2

THE PRESENT

Ezri Dax gave the shuttle’s thrusters a nudge, easing around the edge of a medium-sized asteroid, and thought, This may well be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. That, in and of itself, is remarkable, because if I add up all the stupid things I’ve done in my lives, I’d end up with a monumentally large pile of stupid.

The shuttle was called the Wardrobe and it was, well, in a word, adorable. Obviously meant to be a vacation craft, the trim, tidy little rental was the kind of ship Ezri would have hired if she were planning a quick run back to Trill and didn’t want to have to be at the mercy of a Starfleet ship’s schedule. When she had asked the agent, a human named Riku, why he called it the Wardrobe, the pleasant old man had replied that he had permitted his eight-year-old daughter to name his three new ships and the other two were named the Lion and the Witch. Then, [11] laughing in a manner that suggested Ezri should understand the joke, Riku had handed her the ship’s papers and the key card and asked that she return to the station by Thursday next week.

Ezri hated to lie to him, hated knowing that the Wardrobe would likely never return home, but she still retained enough latinum in her personal holdings to cover the cost of replacing it, so Riku would not be out a shuttle. Plus, his daughter would have the fun of naming a new ship something just as baffling. It’s precisely this sort of little lie that permits us to do the things we must do, she thought, mentally shading her words with her best counselor’s tone. Over the past few days on her journey to this remote corner of Klingon space, she’d repeatedly used that rationalization to prevent her from changing her mind.

Part of her (the part that believed that the Klingons had brought this latest catastrophe on themselves) thought that Admiral Ross and Colonel Kira could help far more effectively than she could. But Ezri had known from the moment she’d read Worf’s one-word message to her that his, and therefore Martok’s, situation was desperate. On the surface, his message had been simply “now,” but Dax had understood what had not been said: The House of Martok has need of you. And part of her (not exclusively Jadzia and Curzon, surprisingly) knew she would honor her obligations or die trying. Dax was nothing if not loyal.

Sighing, Ezri popped the thruster and initiated another passive scan. She watched the panel patiently, hoping that this time she’d obtain a different result. When the scan pinged nothing resembling a Klingon starship, she sighed again. Worf, I’m going to throttle you. ...

* * *

[12] The conversation with Kira, predictably, had not gone well.

“I have to take emergency leave.”

“Why?” Kira had asked in her best I’m going to be reasonable tone.

“Because there’s an emergency.”

“Where? Back home? Something we can help with?” She spun her desk viewer toward her and began to check for debarkations in the direction of Trill or Sappora VII.

“No, not back home. Elsewhere.”

“Elsewhere? Where elsewhere? Elsewhere Earth? Elsewhere Alpha Centauri? Give me some help here, Ezri.”

“Elsewhere elsewhere, Colonel.” Dax said, sitting straighter in her seat. “I don’t believe I’m required by protocol to tell you my destination, only when I’ll return.”

Sinking back into her chair, Kira narrowed her eyes and replied, “No, Lieutenant. You’re not required to tell me, but I guess I’d like to think that I’ve earned some trust.”

Ezri almost gave in then. She desperately desired to tell someone about the mission she was about to embark upon, but Worf’s message—though terse, in the typical Worf style—had been clear. He needed her to drop everything and join him immediately. Klingons. What is it with them, anyway? True, it had been Jadzia who had sworn the oath, but as Worf had made clear, Ezri had inherited all the privileges and responsibilities inherent in being a member of House Martok. Admittedly, Ezri would be lying to herself if she didn’t confess a degree of curiosity and excitement, but it didn’t make the corresponding compromises any easier.

“I ... appreciate your offer, Colonel,” she said. “But I have to respect the wishes of ... others in this regard.”

[13] Kira puffed through her nose, which Ezri interpreted as a sign that she could go, but the sigh, it turned out, was simply the colonel’s way of mustering her strength to bring out the big gun. “Have you told Julian where you’re going?”

For a terrifying moment, Ezri imagined she was sixteen again. She was sitting in her mother’s office being quizzed about who was taking her out that evening, where they were going, and did she know what time the curfew was? It was almost enough to make her race for the door screaming, but she fought down the urge. A fleeting image—one of Jadzia’s memories—bubbled up to the surface and she remembered a time when she and Kira had talked late into the night about the intricacies of their respective attachments, Jadzia’s to Worf and Kira’s to Odo. Both of those relationships were over now, the first irretrievably and the second, well, time would tell, but they had agreed that the essential ingredient in those relationships was trust. If Kira can use a big gun, Ezri decided, then so can I.

