. "What do our lives matter? You, me, what does it matter if our sacrifice can save millions?"

"But we're not going to save millions, Jaral! All we're doing is destroying ourselves. We are doing no good. Why don't we just let Starfleet and whoever else know what's going on here. They can stop it, and without our suffering. We could--"

"No," Jaral cut her off firmly. "No one can know. That was explained to you. No one can ever know what the Bennharrae have done here."

"It's no big deal, Jaral. Races are constantly testing their limits, what they can get away with."

"But those races are not the Bennharrae." Jaral said seriously."What does it matter?" Hana snapped in irritation. "Whether

their eyes are black or they're scaly cold-bloods. No one made this big a deal when the Cardassians annexed Bajor, and as I see it that was a much larger deal. What makes the difference?"

"There is a difference. You remember what--""Yes, yes, I know all the stories, Jaral, and they don't change my

opinion. I still don't think we should be here, dying without cause."We should not be here, Hana repeated again to herself, with as

much firmness as she had ever said aloud.The ridiculous explanation for their being here still rung sharply

in her head. "This mission is of the utmost importance," Colfax had said, "and it must be conducted properly to be successful." He had spoken long of the service they were doing for the galaxy, but how they would have to remain forever silent heroes. As Jaral had reminded her, no one could ever know what had happened and would happen on Kythera. "If anyone was to know it would throw us into a war we could never win. For that reason we have to do this alone, and we must succeed, no matter what. If we don't..." Colfax had paused dramatically, "the loss of life would be immeasurable."

Before they had dipped into this little escapade Hana had respected Colfax. She had looked up to him, idolized him, taken pride in the great man he was. She'd had no doubt that with him at their head they could move mountains. But as the days had passed and they had fallen farther into the web in which they'd become entangled, the truth behind the man was slowly reviled. In reality he was a small, power intoxicated little man, slaying his own people for the glory he was granted through it. The Bennharrae had come to think of him as a great monster of a man. Untouchable. Undefeatable. It was a lie. All but the monster part, that is.

"You're biased in the way you see him, Hana," Reis, her Cardassian friend, had told her on several occasions. She had always found it odd that she would ever come to call a Cardassian "friend." "He's not the anti-Christ you seem to think he is. He's a good man, and you should know that he means well."

"That's what I get from everyone!" she'd rebuttled. "All I hear is just that: 'He's a good man,' 'He means well,' 'He's doing the best he can.' I've be told that so many times that it's burned into my ears. I'll hear it till the day I die."

No one saw the way things really were. They saw only what Colfax and this whole mess represented: the classic struggle of good against evil; the honor of dying for so grand a cause as this; the romantic idea of being the unsung hero, the one that saved the universe and remained humble through it all. They were so enchanted by the ideas that they'd become deaf to the fact that they were fighting a hopeless cause. It was no good, and they had no business being there.

Hana rose from her position on the ground, stretching coldness out of her legs that had seeped there from the stone. Through her musings the colors of the Kytheran sun had spread deeply into the night, washing the stars away completely. Night still clung inside the passages of the Prrzhevaal's headquarters, however, and the blackness was absolute as she swept past the curtain of vines that concealed the maze's tiny entrance. No lights were there to guide her way: she navigated by memory and touch. The warmness of the season outside did not reach far into rock that still held the coldness of winter. Fires did little good in the place, except for cooking. It made everyone generally miserable, especially poor Reis. She'd found him on many occasions in the same place she had just been, tortured by the frigid night and poised in the early morning to catch the first rays of the sun, to bask like a common lizard. Not only that, but it was constantly damp, which drove the chill further in. Cardassians were not made to take such conditions, but he complained little, and when he did it was usually about the food.

The Labyrinth had once been the home of an ancient civilization that had inhabited Kythera before the Bennharrae invaded it. Mrrshaal had told them the story of it, as well as everything else they knew about this world. Hana didn't trust Mrrshaal, liked him even less than Colfax. A man that would betray his own people was not a man Hana would turn her back on. He stood often in the midst of their band, watching them come and go with the daily routines, assessing them as he would stock. Hana would gladly have gotten rid of him herself, but the Prrzhevaal needed him. He protected them from the Government, leading it on false trails when it got too close to uncovering them--and him! She was positive that if his survival did not depend on their's he would have long ago turned them over for whatever meager bribe was

offered, even as it had been he who'd called them to this world.Mrrshaal had given them the Labyrinth. The Labyrinth's rock

contained some element that shielded them from Bennharrae sensors. That was how they had remained hidden for so long. It was that particular element that had turned the granite green, giving the place a certain charm in what areas there was light enough to see it. Places where lighting was installed were rare, confined to the formations core. The external rooms, mostly living quarters, had to be illuminated by torch, candle, lamp, or the spotlights they didn't have. Truthfully, they didn't have much. At one point they'd had a replicator that had eventually so deteriorated in the damp atmosphere that Jaral could no longer botch it together to make it work, and had no way to get parts to fix it properly. At that point they had been forced to learn skills many of them had never needed to know, sneaking about the alien woods attempting--with little success at first--to snare animals, or trying to find plants that weren't poisonous or disturbing to humanoid systems. They'd also learned the fine art of preparing what things were edible, some of them proving better than others. Hana, for instance, had never been a particularly good cook, where as Reis had turned out to have a flair for it.

They did, however, have weapons. Of that they had been sure when they'd come. Hand phasers, Phaser rifles, sonic grenades, old fuse explosives, nitroglycerin, and anything they'd been able to get there hands on. One person among them, Bry, had proven quite useful through the lines of connections no one had known he'd had. He'd procured for them all sorts of marvelous weapons of destruction, illegal weapons of calibers no one had ever guessed existed. Yes, weapons they had, but that did little to make up for what they lacked.

The lacking didn't bother her, though. She'd known far worst. Here they were fed, healthy, and as happy as anyone in their position could be. And there was something about the whole thing that was almost...romantic. Something about living from day to day on what you could pull together, standing on the crumbling ledge below which danger seethed like a boiling sea. She had fallen into it, even as she condemned her comrades for the same thing. All the same, she didn't think it was right. A "do as I do, not as I say" motif. It wasn't as it had been on Bajor, an agonizing and horrible ordeal. Perhaps because Kythera was not her world, and her people weren't being broken by it.

Hana came to a fork in the passage, one leading farther in to the Labyrinth, the other going straight a few steps to a stairwell that led up to the next level. She took the stairs, feeling her way along the wall, her thin fingers caressing the hieroglyphs that line the wall at her shoulder height, alien stories carved in the stone. No one, not even Mrrshaal, knew their meaning. It did not matter what they said. They did enough by guiding Hana on her way through the mazes corridors; rough, cold, and comforting under her sensitive fingertips. She started

up the stairs, onto the next level.The path forks here. Take the left. The path forks again. Take

the right, because the left has caved in. The Labyrinth was old and had long fallen into disrepair. Small

things that could once have been repaired and prevented could not now be easily fixed. The structure was riddled with cracks through which water flowed, seeping out and trickling into puddles on the green stone. The ceilings of many of the rooms had collapsed in on themselves, taking other rooms and passageways above them down as well. Some of it had happened when the original inhabitants had been here. Jaral was always exploring the ruined sections of the Labyrinth, and had uncovered rooms filled with ancient treasures of the old people, which the Prrzhevaal had put to what use they could. It was a shame to waste such artifacts, but there was nothing they could do with them but use them if they were in one piece.

She came to the final fork, now feeling the wall on the right for the first door. Her fingers drug the wall until they contacted the ancient, rotting wood and rusting iron. Count now... One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Missing door, empty room. Six. Here.

Hana paused, not wanting to open the door. It squealed badly to open, and it grated her nerves. No matter how much it was oiled it still squealed. She clenched her teeth and pulled it open. To her surprise it barely creaked. She let out a retained breath.

The room was unlighted. The candle had been blown out and was cold. Sometimes her room mate would wake early as she did to read, but he was asleep now. Good. Rarely did he sleep, because she did not. She felt badly for it, and was grateful for his being there. She didn't like being alone here.

The bunks were cut into the stone, rectangular spaces where their thin mattresses were placed. Her's was on the bottom. She slid into it as silently as she could, pulling the blanket over her gaunt body, hoping not to disturb her room mate, realizing she'd failed as the soothing, melodic voice reached her ears. "Hana? Are you all right?"

She sighed, closing her eyes. "I'm fine. Go back to sleep.""You can't fool me, Hana. You know that.""If you know, Bry, then why bother asking?""Because it might help you to talk about it."Hana opened her eyes to see the face of her companion, peering

down at her from the bunk above. His skin seemed to glow, sheening slightly metallic across his androgynous, alien features. His amber eyes were concerned. "What?" he coaxed. "What is it?"

Hana stared at him vacantly for a moment, then rubbed at her aching sockets with the back of one hand. "Nothing, really. I was thinking about what we're doing, why we're here... Prophets, Bry, we don't belong here. We have no reason for being on this planet."

Bry inclined his head at her, "You never will simply let it be, will

you?"Hana frowned at him, then groaned, covering her head with a

pillow. Does no one question anything? We need to be here, Hana. The soft voice echoed inside her

head. Because Laura died doesn't mean that we no longer have a purpose here--

"Stay out of my head, Bry," she demanded, keeping her voice level.

Bry did not speak for a moment, in either medium, then said, "I know you morn her, but--"

"This has nothing to do with Laura. If anything you should morn her. You must miss having another telepath to converse with."

A sadness welled into Bry. She could feel it, disliked it instantly, "You have to accept it before you can reconcile, Hana."

"What, are you our councilor now? Why can't you just keep your nose our of other peoples business?"

"Because I care, Hana. I care about what happens to you. I don't like to see you in misery."

Hana hissed, rolling to face the stone side of her bed, staring fixedly at it.

It's always amazed me how much damage the occupation did to the Bajorian spirit. Bry said flatly. You talk about connection with your pagh, yet you ignore all the signs of it's distress. Ignoring the need allows it to eat away at the soul. Such damage can be patched, but the patch will not hold. It splits. It rips. You need to prevent the hole rather than trying to mend it later, Hana. You need to confront--

"Leave me alone, Bry!" she moaned. "Why can't you just leave me alone?"

There was silence for several seconds. Then in his sad, soft voice, As you wish, Hana. I do what you ask.

Hana suddenly felt as if a great weight had been shifted onto her. The braces removed, allowing mass above to fall in upon her. She felt alone, lost, saddened. There was vacancy left where the touch of the alien telepath's mind had been, the part of him that had watched over her. He had never mentioned this vigil he kept on her, but Hana had always known it was there. There was a part of Bry's mind that had always been entwined with hers, since the day she had first met him. He did this with many people, for it was the nature of his species: to watch over, to guard. But over all others he had watched Hana, for she was a small, lonely person afloat in an endless ocean, much in need of a friend. He was her guardian angel, of sorts. But an angel can only do so much, and Bry had given up his guard. The touch of his mind that she had known so long, one that often lent her pieces of it's owners happiness, that lent her light at the darkest hours, was gone, and she was alone again. She had to hold herself to keep from falling to her knees, begging him to return what he had reclaimed. She

didn't want to be alone again, stranded inside the island of herself, unable to know, truly know that any other being beside herself existed. And because without his touch, she would never know if anyone cared.

Pride would not let her, though. Stubborn, ridged Bajorian pride. What faults her blood carried.

Hana exhaled, rolling onto her stomach, hiding her face in her pillow, letting darkness envelope her. Sleep, however, did not come.

* * *

The stars are shining dimly here, in this endless, aching night/No sun will come to purge the dark, to drive away the black/And I am lost and stranded, in this endless, aching night.

My eyes will scan the distance of this endless, aching night/No one will come to ease my pain, to save me from this end/And I and lost and lonely, in this endless, aching night.

I will find no solace, in this endless, aching night/No one cares to search for me, to purchase me from hell/And I am lost and drifting, in this endless, aching night.

My days will soon be ending, in this endless, aching night/No one will morn my passing, or shed tears for my loss/And I am lost and fading, in this endless, aching night...

How well put, Terr'Essh mused on her own, gazing at the stars outside her window. The work of a man that no one had ever known. Perhaps they would have, had he not slashed his wrists when he did. Only she had seen it, and those lines had remained forever in her memory. Such things do, when you relate to them. A pity the man had never gone anywhere. He'd had such potential.

Terr'Essh pivoted in her chair to face her minion, the slick fabric of her dress flowing against her legs. It shimmered in the dim lighting of her quarters, the exact color of her eyes. She inclined her head so that she peered at Brekka from under her fine brows, something that served adequately to unnerve him.

"I'm so pleased that you found him, Thom," she said flatly, her eyes fixed on Tadris. "Where was he hiding?"

"In his quarters, ma'am," Brekka said, staring sheepishly at the floor.

"And let me guess: it was the last place you looked, wasn't it?""Yes, ma'am." Brekka played his toe across the carpet, watching

it. "Oh well. It's always the last place you look, isn't it?" It wasn't a

question, and Brekka didn't reply to it. "And you, Tadris," she changed her focus. "Why did you hide?"

Tadris stiffened, his eyes darting imploringly to Brekka, who's face was still directed at the floor. He swallowed tightly, rubbing his hands together, "I... I feared what you would do to me. I am sorry for

harming you. It was not my intention to do so, but that would not change your vengeance on me."

"You thought that I would throw you to the mercy of your people?"

"Yes, Terr'Essh."Terr'Essh tilted her head quizzically, then snorted in disdain, "I

did not realize that I came across as being so wrathful.""You do seem larger than life, ma'am." Brekka said timidly,

smiling slightly. "The possibility of what you could do to someone is extensive, in the realm of speculation. With all due respect...ma'am."

Terr'Essh tipped her head further, bringing her brows down over her eyes. Brekka's smile faded, and she could almost see his mind searching to find what he'd said wrong this time.

"The possibilities of what I would do to someone is in fact very limited, Mr. Brekka, and my heartlessness could never stretch so far as to damning a person to Bennharrae jurisdiction. As for what occurred in the holosuite, Mr. Tadris, it is forgotten. Mistakes are made, unfortunately, and I do not hold yours against you. But I trust that I made myself perfectly clear? You will heed me?"

"Yes, Terr'Essh.""Good," she nodded sharply, rising to her feet. "On to other

matters, then." Terr'Essh clasped her hands behind her back, walking with a

slow, fluid gait that suited her attire to stand nearer her window. The position was beneficial for two reasons. One, it allowed her to watch the stars, which always relaxed her and helped her to think. Two, she could watch her minions in the glass. It was not hard to notice such a trick of observation, but Brekka was to distracted examining her back-side to see what she was doing. Only the flash of a glance would have caught her eyes in the glass, but he would not spare such a glance.

She smiled privately to herself, a grin that was barely visible on her lips, watching Brekka. Poor, dear Thom Brekka. The boy was infatuated with her. Well, not so much with her as with her looks. She herself did not appeal to him, rather frightened him. He was not in awe of the power caught inside her fine body as some would have been. From that he cowered, but before her beauty he worshipped. Terr'Essh was not being vein in acknowledging her beauty. By human standards she was exquisite, though among her own kind she was considered unremarkable. Brekka had once, in one of his bolder moments, told Terr'Essh that he never tired of looking at her. She had a beauty that fed the soul and filled the eyes. And not just her beauty, he'd said, but the wisdom behind it. Like the supports of a building, it held everything together, gave it rigidity and strength. At hearing this Terr'Essh had stared blankly. To her all humans were to some degree confusing, but Brekka never ceased to amaze her. He could go from timid, rambling idiocy to saying things like what she had just

described. For Heaven's sake, Brekka. Make up your mind about who you are, so I can learn what makes you tick. She hated not understanding people. It was the one thing she prided herself on--besides her ability to deceive--and it had failed with him. That was utterly infuriating.

Brekka was looking at her legs now, the dress pressing against them. His eyes moved upward, to the low back that showed off blue spots that ran down her spine. They were never visible with the high neck of her uniform, but with the her hair up and the dress they were quite visible. Yes, the dress. She could see in Brekka's eyes that the dress intrigued him.

"What's wrong, Thom. Haven't you seen a woman in a dress before?"

Her words caught him of guard. He started. "Uh, I have, ma'am. Just never you in one. And not so...sparse a one."

She concealed her humor, keeping a frigid front. "Do you have a problem with it?"

An expression passed across his face that suggested that he had no problem with it at all. He said only, "No, ma'am."

She snorted lightly, focusing out on the stars this time. She unclasped her hands from behind her back and folded her arms across her chest, enhancing her cleavage. This time it was Brekka that watched her in the glass.

"Denaaro has revealed himself to us," Terr'Essh said nully. "He confronted me yesterday evening."

"What now?" Brekka asked."We're going on according to plan."Silence fell upon the pair again. Brekka waited for her to speak,

but Terr'Essh did not feel like speaking at the moment. The stars had caught her attention. She picked them out, one after another. The very bright one is Bajor. Behind us is Earth, out of my sight. That one there is Cardassia, and that one Kythera. I wonder how Bashir fairs? She sighed, looking to the place where Arrista would have been, though she couldn't see it. It was too far away. "Always know where your star is," her mother used to say. "No matter where you are, so long as you know where your star is you can find your way home." Well, mother, I know where my star is, but I don't know the way anymore. I can't see the way. Perhaps there is no way at all.

She jolted herself. Dammit, Terr'Essh, stop it! She had not thought of such things in centuries, but with the return of her demons, so returned the sense of loss and lack of direction. Now they infected her mind constantly, and she could not purge them.

"I'm to meet with him tomorrow," she continued as if she had not halted, "he and I, and Sisko, and the Bajorian Major, to discuss trade. Sisko goes on like this were nothing more that a simple trade negotiation. We have luck in that. He suspects nothing."

"And if he does learn?" Brekka asked."I am not concerned so much with him as I am with Odo. I doubt

that the good constable suspects anything yet, but there is no way of telling how soon he will become suspicious. Avoid him as much as possible, yet do not look like you are trying to avoid him. He sees the subtle things. We must take all precautions."

"Then why are you having dinner with him?"Terr'Essh turned to stare at Brekka. "Are you questioning me?"Brekka shrugged. "I just don't want you to seem hypocritical."Terr'Essh's brows drew together. "I am not as you, Brekka. I've

done this long enough to fool one judicious shape-shifter. He has not seen through my guise yet. Even you must admit that if you didn't know I was deceiving you would not suspect it. I'll thank you not to question me, Brekka. Believe it or not, I do know what I'm doing."

Brekka shrunk away from her, sorry for his sudden audacity. Poor, dear Brekka. So young, and she was so fond of him. It was not so much fondness as sympathy, really.

She turned fully back to him, dropping her hands to her sides. "You are free to go. I doubt that I will need you. If I do, I'll call. Enjoy yourself here, but I advise you not to get in trouble. I don't like handing out chastisement."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, and left swiftly.Terr'Essh watched him go, then turned back to the window

again, immediately focusing on the star of Kythera.She exhaled longly, moving to the mirror, inspecting herself one

last time. She smoothed the dress to her hips, straightened the top, and pulled at a few erring strands of hair. She peered into her own gray eyes, flashing her sweetest smile, showing her even white teeth. Yes, pretty. Very pretty indeed. She turned and walked out the door.

She took a turbolift to the Promenade, stepping out into the massing evening crowd. She headed immediately for the security office. Wouldn't Odo be pleased to see her, coming to take up the promise of dinner. But when she arrived it was vacant. The door was locked. What now?

Terr'Essh folded her arms, scanning the Promenade. She could always track Odo down, but that was uncalled for. Well, she wasn't going back to her quarters. It was essential that she be seen in public, and she would rather be in the company of another. She needed people to know her, to vouch for her character when suspicions began to rise. She needed them to say that she was harmless and witless. That would never happen hiding in her room.

Her eyes stopped on an establishment that appeared most patronized at the moment, the station's bar, Quark's. She pursed her lips, deciding that it was probably the best place to be, though it was loud and hurt her sensitive ears. But it is the price one pays.

Terr'Essh picked up her pace and started toward Quark's.

CHAPTER 9

It seemed that Bashir's head had not even touched the pillow when sunlight was in his eyes, spilling into the room through the eastern windows, which his couch conveniently faced. He groaned and closed his eyes against it, but that succeeded only to tint the light red though his lids. He resorted to hiding under the blankets, which

offered some remnant of the night that had passed now, along with any hope of rest. Sleep fell around him for an instant, and Vrenna's insidious voice was in his ear, "Wake up, Doctor!"

Bashir started, then collected himself to let a vexed breath out between his pursed lips. Why couldn't Dax have been the one to wake him, her sweet voice pouring into slumber, drawing him back to the waking world. But no, that would have been far to pleasant. Heaven forbid that anything should be pleasant among these people. "Just a few more minutes," he mumbled, burring his face in his pillow.

"No, Doctor. Now. We have much to do. You will be lucky if we get you back here by this time tomorrow,"

Bashir groaned, curling further under the covers.The blanket was ripped off him sharply. He muttered a

compliant, scowling up at what he thought was Vrenna, finding instead the smiling face of Jadzia Dax. She no longer wore her uniform, and looked irritatingly fresh, her eyes sparkling at him in amusement. Her hair was loose, reaching beyond her shoulders, and she wore a sleeveless dress with a low, square neck, the bottom hem reaching her feet. It was a rough, light mauve colored fabric. Bennharrae clothing, he guessed. He didn't think she possessed anything of that style in her wardrobe.

"Come on, Julian," she grinned. "Rise and shine."He found himself murmuring, "What?""Get up," Vrenna chimed cheerfully, standing beside Dax. "We

shall get nothing done with you lying there."Bashir sat up sluggishly, barely catching his balance before

Vrenna shoved a pile of clothes into his arms. "Hurry! Co-Mallor Korollemm is expecting us. He does not like to be kept waiting."

Bashir stared at the clothes, then at Vrenna, who had darted off to the other side of the room, making himself busy with the contents of a large black trunk sitting near the steps from the first level. Dax promptly informed him that there was a shower adjoining the room she had slept in, and responded to Vrenna's summon for help.

Bashir eventually made it to the bathroom, after Vrenna scolded him again for remaining in his place, transfixed watching the Bennharrae remove many separate objects from the trunk. He rose drearily to his feet, walking into a room that was no less spectacular than the rest of the lodging, with the exact same green tile, this time running up the walls as well. Though he paid it no more than a passing glance before dropping his heap of clothes next to the closed door, stripping off his uniform and turning on the water.

The water was warm and comforting against a body equally weary to his mind. He dozed in the first few moments, leaning his forehead against the wall. When Bashir jolted back he decided it was best to get it over with before he fell asleep, chance falling and giving himself a concussion.

It surprised him to note that the soap and other objects in the shower were equally lavish to the rest of the lodging. It rather perplexed him that the Bennharrae would extend such means when it had seemed obvious they had no wish to provide their foreign visitors with pleasantries. This was most likely one of the plusher lodgings in the city, as well. If not, he couldn't imagine what another would be like. Well, he had concerns bigger than the oddity of a comfortable room. He sighed for the dozenth time, brushing the though aside, finding himself unable to conjure the will to wash his hair. He was wet; that was enough. He turned off the shower, stepped dripping onto the floor, and proceeded to dry himself.

Bashir had wrapped the towel about his waist and began sorting through his clothes when he realized Vrenna was yelling at him, though he couldn't distinguish a word the Bennharrae said. He slipped quickly into the clean attire, which consisted of blue trousers and a pieced, two-tone blue jacket with shell buttons down the front. These he was still working with when he stepped out into the main room, where Vrenna had emptied his trunk and set it aside, laying it's contents in order on the floor. Dax sat on the couch where Bashir had slept, his blanket folded neatly on her lap, watching Vrenna intently.

Hearing his footsteps Vrenna straightened, turning to face Bashir. "Thank you, Doctor, for being so prompt. You feel better, I hope."

"A bit," he responded, sliding down next to Dax."Oh, good. And again I apologize for all the inconveniences, but

it could not be avoided. I must inform you that originally you were all given separate rooms, but it seems that this lodging was...overbooked. A doing of some higher power, I assume. Whatever the case, it was not my fault. Perhaps had I been here to amend the situation at the time, but there were urgent maters my superior wished to discuss with me. I am sorry. I regret to say that you are not welcome here, my friends. Our people will do all they can to make your stay unpleasant."

"The question stands, Vrenna, if your people dislike us as much as you say, why are they dealing with us at all?" Dax asked.

Vrenna stared at her, a blank look on his face. Then he pursed his lips, rubbing his hands together. "The truth, Miss Dax, is that we need you," he said reluctantly. "We need you badly, and we hate to need anyone. That you must have guessed. It makes us feel that we are weak, and we despise weakness more than any outsider. There are resources we have run out of, you see, that we are unable to acquire without trading for them. Our feeling of weakness needs focus on someone. It has become you. And it is not just you and your Federation, for we would have felt the same toward anyone who would have traded with us. It is our way. All you can do is accept it."

Dax appeared satisfied with his explanation. "You'll forgive me for prying. It's just that, to say what we were told about these

agreements was 'vague' would be an understatement. We'd all like to have an idea of what's going on."

"I understand you, Miss Dax. To tell you the truth, a lot of the time we would all like to know what is going on. At any rate, I should brief you. Co-Mallor Korollemm is expecting us. I would like to get you to him as soon as possible.

"Now," he began briskly, "there are a few basics that you should know before walking among us. First of all, I strongly advise that you go no where without the accompaniment of myself, and if you do, do not go alone. Especially you, Miss Dax. Dark hair is an oddity much pursued among the males of our species. I would hate to see you get into a situation that would later be regretted. Remain with Doctor Bashir, playing the part of his mistress, and you shall have no difficulty. Pair bonds are strongly respected in our society. "Second, interact as little as possible. That in itself is not a problem, but you do not understand the intricacies of our behavior. In some cases politeness or friendliness can be more insulting than anything you could possibly say with the intent of harm. If anyone speaks to you, ignore them. Such is accepted. Do not smile, do not make eye contact. And if you must speak, be aggressive. Show no weakness."

"Third, you must act your position. These insignia mark you as high officials of the South," he placed a small pin before each of them. "You are expected to be haughty and superior. Such follows in the lines of not making eye contact, speaking to others, etc. It is considered below you to make contact with inferiors.

"Fourth, never, never go out without you, Dax, covering your spots, and both of you wearing these." He gave each of them a case, and Dax a small box. Bashir immediately opened his case while Dax examined the contents of the box, which constituted vials of make-up. In his case Bashir found a small container filled with liquid and clear, concave disks. "The two of you will be able to pass for one of us, but I regret that your ensign will not because of her dark skin. I have already spoken to her on the matter. She was disappointed, but has accepted it. I shall provide her with every amenity, so that she will be happy in her quarters."

Bashir had only half listened to Vrenna, examining the disks. "What are these?" He asked, already with some idea.

"They make the whites of your eyes as ours are, that you may walk among us. It is essential that no one know you are alien to this world. I can assure you, if your true identity were learned it would not be pretty for you."

Bashir snorted disdainfully, "Anything else?""Yes, in fact, now that you have mentioned it. There is the

matter of food, which will be dealt with after I take you to see our officials. Heed me: I do not advise that you eat anything outside of

what we give you. There are elements of our food that does not agree with your species digestive systems."

Bashir chuckled lightly, "This gets better and better."Dax drew her gaze up to look at Vrenna, "Last night you

mentioned something about rules?""Ah, yes." Vrenna closed his eyes, rubbing them behind his lids,

"Rules. Is that something I want to get into right now? There are so many."

"Are there basics?" Dax asked, "Any of importance that we should know?"

"They are all of importance, Miss Dax. Offenses to most laws are measured the same. I understand that in your society...what is it you call it? Murder is a greater offense than being out after curfew?"

Bashir frowned at him, "You've never heard of murder?"Vrenna looked mildly concerned, "Oh, did I use it wrong? It is the

term used when one person ends another's life?""Yes," Bashir said with some urgency. "You're not saying that

when someone kills another person the punishment is equal to being out after curfew?"

"Actually, Doctor, more often than not the latter is more strongly punished than the former."

Bashir gaped in astonishment, "That's absurd!""Consider the fact that your ideals are as baffling to us as ours

are to you, Doctor. Our system works fine for us. We are happy, and that is all that matters."

Bashir grumbled, glaring at his container of lenses. "Who's definition of 'happy?'"

Vrenna rose his eyebrows, frowning deeply. "I warn you now, Doctor, I would not be one to make complaints about our society in front of our co-Mallor. I assure you, it would be unwise to insult him." He chuckled abruptly, "Actually, it is unlikely that you will be unable to offend him, no matter what you do. Korollemm is a testy man. He might respect you more if you tried openly to test him. I do not know. He is unpredictable, even to me."

"You sound as if you know him quite well," Dax commented."Indeed. I am his first aide. I am closer to him than any other on

the face of the planet. I expect to succeed him one day, if I keep my place," he beamed. "But I shall not concern you with matters not of consequence. Come, I will take you to him so that we may get on to other things. Do your best, my friends. You are representing the whole of the galaxy to our world leader. Make the impression a good one."

Elim Garak stood with little relish outside the entrance to Quark's bar, an expression of mild distaste scrawled on his face. It was the last

place he wanted to be at the moment, and he assured himself that, had there been anywhere else, he would have been there. How much more he would have preferred the relaxed dinner he commonly took on this day, debating issues with Doctor Bashir. But there was no Doctor Bashir today; he had gone off on business, and Garak found himself desiring company when there was none to be had. So he faced noisy evening filled with the racket of Dabo and Quark's mediocre drinks. Garak sighed, taking a deep breath before entering the bar's turbid air, then turning his mind to other things so that he would not think about it.

Though the bar was half full no one was buying drinks presently. At any other time Quark would have sat scowling across the collection of empty chairs and tables, pondering the money he wasn't making. But Quark didn't seem to notice at the moment, leaning over the bar's counter, detachedly shinning a red tinted glass with a cloth, smiling privately to himself as he watched latinum change hands at the gaming wheels. A perverse pleasure filled his face every time one of his patrons groaned over a loss, the beauty of those profits apparently outweighing the ones he wasn't making through synthale and locar beans. Garak did not disturb him, settling a few stools down, grinning in his usual fashion as he watched the Feringi. He remained there until Quark lapsed from his trance to check a game in far corner, finding Garak in his line of sight.

The Feringi seemed surprised. He did not spit in the face of any profit to be made, but had not expected the Cardassian's presence. Garak had never made the bar a common haunt. "Garak! What are you doing here?"

"I found myself at a loss of company," Garak said smoothly. His smile broadened. "I would think that you'd be happy to see me, Quark. Business seems a little slow."

Quark glanced briefly around the bar. "I can't say that I wouldn't like everyone buying all of my services all of the time, but sometimes one thing takes the place of others. Do you see that man there?" He motioned to a stern looking Andorian gentleman seated at the table he had been watching. "He's gone through more latinum in the past three hours than I've been able to keep track of." Quark flashed his tiny pointed teeth, tongue playing behind them.

"I had no idea Andorians were so frivolous. I had always assumed they were a conservative people. Surely the man would know when to stop."

"I'm not complaining." Quark rubbed his hands in the cloth. "So, what can I get for you?"

Garak had made his choice prior to entering the bar. The last time he'd been here Quark had talked him out of the kanar he had originally ordered into trying something of his own concoction, a substance that had proved nearly unpalatable. Wisely, before Quark

had time to proprose anything else Garak responded that kanar would be fine.

Quark did not initiate Garak in conversation as he usually would, leaving the Cardassian to his drink, which he was grateful for. There was little the Feringi could say that was of value to him, and he didn't feel like listening to him prattle. Garak took to sipping his drink slowly and watching the Andorian at the Dabo wheel, his money falling away from him by the spin, until he cut his losses and left the table. Others took his place with better luck.

Garak had made it about halfway through his drink when a motion from the bars second level caught his eye. He shifted his focus up, catching sight of a young woman descending from that level in a thin-strapped, finely cut gray dress, tailored in such a fashion that Garak could not decide if it showed blatant immodesty or not. Though the stitching was good, he noted even from this distance. He had to admire her eye for quality, at least.

Garak set promptly to analyzing the woman as she took the last steps to ground level, looking over the bar with curiosity. One could learn a much about a person by their clothing. The ability to make attire decisions on what any one personality would choose was an essential trait for a tailor. Thus he could narrow what he showed a person, not spending so much time listening to them comment about how it "really wasn't them." Well, she was a very neat person, Garak decided, for the fabric of the dress was immaculate, a fact not attributed to newness. She was obviously confident about her body, for it hugged her form tightly, and about herself in general, by the absolute straightness of her back. Most people picked the things they wore without knowing why they chose them: the dress showed her appreciation of both simplicity and complexity--simplicity by the plain elegance of the dress, complexity in that she did not feel that it needed to be ingrained in everything. What else was there...

"It's a pity that Starfleet officers with bodies like that keep them under uniform."

So Quark had noticed the dress, as well. "Who is she?" Garak inquired.

"Terr-something-or-other," Quark waved his cloth in indifference, tossing it onto his shoulder as he bent to retrieve some glasses from below the counter.

"Terr'Essh? The diplomat?" Garak asked in intrigue. "I would never have guessed." Never would have guessed. Garak had always held the idea that Starfleet officers wore their uniforms like protection from some incurrant plague. Rarely did he see Bashir or any other members of the crew without their official garb, unless dressed for special occasions. It was refreshing to see someone in clothes of their own for a change. He despised those awful, lineless uniforms.

Terr'Essh took note of the bars decor in turn: the gamers, the

couples, the groups in conversation, the Feringi waiters, Morn the bar fly, hulkered over his drink. An eyebrow went up slightly and she moved without delay to the bar, nearly as thrilled as Garak about the surroundings, by her expression.

She came to perch on stool three down from Garak, smoothing the dress along her backside before sitting. She seemed uninterested in ordering anything, her back turned to the counter, elbows hitched on it's top, crossing her legs and settled in. She did happen to glance at Garak, but not long enough to be more than a quick observation.

It was obvious that the young woman wished to be left alone, but Quark either didn't catch the blatant hints or didn't care. He came quickly up behind her, positioning himself so that he nearly bent over her shoulder. "What'll it be?"

Terr'Essh started, nearly falling off the stool. "What?""A drink. First one is on the house." Quark set a glass beside her

and leaned against the counter, awaiting her order.The woman frowned, swiveling on the seat so that she could

regard the rows of brightly colored bottles that lined the shelves. "Actually, I don't drink..." she trailed off as her eyes fell on Garak's glass. "I didn't know that you had kanar." Her gaze shifted to Garak's face with an expression of surprise.

Garak smiled politely. "This was once a Cardassian station, my dear."

She inclined her head slightly, and her lips pulled in a tiny smile. She looked back to Quark. "That, please."

Quark nodded and brought up the bottle, pouring dark liquid into the glass. "Have you ever tried Dabo?" he inquired, pushing the plug back in. He was not even bothering with tact in his suggestion. "I find that nothing increases the pleasure of a drink than a spin on the wheels--"

"No," Terr'Essh pulled a finger around the rim of her glass. "I'm afraid it's against my religious beliefs to gamble. I thank you for the drink. I want nothing else."

Quark flinched. He was about to say something else when Garak spoke. "I believe that was the ladies invitation for you to leave, Quark."

Quark glanced at him with a half hearted scowl, which he forced into a grin, not showing his teeth in the expression. He told Terr'Essh that he hoped she enjoyed her drink and busied himself on at the other end of the bar.

Terr'Essh gave little attention to the departed Quark, turning immediately to Garak with an intensely warm smile. It was a striking expression, which put only a few small creases in her face. "I thought all Cardassians had left Terok Nor."

"All that were of any importance, I assure you.""Oh, I'm sure that's not true." She picked up her drink, moving

to the stool directly beside Garak. She settled herself neatly upon it, wrapping her hands about the glass upon the counter and peering at him coyly under her dark eyelashes. This caused Garak's smile to deepen involuntarily, more from amusement than anything. He hadn't been flirted with in some time. Naturally he was flattered, but barely acknowledged it. He had given up on such pursuits along with his youth.

"But it's true," he assured her. "Or they would have invited me along when they left. Though at the moment I see myself less of an oddity than a non-Cardassian drinking kanar willingly. I've heard it's far too acidic for most humanoid tastes."

Terr'Essh looked surprised. "Really? How odd. Frankly, I find it the only one that's stomachable. Most humanoid liquor is quite vile. It's like drinking some form of combustion fuel. Though I should have guessed there was a reason no one but me seems to care for it. I've found so few people that can appreciate fine kanar."

"Allow me to inform you, my dear, fine is not a word to describe the kanar served in this establishment," Garak said in all seriousness.

Terr'Essh gave a chirp of laughter. She brought the glass before her face, sniffing it delicately. She then touched it to her lips and regarded its taste thoughtfully. "It does taste a bit old, doesn't it? No bite. Truthfully, it's not the best I've ever had, but it's not that bad." She sat the glass on the bar and stuck a hand out to Garak unexpectedly. "Terr'Essh."

"Garak," he took the hand, and rather than shaking, kissed it lightly. "A pleasure."

Terr'Essh's smile turned whimsical. She tilted her head to him. "Garak? That name I've heard somewhere before."

"Really? I have no idea why. I'm only a simple tailor. And in light of my profession, I must ask. Wherever did you get that dress?"

The alien woman tried to conceal her delight at the attention. "Oh, this? Oh, I picked it up in a shop on Risa. When I saw it I just couldn't resist. It matches my eyes, you see." She moved a hand to indicate them. Truly, the two were exactly the same color.

"Indeed," Garak said. "Quite honestly, I'm impressed you were able to find something of such quality. It's so hard to find good workmanship these days. No one takes the time to piece fabric properly anymore. And anything made out of Antedian satin is indeed a rarity. However beautiful, it is a difficult fabric to acquire."

Terr'Essh laughed lightly, observing the kanar in her glass, light glinting through the dark liquor. "You certainly seem to know your business, Mr. Garak."

"Yes, I do. In that you seem to have the advantage, my dear. I do not know your business."

"Not much of a disadvantage, Mr. Garak. There isn't much to know. I'm a science officer aboard the Valdosta. I'm here as a trade

negotiator. Beyond that..." She shrugged."Oh, I'm sure there's more to you than just that.""Perhaps. But perhaps nothing else I care to reveal." Her words

were ridged, but the look she gave him was undeniably playful."That I understand completely." Terr'Essh expression flashed with delight. The corners of her

mouth rose more warmly. "Of the same mind, are you?" She was going to say something else, but stopped as Quark swept behind her, responding to a call from one of his customers. She watched him fall away, scowling. She took a sip of her drink, letting it set in her mouth before swallowing, as if trying to distill a foul taste.

Garak cast his own glance at Quark, then inclined his head back to Terr'Essh. "Am I correct in assuming that you have no fondness for Feringi?"

"It is not wise to assume, Garak, but you are correct. I don't trust them. I dislike any race that would have such a fetish with anything material, especially something so petty as money." She shook her head in disdain, bringing the glass to her lips once more.

It was at this moment that two things happened at once. From the corner of his eye Garak saw Terr'Essh's gaze shift ever so slightly over the rim of her glass, out Quark's entrance. More directly he saw a man walking in a straight path through the Promenade, unremarkable until Garak recognized him as the male Bennharrae delegate who had passed through his shop that morning. The Bennharrae seemed unconcerned with his surroundings, his gaze sweeping the Promenade with disapproval. He scowled at those around him, keeping a distance as best he could. As his eyes swept Quark's bar they seemed to catch on something. It took Garak a moment to note that it was Terr'Essh.

Now, this would not have been an unusual occurrence. Terr'Essh was attractive and demanded a more substantial glance. But the odd thing was that Terr'Essh seemed to have met his eyes as well.

Garak's first instinct was to associate the contact to their acquaintance through the trade negotiations, but that wasn't it. It was not a simple gaze of recognition. It was as if words had been passed, the way Garak had often done with his associates in the Obsidian Order. It could have been a signal to initiate something, that something was ready. Garak couldn't tell. But it was not a simple acknowledgment by any means. Yet it was not this that perplexed Garak most. When he altered his focus casually to observe Terr'Essh he noticed that something had changed in her. It was like a light had flared briefly, changed it's color behind her eyes. It was not the same person that he had been speaking to, and Garak felt his alarms go up. The change lasted only an instant, though, and when she looked back to Garak it was with the same pretty, dim gaze. She didn't think that he had seen it, Garak realized. Indeed, had he blinked he would not have.

Clever girl, what are you up to? "How long are these negotiations suppose to last?" He queried to deepen her security that he knew no better.

"So long as it takes, I suppose." She sighed. "It would be so nice to have a set date, you know."

"I can imagine. It takes longer to reach an end when you don't know where that end is. It's like any voyage."

Terr'Essh's smile erupted wider. "What a delightful comparison, Garak! It fits so well! I can just imagine how full of insight you would be! I don't suppose all tailors are as you are?" There was an unmistakable gleam in her eyes.

"I wouldn't know, actually. I'm not familiar with anyone else of this profession."

"Really? Such a pity.""Not all that tragic," Garak said mildly, rising to his feet. He felt

a need to get away from the woman. "And I do hate to break up such a nice conversation, but I have work to attend to in my shop. If you'll excuse me."

"Of course, Mr. Garak. Think nothing of it." She took his hand in both of hers, her skin several degrees cooler than a humans would have been. "I'm delighted to have met such a pleasant gentleman today. I hope that this shall not be the end of your company."

"Of course not, my dear. You may simply name the time--""How about tomorrow?" she said swiftly. "Around this time?

Unless you're occupied."Garak smiled. "It's a date."Terr'Essh nodded cheerfully, turning away to gaze at the Dabo

wheels, sipping her drink. He took this as his dismissal.Garak made his way out of the bar quickly, but slowed once

outside, considering what he had just transpired. Surely he had not mistaken it. It had been far too clear, what had passed between Terr'Essh and the Bennharrae. And given that, what did it mean? What could she have to hide? What malicious intent could be tied in with minor trade dealings? Or was it malicious at all? Well, if it was one thing Garak had learned in the course of his life it was to always look upon yourself as disadvantaged factor. More than once that tactic had kept him alive. Certainly no harm could be inflicted by keeping an eye on the lieutenant. He had nothing to loose.

Garak was about to enter his shop when he felt a peculiar sensation spread in his back, a warmness. Someone was watching him. He paused, glancing over his shoulder, turning slightly as he searched for the person. As he shifted his gaze up he met the eyes of a young man leaning over the railing on the upper level. He was about Doctor Bashir's build, with blue eyes and ash blond hair. He did not avoid Garak's eyes. This was Brekka, no doubt. Whether Terr'Essh knew that Garak knew or not, Brekka did know. His brows furrowed

slightly in distrust and suspicion. Garak could see the young man measuring him as an enemy.

Good lad, Garak mused. He flashed the young man his most charming smile, touching his forehead lightly in salute. He did not wait for the response, taking the last few steps into his shop.

CHAPTER10

Dax fully understood Vrenna's warning about male Bennharrae finding her attractive. Even considering she was not under Bennharrae garb, still an outsider, as she walked with Bashir and Vrenna through the ground floor Syybec every man they passed turned to watch her. A mere glance would have been nothing, for she got enough of those, but the deep, leering stare they fixed on her made her feel dirty. She found herself inching closer and closer to Bashir, eventually even linking arms with him, which surprised the doctor initially, then seemed to amuse him. When Vrenna noticed he took to glaring at those individuals, or issuing a curt warning if they did not desist.

Syybase was indeed as large as it had seemed from the outside, perhaps more so. And extremely busy. More than once someone ran up to Vrenna, ignoring Bashir and herself entirely, to flustered even to hold the typical Bennharrae hostility. One shoved a pile of files into Vrenna's hands, demanding that it needed to be taken to the co-Mallor, and others said this person needs to see the co-Mallor immediately, or this thing needs to be brought to his attention, then ran off before Vrenna could respond. Indeed, he did not bother. He just nodded, not even making eye contact, and walked on.

"Is it always like this?" Bashir asked after an agitated young man had babbled something about budget forecasts and ducked in between two cubicles, muttering to himself.

"Busy? Me or everything in general? Either way, yes. This is the government and trade center for the entire planet, and I am the only link most people have with Korollemm. He does not deal with inferiors."

Shortly they entered an elevator. Inside Vrenna pressed the twelfth character from the bottom and the lift began it's quick ascent. It took a matter of seconds before it glided to a halt, opened, and he led them out in to a wide hall.

Vrenna went almost straight out from there, angling a little to the right, and paused at what seemed a very important looking door, keying a sequence into it. As it opened a female voice broke off midsyllable, and as Dax entered the room she caught sight of a blond woman behind a desk, her pen stopped on a piece of paper, peering up at Vrenna as he strode confidently across the room. Leaning, half sitting on the corner of her desk was a bulky Bennharrae man, who, unlike the woman, seemed uninterested in Vrenna. He bore the man no more than a casual glance before moving to inspect Dax and Bashir, expectedly his gaze lingering longest on Dax. But more prominent in his face was dislike and suspicion, both quite evident.

"We were wondering if you would ever get here, Vrenna," the woman said dryly, collecting her pile of papers and tapping them on the desk, straightening them. She lay them back before her, folding her arms on the desk. "Korollemm is not pleased for having to wait."

Vrenna all but ignored her, throwing the folders he'd been given on her desk. "See if this is worth Korollemm's time. I leave it to your judgment."

The woman pushed the folder to the side as if she had no intention of ever looking at it. She cast Dax a second glance, then the doctor, and rose. "Korollemm ordered that I extend all pleasantries to you," she said tightly, extending a hand, unsure what to do with it. "I am Vallsenn, Korollemm's master of affairs."

"His secretary," Vrenna added, to which Vallsenn scowled. He then glanced at the big man, who gripped his hands behind his back.

"I am Korollemm's body guard, Corliss," he said grudgingly. It was obvious that neither he nor Vallsenn would have taken the time to spit on either Dax or Bashir given the choice.

"Will he be receiving us?" Vrenna asked, glancing at another door to Vallsenn's left, then back.

Vallsenn put on of forced, hostile smile, sweeping her hand toward the door. She gave Dax and Bashir a third glance, then returned to her papers, scribbling alien characters vertically down the top sheet.

Vrenna looked back at Dax and Bashir, nodding once. He did not

have to enter any codes this time; the door to Korollemm's office slid open before him.

Dax didn't know what to expect entering the great room, but was comforted at the cool, thin air that brushed against her face as she stepped inside. Also assuring was that the room felt exactly the way every business office she'd been in felt, that sort of antisepticness and immaculacy. Cooshy furniture lined the walls on all sides, and the dark blue carpet held not a speck of debris. She saw the room before she saw the man they were there to meet, placed before a window that opened out upon Syybase, his figure seated behind a huge, beautiful wooden desk.

