David Gold paced the bridge, waiting for word from his away team. There was something that didn’t feel right about the whole situation. Something irritatingly familiar, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Must be getting old, he thought with a wry smile.

He turned to the aft computer station. “How we doing, Soloman?”

The Bynar’s eyes looked up momentarily to acknowledge the captain, then flicked back to the displays. “I have restricted many of the subroutines that the worm has sought to access, though it seems to be learning quickly. I have had to change the encryption sequences every few seconds. It is, oddly, very much like the human game of chess—every move I make is responded to with a countermove.”

“So how are you doing?” Gold asked.

Soloman stared intently at the displays in front of him, allowing himself a small smile. “I have lost perhaps two pawns, but no bishops or knights. My opponent has suffered loss of a rook and four pawns. Metaphorically speaking, of course.”

Gold put an encouraging arm on the engineer’s shoulder. “My wife always beat me, because I’d go for the queen first. She always got pawns across the board to collapse my second line. Keep up the game, Soloman.” He turned to McAllan. “Any word from them yet?”

The tactical officer shook his head. “Not yet, sir. Still five minutes until the designated call-in point. Do you want me to hail them?”

Gold shook his head. “No, no—let’s give them the five minutes.”

It had taken less than five minutes for the away team to be surrounded.

Several Ferengi in robes had gathered around them. Each of them brandished an apparently hollow length of piping. Gomez recognized them as twenty-millimeter tetracarbide, hi-tensile, low-conductivity thermabore—hardly the most threatening weapon in the galaxy, especially against phasers. Even if that other Ferengi had been right in his statement that the phasers wouldn’t work, Gomez had faith in Corsi and Hawkins’s ability to take on half a dozen Ferengi with glorified pipes.

There was something about the way they were holding those pipes that was familiar to Gomez as well, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

The blissful traders had looked around to note the scene, but then turned back to their business.

Before Gomez could say anything, a projected image of a Ferengi appeared before the group. He beamed, and his features were aquiline—he’s almost attractive, Gomez thought with surprise. She’d never seen a Ferengi with straight teeth. Or such a look of serene contentment.

“Greetings to you, friends. I am the Prophet Milia. Are you of the Way?”

Suddenly, everything clicked in Sonya Gomez’s head. The odd sense of familiarity that had been nagging in the back of her head finally came into focus as soon as the serene Ferengi asked about “the Way.”

“Yes,” she said quickly, “we are.”

“My Adjusters were concerned about your inquiries. Such questioning is not of the Way. Being part of the Way of Milia is to be of the whole of Milia.” He nodded to them, putting his hand to his chest. “Joy to you, friends. Peace and contentment will fill you.”

He faded as quickly as he’d appeared, the moment of confrontation having apparently passed. Gomez, however, felt her apprehension growing.

“We,” she said, “are in big trouble.”

DaiMon Phug paced around the mess hall, occasionally looking up at the quiescent security detail stationed to watch him. He muttered and swore under his breath. Pausing, he turned to the guards. They were both males, thankfully, one a Bajoran male called Loten, the other a human named Foley. Having had his fill of humans, Phug posed his question to the Bajoran.

“When are we getting out of here? Do you know how long I’ve been cooped up in this room?”

Loten nodded. “About three hours.”

“What is taking your people so long?” He shook his head, gesturing wildly with his arms. “Shouldn’t have sent females! This stupid human belief in equality is going to be the ruin of your society!”

Suddenly, a connection he’d not previously made linked in his mind.

“Oh, no. They sent females.” He turned to Loten. “Get me your captain—now!”

“Why?”

“Because your precious away team will be in desperate trouble if I don’t.”

Loten looked at Foley, who just shrugged. Then the Bajoran tapped his combadge. “Loten to bridge.”

“Gold here.”

“Sir, the Ferengi says that there’s a problem with the away team.”

“What kind of problem?”

“He won’t say, sir.”

“DaiMon, you want to join this conversation?” Gold said tartly.

Phug hesitated. “It’s about the nature of what they’re going to face over there…and about the fact you sent females.”

Gold made some kind of noise. “Why do you Ferengi cling to this barbaric notion of women as second cla—”

“No!” Phug cut him off. “You don’t understand—it’s because they are the only females on that ship!” Phug ground his teeth, trying to figure out a way to phrase it without revealing any culpability on his own part. “It’s to do with the system set up on the city-ship—the, uh, nature of the situation over there—one which,” he added quickly, “I will attest before a registered Commerce Authority attorney that I was wholly unaware of when I engaged in the transaction!”

“Spit it out, DaiMon!” Gold shouted.

“You have to beam them off the Debenture right now. It’s about to get very nasty over there!”