CHAPTER 22

IT HAD BEEN years since Sisko had been on the emergency escape stairs that led from the lower levels of the station all the way to Ops. He had almost forgotten the enclosed circular staircase existed. But he flew up it now, with Kira, Bashir, and O'Brien close behind.

“Fifty-five minutes,” O'Brien panted. “Dax should just about—”

Sisko swung to a stop on the stairs, held on to the railing, looked down past Kira and Bashir. “What was that, Chief?”

“He's gone,” Bashir told Sisko. “The timeshift!”

Sisko groaned. Of course, he thought. O'Brien hadn't been “grounded” in this timeframe by contact with Weyoun. So as the pressure waves swept over the Boreth, he'd still be subject to being drawn back and forth through time.

“He's probably gone two hours ahead,” Sisko said. “Major, the Bajorans didn't know about this escape passage, did they?”

Kira shook her head. “Not till O'Brien started looking for a place to put new ODN conduits.”

“Then he'll be safe in here till he gets swept back. Maybe eight minutes or so,” Sisko said. “Let's go.” He began running up the stairs again, up the final levels to his intended destination: Gul Dukat's private safe room, just below the Prefect's office overlooking Ops.

When Sisko had first seen the secret chamber—just before O'Brien had turned it into a secondary computer installation—his first thought had been that Dukat must, at some level, have lived his life in constant fear.

The small enclosure, nearly the equal in size of the office above it, contained resources suggesting someone with great concerns for his own safety: a sensor-masking generator, a month's supply of food and water, a chemical waste-disposal unit unconnected to the station's main plumbing lines, a cot, encrypted communications gear, and a single emergency transport pad for rapid evacuation. In the event of a real emergency—or slave worker uprising—Dukat would not even have to risk running to an airlock or runabout pad. He merely had to duck through a panel in his office upstairs and conceal himself one level below until a suitable Cardassian ship came within transporter range.

Sisko had often wondered what the gul's reaction had been when, upon regaining control of the station under the Dominion, he had discovered his secret escape route had been jammed full of backup computer cores.

At this moment, though, Sisko expected the hidden chamber would be as Dukat had left it—with the exception now that it was Dax, and not the Chief, who had claimed it for a workroom.

But as Sisko entered the safe room through the half-height door at the top of the emergency stairway, he saw something unexpected.

At the far end of Dukat's private chamber, the single transporter pad that rested on a small raised platform was covered in bright pink blood.

“Worf's been hurt!” Sisko said as Kira and Bashir pushed in behind him.

“The Chief said Worf was unaccounted for on the Defiant,” Kira said.

“But look at the blood. It's Klingon.” Sisko scanned the empty room. “And where's Dax?”

“She's still shifting, too,” Bashir said. “Her schedule will be slightly different from—”

“Julian!” The Trill's cry came from the transporter platform as she and Worf suddenly appeared on it.

Bashir sprang toward Worf, lowered the unconscious Klingon to the deck, and quickly told Jadzia what to bring him from the medical supply cabinets on the wall.

Without any hesitation, the doctor tore through Worf's already gashed jacket, grabbed a Cardassian scalpel to remove an improperly applied pressure bandage, and exposed a badly closed wound even now spurting blood. Sisko had never seen Bashir work so swiftly.

“He was treated by a butcher,” Bashir said tersely as he turned away from Worf to rifle quickly through the contents of a Cardassian surgical kit, looking for supplies he could use.

In less than sixty seconds, Worf's wound was securely sealed, and from the combination of drugs Bashir had employed, the Klingon's deep brown skin was no longer ashen.

Bashir complained to himself as he studied the intravenous fluid pack on Worf's arm. “Well,” he allowed, “maybe I was too hard on his first doctor. This fluid replacement pack saved Worf's life.” He looked up at Sisko. “And it came from the Defiant. He must have been treated there.”

“That's right,” Jadzia said, her face still unnaturally pale from her ordeal. “O'Brien said the Defiant had disappeared from his sensors—almost as if it had been cloaked. So I kept scanning for it, and I finally picked up an emergency transport beacon. And then . . . on my first try . . . I got Worf . . . like this . . . and . . .” She stopped to take a steadying breath, still shaken by discovering her husband moments from death. “A few minutes later, I got a second beacon. But . . . it wasn't a successful transport.”