Rarely were world leaders--any that Dax had met, at any rate--quite so young or so undeniably attractive as this man was. When the Bennharrae did draw himself from what he was reading, peering at them with indifference, Dax swore that his eyes were completely black, then noticing their brown rings. His hair was blond. At this moment she realized that all the Bennharrae had almost exactly the same shade of hair, with the same darkish streaks. All, that is, except Vrenna, who's hair was light brown. Korollemm had an athletic build, evident under his neat jacket, tapered at the waist. His face was smooth and bronzed, the species natural color. As he set down his pen and rose Dax noted that he would top her own substantial height by several inches. Between torso and legs he was perfectly balanced, and yes, his build was definitely athletic.

Korollemm tilted his head back, taking in the two of them equally, then shifting his gaze to Vrenna and smiling.

"I was beginning to wonder if you would ever make it here, Vrenna." His voice was smooth and cultured.

"We have ran into quite a few complications, co-Mallor. I apologize."

"No need," Korollemm said easily, walking slowly from behind the desk. He stopped a few paces from them, then moved to stand before Bashir. "What are you called?"

This seemed to catch Bashir off guard. He hesitated a moment, then said, "Julian Bashir, sir--"

"I don't mean your name," Korollemm said without irritation, examining Bashir's eyes, which seemed to intrigue him. "Your name does not matter to me. What is your species?"

"I'm human, sir.""Mmm." Korollemm nodded detachedly, turning to Dax. He did

not appear to think it audacious as he took her chin firmly between his fingers, peering closely at her eyes as well, then turning her head to inspect the spots that trailed down her temples and neck. "You?"

"I'm Trill," she said, resisting the urge to pull away from him."Ah. You are the ones with the worms, are you not?" He

released her face, walking back to his chair, seating himself

comfortably in it, crossing his arms. "You do understand your purpose here? Did Vrenna tell you?"

Neither Dax nor Bashir spoke for a moment, waiting for the other. They both nearly spoke at once, but Bashir was the one that answered. "Vrenna didn't tell us, but we were informed that we were to be your...insurance against anything happening to your representatives."

Korollemm smiled lightly, inclining his head. "That was not quite it, but I suppose it will do. Quite frankly I would be pleased if something did happen to Denaaro. He is an idiot; I would be glad for him to be out of the way. Actually, you were brought here so that I could see an alien first hand. It has been an aspiration of mine. I took the opportunity when it presented itself."

Dax winced slightly in surprise. That had not been something she'd expected. When she glanced at Bashir his expression must have been very close to hers.

"I must admit," Korollemm continued, "you are not what I expected. I did not believe it when I was told you creatures had white eyes. But now I see it was true. And I have also heard that your blood is red."

"Your blood isn't red?" Bashir inquired. Dax could hear the intrigue in his voice, quickly dispelling apprehensions.

"No," Vrenna replied. "Bennharrae blood is black."Somehow I'm not surprised, Dax mused, wondering why that

trait didn't show through their skin."So it is red?" Korollemm's brows rose. "How perfectly

marvelous. Is there any chance I could see it?""Uh, we'd rather not, if you don't mind," Bashir said uneasily,

shifting on his feet.A bit of hardness crept into Korollemm's face, but he smiled still.

"You realize that I am not used to being said no to, Human. But I know that you do not understand that. I shall let it pass." He turned his gaze to Vrenna. "Have they been fed yet?"

"No, co-Mallor. They have not. I felt it was more important that they see you."

"Yes, yes. Good. Well, take care of them now. I have a meeting soon."

"Yes, co-Mallor." Vrenna waved the two of them to follow, and they were promptly out of the office.

Outside Vallsenn was still at work on her papers, looking up as the trio passed, then averting her eyes. The body guard Corliss was no where in sight. As they passed Dax heard Vallsenn murmur something under her breath, but as she glanced back over her shoulder the woman was intent on her lines of vertical characters.

"That went well enough." Vrenna grinned. "At least he did not give me an order to have you killed."

"That has to be worth something," Bashir said in amusement.Dax chuckled lightly, was preparing to add a comment of her

own, but as they stepped out the door into the corridor she was first, and barreled straight into something very large. A person, a man, who caught her by the shoulders before she fell backwards. She reached up, catching his arms in her hands. When she looked up to apologize her voice left her.

The man was huge, more impressive even than Corliss. But beside his size there was something else odd about him. It took Dax only a few moments to realize it was because his hair was ink black, not blond, contradictory to her resent discovery.

"Careful." He smiled softly, releasing her when she caught her balance. His voice was unbelievably deep. Dax felt in her chest. "Forgive me, Miss. I should have watched where I was going."

"No, it was my fault," Dax countered, tucking a few disturbed strands of hair behind her ears.

"Perhaps it is both our faults, Miss..." he trailed off, waiting for her to supply a name.

"Dax. Jadzia Dax.""Jadzia. A very pretty name. I am Mrrshaal. It is a pleasure to

make your acquaintance.""Miss Dax." Vrenna's voice was insistent. When Dax turned to

look at him his expression was affable, but his jaw was so firmly set that the countenance had to be false.

"Ah, Mr. Vrenna. I trust you do well today." Mrrshaal tilted his head back, regarding Vrenna superiorly.

Vrenna forced a smile. "As well as any day, co-Massor. Though busy. I must return my friends to their quarters, then take care of some business of my own. So you will not be offended if I take my leave."

"Of course not, Mr. Vrenna." He glanced back to Dax. "It was nice to meet you, Jadzia."

Dax wasn't able to respond as Vrenna gripped her arm roughly, pulling her around Mrrshaal, toward the elevator. Bashir was quick to follow them.

"What was that all about?" Dax asked tightly, pulling her arm out of Vrenna's grasp.

"Trust me, Miss Dax, Mrrshaal is not a man you want any involvement with," Vrenna said roughly. "I advise you to stay away from him."

"Stay away from him? I ran into him by mistake."Vrenna pursed his lips, struggling to calm himself. "I am sorry,

Miss Dax. I did not mean to snap. I just want you to know that it is best to avoid him. It is in your interest."

Dax glanced fleetingly back at Mrrshaal, catching his wide back in retreat before the elevator door closed. "Who is he."

"Overseer." Vrenna said tonelessly, his eyes glowing coldly. "From the home world. He is their eyes and ears. He tells them what we do. He reminds us that they are there."

"I didn't know Kythera was a colony," Bashir said."A very old colony. We are all but separate. But they feel that

we are under their protectorate. Not much of a protectorate," he scoffed.

"They wouldn't help if you needed it?" Dax asked."They could not help. Bennhar is in what you call the Delta

Quadrant. They could not get here in time to help us, if we needed it."The Delta Quadrant? That would make it at least seventy-five

thousand light years away. And to have come from there he would have to be older than he looked, which appeared little more than forty. Her mind returned to the word the first officer from the Fbol Rejelkimen had used. Taussccal, the Bennharrae's ancestors, who lived many more years than they did. "How old is he?" she asked.

Vrenna considered the question a moment, apparently unbothered by the fact that it was rather odd. "Around nine hundred, if I was to guess at it. Very old, in any light."

Dax allowed an eyebrow to go up. "Humph, he doesn't look it." She smiled at the irony that she was echoing what so many people had said to her over her last lifetimes.

The elevator began it's descent to ground level.

Bry was doing his best to conceal amusement under his usual

cool countenance, but was finding it difficult, watching his commanding officer rant and grumble. Indeed, he should not have found Colfax's irritation the least bit funny, but there was something about the way humans overexpressed their emotions that the Coxx telepath found quite humorous. He might have laughed even, had this not been a serious matter. He turned it aside, trying to focus on what Colfax was saying. He managed only partial success.

"There has to be some way that we can store supplies more effectively," the commander murmured, half to himself as he continued examining the badly corroded circuitry of a phaser riffle. Out before him on the chipped and dented makeshift desk--a table top braced upon two stone blocks--lay several other objects, all with some degree of damage to them, mostly caused by the conditions of the Labyrinth. Colfax's mouth dropped at the corners, and he scrubbed the stubble on his jaw reflectively. A peculiar form of bacteria devoured their weapons daily in the damp, cold atmosphere of the caves, attributed to their lack of proper facilities for housing their equipment.

"We have done all we can, sir," Bry stated. "All we can do is live

with it." Colfax did not look up, and though he appeared to be staring still

at the rifle, he did not see it, his mind shifting among thoughts. He thought of how badly he had underestimated this situation, that they were now stuck here until it could be ridden out, how there was no way for him to procure anything off the planet, very little on it, and that he had not brought nearly enough supplies for them to live as they should. He blamed himself briefly for not thinking it out before jumping in feet first, remembered those of his people that had died, those that were still living, and was filled with a great sorrow for what he had done. For all Hana thought Colfax was heartless, he did feel a great guilt that they had died because of him.

As always, Bry's instincts implored him to offer the commander comfort, as was the nature of his people. He wanted to assure Colfax that the blame was not his, that he'd had no choice but to come to this world, wanted him to understand that it was not his fault that people had died, for people die in war. But he could not. None in his species were allowed to touch upon the feelings of another unless the person wished it, though Bry's suffering was great to see another in displeasure. Still, he could not interfere. Unfortunately Colfax was one that held his feelings inside himself, not wishing to burden others.

Oh, but it is no burden, Bry imagined saying to his commander. It is the divine purpose of my people to purge the pain of others. It is the only reason we live. But instead Bry kept his exterior expressionless, watching Colfax with eye and mind. One thing that seemed odd to Bry was the rather null way in which most humans perceived him. The Coxx were not members of the Federation, as Betazoids were, so most humans disregarded them, paying attention only to those non-Federation races which caused them trouble. Most humans did not even know that his race was telepathic, and those that did seemed to think their powers benign. Even now Colfax, who knew well of his abilities, sorted his thoughts casually as if the being before him was as deaf-brained as he. In this too Bry found amusement, but let it show no more than the first incident.

Eventually Colfax pushed the rifle away from him, rising from his chair to stretch his legs. He rotated his ankles slowly, contemplating the holes in his boots. He recalled that he had given the last good pair he had been saving to Morgan Woodward, a juniors who had lost both his shoes in the Yassaire swamps while escaping Korollemm's guards. He did not regret giving them to the young man, but did wish that he had brought a few extra pairs. But then, when they had come down to Kythera he had not expected to be here so long.

"I'm not asking you to risk yourselves unduly, but is there any way you could get your hands on some more weapons your next run?" Colfax knew that the question was pointless; he had asked it a dozen times. But he was so weighed by the hopelessness of his movement

that he groped at any chance, even the nonexistent ones.Bry inclined his head, shifting the grip of his hands behind his

back. "There is no way for us to make it into any storehouse," he repeated the now familiar reply for Colfax. "That is, if you want us to get in and then out with lives intact. And Mrrshaal will still not supply us?"

Again, a pointless question. Mrrshaal had long ago told them that he could bring them no weapons. If the Prrzhevaal were seen with Bennharrae armory Korollemm would know that someone had provided them. Weaponry was kept in careful check, and they would soon set to finding who had supplied the rebels. Such a thing would chance his discovery, as well as theirs, Mrrshaal warned.

Mrrshaal intrigued Bry very much. It irritated the others to know that he held not a glimmer of resentment for the oppressive man, who even the forgiving Reis despised. Bry found it impossible to hate any being, the light that flowed from them too beautiful. One cannot be angry at the flower, or the waterfall, even though they make some sneeze or cause damage when they break their banks. It pleased him when the dark one visited to complain to Colfax about this and that, or simply to anger the members of the Prrzhevaal with his presence, for they would watch him come and go with deep loathing. Mrrshaal captivated Bry particularly because the man thought very loudly. He bulled his way through everything, and rarely though on more than one subject at a time. The sound of most humanoid minds was a shimmering of thoughts, sounds, and images. The best way he could describe it was that it resembled the way heat rises from the ground in hot months, making objects look liquid and displaced. But as if to make up for a one track mind he ran though thoughts quickly, making strange connections from one thing to another that Bry had never been able to understand. Usually he dealt purely with the matters at hand, but his mind would sometimes wander, most often when Colfax was trying to discuss important matters with him.

Outwardly Mrrshaal had told the Prrzhevaal almost nothing about himself, but inwardly he was an open book; over the months Bry had carefully pieced together his background. Bry knew that the Bennharrae Mrrshaal was very much older than any of them could have guessed, that he had lived on the home world of his people, many years away from here. Mrrshaal often thought of his world, which was dry and very hot, close to a sun he called Arrista. There was another planet in orbit of this sun, on which another people lived, but Mrrshaal scorned them for reasons unknown. He thought of many things from his childhood, most vividly the person that had been his brother, who had been born before him. His brother--who's name Bry did not know, for Mrrshaal called him only he--had rarely done things that pleased Mrrshaal, and Mrrshaal had often been saddened by his brothers actions. Mrrshaal's career on the home world had been paved

by this brother, a vicious and brilliant business man, who early in life had been appointed a place on the high council. Mrrshaal had gone away for a time, returning to find his brother more wicked than when he had left. But at this point in the chronology there was a gap, after which Bry knew that the brother was dead. Mrrshaal avoided this memory fervorently, but strangely not because of his brother's death. That was only one trivial occurrence, which had not effected him very much. Bry had not pried into that place out of respect for the man's privacy. The line was rather uneventful after that. Mrrshaal had done nothing with himself until his assignment to Kythera as an overseer.

And on Kythera he had made dealings with their commander Colfax and arranged for him to come to Kythera, to aide him with a dilemma he was having. So had formed the Prrzhevaal, a name the high man Korollemm had given them, from a Bennharrae word that meaning "annoyance." But the Prrzhevaal were much more than a mere annoyance. In the past eight months they had caused more damage than collective terrorism over the past ten years.

To Bry's question of Mrrshaal's aide Colfax shook his head. "No. No help." Silently Colfax cursed the Bennharrae as he never could aloud, that he had brought them here and done all but turn his back on them.

Bry stepped closer to his commander, who was staring blankly at the ground. "I'm sorry, sir." He used his apology as an excuse to touch Colfax's shoulder, the contact letting him slip a suggestion that Colfax go to his quarters and sleep a while, for he had been worrying and not rested well for days. Hollows had formed below his eyes. His entire face seemed to sag. "I wish that there was more we could do."

Colfax waved him off. "No. You have nothing to be sorry for. We're all doing the best we can." He stifled a yawn, allowing Bry a small smile before Colfax opened his eyes again. "You're going on a run tomorrow, aren't you?"

"No, sir. The day after. Hana, Jaral, and I.""Yes. Good." A numbness was already spreading through his

body. He was contemplating a way to dismiss Bry politely.Bry spared him it. "I have a few things I need to attend to." He

scooped a rifle and several of the less damaged weapons off the table. "Reis has been working on an antiseptic he thinks might work. I'll do my best trying to get these up again, sir."

Colfax nodded drearily and walked with Bry out into the corridor, then taking the direction to his quarters. Bry allowed himself a private chuckle once Colfax was out of earshot. It worked every time.

After dumping the weapons in his quarters Bry made his way down several flights of stairs to the kitchen, which had apparently been a common area to the race whom had previously inhabited the Labyrinth. It was a high, domed ceiling room, with the salvageable tables and chairs the Prrzhevaal had found within the compound. Most

of these were rotten and often broke under those who sat down too firmly. A few of the young men had eventually become so annoyed that they set out to find wood to build better furniture, and had been caught unaware by one of Korollemm's patrols. Luckily they made it back in one piece, thought terribly gauled. They had to live with the crumbling furniture, it seemed.

There was currently no meal or meeting, so the kitchen was nearly vacant. Kara Vaydeen and Douglas Rowe, a young couple whom had been courting for some time now, seemed absorbed in something they were discussing. A rough cloth chess field lay between them, different colored stones representing the various pieces. The greenish and brown ones were pawns, the gray and white speckled ones knights, two separate shades of pink the queens, and so forth. It seemed that Kara had been winning, though she had forgotten any impending victory in her companions eyes. Such odd creatures, humans. He was surprised that such fully evolved species had not yet converted to a single sex as the Coxx had. It made life a great deal easier for everyone involved. But upon mention of the matter any number of men and women would begin spouting their opinions on it, preaching about how glorious it was to fall in love. At this point Bry would always interrupt them, explaining that simply because his species was composed of a single sex did not mean love did not exist between them. After all, the production of offspring required two, just as it did among humans. It was easier only because as one sex they did not have the difference mindsets that occurred in heterosexual species. Agendas were shared and many conflicts avoided.

Farther on the other side of the kitchen was the room's only other inhabitant, Reis, who sat idly digging chunks of wood out of the table with his belt knife. Beside him was a small pouch, undoubtedly containing the antiseptic he had created to combat the metal-eating microbes. Bry could tell what he was thinking by his face alone. He put on a gentle smile as he approached the Cardassian, who glanced up when he heard Bry's footfall.

"She'll be back soon," Bry assured him, perching carefully on the stool across from Reis, who had dropped back to his wood chipping.

"I know. And I keep telling myself that she'll be all right..." He trailed off, sighing. "Well, it's my job to worry, I guess."

Bry inclined his head, silently agreeing. He did not allow Reis to linger on the subject, asking, "How is Proust?"

The question served only to transfer Reis's worry. "Not good, I'm afraid. Do you remember that flu symptom period we went through just after we came? Well, it's the same thing, only I made sure we were all protected against the brunt of it. Proust didn't get that inoculation, so it's taken hold. It's my fault. It was my responsibility to take care of him. I neglected it."

"Do think that he will be all right?"

"Oh, Bry, I have no idea. I hope he will be. It would be no problem if I had proper medical facilities, but I'm working in the Dark Ages!" He brought the flat of his hand against the table top. It creaked a bit, and they both heard dust and pieces of wood fall onto the floor. Reis irritation dissolved into a flinch, then a scowl. The Dark Ages, he grumbled.

"We're all having to make do, Reis. It comes with the territory.""Yeah, well, speaking of making do," he pushed the pack beside

him toward Bry, "this is all I've been able to come up with.""What is it exactly?" Bry asked, feeling the objects concealed

beneath the ragged cloth."Oh, you see, I was out looking around the compound, trying to

think of a way to deter the bacteria when I noticed this rust colored, sludgy algae that grows all around here. Where it's sprouted on the metal struts there's virtually no bacterial corrosion. I've guessed that they produce some sort of toxin that wards off the microbes. What's in those bottles is a concentrated of chemicals from the algae. Take a cloth and rub it on some of the weapons, then pray that whatever I've done to those substances doesn't cause them to dissolve or something. I've done a few trials with it, but I have no way of determining the long term effects. Keep in mind I'm a people doctor. I'm not used to making medicine for machines."

"Whatever the result, we know that you have done your best." He rose, his smile reassuring. "We ask no more."

"Well, sometimes my best isn't enough," he murmured, returning to Proust's condition.

"Reis, I--" Bry faltered, as sharp pain passing through his head from the back of his skull. His legs gave out and fell forward, landing roughly on his knees, clenching his teeth, grasping his head against the pain. He felt Reis quickly beside him, Kara Vaydeen and Douglas Rowe on their feet, coming toward him.

"Bry, are you all right? Bry?""I--I don't know." He felt he was going to black out, struggling to

retain consciousness. In the midst of the dizziness he began searching for the individual from which the sensation had originated, for it was not his. Pain was conveyed as easily to him as thoughts. Abruptly he stammered, "Where is Jaral?"

Reis shook his head. "I don't know. Last I knew he was..." He paused, realizing what Bry implied. He tapped his communicator. "Reis to Jaral."

No response. "Jaral?" Reis sounded more frantic. "It's Hamlen," Bry announced, struggling to his feet as the pain

abated. "He's escaped. He hit Jaral in the back of the head with something." He started for the kitchen's exit. Reis was immediately after him.

"Where do you think you're going?""I'm going to get Hamlen, before he wanders into a fallout and

kills himself.""Oh no." Reis attempted to stop him. "You're not going

anywhere. You're--""I'm not the one you need to worry about, Reis." Bry pushed the

Cardassian away, putting a hand to the wall as he began ascending the stairs. "That was a broadcast from Jaral. He's the one that needs you. Besides, I'm the only one that can track Hamlen down."

Reis had halted at the stairs base, staring at Bry's back for several seconds before he turned grudgingly, pacing toward one of the dark corridors, vanishing within it.

Finding Hamlen would not be difficult, Bry acknowledged as he weaved expertly through the maze of tunnels, through areas of candle light and complete darkness. The problem would be capturing him. Hamlen was of average height but strong in build for a man. Bry had not considered this, now trying to put it out of his mind. He was slight, not near Hamlen's match. Though what he lacked in size or strength was undoubtedly balanced by that fact that Hamlen thought nothing of tactics. He would surely make a slip to give Bry an advantage.

Bry was quick to find the main corridor Hamlen had taken, breaking into a jog to catch up. It did not take long to find Hamlen, who was experiencing great difficulty navigating the Labyrinth's complex maze of tunnels. Bry kept a distance from him, taking the time to plan his assault. It was also during this time that he noticed something odd: he could not hear Hamlen. He knew enough to track him, to follow him, but received not a single murmur of thought. It was disconcerting. There were few people he could not read. Even Feringi and related species, which Betazoids could not read, were not immune.

At some point Hamlen began to realize he was being followed. He stopped, breathing hard. Bry halted as well, cocking his head to hear, trying to compensate for what he could not pick from Hamlen's mind. Hamlen stayed in his place for quite a while, assessing the situation, then started moving back the way he'd come, toward Bry, hugging the wall. Bry was impressed at how silently the man moved, most humanoids could not have heard it. But Bry's superior hearing caught the sound of sand grinding beneath his boots, amplified by the expanse of the corridor. Hamlen stopped at the corner beyond which Bry stood, preparing an ambush for whatever unwary soul was tracking him, gathering himself to spring. Bry decided that his best course of action would be to act like he was falling witlessly into the trap, beginning to walk again, every muscle keen as he made his way into Hamlen's striking range.

Hamlen snarled once Bry fell within his sight, lunging with teeth bared. He had all intentions of doing something brutal to the apparently fragile built Bry, such as snapping his neck. But as Hamlen

was about to grapple on his throat Bry stepped aside, catching Hamlen's arm easily, twisting it behind his back. Hamlen let out a cry of surprise and pain as he felt the muscles pull across the front of his shoulder, the joint to catch in it's socket. He was whimpering when Bry forced him sharply to the ground, his boot heel lodging into the middle of Hamlen's spine.

"Be assured, Mr. Hamlen, that it would cause me no difficulty to break your back." Bry's voice was calm, though he felt his foot in his own back through Hamlen. Indeed it was uncomfortable, but he held the pressure.

Hamlen clenched his teeth, seemingly torn between attempting retaliation even in this position or simply pleading for Bry to release him. But in the end he simply growled, "God damn you!!!"

"We don't have the same gods, Mr. Hamlen. Mine does not damn people."

Hamlen was still spewing vulgarities--some of which Bry had never heard before--when Jaral arrived to retrieve him, a fretting Reis in tow, from where Bry had informed him they were. Jaral was holding his head, which felt close to bursting from Hamlen's blow with the rock. The Trill was feeling sheepish, but was doing his best to conceal it. He couldn't believe that he'd been foolish enough to turn his back on Hamlen.

Bry took his foot from Hamlen's back, twisting his arm more firmly to compensate. Hamlen cried out as the pain shot through his body. Bry couldn't help but flinch as the sensation coursed through him as well.

Jaral nodded to Bry, moving to take Hamlen's twisted arm from him. "All right, you slimy little bastard, let's go." He twisted Hamlen's arm harder than necessary, causing the man to wince and twist his body, attempting to lessen the pain. Bry could not keep his hand from shooting to his own shoulder, shifting his form the same way Hamlen was.

"That's not necessary, Jaral," he said urgently. Jaral didn't understand for a moment, inclining his head in

perplexion."For heaven's sake, man, you're hurting him." Reis moved to pull

Jaral's grip slightly from Hamlen, glaring at him.When Jaral figured it out a twinge of guilt came over him. "Oh.

Sorry.""Don't worry." Resentment came out in his voice, though Bry

didn't feel it too much. He smiled. "I can't expect you all to remember my little quirks."

Reis glanced back at him balefully, his eyes apologetic. Kind, compassionate Reis. The Cardassian wanted to say he was sorry, but knew he didn't need to. Of all of them, Reis respected Bry's ability the most. Bry appreciated it.

But Jaral had already forgotten it, even increased the pressure again, but not to the same extent. He really couldn't expect the Trill to understand, Bry realized. He rubbed his shoulder gingerly.

"Let's go." Jaral jerked Hamlen around, taking him back toward the cell. Hamlen stumbled, gritting his teeth, the hatred so deep that, though he could sense it no more than through his face, it sent a chill down Bry's spine. He caught himself stepping closer to Reis for the positive energy, but the sensation was overwhelming.

As Hamlen passed them his eyes grazed theirs, leveling on Bry's for a nanosecond, before going forward. And the words he spoke were so intent that Bry heard them not only with his ears but in his head. "You're dead," he rasped between his teeth. "You're all dead."

CHAPTER11

"Commander Sisko." Her expression turned sour. "Major."Kira acknowledged the Lieutenant with an apathetic nod. She

had to wonder what had crawled down the alien woman's throat.

"Mr. Denaaro, if you will take your seat we can get down to bus--"

"I do not see the point of all this," Denaaro snapped.

"We are trying to access precisely where we stand on these trade agreements, Mr. Denaaro," Terr'Essh informed him tersely.

"Ah," Denaaro growled, "You people make this all too complicated. Why can you not simply take our money and give us what we ask for. You must haul poor men like myself about, force them to sit through worthless meetings. It is absurd."

"But please, Mr. Denaaro," Terr'Essh smiled frigidly, "if you would only humor us."

"All we know is that you're seeking to purchase some sort of

commodity. It would be greatly apprecidated if you could elaporate on that.

"Trimethaline crystals," Denaaro informed him, tossing Sisko the data pad he had brought, which the commander caught deftly. "We do not have the capability to manufacture them on our planet, and our supply is becoming short."

"What do you use them for?" Sisko inquired, scanning the information.

Denaaro scowled, apparently disliking being questioned, but replied, "The power for our ships is channeled through them. They place the energy at the proper wavelength. We are willing to pay generously for the crystals, provided you can supply them promptly. If not, we will be forced to look for a another provider."

Sisko nodded to himself. "Your request seems simple enough, Mr. Denaaro. Quite frankly, I'm surprised that Starfleet felt the need for a direct meeting."

Denaaro shrugged. "It was what was arranged. I only follow orders."

"How extensive were your communications with Starfleet, Mr. Denaaro?"

"Not very, co-Mander. But then, I do not really know. I have only recently been involved in this."

"I see. Then you'll forgive me, Mr. Denaaro, but there are certain guidelines the Federation must follow with involvements like these. I believe that future dealings will operate more smoothly if you understand them."

"Very well," he exhaled in irritation. "If you must."Sisko nodded appreciatively, and began explaining Federation

trade policy in earnest. Kira had heard it dozens of times; Sisko no doubt knew it verbatim. It was obvious the commander that he spoke to an indifferent audience, but he pressed on none the less. Denaaro wasn't paying attention. Terr'Essh was a more interesting spectacle, his gaze shifting to take in what parts of her he could see above the table. Terr'Essh was aware of it, and not particularly comfortable. She focused, with obvious difficulty, on Sisko, pretending not to notice. But her shifting made it evident that she did, and when Sisko glanced away for a moment she shot Denaaro a warning glare, which the Bennharrae took no heed of.

Kira smiled indulgently to herself. It served her right.Sisko concluded his explaination and askedf if Denaaro

understood."Whatever, Commander," the Bennharrae said dismissivly. "I am

not concerned."Sisko was finding it harder and harder to hold his patience. He

no longer bothered to smile. "What exactly is your concern, Mr. Denaaro?"

"Significant female attributes," Kira murmured snidely. The comment reached only Denaaro and Terr'Essh. The Lieutenant's face went slack, then tightened. Kira could see Terr'Essh's dislike of her growing. Knowing this pleased Kira more than she imagined it could.

Though Terr'Essh was quick to cover her reaction under that sickening sweetness of hers, Denaaro was not so tactful. He turned sharply to Kira, eyes narrowing, sizing her up as is he meant to find restitution for her insolence.

How many people get to stand face to face with their childhood nightmares? All through her youth, even until the first moment she had seen Denaaro, Kira had imagined the thenel khama as huge, slathering monsters with jagged, nasty teeth and their leering black eyes. Their images had grown with imagination and age until they loomed larger than life.

And now one stood before her, little more than her height, whom she could easily take in a fight. He was no more than a man.

And not much of a man, she added ruefully."What was that, Major?" Sisko asked irritably.Kira graced him with a bare grin. "Nothing, sir.""Your officers are disrespectful, co-Mander," Denaaro hissed. "It

is unacceptable.""You seem lacking in respect yourself, Mr. Denaaro," Terr'Essh

said caustically. "One would think you could spare the smallest bit of courtesy and pay attention to Commander Sisko. If you have no intention of working with us, Mr. Denaaro, then I see no reason for you wasting our time."

Denaaro stared a Terr'Essh for a moment, then laughed roughly. "So venomous. You wound me, madam. Very well." He tipped his head to her respectfully. "Forgive me, co-Mander. But I shall not continue like this. You may summon me when we may meet outside the presence of one so sharp of tongue," he sneered at Kira, "and before one not so easily rankled," he rose, bowing to Terr'Essh. "I thank you, sir. Good day."

It was by great force of will that Kira made herself stand respectfully as Denaaro left the room. Terr'Essh managed it with equal difficulty, and remained standing as Kira slid back into her seat. The alien woman glared at the door viciously.

"If I thought it would do any good I'd conduct a meeting as Mr. Denaaro requested," Sisko said flatly. "But I know better. I wondered at the onset, but now I'm sure: this whole venture is completely pointless."

Terr'Essh whispered something under her breath. Though it was clear to Kira's ears, the words were foreign.

"I beg your pardon, Lieutenant?" Sisko spoke in such a detached manner that Kira was sure Terr'Essh could have chosen not to respond and not been asked again. Sisko was tired, and asked only out of

reflex. He rubbed his forehead in small circles. "I've always wondered at the prudence," Terr'Essh murmured

distantly, " a venture outside when there are wolves at the door.""You never were comfortable with prospective relations,

Lieutenant," Sisko said, prompting elaboration. Terr'Essh shifted to peer at Sisko for a moment before sliding

back into her seat. She glanced at the door once more before speaking. "I understand the motivations, Commander, but I still must question them."

"Well, your questioning is beginning to unsettle me. Tell me, do you have any reasons behind your warnings?"

"I'm not simply wasting air, if that's what you mean." Terr'Essh rose her eyebrows together, then smiled to herself, dropping her gaze. "You realize, Commander, sometimes the trivial points of your history can prove most interesting. Not the great wars, the civil rights movements. There is a comparative in such that will help me in explaining this to you." She paused to collect her thoughts, then continued. "Human beings have kept creatures called dogs since primeval times, as companions and as helpers, first in hunting and later in herding. They found them versatile and bred them to be specialized in certain services, to protecting their families and houses, trailing game or keeping their flocks. Their evolution was guided in so many ways, on so many different paths that soon you had literally hundreds of species, the majority of which were gentle, servile and undyingly loyal to their masters. What else could one want? Yet this was not enough for you. You took it upon yourself to put back into your pets the things you had striven so long to change, to take from them their wildness. You went back to their roots, took wolves to intermix with your devoted pets, or to raise pups as if they were a common Collie. But wolves were not Collies. The primal instincts of domesticated hounds had been downplayed over the centuries; this was not so with wolves. Their instincts were too deeply ingrained. They were unpredictable and sometimes uncontrollable. They were driven by the need to kill their own food and become the dominant member of the pack. The results of man's desire to keep the creatures was less than...shall we say 'ideal.'" She leaned forward significantly. "Do you see my point?"

"You're saying that we have more reliable options open to us.""Partially, yes. More I am advising that if you run with wild dogs.

don't expect not to get bit."Sisko nodded solemnly. "I'll be sure to pass on your warning,

Lieutenant. I'm sure the Federation will be able to appreciate your comparison of it's members to lap dogs."

"That is what we are in comparison to the Bennharrae, Commander. If you heard even half the stories I have about those people, you would understand." She rose again. "Now, if you'll excuse

me, Commander, I have other things to attend to." She nodded tightly in Kira's direction, "Major." She swept haughtily out of the ward room.

Kira snorted. "I doubt I've met a more self-important woman," Kira said in flat distaste.

"I think you're just jealous that you haven't attracted Denaaro's attention, Major."

Kira blinked in surprise. But her sharp return was cut off by the teasing smile on Sisko's lips.

The Prrzhevaal did not welcome Mrrshaal's visits, unannounced or not. They did not say so, but it took little to see their feelings.

But they didn't know he was there. The guard, dozing at the entrance, had not known to notify them.

He glanced passively at the human, a balding man with a strange accent. Now, what was his name? Colfax had spoken to him by name several times...

"We don't want you here, Mrrshaal," the balding man said frigidly.

Not a big man, this one. Certainly not his match. Mrrshaal narrowed his eyes at the human, looking him up and down in measure, which was usually enough to put his inferiors at unease. That was something he didn't like about these people. They had been molded immune to such things. Or trained not to reveal them. The little man watched him levely, apparently unaware of Mrrshaal's immense advantage.

"Where is your co-Mander?" Mrrshaal asked."Why?" There was no ceremony to the humans response. He

had folded his arms and remained squarely in Mrrshaal's path.Mrrshaal favored him with a malicious grin. "It is none of your

concern."

He stood speaking with the Cardassian and that asinine Bajorian woman. The woman cared nothing for what Colfax was saying, glaring down the corridor, and was first to see him. Her face cleared for a moment, then tightened. She turned sharply to hit the Cardassian in the arm. When he glanced at her in irritation she motioned toward Mrrshaal. The Cardassian looked up, his brow clouding instantly. Colfax was still talking, peering the opposite way down the corridor. When he turned back to find his audience's attention lost he was baffled, then turned to follow his subordinate's gazes.

"What is it now, Mrrshaal?" he exhaled wearily, as if the Bennharrae were one among a dozen minor annoyances.

"Your Starfleet officers arrived," Mrrshaal said acidly. "I was not informed."

"I saw no reason why you should have been." Colfax leafed through several pieces of paper in his hands, dividing them and handing them to his operatives. He waved a hand, dismissing them, but they did not see, perhaps would not have responded if they had. They watched Mrrshaal suspiciously.

"A deal was made, Colfax. There were to be no secrets between us. You were to share what things you knew with me--"

"As I recall, Mrrshaal, the same applied on your end. I seem to remember several occasions when you did not fulfill your side of the bargain."

"Leave," he said firmly."We're not stupid enough to leave you alone with him," the

Bajorian said hostily. "Don't be ridiculous, Hana. You're wasting time. Go get ready

for your run." He spoke in a tone that forbade disobedience. Yet the Bajorian did not budge.

"For all I may fault your people, Colfax, I admire their loyalty." The comment was directed to the movement as a whole, not the person standing up for him. In defending her commander the Bajorian was choosing what she believed to be the lesser of two evils. Despite having little intimacy with the Prrzhevaal, Mrrshaal was well aware that she held no affection for Colfax. Colfax glared at the Bajorian in irritation, then acquiesced with a sigh. "You're impeding us, Mrrshaal," he murmured. "Get out of here. If I need you, I know where to look."

Mrrshaal scowled. Arrogant little man. He was surprised that he endured Colfax. He was not used to disrespect. "I could turn you all in so easily, you realize," he said with hostility.

Colfax paused, then pivoted slowly to meet Mrrshaal's eyes. He was smiling. "True, you could. But you won't. You need us, and if you uncover us, you convict yourself. Face it, Mrrshaal, we're all you've got."

Mrrshaal stared at him levely, then rumbled in his resonic bass. "You seem to forget that my conviction does not save you. Whatever should happen to me, all of you are dead." Some of the smugness went out of the commander's face, and Mrrshaal smiled his own cold turn. "I would not go making idle threats to me, Colfax. Do not forget that I am all you have got. One slip, co-Mander, and they are all dead." His gaze swept the Cardassian, the Bajorian woman, the balding human. "Do not forget that."

"Lights."There was no response. The door swished shut behind her.She glanced warily about her quarters. Perking her senses, she

felt nothing amiss. "Computer, lights."

Not right. Not right at all. She started to back out the door again, but they did not open. She found the console with her fingers, not daring to look away, and keyed it to open. No response. It was locked.

Terr'Essh scanned the room, trying to . Her alarms were beginning to flare now; she felt the subtle changes in the air that only one of her training could detect, from the sixth sence that was nessisary for survival. It was unfortuanate that she hadn't known before being cut off in her room.

She began walking slowly into the room, moving this way and that, canting her head to see behind funiture, into the nicks and crannys where someone might lurk. But it was too dark to see anything, with only the light slanting in the windows to see by. She barely avoided bumboing into furniture

There was a light scrape behind her, she wirled tightly toward it.Nothing. Terr'Essh stood ridged, breath stilled in her throat. Gods, where

was it? She shifted her gaze to search the room. "Hello?" she breathed. "Brekka? Thom, is that you?"

No answer."Thom, this isn't funny." Terr'Essh knew that it wasn't Thom. He

was one to jump out of the dark and yell, not lurk with the intent to terrify. She began stepping away, trying to put her back against a wall. A hand felt her hip, as if hoping to find a phaser there. She halted. This wasn't safe. Her intent was to keep an attacker from approaching from behind, but she had no means for defending herself. To be against a wall was to be trapped. She should call security. But they couldn't get here in time.

In one corner, behind a palm, a form stirred. She started, and began to put distance between them. It was bulky enough to be male, but not large. The contours seemed vaguely familiar. Terr'Essh narrowed her eyes, struggling to identify him in the dim light. "Hello?" she whispered. "Who is it?"

"Only I, my pretty one." Denaaro's voice. Adjusting to the dark, she could now make out the firm lines of his face. He stepped from the corner, so that the glow from the stations outer lights flowed over him. "I apologize if I frightened you."

"What are you doing here?" she rasped. "You shouldn't be here.

Get out.""Oh, do not be so rash, my pretty one. I only came to visit you,

to set eyes upon you again." He smiled, gaze slipping over her body in his accustomed fashion. "Odd, that I find myself so in need of your beauty. I cannot sleep."

"I'm warning you, Denaaro," she hissed. "I'll call security.""No," he said gently. "You will not. You have no reason to.""You've broken into my quarters. You're making unwelcome

advances on me. I think that's reason enough."Are they unwelcome?" he sneered. He would not stop walking

toward her."Stay back," Terr'Essh warned. "I'll call security. I swear I will."Denaaro halted, but the smile did not disperse."Afraid of me," he murmured softly, shaking his head. "What is

there to fear, my love?""I'm not afraid of you," Terr'Essh said firmly. Indeed she was not;

Denaaro knew as much. He saw fear because it was what he desired to see.

"Then why do you dismiss me with such haste, if not for fear?""Because you have no right to be here, Denaaro. Your invasion

is unacceptable.""Ah," Denaaro rumbled. "But it is more than that, is it not?

Come, Terr'Essh. I see your feelings very clearly.""Then act on them. Get out.""But I cannot, until I understand them. Why, Terr'Essh?" He

seemed almost amused. "You hate me. You hate us." Terr'Essh grinned dryly. "Hate is an understatement, Mr.

Denaaro."Denaaro tilted his head to her, the smile dying on his lips. His

inquiry had not expected confirmation. "I have done nothing to you, nor have we. Why should you hate either of us?"

"My own reasons, Mr. Denaaro." When he moved to speak she added, "None of which are your concern."

His face was inscrutable. "If you hate us so, why would you have agreed to serve us faithfully?"

Terr'Essh glanced at him over one shoulder. He had stepped closer, so that stood only a few feet away. His eyes were intent on her, searching. She had never seen eyes his shade of green before, the hue of limestone, flecked with gray. Never, save once. "One cannot discriminate in my profession, Mr. Denaaro," she responded coolly. "It's not good for business."

Denaaro peered at her, seeking something that succeeded to elude him, and smiled. "A plausible explanation, I suppose."

"The truth, Denaaro," she said levely. "Unlock the door." "And disturb our privacy?""Unlock the door, Denaaro," she repeated, more staunchly.

Denaaro smirked. He did not move for a moment, then walked slowly to the door. It took only a second to do as she ordered. He looked back to her.

"Good," she snapped. "Now get out.""You do not really want me to leave," he purred, his voice silky."Do you think I am lying to you, Bennharrae! Get out of here!

Get away from me now!" Terr'Essh advanced toward him, to remove him forcefully if she must. She could not stand to be closed away with the demon. She put out a hand to grasp him, to push him out the door.

Denaaro caught her by the shoulders, holding her away from him. Terr'Essh froze. His intent expression held her as much as his hands. She stared up into the symmetrical, firm angles of his face. He moved his hands up her neck, cradling her chin gently. His touch felt feverish, as all hot-blooded beings seemed to her. Her cold skin must have been no more of a comfort to them.

"Go, Denaaro," she whispered, trying to draw away. But his slight touch held her. If only he wouldn't look at her that way. His gaze would not be diverted, finding its way across every detail. He found her beautiful, but little else. Her spirit meant nothing to his purpose; she abhorred this. And he was going to kiss her, wasn't he? She could see the need and felt panic rise in her throat. He peered at her mouth, drawing near her--

She pulled sharply away. "No!" Denaaro held his ground, watching her with innocent perplexion.

He couldn't seem to understand her reaction. "Did I err?"Terr'Essh had turned her back to him, sacrificing prudence to

collect herself. She closed her eyes, grasping her hands before them. As a rule her composure was absolute, yet it had failed her utterly. Her heart was still pounding against her ribs. She had endured worse creatures than Denaaro, and yet...

"You should leave this place, Mr. Denaaro. If someone knew you were here--"

She felt his hand on her shoulder, and tensed. He drew away instantly, and when she turned he had moved away. His expression was baffled. "Why do you fear me, my pretty one? You must know that I would never harm you."

"Do I know that, Mr. Denaaro? I do not know you. I have no idea of your intentions."

This wounded him. His lips parted in disbelief. "My intentions are no ill."

Terr'Essh laughed. Denaaro was startled, for the sound was not pleasant. "Of course they are ill, Denaaro," she hissed. "They can be nothing else. Leave me, Denaaro. I'll give you no more excuses, except that I do not want you here."

He stared at her blankly. He could not move himself to speak.

"Fine." She forced her gaze from him, starting for the door. "If you won't leave I will."

More imprudence, for she passed directly by him on the way out. He caught her arm, pulling her before him. Her demand for release was silenced as she saw his expression. Such sincerity. She closed her mouth, swallowing dry.

"We could be happy together, you know?" Terr'Essh could only stare at him. Behind her calm acid spread.

"Could we? You seem to forget that you're married, Denaaro. Bennharrae wed for life."

"Ah, true." He nodded, considering. "But humanoid beings are so frail. A high man such as myself could easily take a second wife, so long as the first was not present." He reached down, grasping her delicate hands between his. He brought them to his chest. "And Briine could be so easily eliminated."

Terr'Essh did not respond, staring at her hands in his. White hands standing starkly against his bronze hide. It triggered a memory in her, of a time long dead when hands had stood so in those of another Bennharrae, a high councilman of the Government of Bennhar. But her hands then had been that of a child, innocent and trusting, desperate to be welcomed into a family that would replace the one she had lost. How happy she had been to have a place in a powerful Bennharrae household, how exciting the experience had seemed. And what had she thought in that moment? That it was wrong for two to contrast so, two creatures so nearly one another, yet different as night and day on a turning world. Two people should not be so different. If she had listened to herself then how much grief would have been saved?

"She means nothing to me," Denaaro continued. "Nothing."How could a person seem so sincere, having intentions so

heinous? Terr'Essh closed her eyes, holding back her tears. "You married her," she said tightly. "She must have meant something."

"No, she did not. Her family was wealthy and powerful. I married her family, not her. I do not love her. I love you."

I love you... Terr'Essh closed her eyes, allowing the words to roll in her head. She let herself recall how it had felt once to hear those words from her Bennharrae councilman. The warmth, the gratitude she had felt toward him. Indeed the love.

Why is it that Bennharrae voices are so warm, so soft? I love you... Everything in those three words mirrored what had

come from her councilman, gazing at her now through the eyes of Denaaro. The same lulling, hypnotic tone. The same look in his eyes, the same expression. The same lies! "You profess love so easily, Denaaro." She was surprised at the levelness of her voice, held even as anger simmered within. "Yet I doubt that you have even a concept of what love is. And certainly you do not love me. You may have

fallen in love with the idea of me: something exotic, a personal challenge for you to play with." She smiled ruefully. "I would be nothing more to you. I won't be that."

Denaaro's face fell. "No. No, you do not understand. It is not that way. I swear to you, it is not."

"Isn't it? You must truly think me naive, Denaaro." "But I want you.""Yes, you want me. But you do not love me. You want only to

possess me." She pulled her hands sharply from his. "And I have no desire to possess you."

"Terr'Essh--""Good night, Mr. Denaaro." There was no doubt was left of her

resolve. She turned again for the door.And Denaaro's hands were on her again. But this was not the

same wooing touch as before. It was angry, forceful. Her mind wasn't given the chance to analyze the situation. She could barely pull a breath before Denaaro embraced her firmly against him, pressing his mouth to hers.

A wave of disgust flooded Terr'Essh. The thought of intimate contact with a Bennharrae was sickening in its own reich, but to experience it! She tried to push away, but it was futile against his strength.

Had she not made herself perfectly clear to him? Disgust dissolved quickly into anger, anger then into rage. Denaaro fully expected any woman he demonstrated power over to submit to him, no matter how they rejected his approaches. Did he think that she was playing coy, that it was an invitation to force himself on her? She felt her body become hot with fury. How dare he trifle with her! And no doubt he thought she would do nothing to stop the advance. He was sorely mistaken.

Denaaro shrieked, pushing away from Terr'Essh with such force that he knocked not only her but himself to the ground. He slapped a hand to his mouth, not quick enough to block the flow of blood that began pouring down his face.

Terr'Essh spat, hissing oaths in her native language, cursing Denaaro and his people to any number of the unpleasant locations in P'Lebberrian lore. Her only consolation came in the knowledge that she had probably come close to biting his tongue off. He would not take her lightly again.

Denaaro stared at her in horror, eyes circular in disbelief. Never had a woman retaliated against him in such a way! Certainly this was no ordinary woman!

Terr'Essh shook with anger, teeth clenched so that her jaw ached. Her eyes flashed, and she glared at Denaaro with such vehemence that he feared what she might do to him next. She rose slowly, and though held her footing Denaaro backed away.

"Now, you listen to me you black-eyed bastard!" She stabbed a finger at him rigidly. "I may have to deal with you demons but I'm not going to take anything out of you! Stay away from me and mine and we'll get along marvelously, but the next time you touch me I'll bite off more than your than your tongue! Do we have understanding, Mr. Denaaro? Do you understand me?"