“Julian trusts me,” she said quietly. “As you should.”

Kira opened her mouth to respond, but no sound came out. She pressed her lips together, opened her mouth again, then closed it a second time. Finally, she said, “You’ve read the latest reports coming out of the Klingon Empire?”

“Of course,” Ezri said.

“So you know how chaotic the situation is already and how much worse it’s likely to become. They took over embassies. Being a Starfleet officer isn’t going to carry any weight. In fact, if half of what we’ve heard about this Morjod is true, it could work against you.”

“If I were going anywhere near the Klingon [14] Empire—and please note the use of the conditional—what makes you think I would even mention the fact that I’m a Starfleet officer? Being on leave means I’m just Ezri Dax, civilian.”

Kira almost smiled at that. Almost. She appeared to have more to say on the subject, but while she had been among those to question most stridently Jadzia’s decision to uphold Curzon’s blood oath six years ago, if there was one thing Kira understood, it was personal necessity. “Go,” she said. “Be careful.”

Ezri rose and walked toward the opening office doors, trying hard not to move too quickly. “I will,” she said.

“Say hello to Worf for me.”

“I will,” Ezri said, then stopped midstride on the threshold, abashed. “If I see him,” she continued, then stepped through. The doors hissed shut before she could hear Kira’s response.

Drifting at a constant velocity near one of the larger chunks of undifferentiated rock, Ezri dozed as the Wardrobe’s sensors delicately scanned the asteroid field. Her charts did not name the formation, but listed it as one of many medium-sized, unremarkable clusters that studded the Klingon outmarches. Ezri had already considered sending in several new names to the chart makers, except, alas, she suspected they would object to her more colorful sobriquets, especially since many of them used less than polite anatomical references.

“So help me, Worf,” she said after checking the coordinates for the third time in an hour. “You’d better not have gotten yourself killed already.” Worf had piggybacked these coordinates onto the transmission he’d sent her on DS9, obviously counting on her knowing [15] him well enough to check. She stared out the shuttle’s main viewport and wondered if she could slink back to the station without anyone noticing she had left. (“Me? Away? What gave you that idea? I’ve been here the whole time.”) Probably not.

It was possible, of course, that Worf was in the vicinity, but there was no way her little shuttle’s sensors would detect a cloaked ship. If he was nearby, though, why wouldn’t he attempt to contact her? Assuming he was still alive, the most likely answer was that he was waiting for some sort of sign or password. The remaining members of the House of Martok—however many of them there might be—would be feeling mighty paranoid. Perhaps the direct approach would be best.

Tuning the Wardrobe’s tiny little subspace transmitter to all channels, Ezri sent the message “Worf, I’m here. If it has to be ‘now,’ then you’re going to have to come find me.” She had hoped the reference to Worf’s single-word message would give him the reassurance he desired, but she wasn’t expecting it quite so suddenly.

The Wardrobe’s sensors beeped furiously as five Klingon vessels simultaneously decloaked around her, three birds-of-prey and one K’t’inga-class battle cruiser. The communications monitor flickered to life, and Ezri was shocked by how Worf looked even more grim and careworn than usual. “Hello, Ezri,” he said, his expression melting a bit.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting for you out here?”

Worf glanced off-screen, then looked back at her. “Two hours and forty-two minutes.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

[16] “We could not risk revealing ourselves until we were certain it was you.”

“You don’t have sensors?”

“Many of these asteroids contain trace amounts of kelbonite,” he explained. “It makes it difficult to scan.”

Ezri knew about kelbonite. Not only did it inhibit sensor scans, it made it nearly impossible to get a transporter lock. “So I’m going for a spacewalk?”

“A short one, yes. Do you have an EVA suit?”

“Yes,” Ezri quipped. “A very stylish one with large purple flowers on it. You’ll love it.”

As usual, Worf was not certain how to respond when Ezri joked with him. He gave her a quizzical half smile, then said, “We will turn the ship at your stern so that our airlock is pointed toward yours.”

“That would be great, Worf. And have a nice warm drink ready for me. Spacewalks always make me cold.”

“I will see to it. Come as soon as you can.”

“I will. Oh, and Worf?!”

“Yes?”

“It’s good to see you.”

Worf glanced over his shoulder, obviously checking to see who was in earshot. Reassured, he looked back at her and said, “It is good to see you, too, Ezri. The House of Martok is honored by your presence.”

“You tell the House of Martok it has a lot of explaining to do.”