Denaaro stared at her blankly, dark blood oozing out between his fingers. She did not expect an answer.

Terr'Essh whirled tightly and stalked out the door, it sliding obliviously open for her to pass. She made it several meters down the corridor before realizing what she'd done.

Terr'Essh paused, looking back to where she'd left Denaaro. If he bled to death it would mean the execution of the officers Commander Sisko had sent to Kythera. She had no grievances against Denaaro's death, but it would be a shame to lose good people. A true shame. But then, the Bennharrae instinct for self-preservation was paralleled only by that of the Feringi. He would not let himself die.

Satisfied by this Terr'Essh continued on her way to the Promenade. She felt the need for a stiff drink.

CHAPTER12

He heard Vrenna curse sharply, and turned to see the Bennharrae gripping his hand. "Oh dear. I forgot to warn you about the glass."

"It is nothing," Vrenna said sharply, turning his back to Bashir, pulling the hand to his chest. "Do not worry. It is barely anything."

"Nonsense. I have a dermal regenerator. We can just hop over to my room and..."

Vrenna tried to keep the hand away from Bashir, but as the doctor moved to grasp it he glimpsed the cut. It wasn't the wound itself that startled Bashir; it was little more than a long, shallow slice. What struck him was that the blood welling slowly out was bright red. He recalled clearly the statement about Bennharrae blood being black. The comment may have been somewhat of a hyperbole, but there was concern in Vrenna's face, not a result of the cut. Dread filled the Bennharrae's eyes when he saw Bashir's perplexed expression. He'd been caught at something.

"It is nothing," he said again, taking a cloth napkin from the table, laying it across the cut. But it was only a matter of seconds before that incriminating blood seeped through the thin fabric. He tried again to hide it under thicker folds.

Bashir stood for several moments staring at Vrenna's hand before reaching out to take it. The action seemed to alarm Vrenna until Bashir spoke. "Here. If you want to stop the bleeding you need to apply pressure directly." He repositioned the napkin, pressing his

thumb over the cut, then instructed Vrenna to do the same. Only when Vrenna moved to obey did Bashir see that the man was shaking.

Who are you? Bashir wondered. He reached out again to touch the man's arm, upon which he

started. "The dermal regenerator will remove any trace," Bashir said quietly. "No one will know."

Vrenna hesitated, staring at him, then nodded. "Yes, Doctor. I would appreciate it."

Catsby had missed the exchange completely. Bashir didn't mention it, even to Dax.

The young man shifted nervously, glancing about the Promenade, looking for an exit. "Uh, yes. Yes it is, Mr....Garak."

Why was she so agitated? "Hurry up, Bry.""This sort of thing takes time, Hana," Bry said patiently.

"Which way?""The shortest is through Caabo," Jaral said, pulling his head in "Caabo! What? Are you crazy?""Yes," he snapped tersely. "Run!"

CHAPTER13

"Bry!" The Bajorian woman screamed. She turned to run toward him, but the Trill caught her by the arm, yelling over he own frantic cries. She tried to pry him off, but he hauled her easily after him. Her further screams were lost in the din of the massing crowd. The pair soon disappeared from sight, turning into an alleyway.

The guards seemed unconcerned with the fallen one. They continued past him, after the other two. Obviously they didn't think he was going anywhere. It appeared that way to Dax as well. He was dead, with the deep phaser burn in his back, magenta showing in places through blackened clothing and skin. She pursed her lips and began to turn to Bashir, but before the motion was completed she caught a motion from the corner of her eye, a figure dashing from the hotel's main entrance. It was Bashir!

"Julian!" she screamed. Remarkably her heard her, glanced up, but did not stop. He plowed into the mass of the crowd and vanished.

Dax cursed and turned, running for the door.She was in the lobby within seconds, then out into the court. She

paused there, glancing back and forth among the collecting Bennharrae, but could not locate Bashir. Breathing oaths in her head she took a deep breath and plunged through the flood of alien bodies, toward where the man had fallen. It was only seconds before she spotted the doctor, his dark hair a beacon among the masses. He was trying to make his way through to the fallen man, just as she knew he

would. Dax managed to catch him before he vanished again, grabbing him and pulling him back, meeting his eyes with a firm, warning gaze. She dared not caution him aloud. We can't help him, Julian. He's gone.

Bashir narrowed his eyes at her, pulling his arm sharply away. He turned and continued to the fore of the crowd. Dax called him again, but he didn't listen. All she could do was follow.

When they finally broke through the last row of bodies they saw that a great space had been formed around the man, as if he were a vile, diseased thing. But one would not think this by the expressions on their faces. The ranged from apprehension to concern to distress. There was no disgust on any of them. This perplexed Dax completely, but it vanished as she ran flat into Bashir, nearly falling over him. He had broken the line full force, ready to charge directly to the man, but halted unexpectedly. Only upon collecting herself did Dax realize it had not been of his own volition. A Bennharrae man had caught him by the shoulder, stopping his advance. Dax felt her stomach lurch, a wave of fear passing over her. Bashir's eyes went wide as he stared at the man, but he made no attempt to pull away.

The Bennharrae man eyed Bashir critically, but Dax was surprised to note that there was no violence in his gaze. It was deep and searching, his black eyes leveled only on their faces as he studied their faces. It was then that Dax realized that the market had gone completely quiet. An eerie, unearthly silence. As she broke her gaze from the Bennharrae man she found that all eyes were on them. Under Dax's flitting eyes several people dropped their own and filtered away. Dax had only begun to wonder what was happening when a woman appeared from behind a mass of on-lookers and strode directly to them.

"Help him, taussccal," she whispered fiercely, taking Bashir's hand and leading him toward the fallen man.

This caught Bashir as off guard as it did Dax. "Help him?""Taussccal are Prrzhevaal sympathizers." She released Bashir's

hand, ducking beside the fallen man. "He is not dead. He can still be helped, but we cannot help him without a taussccal to aide us. We have not the power. Otherwise Korollemm will have us killed."

Bashir stared at her in perplexion for a moment, then seemed to pick up on what she was implying. "Yes. I'm a doctor. Take him up to our room. I'll take care of him."

The woman glanced up at him in confusion, then dropped her eyebrows. "You are also not a very convincing Bennharrae, taussccal," she whispered harshly.

Bashir blinked," I'm afraid I don't--""Bennharrae do not use contractions, taussccal," she said firmly,

still glaring at him.Bashir blanked for a moment more, then flushed. "Oh. I'm...I am

sorry. Take him to our room. I will take care of him."The woman nodded curtly, satisfied, and rose. "Teersell," she

called sharply into the crowd, and the man that had stopped Bashir approached. The woman took the injured man's legs, Teersell gripped him under the arms and they lifted him, spurring Bashir to a quick exclamation.

"Be careful. We don't want to cause any more damage--""No don'ts, taussccal!" The woman said pointedly under her

breath, then requested that Bashir lead them to his quarters. Bashir was quick to oblige, not saying another word between.

From disembarking the Federation transport ship Memmosa Matthew Gergens made his way directly to a turbolift, quickly instructing it to the level and section desired. stood scratching his short cropped hair

"I'm looking for a Bennharrae official, Denaaro."The Feringi proprietor glanced up at him indifferently, then

turned back to his data pad. "He's up there," he tipped his bulbous head in the general direction, "by himself, on the second level." He paused before adding, "Let me give you some advice. Don't bother him. I asked if he wanted another drink and he nearly took my head off."

"Your advice is noted. Thank you," Gergens responded curtly, searching the second level for a man to match the picture Admiral Tanaka had showed him.

"Skkleral Denaaro?" The demon glanced up at Gergens, frowning darkly. In the

shadows of his lids, the mans eyes seemed entirely black. It gave Gergens goose-flesh, and the air seemed to cool. "Yes?" Denaaro growled.

Gergens couldn't force himself to speak for a moment, and was finally only able to spit out, "Tanaka sent me."

Now the Bennharrae's brows dropped, adding to the scowl. "Tanaka," he hissed.

Frozen again, this time Gergens could only nod.

"When she didn't hear from you she got worried. She--""Did not hear from me? It was I who was expecting contact from

her. She did not, and Korollemm was forced to send others, because those she sent were loyal. She betrayed us."

Gergens flinched. "What are you talking about?""Do not play games with me," Denaaro snarled. "Our agent told

us of her ways, that those Tanaka employed were loyal to the Federation. They would have revealed us, knowing our intentions."

"You must be mistaken." Gergens said, shaking his head. "George Hamlen has done many services for us faithfully. He owes the Federation no loyalty. Though I must confess, the other one Tanaka ordered along, a man by the name of Proust, was loyal. But Tanaka had no other operatives, and she sent him along because he wouldn't get in the way, and the blame for it could be laid on him if we needed. Is that what you mean?"

"No. That is not what our operative told me. She said that Tanaka had turned on us, that Korollemm had been forced to hire her as a replacement."

"Have you considered that perhaps your operative told you wrong?"

"No." Denaaro shook his head firmly. "Korollemm sent her to replace Tanaka's people when they were intercepted by the..." The Bennharrae paused, realization precipitating. His eyes darkened. "Prrzhevaal!"

The two Bennharrae were somewhat disturbing to Bashir; he was glad to have a reason to be away from them, tending the unconscious man. Dax wasn't so lucky, trapped with their unshifting gazes, seated across from them on the couch. He would have remained in the bedroom if not for her, but instead drifted between the two places, sitting by Dax for a few minutes, then returning to his patient. It might not have been so disconcerting if not for the Bennharrae's lack of words. The sat, unspeaking, peering at the two outsiders with expressions half-way between curiosity and apprehension.

"I think he'll be fine," Bashir finally announced to break the silence. Dax seemed grateful for it; the Bennharrae were indifferent. Bashir wondered if he would have been wiser not to have said anything. "I'm surprised that he survived. I would have assumed that you meant to kill him."

The pair grimaced in sequence, and Bashir regretted opening his mouth. "It was the intention," Nerriss said. "The mark was off, if I were to guess."

"Cheap weaponry," Teersel added in distaste. "The Government is to petty to pay for weapons that will function correctly. The power cells are worthless." A wound seemed to have been opened. He glared forcefully at his boots.

"Why would you help him?" Dax asked"That is none of your business," Nerriss snapped, turning her

gaze away. "The question is, what do we do now that we have done it? We would not have risked ourselves had we know your true identity."

"I can only hope that no one goes running to Korollemm. We would not have a chance in seven hells. Such a pity." He cast Nerriss a side-ways glance. "If I had only had a chance to warn you that they were not what they seemed."

Nerriss's mouth fell open, and she became quickly outraged. "You...you knew they were not Bennharrae?"

"Yes. I saw them when we brought them here, on the Rejelkimen," Teersel said dully, as if the matter bored him. "I could not tell you then that they were outsiders, when everyone else thought that they were taussccal, just as you did."

Teersel had been aboard the Rejelkimen? Bashir found himself examining him more carefully, trying to recognize him. But it was useless. The more Bennharrae he saw the more they all looked alike, with the bronzed skin and streaked, blond hair.

Nerriss hissed, throwing her hands, then made a great show of folding her arms tightly across her chest. "Now we are stuck, and Korollemm is going to have us exicuted, and you can be assured that I will do everything in my power to lay the blame on you, Teersell. I will charm him," her nose crinkled in distaste, "if I must."

"Charm him?" Teersel scoffed. "My dear, you could not charm a deep space captain!" Though his words were stinging Teersel shot Bashir an uncharacteristically playful expression, which Nerriss was meant to miss. Indeed she did, and she was fuming.

"I will repay you for that, you wretched demon!" she screeched, stamping her foot. "I will have my father--"

"Oh!" he threw his hands up. "'My father this' and 'my father that.' You know as well as I that your father will do no such thing."

Bashir glanced at Dax, only for her to turn at the same moment and give him a pleading look.

Bashir cleared his throat, suitable in breaking the Bennharrae quarrel. "If you'll excuse us, please. Jadzia, I could use some help in here." He rose swiftly, not daring a look back at the couple. Dax was on his heels.

He entered the bedroom and made the instinctive path for the bed, but halted. The bed was empty.

"What the..." he looked quickly around the room, just in time to see the Coxx glance over his shoulder toward Bashir's voice, then scamper onto the window sill, hesitate when he saw nothing but the ground three storied below.

"That's not a very good idea," Bashir said, resisting the urge to step forward and pull the creature back. "The city is crawling with patrols."

The Coxx started, and froze. Bashir could almost see it's mind working out a fight or flight response. It remained motionless for a moment before dismounting the window stiffly and turning to face him.

"No," it said flatly. "I suppose it isn't a very good idea." The two stood peering at each other for a few seconds, then the Coxx dropped his eyes. It's manner became lifeless and entirely defeated. For his own life, Bashir couldn't figure out why. But then Dax touched his shoulder. He glanced back, catching the clear blue rings of her eyes. He'd forgotten about the black contact lenses.

"Don't be afraid," Bashir assured him, still forcing himself to remain still, as a man that fears the bird he watches might take flight. "We won't harm you." He found himself studying the alien, surprised at his state of repair. By all common knowledge the creature should be dead, Teersel's cheap weaponry regardless. But then, he had not taken into account Coxx physiology, hidden behind it's deceptively frail exterior.

He had known a Coxx pair in the Academy. Among any number of species, only these angelic beings had drawn Bashir's special attention. They had begun their Freshman year as engineering students when Bashir was a Junior. He'd had a pretty blond girlfriend at the time who had introduced them, a brief meeting throughout which Bashir had been unable to take his eyes from the pair. They were exquisite creatures, their perfect androgyny confounding him, their soft, musical voices so perfectly neutral. Though he tried to push it aside, the absurd perplexion rose again and again. What are they? Are they male or female? They have to be one or the other, don't they? And, like so many humans, he was unable to accept their sexlessness. He had eventually placed them as male for convenience. They never seemed to mind.

That was another peculiarity of theirs: they never minded anything. Even as he apologized again and again when he forgot himself and stared, drinking in their beauty. They only smiled as if it were some private joke between them. More perplexing was their pure benevolence, which Bashir had found hard to accept. He expected a front to drop one day, belligerence to sprout. But that never happened; they bore incourtesies with eternal patience. When surly cadets preyed on them because their delicate forms made it easy, they returned only kindness. Unfortunately this won only hatred from their aggressors, though all others had no choice but to surrounded them with love. It was hard not to love the gentle creatures. Bashir felt now the same things he had for the other Coxx.

The being's features resembled the male ideal, though did nothing to spoil it's essence. Perhaps that was only because it was ragged from the assault, and apparently from many sleepless nights before. There was a dullness to it's amber eyes, which should have been a clear orange of set stones. It's reflective, blue-toned skin was pulled unnaturally across his cheek bones and the faint ridges that ran from temple to the smooth black hair. It's colorless mouth was sad; it's shoulders sagged. These things disturbed Bashir, stirring the things he

would have felt for a child, protectivness for a creature who's innocence had been unrightfully battered.

It walked ridgedly past Dax and Bashir, settling itself on the bed, not bringing itself to at them. It folded it's hands in it's lap and became motionless. It acted as if it awaited a death sentence.

This discomforted Bashir. He found himself shifting in the doorway, searching his mind for a way to assure the creature. He pressed his lips and turned to Dax, whispering for her to bring water, and some of the broth from the breakfast room. She nodded to him, and was quick with the water. Bashir left her to fill the latter request, turning back to the Coxx, who had yet to move.

Bashir began slowly toward the creature, giving it time to flee if it felt the need. But he was halfway across the room before it even noticed his approach, and then it only stared with the mask of ineffable perplexion that suffused all it's race. When Bashir was before it he kneeled, holding the water to it as if an offering.

The creature stared at it as if it were some alien, utterly unfamiliar thing for some time before taking it. And then he looked back to Bashir, a baffled but unsuspicious expression.

"What's your name?" Bashir asked softly, settling fully on his shins. He found himself again caught in the creatures radiance. He could only stare into it's luminescent face as it stared with equal attenity into his.

The creature made no motion. It's face was smooth, though behind the serene expression Bashir could see the battle within. This creature feared him, with good reason. The Bennharrae sought to eliminate him, and he sat now in the presence of one of those black-eyed demons. And even after it's decision was made it could not collect itself to act. It lowered its eyes, and it's answer was a single syllable, "Bry."

Bashir smiled, nodding. "Yes. I thought that was it." These words changed the creature immediately. It's fear shifted fully to curiosity, and when it inclined it's head Bashir added, "The Bajorian woman you were with...she called it when you fell."

The creature blinked several times, then tensed. "They're all right, aren't they?" It's tone was urgent. "She and the other?"

"Last I knew. Guards were still after them when they disappeared."

Bry stared at him again, then shifted his head east. He was still for a time, then relaxed, concern waning. "I feel that they are alive."

"By optimism or telepathy?" Bashir asked.Bry turned quickly back to Bashir, face smoothing in confusion.

"How did you know?""The Coxx have the most superior telepathic powers among

known species." Bashir tapped his temple, smiling. "Multispecies physician."

Bry squinted at the doctor, as if trying to read him. Then it smiled, an expression that caught Bashir off guard. "Julian Bashir." His name seemed breathed with praise, and the creature reached to take Bashir's hands. "I wondered. You didn't strike me as Bennharrae. Forgive me. Shock inhibits my abilities, sometimes. I should have known who you were."

Bashir gaped, still stunned from the creatures rapid change. "What...what do you mean?"

Bry chuckled. "No matter, Doctor. It is good to see you well." It was quick enough now to down the water, and thanked Bashir enthusiastically for it.

"Jadzia, this is Bry." He motioned Dax to the alien. "And allow me to introduce Jadzia Dax."

Bry smiled, bowing neatly to her. "Jadzia."Dax's smile had become lost. She now peered into Bry's face

with uninhibited curiosity. Surely she mush have met a Coxx once within seven lifetimes.

"Neither," Bry said softly to her unspoken query. "But I've become fond of playing the male part." It shifted it's gaze to Bashir. "The doctor had already decided to term me male anyway."

Surprise filled Dax's features as Bashir felt a flush in his. He dropped his face, disliking the heat there. "Sorry. It's human bias--"

"I understand perfectly, Doctor. There's no need to apologize. Actually, I rather people place me as male." A delicate smile played on his lips, until he could no longer contain his laughter. "It's so much easier to ward off women than men."

It was Bashir's go at surprise. He stared at Bry, abashed, and Dax broke into a sharp peel of laughter.

He inclined his head, peering out the bedroom door. "Who's out there?"

"A couple of Bennharrae," Bashir began, but Bry was already on his feet, moving for the exit. "But I don't think you should go out there..." Too late.

The pair had been speaking in soft tones when Bry emerged from the bedroom--Dax and Bashir close behind him--hesitating only long enough to get a good look at them before advancing. The two watched him expressionlessly, their manner curiously devoid of ill-intent. Bry slowed precariously close to the predators, kneeling at their feet. He took Nerriss's hand, and to Bashir's utter astonishment the Bennharrae woman smiled.

"Thank you," Bry said softly. "But you should not have risked yourself."

"It was our choice," Teersel said firmly. "But you are indeed

welcome, my friend.""Indeed," Nerriss echoed, patting Bry's hand. "We owe you only

as much.""How fair's your father?" Bry asked. "I have not seen him

recently." The three were old acquaintances, it seemed, yet how could that be possible?

"He fairs well enough, I suppose. I have not heard him complain very much."

Bry glanced to Teersel, as if for confirmation."She speaks true," the man said, smiling. "He does not yell so

much. I see that as a sign of good mood.""It pleases me so, to hear that. I was worried that--" Bry broke

off, glancing toward the door and rising to his feet. A moment later Bashir heard the locking sequence to their room keyed, and the door swung open. Vrenna marched purposefully in, a bundle of something under his arm. Cheer was fixed in his expression, but drained as his eyes fell on Bry. He slowed and halted, the bundle nearly slipping from his grasp.

Bashir felt his pulse catch, but wasn't given time to dwell when the Bennharrae burst into laughter. It was the first time Bashir had heard the sound in an unsinister form. Vrenna moved swiftly toward Bry, and to Bashir's utter amazement embraced him.

"My God! We can't kill you! What must we do, haul you to the executing blocks?" He pushed Bry away, beaming at him. "We were all sure they had captured you this time! Hana was in a fit. She told Jaral that he had killed you. She tried to get you, but he... Oh, it does not matter! It doesn't matter a bit! But we were all so scared! And we..." Vrenna trailed off.

Perhaps the Bennharrae could have gone on like that forever, but his voice failed as Nerriss rose behind Bry, her face hard.

Vrenna stared at her blankly, his mouth hanging slack. It moved slightly before he could speak, and then his voice was feeble. "Nerriss?"

The woman tilted her head at him. "You need to tell your operatives to be more careful, Vrenna," she said. "We cannot be hauling them out of trouble at every turn."

Vrenna didn't seem to hear her. He was staring now at her companion, Teersell. The tall Bennharrae smiled at him, more amusement than malevolence. Then Vrenna shifted his focus back to Nerriss, where it remained silently. "And we have no ability to rescue you from trouble, Nerriss. You should not be here."

She flinched. Her eyes narrowed at him. "Fine way you show gratitude."

"Oh, stop! You know that I am grateful. We are all grateful, but no good will come of you being caught. What business does your father have, sending you out like that--"

"You think that my father knows?" She seemed exasperated. "And he would not care did he know! I am my own guide, Vrenna. Certainly I can make my own decisions!"

"Ahhh." Teersell chuckled from the couch. "She is surely her father's daughter, is she not, Vrenna?"

"Surely," Vrenna said tonelessly, staring at Nerriss as upon a erring child. "She has her father's sense."

Nerriss snorted, throwing her head. "See how careless you are, sending your keeps out among the Bennharrae." She shot a hostile glance at Bashir. "They do not even speak as we would! You should keep your eyes on them. Negligence!" she hissed at him. "Nothing more than negligence!"

"I told them what they needed to know." The conviction in Vrenna's defense was wavering. "And I have more to do than sit and watch them. I am the primary advisor--"

"'The primary advisor to the highest official on Kythera,'" she mocked, a cold smile fixed on her lips. "'I am the progeny of the great Korollemm, the finest butcher our bloody history has ever seen...'" The smile faded abruptly, a hand moving to her mouth. She would have flushed, but it seemed the Bennharrae were incapable of it. "Oh," she breathed. "I am sorry. It is just that... I forget sometimes."

Vrenna glared at her, but gradually forced his face to soften. "Wishful thinking," he said gently. "It has never done anyone good."

Nerriss's brows furrowed, his words sharp against her. But she was quick to cover it, her exterior hardening.

"No, Nerriss. I am sorry, as well. Here," he gripped her shoulders gently, granting her a small kiss on the cheek, which succeeded to melt her. "Thank you. I can't tell you how much we appreciate this."

"No can'ts, Vrenna," she said almost teasingly, touching a finger to his lips. She managed to plant a kiss of her own--noticeably as close to his mouth as she thought capable.

"I know. But you need to leave. You should not be here now. I would hate to see something happen to you."

"And I to you," she whispered, her voice barely reaching Bashir's hearing.

Vrenna smiled, pushing her toward the door. She turned her head to look at him, smiling and enamored. Vrenna didn't notice but Teersell seemed to relish it, showing his teeth in a wide grin. He rose and took Vrenna's hand, pumping it vigorously, and fell into step behind Nerriss. For her part, Nerriss managed one more glance before Teersell ushered her out the door.

When Vrenna turned back to them Bry chuckled. "Shut up," the Bennharrae ordered, but Bry continued to smile.

"It's wonderful," Bry said almost slyly, and winked at Bashir. "Hana and Jaral," he continued, "they're all right, aren't they?"

Vrenna peered at him absently for a moment, then awoke and nodded curtly. "Indeed. Ne'er a bruise on them. A surprise, considering..." he trailed off. his brow furrowing, then shook his head to dismiss it. "I suppose I had best get you out of here, before someone comes looking and we are all in a mess." He turned to touch Bashir's shoulder gratefully. "Thank you, Doctor. I cannot begin to express my gratitude. It is a great service you have done for us."

"Us? And who would that be, Vrenna?" Bashir grinned. "The Prrzhevaal?"

Vrenna smiled and, to Bashir's amusement, bowed courteously. "At your beck and call, my friend." He turned, motioning Bry after him. He approached the door, peering outside, and declared it safe. "Take care until I return, Miss Dax, Doctor." He swept out the door, Bry directly behind him.

CHAPTER14

She shook her head, spearing the pasta a too forcefully with her fork

"Terr'Essh, there's someone I'd like you to keep an eye on."Terr'Essh glanced up at him, putting the morsel into her mouth,

chewing it before speaking. "What? Who?" But Brekka didn't seem to hear her, eyes upturned, attention focused on something behind her and on the upper level. His face was taunt, brows drawn. Frowning, Terr'Essh followed his gaze, not immediately seeing the source of her consternation. But in a matter of seconds she saw the Cardassian tailor, Garak, whom she'd met in Quark's, standing with his hands lightly gripping the walkway's rail, observing them in a casual way. The Cardassian smiled at her and--without another moment passing, even before she could flash her own witless smile--pivoted and strolled off, disappearing behind a group of tourists.

"That Cardassian," Brekka said, his voice edged."Garak?" Terr'Essh snorted, turning back to her plate. "He's

harmless. He's just a tailor."Brekka's eyes widened slightly, "Harmless? Come on,

Lieutenant, you know better than that. And he's not just a tailor. Don't tell me you haven't heard about him?"

"I've heard, Ensign, I simply choose not to credit unfounded rumors."

"Rumors nothing, Lieutenant! That...that man is a spy. The Cardassians left him here to tell them about the Federation. And he was involved in that whole stink last month between the Romulans, the Cardassians and the Founders. I don't trust him."

"Perhaps he was involved, Thom, and how you feel about him is your own prerogative. But now he is a man without power. He was exiled. He can do nothing to us. Trust me, we have bigger things to worry about than Mr. Garak."

Brekka's face was hardening. "You told me that we were to be wary of everyone, to trust no one."

"You think I am not wary, Ensign?" She rasped, keeping her voice low so as not to draw attention. "I have considered Mr. Garak, and he is not a threat to us. He may have been a spy at one time--in truth I am sure of it--but that has no relevance now. At the moment he

has no reason to spy on us. I know how the Cardassian mind works, Brekka. They don't put themselves to undue trouble without reason. Mr. Garak has not motivation, so he will leave us be. If you want to be concerned about someone, go watch the shape-shifter. He's the one we ought to worry about right now."

Brekka looked at her almost piteously, all the distrust of Garak now gone. "I don't think you understand me, Terrie. I don't think you're seeing it. I know you're partial to Cardassians, but that doesn't mean they can do no harm. Especially that one. If you'd only seen the look he gave me right after he talked to you. He even came and sat down by me when I was eating here, he asked me questions and just looked at me like he could see everything I thought. He knows, Terrie. He knows who we are. We can't even guess what he'll do with what he knows. He could tell Sisko, or he could tell Denaaro and then we're both dead. Listen, Terrie, I know you like him--"

"And how could you know such a thing, Brekka?" Terr'Essh asked tightly.

"You wore the red dress, Terrie." It looked as if it had broken his heart to say that. "That red one that you could almost spill out of. You wouldn't wear that for just anyone."

"I'm just playing the part, Brekka. I'm just being what the Terr'Essh these people know would be."

"Yeah, but you're the one making her up, so you put out what they see," he said roughly. "It's your choice who she is, Terrie."

Terr'Essh narrowed her eyes at him, fork gripped between her fingers, stilled above her plate as it had been for some time listening to him. She put it down, taking up her napkin and wiping her mouth. "I don't have to take this, Brekka. You have no right to be saying this to me."

She had started to rise when Brekka reached out and caught her wrist, pulling her back down. There was urgency in his face. "Please, Terr'Essh. Please listen to me. If you never do anything for me again, just don't see that Cardassian. Don't go around him. He's dangerous to us. He's going to get us both killed."

"That's nonsense, Brekka. Complete nonsense. How could he possibly know? How could he have seen through me?"

"He did, Terrie. That's all I know. Please, Terrie, do as I ask. Just..." he trailed off as she shook her head solemnly, his lips still parted over the things he wanted to say. Then he said, "You're being biased. It's just as good as siding with him." The last sentence had been spoken harshly, his sense no longer talking. It was his jealously, that he thought she preferred Garak over him. "God forsaken lizard."

Terr'Essh's eyes flashed, "What could you expect from a mere salamander. He seems closer to me than any of you warm-bloods."

He grinned mirthlessly, a false, strained smile, "I always thought you'd turn against us in the end. I never did trust you."

Terr'Essh flinched, her mouth falling open. Sarcasm in the comment had been stiflingly thick, yet he had taken it as truth. Collecting herself, her lips began to tighten. "Where is this coming from, Brekka? Where the hell are you getting this? This is what I get from you? Ingratitude? I try to help you and you turn on me." She rose stiffly, arms tight against her sides. "I should have known better that to fall in with the lot of you. You were all too self-righteous, too high and mighty unto yourselves. I should have gone to my lizard friends instead. The Cardassians at least would have done right by me. They at least would have been grateful!" She threw her napkin down, shooting him one last glare before turning and storming off. She heard him yelling something harsh after her, but didn't listen. She didn't even care that they were making a spectacle, drawing negative attention. All she cared about was getting away from the jealous, insufferable little man. At the pace she set it was a matter of minutes before she rounded the curve of the station, falling out of Brekka's sight.

(Odo watches the two suspiciously)

Thomas Brekka had disembarked the turbo lift several sections from his quarters, giving himself time to walk, time to cool off. He was still seething after the way Terr'Essh dismissed him, even after stabbing at his food for fifteen minutes and letting out his frustrations in a holosuite. As yet it had done no good; his blood was still boiling. God, the woman was dense! Didn't she see the threat that Cardassian posed? Didn't she see that he suspected them?

No, Brekka corrected himself, Terr'Essh was anything but dense. Never, never had she been dense. He knew that he should trust her. If she felt secure then everything was probably all right. But he couldn't help thinking of the way the tailor had looked up at him, his smile so knowing. And how he had observed them in the Replimat, as if he was watching, waiting for a slip. Maybe he was just curious, knowing that they were on the station under pretense, just the exiled man Terr'Essh said he was. But what if he was more?

Brekka scowled half-mindedly, putting a hand to his stomach. Over the stress of his fight with Terr'Essh his meal wasn't sitting well. It burned, the sensation reaching up into his chest, and he felt a little queasy.

Maybe the Cardassian is working for Denaaro, Brekka mused, rubbing his side. Or maybe he would just go to Denaaro. Well, any connection he could make with the Bennharrae Brekka feared. It did not concern him that the tailor might go to Sisko and reveal them. Sisko might imprison them, might question them, but he wouldn't hire

assassins to kill them. If Denaaro knew they were as good as dead; he would kill them in a heartbeat. And frankly, Brekka had no wish to be dead.

Tanaka had sent two men from the Valdosta, which had been intercepted by the Prrzhevaal en route, while Terr'Essh and Brekka took their places. It seemed that Sisko had not been informed of who had been sent to mediate over these "trade negotiations," and in that they had some luck, seeing the original mediators had both been male and Terr'Essh was so obviously female. Of course Terr'Essh would have been able to explain the inconsistency away with any of a dozen intricate fabrications, which she was infinitely skilled at spinning. But it was nice not having that standing against them, raising suspicions, even so small. It had been bad enough that they had fallen under the jurisdiction of Admiral Brent Maxwel, who'd taken over after Tanaka had been called away on a "family emergency." Brekka had to smile, even through his irritation, as he recalled how the balding Southerner proudly donned the deep red admiral's uniform with its gleaming rank bars, stating that he rather liked the feel of it. "I could get used to it," he'd proclaimed in his robust Texas accent. Brekka chuckled a bit. He had always liked Maxwel.

Brekka liked all the people he'd been stuck with on Kythera, but no matter how pleasant the company it was good to be off the wretched planet, being able to take a hot bath at ease, not a breathless dip in the frigid waters of the Zhena Tellea River, and sleeping on a soft bed in a warm room. And he'd not imagined how much he had missed coffee and chocolate and real food until he had sat down in the galley of the U.S.S. Chocrane, gorging himself with all those glorious and denied things. And clothes that weren't falling off him! He had always been a rather fastidious person, and hadn't liked watching his clothing become more and more worn. But the uniform felt funny. Though comfortable he was used to trousers and a shirt, and the jumpsuit with the zipper up the back still threw him off.

Brekka wished he could share the wonderful things with his friends. He'd would have liked for them to be enjoying the station with him right now. It would have been fun for him and Judson Kutter, his best friend, to run about, picking up women, drinking and gambling at Quark's. Had he not held prior placement in the Prrzhevaal's network, Brekka was sure Judson would have accompanied him on this mission. But then, Brekka realized, had Judson not had another obligation, he still wouldn't have been allowed to come. Terr'Essh would not have let him, because she was the one that had to go. Colfax had been preparing to send Carl Soyuz when Terr'Essh had demanded it be she that fill the mission. "I am the best at pretense, sir, and I will be able to handle the Bennharrae better than any other."

Colfax had not liked the idea, shaking his head. Indeed Terr'Essh's husband had liked the idea even less. He had been

standing behind Colfax, and Brekka remembered how the color draining from his already pallid face.

"No, Lieutenant. We need to stick to what Tanaka sent," Colfax said. "We don't need to raise suspicions."

"Don't talk to me about not raising suspicions. I am the one who deals those warnings, and I can break them if I must. I am the only one who will be able to deal with the Bennharrae convincingly. If questions are asked on that station, I can put them to rest. You know that as well as I."

Though it took much talking in defense of her position, Terr'Essh had eventually convinced Colfax to fall to her side. The woman could do anything. "You could talk the devil into giving up his ways," Brekka had chuckled once, but Terr'Essh had not found the humor. "I couldn't before," she'd said detatchedly. He had not dared to ask what she had meant by the comment. Everyone knew the sensitivity of Terr'Essh's past; no one dare to touch it. Truthfully, watching the things that went on in her eyes when she returned to those distant things, no one really wanted to know.

Terr'Essh intrigued Brekka very much. No, captivated was the proper word. Not purely by her beauty, the challenge in her delicate features and luminescent eyes. There were many things that Brekka liked, so many that he could never list them all. It was her wisdom. It was her power, her magnificent power, unfathomable to him; like trying to imagine the volume of the universe, it succeeded to make him feel small and reeling. The centuries within her made her nearly immortal when compared with the lifetime of a human.

"It is immortality," she had told to him in a far away place, in a chilly Kytheran night as they kept watch together. "Not true immortality, but just as good. Everyone still dies around me. I do not outlive you by two years, or ten, but hundreds and hundreds. It's just as good."

That pure age of Terr'Essh entranced him. Seven-hundred years in the galaxy, and she looked no more than thirty. At least the Trill, with all their memories, acquired new bodies. And like the joined Trill she possessed a preternatural patience, contentment to let the affairs of the universe go about on their own will. There was no need to force her piece; she had all the time in the world for that. None of the mortal franticness, the short lived pressing to accomplish what needed done before they were no longer able to do it. Brekka wondered what it was like, to have her age. What would it be, to have nothing but time, time, time? Time to learn to paint, to play the piano, to understand the patterns of leaves and progress the way only a few of the very old and wise among his own did. What would it be to say you knew great old figures of history, that you saw the first Enterprise leave Utopia Planita?

But wonder all he might, he would never wish for it. He would

make no such mistake. He could not begin to comprehend what it was like, but his idea was idea enough.

Everyone dies... Just that. Time goes on and on, and everyone dies. He saw it in her eyes when she had spoken of her immortality, in how she soaked up the company of her friends, which was so precious, for surely they existed an instant and were then dust. These things saddened Brekka, to see the proud, hardened woman so tortured. But most of all it broke his heart to see her with her husband. She loved him more than Brekka could even imagine, a love so true that there was no way for Brekka to feel jealous against her chosen, that he had Terr'Essh and Brekka never would. But he knew, as well as her husband knew, that always when Terr'Essh was with him, looked at him, thought of him, there was always that singularity of her respective immortality: You'll die. They all die.

No matter the benefits, immortality Brekka did not want. Though sometimes he wished he could bear it's terrible burden, he knew it was better hers. She was strong, she could bare it; Brekka knew he would have long ago gone mad.

Of course there was the lighter end of the spectrum. Some species lived only a matter of hours or days. The Coxx, Bry's people, lived under thirty years. Just as Brekka sat considering Terr'Essh's long life, did Bry, who had yet to top twelve, see Brekka as next to immortal? "Reality is where you are," someone had said once. It's all relative.

Brekka's pace had slowed as he thought. He wasn't feeling well at all. The burning was growing worse, a deep, acid feeling that had spread farther into his body cavity. It was now turning from burning to a aching pain, centered in his lungs and heart. He wondered if he was having some sort of allergic reaction. But he didn't think he had eaten anything he could have reacted to. He inhaled deeply, and the pain lapsed a little, but returned with more intensity than before. What was wrong with him? Surely this wasn't normal--

Lightheadedness came over Brekka, a wave the spread from the base of his scull. His knees nearly went out from under him, and he had to catch the wall to keep from falling. His chest suddenly, with vivid intencity. It throbbed with the beating of his heart, and he was beginning to feel unbearably hot. He could see the flush of his skin in the corridors pale light, the glistening of sweat below the cuffs of his uniform. He paused, peering at his hands, and drew a quick breath. He rubbed them together, feeling them slip against each other. They seemed swollen, the pressure with in his body pressing out.

He was only beginning to feel fear. It was cold in his stomach, pressing against the rest of his hot flesh. The fear was more sickening than the heat. Get to your quarters, he told himself, mouthing the words silently. His lips quavered around them. Lay down and you'll be all right. It's just stress. All you need is sleep.

Brekka exhaled slowly, closing his eyes and focusing. He straightened, but the pain coursed through him, up the interior of his sternum, so that he gasped, folding his arms across his torso. With this wave came the first fragments of delirium.

It was abrupt, so that his mind left for an instant. When it returned he was inebriated, a fog laced with misery and no longer in power of his body. He lost balance, rocking forward on the balls of his feet and catching himself again on the wall. Nausea filled him, illness, unbearable dizziness. And pain. Such pain. It enhanced to awful acutity the awareness of his every contour, every diminutive part.

He wanted to remain there, unmoving, because it was excruciating, but some silent piece of him pushed him forward, toward his quarters, hunched to ease the agony. He couldn't figure out why it was so hard to put one foot after the other, why his vision was so hazy and growing darker by degrees.

There something more than stress wrong with you, Thom. You need help. You need to get help.

He caught his foot on a raised edge of one of the hallway's support struts, staggered and fell to his hands and knees, nausea and dizziness taking over his form. Who in their right mind would have built raised edge in the middle of a corridor? Brekka mused. Damn Cardassian's again. Always the Cardassians.

Brekka remained on the ground for a time, aware that the longer he remained there, the less likely he was to get up at all. Collecting his will, he tried to rise. His limbs were weak and trembling beneath him, and he could only press them against the floor without headway. He was sinking closer and closer to the ground, his strength abandoning him. In a last ditch effort he moved to touch his communicator, and it was too much. He collapsed onto his chest, pinning his own hands.

There was a sharp pain, beginning in his chest, spreading to every nerve. It seared into his tissues, in his fingertips and face, and across his skin, throbbing so that he could knew the rhythm of his failing pulse. He groaned where he would have screamed given strength, a low, wretched sound, soaking into the corridor's silent walls, and willed himself to darkness.

CHAPTER15

Terr'Essh settled herself carefully into bed, pulling the blankets across her legs and torso, bringing them up under her chin, exhaling longly and wearily. What a mess, what a mess this is becoming, Terr'Essh.

She ached from the pressures of the past few days, and the bed felt good, after the initial settling of her spine. It had irked her to hear Denaaro complain about the mattresses, especially since these were so comfortable. She would have liked to see the sniveling Bennharrae official sleep one night on a bed in the cold, damp caves of the Prrzhevaal's labyrinth. After that he would not complain again. At the moment she was not missing those awful beds, stuffed with grass that did nothing to shield against the cold of the rock they lay on. She was, however, missing another body to share it with.

Her husband had fretted so when she left, warning her against every conceivable difficulty. "I'll be fine, love," she had told him three times before making it off the planet, and even then he was consumed with worry. He was such a dear, she was glad she had given in. At the time she had met she trusted men less than anyone, and had sworn herself away from them for the rest of her natural life. She had felt no immediate desire to become involved with him, but had unexpectedly caught herself falling for his charms. Perhaps it was because they were not intentional charms, simply the way he was. He was a kind, charismatic person, and no matter how she fought it she could not help falling in love with him. She cursed herself for it, avoided him to ridiculous extents, but in the end she came to the realization that she really could not live without him. So she had done the only thing she could: she'd married him. They'd been happy ever since.

Happy. Such an ill placed word. She barely knew what it meant anymore. It had become a distant shadow in her mind, like how it felt to be a child, playing make-believe on the beaches of P'Lebber. Even

childhood was more vivid to her than happiness. To remember that time, all she had to do was close her eyes, where recalling happiness took deep mediation. If she closed her eyes she could feel the cold, wet sand beneath her feet as she stood on the edge of the sea, peering across the endless, blue water. The sun was setting, a fireball sizzling out in the ocean, though it did not boil the cool, saltless water that washed over her feet. The humid breeze was warm, and it blew hair into her face. She brushed it away. It would be dark very soon, she thought. The stars would come out. She wished they could stay a little longer. She couldn't see the stars in the city, except for the bright one, her planet's sister world, close in it's approach to P'Lebber. Maybe if she was quiet and stayed still, her father would forget. But his voice trailed the wish, calling her name.

Terr'Essh remained a second more, then turned to run to him. He was a handsome man, built more heavily than most of the dainty boned P'Lebberrian's were. He knelt down and she caught her in his arms, lifting her onto his hip.

"Can we stay a little longer?" she asked plaintively, burrowing her face against his shoulder. "Please, Father. I want to see the stars."

"I am sorry, Kel. If we stay much longer it will be dark, and we won't be able to find our way back."

Terr'Essh was not like her brothers. When they did not get what they wanted they begged and whined. Terr'Essh only became silent. She wrapped her arms about her father's neck, motionless in his arms.

Oddly, her father reacted more easily to this than her brother's ranting. Terr'Essh knew this. He peered down at the little girl in his arms, struggling with his better judgment. "Your mother will be worried," he said reluctantly. "But in an hour or two the moons will come out. They are full tonight, I think. We will be able to find our way home by then, I think."

Terr'Essh smiled. She hugged him tighter, kissing him on the cheek. "Thank you, Father."

"Yes, then defend me when we get home. Your mother will have a fit."

"I will, Father."...I love you. Terr'Essh closed her eyes, fighting back the pain.

She could have told him that then. There were a thousand other times as well, but she hadn't. Looking back, it seemed she had hardly told them at all. She had loved them with everything she was, but she never told them. After all, they would always be there, wouldn't they? She could always tell them tomorrow, I love you, Father. I love you more than I can bear...

Oh Heavens, why did she even bother with this? Why did she not want simply to fall asleep and never wake up, just as her father and mother and brothers had? The blackness would be so much easier to face. There would be no unending pain there. Why didn't she want it

to end? She should. She should want to drain her life, as she had wanted to hundreds of times before. Yet she didn't. Some latent instinct for survival, left over from a time when her kind fought off four-legged predators with clubs so that they might see another sunrise, perhaps. Even after so long, much of herself remained a mystery to Terr'Essh.

She fell into silence of thought for a moment, her mind blanking with wear. She could pull no more consideration together, staring at the stars through the veiwport above her bed, listening to the sound of her own heart beating rhythmically in her chest. The sound of waves, distant in her mind, came forward again to haunt her. She could almost feel the moist air.

An old companion had asked her once what she desired from life. What were her dreams, her hopes? She had answered him, but not with the words in her heart. Those, she knew, he did not want to hear. What do I desire? I desire peace, only that until I die. And what do I dream? My friend, I dream no more. I have no dreams for the future, no more hopes, no more wishes. I know enough that wishful thinking does nothing but tear you down. I do not wish, only let life happen as it wills. It is the only thing I can do.

And what do I dream about? Terr'Essh mused presently, exhaling heavily and closing her eyes a final time. Old memories. Old nightmares. For me there is nothing else.

There was something about Bennharrae literature that was inextricably tedious. When Bashir passed out on the couch from exhaustion, Dax set herself to reading one of the translated pieces, but after a time could not even force her way through it. She sat in silence for a time, then looked in on Catsby, but she too was asleep in air-conditioned comfort of her room. Dax finally elected for a shower, wrapped herself in a light, white robe and moved out onto the deck.

The air was cool on her damp skin, moving down the back of her robe, where her spine was the most wet. It felt nice after the hot day; the heat remaining was only pleasant. The night creatures were beginning to stir, the tiny dwellers of the tree above the balcony creaking into the dusk. Somewhere in the distance, deep within the forest, birds called to each other. Dax settled into one of the chairs, wrapping her hands across the wooden arms.

(reflections)She started when she noticed him. Vrenna had approached

silently and stood in the door, peering complacently across Syybase, down into the Caabo market and farther to the horizon. When he did notice Dax's attention he smiled, and moved to take the chair beside her.

"The doctor seemed very tired," Vrenna said easily, straightening his back against the chair. "It is good to see him sleeping."

"He's been out for three hours." Dax smiled. "Maybe his mood will be better when he wakes up. Did your meeting go well?"

"Meeting? Meeting, yes. It seems that my life is nothing but meetings. I contribute nothing, yet Korollemm insists I be always at his side. He deems me his heir, I think sometimes." He chuckled, then said in a hiss, "It is ludicrous."

"What happened?" Dax asked, casually enough that Vrenna could choose to ignore it if he wished.

"Nothing of real consequence. There was need to discuss difficulties our government is having with the populous. There is disquiet stirring among us; the people are becoming more unsettled. I tell him, 'The Government is too oppressive. You cannot keep us as beasts in a cage. Loosen your grasp and problems will be alleviated.' But he does not listen to me, and it is not as if he should. I am only his advisor, after all." He smiled mirthlessly. "It is not as if it were my job."

"How did you come to be his advisor?""He needed one," Vrenna smirked. He paused long enough that

Dax wondered if he was going to elaborate. "When he was considering his subordinates for the position I came to him, and promised that I could give new views, unthought of by any other who requested to be in his service; revolutionary ideas that would increase his power three-fold. It was the power bit that gave me the job. Korollemm does well as a politician. It is a prerequisite to the position: the man is intoxicated by power."

"Did you fulfill you promise?""Unfortunately, yes.""It wasn't your intention?" Vrenna snorted. "A man such as Korollemm does not need more

power than is already in his hands. My promise was only to get me on the inside, so that I would have a hand to help these people. It was only by necessity that I gave Korollemm what he wanted."

Dax peered at Vrenna, but he didn't notice, watching the sun catch on the eastern clouds. "You're not like the others," she said.

Vrenna shifted his gaze to her, inclining his head. "How do you mean?" He seemed vaguely concerned, an edge on his voice.

"Oh, it's nothing, really," she assured him. "You're kind, you're considerate. If anything, that's enough."

Vrenna's eyes lingered on her a moment longer, then he grinned. "You think us all monsters, Miss Dax?"

Dax blanked at this, then stammered, "No, I...I didn't mean that you were. I just meant that--"

"But that is just it, Miss Dax. We are." He chuckled lightly, looking at his hands against his thighs, palms up. "We are demons.

That is all we will ever be." "No. No, that's not true. Not all of you. Not you. If it was true you wouldn't have saved that man from the market."

Vrenna's brow tightened almost imperceptibly. He was still staring at his palms.

"Why did you?" Dax asked.The question seemed to surprise him. He now moved to look at

her, perplexion in his face. "Why? Why should I not have?"The query, entirely genuine, wiped any logical reason from her

mind. She dropped her eyes. She heard Vrenna chuckle again."Nerriss asked if we were tassccaul, because tassccaul were

Prrzhevaal sympathizers," Dax said. "The only explanation I've found for why she would have thought that is that the tassccaul are dark haired, like Mrrshaal and us." She paused, then added, "Are you?"

"Tassccaul?" Vrenna grinned as if the mention were a joke. "No, not at all. Though your connection was accurate. No, but I am still very firmly tangled within them."

"Them?""The Prrzhevaal. Which is something I pray will never rise to

public knowledge. I cannot explain to you my fate should Korollemm discover that connection." His brow tightened again, more fully. "Bennharrae are infinitly imaginative in their torture. And seeing I am so close to Korollemm, and betrayed him..." he trailed off, pressing his lips.

"How is Bry?" she asked, moving from the obviously uncomfortable subject. "Did he make it out safely."

"Oh yes." Vrenna seemed to forget his troubling reflections, nodding to himself. "I had not thought to tell you. I was told to offer you gratitude again for saving him. He might not have survived without you."

"I wonder about that. Nerriss would have gotten him out, even without us. I've been thinking about that, Vrenna. You're alway telling us that the Bennharrae hate outsiders, that your people look at us with disgust, yet when that man fell no one moved to kill him. Not one. They even sought help for him. That doesn't make sence to me."

Vrenna chuckled. "No. I suppose it would not. The reason we hated you, Miss Dax, is because we are taught to hate. We are taught that our fathers hated, and their fathers before them, and that it is our place, too, to hate. We are not by nature spiteful beings. Hostile, reckless, yes, but not spiteful. No creature is born hating, and we see this. We have known it a long, long time, when we saw that our feelings were without cause. The outside world willed us no harm. It opened it's arms to us, to give us gifts and hospitality. And then came the Prrzhevaal. They are the rebellion that we cannot muster within our own ranks, for there is no one who will risk themselves by stepping up, for fear that no one will fall behind them. It is only recently that

any one of us would have done what we did for Bry. The Prrzhevaal accomplish the things we only dream of, and we admire that. And ever do we dream..." the corners of his mouth pulled wearily. "It is all there is left to do."

"It seems like a miserable life," Dax said sympathetically. "Not when you have known nothing else. Nothing else." He

seemed momentarily lost in the sunset again, his brow furrowing and relaxing intermitantly. "In the Bennharrae world Heaven runs black with blood." He said distantly, and, almost as an afterthought, added, "Did you know that the Bennharrae have no God, Jadzia? No Prince of Darkness, either. Never have, in all our history. Only Heaven and Hell."

"And who goes where?" Dax asked dryly."We go where we like. Actually, when you get down to the finite

details, there's not that much differnce between them. What of you, Jadzia?" He glanced at her. "Do you belive in God, or whatever your culture dictates."

"If you want an honest answer, I'm not sure. I believe there's something, I've seen too much in my past seven lives to deny that there's not something out there. Whether I'd call it God or not," she shrugged, "I really can't say."

Vrenna smiled. "Wise words, Miss Dax. Perhaps these people would prosper better if they had something to believe in."

Dax listened to him, watching his detatchement. What was it about hism that perplexed her so? He seemed so much like a round peg in a square hole, sometimes.

"What is is, Miss Dax?" he asked without looking at her. "What have I done that fascinates you now?"

Dax did not speak for a moment, trying again to decide for herself. "I'm not quite sure. The same thing agian, I suppose. Listening to you talk, half the time you act as if you're one of them, and the rest..." She shook her head.

"The all acts alien, Jadzia," he said distantly. "And the alien tries to become Bennharrae. But it is hard to faximilate malevolence like that. Not evil. Just malevolence."

Dax peered at him silently. His words were cryptic, though clean cut enough for her to understand the meaning. "Nerriss said that somtimes she forgets--" she began.

"Forgets that I am not Bennharrae." Vrenna smiled. "You know, that is just it. Sometimes I forget myself. I have even began to think like them. It used to bother me, and I would sit alone in my room at night, and speak to myself using as many contractions as I could, just to make sure I could do it. And still, every once in a while I foul up, but can'ts and aren'ts don not mean a thing to a Bennharrae. They do not translate in the language. Korollemm only corrects my grammar. Then one day he will figure it out...but we will be gone by then, will we

not? Back up there..." He peered, almost whistfully, into the fading sky. And then he turned to her, reaching out unexpectedly, taking her hand. It startled Dax; she became ridged. His black eyes were intense and serious. "Do you trust me, Dax?"

Dax collected herself, wondering if it was some sort of trick. "Well, yes. I suppose."

"No 'I suppose,' Dax. Do you trust me?"Dax did not answer for a moment, nodding only reluctantly.

"Yes.""Good. I am glad to know it." He turned away from her,

extending a finger to indicate the hills of Syybase's eastern horizon, a wooded area silhouetted in the dusk. "There is a granite point there. Do you see it?"

"Yes.""Then do this for me, Dax. If anything happens, go to it. If you

go directly toward it you will encounter a bend of the Zhena Tellea. Follow the river north. Question me not. Just go. You will know the time." He pressed her hand. "For your own sake. Tell your doctor and the ensign of my instructions, as well. Make sure that they know." He released her, rising from his chair. He gave her another weighted glance before turning to go inside.

"Kel."Kel Terr'Essh started, jerked from her reflections on the cennera

tree outside the window, it's yellow blossoms in full bloom. She turned on her chair to look toward where Mrrshaal stood, his great hulk filling the doorway. He was dressed for business, she noted, taking in the neat black style of suit that he preferred. The man never took leisure. What a waste of life.

"Good day, Mrrshaal." she smiled in her playful way, peering at him from under her dark lashes. It was an action Mrrshaal was ill fitted to deal with, and as usual he shifted under it.

"Where is Mhaddoll?" he asked, avoiding direct eye contact as much as he could without seeming rude.

Terr'Essh inclined her head at him, then turned back to the window, reaching to pluck a cennera blossom, twirling it between her long fingers. "Oh, somewhere. I do not keep a constant track on him." She crushed the blossom, still twirling it, until it's yellow dye covered her thumb and forefinger, then threw it out the window. "You will have as much luck as I would in finding him. Set yourself to looking."

"You have not idea where he is, even what direction he went?" Mrrshaal inquired. "This is too big a house for me to track him down."

"I have not seen him this morning. He was off before I woke. But if I do see him I will tell him that you came." She said no more,

looking at her hands, tracing with one fingertip the faint lines that marked where her webbing had attached to her fingers, which Mhaddoll, her husband, had her remove.

Mrrshaal hovered still in the doorway. Terr'Essh paid him no more mind, until he murmured something to himself and walked away, at which point she glanced to see if he'd gone.

Terr'Essh sighed lightly, looking back out the window, into the court below her and across the huge expanse of buildings that was her family compound. She looked at the tile of the roofs, into the windows, then directed herself back to the cennera tree, with it's drab, ashy bark, dusty leaves and brilliant yellow blossoms.

There were several other trees about the compound, many that could have caught her fancy this day. But the single cennera interested her, bursting into color for a few days before returning to the dull mien of all the trees on Bennhar. There was no such thing as pure green here, mostly rock gray, tan and sad, gray-green foliage. And it never rained. Never since she had lived on Bennhar she could she recall it raining. It was hard to get used to, for it had rained no less than twice a day on P'Lebber, and always it was a heavy rain, with huge droplets that plunked against roof tops, upon your head and shoulders. Occasionally over the vast desert clouds would form, gray, thick and forboding, rumbling with some great displeasure. But they never cried to darken the sand. Terr'Essh missed rain. She missed seeing the ocean, too. It was strange, being here where there was nothing but land, where she had lived on a world that had been nothing but sea. Strange, even after thirty years.

The Arristan sun slanted in through the rooms many windows, placing it's foot prints on the floor. It still clung close to the horizon, the shadows it cast reaching far. Much of the compounds central court, which her window looked out upon, was still cold in it's northern shadow, and even held the dampness from the night's sparse dew, yet to be burned away. Terr'Essh had already spent half the morning in the court, absorbing the coolness and what moisture was offered to her parched skin. It was impossible for her to keep her porous flesh comfortable in Bennhar's harsh, dry climate. Bennhar wasn't all that much closer to the sun than P'Lebber, but it made all the difference.

The morning had been quiet so far. For that she had been fortunate. Mhaddoll had come in exhauted the night before and fallen asleep imediatly. He had been gone before she awoke. With no demands to be met, Terr'Essh had taken a long bath and put on a white, gausy dress that would be comfortable when the summer's stiffling, dry heat found it's full strength, When she went to wake her children the oldest, Mherres, was up and had already found his way down to breakfast. Her daughter, Lhennera, still dosed. She took a moment to watch her peaceful daughter, then gathered her into her arms and carried her out to dress. She was only moderatly cranky,

which pleased Terr'Essh. Taking it as a good sign, Terr'Esh attempted to hold her hand as they started down to breakfast. Lhennera would have no part of it. She shook her mother off and raced ahead, calling for her fahter and brother. Terr'Essh had become used to such reactions, but this time it disheatend her more than usual. She lost her appetite and turned back to her room, settling at the window to look at the tree. She must have dozed behind her open eyes, for she did not notice when her children returned. They did not mind their mothers company when she was quiet and unobtrusive, so they settled in the room she occupied, setting up a game of rhessre. The game delighted Lhennera, but Mherres soon bored. He stood abruptly and left, before Terr'Essh had even noticed his presence.

Terr'Essh finally emerged from her stupur, glancing about to see her daugher in solo play. SHe wondered why the girl had chosen to settle near her, after rejecting her before. But Terr'Essh didn't care, it made her happy. Not wishing to dirve the girl away, she watched her in silence as she rearranged the rhessre sticks as the game dictated. It was a complex game, and a child of her age should not have been able to accomplish it, but she was such a smart girl. Very pretty, too. Terr'Essh didn't know if motherhood biased her on the subject or not, but she doubted it. Somehow the blending of P'Lebberrian and Bennharrae genes had produced beautiful hybrids. Mherres was an attractive child, as well. They were lighter and purer in skin tone than full-blood Bennharrae, and though they had no trace of Terr'Essh's patch on their foreheads they had the spots running down their spines. They had also been softened by Terr'Essh's fine build. But nothing in their eyes reflected their mother. They were as black as their father's, a trait the species had adapted to protect the retina from the suns blinding rays. For this Terr'Essh was glad. She, with her white eyes, could not go out in the full light of day. She did not wish that restriction on her children.

And of their mother's personality they carried nothing. They held within their small frames the first sparks of Bennharrae brutality. When they were babies Terr'Essh had dreamed of them overcoming their evil's inclinations, but it was easier to yield to it's ways than fight. Mherres especially. Lhennera had at least had some glimmering of kindness. Mherres was an eternally calculating child, cold and wickedly brilliant. He would become his father. Terr'Essh had known this for some time.

Though she was ashamed to admit it, Lhennera was her favorite. Not only becuase she was tolerant of her poor mother, except when she was tired and irratable. Terr'Essh often thought Mhaddoll favored her as well, though she dared not ask him about it. Perhaps becuase she was the baby, and such a pretty child. Once grown, she would be more beautiful even than her mother, Mhaddoll had attested. It was the closest he came to praising Terr'Essh, and it was unintentional.

Her beauty was to him a commodity to be exploited when nessisary. It was only love of his daughter that kept him from using her to the same ends, and Terr'Essh worried that his adoration would not last. Lhennera was not very old yet, and still like a doll to him, something to be pampered and displayed in her pretty dresses. How would he look upon her when she was older, and demanding, and did not fall onto his lap with such abandon? And how long before she was nothing other than an object to advance himself. Already he spoke at dinnertimes about her marrying. Lherraena was too young to understand what it meant, and her father's tone was still light and playful. Yet Terr'Essh understood, and had to stare into her plate so that she did not glare with loathing upon her husband, so that he did not become angry at her gaze and strike her later, behind closed doors. The fates of councilmen's daughters were known well enough, espescially those as pretty as Lhennera. She would be betrothed young. Mhaddoll must be schemeing already, for him to have brought it up, Terr'Essh had thought, picking and choosing from men in his aquiantence now, who would be too old for Lhennera when she came of age. Or better, the sons of officials higher than himself, arrogant, favored brats who would not love her, who would use Lhennera as Mhaddoll used Terr'Essh. A marriage to heighten Mhaddoll's wealth and power. Terr'Essh hated to think of her daughter facing such a future, but there was nothing she could do. Mhaddoll's responce to her pleading would be at best cold indifference.

Terr'Essh cast a glance at the unknowing child, taking apart her game, preparing to play it again. Poor little fool. If only there was hope for you. But maybe your father will not do such a thing, because he loves you, or at least choose your husband with prudence.

For Terr'Essh there had never been any hope. If only she had married that Trav'Dren fellow when she had the chance. Had she married into a family before her's had died, she would not have lost her name, and would not have had to marry Mhaddoll. But then you would not be here, would you, my pretty little fool? But maybe that would have been better for you. Your life may be hard, little one. I hope only that you can survive it.

Sometimes, in bare flickers, Terr'Essh saw her own mother in the girl. Lhennera resembled her grandmother more than her mother, it seemed. Terr'Essh had taken most of her features from her father. You should have known your grnadmother, little one. She was much nicer than Mhaddoll's mother. You would have liked her very much, and I think she would have loved you, even if you are half Bennharrae. She would have made jewelry for you. She made beautiful jewelry, out of shells and coral. And she could have made you dresses, too. Good, simple things, not the frilly dresses that Mhaddoll buys you.

And your grandfather. He would have taken you out on the beaches, shown you the things that live in the tide pools, and helped

you find treasures on the shore. And if you only had gills, he would show you the underwater places. Oh, they are the most beautiful places on all the world, Lhennera. All the fish, the anemones, the coral reefs, sunlight through the water... You should know the shore at least. I would take you, but there are no oceans like that on this world. There is not even rain.

How she missed the oceans. It had become a pulling need within her, like she was dying of thirst. If only she could touch the water for a moment, feel it about her feet. No. She shook her head firmly. It did her no good to think about it. She would only make herself ill with want. She could not return to the world of her birth. Too many memories were sore in her heart. It would only chafe them to return. Even is she dared it, what end would it accomplish? No one to want her there, save maybe the ghosts of her loved ones. That company she did not wish to stir from whatever meager peace it had achieved. She could give them at least that.

The circumstances of her families death had always troubled her. House burned to cinders, all of them dead. All but her. Unlikly it seemed to her now, though she couldn't think why. She considered it perhaps becasue she had thought of her parents. She had not thought of them for years, she realized. This brought great sadness to her heart. Did I almost forget you? No, I could not. You were too dear to me. Why were you taken, all but me? Why was I left to suffer in exile? I did nothing that I know of, but Heaven must be punishing me for some greivace error. But such a price? No. Too unlikely. It seems so odd...

"Kel, where is my brother?"Terr'Essh started, whirling tightly to where Mhaddoll stood in the

doorway. He had the same stance Mrrshaal had, hands gripping either side of the frame, the same dark hair that ran in their species. But his eyes were green, a strange, grey-green color where anything other than blue was rare. He was a much slighter man than Mrrshaal, but still powerful in build. As always he served to push her down by his very presence, a presence that had over the years conditioned Terr'Essh to serve his every want, to submit in every way.

Terr'Essh dropped her eyes, pushing the thoughts back, stooping to pick up Lhennera, though the little girl whined and pushed her arms away. "He came looking for you," she said quietly.

"You did not tell him where I was?""I did not know. You do not tell me."She heard Mhaddoll growl in annoyance. He stepped into the

room, advancing to look about it, as if he doubted Terr'Essh claim agianst Mrrshaal's presence. He ruffled Lhennera's hair as he passed, but she was deep in concentration with her game and did not look up.

Terr'Essh watched him with surrepticious glances. He seemed to be in a foul enough mood that even her diminutive gaze could set him

off. He had not struck her in a while. She did not wish to break that streak.

If only she had thought before giving in to him. I wonder if being nameless and alone would have been much worst than marrying the Bennharrae Mhaddoll.

She counted herself a fool for marrying Mhaddoll. She could console herself, had there been no clue to his true nature. But the truth was there had been too many, so that even idiots could have seen. Always about the same thing, how he wanted her, how he would take no answer but yes. Every time she saw him, every time they spoke. The pleading, then the anger when she did not comply. "Marry me, Kel." Over and over. "Why will you not marry me?"

She always looked away from him when he asked her this. She would turn and look into the sky, or the wall, or the ground if nothing else was available. "I cannot," she said ernestly. "My family would not sanction it." And I do not want to marry you, Mhaddoll. What would you do, if you knew that I only used you.

He became frustrated, acted despairing. "To Hell with your family. What does it matter if they sanction it or not?"

"They would never speak to me again, if I married a Bennharrae. I meant you no offence, Mhaddoll, but it is just the way it is and I cannot change it. I love them too much to do that. I am sorry. You must understand, surely. You would not sacrifice such a love of your own for me."

Anger. Jealousy. Hatered. And again, the questions. Why, why, why, until she became weary of it, and could take no more. No matter what gifts he gave her, they were not worth his presistnet abuse. But by then it had been too late. Her beloved were gone, and she was left with nothing.

It was proper custom to burn the dead, in order to release their spirits to Heaven. But it was hard, when one died of fire. There were important cerimonies as well, rituals to purify the soul, to free the dead from any obligations they felt they owed to those still living, so that they were not bound to the earth. Without purification, they could not rise, and wandered the world in torment.

There was no hope, but the preists had done what they could, a last offering to a nameless girl who no longer held a place among them. They felt pity for her, but not enough that they could remember her after this one act to ease their conscience. They made beautiful wooden busks for each of her loved, and set them in the funeral chamber. But none would come to morn them, not even the close friends of her clan, or those that had married out of it. Not even her sister, oldest only over Terr'Essh. It was bad luck, to approach the cerimonies of those whose souls could not be clensed, worse yet when it had been an entire family. No one wanted to bring such ill fortune upon their own lines. Terr'Essh, too, was bad luck. Though she had

fallen, weeping, at her sisters feet, her sister would not even look at her. She turned as if Terr'Essh did not even exist, dead with her parents and brothers, and walked away. For in P'Lebberrian society, without a clan, without a name you did not exist.

No one came to call on the dead, except those who were near to dead themselves. Terr'Essh alone walked between the rows of her family, peering into their sculpured faces until she found her father, where she faultered and fell across it, unable to staunch her sorrow.

In time the sobs died away, but the tears did not. They fell onto her fathers face, soaking into the unfinished, spongy wood. It was dry, and would burn fast. She rose enough to peer at his face, at the dark lines her tears had made on his mouth and down the side of his face. He throat tightened, her lips quivered, but she was silent. She laid her face again against her fathers.

She became vaugly aware of another's presence in the room. Not by the sound of his steps, but some highed sence. It confused her. Who would be here? Not even priests would be in the chamber until she had gone, fearing that her presence would bring ghosts to harm them. She turned her head slightly, finding Mhaddoll in the doorway. He was not looking at her, eyes averted. He seemed regretful, staring at his hands. She watched him, sniffing heavily. Tears still rolled hot down her face, now finding their way over he jaw and down her neck. She made no attempt to wipe them away.

He was reluctant to look at her, forcing his eyes up only by great will. A Bennharrae did not know how to deal with tears. Some adaptation of their black, sun- tempered eyes and hard emotions, Bennharrae could not cry. She had wept before, when she was angry enough that nothing else would appease her. Her strange tears had made him uncomfortable, but her temper had somehow dampened the effect. Sorrow he could not handle. She saw how hard it was for him to remain there; he wanted to run. Why was he putting up so much will for her?

Terr'Essh tried to collect herself, rising from her father's busk. She wiped the tears from her cheek and chin, and smoothed her dress. She felt slightly embarrased that he had seen her wailing like that. "Mhaddoll," she said respectfully. Her voise was unstable, and she closed her mouth quickly, pressing a hand to her lips.

Mhaddoll had dropped his eyes, but looked up at her again. Such a peculiar expression he wore. Was that how Bennharrae looked when they felt sorrow?

"I am so sorry for you, Kel. I cannot say how sorry..." he broke off, dropping his gaze again. It was hard for him to look at her. His attempt was valient.

"For what need you feel sorry? It was no one's fault.""I know. I hoped it would comfort you."Comfort me? Nothing can comfort me now, save eternal sleep.

She turned away from him, back to her father. The carving was so perfect. He seemed so peaceful. It seemed he might wake at any moment, and smile. Why do you look so sad, Kel? You know how I hate to see you sad.

Mhaddoll was struggling. He shifted, rubbing the palms of his hands together. "If there is anything I can do..."

"What could you do, Mhaddoll? I am lost now," she said tonelessly. Perhaps I should join them, she mused numbly, guiding a finger across her father's closed eyes. Perhaps I was meant to die with them. But it would not be right, for me to know a proper death. If I were to die, it must be by fire. I must wander the world just as they do. She shied from the thought, but what else was there to do?

"You must know, Kel, there is alway a place for you in my line," his tone seemed wounded, that she had not know this.

His words were so unexpected that Terr'Essh froze utterly. She could not move for a time, and when it passed it was still a great effort to turn and face him. Had she heard him right? You would have me still, Mhaddoll, after I refused you so many times? You would take a girl who has no name, no heritage? Oh, but why should you not? You wanted to marry me always, because you loved me, and my name means nothing among the Bennharrae!

A sob burst from Terr'Essh's throat, and she ran to him, throwing herself into his open arms. He embraced her to him, and she borrowed her face in his shoulder, just as she always had her father. "Yes, Mhaddoll. A place. I will. I will stay with you forever, if you will only care for me. I have no place here, nothing to... Oh, I am lucky that you are here, Mhaddoll, and so kind. No one else would have me, Mhaddoll. I am lucky. So lucky."

So cursed, she mused to herself in the present, watching the Bennharrae's eyes on her. If only she had waited, let her head clear, she would have remembered how easily he became angry, and the violence in his eyes. But she had gone with him quickly, as he begged her to with kissed and promises, had not remained to see the busks burned, eager to put the horrors behind her. They had married that night, and she came to her sences too late. Bennharrae wed for life. And to break that law meant death. And so she was condemed, for all her breathing moments, to the wrath of Mhaddoll.

It was not so much the physical abuse that bothered Terr'Essh. Bruises mended, and the pain would fade. It was the other tortures that she could not bear. Blows to her esteem, pushining her into tender subjects, humiliating her in front of others, teaching her own children that she was worthless, that she was not deserving of their love. And the petty things, little nusances he set up for her, like ignoring her when she needed desperatly to be heard. He had always loved tormenting her, as soon as she was firmly in his clutches, unable to do anything but endure. It gave him such peasure, hurting her. She

wondered how far he could go with it. I know him, he could do anything. He was capable of killing my family, she reflected ruefully. And he would have chosen that they die by burning, for it would be something I could not forget, thinking always of their lost spirits...

A coldness passed through her. Her jaw became slack, but Mhaddoll did not see it. He had turned to seek Mrrshaal elsewhere, and was headed out the door.

"You were the one," she said abruptly, almost before the thought had settled in her mind.

Mhaddoll stopped, turning to scowl back at her. "What are you talking about?"

Terr'Essh did not speak for a moment, unable to force the words. "It was you." She could hardly belive herself. What was she saying? It was preposterous. She swallowed with diffifulty. "You were the one who killed my family," she whispered.

Mhaddoll chuckled lightly. "Whyever would I want to do a thing like that?"

"Because... because you wished to possess me. There was no other way you could. I would not have become a Bennharrae wife unless I had no where else to go."

Mhaddoll inclined his head, still grinning in his humorless fashion. "You must think yourself worth much to believe I would go to such trouble."

Terr'Essh flinched. Never before had he directly set to cut her. So long as he had not she could pretended that he cared. She averted her eyes. "I am worth much," she said quietly.

Mhaddoll laughed so roughly that Terr'Essh could not help but look up. He stood, arms folded across his broad chest, glaring at her with those awful black eyes. He broke ground unexpectedly, walking toward her with a slow, swaggering step. Terr'Essh tensed, unsure of what he was going to do.

He paused directly before her, staring into her eyes. She could not stand to look at them, but dared not look away. She was so focused on him that she started when he touched her cheek with a finger. He pulled it along the contour of her jaw, looking at her face appraisingly. After a time he stepped back, his lips curved in a disturbing countenance.

"Let me tell you something, little girl: you are worth nothing to me. Besides looking pretty on my arm and being my concubine you have no use. Do not think for a moment you are beyond being replaced. Dare you once to defy or displease me and I will find a place for you where you will wish you were dead as your family is. Never forget that your only purpose is to serve me. That is all you are good for."

Terr'Essh stared at him in dolor, trying with all her power to hold back her tears. If they broke he would scorn her for her P'Lebberrian

weakness, her thin blood. "Just tell me, Mhaddoll," she pleaded in a voice she could not keep from wavering. "Please. I know that you did it, for whatever reason. If not to have me, then simply to kill, to have blood. Please, just admit it. Just say that you did. It is all I ask."

Mhaddoll was scowling at her deeply, the way he did when he was considering which way to beat her, how to punish her for standing against him. But slowly the expression softened, until it had changed completely to his nefarious smile, one that made Terr'Essh ill to look upon.

"If you are not a clever little girl, Kel." The sarcasm in his voice was stiflingly. "I thought it would take you another thirty years to figure it all out. To think that you would even begin to believe that the death of your entire clan was mere coincidence. Well, I cannot say that I chose you for your brains, my pretty one."

Terr'Essh stood staring at him starkly, disbelieving. Surely she had suspected it, but could not have conceived that it was true. "But...but how? How could you have.... My...my people would have--"

Mhaddoll laughed suddenly. "How?" he roared. "Your people sanctioned it, my pretty. They practically invited me."

Terr'Essh's mouth fell open. She shook her head frantically, "No!"

"You asked, my pretty." Mhaddoll said roughly. "I give you only what you wish. Your people are weaker than any we have conquered in millennia. I spread small wealth among your officials and they allowed me to wipe out over a hundred people on a whim, all because you were pretty and caught my eye. Not that I would not have killed them anyway, but it is that your people betrayed you. Not even we Bennharrae would do such a thing. We have honor. You and your thin blooded race have none. We at least acknowledge our evil. You hide from yours, with your lies. And allow me to inform you, little girl, that I have never had such joy in my life as in killing your kindred. I slayed your father with my own hand, if I recall. And I killed them not so much because I wished to have you, but that having you was enough of an excuse to slay P'Lebberrians. Our galaxy needs none like you. And soon we will kill all of your people, and there will be nothing left of you but blood to color your seas, and flesh to feed the fish. And I shall see that you are there to witness it all, my pretty. You shall see them all go, one by one. The little children, and the babies which I will feed live to the sharks. I shall see that you witness it all, and I will drink up your misery, because it comes so easily from you," his voice had diminished to a mere purr, as he took her ridged hand and kissed it softly. "That is what attracted me most to you, girl. I saw that there was so much I could do to ruin you. Our years together have given me more pleasure that a thousand spent with any Bennharrae woman. For this and this alone I should thank you, my pretty."

Terr'Essh stared at him, stricken, unable to breathe. A coldness

began to fill her body, a numbness spreading in her brain. She no longer acknowledged the emotions that slid through her form, or noted as the pure loathing of him filled her face, hatred so deep she could not feel it. She saw only the smile dissolving from Mhaddoll's face, that for the first time she had unsettled him. He cleared his throat uneasily, bravado taking the place of his dominion. "I must seek Mrrshaal," he said hastily. "There is business we must attend to." He turned swiftly, heading for the door.

Terr'Essh watched him go, anger welling up inside her. But anger wasn't the word for this emotion. There was no word for this emotion, none that she knew. He admitted it! The bastard admitted it!

Terr'Essh didn't realize that her hand moved toward the shelf behind her, to touch the small metal sculpture she knew was placed there, one shaped like the mountain peak. Her fingers moved across it's jagged edges, feeling the sharp points as they pressed into her skin. Her palm slid to the base, gripping it with a strangling pressure. She did not feel the edges biting into her fragile flesh, or the tickle of blood that ran down her hand, began to drip onto the shelf top. She brought it to her silently, holding it near her thigh, beginning to walk toward Mhaddoll's retreating back, past Lhennera, who did not notice her mother.

You will spill no more of our blood, my love. Her own voice was toneless inside her head as she strode at a measured pace to him, bringing the sculpture into both hands. No more blood of our children will ever stain the soil because of you. No more blood of my kindred, no flesh to feed the fish. I shall not see it. I shall not let it be. No more of our lives, my love... she leveled the sculpture with the center of his back. Only a few drops of black blood to color the earth, and it shall be the end...

With all the force pent inside her Terr'Essh plunged the sculpture into Mhaddoll's back. It sunk into his spine, breaking between vertebrae with the hollow crunch of destroyed cartilage. She pushed it far into his body, forcing it in even when it would move no further. The big man grunted, more from surprise than pain, his legs giving out beneath him. He collapsed to the ground, bones striking with a thud against the stone. Already blood spread to color his back, thick, dark stuff that gushed from around the sculpture so heavily that the fabric of his suit could not absorb it, and it glistened like oil.

Distantly Terr'Essh heard screaming, not realizing that it was her own, rage pouring out as copioiusly as her husbands dark life blood. The only thing in her world was the form of Mhaddoll. Her blow had not killed him. She watched as the Bennharrae pushed himself up with the strength of his arms, shifting the weight of his useless lower half so that he could roll to look up at her. As he turned she could see the point of the sculpture sticking out of his chest, blood covering the front

of his suit as well. And where he had collapsed forward the blood had pooled, reaching into the particles of the rock.

Her Bennharrae husband stared at her with mute rage, his face contorted more horribly with the expression than she had ever seen it. She had endured his fits of temper under that terrifying vice, but never had the emotion been so pure. But this time it did not frighten her, only allowed her own hatred to root more deeply. Damning his under her breath she reached backwards to take a chair from a nearby table. But as she touched the wooden back her eyes met his, and she stopped. As their gazes locked t she saw a thing never before in him. It was not pain, and even more strangely it was not even spite as life drained out with his blood. The closest thing she could lock it to was a single silent, sad accusation: how could you have done this? And it was not an angry question of how dare you, but an honest one. How could you have brought me down, you who are my wife... He had trusted her as he had trusted no other, enough to turn his back on her, to fall asleep with her in his bed and know he would awake once more. He had trusted no one in his life but her, who he had loved all that he could with his cold soul, whether he would acknowledge it or not. Looking into those eyes Terr'Essh could almost feel guilt that she had ended him, for she had taken that absolute trust and pierced his heart with it. From looking in those eyes she could almost bring herself to summon help for him, to save his life. But as her focus broadened the sadness faded, and she saw only his face. She saw in the lines of his features all the threats he had ever made, all the things he had done. And she could see now his mind set, as he glared at her with a strange relish. This is the last of it, my pretty little girl. You cannot begin to imagine how I will repay you for this treachery...

In that instant Terr'Essh forgot what might have been behind the front, all her compassion evaporating. She shrieked, whirling to pick up the chair, cursing as she raised it above her head. She caught only the barest glimpse of fear on Mhaddoll's face before she brought the chair down across his head, the sturdy frame contacting his skull with a sickening crack. Terr'Essh did not see that he fell back dead, fragments of skull shattering into his fragile brain, eyes fluttering a moment before fixing blindly on the ceiling. All she saw in her mind were the rows and rows of her dead kindred laid out for ceremonial burning, the tears streaming down her face, Mhaddoll's arms about her, his voice in her ear: "I will keep you, my child. You will have a place in my house. I will protect you. I will love you." She saw only her own young face in the mirror as she counted the bruises that stained her eyes and her cheeks, the welts that crossed her shoulders and back. She saw only Mhaddoll's fellow councilmen, their lecherous eyes roaming her form freely, praising him on what a pretty decoration his wife made, how she complimented him so well. She saw only how he had not offered her the slightest bit of gratitude for the hours of

labor she endured to bear him children, and how he brought those children up to hate her blood. She saw only Mhaddoll's failings as she brought the chair down again and again upon his body, screaming and cursing his lifeless corpse.

Terr'Essh could not know how long she did this; time had not relevance. It could have been but a few seconds, it could have been countless minutes until she forced herself to stop. Her breathing was hard, coming in ragged sobs. It was all she could do not to attack Mhaddoll's body further. Had she done every atrocity she could think of it would not have been enough. There could not be enough to sop up all the hate and rage that built inside her even now, staring at the beaten form, becoming blotchy from tissue damage as languid blood filled in the spaces. She shrieked at him in her native language, which, naturally, he had never taken the time to learn. She threw the chair at him, taking up any other nearby objects, hurling them as well. This continued until she ran out of everything within an arms grasp, then turning behind her to take up a glass vase. As she fastened her grip about its neck she noticed a figure standing nearby and halted. It took her a moment to realize who it was, the wide eyed little child that stood staring at Mhaddoll's body, her mouth making an O of shock. Terr'Essh's rage was suddenly overcome by fear. My Heaven, Lhennera! What have I done? What have I done to my dear, sweet child?

Terr'Essh stared at the girl, who continued to look at her father's form, his blood still spreading to cover the floor. An eternity seemed to pass that way, centuries unfolding until a small, weak whimper broke from the child's throat. The whimper became louder, growing until the little girl's voice broke completely into a scream so horrid that it made Terr'Essh's flesh freeze. She pressed her hands to her ears, shaking her head. "No! No, love! It's all right, Lhennera!" She broke ground, moving to comfort the girl, stretching her arms to her. But on sight of her mother coming for her Lhennera began screeching senseless words, lashing out with her tiny arms at Terr'Essh, trying to ward her away. When this did nothing and Terr'Essh drew close enough to touch, to try and pick her up, Lhennera whirled and tore out of the room, wailing into the corridor.

Terr'Essh tried to make herself follow, to catch her child, to comfort her though she knew the girl was terrified of her. But she could not move. Her feet would not budge. All she could do was stand there, glancing frantically about the room. Heaven, what have I done? She had not thought, not considered her actions. She had not thought of what would happen to her for murdering her husband. And not only her husband, but Mhaddoll, one of the highest men on the Bennharrae council. She had heard what happened to women that killed their spouses. And she was P'Lebberrian. There was no doubt in her head that the punishment would be greater based on that. There were

worse things than death. Oh Heaven, oh Heaven, oh Heaven! Oh my Heaven, Heaven, Heaven, Heaven, Heaven!!!!!

She had to get out. She had to run. But run where? There would be no way for her to get off this planet, and she knew nothing about the world itself. She had spent her marriage to Mhaddoll inside the compound, except when she was with him at public gatherings. But somehow she had to escape. She could not live to endure what they would do to her if she was caught. Oh, but wasn't that exactly it? She would live, and live, and live her natural life, and they would torture her, and rape her, and beat her. No, she would kill herself before they could take her. She would. And at the moment that seemed the only option...

Terr'Essh turned quickly, her eyes searching the room. Her gaze fell almost immediately on the vase she had taken up before seeing Lhennera. It had fallen on it's side and had rolled precariously close to the tables edge, but was in one piece. She dashed to it, taking it in her hands. Pursing her lips she aimed carefully at the tables edge, bringing the vase down so that it's base shattered off jaggedly, leaving many points sharp and edged.

Terr'Essh had never thought to die this young. Still, she was no more than a child. She began to weep, looking at the broken vase, saltless tears running hot down her cheeks. It took all her will to move the vase slowly to her left wrist, not bringing herself to do it. The vase hovered, an ugly, awful thing. She closed her eyes, turning her face away. She had to do it. She had to. She braced her self to shove it in and--

"No!"Terr'Essh started, screaming as someone gripped both her wrists

firmly, shaking the right violently until the vase slipped her grasp, shattering across the floor. The guard it was, come to get her, to take her! She thrashed, screeching unintelligibly, trying to jerk away. But she was forced to stop when the man gripped her face, making her look at him. It took her a moment to realize who he was, upon which she stopped further protest. "Mrrshaal?"

The big man was staring at her starkly, his mouth partly open. She had never seen such a stricken expression on him. He looked at her a moment more, then at Mhaddoll's corpse, then back at her, down her front. This prompted her to look, and a wave of nausea flooded over her. The entire front of her dress was covered in blood. It had spattered to cover every region of her body, and there were small bits of light colored matter whose origin she could not bare to guess at. She didn't dare to look at Mhaddoll behind her. The picture in her mind was almost too vivid as it was. Had she looked at the true thing she knew that she would vomit. Her dignity demanded she not do such a thing.

"Kel," Mrrshaal breathed. "What have you done?"

Terr'Essh could not answer, though her mouth worked soundlessly.

He gripped her chin, making her look at him again. "Why?" he demanded.

She did not speak for a moment, but when Mrrshaal demanded and answer she stammered, "Because...because he deserved it!"

"Deserved it?" She could see anger coming into his face."He did! He deserved it for what he did..." she trailed off, then

screamed, "He killed my family!!! He ended my line!!! He destroyed me..." her voice became quiet, "so I destroyed him."

Mrrshaal's anger drained away. He inhaled quickly, putting his knuckles to his lips. He glanced over his shoulder, out the door, then took her by the arm. "I have to get you out of here," he said flatly.

Terr'Essh flinched in surprise. "What?""Come on, before someone else sees that shrieking little girl and

comes to have a look.""But...but you are helping me?""Of course I am helping you. I have good mind of what they will

do to you if you are caught." He hesitated, the said, "And you are right. He did deserve it. Not ever a Bennharrae should have done the things he did."

Terr'Essh was surprised. "You knew?" she breathed."Yes. Everyone did. All except you, and that only because you

would not let yourself.""You...you should have told me. You should have made me

know.""To what end, Kel? You would have done exactly what you did

now. It would have gained you nothing but revenge, an the price of that was to great. No more, now. Come with me."

Terr'Essh followed Mrrshaal without another word as he lead her through the most remote of the compound's corridors. They went down, down farther than she though the great house went. The continued until the reached a wide, bare passageway where he instructed her to stay. He went to the end of the passage, where he spoke to the guard posted there, instructing him to leave. The guard argued with Mrrshaal that he would not, until Mrrshaal threatened, upon which he grudgingly retreated.

Mrrshaal called to her, and she came forward cautiously, stepping into a huge concrete bunker, space craft of every conceivable type lining the edges.

Mrrshaal walked to a small one, it's hull the light absorbing black that served to conceal it in space. It was oblong, the front sharper than the aft. He bent to open the hatch, turning quickly toward Terr'Essh, motioning her forward. "Hurry, Kel. You have not much time."

Terr'Essh did as he said, rushing to the craft. Once there

Mrrshaal gripped both her shoulders, peering at her. "You know how to fly one of these?"

"Yes. My fa...my father taught me. I know how.""Good, because there is no time for a lesson. Go now, girl. Get

as far as you can from this place. Never look back. Never return, for it will mean your death. Go!"

She stared at him for a moment then, almost as much to her surprise as his, embraced him. "Thank you, Mrrshaal. You are the only one of them that has a soul. If there is ever anything I can do to repay you--"

"Another day, perhaps. Now is hardly the time." He pushed her away from him, shoving her toward the ship. "Go now, girl! Go before it is too late!"

This Terr'Essh did. She scampered up into the small ship, wasting no time as she fell into the pilot's seat. She went through the pre-flight routine as the craft navigated out of the bunker on automatic. Once outside it took only a moment, a few keys on the control panel, and the craft lifted neatly off the ground. She took hold of the control stick, angling it so that the ship made a semicircle sweep over the compound. She glanced out the window at the place that had been her home, her hell for over thirty years. Barely a blink in her life, yet it could easily have been a thousand years. She noticed a sizable group of men trooping across the compounds outer court, into the main building. They were coming for her, she realized, on the word of her daughter. But Kel Terr'Essh had already gone.

It took only a few minutes for the craft to clear Bennhar's upper atmosphere, upon which Terr'Essh was granted a spectacular view of the sand colored little world with its speckling of small oceans, it's sparse and whispy clouds. To the side she caught sight of a prominent blue star. P'Lebber, Bennhar's close orbiting sister world, was approaching it's closest pass. Terr'Essh did not waste long looking at this blue star, turning her eyes instead out away from the Arristan sun, to the glimmering of lights in the distance.

What was she to do now? She had no place to go, no one to take care of her. There had always been someone, and now there was only her.

She was scared. She was terribly scared. Maybe she would do good to slit her wrists right now, with no one to stop her. How easy it would be. But that was just it: it was the easy way out. It was the cowards way. Heaven help you, Terr'Essh, you've never been a coward in you life. You would be a fool to start now.

But what was she to do, where was she to go? She had never left the spheres of the Arristan worlds. She knew nothing about the galaxy, she knew none of the worlds.

Then, slowly, she began to recall something that had happened a very long time ago, when she must have been little more than twenty,

a little girl. She and her eldest brother had wandered off into the jungles of one of the big islands and become lost.

"What do we do?" she had asked in a small voice.Her brother--who had seemed so wise to her at that age, whom

she had loved so deeply, whom she had kissed so casually on the cheek the last time she'd seen him, had not even told him she loved--had stared calmly up at their planet's single moon.

"Whenever you have a doubt of where you are, Kel, pick a point and go to it. It may lead you home, it may take you away, but if you keep following it eventually you will come to what you have been looking for."

One last bit of guidance from you, big brother? Terr'Essh mused, smiling ruefully to herself.

Closing her eyes, she jerked the control stick back, turning up the nose sharply, then left, quickly right and leveled it out. When she opened her eyes again the ships screen was filled with nothing but stars. Running a quick check, she noted that she faced straight away from Arrista, toward the galactic center.

Her point plotted, Terr'Essh set the ship on it's way at top warp. To where, she did not know. She just knew she wanted to get there as quickly as possible, away from here.

There was a shift in the scape of the world. The air was now cool and sweet. Terr'Essh was walking through a shifting crowd. Indeed she had been for some time now, walking without destination, awaiting the time which was appointed for her meeting. It was loud, and her ears were ringing. Ahead of her through a break in bodies she saw a wide, raised platform with chairs positioned around tables, a restaurant that had closed for the day. Vacant, but for a single man, seated in one of the chairs. His eyes were on the crowd, though he did not see them.

Terr'Essh halted in her steps, looking at the man. People about her cursed, pushing around her, but she took no notice. The man stood out harshly with his immense size, finely cut black suit and dark hair. His pale eyes held a deepness not to be found in those around her, which set him subtly apart as well. It disturbed her to set eyes upon him, taking in the fact that he looked more like Mhaddoll than she ever thought he could. She had never expected to see any of her own blood again, had not wished it.

Terr'Essh took a deep breath and moved forward, walking up the steps of the platform, stopping beside Mrrshaal, who did not seem to notice her. She fixed a hard countenance and spoke, "You summoned me."

Mrrshaal glanced up at her nully, then with an expression of surprise. He looked her over once, his brow furrowing deeply. "The years have not been good to you, I see," he said. "You look as if you have passed the millennium, child."

Terr'Essh snorted, "Then perhaps you can stop calling me a child, Mrrshaal." She sat in the chair opponent him and awaited his business.

But Mrrshaal thought no longer of the business he'd called her for. He was examining her face. She could almost see him counting the fine lines around her eyes that should not have been present at her age, how her eyes gone from blue to gray, the change enhanced by the black about them, the result of contacts Mrrshaal had requested she wear, so that she would blend in with the crowd. He looked at the thinning skin of her hands, the raising veins, bones that had not been seen through her once supple flesh. Eventually he met her eyes. "You grew your hair out."

"Yes," she said."You never liked long hair. Your always kept yours short."Terr'Essh shrugged, "People change.""Yes, I can see that. Though the change is not entirely bad. I

must say, the eyes are an improvement," he smiled good-humoredly.Terr'Essh took no humor in it, her gaze remaining cold.Mrrshaal's cheer drained away. He pursed his lips, gazing down

at the fingers of one hand on the table, which he was rubbing together. "The Government went out in force after you," he said almost conversationally. "Quite honestly, I am surprised you made it out alive. Patrols were everywhere for months. I could not think of how you escaped."

"Luck," she said dryly. "Pure, simple luck.""Yes, certainly. I have thought of you often, Kel. I did not know

that you lived, until I found you.""That question does stand, Mrrshaal. How exactly did you find

me?""Luck." He wanted to smile again, but contained it. "How else

would we have ended up in the same part of the galaxy together, the same sector no less."

"Yes, luck!" Terr'Essh said scornfully, shaking her head to herself.Mrrshaal inclined his head to her curiously, watching her. Then

abruptly he said, "I understand that you have remarried."Terr'Essh frowned, "I do not see how that has any relevance to

your calling me here. If you wanted to have a conversation about my personal life you should have come to me--"

"Technically, you are still married to my brother," he said sharply. "You owe Mhaddoll at least to remain true to him. And besides, it is forbidden for a woman to take another mate. Such a breach of conduct warrants death."

"By Bennharrae law, Mrrshaal. I am P'Lebberrian. And if you have brought me here to carry out an execution, be my guest. It would certainly put an end to my misery."

Mrrshaal stared at her blankly for a moment, then chuckled softly. "You have become very bitter, haven't you, my dear? It has

made you hard. Mhaddoll did you a favor by killing your kin. It has made you strong."

"I admit that it has indeed made me strong," Terr'Essh said, doing her best to ignore how unlike Mrrshaal Mrrshaal sounded, "but it was no favor he did me."

Mrrshaal did not speak for a time, but eventually asked, "How long have you been with this new one?"

"Almost five years.""Ah," Mrrshaal nodded to himself. "And I can guess you think

him more acceptable than Mhaddoll, as well.""Mhaddoll is dead, Mrrshaal." Terr'Essh said firmly. "He is

burned. Let him remain that way.""Mhaddoll was not so bad as you think him, Kel." Mrrshaal

moved to place a hand on Terr'Essh's, but she pulled away before he could touch her. He frowned, bringing the hand back to him. "I want you to understand that."

Terr'Essh shook her head in distaste. "You spent all those years on Bennhar keeping me convinced that Mhaddoll was an angel incarnate, and here you are, trying again after everything that has happened, everything he did, to make me believe."

"But I want you to forgive him, Kel.""Want all you wish; I can never forgive him. I can't forgive any of

you... I can't forgive them!""Too much hate can destroy a person, Kel. Hate for us, hate for

your own people. It will eat you from the inside."Terr'Essh smiled mirthelessly, "That, after telling me that

Mhaddoll did me a favor, that he made me strong?"Mrrshaal's brow's dropped. He rumbled something and gazed

out at the masses again.Terr'Essh sighed, following his gaze. The people milled and

quarreled, bought trinkets and fine foods in the market. "They are not pure blood Bennharrae, are they?" She asked tonelessly.

"Why do you say that?"Terr'Essh did not respond immediately, watching the Kytherans

wit indifference. "For all I despise your race, I cannot deny that you are a people of utter brilliance. These ones show not a forth of your minds. I walked among them before coming to you. They are ignorant and shallow. For such a thing the blood would have to have been diluted."

Mrrshaal nodded, saying nothing."And the blond hair had to come from somewhere. We have no

such trait in either of our bloodlines." She pulled the black mass of her own hair over her shoulder, regarding it. "You were sent here to watch over them?" she asked.

"Yes. You are right about all." He paused again, then said, "The cross blood has weakened them. They do not even live two hundred

years, you realize.""Humph," Terr'Essh said distantly. "I envy them."Mrrshaal glanced at her in perplexion. "Surely you do not mean

that?""And why should I not? Two thousand years is too long for any

being to live, unless it is a god. Gods we are not, and any length of time is awful when you are in constant misery."

Mrrshaal inclined his head, "Ah, Kel. I am sorry. I did not realize that it was so bad--"

"Forget it," she snapped in irritation. "Just tell me what you called me here to say, so I can get away from here."

Mrrshaal snorted, "I used to be the business one, you realize.""Mrrshaal, please."Mrrshaal pulled his lips in a smile. "Yes, my dear. As you wish. I

shall get directly to the point, then. Do you recall a promise you made to me, Kel? When you left Bennhar all those years ago?"

"I recall all to clearly, Mrrshaal. I assure you that the moment is firmly etched in my mind. I promised you anything for helping me escape. What is it that you want, then?"

"Your help.""In what?""In saving yourself and your world."Terr'Essh flinched, "What do you mean?""Ah," Mrrshaal rose a finger. "Not in Bennharrae," he said in her

native tongue. "Do you remember this language?""Of course I remember," she responded in the same, "What do

you mean 'save my world?' What has happened?""Nothing yet. But things will, with irresponsible children dabbling

in what they should not," he frowned out at the masses. "These one's have been trying to set up relations with the Dominion."

"And what difference would that make to the life of my world?""All the difference, child. Am I not correct in assuming that the

Dominion is currently a serious threat to your Federation?"Terr'Essh nodded, "Quite.""Well, it is enough to say that they are planning to unite with the

Dominion. I do not as yet know much about it. The co-Mallor of this world, the high official, does not trust me with very much. There is a great deal he does not tell me."

Terr'Essh inclined her head, regarding him. "What difference does that make. The Dominion would never align with these people. It would not be worth their while."

"Alas, that it were that simple. Unfortunately, it is not the Dominion that is the most of your worries." He paused, then went on. "The councilmen of Bennhar told me to keep an eye on these creatures, but not to interfere with them. On most occasions I honor that order, but now..." he shrugged. "I should just let them go on

about their business, but I do not believe that my conscience could carry the consequences of their actions. It would be such a simple thing to stop them. Would that I could, but I am only one man, and I cannot do it myself. Nor can I find help among these people, for no one would wish to disadvantage their world, or suffer the consequences of dissention. So therefore I resort to my only option: outside assistance. I need only--"

"No, Mrrshaal," Terr'Essh cut in before he could continue. "There's no need for you to waste your breath. Know now that I'll have no part in it."

"But Kel--""No. I don't want to be involved with the Bennharrae again.

They have done enough to me; I don't want to take the risk. Helping you could endanger everything I know all over again."

"Unfortunately, my dear, if you do not help me you endanger yourself to the same end. I want to stop such a thing from happening, but I cannot do it by myself."

She frowned, "And what difference could I make to your little endeavor, Mrrshaal? How is two any better than one?"

"Ah, but that is just it. There would not be just two. Closer to thirty, I think."

Terr'Essh's eyes became wide, "You aren't suggesting what I think you are?"

"The ship you serve on is a small one, is it not? Could it not" he waved his hand, "just conveniently disappear for a while. It would not be sorely missed."

Terr'Essh stared at him in disbelief, then pursed her lips and looked away.

"You owe me that, Kel.""No, Mrrshaal," she glared back at him. "Our debts are well and

good, but they are between ourselves. If you want me to come to this planet and work myself ragged aiding you, fine. But I'm not bringing them into this."

"Anything, my dear," he said lowly. "When you left you promised me anything. I thought that you were a woman of your word."

"Yes, I know. I am, but you must understand that it isn't my place. I can't up and ask that they throw their lives aside to come play this game of yours. And you can't tell me that they wouldn't be endangered by what you are proposing."

"No, I cannot tell you that. And I say: who says it is not your place. Is it not your right to bring all matters to the attention of your commanding officer? I do not think that he would turn away before allowing you to speak my offer. The way I see it, it is not even half your decision. The payment of your debt is speaking on my behalf to your captain. If he refuses to accept my proposal, then so be it. But could he really turn his back on this quadrant, this Federation, when he

and his crew are it's only chance.""Only chance?" Her frown of consternation deepened. "How do

you mean? We can simply tell the Federation. They'll stop this nonsense easily."

Mrrshaal snorted, "Will they? Come now, girl, you know the Bennharrae, perhaps even more than I do as one. What do you think will happen if the Federation discovers what we are doing here? Just because they know does not mean that the Bennharrae will cease to try their ways. And since they will keep trying the Federation will keep trying to stop them. Such confrontations can lead to wars, and ultimately will with a race so tumultuous as we. You know that. Can the Federation really afford a war with us, Kel? Could they possibly win?"

Terr'Essh scowled at him, "What makes you think that we can't? These people are so few and so backward. How could they possibly win over us?"

"But are there so few of us as a species? Think, child. Think of how many worlds full of us there are."

"What does it matter the numbers? The home world doesn't care about these people. They don't care about one pathetic, cross-blooded colony in the middle of nowhere. They would not start a war on account of them."

"On account of them, no. For the sake of war, yes. We hunger for war; I myself thirst for it. We are not like the Klingons of this quadrant. We do not want battle for the sake of honor, or freedom, your so-called 'good causes.' We desire war for the sake of blood and suffering. You would be foolish to think that we would not jump at the chance of a war with the union of a hundred worlds such as the Federation. Think of how much we would have to gain, in territory and in power. I know how quickly my people would swarm upon the Federation, and with the Federation engaged how easy would it be for the Dominion to overcome it? How quickly would it break under the two?"

Terr'Essh had been watching him intently throughout his explanation, and as he fell silent she broke the gaze. She folded her arms against her chest and turned away from him, casting an eye over Caabo Market. She remained that way for several moments, then returned to Mrrshaal. "You told me that you yourself thirst for bloodshed," she said swiftly. "Why, then, are you offering to help avoid it?"

Mrrshaal took several moments himself, looking first into Terr'Essh's eyes, then at the ground. Eventually he sighed deeply and spoke, "That I cannot answer, Kel. The weakness of unknown P'Lebberrian blood in my veins, perhaps. My father's, it would seem. That I bear compassion where Mhaddoll did not proves that it was not a quality from our mother." He shook his head regretfully. "If you ask

me, Mhaddoll was half insane for intentionally trailing your people's blood into his line. Our blood does not need thinning." He met her yet again. "Why I do not want war..." he shrugged ignorance to complete his words. "I know only that I do not want these people in power with the Dominion, which might well happen, if they pick the right straws. They are petty and ignorant. They should not be given a chance to foul the galaxy. Better that they hide on this planet, where they belong. And I do not feel that your Federation should fall this day. It is not right. It has tended this quadrant well, and I see no reason why it should not continue to do so until we true Bennharrae come to claim it rightfully, rather than turn it to these mainards." He glowered out across the masses of impure Bennharrae.

"Humph," Terr'Essh grimaced. "How generous of you.""Do you understand what I'm saying to you, Kel?" Mrrshaal

asked. Terr'Essh could almost catch an edge of urgency in his voice. "You must help me. Even if these Kytherans are not aligned with the Dominion they will be enemies of the Federation for trying, and you know that the Kytherans will push their weight until it comes to blows between the two, and once that happens the Bennharrae will be a plague upon you. You will not survive. If you aide me the most that can happen to these people is that they will remain powerless. The worst that can happen to you is the total annihilation of everything you know and love. The Federation will be destroyed, so many lives will be lost that you cannot imagine."

Terr'Essh narrowed her eyes at him, "Do you realize that by calling upon me you are committing betrayal to your race? It is the most highly punishable offense in Bennharrae law."

"Of course I realize it, Kel. How could I not have? But you know that I acknowledge it's worth, to save so many lives."

Terr'Essh snorted, "When have you ever cared enough about anyone but yourself and your race to do anything for anyone else?"

Mrrshaal's face became almost stricken at her comment, though he covered it quickly. "Once I cared enough to abed the murderer of a high councilman of Bennhar," he said flatly. "Once I cared enough about someone to help her escape execution, even though she killed my own brother."

Terr'Essh stared at him in surprise, then dropped her eyes in shame, saying no more.

Mrrshaal inclined his head, then leaned forward to put his big hand on hers. She did not resist him this time. "What if I promised to protect them as best I could," he whispered. "Would that sway you?"

"As you said, it is not my decision," she replied nully. "I will bring your offer to my captain, and my debt to you will be repaid. I shall owe you nothing more."

"Yes. So it shall be. And, if it so happens that your people aid me, I shall instead be indebted to you."

Terr'Essh snorted, turning away. "I want nothing from you.""Oh, surely there is something." He paused. When he spoke

agian it was more hushed. "I could make it so that you could return home to Arrista. It has been long enough. Mhaddoll has been forgotten. I have the power; it could be easily done."

Terr'Essh peered at him, hiding any clue that the offer was indeed enticing. She had never found water that felt like that in the oceans of P'Lebber. She could easily imagine how it would feel to envelope her. "I have no wish to return, Mrrshaal. My home is here."

"Home?" Mrrshaal hissed, sitting back firmly in his chair. "A home is rock and fire, and water and air, not some heap of metal in the middle of a great, endless void."

"A heap where people care whether I live or die," she snapped tightly. "Where no one tries to take advantage of me and steal everything when I turn my back! The people here are kind and wonderful, and I'm in love with my husband. I want to have his children some day. I want to have children that won't hate me because my eyes aren't black, or because I have some shreds of moral conviction. I am happy here as I have never before been happy, Mrrshaal. I don't want to leave."

"You seemed happy enough on P'Lebber, my dear. It seems that you were a great deal happier there than you are here."

"How could anyone be happy there that has seen anywhere else? It was like being in a hole, a hole I couldn't see until I was looking back into it. It was only then that I saw that it was a miserable, pointless existance, and that in our own way we were as bad as you. I could never go back, Mrrshaal. I'd die before I had to return. I could never again live among either of those people, yours or mine."

Mrrshaal inclined his head, regarding her thoughtfully. "There is so much in you, Kel," he said gently, "fire from so much anger. It suits you, my dear. It makes you more beautiful, if such a thing is possible." He grinned almost savagely, an expression that took her aback. "To think I ever wondered why Mhaddoll would kill an entire family for you."

Terr'Essh stared at him in disbelief, but was quick to cover the expression. When Mrrshaal had saved her from sure execution four hundred years ago she could never have imagined such words coming from his lips. Once he could not have began to comprehend his brother's evils. In that single sentence he had unwittingly shattered any trust or faith she had left for him. So you have taken the first step, Mrrshaal. You are becoming like him. You understand what he did, and you accept it. "You're not the same man I remember, Mrrshaal," she whispered hoarsely.

"The same could be said for you, my dear," he replied, without a hint of emotion. "You are hardly the same woman."

The dream evaporated suddenly and Terr'Essh was stark awake,

bolting upright in bed. She gasped, bringing her hands to her face. Dragging them across her eyes, she glanced in disorientation about her quarters, slowly realizing that the entrance query at her door had awoken her. It chimed again.

She gazed at the door drearily, collecting herself from the bed, quickly throwing a robe across her body. "Enter."

The door slid open and she was surprised as Constable Odo stepped in. She was preparing to greet him with mock cheeriness when she noticed the grave expression he wore.

"I'm sorry to disturb you at this hour, Lieutenant, but I felt it rather urgent that I speak to you--"

"What's wrong?" She asked sharply, every fiber of her being focused on the shape-shifter.

Odo hesitated a moment, glancing at the floor to collect his thoughts. "A short time ago Commander Sisko tried to contact Ensign Brekka. He guessed that you were asleep, so he turned to the ensign to answer a few questions. When he got no response I was sent to investigate." Odo paused. "Ensign Brekka is dead, Lieutenant."

Terr'Essh stepped back inadvertently, a coldness washing through her. "Oh, no!" But even more shocking was that as she stared at Odo in disbelief, she could read his thoughts on his smooth face.

As surely as she, Odo knew that the death had been no accident. And from what little he had been able to surmise, Terr'Essh realized in horror, she was his prime suspect.

CHAPTER16

The reactions of humanoid males to distressed females had always intrigued Odo.

"...Will you be all right?"Terr'Essh sniffed heavily, dragging the back of one hand across

her cheek. She nodded, managing a weak smile, "I think so, Commander. Don't worry about me. Go take care of your station."

Sisko smiled back at her, kindly and reassuringly, then nodded to Odo and walked out of Security. Odo watched him go, then glanced back to Terr'Essh. He was about to launch into a battery of questions, but was off guard to find Terr'Essh stating directly at him, dry eyed. "You think that it's me, don't you?" she said swiftly. "You think I'm the one that killed him?"

Odo was taken back. He had not even breathed his suspicion to Sisko, and she had guessed... Or maybe it was just a guilty conscience showing. Whatever the case, something had agitated her to the assumption. "It's not that I think it's you, exactly," he said carefully. "It's just that out of everyone on this station you seem the most...questionable at the moment. After all, the two of you did quarrel shortly before he was--"

"People disagree, Odo!" Terr'Essh burst. "That doesn't mean I set to kill him! We...we merely argued over his disapproval of my having dinner with your Cardassian tailor, Garak. Thom said that he didn't trust him, and when Thom demanded I see no more of him I refused. He got mad and I stormed off. That was all of it, Odo. It was

nothing!""I realize that, Lieutenant, but you have to understand my

position--"Terr'Essh let out a strangled wail, pressing her hands to her

head. "Odo! Do I look like a person that could end another's life? Do I look capable of such an awful thing?" She fell back into the chair, cradling her head. A moment passed before she looked up again, now glaring forcefully up at Odo. "I did not kill him, Constable. I do not know who did, only that it was not I. There are many who can vouch for me. I walked in the Promenade for well over two hours, then went to my quarters and slept. I was no where else.

Odo halted, turning to see Sisko standing in the doorway of a shop near his office. He grumbled to himself, glancing at Terr'Essh's retreating back. If only his commander had picked a better time.

So Odo was suspecting as well. Quite frankly Garak was surprised that it had taken the Constable, as adept as he was, so long to figure it out. But then, Garak might not have known either, had he not been at the right place in the right time. He watched the constable throw Terr'Essh one last, strained look before responding to Sisko's summon.

She hesitated, her eyes fallin withing the bar. Garak followed her gaze, but could not find what she saw.

The Bennharrae Denaaro sat alone at the bar, a glass of something Garak could not identify before him

The noise of the crowd lulled a moment, allowing him to hear Terr'Essh say, "A word with you, Mr. Denaaro," before someone yelled "Dabo!" The bars volume exploded. Her voice was lost in the cacophony.

Denaaro moved slowly to face her, glancing over one shoulder, drink to his lips. Terr'Essh was smiling, but the expression was strained. She spoke again, canting her head back, and Denaaro lowered the drink, placing it on the counter. His expression was only mildly irritated. Garak could read, "What do you want?" on his lips.

"To talk," Terr'Essh said. She said something else, but had begun to walk around Denaaro, so that Garak could not see her mouth. To Garak's dismay, she haulted with her back to him, hands clasped behind her. Denaaro turned his head to follow her one direction, until she passed too far and he was forced to glance over his other

shoulder, listening to her intently. At one point his eyebrows went up. He tilted his head back, regarding her, and spoke a few words. Garak did not catch these either. His eyes moved sharply to where the privacy booths were located on the second level, then quickly back to Terr'Essh's face. Terr'Essh turned to look the same direction. Her expression, held in a cheery countenance, tightened minutely and she shook her head. Garak recognized the word 'no' as her mouth formed it before she turned back to Denaaro.

Denaaro paid her no mind. He peered at her superiorly, his sneer unconfined. He nodded once. When Terr'Essh glanced at the booths again her smile was gone. Worry clogged her face for an instant, replaced by disgust. She seemed to hiss at Denaaro before spinning and trouncing away.

Was that a yes or no? Garak watched Terr'Essh until she fell out of sight. Oh, this was all very intriguing. He glanced back at Denaaro, in time to see him drain his glass and rise. He started for the stairs to the upper levels.

Garak remained where he was. The whole ordeal was arousing curiosity within him, yet he wondered at the sensiblity of probing it. But Garak made himself act before he could reason any further. There was no time for that now. Turning sharply, he advanced to the privacy booths.

If they came, they would pick the booth farthest from the entrance. Garak picked the one next to it, falling onto his hands and knees, crawling under the table. He wedged himself into one of the corners, trying to content himself with his decision, pushing it out of his mind when no conclusion seemed in sight. He tilted his head to listen, falling into the bars distant hum.

Outside the booth and beyond he could hear the muffled sounds of activity, the synthesized blipping of the Dabo wheels, the rise and fall of sound. Several booths away came the chatter and drunken laughter of a couple, though he could not make out their words. They broke into uproarious laughter and Garak heard the first footfall. It was heavy. Denaaro's. The steps grew louder until the Bennharrae's legs passed before Garak's booth, their measure menacing. The sound of each step was the same, heel contacting first, rolling along the ball of the foot. Denaaro halted off center of Garak's booth, pivoting to look back the direction he'd come. To Garak's dismay the table under which he was hidden was grated, neat quadrilateral holes cut into it's surface. He noticed this only as his gaze traced up Denaaro's leg and he caught the Bennharrae's face looming above him. His heart jumped. You're getting sloppy, Garak, he cursed. Ten years ago he would never have made such a careless slip.

Garak looked up into the line of Denaaro's jaw and the contour of his cheek, which hid his dark eyes from view. His hands rested loosely

at his sides, hanging just below the tables lip, directly in front of Garak. They were immaculate, nails perfectly kept, as was everything else about him. His black boots gleamed in the passageway's dim light, his deep red suit was perfectly pressed. There was something ultimately sinister about him that the details seemed to intensify. The gentleman demon. Garak had been unable to appreciated it when the Bennharrae had stood in the full light of his shop several days before. In the near dark he became a black presence. Nothing he did was a simple action, every breath and the slightest motion laden with malice. Even the smile that spread abruptly on his tanned face seemed ill intentioned. It most likely was, Garak realized, as a moment later he caught the sharp tapping of Terr'Essh's boots along the walk way.

Terr'Essh slowed as she neared him, almost stopping as she fell into Garak's line of sight. Her head was tilted slightly downward so that she looked at the Bennharrae from under her eyebrows. She was trying to keep her face inscrutable, but wasn't fairing well. Rage suffused in her lips and about her eyes, blazing in the luminescent orbs. She did not remove them from Denaaro. Garak did not fault her that. The man was one who might take any opportunity to slip a knife into one's back. Yet Terr'Essh seemed to amused Denaaro. He chuckled silently, so that Terr'Essh's gaze became wholly venomous before she slipped into the adjacent booth. Denaaro allowed her to enter, eyes tracing down her form before he too stepped inside. Garak heard the scrapping of Terr'Essh's boot as she turned.

As the table was, the upper half of the walls dividing the booths were perforated; he could look up and see the pair's faces through the grating. They were nearly the same height, Terr'Essh only having to look up a few inches into the man's black eyes.

Garak wished he'd had more time to plan his actions. He felt exposed. If he could see them so easily they would be able to see him, shelved under scant cover. But neither seemed concerned with anything but each other. Terr'Essh was the first to speak.

"How did you know," she breathed, voice measured deep in her throat. Garak could see the tension in her jaw and neck, hatred in her profile. By appearance alone Garak wondered how she kept herself from assaulting the man. Though he couldn't see her hands he imagined how they were tightly gripped, nails biting into her skin. "Who told you?"

"Why did anyone have to tell me?" Denaaro asked. It was the first time Garak had heard the man speak. His voice was a his silky baritone, strangely unnerving in it's quality. "What makes you think I could not figure it out myself."

"You're not that smart," she snapped.Denaaro chuckled lightly. "You do not give me enough credit,

dear heart.""I give you what credit you deserve. If you had any real sense

you would have killed me, too. Why haven't you? You only cause yourself trouble, allowing me a chance to arm myself. You should have gotten me out of the way and been done with it."

"Ah, but there would be no fun in that, love. Why should I slaughter you like stock, when there is the thrill of the hunt? We live for that, you know."

"You flatter yourself, Denaaro. I have never known the Bennharrae to be any more that spineless butchers. You hunt small children and unwary men."

"Such fire in you, love," Denaaro purred, unscathed by her words. "Forget the hunt, then. True, it would have been easier to kill you, but I could not bring myself to give the order."

Terr'Essh snorted ruefully. "How fortunate for me.""Fortunate indeed." Denaaro reached out to touch her face, but

she slapped his hand away, glaring at him viciously. "You would be dead this moment had I not held affection for you."

"I would almost prefer death to bearing your affections, Mr. Denaaro." Her tone was a low hiss. "You disgust me."

"Such strong words." He smiled at her. "You must not mean them."

"Give me a phaser, Mr. Denaaro, and I shall clear any doubt from your mind. I'm still trying to decide if I should kill you for Brekka's sake, these negotiations regardless. I could tell them it was self defense. They might even believe me. But with Odo already suspecting me..." She trailed off, dropping her face.

A gleam appeared in Denaaro's eyes. "So, the shape-shifter thinks that you killed Brekka, does he?" He chuckled roughly. "A marvelous twist of fate, is it not, love?"

Terr'Essh brought her face up again, eyes narrowed to thin slits. "Why Brekka, Denaaro. Why not me." She seemed desperate for logic, a reason for her companious death. Greif glimmered in her face, though she was doing well at conceiling it.

"Why, my dear? I ask you, why not? He was so easy to kill. And he was not beautiful."

Denaaro's last comments seemed lost to Terr'Essh. Her gaze had become distant. "But he was so young," she murmured. "He wasn't even..." She hissed abruptly, drawing clenched fists against her chest, backing away. "Damn you, Denaaro! That child had barely lived!"

Denaaro threw his head back and laughed. "Ah, and the young ones are always most satisfying, my beautiful one! So much life to be sucked away." The words seeming to arouse him. "And do you know how he died, my lovely?" he purred. "Have they discoved that yet? Eseridin, my love. I had it replicated into his last meal."

Terr'Essh's face became stircken, and she backed further away before she could prevent either. Garak himself was taken about.

Eseridin was a drug emploied by the Obsidian Order. He was quite familier with it; it was no way to die. Even burning alive held no light to ones body rupturing from the inside out.

"How could you?" Terr'Essh rasped.Denaaro laughed again, drawing nearer the woman. "Because it

gives me pleasure, my dear. I like seeing people die.""Yes. Yes, I know that too well, Denaaro," Terr'Essh lowered.

"And I must wonder, what glorious end awaits me? What have you planned to aid my passing, demon."

"Must it be an end, my love?" He had backed her against the booths wall. He paused, then brought a hand up to touch her face again. She must have brought a weapon, Garak thought. Why hadn't she drawn it on him, instead of standind there motionless, inviting (bad things... something-tudes?)

Terr'Essh grabed his hand before it contacted, with a strength Garak would not have expected from a woman. It seemed to surprise Denaaro as well, for he could only stare dumbly at it.

"I warned you once about touching me, Denaaro. It was not and idel threat."

Denaaro drew his eyed from the grip, smiling into the alien woman's face. "I did not take it as such, my dear. One does not threats such as that lightly."

"Then why do you presist. I know already that you are not a bright man. You're doing nothing to inprove my opinion."

Denaaro chuckled roughly. He wanted to move for her again, but restrained himself. Her glare may have been all that kept him in line at the moment. "Forgive me, my dear. It is only that I find you irresistable."

This did not please her very much. Though she had not harsh retort, her eyes said it all.

"But there are other matters to deal with now, I suppose," Denaaro continued. "I am glad that you came to me, Terr'Essh, so that I did not have to seek you. I wanted to tell you that I am letting this game be played on level ground, so that you would not feel so pressured. Dnnoll and Briine are out of it, I have made certain. Just you and me, Terr'Essh. Winner take all."

Terr'Essh stared at him, abashed. "This really is some sort of game to you, isn't it?"

"Everything in life is a game," Denaaro said smoothly. "A high stakes game. The question is in how well you play the pieces you are delt."

"Odd hearing that from a Bennharrae. I've never known your race to be at all...phylosopical."

"Let us say that I am an extraordinary man. But that is for later. Right now there is our game. You know the consequences of your loss, and you do indeed have so much more to lose than I, pretty one.

Should I fail I must simply return to face Korollemm's disapproval. ""And I must assume that the consequences of my failure in your

game must also entail my death." Terr'Essh said nully. "You would have me as your mistress if you could, but neither I nor your people would allow it. If you could not have me you would have me dead. If we are to play on level ground then I am to assume that I may exact the same consequences on you. In light of your game, I will kill you too, if I can."

"Of course, dear heart. But you need not worry about that." He came forward quickly and kissed her on the mouth before she could jump away. She hissed something at him as he backed away, grinning malevolently at her distaste. "You see, I am not going to lose."

(Dax goes out despite Vrenna's warning)

CHAPTER17

"I believe that we should act, co-Mallor. I need only your order."Korollemm had not moved, continuing to gaze out across the

city. Corliss was becoming impatient, but did all he could to conceal it. A few more seconds passed, and Korollemm turned to face him. "Very well then," he spoke indifferently in an exhalation. Vrenna felt his heart sink. "You have my order. Get rid of them. Do what you feel necessary."

Corliss sneered, bowing deeply. "Yes, co-Mallor. I thank you." Vrenna did not stay long enough to see Corliss turn and leave.

Catching his breath, he ducked immediately out of the doorway, into the hall, stopping outside to lean against a wall, pulling a hand down his face. No. No, this is wrong. It's going all wrong. He bit his lip sharply, hissing between his teeth, and hurried to the nearest elevator, directing it to the base floor. As it hummed into action and began it's descent, he reached inside his jacket and extracted a small communicator. He activated it, holding in close to his mouth. "Judson to Reis," he whispered. "Are you there, Doc?"

A moment of silence preceded the Cardassian's voice. "What's wrong?"

"Korollemm has just given an issue to eliminate Dax, Catsby, and the doctor. Bashir and Catsby are in their quarters, but Dax disappeared somewhere. I can get Bashir, but--"

"I understand. Don't worry, we'll find her. Just take care of the other two. Get them out of there."

"Yes, sir.""And be careful. I don't want you getting yourself killed.""Yes, sir. I'll do my best. Judson out."No sooner had he finished the communication than the elevator

doors slid open. Judson Kutter shoved the communicator back inside his jacket, scanning the Syybec lobby with his black eyes. Pursing his

lips, he stepped out with Vrenna's distinguishing headlong gait, out the revolving doors and onto the street. He went for Bashir, breaking into a run, hoping against hope that he could get to him before Corliss did. He didn't want to think about what would happen if he was caught helping the doctor. He also didn't want to think about what they would do to him if they found out he was human.

"Shit!" Vrenna pressed his hands against his head. For an instant he seemed lost, disoriented. Then his eyes cleared. "Doctor, it wasn't suppose to happen like this. It was suppose to be so clean cut..." He reached out, grasping Bahsir firmly by the shoulder. He began pulling Bashir after him. "You must come with me, Doctor. I have to get you and Catsby out of this building."

A Bennharrae has pinned Bashir. He does the first thing that comes to mind: he closes his eyes, breathes a prayer for shared humanoid anatomy and kicks the Bennharrae between the legs.

Bashir stared into the dark maw. He couldn't help but step back. "How long is it, exactly?"

"It doesn't really matter, Doctor." Vrenna swept past him, into the tunnel, where he was lost within the black. "Come, Doctor." His disembodied voice called, trailed by a shallow echo.

Bashir pressed his lips and, taking a deep breath, ushered Catsby in ahead of him, following immediatly. He paused long enough to key the panel Vrenna had indicated and pushed forward into the black. It was immediatly disorienting. It was absolute. And after a short distance it closed in around him. He gasped as the tunnel wall brushed against him. He haulted, pressing his hands against the stone on either side of him, feeling his way forward. It narrowed, narrowed until the bredth of his shoulders could barely pass. He had to collect himself before proceeding, trying not to contact the walls. He dared not feel for the ceiling above him, fearing to know it's proximity.

It was like being trapped within solid stone. No light, no air. And suddenly something before him. He yelped, fearing he'd made a wrong turn, that he would be forever lost, to die in this stone casket, but it occured to him that stone did not yeild. Nor did it respond with a feminine gasp of astonishment.

"Nina?" Though Bashir whispered his voice seemed enormous in his ears. It came back at him from all sides.

"Take my hand," she said quietly, though surely no one could hear then through the granite. He felt her fingers on his chest, on his shoulder, then seeking down his arm. He took her hand feverently, greatful to feel the press of her warm flesh against his, a anchor

against the panic rising from his gut."We learn the way by touch." Vrenna's voice was soft, as

comforting as Catsby's touch. It made the void melt back. Bashir found himself leaning forward, hungering for it. "The ones that made these places lived by it, we think. The were blind, surely. Feel the wall, Ensign. Doctor." Bashir heard the rasp of Vrenna's hand against the stone. "I'll lead the way."

Bahsir narrowed his eyes, not understanding Vrenna's words. But as they began to move Bashir pulled a hand against the stone. At first he felt nothing, then moved down, near his hip, where his fingers brushed the texture. Raised objects, rough against his skin.

Into the dark Vrenna began his narrative. "The path forks. We'll take a right. At the next fork, left. The right has fallen in..."

The encounter with Denaaro had unnerved Terr'Essh more than she liked to admit.

The only thing to do was regroup. How to proceed... God, Terr'Essh lamented, this has turned into a first rate disaster. She sighed heavily, keying the entrance to her quarters.

As she stepped inside something struck her as odd, though in her consternation she could not immediatly place what.

A smell. Food. There, the table in the corner. It was covered with dishes, platters filled with all sorts of things, steaming against the window's backdrop of stars. Cardassian things. And the glasses were brimmed with a distinguishable dark liquid, the bottle the sort that contained kanar. A scowl had barely filled her face, the realization to crawl through her mind when the Cardassian spoke, and she whirled tightly to face him.

"So nice of you to join me, Lieutenant." Garak stood against the wall, just risen from a chair there, beaming at her with his insufferable grin. "I was beginning to wonder how much longer I would have to wait."

"What the hell are you doing in here?" she snapped unceremoniously. She did not think to play her part.

A look of hurt crossed the Cardassian's face, "Why, I merely thought to fix you supper. Most people would appreciate the thought."

Terr'Essh snorted, rolling her eyes. She turned away from him and stalked into the bedroom. She opened the top drawer of her dresser, locating a compact phaser under several layer of clothing. When she returned the Cardassian had not moved, and his face was still infused with that grin. She leveled the phaser on him, which, she was pleased to note, seemed to diminish his smugness a bit.

But it didn't last long. It returned fully, and he put his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "Oh, I promise, I'm unarmed."

"Good. Get over there," she motioned the phasers business end

toward the other side of the room, away from the door. This was wonderful. What was she suppose to do about this? She had spent most of her time anticipating what she would do if Denaaro found out. Denaaro she could kill. But Garak... She murmured several P'Lebberrian profanities under her breath.

Garak had made his way easily to where Terr'Essh instructed him, never so much as looking at the door. If he was concerned about his life he was making a good act of covering it. He went so far as the table, where he set himself, beaming up at Terr'Essh. "I only came to talk."

Terr'Essh did not take her eyes from his hands, which he folded neatly in his lap. He could have hidden a weapon in one of the dishes. "Talk, Garak? To what end?"

"Oh. just curiosity, really. I happened to overhear a rather interesting conversation between you and one Bennharrae official. I wanted elaboration on it."

Terr'Essh's face went slack. But how... "Overhear? How, Garak? How did you bug me without me knowing? How would you have known to?"

"Who said anything about bugging you? I always suspected you, and hid when you had a few words with Mr. Denaaro in the back of Quark's this evening. You really should be more scrupulous, my dear. After all, I was in plain sight."

Terr'Essh hissed lowly to herself. Had she not been so furious towards Denaaro she whould have known. This mission was getting the best of her; she was loosing control of her temper. And the whole ordeal wasn't promising to get any better.

"So what am I to with you now, Garak?" Terr'Essh asked wearily. "I have no desire to kill you, but what else is there? I can't have you telling Sisko about me."

That smile again, and he motioned her to the open chair. "Why not take a seat. Consider it over the soup. For all this station lacks, it's replicators make a supurb danvias stew."

CHAPTER18

(Dax realizes that the Bennharrae are after her)

That Terr'Essh actually sat at the table and poked at her food

pleased Garak immensely.

"I imagine it's rather humbling for the tailor to figure you out.""If I were to guess, Garak, I would say that you are no simple

tailor." Her eyes rose hostily to him.

"I must say, my dear, I'm impressed at how well you've managed to pull the proverbial wool over everyone's eyes. Why, you're as good at the pretense as...as I am!"

Terr'Essh frowned at him with the disgust Garak had expected, and was thus shocked when she did the last thing he'd have imagined: she laughed. Garak was caught off guard, sitting back, staring at her in surprise. It was a sound he had never heard before. Terr'Essh the guise had laughed and smiled often enough, but that laugh was piercing, the smile tedious. But this laugh was a warm and gentle, rippling tone, the sound of alto bells, her smile one that could burn off clouds. For an instant the true beauty of her shone through, then it was gone and the firmness returned. Her mouth still curved, but the warmth was gone.

"We all play the matrix, Garak. All our lives; with ourselves mostly."

"Matrix?" The word in her context confused him. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, it's a pet term of mine." She smiled lightly, pushing a piece of meat around her plate. "A chimaera matrix. In my language chimaera is the translation of 'deceit.'"

"A web of deceit?""Exactly." She snorted ruefully. "The story of my life."Garak grinned broadly, finding a window. "If you wouldn't mind."Terr'Essh glanced up at him, frowning. "What?""The story of your life, if you'd care to tell," he coaxed."What do you want? A brief history?" She said facetiously."That will do."Terr'Essh stared at him coldly, then shook her head. "There isn't

much to tell.""That's what you said when I first met you. I didn't believe it

then and I don't now." Garak said firmly, though with his usual cheery front.

Terr'Essh exhaled longly, peering at him, then placed her fork on her plate. She took up her glass, gripping it in the narrow fingers of one hand, leaning back in her chair. She stared into the liquid for several seconds before sipping it slowly, then parted her lips to speak.

"My species is called P'Lebberrian. You've never seen another like me because my home world is in the Delta Quadrant."

"The Delta Quadrant," Garak breathed in awe. He was preparing

to spew questions when Terr'Essh cut him off."If you interrupt me, Garak, I'll not say another word." He

nodded obligingly and she continued. "P'Lebber is one of two inhabited planets that revolve around a G class sun called Arrista. P'Lebber is the third planet in the system, covered almost entirely in water. But I won't bore you with all the technicalities. They don't matter.

"I was born what would be about seven hundred years ago by the Federation clock," she was still staring into her glass and did not notice Garak's startled expression, "to the Yyhultha clan on my world. We have a very tightly arranged caste system among my people, based on family and relations to the high officials on P'Lebber. My family was a small but close knit one, a faction not particularly important in our system. There were a little over one hundred in my bloodline. My father was the head, which gave me certain privileges among my own kindred and those of lower factions. That is something I did not hesitate to take advantage of.

"I mentioned that there were two inhabited planets in the Arrista system. The other was the second world, a hot, desert planet called Bennhar."

"Bennhar? As in the Bennharrae.""Yes. Bennhar is the origin world of the Kytheran Bennharrae.

But that doesn't matter right now. We're talking about the others. "You see, Bennharrae and P'Lebberrians are cousins. Our

legends tell that eons ago a single race, the Arristans, came to our system. They were essentialists who wanted to return to the soil. They split to inhabit the two planets. In Arristan enn means fire and ebb means water, hence Bennhar and P'Lebber, the planets' names. Our ancestors called the sun and it's system Arrista because, for though we belonged to separate worlds, we were the same people.

"But for all the Arristans wanted to discard technology they needed it one last time. They were not made to live well on their new worlds. There was almost no land on P'Lebber, and Bennhar was far too harsh. So they genetically engineered themselves to fit their niches. Genetic sequences from native life was integrated into the blood of my people, making them aquatic. Bennharrae are more pure Arristan than P'Lebberrians, because their make-up was not altered. They were simply made with eyes that were black, that could withstand the radiation of their close orbiting world. But after that the Arristans did leave their technology behind and slipped into millions of years of regression.

"As time passed the two Arristan races forgot their roots, even forgot each other, so that when they advanced again and discovered one another both were genuinely surprised. They came to pool their resources and developed as one again, but they were not the same

people. P'Lebber was a kind and temperate world, while Bennhar was harsh and forbidding. The years had spread the two, the Bennharrae becoming brutal and rugged, as they had to be to survive. They had little on their planet, and once among the stars they began raiding other worlds. They did not touch P'Lebber though, except through reputable trading, because they would not harm those that carried their own blood. That became a standing between us, one that has held even when we began denying that it was because of blood relations. We did not want to be connected with our evil cousins, and they thought us weak and were ashamed.

"At any rate, return to me. Though my family was small I was well known on my planet. One that...shall we say, got around as much as I did could not be ignored. All the festivals, the dinners, the parties, I was there. Always the outrageous one, the center of attention."

"Outrageous in hardly the word I would choose to describe you, my dear," Garak said lightly, grinning good humoredly.

"Four hundred years can change a person, Garak. And what did I say about interrupting me? You asked for the story."

"Oh, I extend my apologies then." He held his hands up to her. "Proceed, if you will."

"Yes, well, one day a man from one of the higher castes invited me to a banquet the high officials of P'Lebber were holding for the high officials of Bennhar, which I accepted. It was a free trip to the capitol, a beautiful place built on the planet's largest island, and I had nothing else to do. So I was there, mingling with the guests when I looked up and there alone to one side of the room was the most beautiful man I had ever seen in my life." He tone had gone quiet, the gaze at her glass distant. "He was tall, well build, with the most beautifully sculptured face, perfect... Bennharrae. I should have dropped it upon seeing the eyes, but I was a person always so enchanted by looks. I just looked at him, and the next thing I knew he was looking at me. We stood there for a while, and then he smiled. I swear I melted in that instant, forgot entirely about my escort.

"I did my best to ignore him out of politeness for the man that had invited me--a difficult act for me, I assure you! On any other night I would have walked right up and started talking. But I didn't have to. A few minutes later he was there, speaking to me. His name was Mhaddoll. He was a member of the Bennharrae high council, a very prestigious position, especially for one so young. And I did forget my escort in the end, talking the night away with the Bennharrae Mhaddoll. He seemed so kind, so sweet, not like the other Bennharrae I knew. When it was time for me to go home I left him with my family name. I was not at all surprised that he contacted me the following day.

"Much stands to be said about the relationship we enjoyed, but I shall leave it out. I will say that my family did not approve of it. It was

ridiculous for a Bennharrae and a P'Lebberrian to be together. It never happened, and I did understand that. I knew that I could never marry him, but to tell the truth I didn't want to. I was happy enough with present relations, just to have someone as attractive as he was to show off, to give me things, and besides, I never expected he would ask. But then he did, and I had to turn him down. And astoundingly enough, it seemed I'd hurt his feelings. He asked me why and--I'll damn myself to the day I die for saying it--I told him it was because my family disapproved. But I told him I still wanted to be with him, I just couldn't marry him. He seemed to accept that.

"We kept on. He began bringing me to Bennhar, showing me his world. He took me on tours and it was such an oddity to me, a world with so little water. He took me to his aristocratic parties, he treated me like a godess. He gave me the freedom of his compound, a huge luxurious place. He fed me fine foods, gave me expensive gifts, dressed me in exquisite clothes of the rarest fabrics, which I'm sure you would have been able to appreciate. He appealed to every part of the materialistic little bitch I was; he wooed me so. He played that matrix I told you of so easily, and I fell into it even easier.

"One day we had been drinking in the shade in his compound's central court, and a messenger had come saying that someone had urgent need to speak with him. He excused himself and left me to look at the desert trees and plants that decorated the court, and I was thinking about the big cennera tree there, I recall, when this man strolled across the court. He was a huge man. I didn't know him, but found out later that he was Mhaddoll's half brother, Mrrshaal. I remember the odd way he regarded me as he passed, his strange expression, as if he were measuring me for something. I avoided looking at him, until he came to a stop in the center of the court, a few meters away from me. He stood there a while, then said, 'I would not be involved with him if I were you, girl.' I was surprised at what he said, and asked, 'Whyever for?' But he was walking again without looking back, and then he was gone. I pondered over it a while, until Mhaddoll returned and I brushed it off.

"There were many more visits, and we spent more and more time together, but when he asked me over and over to marry him I still refused. My family wouldn't let me, that not being true. My family knew that they could not stop me from doing anything, did not even try. But it was a better excuse than saying I simply didn't want him, only the things he gave me. All while I was with him I kept a constant eye open for one of my own race that was like my Bennharrae lover, someone as wealthy and powerful as he. Had I ever found one I would have abandoned Mhaddoll in a moment. But so long as I could, I was going to take advantage."

She paused in the monologue, taking a sip of her drink. She turned her eyes from it to the stars outside her window, where they

remained for a long while."For my pettiness, my selfishness, I suppose I deserved

something of what I got. Not all, but a little. For one day I returned from a visit to find my home gone. Burned to nothing. I raced to it, finding a clean-up crew sifting through the cinders. There was nothing left. I begged them to tell me where my family was, but none of them would speak to me. I begged and cried until someone told me the truth: they were all dead. Every one.

"I was lost. There was nothing I could do, for without a family I had no place, no connection to anything. No one would help me, because no one had to. So I turned the only place I could..."

"You married Mhaddoll.""Yes. I married him within the week. I was pregnant with his

first child within a month." She drew her eyes somberly from the window, draining her half glass quickly. She didn't have to ask as Garak raised the bottle and filled it again. She downed another half before speaking.

"Being married to him was all I could have wished it to be. I had everything I could ever want. He was so happy that I was having his baby, and I guess I was happy, too. I bore him a son, Mherres. He was so pleased...so pleased." She quartered her glass in the next gulp.

"You know how it is said people change after you marry them? Well, Mhaddoll changed. Changed a lot. As soon as Mherres was toddling about his temper became short with me, he even began hitting me...no, that's too kind. I'll not lie. He beat me, sometimes within an inch of my life. He just became... Bennharrae. Oh, I don't know what else I expected. He was only what he was. And I had no way out of it. There was no way.

"Things changed when I got pregnant again. He was the old Mhaddoll I thought I had married, kind and dotting. And after Lhennera, my daughter, he became ugly again. I realized that the only way I could live in safety was if I was carrying his children, an ever did I try to stay that way. Once or twice I miscarried, because of him, of the things he did to me. I couldn't conceive after that. That chance was gone.

"Thirty years I lived in that hell," she said distantly. "Thirty God-forsaken years. I might still be there, but one day I had a little reality check. I started thinking about the peculiarity of my families death. It dawned on me, and the next moment I confronted him. I knew that he had killed them, because it was the only way he could have me. I knew, but never thought it true. He did admit it, and when he did it was with such relish. He claimed that he had slit their very throats before burning the house to the ground. He told me that in the end he would kill every one of my people, purge the universe of us. We were a disease to be irradicated. I couldn't let him do that..." She smiled grimly. "So I killed him." She drank the rest of the kanar slowly, then

placed the empty glass on the table. "I still dream about it, killing him. I savor it more than any memory in my head. I wish there were ten thousand of him, for every day I've suffered, that I could kill."

She had stopped, and silence filled the room. Garak did not speak, staring at her. It was not so much what she said--for he was quite used to death and killing--but how she said it. The way her voice flowed out in hatred, the way her face was set like stone, her gray eyes so cold, so colorless. Never in his life had he seen loathing as pure. And in that instant he decided he never wanted to see it again. As hardened as he was it chilled him. But it dissipated as she continued on.

"Murdering him meant my death, of course, but I hadn't considered this when I bashed his head in. But Mrrshaal, his brother, discovered what I had done before any other, gave me a ship and sent me away. He could say nothing against my killing Mhaddoll, because he was more evil even than a Bennharrae should be. He risked himself by helping me. I didn't know what happened to him...

"Now, I knew nothing about the galaxy or any of the planets therein, so I just pointed the ship in one direction and started that way. That was four hundred years ago. In the time between then and now I have been everywhere, done everything. Name any profession you can think of, I can almost guarantee that I have done it. A lot of things that couldn't be considered professions, too. I've mined on Hydes, a giant, atmosphereless rock world in the Gamma Quadrant. I've served in the armies of kings, I've been their generals, their supreme advisors. I've been an assassin, killed even the kings I served under. I've seen what can only be compared to gods, creatures more powerful than the Q. I have been their prophets. I've commanded war fleets that could destroy the Dominion in an instant. And yes, I've even served the Dominion. I've even been a spy." She peered at him, but he donned an expression of perplexion, that he didn't know what she was talking about. "I've done everything, trying to find a place to fit in, where I could stay for the rest of my imence life, but never did.

"One day in my travels I happened to come across a pleasant, sunny little world very far from where I had began my journey, and there I stopped to restock my supplies. And through some strange and simple twist of fate I happened to be offered a job by this affable gentleman from a powerful organization on the planet, which I accepted. You know, Garak, I have a feeling you may know this planet, this organization, this man." She leaned close to him, her eyebrows up. "The organization was the Obsidian Order. The man was named Enabran Tain."

An expression of shock went across Garak's face before he thought to deny his connection. He recalled himself, managing to say with less confidence than he would have liked, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh, drop the pretense, Garak. You're not half as good at it as you seem to think. It's quite obvious what you are. Or were. Everything about you reeks of the Obsidian Order. The way you walk, the way you talk. I can only see it because I walked on the inside, so you need not worry about the others figuring you out."

"They've all ready figured me out, to some degree," Garak informed her tightly. "Though not out of error from me. I can assure you that my performance has been quite convincing. But I must say, my dear, that though you claim to have worked for the Order I don't recall ever seeing you, and I was involved with that organization for quite some time."

"Ah, but that's it: I was not involved for very long and it must have been before your time. This would have been thirty-five, fouty years ago, and Enabran had not become the head yet. He was looking for someone to work on Bajor, and the job was best for a non-Cardassian. It seemed they were having difficulties with the native population, and they wanted someone that could go around and look into things without raising too many suspicions. Once in a while they would hire Bajorians for the task, but you can't really trust their loyalties, you understand. Enabran was looking for oe jsut such when I came along and the job was mine. I spent six months on Cardassia, him showing me the ropes, which I actually knew better than he did in some aspects. But there was a bit of shifting to do." A faint smile played on her lips. "You people have very distinct ways of doing things; that's how I knew what you were. It's a sort of ruthlessness, superior to that of the average Cardassian. Ruthlessness I respect; that's why I liked the Order. It was something I could fit into; it was a convenient way fo channeling certain...aggresions." She paused, her expression deep and searching. "You knew Enabran quite well, didn't you? I see so much of him in you, Garak."

"So it shows?""Yes, some. It's such a pity the old fool ran off and got himself

killed. I would liked to have seen him again..." She trailed into silence again.

"Anyway?" Garak urged."Yes, well anyway, once those six months were up Enabran

shipped me off to Bajor, where I fell under the instruction of a Gul Veras at the Tefflu mining instalation. He was the most incompetent man I believe I've ever met. He didn't have the slightest idea of what to do with me--but then, that was the idea. The Order was taking control of the situation because the Central Command wasn't doing an adequate job of it. Veras thought I was suppose to be his secretary or something, so that I did, while I went about my own agenda covertly. I looked into Bajorian affairs over the next two years, mingled with them, made them comfortable with me, making them believe that I wished to help them. And of course they fell for it. They trusted me.

They told me everything, and I did my job. I told the Order..." She stopped.

"Are there any things you regret doing, Garak? Things you did while you were involved with the Order? Oh, I don't mean mistakes that you wish you hadn't made. I mean things you did that were perfectly mastered, right up to every expectation, that you could kill yourself for doing?" She looked up at him, ineffable sadness in her eyes. He gazed back, but said nothing.

"It was so strange for me," she said quietly. "In all my life I've never regretted doing anything, besides telling Mhaddoll that I couldn't marry him because of my family. People have trusted me before, and I betrayed them, and I never cared, perhaps because I never had to face them with it." She paused again, heavily. "The Bajorians were planning a raid on Tefflu, and they wanted my help. But I turned around and told the Order, just like I was suppose to. And they stopped it, and they picked up the leaders, just the way it was suppose to happen. But I wasn't suppose to see what they did to those people," a waver appeared in her voice, "the ways they tortured them, to see those Bajorians look me in the eyes and hate me...because I had betrayed them. I betrayed them as I had betrayed my family, only this time I had done it knowingly. Perhaps I can be forgiven for the other things I have done, for all my sins, but never, ever is there redemption for my betrayals, of those Bajorians and all the others that put their lives in my hands, to be strangled with their own trust..."

She did not continue, pressing her fingers against her lips. Garak sat in silence, staring at her, tension building inside him. He needed to know the conclusion, but could not urge Terr'Essh ahead. She had paused to pull herself together, willing tears not to fill her eyes, though they glistened on her lower lids close to brimming. But in needing to know, Garak did his best not to think about anything she had said. It would be too easy to reflect her words on his own past. He knew there were many things he had done that he would have given anything to change, guilt over which had once driven him to tears as readily as Terr'Essh now. Especially the betrayals, which were indeed the only things truly unforgivable.

Like his betrayal of Enabran... "What happened?" he asked quietly. She sniffed heavily, tilting her head back so that the tears, now

heavy in her eyes, would not find their way down her face. "Life is no more than a long line of betrayals, Garak, one after another. I walked away from those Bajorians, contacted Enabran and told him I was out. I said that if he was smart he'd kill me as quick as he could, because I was going to use everything I knew about Cardassians and the Obsidian Order against them. At least I warned him of my treachery, I can give myself that. The Bajorians didn't know that I had given them away, so I went and joined them. Within the month Tefflu fell.

"I aided the Bajorian resistance for the next ten years, helping them where I could, sometimes even making my way back into Cardassian intelligence to supply them information. But a person like myself can only be good for so long. Enabran had set himself to finding and destroying me, and I could pass myself off less and less. Eventually I set my energies to helping the common people, bringing them supplies: food, blankets, medicine, and the like. I did it because I felt the need to make up for my indiscretions, but also because being alone wears on a person, and Bajor was the only place where I could keep Cardassian company, for it is among the least irritating of you mortal races. The whole thing succeeded to keep me there for a good while, even keep me here." She rubbed the table top before her "I was partial to Terok Nor. I did business here, trading and helping the workers, too. This place has always appealed to me, the darkness perhaps. In every curve and contour, darkness..." she seemed drawn, her face distant. "It's odd to see it now, with the light. But it's the same old place, even if there has been a change of residents.

"After a time I grew weary of my work on Bajor, because it is tiring and Starfleet was getting involved. I decided to take my leave before things got hairy. And after that...well, suffice it to say I found other things with which to occupy myself. And that, Mr. Garak, is the tale you requested. The question now lies: What is yours?"

"Mine is not for the telling, my dear," Garak said briskly. "The food is cold, and I'm finished with it." He picked up the bottle near his elbow, holding it to her. "More kanar?"

Terr'Essh furrowed her brow, folding her arms across her chest. "You aren't gong to tell me?" she asked.

Garak inclined his head. He brought the bottle back to him, filling his glass, only half emptied of it's first serving. He did not touch it, however. "Not at the moment, at least. I believe you have told me all there is to tell."

"All you need to know," she said tightly."Ah, but my initial question has yet to be answered. What

exactly you are doing back on Deep Space Nine? I know it isn't for this so called 'trade agreement' with the Bennharrae, but that leaves me with no better idea of your intentions."

"Which is exactly as it should be. If you knew my intentions it would put you at risk. That is why Brekka is dead, and why I might soon be. It is not your responsibility."

"Perhaps not, but it is my wish." When Terr'Essh did not respond he said, "You mentioned this one fellow...Mrrshaal, was it? When you spoke of him you said you didn't know what happened to him for aiding you, not that you don't, which would hint that you found out later. And somehow I have a feeling it pertains to this."

Terr'Essh stared at him in pure unamusement. "You certainly have a flair for picking up on the vague and insubstantial, don't you,

Garak?""It keyed my interest," he said simply.Terr'Essh exhaled heavily. She didn't like speaking as much as

she was, at least not about herself. "Mrrshaal ended up in this quadrant as an overseer of the people on Kythera, which is an old colony world. I had no idea he was even still alive until he found out that I was here as well. He contacted me and asked that I meet with him. I would not have done it had it not been for the debt of gratitude I owed him. I could have easily gone the rest of my life without seeing another Bennharrae. But I went, and he told me of a small problem the Kytherans were posing--or would be posing--for the Federation. He said that the Kytherans were trying to start relations with the Dominion, and that it might mean bad things for the Alpha Quadrant."

"But the Dominion would never have alliances with those people."

"That's exactly what I told him. But it isn't the Kytherans we have to worry about. It all comes down to one thing: if the Federation knew that Kythera even attempted relations with the Dominion they would be our enemies. Traditionally people have wars with their enemies. The difficulty would not lie in fighting the Kytherans--for we would defeat them easily enough--but that they have quite a few big brothers lurking in the shadows. We trifle with them, they call the home world, and a hundred and fifty years from now we've got a war on our hands."

"One we cannot hope to win, I assume?""No, we could not win. The Bennharrae are the most skilled

killers in the galaxy, and I've been through enough of it to say that with all certainty. And there are worlds full of them, in every Quadrant, to match any aspiration of Federation colonization. We don't want the fleets of all those worlds will come crashing down on us, Garak. I promise you that."

"So in short, the Federation can't know about what's happening with them?"

"You catch on faster than most people, Garak. Faster even than I did."

"I do what I can," Garak said in mock smugness. "Yes. I suppose. But anyway, I must reach my conclusion, since

you made me begin. To repay my debt Mrrshaal asked for the aide of the ship I serve on, in helping him keep the Kytherans from contacting the Dominion and the Federation ever knowing their plan. I could not give him the service of my ship, but I took his proposal to my commanding officer. He did accept. And so we went to Kythera, and sometime later Brekka and I found ourselves on this station, pretending to be trade negotiators."

"And now your Ensign is dead and your adversary knows who you are."

"Not promising, is it?" She rested her head dispiritedly on one hand.

"No. Not really. But perhaps the tides can change." He leaned toward her, face fixed in seriousness. "If possible, I want to help."

Terr'Essh glanced up at him sharply, then took a moment to regard him. "There is a saying among my people, Garak. 'Wise men want little.' For wise men know that everything comes with a price. Tell me, are you willing to pay that price?"

"That doesn't exactly apply to me, my dear," Garak beamed. "I am not a wise man."

"Obviously not, Mr. Garak. Obviously not.""So it's agreed then?"She did not speak for a moment, then said grudgingly, "It is.""Splendid." Garak rose, whipping his hands on a napkin. "Then I

shall take my leave of you. Oh, I assume that you wouldn't mind cleaning up, since I was the one to serve?"

"Yes, yes." She waved him off in irritation. "Just go. Leave me be."

Garak smiled once more to her, turning to make his way to the door. He had almost made it when she announced loudly, "You know, Garak, I'm not finding it easy to determine whether you are my enemy or my friend."

Garak paused and turned back to her. She had fixed him with a lowering expression. "Odd to be on the other side of the matrix, isn't it, my dear." He smiled.

Terr'Essh graced him with a burning scowl. He bowed to her graciously and was safely on his way.

Deep Space Nine was almost bearable at this hour. There was something about the exquisite silence that lulled Denaaro, with only the hum of the station's generators to keep him company. Denaaro had even made it down to look in on those generators, and despite the risk of being found he had remained in one of the secluded corners for several hours, bathed in the generator's delicious purr. His father had been a ships engineer before the captain had ordered his execution for inefficiency. Inefficiency indeed. Denaaro's father had worked himself nearly dead, and the ship had ran perfectly so long as he cared for it. But nothing had ever satisfied that captain. Denaaro had been lucky to sneak off the ship before the captain assigned him to his father's place. He'd had no technical talents, and wouldn't have lasted a week. The only thing he had missed about living on a space ship was that there was never silence. There was always power, rushing through the ships veins. And sitting in the reactor core had been like being home

again, like being in the womb. He relished the feeling of power through the soles of his boots, the roar in his ears. Even now, peering over the Promenade, he quivered at the thought of it.

Why do you hate me, alien woman? Truly, you favor no one, but you hate me. Why, when I have done nothing?

So easily broken, fragile like the expensive things Briine was always ordering from the South. Yes, he would have to be gentle with her. So gentle.

"But--but we are together on this!" "Divided we stand," he hissed through a bared sneer. "United we fall."

Dnnoll's muffled cry had barely faded before Denaaro made his way to the Promenades lower level to collect her limp form. He took the stairs slowly, watching her body in perverse amusement for movement. He walked up to her, peering down at her silent face. He chuckled roughly and kicked her in the ribs. As expected she didn't move. He also kicked her once in the face for good measure before dipping to scoop her into his arms, grunting and cursing her. He took the nearest turbolift, dropping her body roughly before the doors closed.

CHAPTER19

The grey, scaled features that were clearly Cardassian. She was shocked into silence, staring agaust at her pursuer. More disconcerting than the discovery itself was that the man was smiling at her. His breathing was as heavy as hers, and he reached up to drag a hand down his face, as if to wipe away the nonexistent persperation there.

"You know," he panted, leaning forward to brace his hands on his knees, "I was beginning to wonder if I would ever catch up with you, Miss Dax. You're a formidable adversary."

Dax stared at him a moment more, shaking her head slowly in disbelief. Too much. It was just too much. She closed her eyes and collapsed forward from relief and exhaustion.

(O'Brien talks of station problems, including concerns for Dax

and Bashir. Denaaro has just reported the disappearence of one of his aides, Dnnoll, and this may now mean their deaths.)

The cold Labyrinth was a strong contrast to the balmy summer air. It immediately caused her skin to prickle.

Dax lost her footing and nearly collapsed, stopped only by Reis's quick grip on her arm. "Careful, Lieutenant," he pulled her back to her feet. "We don't have many medical resources here. Fall and hurt yourself further and it's up to nature to heal you."

"I'm sorry," Dax leaned heavily on his arm, trying to blink the dizzyness away. "It's just that I'm so tired...and my ankle..." Since she had discovered she was no longer in danger the walls of fatigue had fell in on her.

Reis chuckled. "If you hadn't run from me so long you wouldn't have this problem, would you?" Dax was caught entirely off guard as Reis slid an arm beneath hers, the other pressing against the back of her knees so that they fell out beneath her. She could not contain an exclamation of surprise as he hoisted her into his arms.

He said no more as they began up the wide stone steps. She considered objecting to his carrying her, attempted once, but could not muster the strength even for her voice. The point soon came when she could no longer even hold her head, and lagged it upon his shoulder. Her body ached with wear. Her surroundings became a blur, a disembodied world in flux. Her eyes burned and were so heavy; she could not keep them open. She was only faintly aware when they reached the room, alerted the creak of a door as Reis worked it open with his foot. A few more steps and he laid her gently upon a bed there, carved directly into the rock. It was no more than a thin, lumpy mattress spread upon the cold, hard surface. On a normal night Dax would have found it unbearable, but the moment her back touched the course fabric, feeling almost like burlap as it pricked against her skin, she fell into a grateful slumber, forgetting entirely her violently throbbing ankle. She didn't hear Reis's blessing of pleasant dreams.

CHAPTER20

"You have no idea the kind of royal luxury we live in until you've had to gimp around on a broken leg for six weeks." Jaral patted his thigh ruefully. "You don't appreciate the kind of technology we have until it's not there anymore. Personally, I think everyone should live a

year like we have here. It teaches you not to take our standard of living for granted."

Awakening after a long, supposedly rejuvenating sleep does not always feel pleasant. For Dax the new day dawned with the searing ache of overworked muscles and the feeling that she hadn't slept at all. Every fiber of her being hurt as she rolled onto her stomach, rubbing sticky eyes with the back of one hand. She had an over all sense of discomfort, just feeling incredibly dirty. She could feel the dust caked on her skin, felt it's grit as she ran fingers through her hair. Usually her fingers would have passed easily through the dark mass, but they caught in many tangles. This she didn't like, and found herself wondering how close at hand a bath was.

She stretched longly, feeling each muscle pull tightly and with difficulty. She could almost like the sensation, but not quite. She did enjoy the ache that followed a good day of exercise, but her muscles now had been terribly overtaxed.

It had been tightly wrapped and even from here she could see it was badly swollen. When she shifted her body pain returned, shooting up her leg, and her ankle began to throb against the cloth. She pulled air in between her teeth, trying to nurse the injury as she struggled into a sitting position.

"Good morning, Miss Dax."The voice startled her, but she was even more surprised when

she saw that the man's face, peering in at her from the half opened door, sported eyes as white as hers. "Vrenna?"

"Judson, actually. That's just my work title." He opened the door fully, walking in to her. He carried a cup of steaming fluid. "How are you feeling? Reis told me you tore your ankle up pretty bad."

"More than I realized," she responded, glancing back at the bandage.

Judson grabbed a chair placed near the head of Dax's bed, pulling it so that he could sit beside her. "I wish that I had thought to grab Bashir's medical supplies when we left, but we were kind of in a hurry. Maybe we could have done something for you. Here." He urged the mug into her hands. "I would give you coffee if we had any, but this will have to do. It tastes a little nasty at first, but it grows on you."

He had no sooner issued the warning that Dax had to control herself to keep from spitting it out. She swallowed hard, grimacing. "What is it?"

"We never gave it a name," Judson grinned, "and I don't care to

repeat the names we have for it."Dax wiped her mouth. "I can think of a few myself."Judson chuckled, the same laugh that had seemed odd comming

from Vrenna.

"I need to inform you--""Not now Garak," she hissed through her smile, watching Kira

tensely. The major stared up at them, her eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"No. Now. I'll go to the back of the bar. Come as soon as possible." He slipped away, interrupting the conversation of two Bajorians as he passed between them, resisting the urge to look at the major.

"...and I accept that, bu--"Garak's sentence was cut mid-syllable as Terr'Essh threw herself

on him unexpectedly. Her arms were about his neck and abruptly her mouth was pressed firmly to his. Garak was caught so completely off guard that he didn't even consider enjoying the moment, nor was he given a chance to analyze it when she pulled away, her gaze quickly thrown over his shoulder with a startled expression.

Garak turned his head to see Denaaro standing ridged in the booth's entrance, an expression of shock on his face as he stared between the two of them. He looked at Garak, that at Terr'Essh, then back to Garak. The Bennharrae's face filled with loathing, the line of his jaw setting. He turned quickly and trounced away.

Terr'Essh let out her breath. "Sorry about that. It's just that he's always comming on to me. I hoped it would put him off."

"Oh, no need to apologize, my dear. Believe me, anytime you wish to volunteer me for such a service I'd be more than willing."

Terr'Essh gave him a sidways, hostile glare, but she could not keep the smile from her lips. It spread like the warmth of spring. "I'm married, Mr. Garak. Was that not the case..." she trailed off, shrugging suggestivly. She allowed herself a brief, sweet chirp of laughter, empty enough to fit within her guise, took his hand and pulled him after her. Once out of the narrow passageway she locked arms with him, pulling him close to her side. It amazed Garak how well she fell into her part, the perfect, soft innocent she played. Had he not felt the serious pressure of her hand on his wrist, and heard the words she spoke to him, pouring out so sweetly in her rich voice, her concern would not have occured to him. "I should not have brought you into this, Garak," she whispered gently. "I am sorry. Denaaro will try to kill you now, too."

Garak chuckled, patting her hand. "I've had more dangerous men than Denaaro after me, my dear."

"No doubt. But don't become comfortable with it, Garak. I would hate to lose you now."

CHAPTER21

Terr'Essh missed a step as Denaaro fell from a doorway to match her pace. She looked away from him, keeping her path.

"Is the Cardassian working for you too, Terr'Essh? You realize that I can eliminate him as easily as that human."

Terr'Essh glanced at him indifferently, though real concern for Garak's well-being settled on her mind. "What are you talking about, Denaaro? Of course not."

"Then what is he? Why were you with him?""You seem to think you've reserved exclusive rights to me,

Denaaro." She shook her head, then tilted her head back, speaking lightly in a higher tone. "He's merely a fancy of mine. An attraction."

"Attraction?!" Denaaro nearly spat. "Attraction to one of those, when you reject me?"

"You think yourself something, Denaaro?""Oh, I am something, my lovely one." He gripped her bare

shoulder with one hand, still keeping her pace. "You cannot begin to imagine how I would love you, dear heart. I cannot even think of what it would be like to... be with one of those disgusting creatures." He shuttered.

Terr'Essh halted abruptly. Denaaro walked another meter before stopping, and turned in order to face her. "What makes you think I have bedded him any more than I have you, Denaaro?" She was genuinly indignate. "Contrary to what you think I do not sleep with every man that crosses my path. But the fact that I am not currently with Garak is not an open invitation. I don't like you, Denaaro. You are my enemy, as I am yours. Pray, don't forget that. For I will kill you the first chance I get, as I'm sure you'll do the same."

His hands drifted down her arms, their touch so light it caused her skin to rise, her body tencing. They came then to grip each of her shoulders; he bent to kiss her exposed neck, lips hot on flesh. "At any time you may accept it, my loved," he whispered against her throat.

"You need only come to me. The offer will stand, my pretty one."Terr'Essh pressed her eyes shut, fighting revoltion. "Incidious

man. Never will I.""We will see, pretty one, when the knife is at your throat."Evil creatures. Malicious things. P'Lebberrians had no God

perhaps becuase they knew no God would allow such beings to breath, she mused, resisting the urge to turn and strike the man. She knew how fine a line she skirted. She had forced Denaaro too much against his inclinations. Too much and he would snap against her. So long as he favored her she was, for the most part, safe. But as his hand slid down her chest to touch her breast she could endure no more.

For so finely built a woman Terr'Essh was powerful. The blow knocked him off his feet. He struck the wall behind him and crumpled to the floor, shaking his head in disorientation.

Kill him. Kill him now while you have the chance. Crush his throat, drive his nose into his brain, break his neck. Kill him before it's too late, before he turns on you. But how can I? How can I kill him? It used to be so easy to kill. There was a time when I enjoyed it. Why has it changed? Why now? Kill him. I must. But how can I?

Terr'Essh snarled in anguish and frustration. So abruptly that it startled herself as much as Denaaro, she came down on top of him, straddling his prone body, pinning him down. Shock filled his eyes, half fear and a perverse urgency, unsure of her intent. He reached up to touch her body, the action met by her hand pressing into the base of his jaw, forcing his head sharply back. He gasped.

"You just don't get it, do you?" Terr'Essh whispered, meeting the panic in his eyes with cold detachment. "I would not touch you, Denaaro, not even for my life. Must I wound you a thousand times before you take my word? Or but one finality? Know this, Denaaro. For two hundred years I was the court assassin to twelve generations of rulers. I know thousands of ways to kill a person." She pushed his head slowly backward, so that he would feel a pull along the inside of his vertebrae. "A certain pressure, applied just so, can snap the spinal cord from the brain stem. You do not die. You live, unseeing, unhearing, unable to move or speak. You are a prisoner within your own mind. I don't think you would like that, Mr. Denaaro. This is your last warning. Stay away from me. Stay away from Garak. And if you were smart you would leave this station."

(O'Brien informs Odo of the comm block)

A figure barely visable, shrouded in shadows. Quark started, a hand going to his heart. "The bar's closing," he said firmly. "You'll have to come back tomorrow."

The man inclined his head slightly, but said nothing. Then he began to move, stepping forward, and only then did Quark recognized

him as the Bennharrae, Denaaro. The light caught oddly on him, on a suit so deeply blue it might have been black, on immaculate hands, gleaming in the strands of his blond hair. The green rings of his eyes floated with uncanny luminence in their dark pools. "I have been told that you are the provider of certain services," the Bennharrae said flatly.

"That depends on wether or not you have the means to pay for them."

The Bennharrae reached into his jacket, extracting something, and when he opened his hand a wash of jewelry and gem stones spilled from his palm, scattering across the counter. Quark lost his breath, barely collecting himself in time to hear Denaaro say, "I am to assume the appeal of these objects is universal."

Quark didn't respond for a time, staring down at the pieces, some in very expensive settings, encrusted in gems even rarer than themselves. Holy (the version of Feringi heaven, I can't remember what they call it), they were priceless! Eventually he reached out casually to take up a pendent, set generously in latinum. He turned it, watching as the light caught deep within its red facets, lending it's own luminescence. Running his tongue along the inside of his teeth, Quark peered up at Denaaro and smiled. "I can provide any service you require."

CHAPTER22

Odo began scanning the report.The autopsy placed Brekka's death at around 2400 hours, an

little over an hour and a half after he had witnessed Terr'Essh storm out of the Replimat. He had checked around the Promenade and spoken to a Bajorian shopkeeper that had seen Terr'Essh at that time. The shopkeeper recalled her specifically because he closed his shop at 2430, and she had been the last to leave. The shopkeeper had spoken with her until around 2450, upon which they parted. Terr'Essh's alibi held on that level.

The autopsy next stated that the cause of death had been massive cardiac failure. It seemed that every capillary in his body had burst and his arteries had ruptured. Odo had guessed at this upon finding the ensign's body due to discoloration, blood raising close to the skin. It was a result of some types of disrupter fire, primarily that of the Santrel, a common trader race in the quadrant. He had

dismissed a direct Santrel connection, however. There was no apparent motive and none of the species had been present on the Deep Space Nine for several months. Odo was already considering which individuals on the station might have possession of a Santrel disrupter when his eyes scanned the cause of cardiac failure: eseredin poisoning.

Odo double took the information. Eseredin! He should have guessed. Brekka's appearance had been reminiscent more of eseredin poisoning that of Santrel disrupters. But he hadn't delt with eseredin in so many years that the connection had never dawned on him.

Eseredin was a chemical derived from a plant of the same name, a Cardassian flowering vine similar to the Earth nightshade, only twenty times more toxic. If he wasn't mistaken it had been the poison of choice among members of the Obsidian Order for several years, an extremely versatile assassination tool. Depending on the concentration and amount added to food or drink, it could take between a few seconds and several weeks to take effect, allowing the assasin a large amount of time to distance themselves from the probable suspects, if they so desired. It caused a build up of pressure until the system could no longer withstand the stress and erupted. There was no way of preventing death after eseredin was introduced to a biological system. Odo recalled hearing stories of several prominent Cardassian officials seeking medical aide to allieve indigestion only to discover they would die an unpleasant death within the next few days, exploding from the inside. The Bajorians liked those stories; he had overheard them more than once.

Upon that the question remained, who was Brekka's killer, and how had they managed to get their hands on the eseredin in the first place? The plant had grown solely in and isolated valley on Cardassia Prime, and had been taken in and domesticated by several ingenuitive operatives shortly before the valley was settled and the native population became extinct. It had survived only in the planters and gardens of those industrious operatives, and later inside the ranks of the Obsidian Order. It was now a method employed exclusively by the Order. The only person who would come close to...

Odo paused, considering this. But no, Garak had no cause to kill Brekka. As questionable as the Cardassian tailor might be Odo didn't believe that it was Garak's style. Unless there was some covert operation going on that Odo didn't know about, which Garak was involved in, this being highly unlikely. And if not Garak, who else would fit the scheme?

Odo gripped his chin thoughtfully, pondering the information. Who on the station would have a contact to the Obsidian Order that would allow them to match the clues. Who would have...

Odo lost his gaze on the data pad, his eyes going up and the pad becoming loose in his hand. He tightened his grip on it before it

managed to slip out of his grasp."Constable?"Odo had forgotten the Bajorian nurse's presence. When he

glanced up at her she was peering at him in perplexion. He recalled himself. "It's nothing. Do you mind if I take this with me?"

"No, of course not."Odo thanked her tersely and left the infirmary, wasting no time

in making it to his office. Once inside, with the door closed securely behind him, he sat down, pulling up his interface. "Computer, do we still have the old Cardassian criminal records from Terok Nor on file?"

"Affirmative."Odo placed the data pad carefully before him, leaning forward on

his desk. "Show me the list specific to Obsidian Orders offenders.""There are twenty-two thousand two hundred and ninety-five

individuals on the Obsidian Orders prime offender list. Do you wish to view them all?"

The first time Odo had heard the amount of offenders on the Order's list he had been taken aback. He had thought the Order more efficient than to have so many of it's wanted criminals running around. But he had later learned that the list was up only as a show, and every person who had so much as not laughed at an Order member's joke was on it. The Order was alway careful that anyone who posed a serious threat was quickly eliminated.

"No. Show me only the female offenders."A list of names appeared promptly on his screen, an icon in one

corner showing that approximately nine thousand individuals were listed. Odo didn't have time for that. "Computer, show me only non-Cardassians."

The screen blinked, and the computer informed him that three hundred sixty-three names remained. Odo took a moment, then asked if any of the women had a direct connection to the Order. The computer informed him that there were three. Odo straightened. "Show me their files."

The computer blinked again and the first file appeared on the screen, of a Bajorian woman named Tares Karsa who had been an Order member's mistress. She had been all but enlisted into the Order, doing them a great many important services. She had fallen from favor after abbeding the escape of several Bajorian prisoners the Order had been interrogating, one of which had been her brother. She had made it to Terok Nor and then vanished. An update of the file said that she had been apprehended and exicuted.

The second was a Flaxian assasign who'd had the Order as a main employer. At one point they had hired to elimainate a troublesome Gul, paying a large amount to assure his death. She had made off with the money without completing the job. At the most recent update she was still at large.

But it was the third that Odo had been looking for. He asked for the next file, and the Flaxian's lowering countinece was replaced by the delicatly beatiful face of Terr'Essh.

Odo had expected it, but was surprised at what he saw. Before him was Terr'Essh exactly. That was the problem. The order for her apprehension had first been given almost thirty years ago, and the woman--appearently not pleased about haveing her picture taken--looked exactly the way Terr'Essh did now, except that her hair was cut to a mid-neck, the forward edges curling under her ears. He would have placed Terr'Essh's age now at around thirty. How could she have been involved with the order then?

As Odo read through the file he discovered that it had not been a simple involvement, either. She had been employed to aide in the capture of Bajorian resistence leaders around the Tefflu mining instalation, and had managed to do so very efficiently. But she had unexpectedly turned on the Order and helped the Bajorians overthrow Tefflu, upon which her name had been added, very high in the ranks, to the Obsidian Order's offender list. Over the next fifteen years her name had risen on the list as offences stacked up. She had infiltrated Cardassian establishments on several ocassions, feeding information to the Bajorians and stratigicly eliminating several Cardassian leaders. She was blaimed in part for several minor victories the Bajorians enjoyed during the Occupation, though Odo guessed that was just their convienient excuse as to why the Bajorians had ever succeeded at all. Eventually she had turned to supply runs for both the resistence and Bajorian civilians, then just to civilian duty. After that she had dissappeared, and the Order was irate about never having come close to catching her. She had made it all the way up to the top twenty, which were the people the Order began to worry about. Odo also noticed that the nessesity of her capture had been emphasized by Enabran Tain himself several times over, both before and after he became the head of the Obsidian Order. Odo had to wonder what she had done to be so marked for death by Tain.

Now Odo recalled where he remembered Terr'Essh from. When he had first been assigned as Head of Security of Terok Nor he had scanned the offender list several times. Terr'Essh's face had stuck out to him, for even then he recalled seeing her before. When he'd been helping in the Bajorian refugee camps he had once checked upon a group of people clustered against one of the camp's walls. He arrived to see a young woman of a race he could not place handing out blankets and medicine to the Bajorians. He had not cast her more than a glance before turning to keep an eye on the Cardassian guards. He knew well that the woman was not suppose to be there, and that no good would come if she was discovered. He noted that she was doing her best to keep the group small, so as not to raise the guards' suspicions. Odo had complimented her caution in his mind, and

managed to distract the guards when they became suspicious. She was gone before any of the guards managed to investigate.

Staring at Terr'Essh's picture on the screen Odo wondered why he hadn't recognized her before. On most occasions his memory was nearly infalible. Perhaps it had been because of the way she carried herself, so different from the woman he had glimpsed in the camps. He was genuinely impressed at how well her ruise had fooled him.

Odo sat back, folding his hands in his lap. Terr'Essh's allabie had been shattered. The eseredin could have been slipped into Brekka's food at any time, and her position as a former Obsidian Order operative gave her access to it. But what was the motive? What reason had she to kill Brekka? But she was the closest lead, despite the fact that Odo found himself wishing she wasn't. He felt a sence of gratitue for what she had done for the Bajorians, but that didn't cancel out what she may have commited by taking Ensign Brekka's life.

Reluctantly Odo tapped his commbadge and ordered for Lieutenant Terr'Essh to be brought to security.

(Some crew member talks here. Something to break up the two Odo parts.)

"It's people like you who murder children, who kill leaders and start wars. I've seen your sort too many times."

Terr'Essh gazed up at him sadly. "You are assuming a great deal, Constable. You're reading things into me that aren't there."

Odo snorted reproachfully, pivoting his screen so that it was fully visible to Terr'Essh, her face and file on it. "Am I?"

Terr'Essh's expression drained away. She managed a sharp intake of air before putting a hand to her mouth. She spoke a few words in her alien language, then brought up a finger to scroll down the report, her eyes sweeping the lines of text. Within a few minutes the hand came away from her mouth as her face took on a scowl. Little by little Terr'Essh began to change. The dimness fadded from her eyes, replaced by a keeness that immediatly put Odo on guard. Again he was amazed at Terr'Essh's skills of deception. He could not recall once seeing her guise fail.

The report seemed to irritate Terr'Essh greatly. The more she read the deeper the lines in her face became, the further her eyebrows dropped over her eyes, which were fairly sparking. Once or twice she threw Odo an aggitated glance, then read on, until she sat firmly back in her chair, hitching one arm over it's back. "You know, they don't hardly do me justice," she said, utterly unammused.

Odo rose his brow. "Really?""Oh, yes." She shook her head scornfully, turning off the screen

and switching her gaze to his face. "I did three times as much for the resitence than they stated and I infiltrated more Cardassian agencies

than they'll ever know. I can't really be credited with Bajorian victories during the Occupation, though, even if I'd like to be. And I didn't kill half those Cardassians!" She pointed vemently at the blank screen, seemingly outraged by the accuation. "It was their own officers, trying to move up in the ranks. Really, Enabran was too thurough in making sure there was cause to have me exicuted. As if betraying the Order wasn't enough." She shook her head again, sighing.

He could see the urgency, tight in her muscles, franticness like a trapped animal. She sought any avenue. Behind her cool, cultivated front this all seethed. She leaned forward, eyes intent on him. "If you come with me I'll give you proof that I didn't kill Brekka," she said solemnly.

"Now, I want to know the truth, Terr'Essh! What are you doing on this station?

CHAPTER23

"None of us have families, Julian. If we did we probably wouldn't be here. We all...served on a ship together, and those that had other obligations didn't come with us. The ships physician didn't come." He chuckled. "I got the job by default."

...Reis shuttered, shaking his head. "I always hated winter back on Earth. Most children antisipated the first snow fall. I dreaded it."

Bashir glanced at him. "You were a child on Earth?""I assumed you knew.""No.""Oh, well yes, then. I grew up on Earth.""How did that come about?""Circumstance," he grinned. "My father was a Gul at the Tefflu

mining instalation at the time it was destroied. When the Bajorian terrorists stormed the facility he abandoned me. For the life of me I've never been able to understand that. He saw it comming. He had pleanty of time to escape with me, but when it came down to the line he decided to get himself and his wife out within a comfortable margin rather than taking the time to save his own child. After all, he could have more children.

"The Bajorians found me, but for some reason they let me live. I've always had a place of gratitude in my heart for Bajorians because of that, no matter how much they dispise me for what I am. They didn't kill me, but they did nothing to help me, either. I was left to fend for myself, as so many children were in those days.

"I don't know how long I lived scavenging and living from day to day. Time has no meaning, except that dark is time to sleep, and light a time to try and live. At one point I met a human woman named Mellisa Reis on a mercy mission to Bajor. She was there trying to forget about her husband and son, who had died in a transport accident a few months prior. I feel that I pushed the poor woman over the edge, if she wasn't already there." Bashir could see that Reis was

trying to supress his humor with half genuine sympathy. "From the moment she first saw me she called me William, which was the name of her dead son. One of her friends once told me that I looked like him, despite my being Cardassian. Some people never get over a death. She was one of them. I'll tell you, it's strange growing up with an eccentric mother, but you can guess that. But I am greatful to her, because I would never have survived on the streets. I spent my whole life pretending that I was William Reis for her, until I became him. The story needs no more elaboration than that." He chuckled lightly, "You know, I don't even remeber what my name was. I don't recall how to be Cardassian, either. Oh, not that I'm complaining. I know what my people are like, and I have no desire to be one of them."

Bashir inclined his head. "Not all Cardassians are bad, Reis.""Enough of them are. Enough of them have done enough bad

things that I'd rather be human.""But you're not human.""My form may not be, but my heart is," he said firmly, pressing a

pallid hand against his chest. "My mind is. Nothing else matters. I consider my body a defact, no more."

Before Bashir could say anything to that, Reis spoke again, pointing at the stars. "Do you see that star there?"

Bashir turned, raising his head in the general direction Reis pointed. After a moment he frowned. "There's something about pointing at the night sky that seems rather futile."

"Here..." Reis edged closer, letting Bashir see more direclty where he indicated. "There's a triad of bright stars."

"Yes?""The uppermost one.""Yes. I see it.""That's Cardassia's sun. And that one there is Sol.""Which?""There's a formation that looks something like the Little Dipper.

It's barely visible, a double near the bright one at the end of the handle."

"Yes."Reis exhailed contentedly, leaning back against the stone wall.

"It's always comforting to look into the sky and see your home sun. So long as you know where your sun is, you can always find your way home. Someone taught me that a long time ago." He paused before adding, "Earth's in such a place that it appears only in summer, and only when it's very dark. Cardassia is bright all year round."

"I believe it's comming to a head, Doctor."

Terr'Essh refused to say anything, until the assasign woke up and Odo convinced him to reveal who had hired him.

"Would you mind telling me why Denaaro is trying to have you killed?" Odo asked as he walked from the cell block to his main office. He paused behind his chair, gripping the back.

Terr'Essh was seated directly across from him, arms folded defiantly over her chest. She wore an ugly scowl that added nothing to her attractiveness. Her hair had fallen out and hung across her shoulders, fore sections overlapping the bruise on her temple, which she had acquired when lunging away from the assasign's first shot. Odo had offered to take her to the infirmary at one point, but she had pointedly refused. Now she refused to look at him, glaring at his desk top. "I don't know," she said flatly. She shifted a bit in her seat. It was evident she had hurt something other than her forehead in the encounter, and it was giving her discomfort. Odo didn't waste his breath asking if she wanted medical attention again. Instead he moved around to sit in his chair, looking at Terr'Essh unblinking--no difficult task for someone who did not require the action--until it was Terr'Essh that looked up at him. It was fleeting, and she seemed embarrased for breaking. It took only a few more minutes before she said, "What did the Kobheerian tell you?"

"Only that Denaaro offered him two hundred bars of gold pressed latinum for your death."

Terr'Essh snorted, "I didn't think that I was worth that much to him."

"Probably more." Odo said, unammused. "The Kobheerian was hired through Quark. I'm assuming that Denaaro gave Quark the money in gems or some other resource and told Quark to convert it to whatever currency nessicary. Knowing Quark he skimmed something off the top for himself."

"Damn Feringi!" she hissed, fists clenching against her chest. "If I could only get my hands on one of those wretched little bastards!"

"Believe me, Lieutenant, if my duty allowed it I'd be more than happy to turn my back and let you at Quark," Odd said roughly. Terr'Essh grumbled something to herself, shaking her head.

"Denaaro intended to implicate you?"Terr'Essh snorted ruefully, throwing her head. "Denaaro isn't

that inginuative. In fact, he seemed surprised that you thought I'd done it. No, it was only a lot of remarkable coincidence that you could make the connection to the Order and I fit in so perfectly. As to how Denaaro acquired the eseredin, it's anybody's guess.

"You know, Odo, you were lucky that Denaaro tired to have me

killed just then. I intended to lead you into my quarters, stun you and lock you away. I'm not sure how Sisko would have handled your disappearance, or what I would have done with you afterward, but sometimes it's best to act first and ask questions later."

"You think I would have let that happen, Lieutenant?" Odo asked ruefully. She flinched in evident surprise. "I knew what you were up to. And the minute you took a phaser on me you would never have made it out of the brig, no matter what Sisko said."

Terr'Essh's gaze wavered, then dropped entirely. "I guess I'm not as good at deception as I thought I was."

"Not necessarily. The problem was you were too good. If I hadn't made the edseredin connection I would never have suspected anything."

"That sort of past is always around to haunt you."

(Denaaro sets the first bomb)

CHAPTER24

(Denaaro disappeared three days ago. Garak and Terr'Essh question Briine about his whereabouts. This ends up developing into something like the below written.)

"How is it possible that I could have nothing to gain, yet so much to lose from all this. I mean, taking into account my life and what it's been I should be happy to end it. But I'm not. I don't want to die." She shook her head solemnly. "Despite four hundred years of misery I'm not ready."

Garak inclined his head at her. At first, listening to her accounts, Garak could feel genuinely sorry for her. But listening to her talk again and again about how badly life had treated her, he was becomming a bit tired of it. When he spoke his tone bordered on irritation. "Have you ever considered that maybe what happened to you isn't half of what four hundred years of self-pity has done?"

Terr'Essh straightened, turning her head slowly to look at him.

The expression on her face was not what he had expected: one of complete surprise. "I beg your pardon?"

"...Have you ever taken the time to sit down and think, 'Maybe I should just let it all go.' It's gone, Terr'Essh. Let the dead past bury it's dead. Why another four hundred years of misery? What would be the point? And if you're going to continue on this way then yes, Terr'Essh, you are better off dead."

Terr'Essh watched him tightly, and he could see the rage building up inside her so that it was all she could do to contain it, to keep from screaming and hurling things at this insufferable Cardassian. She tried to fold the emotion up inside herself, but it was too intence and seeped out through her clenched fists and the brows she could not keep from furrowing.

And of course Garak saw it, pleasure filling in behind his irritating grin. "You're angry?"

Terr'Essh did not respond, biting her lip so firmly that she must have tasted blood. She knew that if she dared open her mouth she would lose her self-control.

"You're angry because it's true," Garak prodded smoothly. "And I think you know that."

"And don't I have the right to be?" she hissed at him. "After all that's happened to me? After what Mhaddoll did to me! He destroyed me! He all but killed me. And because of that life has been hell for the past..." she trialed off, her anger falling away as Garak's smile remained unwavering. It was as if he was saying... Oh, Heaven. Terr'Essh's mouth fell open. She had just affirmed all that Garak had said. Could it be that the insufferable little Cardassian was right?

No, she told herself vemently, I have a right to be angry about what happened to me! I have every right!

(Dax outlines the past three days. She doesn't trust Hamlen.)(Kira has bad relations with Terr'Essh)

CHAPTER25

(Bashir sees Hamlen run away, reports it an goes after him)(Kira interferes with Terr'Essh. Terr'Essh knocks Kira out and

stores her.)(Korollemm speaks with Hamlen)

CHAPTER26

(Bashir is knocked out while trying to capture Hamlen a run)(Proust tries to rescue Bashir)(Judson volenteers to save Bashir--narrative Reis)

CHAPTER27

(Bashir awakes with a shattered shoulder in a Bennharrae prison)Surprise was hardly given a chance to spread before Corliss took

the butt of his gun to Judson's face.

(Kira can't escape Terr'Essh's cell)

Judson knew something had brought him from his stupor, but could not recall what until the fist struck him again in the face. His head was nocked sharply sidways, burning along the side of his face. And the hands were on his collar, jerking him to his feet. Pain coursed

in his chest, slowly localizing to a point in his ribs. He knew the sensation. Broken. As his sences returned, even breathing was excrutiating.

"Come. Wake up little man. You have an appointment."Judson shook his head grogily, trying to focus on the Bennharrae.

He recognized him, he knew, but who was he. Corliss. He saw the distinctive sneer now.

Oh God."What are you doing, you imbecile?" Judson caught his balance,

fixing a firm glare on the officer. He pushed Corliss away. "Idiot! Do you realize what you have done?" He made a great show of adjusting his suit, especially the collar. But he did not remove his eyes from Corliss. God help him, if he could only get out of this...

Corliss was leering at him. Judson didn't like it. But why wouldn't he be grinning? He had just captured the co-Mallor's prime advisor with his pants down. Great things could result from such a thing. "Done? What have I done, Vrenna?"

"You have destroied our opperation, fool! You should know better than to triffle with me. Destroied it!" But what exactly was it? Could Corliss see his indesicion, the fear in his eyes. Of course he could. He fed upon it, arousing the blood lust in his black veins. "Korollemm did not inform you?"

"Inform me of what, Vrenna?" Such coolness. Waiting, a snake in the grass.

"Of my duty!" Judson growled. "Korollemm ordered me to take the prisoners, to set them free."

"Free? Odd thing for our co-Mallor to do, do you not think?""Idiot! Do you have not a brain in your head! Releasing them,

they would return to the Prrzhevaal. We could follow them to their lair, wase them out in a single strike."

Surprise on his face, and appology, dangerous and mocking. He took a step back, let his jaw fall. "Oh! But forgive me! It is just that I did not know. Korollemm usually assigns such duties to me, you see. I only assumed the you were trying to free them on your own! Forgive me, my lord." He bowed animatedly, and rose again laughing. "I thought meerly that you had betrayed us!"

Judson feigned disbelief, then outrage. "What? How could you imagine such a thing. I am the prime advisor to--"

Judson broke off, tried to back away from the weapon in his face, staring straight down the barrel. He swallowed hard.

"Shut up, little man," Corliss snarled. "I am tired of your constant, self-important prattle. One more word from you and I will take your head off. Do not doubt me, Vrenna."

Judson did not doubt him. He kept his mouth shut.

"Your angel, co-Mallor." The butt of the gun again, this time into

the middle of Judson's back. It semt him forward onto his knees. The pain in his ribs intensified so that he nearly lost consiousness, breathing shallowly to ease the pain though his body hungered for oxygen.

Korollemm's face was sticken, filled with shock and pain that appeared completely genuine.

Korollemm rose slowly, seeming to push himself up with the strenght of his arms. He knelt down on both knees before Judson, gently placing a hand beneath his chin, raising his head so that their faces were level. Korollemm inclined his head, the line of his mouth pulled in an unspoken plea; and yes, Judson decided, it was true pain in the man's dark eyes.

"I thought you might like to speak with him, co-Mallor," Corliss said. There was a tone of pleasure in his voice. Without looking Judson knew the vulgar smile he wore.

Korollemm did not seem to listen. "Vrenna?" he whispered. There was such imploring in his eyes. It was disconcerting to Judson, who had seen little more than his masters schemeing and malevolence. He could not stand to look at it. He dropped his face to the ground.

"He came to free the human doctor," Corliss sneered, kneeing Judsons broken ribs to strengthen the sentiment. Judson bit his tongue against his outcry, only a grunt passing his lips, nausea spreading in his stomach. "We have long suspected him, co-Mallor. But it was Vallsenn who told us where to convict him."

Vallsenn, Judson groaned. They should never have trusted that one. Judson had always known, but Mrrshaal had assured them, she is loyal. And who will fall next, Mrrshaal. You were a fool.

Korollomm did not appear to hear Korollemm this time either, though Judson knew it was soaking painfully into his mind. He stared still at his fallen angel. And abruptly he spoke. "Set him there," Korollemm demanded, pointing to a chair near his desk. "Then leave us."

Corliss's smirk faded. He seemed unsure of if he'd heard correctly. "But...but co-Mallor--"

"Do as I say!" Korollemm bellowed, his eyes widening with rage.

Another chair was pulled near, Korollemm settling heavily into it. He had poured a glass of wine without Judson knowing, now holding it before him. "Drink it."

I don't want it, Judson set to say, but as his lips cracked the words shrivled in his throat. He turned away from it, shaking his head wearily.

This seemed to disappoint Korollemm. He glanced down into the glass, as if looking for some unseen defect. "But it is dae seen, your favorite. Fine year, as well. Here, Vrenna." He pressed the glass into his hands. "Please."

It burned in his split lip, tingling down his throat. "I do not want to belive it, Vrenna. I cannot believe that you

could do such a thing to me. For how could you have, after all I have done for you? I took you as my own son, since the day you presented yourself, ragged and wickedly clever before me. 'The way I once was,' I told myself. 'How much easier would my life had been, if someone had given me the chance I am going to give this boy.' I never had time for children of my own, Vrenna. I saw you as salvation, Vrenna."

Desperation. He had never seen it before in his master, and it unsettled him. Moisture seemed to glisten along Korollemms lower lids. Possible? No, surely not. Only Judson's delirium in agony. The pain in his ribs seemed to devour him, searing into is vitals. It so absorbed him in the moment that he did not see Korollemm lean forward, a hand falling gently to the back of Judsons head. His head hovered above Judson's shoulder, lips near his ear. "Tell me that Corliss is wrong, Vrenna." His tone was barely audable, a breath in the silence. "Tell me that he set you up in this. Say that he was jealous, that he seeks to destroy you, that he desires your place..." his voice seemed to die. "I will believe you, child. I will believe anything you say to me. I will have Corliss killed. I will have him strung up in Caabo for his treachory. You may kill him yourself, if you wish, Vrenna. Please, Vrenna. Please, tell me this was his doing."

I will believe anything... A word. One word. One lie and he lived. Breathing raggedly, near to weeping, Judson brought his eyes up to meet Korollemm. One word. Yes...

But Korollemm's gaze was not there to find. It lay fixed on something, the front of Judson's shirt, then his face without seeming to see him. Pain again, shimmering intencely in his aristocratic features. Judson's eyes drifted down, to the places stained with his own blood, dryed a deep red where it had run from the corner of his mouth, dripping down his chest, oozed from his split scalp, where Corliss had banked him with the butt of his gun. "But you are not even Bennharrae, are you?" Anguish seething. "Vrenna never even existed."

Judson did not move, looking at his knees. To his surprise Korollemm did not demand an answer. He stood stolidly before him with awful sadness in his eyes. After a time Judson raised his eyes slowly to meet Korollemm's. "No," he rasped.

Korollemm took a quick, startled breath. "But the eyes..." He paused, then moved a hand toward his own face. "Take them out... Please."

"White eyes. Horrible, white eyes. You would be almost better without them."

Pain. Still pain. Korollemm closed his eyes against it, covered it with a hand upon his lips. And then, one last furlative action, he leaned forward to press his forehead against Judson's. "I am so fond of you. I should just have you killed..." he trailed off. "But no. You are not my kind. You are Prrzhevaal and deserve such treatment. And even if you were not, still you betrayed me." He pulled away, eyes still shut. Judson could see him collecting himself, resolving. His back straightened, his features found thier familiar set. He moved a hand to the console on his desk, his fingers hesitating, then coming down upon the button that summoned Corliss to him. The guard entered reluctently, fighting the malice out of his manner. He halted stiffly in the center of the room, his gaze falling with loath upon Judson.

"Co-Mallor?"Even in his determination, Korollemm seemed unsure. The

pleading lingered, but dissolved as he filled himself with apathy. He snorted distastefully, looking away. "Do what you wish with him," he said, waving a hand dismissivly. "Be creative."

Light appeared in the Corliss's eyes. He grinned, bowing neatly to his president. "Yes, co-Mallor!"

"Oh, and Corliss...""Yes, co-Mallor?"Korollemm turned fully, walking with awful indifference back to

his desk. Judson watched numbly as he slid into his high-backed chair, straightening the hem of his suit as he met Judson's gaze. "Before you get into anything elaborate, get rid of the eyes." A smile broke on his face, showing his gleaming white teeth. "They offend me."

"Yes, co-Mallor."

He knew Bennharrae torture.Judson had never been a religious man closed his eyes and

began praying.

CHAPTER28

(Sisko's concerns about his crew)And where the hell was Kira?

So nearly my own son. How could I not have seen? How coud he have deluded me so. Heavens, I was such a fool. I should have seen. He was too kind, too crafty...

"You knew that he was Prrzhevaal?"She did not speak for a moment. He caught her reflection in the

glass, head down, eyes on the ground. "Yes.""Yet you did not tell me," he said sadly. "You wanted to hurt me

with it."Again, "Yes."He turned sharply to her, face suffused with sorrow. "But why?

Why would you wish to hurt me so? I have been good to you, Vallsenn. When did I ever pain you?"

"It was nothing you did to me, Korollemm. It was that you were doing to yourself."

Korollemm inclined his head. "To myself? What have I done?""You trusted him too much.""Trust him? Vrenna?" Korollemm exhailed, dropping his face.

He shook his head. "You fault me that? Do you not understand, how I loved him. What choice had I but to trust him?"

"All choice, co-Mallor. You have only to use your head. It is dangerous to trust at all, especially to rrust explicitly as you did Vrenna." She stepped forward to him, taking his face in her hands. She turned it up to her, so that she could look into his eyes. "I hope

you will forgive me this, Korollemm," she said softly. "I could not simply tell you of it. The only way you could learn was by pain. By this you will never trust again. So you will live."

"We found Judson, Ries."Reis brought his eyes up from the work, canting his head but not

turning. Her tone made shivers run up his back. He parted his lips, pressing his fingers to them, and shifted to look her in the face. "Yes..."

"Korollemm left his body as a calling card," Hana said vacantly, eyes fixed on some indefinate point in the corner of the room. "They ripped his eyes out...and I have no that they didn't do it after he was dead."

Reis let out his breath, falling back against the table. "Oh, my God!" He hid his face in his hands.

CHAPTER29

(Hana is unhappy when Colfax choses her to aid him in the rescue mission)

Colfax turned ridgedly to face the Bennharrae, recognizing him immediatly by insignia as Korollemm's body guard. He turned until his back faced the wall completely, staring directly, with defiance, into the man's black eyes. Of course it was only a show. He had never been so scared in his life. He held his hands tight to his sides, his fingers clenched so the Bennharrae would not see him shaking. He wanted to back against the wall, to have something to brace his quaking form agianst, but that would be a blatent sign of weakness. So he did his best to push the fear down, glaring fixedly at the Bennharrae.

Corliss's face had filled with pleasure, broad smile showing his white teeth. Bennharrae always smiled with their teeth like that. It made them as wolves, longing for the taste of blood and preparing to tear the jugular. Under that countenance Colfax was finding it more difficult to stand firm, but he managed.

"What is you're name, human?" Corliss asked in a haughty slur, his weapon leveled neatly on Colfax's chest.

Colfax did not speak, for he knew well enough how much his head was worth to the Government. And he did not say head figurqtivly. The reward for his identifyable skull was worth more than if

it were delivered with body intact. But the thing was, he was as good as dead anyway. He took a deep breath, straightening his back in dignity. "Darryl Colfax," he said firmly, "I am the commanding officer of the Prrzhevaal."

Corliss tilted his head back mockingly, his mouth forming an O. He made a low whistle, beginning to walk toward Colfax in a loose swagger, moving his gun so the barrel rested on his shoulder. "Darryl Colfax. I am surprised that you admitted it. I knew who you were, but for you to admit it." He shook his head, clicking his tongue on the roof of his mouth. He chuckled roughly. "We never thought that we would catch you, Colfax. We were not even sure that you existed. And to see you now, standing here..." He paused, looking him over. "You are not quite what I expected. Should be taller, stronger, not so... medeocre." He sneered at Colfax, who did not avoid him.

"Well then, Colfax, come with me. Come peacefully and I assure you that you will suffer no harm, at least not from me."

"Oh really?" Colfax snorted, "What about the reward?""I serve the co-Mallor Korollemm directly, Colfax. Such policies

do not apply to me. I shall take you to him. What he decides to do with you is not my concern." He stepped to one side of the hall, directing Colfax to walk before him.

Colfax didn't want to move, staring at Corliss, but what other choice did he have? Maybe he could escape Corliss somehow, or maybe Korollemm would spare him... But that would not happen. Corliss though himself very clever for telling Colfax that he would cause him no harm. Colfax knew the Bennharrae had evey intention of killing him. He knew this not only by the cold and murderous gleam in his black eyes, but in the fact that Bennharrae never kept their word.

Colfax inhailed deeply again, beginning to walk. He would pass up no chance to save himself, but he was resigned to the truth that there woud probably be none. Perhaps it was merciful that he had not expected Corliss to act so quickly, that he was in some small way unaware as Corliss had barely fell into step behind him, that he felt his hair grabbed forcefully and his head pulled back. He didn't catch the motion as the knife flased to his throat, racking just below his chin.

Surely he imagined that he felt his own blood gush copiously down the skin of his throat, soaking down the front of his shirt, the knife strike the spine of his neck and attempt to work it's way through, his lungs pull one frantic breath through his severed trachea. Quite honestly he was surprised at how quickly the blackness inveloped him. He had never thought that death would be so quick. He didn't even feel pain, only the numbness.

But he realized that it wasn't death just yet, for he could swear he heard his own body strike the ground, though he didn't feel it. And he still thought. People once said that human brain lives eight seconds without oxygen. Well, it seemed it lived for at least some time, but it

wasn't a truth he'd be able to convey. In that eight seconds Darryl Colfax's life didn't flash before his

eyes. He didn't think about the family he had never made for himself, the children he'd never had. He didn't think about the years he'd wasted in pursuit of his Starfleet career, or even of his parents, his family, his coleagues, the people he was leaving behind. Instead he was consumed by a single need.

In the blackness of draining life and dieing neurons was the image of Hana Hali, glaring at him just before they had come on this mission, every time she looked into his face. The same look always, the same hate. He had always known that she blaimed him for bringing them there, for killing Michael, Jennifer, Laura, and more recently Judson. And, despite everything she had thought about his convictions, he blaimed himself too.

As consciousness flooded quickly and eternally from him there was but a single plea, one he wept over as he chanted it into oblivion, for a thing he needed more than he had ever needed anything in life: forgiveness. God, forgive me. Oh, for the love of God, Hana, fogive me, please. I'm sorry. I did all I could, I swear. I'm sorry. I'm sorry... Forgive me... Please....

A thin, violet eyed Bennharrae woman. Denaaro's assistant. When Odo's eyes met hers she smiled, and entirely disturbing counenance. Odo frowned at her, began to move back toward the door, but she placed herself before it. "Ah ah," she raised and index finger, moving it from side to side. "No. You're going to stay right here and let them play out their little drama, Odo. This is none of your concern."

Odo was barely given time to realize the significance of her words. Another smile, as disconcerting as the first, and her form dissolved. In an instant she was in a gelatenous state, sliding easily under the door. Odo was quick to collect himself, reverting to follow her, not giving it a second thought until he sizzled against a forcefield.

CHAPTER30

...Jaral was staring silently at his hands."And where is Colfax? Not back yet?" She snorted, shaking her

head and planting her hands on her hips. "Probably hiding out in the forest somewhere, cowering in the bushes. I swear, for all that man dictates he doesn't have a shred of gumption in him. If I ever get the chance..." she trailed off, surprised that Jaral had not yet moved to defend their Captain. Indeed, he appeared not to have heard her. "Jaral?" She spoke quietly now, shrinking back into herself. "Jaral, where is he?"

Jaral smiled ruefully, his shoulders beginning to shake in a silent, mirthless laughter. But slowly the forced smile faded despite his effort to hold it. Suddenly the tears she had not seen brimming rolled heavily down his face. He moved quickly to wipe them away, but they came too heavily for him to staunch.

Hana felt her eyes go wide. The blood flowed out of her face. She gasped, but it came out as more of a choaked sob. She pressed her hands to her mouth, backing away from him, "No!"

Jaral could contain himself no longer. A single audable sob broke from him as he hid his face in his hands, falling into silent weeping. Hana should have thought to comfort him. She wanted badly to run to him, to embrace him, to cry with him, but she was so surprised that she could do nothing more than stare. Though soft-hearted she could never have imagined the big man crying. It was more than she could take. She wailed, turned and fled.

"They took his head," Ellie said angrily, sniffling heavily. "At least they had the descency not to send it to us this time."

(Reis volunteers to get Bashir.)

(Proust follows Reis.)...The high piched whir of Bennharrae weapon charging.

CHAPTER31

"She did not tell you that she was captured?""She, uh...neglected to mention it."Korollemm's brows shot up, "Oh. She did not want to worry you,

perhaps. She is a very thoughtful woman."Reis pursed his lips as he considered speaking. "It's probably

isn't wise to look a gift horse in the mouth, but obviously you let her

go. Why?"Korollemm inclined his head, frowning. "What do you mean to

'look a gift horse in the mouth?'""It means...well, it means if you are a given something, don't

check for the catches, because you'll most likely find some.""Ah, yes. Well, that is not the case here. There are no catches.

It is simply that I could not stand to see the little beauties eyes torn out. Odd that. I allowed Vrenn... Judson to be killed, and I let her go free. Judson was like a son to me. I loved him, and I held him very dear. But he betrayed me. He deserved what he got. You know, Mr. Reis, now that you've made me think of it I should have let the boy live. Effects of torture included, of course. Indeed it would have been more horrible than having him dead." Korollemm smiled to himself, chuckling lightly. Reis closed his eyes, turning his face away.

Korollemm tipped his head back, regarding Reis with interest. "Do I disturb you, Cardassian. What do you think of this, then: you have no idea how close I came to keeping your pretty little wife for myself. She would have given me fine children, with both our beauties. It was that mind of hers that inticed me more than her form, though. She nearly talked her way out of my hands without my realizing it. When I did discover what she was doing, I simply had to let her go. It would have been a waste to kill her. We could have put a few brains onto this planet, though. And we would have, if my bigotted, ignorant race had allowed it. I would never have been allowed to take an alien woman as my mistress. No matter how pretty, I could not have. She cares not for us, I discovered." He spoke the last sentence incidentaly. "It seems that she had a rather bad experience with one of us, some high councilman of the homeworld. Did she ever tell you of that? She is a private woman, I know."

Reis did not speak at once, though he did eventually respond, "Yes. It's true, so I don't see how you would have known."

Korollemm smirked, obviously pleased with himself, "We made a deal, the two of us. My one condition for letting her go was for her to tell me of her life. A person as old as she would have much to tell. Initially I only intended to listen for word of Bennhar, but there was so much more of interest. Her life has been very rich."

"She could have lied, you realize. You never would have known.""Ah, but you neglect the fact the she and I are of the same blood.

That gift of deciet is in us all, and we know it at sight. I swore to her that if she breathed a single lie I would kill her then and there. And she knew that I was not lieing when I spoke that. No, she did not lie. She had no wish to end her living at my hand. Hmmm. A pity, really, that she was posessed by such a cruel man as Mhaddoll. It soured her. I would not have been so harsh." Korollemm flashed Reis a malicious smile.

Reis felt heat welling in his chest. He deepened his glare at

Korollemm, but held his ground. Attacking him would do no good.Korollemm was smiling still, showing his gleaming white teeth.

"So, our compossed little man does have fire in his blood." He chuckled lightly, looking back to his paperwork.

Reis clenched his teeth, ignoring the pinch of fingernails biting into his palms. "Why do you do it?" he hissed. "What makes you want to cause harm and misery."

Korollemm met his eyes again, still grinning. "I suppose it would make less sence to you than any other. What is it you doctors take? A...hypocratic oath, that you will do no harm."

"Less sence to me? You're saying there is any sence to it at all?""There is sence to everything in the universe, Cardassian. Just

because I do not know what it is does not mean that the sence does not exist. Though it gauls me to admit it, I am much inferior to my dark haired brothers such as Mrrshaal. Our blood is fouled by that of another. Because of that I cannot hope to grasp most Bennharrae consepts, I can only follow them."

"Maybe you can't grasp them because they make no sence. Do you question nothing?" He barely acknowledged the fact that he was echoing Hana.

Korollemm laughed, shaking his head. "You sound as she does. Her fire has infected you, Cardassian." He sighed. "It would please me much to kill you, but I feel that I cannot. I cannot, for her sake. I could not harm her. For that reason I'm letting you all go."

Reis flinched, any further arguement against Korollemm dieing on his lips. "What?"

"You heard me. I'm letting you all go. Except for who I hold now, the doctor, Bashir, and Lieutenant Hamlen. The doctor must pay for his crime, and I am doing you a favor by getting rid of Hamlen. He has no loyalties. You need no such man in your Federation. The rest of you will leave." His face became stern, "You will go, you will never set foot on this world again. Realize that if I had wanted to exterminate you, you would not have survived your first week on Kythera, that I was good for letting you live and torment us. Leave this day. Any longer and I shall show no mercy."

Reis was still gaping at the Bennharrae in disbelif, barely collecting enough of himself to speak. "But... But Bashir didn't mean to kill those men. He doesn't deserve to die."

"Those officials are dead, Cardassian. Someone has to pay for that. He was the one caught, therefore the burden is his."

"But it's not fair. It's not just.""What you call fair and just does not apply on this world,

Cardassian. If you wish, go argue justice in front of your Starfleet on your Earth. It would be best for you to run this moment and set to such a task, because if you and your people are not off of Kythera before the sun falls they will be suffering great discomfort. And if you

are not out of my office before this minute is up, you will find yourself lacking some farily important sensory organs."

Reis straightened, preparing to speak again when he felt Corliss's hand on his arm, the grip more than uncomfortably tight.

"You will excuse me, co-Mallor, but is it wise to do this," Corliss said gruffly, barely able to keep the disapproval out of his voice. "We should just kill them and be done with--"

"You heard me, Corliss," Korollemm said lowly, the shade of his eyes turning dangerous. "You should know it is not wise to question the order of your lord."

Corliss shrunk back a bit, and Reis could feel fear through his grip. "Yes, co-Mallor. I'm sorry co-Mallor. It is just that--" He broke off, but not quick enough for Korollemm not to predict what he was going to say.

The Bennharrae president's face grew hard, and Corliss took a step back. Korollemm rose slowly, his hands on his desk in his characteristic stance. "But what, Corliss? What were you going to say? That Vrenna contended me constantly? That I favored him for that?"

"No, co-Mallor. No, co-Mallor, that was not it. It was that--""Lieing adds to your list, Corliss. It is growing long. You cannot

afford many more before you will find yourself in just the place Vrenna was. And seeing you were the one that tortured him you know just how unpleasent it is. Would you rather be hearing your screams than his?"

"No, co-Mallor. Forgive me. I will take him out this very moment. I will go." He jerked Reis out after him so sharply that the Cardassian's head snapped. Corliss mannaged to stammer several other appologies before making it out the door.

"What makes you think I will let you live, Cardassian?"

"He'll exicute you on principle. You disobeyed him--""He will know no better of it, Cardassian."

He caught a glimpse of the Bennharrae's face, his eyes rolling back Reis managed an exclaimation as he jumped aside, barely avoiding Corliss's body as it toppled forward. The big man clipped Reis on the heels before hitting the ground.

Casting a quick glance at the guard, Reis turned sharply in the direction of the phaser fire. He was not surprised to see the head of Corliss's assailant protruding from a vent several inches from the ceiling. He was, however, surprised at it's master. "Proust?"

The lieutenent had been peering down at Corliss's form, but quickly looked up to Reis. He smiled, and though Reis had never seen

Proust with the expression it was exactly how he had imagined it: a lopsided , yet unexpectedly solid countenance. "You sound surprised." He backed up in the ventelation shaft, then came out again feet first, dropping neatly to the floor, phaser still in hand. He reached into his back pocket and extracted another weapon, handing it to Reis.

"Damn right I'm surprised!" He took the phaser, checking the settings. "What are you doing here? Of all the people to send--"

"Oh, they didn't send me. Something was bound to go wrong, so I snuck out and came here. After all you did for me I needed to repay in some way." He grinned again, shoving his own phaser into his belt. "Let's get out of here, Doctor."

"We have to find Bashir and Hamlen," Reis said, glancing over his shoulder.

"Is that really nessicary..." Proust's face crinkled. "Hamlen, I mean. It's just that, well, he was always such an ass."

"It would serve him right to leave him here, wouldn't it? Pity I don't have a Bennharrae conscience. But no, only a cold-blooded reptile." He smiled wryly, clapping Proust on the shoulder. "Come on, Lieutenant. Let's find Mr. Bashir and get the hell off this mud ball."

(Mrrshaal has to get rid of Denaaro)(Vallsenn dies and Korollemm seeks revenge)

Who on Earth... She inclined her head, pacing back to the console. As she tapped the controls the Starfleet insignia dissolved into the dour face of Mrrshaal. Terr'Essh's mood took an imediate turn for the worse. "What do you want?"

Mrrshaal flinched uncharacteristically. Instead of dilivering a cool responce he only stared at her dumbly.

What is it now? Terr'Essh sighed internally. "Well, what? I don't have all day."

Mrrshaal opened his mouth, but closed it again promptly. "I...I am sorry. I have interupted you. Forgive me." He moved to cut the communication.

Momentarily caught off guard, Terr'Essh put a hand up. "Seeing you already have interupted me, tell me what you wished to say. But make it quick."

"No. Perhaps this is not the best time to--""For Heaven's sake, Mrrshaal, just get on with it. "It is just that...I wanted to make sure that you would be all

right," he said quietlyTerr'Essh inclined her head, becomming perplexed with the

situation. "What do you mean 'all right?' Why wouldn't I be?"Mrrshaal inclined his head, "Please, dear, don't be callose."Instead of snapping this time Terr'Essh only glared at him. Most

of this was to hide the dread rising in her stomach. she swallowed with

difficulty.The look of sympathy on his face deepened. "Oh, Kel," he

breathed. "I am sorry.""Sorry about what, Mrrshaal?" She tried to hold down her

volume. "Why? What's wrong?"Mrrshaal pursed his lips, dropping his eyes. It was all Terr'Essh

could do not to scream at him, to keep down the tension of waiting for him to speak.

"Your husband," he said flatly. "He and some others were captured, Kel."

"Captured?" She did not hear the waver in her voice, a numbness filling her body. "Well, they're all right, aren't they."

"No, Kel. They are dead. All of them." He paused. "I'm sorry. I truly am."

CHAPTER32

Jaral was not accustomed to navigating the Labyrinth at high speeds. In the blind darkness he lost track of the hyroglyphs he used to locate his quarters and had to back track more than once.

As he turned a corner Hana Hali appeared, consternation filling her features. Sighting him, she haulted, surprised at encountering another. But she recovered quickly, falling into step behind him.

"Are we ready?" Jaral asked curtly, not bothering to look at her. His pace was rapid enough that Hana had to rush to keep up.

"Yes. The others are in the kitchen.""What are you doing up here, anyway?""I lost a broach. I thought I'd give it one last go before we left.""Didn't find it?"Hana didn't respond for a moment, presumably shaking her head

before she spoke. "No.""No word from Reis?""None. Proust's gone, too.""Probably went after him," Jaral murmured, shaking his head.

He pulled open a drawer, finding a small bag. He threw it onto the bed and proceded to empty the contents of other drawers into it. "The shuttle crafts are all in working order? No, don't bother to answer

that. There's no time to worry about that now." He pursed his lips, trying to ignore the acid coalescing in his stomach. "God," he whispered, "we can't just leave them." Pulling a ragged blue tunic from the drawer, Jaral paused, looking at it, the faded color and tattered hems. What am I doing? I don't need any of this. He stared at it a moment more, then turned and dumped the bags contents over his bed. "Grab me that chair, Hana."

Hana blinked, perplexed for a moment, then glanced at the whicker chair he indicated. She picked it up, pressing its back into he open hands. He moved to place it before the closet and mounted it gingerly, balancing on his toes as he felt along the top shelve. His finger tips, seeking the smooth touch of mahogany, encountered the chest's small corner. Pulling it to him, he stepped from the chair carefully, turning to place it on the dresser behind him. "Tell Brent he's in charge," Jaral said calmly, flipping the chest's lid open. Various trinkets lay scattered inside, heirlooms and family pictures he had brought with him, sitting atop a swath of black fabric. He picked the fabric up, easing one hand cerimoniously below it, brushing it's top with the other. He unfolded it carefully, examining it's cut, the black body, gold shoulders, running a thumb over the three pips. "Tell him to get everyone out of here. I'm taking the Tacumpsa to get Reis."

Jaral felt Hana's grip firmly on his shoulder. When he turned she placed a hand on his chest, pushing him back. "No, Jaral. I'm going."

Her declaration caught him off guard. "What?""You heard me. I'm going. I owe it to Colfax.""No, Hana. Darryl's death wasn't your fault. It's not your

responcibility--""I'm going," she said firmly, her features set in their typical,

unmovable fashion. "That's the last of it.""I am your superior, you realize.""I don't care, Commander." Jaral nearly winced, unused to the

formality of hearing her use his title. They had been on a first name basis for so long. "Courtmarshal me if you want, but I'm going, and I'm going alone."

"Not really the best idea, Miss Hana," a new voice drawled beside them. "You cannot seriously think that you can take the whole of Korollemm's guard all on your own."

Jaral and Hana turned in sequence to where the figure stood in the doorway. Jaral thought he recognized the voice, but didn't see how the origin could be standing on the same planet with them. He and Hana stood mutely staring at the slightly built Bennharrae gentleman leaning in the doorway, his green ringed eyes gleaming in repressed amusement. His powerfully built first officer towered near him, peering at them solemnly, arms folded across his chest just as the captain's were.

"Ehlrrich?" Hana breathed, her mouth gaping in disbelief.

Captain Ehlrrich, the commander of the Fbol Rejelkimen, smiled in his Bennharrae preditory manner, bowing to them neatly.

"Good heavens, man," Jaral exclaimed, "you shouldn't be here! You should be a million miles away. Do you have any idea the kind of danger you're putting yourself in, being here with us?"

"A perfect idea, co-Mander. When we heard of all the diffifulties you were facing we decided you could use a bit of aide. We take the risk at our own discression." He glanced up at his first officer. "We all do."

"We want to help," the first officer said. "Whatever the cost, we need to."

"Our ship is waiting," Ehlrrich continued, seeking nothing of formalities. "We could retrieve your doctor by ourselves, but if Miss Hana insists on accompanying us, all is well. You should take your people and go, co-Mander. We will follow in due time. At the moment I suggest haste, on both our parts, if you value your people's lives." He nodded curtly to Hana and started to turn.

"You know what will happen if Korollemm discovers that you have collaborated with outsiders," Jaral warned, aware that he did. He found himself swelling with gratitude for the Bennharrae captain, who's ship and crew had been silent allies to the Prrzhevaal thoroughout their trials. It would be tragic for them to have been unknown all this time, only to be discovered now.

Ehlrrich paused and glanced back at him, still grinning. "Filling the pond begins with a single stone, co-Mander. Someone must cast it. If I die I will become a martyr to me people's freedom. I have no complaint to that." He continued out.

Hana let out what was almost a small laugh of pleasure, but bit it off quickly. She glanced up at Jaral, smiling for the first time in weeks. He returned the grin and nodded, upon which she broke ground and darted after Ehlrrich.

Jaral watched her go, then folded his uniform and placed it back in the trunk, snaping the lid. He tucked it under one arm, took a final look at his room, and strode out without ever looking back. He would not miss this place.

He took the steps that decended to the kitchen, where the crew he now commanded stood in wait. He had never wanted to become their captain this way.

(Terr'Essh decides to kill Denaaro)

A lean form, voilet rings of her irises in the quarters dim light. Denaaro could only stare, aware of the scream condensing from his bowels. But she is dead. I saw it. I killed her with my own hands...

"Dnnoll?" he rasped.The girl tilted her head at an angle unusual enough to seem

unnatural. She dipped her body to him neatly, the gesture itself respectful, but brimming with scorn. "Skkleral," the title played oddly of her tongue, between her lips, as if it were some token of humor to her. And when she looked up, the same vulgar humor in her face.

Denaaro willed himself to move, to speak, but his body would not respond, except to back away from the apparation, until his back encountered the wall.

"What is it, Denaaro?" "You seem distressed.""But you are...you are...""Dead?" That smile again, spreading fridgidly through her face.

She leaned toward him, an empty smile curving her lips. "Divided we stand," she breathed.

...she retracted her form and his body crumpled to the ground. It had barely settled when the quarter's doors slid open. She turned to see the dark haired solid, Terr'Essh, enter, phaser drawn.

There were any number of things the solid could have done at that point to give the changeling a reason to kill her. Having the weapon was enough, but as the solid stepped inside her eyes fell immediatly upon Denaaro, and odd expression filling her face. It did not contract, drawn in horror at the scene that befell it. It was only stolid, perhaps disappointed. Eventually their eyes met, holding for an instant.

The solid's eyes dropped back to Denaaro. "He was mine," she said, remource only for what she had been denyed. "It was my right to kill him, not yours."

"It is done," the changeling said. "That is enough."The solid stood in silence a moment more. "Maybe for you." She

turned sharply and walked toward the door.The changeling watched her in curiosity, rousing itself to speak

only as the door slid open. "I would advise you to undo the dark one's work before his mission is completed," it cautioned. It was almost surprised at it's aiding of the solid, though it knew why it did. The station would pose no difficulty to the Dominion, at what time they chose to move. For it to be destroied would be a waste.

The solid paused but did not look back, or give any responce to the changeling's warning. She seemed not even to hear it. She continued on, out the door. The changeling did nothing to stop her. It merely glanced down at Denaaro, then knelt to reach inside his jacket,

into the pocket where his transport ticket lay, in the same motion shifting it's form into that of a young Bajorian man. It tucked the tricket into it's own pocket, taking up Denaaro's bag to appear more convincing.

The solid had little over fourty-five minutes to prevent the station's destruction. It wasn't going to stick around to see if she did. It began it's trek to the docking ring.

CHAPTER33

...She needed revenge. She needed it more than she needed air. Just that one life would have been enough tp avenge all that she'd lost...she hated the changeling for taking that away from her.

Abruptly all the hate and anger that had built up in Terr'Essh shifted and lit ablaze. The Changelings! This was all their fault. If it hadn't been for them she wouldn't have have become tied up with the Bennharrae again. She wouldn't have lost her husband. Anything but her husband and she would have been fine. With him everything had been all right. Her life would have been perfect if not for them. And if setting her life to shambles again wasn't enough they had denyed her revenge as well!

Revenge she needed now more than ever. Someone had to pay for her suffering.

Unfortunatly the one to bear that cost was the least deserving for it.

Jaral Sieg had lead the Prrzhevaal a great distance, and by the time they reached the huge, level-floored cavern cut out behind the raging Zhena Tellea waterfall Dax's ankle was sore and badly swollen again, and the trek's wear was beggining to work on her. But this did not dampen her surprise as--once through the fine mist sprayed by the river--she fell into sight of six shuttle craft nessled neatly along the walls. She didn't have time to inquire into the peculiarity as she and the others piled into them, she into the Kirin along with Jaral and Ellie Fel, the woman who had helped her walk. Jaral had taken the shuttle's command, running systems checks and warming up the engines. There had been an air of excitement all about her, in the faces of the shuttles other inhabitants. They smiled cheerfully to each other, and when she caught the eye of a young man named Morgan Woodward he announced, "We're getting off this mud ball."

Jaral took them up without delay, slipping the little craft easily through the waterfall's veil, passing into bright sunlight. It glinted through the water droplets that beaded on the front veiw screen, that were soon taken away by the wind.

The reason for the oddity of the Prrzhevaal having shuttle craft didn't dawn on Dax, though it should have. Indeed the truth didn't rejesture until the Kirin swung into high orbit on the dark side of Kythera's smallest moon and Jaral deactivated a masking device. A large piece of the moons basalt sea evaporated and there, resting in a crater, was the neat, streamlined bulk of an Oberth class science vessle. Dax did not speak, could think of nothing to say. She glanced at Jaral several times, unable to accept the reality. As the shuttle swept low, preparing to dock, Dax squinted at the black lettering of the ship's name, slightly obscured by lunar dust. It read clearly U.S.S.

Tengri Khan; NCC-10532."But that ship was lost," Dax said before thinking.Ellie Fel chuckled lightly. "Now it's found."But those hither to unknown wonders seemed pale as the

turbolift opened onto the bridge, where Dax had been instructed to wait, seated in the commander's chair. She glanced up just as Lieutenant Commander Jaral Seig, the ship's chief engineer, stepped onto the bridge, several others behind him. He looked about the bridge quickly, a small smile gracing his lips. Dax smiled herself, watching Jaral and the others silently. She had never imagined that the rag-tag group could be Starfleet officers. But there in their uniforms they were all too clearly such. Dax wondered how she could ever have doubted.

"All right, people," Jaral boomed, clapping his hands together firmly, his impressive stance dominating the bridge. "Let's see if we can get this old hull running again." He pivoted and moved for the captian's chair, settling into it easily, keying his communicator. "Bry, Vaydeen, what's the condition of our warp drive?"

"Amazing, considering it's been down for almost nine months," Bry stated in his melodic voice. Dax didn't know that he could sound professional.

"The old girl kicked right up when we turned her on," Kara Vaydeen announced.

"We'd like to have time to run a few diagnostics, but that's out of the question," Bry added. "I'm sure that we'll hit warp nine without trouble, Commander."

"Good. We'll likely need it. Thank you, Ensigns. Seig out." He turned to peer up at Maxwel, expectedly the head of security, seated above him at tactical. "Status?"

"Weapons at full compliment, sir," Maxwel drawled in his heavy accent. He patted his consol like a faithful dog, "Photons loaded, phasers charged and itchin' to go!"

"Perfect." He faced front again, leaning toward the lieutenant at the helm. "Let's see if we can fire this hulk up, O'Neil. Shake the dust off."

"Aye, aye, sir!" Rachel O'Neil beamed, not attempting to contain her pleasure.

"And as for you, Miss Dax," Jaral swung his gaze now to her, concealing his smile under a captain's face, though light danced in his eyes. "You are nominated as my first officer, for the moment. Welcome aboard the Tengri Khan, Commnader Dax!"

Dax grinned back, folding her hands in her lap and regarding the veiwscreen, filled with the expance of lunar landscape. "I always have liked the sound of that."

Jaral nodded singularly, falling into keen silence. He smoothed his hands against the arms of the captains chair, peering at the

controls as if they were entirely foreign. He examined his bridge, his people, and then Dax with a slight smile as a surge of power passed through the ship. "She's beautiful," he said whistfully. "I'd forgotten how much I missed her."

...She was walking toward him, but not appearing to see him. Indeed she came a good distance closer before she noticed him. There was an immediate change in her demeinor. There had been a peculiar tightness to her stride, a ridgedness in her body. This dissolved, her face filling with an expression Odo found impossible to describe. Some relief, some loathing, some...he wasn't sure. He was only sure that his alarms were going off, cautioning him. He slowed his pace in advancing to her, as she did to him. Odo found himself reluctant to speak.

"There's a Changeling on the station," he said tersely. He managed nothing else before Terr'Essh said, "Yes. I know.""You've seen her?""Yes, I have."Odo jumped at this, starting to walk the direction from which

Terr'Essh had come. "Where? Where is she?""I don't know where she is now.""Then where did you see her last." Odo was unable to conceil his

aggitation. He was losing valuable time."In Denaaro's quarters," she said. Then added ruefully, "She

killed him."Odo haulted, turned full to face her. "What?""Oh, but he deserved it, though. He deserved it, but it wasn't her

right to kill him. It was mine. I should have been the one."There was something in her voice that was making Odo's

caution scream. He began approaching her carefully. "Lieitenant? Are you all right?"

He took it as his own mistake that he walked right up to Terr'Essh, ignoring his reservations, stopping not a meter from her. And it could only be his own misjudgement that he trusted her, a woman he should have known not to trust. He was caught completely by surprise when Terr'Essh whirled on him and suddenly there was a phaser jabbed into his neck.

"I don't suppose you'd honor me with an explanation."She hissed at him in her trippy, vicious alien language again,

which the translator did not know. "It's your fault," she eventually snapped in English. "It's all your fault."

"What is?""My personal hell! Everything...all that has happened to me...it

all comes down to this! It comes down to you, Constable, and your people!"

"I'm afraid I don't understand--""No!" Terr'Essh screamed, her eyes flashing with madness. "You

do understand! You must! As if the Bennharrae trying to destroy me...my people turning agaist me..." she hesitated, faultering. "As...as if that weren't enough! If it hadn't been for you and your people my life might have been normal, and heavan forbid that should happen! All because of you! All because of you! But it can all be fixed. It will be fine, it all will. All I have to do" he could see her thumb trembling firmly on the trigger "is get rid of you!"

"And you think that revenge will change everything that's happened?" He inclined his head to her. "Two wrongs don't make a right, Terr'Essh."

"Shut up!" She screamed. "Just shut up! Someone has to pay!""But I'm as innocent as you are."Terr'Essh face blanked, then shifted to rage. "I could have been

happy! Everything was fine and then you screwed it all up! If it weren't for you my husband wouldn't be dead," through anger tears began to flow down her face, "and everything would have been fine." Her voice cracked, dwindled to a whisper. "I could have been happy..."

"Oh! Oh Odo! I'm sorry! I'm so, so sorry!"

CHAPTER34

(Garak comes upon the distressed Odo and sobbing Terr'Essh)

"Oh no!"

"God-forsaken Bennharrae explosives," she grumbled under her breath. "The things never change. I never could defuse the bastards."

Odo was unable to control the expression od disease that flitted across his face. Something about it was oddly gratifying to Garak.

A look of surprise spread in her fearutes, then apprehension. She reached inside her uniform, extractiong a small device and, hesitating, activated it. "Hello?"

"Terrie!" The voice, small and hollow, burst over the comm link.Terr'Essh's face tightened in disbelief. "Jaral?" Her face erupted

into a smile. "My God, Jaral…""Listen, we don’t have much time. What is your condition?"“Denaaro discovered us. He killed Thom. But one of his

assistants was a Changeling, and she killed him when he tried the same trick."

"Secrecy still intact?"She raised her eyes breifly to Odo. "For the most part, yes.""Excellent. A pity it's about to end.""About to... Why? What's happened, Jaral?" "Don't fret. We're only having a bit of trouble, nothing we can't

handle. Only we have to contact the station. I wasn't sure how to procede."

"Procede? What are you talking about, Jaral? What's happening?"

"Where are you? No, don't answer that either. Just get up to the command center as soon as possible. It will be easier to explain that way. Jaral out." The connection sizzled and went dead.

"Jaral?" Franticness appeared in Terr'Essh's voice. "Jaral?" Her features tightened, and she tucked the comm unit back into her uniform and began backing out of the maintenance tube.

"What are you doing?" Odo asked."Following orders," Terr'Essh rumbled, dropping into the coridoor

beside Garak.

(Sisko reacts and saves the station from destruction. Before he gets any answers the Tengri Khan appears, pursued)

"Open hailing frequencies!" Sisko boomed, barely waiting for Jurgenson to give him the go ahead before speaking. "This is Commander Benjamin Sisko of the space station Deep Space Nine. You are in violation of Bajorian space. Cease your pursuit!"

A moment passed before Jurgenson informed him, "They're not responding, Commander."

Sisko growled, bringing a fist down on the Operations table. "Hail the other ship." Jurgensen did so and nodded to Sisko, but the main viewscreen flaired to life before the commander had a chance to address them.

The center of the screen was filled with the seated form of a Trill officer in engineering gold. Sisko's attention was initiallly focused on him, but was quickly shifted to the woman seated beside him. Dax! And above the two was what appeared to be Admiral Maxwel!

What the hell? Sisko gaped. The ship was struck by weapon fire and the group was thrown to

the right. Dax came out of her seat and had to crawl back into it. As soon as the ship was stabilized the Trill officer was on his feet, walking toward the screen. "Commander Sisko, I'm Lieutenant Commander

Jaral Seig of the U.S.S. Tengri Khan. I regret to inform you that we are experiencing a few minor difficulti--" the ship was rocked by fire again and Seig fell out of the view screen, but was quickly up again.

"Why are they pursuing you, Commander?" Sisko demanded.Jaral shifted a bit and glanced back to Dax. Dax looked forward

to meet Sisko's eyes, an urgent request in her eyes. "This is really the time to act first and ask questions later, Commander," Jaral said. "Let’s forestall my life’s story until I can tell it over drinks.”

Sisko hesitated, meeting Dax's eyes again. Dax nodded, and a moment later Sisko sighed resignation. "Very well. Jurgenson, open a channel to the Bennharrae ship again, and make sure it goes through." He gave the lieutenant a moment before saying, "Bennharrae vessel, if you do not disengage this instant we will be forced to fire on you." He gave it another moment and looked back at Jurgenson, who shook his head.

He turned to address Terr'Essh, only to see the top of her head disappearing down the turbolift shaft. He thought to send Odo after the woman, but the Constable was already with her.

"Jaral!" She threw herself into the Trill officer's arms. He caught her, laughing, and swung her around. This was the husband she'd spoken of, Garak realized. He found himself disappointed, for some reason. He tried to brush the emotion aside. It wasn't any of his business. He should be happy that her husband had returned to her intact.

Jaral put her down, and to Garak's genuine surprise she moved directly to the person behind him, a pretty, metallic skinned alien, embracing him with much the same fervor, though the alien was more restrained than Jaral. Was Jaral not her husband then? This was confirmed when she turned next to a small balding human, who she pecked on the cheek before hugging as well.

"Why all the fuss, Terrie?" The balding man chuckled in a heavy accent. "You aren't happy to see us, are you?"

Terr’Essh touched his face reverently, "Mrrshaal said you'd all been killed!" she cracked.

"We're not that easy," the pretty alien smiled. For that Terr'Essh hugged him again. She was smiling too, but this faded as she surveyed the individuals massing behind those she had greeted. "Where's Reis? Where's Darryl, and Judson?"

The smiles were quick to wither. Several of the exchanged heavy glances, and Jaral cleared his throat. Before he could speak a sob escaped Terr'Essh. She backed away from them, hands pressed to

her mouth."Darryl and Judson are dead, Terrie." Jaral paused. "Korollemm

had them killed.""But...what about Reis?" Her voise rasped."He...he went to rescue Doctor Bashir from Korollemm's prison.

Hana and Ehlrrich went after them, too, when Reis didn't make it out, but we...we don't know what happened…"

But he didn't go on. Watching Terr'Essh Jaral's voice slowed and faded. Silent tears ran down her face. Garak watched her as well, but he felt no pity. A coldness was seeping through his own body. If Reis had been sent to rescure Bashir and not made it out alive…Garak caught the railing to support his quaking knees.

CHAPTER35

"I did so much for you, Cardassian. Against my own better judgement, against the judgement of my officers. I was more than

generous, and you slashed me. And you hold us to be the ruthless ones.” His voice had dropped to no more than a hiss.

(Korollemm rants for a time, working himself into a rage until he snatches up a gun and prepares to blow Bashir's brains out.)

When things began to happen the did so in speedy precession. The door swung open with a sharp crack. Korollemm wirled tightly toward the sound; Corliss brought up his weapon. A tizzy of phaser fire and the guards were on the floor, while the room filled with inpressivly armed Bennharrae, the foremost being the captain of the Fbol Rejelkimen, bellowing for Korollemm to drop his weapon.

Bashir wasn't sure who was more surprised, Korollemm or himself. Korollemm’s took several steps away from Bashir, his weapon clenched, forgotten, in his left hand.

The captain demanded that Korollemm drop the weapon, cocking his own as an emphesis. Korollemm's mouth worked uselessly in responce until he recalled himself and propelled the gun away from him in a panic, bringing his hands up in surrender. "Ehlrrich?" he breathed.

The captain motioned for his first officer to retrieve the weapon, his eyes never leaving Korollemm. "At your service, co-Mallor."

"But...but how? How could..." his face hardened. "You are one of them. You are human."

"No, co-Mallor," Ehlrrich said cheerfully. "As black-blooded as you. Only dissatisfied a bit."

"Quit the cuteness, Ehlrrich," Hana snapped, her small frame emerging from among the mass of Bennharrae officers. "Help Bashir. We need to get out of here."

Ehlrrich nodded, sheathing his weapon, "Yes, madam." He cast a meaningful glance at his first officer--to watch Korollemm, which he nodded to--before moving to Bashir.

...Reis turned, raising his gun, leveling it on Korollemm. And expression of consternation spread on Hana's face then dissolved a second before she lunged at him, knocking his shot off. It blasted harmlessly into the wall a few inches above the Bennharrae's head. Korollemm yelped an ducked, hands wrapped against his skull.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Hana shrieked, fighting to pull the weapon from Reis's hands. He was still trying to level it on Korollemm.

"I'm doing everyone a favor!" he hissed, getting off another shot--which burned into the ceiling--before Hana managed to wrench the phaser from his grasp.

"That's just you're justification of revenge! Revenge won't bring back Laura, or Judson, or our captain!"

Reis became abruply sober, narrowing his eyes at her. "To hear that from you, now?"

Hana flinched, then collected herself to say tonelessly, "If you do it you're no better than he is."

Reis scoffed, throwing his head. "That's a rather cliche excuse, Hana. I thought you were more clever than that. But I won't…I can do no harm." He glared back at Korollemm, cringing against the wall. "Besides, he's not worth my soul."

That was the last of it. Hana and Ries were out the door, Ehlrrich, Bashir and the first officer behind them. On the treshold Ehlrrich paused, turning slightly to look at Korollemm one last time, the official staring after them in shock. Bashir caught the captain's barely audible chuckle, saw his wide and mocking grin. He saluted Korollemm with the hand not supporting Bashir. "Co-Mallor." He chuckled again and followed after Hana and the troops, the first officer bringing up the flank.

Korollemm did not move from his place for a time, the reality of what had transpired sinking into him. First Vrenna, his most trusted advisor had betrayed him. Then his compassion for the Cardassian had exploded in his face. Now his own people, the bigotted Ehlrrich at that, had turned on him. Gradually anger began to mount inside him. Too much. Oh no, it was too much. Why were the Heavens unleashing their wrath on him. Had he not served them as doctrine indicated. Had he not been thier loyal pawn.

In the corner Corliss shifted and groaned. Korollemm turned his head sharply toward him. His own people had turned against him. Who was next? Who now couls he trust? No one. As Vallsenn had spoken true. He could trust no one. No one. They were all against him. They would tear his gut, the first chance he gave them.

Korollemm was on his feet then, cursing, advancing toward Corliss. He could not turst them, yet how could he do without him. What was a president without his subjects, his servents, those to do his bidding. It was maddening. He delivered a sharp kick to Corliss's ribs. "Get up! Get up you idiot! Do you want me to kill you? Get up!"

Corliss struggled away, still on the ground, arms crossed before him to deflect the official's enraged blows. "Co-Mallor--co-Mallor, please! I cannot--I cannot rise with you--I--"

Korollemm hissed vemenently, draggin Corliss to his feet. "Kill them!" He shook the guard, so that his head snapped on his shoulders. "Kill them all! I do not care what it takes! I do not care what you do! Kill them! Kill every last one of them! Kill them all!"

Hana Hali hadn't felt a surge of adrenylin like this since her days in the resistance. She had to admit that she'd missed it. There was no substitue for her heart in her ears, body tingling to every extremity. Nothing in the world could defeat her! It was better than any drug.

Hamlen fell behind her, pressing against the wall. When she turned to glance at his he was staring out beyond her shoulder, readied for the next move. But what was that? Would he flee with them, or would he simple flee. Surely the man was not that stupid.

She stumbled. Fear exploded into her throat, but there were hands on her waist, pulling her back to her feet, pressing her forward. She sacrificed a glance back, glimpsed the consternated face of Teersell, the Rejelkimen's navigator. "Go, Hana!" he shouted, pulling her along with him. "Hurry!"

She felt the burn of phaser fire spread in her back. She mused that the Bennharrae weren't very efficient, useing a phaser on stun. She would never have done such a foolish thing during the occupation. Kill her and have it done. Have her join her commander and her captain, as she should have. She found herself laughing as Teersell caught her and dragged into the ship.

(Escape in the Rejelkimen. Cut scene leaving readers thinking that they may not have made it out alive.)

CHAPTER36

Garak glanced up, but with the action didn't look at her. His eyes were imediatly caught by a pair of figures advancing toward them. One of them was Bashir! The doctor's left arm was in a sling, but otherwise he seemed unscathed. Garak felt such a surge of releif flood over him that he barely managed to contain himself as Bashir put a finger to his lips urging silence, a smile filling his face.

It was the other man that held Garak's attention. He was Cardassian, but did not walk with thier gait, and the smile that he could not contain while walking toward Terr'Essh was alien. But Garak ignored these details, more intranced by curiosity at what he was doing. He soon stood behind Terr'Essh, peering down at her. But she stared bailfully at her hands, rubbing them together fitfully, and did not notice him.

Garak did wonder how long the other Cardassian intended to stand there unannounced, for he gazed down at Terr'Essh as if he could do so forever. Eventually it was Garak who spoke. "I believe there's someone here to see you, my dear."

Terr'Essh rose her eyes to him, inclining her head slightly in weary perplexion. Garak indicated with a finger--moving it in a circle--for her to turn, which she did without strength.

Her eyes locked with the Cardassian's, and for an instant time seemed to stand still. Suddenly a wail escaped her and she threw herself at the Cardassian, catching him about the neck, nearly pulling him down, she held him so tightly, beginning to sob uncontrolably and bable in her native tongue, pushing him away only long enough to look at his face, to cup his jaw in her hands, then enbrace him again, tears streaming down her face.

The Cardassian chuckled good-naturedly. Garak could see his eyes filling as well. "Shh. Shh, hun. It's all right."

"Oh Heaven, Will! I...I thought you were dead!" She burst between sobs. "They...they told me...Mrrshaal told me you were dead! I thought you were dead, Will! I thought you were dead!"

"But I'm not, Terrie. I'm right here." He rubbed her back, comforting her. "I'm here with you. I'm not going anywhere."

"The hell you aren't!" She screamed, shaking him, then holding

him tight, smothering him with kisses. "I'm never letting you out of my sight again! Never! You're never leaving me again! Never!"

The Cardassian smiled, glancing up at Garak, who could only look at him blankly. "Uh, I should probably introduce myself. I'd shake your hand, but...well, you understand. I'm her husband. My name is William Reis. The name needs explaining, I know--"

"Not an issue at the moment." Garak smiled in return, looking up at Bashir, who was beaming as well.

Reis nodded gratefully, stroking his wife's hair, sushing her, kissing her forehead.

"Unfortunatly, the issue of the moment is that Commander Sisko wishes to speak with you, Terr'Essh, and I don't think he wants to be kept waiting," Bashir said. Garak was amazed at how welcome the doctor's voice was to his ears. He would never admit it, but just the same.

Terr'Essh removed her face from Reis's chest to peer at Bashir, sniffing heavily and removing an arm from her husband to wipe a tear stained cheek. "Talk to me? What for?"

"He wants to know what all this about. No matter how good you did with that ruise of yours, one does get suspicious when a lost starship and Bennharrae war vessle shows up on their door step." Bashir grinned. "He wants to know the truth. No more lies."

Alarm spread into Terr'Essh's expression. She looked up at Reis. "But we can't. They can't know."

"What must be must be, Terrie." Reis said tonelessly, brushing hair away from her face. "There's no way around it anymore."

Commander Benjamin Sisko stood firmly behind his great metal desk, fists planted firmly on his hips, glaring intencely at the collection of people before him. The suddenly appeared Trill commander Jaral Seig, leader of his rag-tag group of Starfleet rebels. The Bennharrae captain Ehllrich, grinning to himself as if this whole ordeal was being put on for his personal ammusement. His own security officer, who didn't seem to want to look him in the eye, his gaze slightly averted. And Terr'Essh, who had seemed dim-witted until this moment, not avoiding his eyes at all, fingers interlaced with those of her Cardassain husband, who refused to leave her side. His office could have been filled with all those involved in this little conspiracy, though for the moment these five would suffice.

"Are you seriously suggesting that somehow all of this went straight over my head?!" Sisko boomed, unable to keep the fury out of his voice.

"Very skillfully over your head, sir," Terr'Essh said calmly, not breaking so much as a gleam in her eye. Beside her Reis did his best

to cover his grin, with only partial success. Jaral shared the moment as well, but erased it when Sisko glared at him.

"She's very good at working covert operations, sir," Jaral explained.

"So you are the one solely responcible for all of this?" Sisko asked Terr'Essh.

"Not completely, sir, but I do take full responcibility for it. I was the one that dragged these people into it. I was the one that demanded we live under secrecy and stay under secrecy. Had it not been for me we never would have been involved, sir, but you must take into consideration the fact that if it weren't for me you'd also be one less station right now."

"I have told the others of it, that it is not so much these creatures," she beconed to Ehlrrich,"the Kytherans, that you should fear. It is their progenetors. But their wrath will only fall upon us if we engage the Kytherans."

"And," Ehlrrich added, "we will not fight you unless you fight us, co-Mander."

Sisko was taken aback by this. He considered the Bennharrae's words for a moment, then recalled what Terr'Essh had said in their first meeting, which seemed so long ago. "A Bennharrae will try to push you into a fight. As long as you don't fight back they back down."

Ehllrich nodded solemnly. "Believe me, co-Mander, if you do fight it means as good as death to you. Killing runs deep and far in our blood, however diluted. It is the one thing we are truly good at."

"You cannot risk war, Commander." Terr'Essh said urgently. "The Bennharrae will make war with you not so much because they care for these people, but because your threatening them is enough cause for war. It is the rule of their ways; I have seen is too many times. I can assure you of the result if you begin tensions with these Kytherans. The Bennharrae have been perfecting their art for a hundred thousand years. They are not like these people you see. Once they discover what has happened you have seventy-five years until they arrive, then I give you no more than three. They will lay waste to every planet in this Federation, the Klingons, what's left of the Cardassians and the Romulans, everything! Nothing will save you. So long as you turn your back on this entire incident, let it go no farther than this desk, you have a chance at least. But if Starfleet learns... I dare not think."

"Believe her, Commander," Jaral put in. "It's the only reason why the twenty-five of us set down on that mud ball without help in the first place, why six of us gave our lives. We bare witness to what the Bennharrae can do--what these Bennharrae can do. They ripped out the eyes of our informant while he was still alive. They took our captains head. And these people are mild! We saw what the

purebloods could do in Mrrshaal. They are brutal. We can't take the chance. And if you don't believe us we'll take you to Kythera and show you. It will mean our deaths, of course. Korollemm will hunt us down at any cost. But it is important enough that you understand what will happen to us if others know. You must understand!"

"The Bennharrae are potentially the greatest threat the Federation has ever faced. Greater than the Dominion. Greater even than the Borg. Trust me, Commander, the last thing you want is a war with them."

Then he gave them the slightest nod of acquiescence.Terr'Essh, Jaral, and Reis seemed to breath a shared sigh of

relief. Jaral sunk back ward into his chair. Reis squeezed his wifes hand

"Thank you, sir." Terr'Essh rose to her feet, taking Sisko's hand and pumping it firmly before he could even react. "If only you fully understood what you have done for us, Commander. I am entirely in your debt, sir. Thank you."

"I only hope you premonition doesn't come true in spite of our efforts."

She senced it. Without opening her eyes she knew, her hand tightening weakly on his. She was almost embarrased at how weak she was, but she supposed it could be excused. She parted her lids, tried to focus on the figure at her bedside. "Bry?"

"Shhh." His voise was soft and musical. She felt his free hand stroking back her hair. His skin was warm, comforting. Why do you sound so surprised? Come now, dear heart. Don't think that I'd given up on you that easily.

Hana exhailed hard, relief flooding her. Tears filled her eyes, as they had so often of late, streaming down the sides of her face, seeping into her sinuses so that she had to sniff. There was so much she wanted to tell him. She wanted to appologize for anything she had ever done to him, for her failings when they came. She wanted to thank him, to tell him how good he was. Slowly she realized that the thoughts were not hers. She blinked dimmly, looking into his eyes. He smiled at her in his eternally angelic way. "Bry..."

"Shhh." He hushed her again, squeezing her hand, touching a finger lightly to her lips.

She closed her eyes again, the tears burning. I don't deserve your kindness. And I'm not good.

But you are, Hana. There is more good in you than in any other person I know. More even than Colfax. She could feel sadness through his hand in hers, settling itself in her mind. More even than Reis.

Hana snorted ruefully. "How could that be true?"Simply because it is.

"How are the others? They're all right, aren't they?"Yes. We all made it back. They're all fine. Worry about yourself

now.Hana smiled. "I have a feeling you'll do enough of that for both

of us."Bry chuckled softly aloud. How well you know me, dear heart.

He fell silent for a long moment, looking into her face. He pursed his lips tightly, shifting his gaze to her hand in his, placing his other across it. Usually, he said slowly, with obvious difficulty, usually I can only feel people within a certain range from me. But sometimes things are so strong that they cross even distance, they break the barriers. He paused again. When Colfax died, she caught the quaver even in his mind-voice, he died thinking of but a single thing...

Hana gave him a second, but when he didn't go on she squeezed his hand. "Of what?"

Of...of you.Hana flinced. "Me?"Yes. He thought of you, of...of how you hated him. And I would

defend you if I could, Hana, I'd defend you, say that you only thought you hated him. But you did. You hated him more than any Cardassian. And he knew you did. The only thing that he wanted, the only thing he prayed for, was for your forgiveness. He didn't care if he was going to heaven or hell, or even really that he was dieing. All he cared about was that he had your forgiveness. He needed it.

Bry fell silent, leaving Hana to soak in what he had said to her. She stared at him, not quite believing, then fell into her own thought. Then, slowly, staring at the ceiling, she said, "He has it then."

Bry released her hands quickly, as if she had become something vile, pulling his own hands against his chest. She blinked in surprise, finding his eyes heavy upon her. It is worthless unless you mean it, Hana, and you don't.

"How could I mean it," she hissed sharply, dropping her brows to him. "He was the one that brought us there--"

Terr'Essh was the one that brought us there. "But Colfax accepted! Because of that he killed Laura, and

Michael, and Judson, and Thom, and--"Himself.Hana flinced again, mouth still parted on Jennifer Varel's name.

Does his precious, breathing life not count among those dead, Hana? Bry's voice had become venomous against her, a tone she had never heard before, though there underlied a heart-rending sorrow that he could barely keep from flowing down his luminescent cheeks. Does his being differ from those? Would his body not rest in the same dust as Judson or Thom? Will it not become the same dust? Did he not die as they did? It is our blood that still flows hot! In fact it is you that lives!

Hana opened her mouth, discovering that there was nothing there to speak. She closed it again, glaring up at Bry, who did not shy from it. Indeed he wore the same intencity of expression.

"Bry," Hana recognized the voice as belonging to Doctor Bashir. He stood near them, arms loose to his sides. "She needs rest."

Bry nodded singularly, not casting another glance at Hana. He rose fluidly, brushing past, thanking the Doctor for all he'd done. He passed out the door, and as he did Hana caught something, an echoing of his own thoughts, perhaps not even meant for her: You can't forgive him because you can't forgive youself.

Hana didn't rest immediatly. Instead she thought of what Bry had said. Somewhere in the midst of that contemplation she did fall into a greatful slumber, to a dream state she had not entered in a long while. But the sentiment followed. Her sleep was plauged by nightmares.

CHAPTER 37

(Kira parts with Terr'Essh on "good" terms.)

Co-Massor Mrrshaal stood behind his desk, feet planted firmly apart, watching Corliss's progress toward Syybase through his window. By his deliberate pace, Mrrshaal gauged that his venture had not been successful. Stupid man. He was a fool to fail and return.

"Your pets escaped, Mrrshaal."Mrrshaal turned toward Korollemm's voice, casting him an

indifferent glance. The official appeared haggared. His jacket was rumpled, shoes scuffed. Mrrshaal could not help but cock a disapproving eyebrow at him. "My, my, Korollemm. Whatever happend to you?"

He pressed the weapon into Mrrshaal's jugular, pushing it until Mrrshaal began to feel lightheaded. Korollemm was mad with fury; Mrrshall couldn't help but feel concerned for his own safety. "I do not know what you are talking about--"

"No, tausscall," he rasped. "Your lies are no longer fertile! I know how you fouled yourself with their allience. I have always known. But do you know, tausscall? Do you know what you have done to us? You have destroied the future of your own flesh! You have destroied our one chance at true power!" Korollemm's eyes narrowed to slits. "If there was a way in the Bloody Heavens that I could get away with killing you, I would do it. But the black-blooded would come, would they not, to correct their dissident children?

But we will have our day. The star of the Bennharrae cannot burn forever. One day you will fall, and we Kytherans, with our thin, crossed blood will succeed you. Mark me, Mrrshaal. It will come to pass. Mark me."

"Twenty people," he hissed. "Twenty people and one God-forsaken ship eluded my entire guard! They slipped through our hands," he help his parted fingers before him, staring vacantly into his palms, "as sand would, and blew away in the wind..."

Garak hadn't expected to see Terr'Essh again. Certainly a farewell was called for, but he would have understood had she neglected it. For this reason he was genuinely surprised when the alien woman appeared in the entrance of his shop the morning after her deception was unwraveled. Even more startling was that when he caught her image reflected in a mirror and turned from his work to greet her she was smiling.

"Hello," she said quitely, rubbing her hands together, standing as

if she needed an invitation to come any further. Obviously she was waiting for one, but Garak didn't give it immediatly, a soft smile gracing his own lips. He took the moment to admire her. She had spoken to him of knowing his connections to the Obsidian order by his manner. In the same way he knew that she stood before him now as she truely was, no guises to hide herself, none of her so-called matrix. Not even the one she had imposed upon herself, the self-chosen pain and self-pity. And even if she had held some now it wouldn't have made a difference. He had come to see the lies, and now saw through them. Maybe she knew that he did, maybe she didn't. What did it matter? Though he found himself wishing that she would not don her masks. There was a purity to her true self, a quality of child-like innocence that over rode even her tremendous age. She was truly beautiful, and might have even been desirable to him had her met her twenty years ago.

"You're leaving?" he asked."Yes," she interlaced her fingers before her, regarding them.

"The Tengri Khan is leaving in an hour. I came to say good-bye.""I didn't think that you would.""I don't see why." She walked toward him, looking curiously

about his shop. She laughed lightly, the same alto bell tone he recalled from before. "You know, I never made it in here. I did intend to." She examined a row of dispalys, drapped with Garak's work. "You are good, aren't you?"

"I'd like to think so," he beamed almost mischiviously."Humph. How exactly did you make the transfer from Obsidian

Order to the clothiering trade, I wonder?""Ah, now that is quite a story in itself, but it would take some

time to tell. A tale for another day, perhaps.""Your tales are always for another day, Garak. Will that day ever

come?""It hasn't yet. But when it does I will be sure to inform you.""When the stars fall, Garak?" She shook her head at him kindly.

"Just remember, I will come and you will tell me. I'm too intrigued by the possibilities of your stories that I simply will not let you die without hearing them. Remember that."

"You have my solemn oath."She chuckled, taking a tunic up from a nearby shelf, examining it

and returning it to her place. "There's a palnet in the Delta Quadrent that makes the most luxurious silk. Don't ask me how, but as sheer as it is it could warm you in the dead of winter, yet is ideal in summer. No to say that will do you any good. I doubt you'd make the trip for it. Hmmm." She shook her head. "You are a wonderful man, Garak. I just wanted you to know that."

Garak inclined his head. "What brought that?""Nothing, really... No. No, everything. For your help, I owe you

more than I could ever repay. I could not have suceeded wihtout it.""There's no need for that, my dear. It was my pleasure. You

have no idea how boring hemming can become.""No, Garak. You can't see it from my perspective. You know how

I trust: I simply do not. It was not that I distrusted you, but I was not as cautious as I shouls have been. That couild have turned so easily against me. But it didn't. It is for that, more than anything, that I thank you."

Garak smiled again. "Again, it was my pleasure." Terr'Essh nodded graciously, then turned to glance out the door.

"I don't mean to rush off, but I'm meeting Will in the Replimat." "Oh yes, your husband. I spoke to him this morning. He's a good

man. You seem lucky to have him."Terr'Essh laughed lightly to herself, grinning in what seemed a

private joke. Garak couldn't resist. "What?" he asked. "Why are you smiling?"

Terr'Essh looked up at him, then folded her arms and turned her gaze to them. "Do you recall me saying that I worked under a gul named Veras while I was in the Order?"

"Yes.""Well, what I didn't tell you was that he had a son, which he

abondoned when Tefflu was raided."Garak inclined his head, trying to decifer her meaning. Then the

realization came. "You don't mean...""Funny how fate works, isn't it?" She peered still at her arms,

eyes shaded beneath dark lashes. "Life is a circle; everything returns to where it began. And as huge as this galaxy is it's so small... The only thing that stopped the Bajorians from killing him was my request. He was such a kind child. He didn't deserve to die. I remember when he was a baby," unconciously she moved her arms into a position of holding an infant, gazing lovingly into the imaginary child's face. "I would rock him and sing to him for hours, at first because Veras made it part of my job, later because I loved to him. He was the child I never had through Mherres and Lhennera. There was no blackness in him. There was nothing but good." She pressed her empty arms against her breast. "I wanted to save him, to raise him as my own, but never found him. Instead he became William Reis." She paused, pursing her lips. Then she said quietly, "Will doesn't know. He doesn't remember me. I'd perfer that he didn't."

Garak nodded. "I won't breath a word."Terr'Essh smiled barely, nodding slightly to herself. "Yes. Thank

you.""In reality, my dear, I should be thanking you," Garak said

solemnly.This caught Terr'Essh off guard. She inclined her head at him.

"Whyever for?"

"Why, for the adventure, of course! I find myself lacking for it in old age."

"Oh stop!" Terr'Essh shook her head scoldingly at him. "If you lived to be a hundred you wouldn't be old. Not to mention that if you became bored enough with this staion you'd go out and seek adventure. You're more content here than you realize, Garak."

"Maybe you're right, my dear. But then--""Maybe I'm wrong. I know, Garak. I know. But all the same if

you ever do find yourself in need of another adventure feel free to look me up. I'm sure I can find one for you. If not, we'll make one. And I should thank you, Garak, for all you have done. You opened my eyes. That's a hard thing, to make me do something when I do not wish to."

"All in a days work," he said cheerfully.Terr'Essh smiled again, but it was only half-hearted. She peered

down at the hands again, clearing her throat. "I should go," she said quietly. She shifted on her feet, then met his eyes again. "You know, there's a sort of finality to this, but I don't want to think that. I will see you again, Garak. We'll talk about the Order, about...well, anything." She smiled half-heartedly again. And at that it seemed there was nothing left to say. She nodded singley to him, and turned to go.

She had only walked a few steps before pausing, her eyes focused on something. Garak followed her gaze to a display drapped with and elaborate, beautiful, and ultimatly expensive gown. The fabric was Bolian, a rare, living cloth. He had paid well for it and spent a month just piecing the tricky stuff, not to mention getting the thread to stay in without the fabric rejecting it. But once made it regenerated; it was nearly indestructable. Though not the epitome of his work, he considered the dress one of his most brilliant creations.

Garak inclined his head, coming to stand near her. "You like it?""Well, I need something provocative to wear the next time I stop

to have dinner with you." She smiled up at him, grey eyes shining.Garak peered down at the dress for a moment, considering, then

lifted it carefully from the stand. He folded it neatly, holding it before her. "Consider it my gift."

Terr'Essh looked at it blankly, slowly putting up her hands to take it from his. When she looked up at him again her smile had become purly sweet, gratitude glowing on her face. She pressed it to her chest, leaning forward briefly, and kissed him gently on the cheek. "Take care of yourself, Garak." She gripped his shoulder, casting him one last glance. She turned then without further word, gone as though she had never been.

CHAPTER 38

Jaral, Ehlrrich, and his first officer stood on the bridge, speaking solemnly. The material seemed heavy, until the lot broke into laughter. Ehlrrich clapped Jaral firmly on the soulder, the dismissed something with a wave of his hand.

"Doctor Bashir!" he bellowed, attracting the attention of several around him. "Join us, Doctor!"

Bashir nodded up to them, and mounted the steps. Ehlrrich took his hand as he approached, pumping it enthusiastly. "Good evening, gentlemen."

"Good evening, Doctor," Jaral beamed. "Nice to see you in one peice again."

Bashir smiled warmly, taking Jaral's hand when he offered it. "I would have expected you to be off by now."

"Idealy, I suppose we should be, but we all needed a holiday, and the crew would have gone mutinous had I not given them at least a few hours to look around."

"Well, you can't have that," Bashir chuckled.

"I've been looking for Proust, but I can't seem to find him anywhere."

"There's a good reason for that. He's not here. Once we were all collected again we put him on his shuttle craft and sent him back to

the Valdosta.""I see. And what about Hamlen. I know he's not in security."Jaral scowled. "It's unfortunate that no one can know about this.

I'd like to pin that little bastard. I regret not telling Hana to leave him there."

Bashir's brow furrowed. "You don't mean to say he's getting away with it?"

"What else can we do?" Jaral shrugged angrily. "We need grounds to courtmarshal him on, and the truth is completely out of the question. But I have a few friends on that ship I can trust. I'll warn them to keep an eye on him. And as I understand it Tanaka's made herself scarce. Without her to back him, he's hardly dangerous. I'm not fool enough to put anything past him, however."

"An accident could be arranged, perhaps?" Ehlrrich asked with a quirked eyebrow.

Jaral chuckled. "If only I could santion that, my friend. But I'm not in that business anymore. I can no longer play by those rules."

Ehlrrich grunted, shaking his head. "Your rules are to inflexible, co-Mander."

"So, what now?" Bashir inquired. "What are you going to do?"Jaral shrugged, moving his hands against the rail. "To tell you

the truth, Doctor, I'm not sure. I don't know that any of us could return to our tame, reputable Starfleet careers after this. Who knows, maybe we'll join the Marquis or something."

"Ah, how good your lot would be at that, co-Mander," Ehlrrich beamed. "Should you chose that avenue, we might even join you. To think, Bennharrae among the Marquis!" He laughed boistrously. "The Cardassians would turn a fit!"

"And what of you, Captain?" Bashir said. "Where will you go?"The Bennharrae inclined his head, pondering the question as if it

had not yet occured to him. "Who knows, Doctor. Truth be known our lives will not be much different from what we knew before. Better, perhaps. Now, at least, we do not have to return every week so that the Government can know what we are up to." He snorted. "None of us grieve that we cannot return home. We would not, even of our choice. We have lived too long already under the Government's tyranny, enough to last us twelve lifetimes. It is an infectious thing, your world." His eyes moved about the Promenade. "We know that it is better. Do you wonder why so many captains are exicuted?" Ehlrrich looked as if he was about to continue, but paused. He snorted ruefully, a smile playing on his lips.

Jaral inclined his head, peering at the Bennharrae. "What is it, Captain? What's on your mind?"

Ehlrrich turned to look at Jaral, as if the question had surprised him. "Just thinking, my frined. Thinking of Nerriss."

"Nerriss. Yes. She's a fine young woman, Captain," Jaral said

sincerely. "You are lucky to have her.""Indeed she is good. Sorrowful, though. Not two hours ago she

was speaking to me of that Judson fellow. Of course you know, she was quite taken by him." He paused, pressing his lips. "It is the question of poets, whether or not Bennharrae can weep. We wonder often ourselves. Supposedly it is not in our nature, and truely, I have never seen it before. It pains me, to see her in such a state. She will not be quelled. A pity. A true pity, his death. My daughter adored him so."

For several seconds no one spoke. Then Jaral moved to touch Ehlrrich's forearm. "Tell me honestly, Captain, if it had been different, would you have approved a marriage?"

This question startled Bashir utterly. He'd had no idea of a relationship between the two.

Ehlrrich seemed to ponder this a moment, then laughed. It was a pleasant enough laugh, though the malevolent undertones were undeniable. "Surely, I would have approved it, had it pleased her, though Judson would never have had such a thing. I liked Judson very much, co-Mander. I would have chosen him above many of my own blood. And I would do anything for my children, so that they might be happy." He smiled tenderly over Jaral's head at his first officer. The officer returned it with equal love, the expression a mirror of his captain's. "They are my existance.

"Well, then," Ehlrrich sighed good-naturedly, "I suppose we should take leave of you, before Korollemm decides to send a guard after us. By that time I would like to be as far from this station as possible. If you will excuse us, of course. Doctor? Co-Mander?"

"Of course, Captain," Bashir nodded."The same for me," Jaral took his farewell hand shake, covering

the captain's hand with his own. "Thank you again, Ehlrrich. We couldn't have made it without you."

Ehlrrich chuckled, giving them a deep, mock bow. "Eternally in your service, co-Mander! You have only to call. Now, come, boy." He clapped the first officer firmly on the shoulder. "We have a long, cold journey ahead of us. And your irate sister to face up to." Ehlrrich winked slyly at Jaral, pivoted and swaggered away.

The first officer watched Ehlrrich for a moment, then grinned at Bashir and Jaral. He bowed his head neatly to them. "Go well, my friends. Peace be with you." He turned and followed his father with a more dignified gait.

Bashir smiled after them. Perhaps the Bennharrae weren't that bad after all.

"I talked to that Garak fellow," William Reis said absently, easing himself into the chair across from his wife.

"Did you?" Terr'Essh asked. She smiled lightly at some private amusement, then shifted her gaze to Reis, who was studying her face.

"Yes. He bought me dinner.""Cardassian food, I'll guess." Terr'Essh supressed a laugh,

picking at the cuticles of her nails.Reis made a face. "Yeah. But I guess it's all right. How was he

to know I can't stand it.""And what did you think of him?""He's an...interesting gentleman.""Humph. He liked you, too. He said that I was lucky to have

you." She quirked her eyebrows, propping her jaw loosely on one hand. "You know, I was thinking the other day about how if I hadn't married you I would have been interested in Garak. Not to say that I'm not interested anyway." She shot him a coy glance. Though her manner was kidding she wasn't about to deny that the comment had at least some truth to it.

Reis snorted ruefully. "That's always nice to know.""He is a very intriuging man, Will. Very charming in his own

way." She paused, watching the strained, lowering expression on Reis's face. "Oh! I'm only teasing you, Will. You know that."

"Yes. I know." His expression became easy again. "And you know that it wouldn't matter what you thought of him, you wouldn't get away from me." He stole the cup from her hands, taking a sip, quickly grimacing at it. "Kanar, Terrie? How can you stand it?"

Terr'Essh chuckled lightly, taking the cup back. "And here I thought you'd like it. It's not straight. I had Quark mix Talarian nog with it." She peered down into the liquid, then set it aside.

"Quark? He's the Feringi, isn't he? I'm surprised you wasted a word on him."

"Well, he and I had a little talk. I told him that if he was going to hire assasigns he needs to use his brain. It's only common sence, you never hire Kobheerians. They just don't have the flair for it. Flaxians, Cardasssians," she shook a finger pointedly in the air, "you rarely ever go wrong with them. What surprised me was that he agreed. Of course I wasn't complaining that he hired a Kobheerian, I made that clear." She shrugged. "All in all he's not that bad a fellow...for a Feringi."

Reis chuckled, shaking head. "I used to tell myself that he stars would burn out before I heard that out of you."

"Most likely they will before you do again. While I'm thinking of it, how is the ship?"

"Better than anyone expected. Jaral checked her over, and there's nothing to do but fine tune her. She's a tough old girl."

Terr'Essh nodded. "Good. Perfect. And what have we heard from Starfleet command? Or has Jaral contacted them yet?"

"Yeah. He sent a communiqué right after we got here. Jaral

managed to convince them to hold their questions until he could meet with them in person, at least." Reis wrincled his nose. "Jaral said he's never seen an Admiral so riled, wanting to know what had happened to us."

"I can imagine. Whatever will we tell them?"Reis shrugged. "Ensign Weeks was telling me her idea, about us

being stranded in a black-matter nebula.""For nine months? And what will they think when they search

our records and find no evidence of it?""I suppose we could run a cascade reaction through the systems,

scramble everything, make it look like an accident. Oh well. Let's not worry about it now. Bry's pretty creative. He'll find something feasable."

"Bry." Terr'Essh smiled whistfully. "You know, I surely will miss him."

"Miss him?" Reis smiled in perplexion. "He's not going anywhere, is he?"

Terr'Essh had been stating into her kanar, but now looked at Reis. "What do you suppose our chances are of staying together, Reis. With so many gone, and after our nebula ordeal, or whatever it will be, they'll surely reassign us all, overhaul the ship and give her a new crew. What are the chances of us staying together?"

"I honestly don't know, Terrie. Some of us were talking about petitioning Starfleet Command to leave us on the Tengri Kahn, at least for now. We'd ask that Jaral be made captain, too, but that's implausable. The way I see it they have no reason for seperating us. Replacements pending, of course." He paused, then said, "Jaral has planned a memorial service at 1800 hours, for the captain and the others. We ought to start thinking about what we're going to say."

Terr'Essh's solace evaporated. She regarded Reis for a moment, then turned to peer at the stars drifting past as the station turned. She could see by Reis's face that he thought he'd made a mistake. She could see him curse under his breath, mind working for something to amend what he'd said. He thought that she'd forgotten her misery, that he had brought it back to her. Not true. It was always there. But now it was a different sort. Garak had spoken true in saying that the past should remain dead. She was doing her best to put it behind her, to focus on the dangers ahead, an alertness of what was to come. And what was to come? She didn't wish to think of it.

"We succeeded, at least," he said meekly, trying to comfort her. "Because of you, Terrie."

"No," she shook her head. "It was because of circumstance that we succeeded. It could just as well been Proust here, and we could just as well stayed out of it completely. I should have known the outcome. It was predictable, what the Changeling did. It's their style. After all, why let the Bennharrae destroy a station they could later use.

And we all knew that the Founders would never admit those creatures to the Dominion. I should have said nothing to Colfax. Had I our captain would be alive. Judson and Laura would be alive. Brekka would be alive. We'd all be going on in blissful ignorance of them, and nothing would have happened." She shook her head again, resting her forehead on a hand. "But what I truly fear is what will happen when the Founders come in contact with the true Bennharrae." Mhaddoll's face appeared before her mind's eye, leering from beyond death. "They are utterly ruthless, nothing in compare to these cross bloods, and they are of a brilliance to match the Founders. I fear the storm that their union will bring upon us, Will. And I fear that it may be soon. The Bennharrae have remained for the most part in the Delta Quadrant, but for how much longer will that remain true? And what are we going to do when they are here?"

Reis inclined his head, thinking. "Well, the only thing we can do in the meantime is prepare, to anticipate--"

"How, Will?" Lines creased her brow. "How would we prepare for something which no one can know about?"

Reis stared at her nully for a moment, then shrugged. "I guess you just can't win, dear heart."

Terr'Essh snorted in consternation, turning to focus out the veiw port again, toward where Arrista burned. This time her mind did not fill with nostolga or sadness, but with alertness of what danger eminated from the rays of that distant star. "I would not mind it happening to me again, Will," she said slowly, "but I could not stand seeing in happen to you, nor Garak, nor Jaral, nor anyone else. You live so short a time. That time needs to be happy. Not that life span makes a difference: I wouldn't wish such a thing on anyone. I don't want to see anyone destroied. It would kill me more surely than anything."

Reis smiled his odd smile. "Just as surely as I would be destroied, to prevent you from knowing such pain again."

She glanced at him in perplexion, then shrugged as he had. "Perhaps neither of us can win."

"All part of the human experience.""But you forget, love," she gripped his cold hand, "I am not

human. Nor are you.""Oh, it doesn't matter. We're all made up of the same stuff. We

all think the same, fundamentally."Terr'Essh laughed softly. "William Reis, the philosopher.""You have your share of philosopy, Terrie. Allow me mine." Terr'Essh's smile did not fade. It felt good not to smile in her

sour matrix, to smile because she wished it. She relished the moment. Reis noticed it, too: the content, thoughtful smile she aquired so rarely. He attempted to immitate it, cocking his head in query.

"You realize, I smiled so little before I met you."He made a little scowl. "You smile so little after you met me,

too.""Only because I supress it. I promise you, a great many times I

was laughing inside.""Laughing? At me? Why? What did I do?""Not laughing at you. Just laughing. When I was young I always

laughed, when I was happy. Then I stopped, because I was never happy anymore."

"You are happy now, then?""I think. I think that's what it is. I can't recall."He smiled broadly, squeezing her hand back. "Then laugh, love.

Laugh and startle everyone. Startle that shape-shifter friend of yours. I bet it will confuse the hell out of him."

Terr'Essh smiled her own turn, taking in his features for the thousandth time. He never seemed Cardassian, really. He called his form a shell, and that was what it was. Indeed, he was mostly human. "It would, you know. But quite frankly, I think it would confuse me, as well."

Reis laughed suddenly, a sound that filled Terr'Essh with delight. She started to laugh herself, with the joy that welled up inside. She took his hands between hers, kissing them. "I love you so, Will," she said quickly. "You make me happy as no one else has. So long as you live I know that I'll be content. I'll want nothing else."

Reis's smile evaporated, his face becomming stern. "Terr'Essh, I want you to make me a promise."

"Promise? Promise of what?""That you'll stay happy when I'm gone. That you'll go on living."Terr'Essh cocked her head, regarding him from that cant, then

dropped her eyes. "You know, when Mrrshaal told me that you were dead, it was the end for me. I don't lie, Will. I know without a doubt that if I had been the one to kill Denaaro and not the Changeling, I would have gone next. But I didn't kill him, and I could not go without exacting my revenge for you. Nothing can be put aside among my people, we cannot rest until our vendetas are paid. I got it from Mhaddoll's death, I would have had it from Denaaro. A pity you could not look into into the P'Lebberrian bloodline before you married it, dear heart. Not only are we are ingrained liars, we are an extremely vengeful people. Because of that I do not lay cold this day. I hate to think what would have happened had I achived that." She shook her head, mouth tightening. "Odo would have been another innocent victom to the Bennharrae, through me."

They sat in silence for a time before Reis spoke, his voise pleading and almost inaudable. "Please, Terrie. You tell me this, but it's not what I ask. Please, if you do nothing else for me, don't stop living when I have. That's not what I want for you."

Terr'Essh exhailed longly. She rubbed his hands slowly, enjoying thier temperature on her fleash. Most humanoids were so hot; only a

Cardassian could offer her such comfort. "I can't promise you that, Will, because I don't want to break that promise. I don't know what will happen after you die. The years that I have known you may well sustain me, or I may loose my mind. Only time will tell."

"Well, whatever time that may be, know that I love you. I will forever."

Terr'Essh smiled lightly, pulling his hand up to lay it against her cheek. She closed her eyes, basking in his presence. When she opened them again she caught sight of Jaral on the other side of the upper level, peering at them. He seemed almost regal, neat frame filling the uniform so well. She did wish there was a way he could skip rank, be premotted to captain of the Tengri Khan, that they could all remain on their ship together. No group had worked so well as one. If Starfleet split them up they would be destroying a valuable resourse.

"It's time to go," she said, dropping Reis's hand and rising from her chair. In much the same way as the prospect of being taken from her ship and her comrades, she was reluctant to leave this station. It had been a home to her once, in another time. It could easily be again. She took in the great, dark architecture, the gargoylic creatures hulkering above doorways, the subdued tones, the lights, the people. She watched these pass around her as she and Reis walked toward Jaral, who now gazed down on the lower level reflectively. He straightened as they came up beside him, half smiling as he met each of their eyes.

"I'd like to stay a while longer, for all our sakes, but unfortunatly we have a rendezvous at Starbase 64. There are a few testy Admirals waiting to debrief us. I suppose we'd best start thinking up a plausable explanation as to where we've been."

Terr'Essh nodded vacantly, watching the people mill below her. She followed wordlessly as the trio took the Promenade's outer walkway, passing before the mosaic of stars without. Terr'Essh glanced out fleetingly, sweeping the multitudes. It was perhaps design that her eyes fell on the golden star of Kythera.

"I have a favor to ask of you, Jaral," she said reluctently, unable to keep from speaking what was weighing her mind. She had been unable to shake it, ever since her crew mates had returned. "Keep in mind, you need not honor it."

"Oh no, Terrie. You have only to ask.""Before we make it to Starbase 64, is it possible for us to make a

quick detour. There's something I have to take care of."

EPILOGUE

The landscape of Kythera spread out below his office window, awaiting the dawn as it had for eons, as it would for eons to come. Gold wash of the coming sun bled into the night, slowly dimming the stars to nonexistance, the moons to shadows. The first sliver of sun peeked over the horizon, casting it's warm fingers over buildings, grass, and trees the lush green one finds only in the deepest throws of summer.

Co-Massor Mrrshaal saw none of this, his mind in turmoil with the thoughts of all that had happened. In this time he found no peace.

The question had arisen to Mrrshaal of what he should do. He could not remain on Kythera, it seemed. Seeing Korollemm had striped him of power, there was no reason to stay. But that might not be a problem at the moment. Only Vallsenn, Corliss and Korollemm had known of his indisgreaaions, aiding the Prrzhevaal. Vallsenn, of course, was dead. And Korollemm, in rage at being defeated, had killed Corliss upon return to the planet. Really, the man had deserved it, being fool enough to fall blindly to the co-Mallor's side after failing. He thought to take Vrenna's place, Mrrshaal guessed. Stupid man. Yes, he was better dead.

Korollemm was in a rage still, unable to find someone to blaim for his mistakes--all those people were gone. But then there was no way he could have shirked the blaim, even if Vrenna or Vallsenn had been there to take the burden. It was his fault for trusting Vrenna, for not keeping an eye on the shifty Ehlrrich. His only victory had been in never trusting Mrrshaal, but the truth to that had been so blaitent it couldn't be considered much of a victiory.

The final straw had snapped when Korollemm was denied even the pleasure of Colfax's head, of displaying it in court before Syybec. Someone, not even Mrrshaal was sure who, had snatched it away and disposed of the body. This final injustice had brought Korollemm to his end. He had gone mad, tearing apart his office and half his house before vanishing. None knew where he had gone, or if he would ever return. No one seemed to care.

With his witnesses gone Mrrshaal held no marr to his record. That was not, however, much of a consolation. He would have welcomed a legitimate reason to leave this miserable little world. With a storm boiling on the horizon he had no wish to remain.

Revolution was rising on Kythera. In that his Prrzhevaal had done more damage than any Kytheran officials yet realized. Ehlrrich's decention was but a hint of what was to come. In cases such as his the Government was quick to snuff out the offender, but the problem was that--again, as in Ehlrrich--they did not always manage to eliminate them. Leave but the smallest root in the soil allows the grass to spring a new. The Kytheran government had been fools to attempt such aridged hold on their own people. Bennharrae, however diluted, could not be repressed. And the Kytherans were indeed becomming aware of the despotism they lived under. Anarchy had been festering in the minds of the Kytheran people, and it was about to burst forth. Seeing the Prrzhevaal at work had spurred their thoughts to actions, and even as he spoke the people were rising, consolodating their power. The biggest mistake Korollemm had made, to the Government's cost, was not flushing the Prrzhevaal out in the beginning. It would be only a matter of years before the Government would fall and another would be erected. Mrrshaal had seen what happened when governments fell. There would be fire and there would be blood and death, but in the end these people would, for all odds, find themselves the better for it. The Kytherans were a bright and promissing people, and out from under the Government's imposed stone of oppression they would prosper. They would grow, yes, but never, never would they take the place of the true Bennharrae, as Korollemm foretold. They would not, for the Bennharrae would never fall. So long as the stars burned.

So, Mrrshaal mused, if I am not to remain here, what then should I do?

Mrrshaal was becoming keenly aware that his years were slipping away from him. He had lived a good, full life, though, and he

had no regrets. No, he decided, he would waste no more time on Kythera. There was nothing for him here. He would enjoy his prime, take his leisure and explore the galaxy, maybe in time even return home. He missed Bennhar sorely, and it would be good to sit again in the rays of his native sun, to see his family again. Yes, he decided, I have been too long away from home. Mrrshaal smiled mildly to himself. Indeed it would be good to return home again.

"Pleasant thoughts, Mrrshaal?"The voice startled him, but the surprise did not show. He had

long ago trained himself against that. "How did you get in here?""I have my ways," the P'Lebberrian woman said flatly, arms

folded losely across her breasts. "Your security systems are not so air-tight as you think."

"I did not hear you approach."Terr'Essh grimaced. "Too ingrossed, I suppose.""I was considering returning home," he replied."Well, you're certainly not going to accomplish anything on

Kythera. I see no reason why you shouldn't. Give the children my regards, if you see them. Not that they would care that I think of them. They never cared much for their mother. I could never quite understand why I cared for them." She smiled a distant, empty smile. "Half P'Lebberrian and they were as much Bennharrae as if they'd been pure. Hmmm." Her smile faded. "They would have children of their own by now, wouldn't they?"

Mrrshaal regarded her curiously, but her face revealed nothing of what she thought. "Terr'Essh, why do you not come back with me?"

"Why would I want to do that?""Because it is your home.""A home which holds nothing for me but bad memories and

loneliness." She snorted reproachfully. "And it's not like there will be anyone waiting to greet me with open arms. I'd be lucky if Mherres didn't knock my head off the moment I walked in the door."

Mrrshaal frowned. "Drop the cynicism, Terr'Essh. I do not like dealing with it."

"Unfortunatly, Mrrshaal, we all have to deal with things we don't want to," Terr'Essh said coldly. "And after you've seen as much as I have, cynicism is about all there is left that bears character. Unless you count bitterness and loathing, which most avoid doing."

To this Mrrshaal said nothing. "Why did you come here?" he asked gruffly.

"Oh, I never leave without saying goodbye, Mrrshaal."The words that from her mouth were loaded differently than their

meanings. "Do not play games with me, Terr'Essh," Mrrshaal lowered. "I know what you want."

Terr'Essh arched an eyebrow in query. "Do you?"Mrrshaal rumbled disapproval. "You want an appology, do you

not?"Terr'Essh looked perplexed. "I don't know why you would think I

want such a thing as that, Mrrshaal."Mrrshaal's face tightened. "Listen, Terr'Essh, I am all too aware

of what I have done. I know I betrayed you, and not only you, but every person on this planet. I was in a position where I could not get out without betraying someone."

"So you betrayed both of us, instead?" she asked flatly.Mrrshaal ignored her, dropping his gaze. "I want you to know

that I regret what I have done to you, all of you, and I will never forgive myself for that."

Terr'Essh regarded him nully for a moment, then directed her focus out the window. "You know, Mrrshaal," she said in measure, "you speak of regret only because you think your appolgy is meaningless." She smiled, for the first time in genuine amusement. Her tone flowed out like silk, "How ironic."

Mrrshaal frowned, trying to sort out what she was saying. "What do you mean, exactly?"

"Guilt, Mrrshaal.""What is ironic about that?"Terr'Essh drew her eyes from the window and locked them on

Mrrshaal's. They glowed with something he could not place. "Bennharrae are incapable of feeling guilt," she said matter-of-factually. "Or so it is generally thought. I thought the same. But," she wagged a finger at him, "there was something that changed my mind.

"You remember what Mhaddoll did to me. He slaughtered my family because of his petty wants. In all the years I was married to him, before I knew what he had done, there was always something in his eyes when he looked at me, though for my life I could never figure out what it was. It took me four hundred years of hard earned wisdom to see what it had been. All the races I've known, all the things I've witnessed, and only now have I realized it was guilt that I saw. And you know, Mrrshaal, the thing is, even Mhaddoll never knew it was guilt. Given his entire natural life he never would have known. He could never believe it was guilt because the Bennharrae cannot feel guilt."

Terr'Essh paused, peering out at the slowly rising Kytheran sun. "The Bennharrae have always thought of the conscience as a sign of weakness, when in fact it is a mecanism to keep us from becomming wicked. The Bennharrae have tried to discard it, and have thus become wicked." She met Mrrshaal's gaze again. "But they have not been able to eliminate it entirely. I know, Mrrshaal, in every part of me, that you will feel the regret that you say you feel, whether you believe you will or not. True, this thing you have done to us is but a minor guilt, yet there are a dozen others that will haunt you. You need to feel guilt for those, and I hope that guilt will be a stone in your heart

that follows you forever. I pray to Heaven above that you will you lie on your death bed thinking about all the evils you have done in your demon life, and know that you won't be given the chance to amend them. Shall your evils haunt you beyond death: may you never again see peace--ever!" She shook her head. "It makes me sick to think of how many lives would have been happy if the Bennharrae had possessed but a shred of decency. And as for your appology, Mrrshaal, I don't want it. I'm not the one you need ask to forgive you."

Mrrshaal stared at her silently for a moment. "I will give the children your regards," he said finally.

Terr'Essh's expression did not change. She brought a hand to her comm badge. "Terr'Essh to Tengri Khan. One to beam up." Another second passed between the two before Terr'Essh evaporated in the transporter beam, vanishing back into the life she had created for herself, to the place she had shaped herself to fit.

Mrrshaal watched the place where Terr'Essh had stood. He considered her speech again, until slowly, as it rose from his chest, he began to laugh. Guilt? Guilt indeed! The Bennharrae know no guilt? He laughed more forcefully. Such a fool she was...

But abruptly as the laughter had come it died away. As if her word's had opened the flood gates, Mrrshaal began to feel a strange sensation spread through him, one he recognized but could not place. It had aways been a distant feeling, something lodged in the back of the mind, one that had never been prolonged. There came the sickening realization that what Terr'Essh had said was true.

She was right, and he knew it.