Jake. Sisko steeled himself. “Who was it, Old Man?”

“Not Jake. Not Arla. It had to have been one of the two agritechnicians from Deneva.”

The words not Jake echoed in Sisko's mind. But his profound gratitude was dampened by the death of another. “Was Worf able to tell you what happened?” he asked.

Jadzia shook her head as she looked from Sisko to Bashir, her own need to know etched on her face.

“He'll be fine, Jadzia,” Bashir said as he got to his feet. “But I can't risk speeding up his metabolism to wake him. He's lost too much blood to survive that.” Bashir looked at Sisko. “Sorry.”

“Is that transporter set for beaming ahead?” Sisko made himself ask.

“Yes.” Jadzia looked down at her husband's blood on her hands. “Yes, it is.” She looked up again, at Sisko. “This pad doesn't exist six years from now. But I can send everyone from here ahead six years to the transporter in the Rio Grande, the night before the second wormhole opened. And if the first person I send uses the right override code on the pad airlock, we won't alert security.”

“And everyone else is present in that timeframe?” Sisko asked.

“Everyone,” Jadzia repeated. “Everyone except whoever's left on the Defiant. And Garak . . . can't seem to find Garak anywhere . . .”

Sisko saw how Jadzia was struggling to maintain her self-control. He had never seen her so upset. “Old Man, are you going to be all right?”

She nodded. “It's just that Worf . . . he was always afraid that I would die first, and now . . . now I know what he meant . . .”

Sisko put a hand on her shoulder, gave it a squeeze. “He'll be fine. You heard Julian. We've all got long lives ahead of us.”

Jadzia gave him a smile, and Sisko saw the old fire in her eyes. “You're right. We do.” She wiped her hands on her jacket. “So—who goes first?”

“Send Bashir,” Sisko said, “so he'll be there when you send Worf through. Then Kira. By then, O'Brien should come wheezing up those stairs. Can you set it for automatic?”

“First thing I programmed into it,” Jadzia said. She held up a tricorder. “Just set the timer on this.”

“All right, then you go next.”

Jadzia stared at him. “Benjamin, what about you?”

“I have to go find out what happened when Terrell sent Quark in after that Orb.”

One look at his friend's face told Sisko that wasn't answer enough. “It's missing, Dax. Somehow, I have to make sure the Orb gets put back where I'm supposed to find it six years from now, or . . .”

Jadzia continued his statement. “The timeline's changed, and the instant we create an alternate history . . .”

“This history's over,” Sisko said in conclusion. “And so are we.”

“Isn't this risky?” Quark whispered far too loudly.

But Odo was in no mood for either argument or explanation. “I know what I'm doing, Quark.” He dragged the Ferengi through the doors of Security.

At once, Artran Mage—the young Bajoran security officer on night duty this week—jumped to his feet behind Odo's desk. “Constable!” Artran quavered. “I thought you were taking the night off.”

“So did I,” Odo growled. He pushed down on Quark's shoulder to let the Ferengi know he shouldn't budge from that spot if he valued his life, then went behind his desk to the storage drawers.

Artran vainly tried to change over a computer screen before Odo could see the tongo cards displayed on it, but he was too late.

“Slow night?” Odo asked as he entered his code for the enforcement equipment drawer.

“Uh, I was just taking a break, sir.”

“Mm-hmm,” Odo said, not really caring one way or another. Right now, in this time he knew, he was in his quarters, meditating. And Quark was in his own quarters, snoring, most likely. So everything around Odo and Quark at this moment could almost be considered a dream of the past.

The drawer slipped open and Odo took from it the equipment he needed, safely packaged in a hard-composite shoulder case.

Artran's eyes widened at the sight of it. “Trouble, sir?”

“Not yet. Carry on, Artran.”

The young officer nodded, quite confused. “Y-yes, sir. Thank you, sir. Good night, sir. Good night, Mr. Quark.”

“Whatever,” Quark said as Odo dragged him through the door again.

Once outside his office, Odo got a more secure grip on the Ferengi and then broke into a run as he started back toward Quark's bar.

“I—thought—you—didn't—want—to—change—anything,” Quark complained as Odo's long strides bumped him up and down.

“I didn't,” Odo said as he charged through the bar's doors, dropped Quark, and stopped in front of Dukat still sprawled on the floor. “You and I are both sound asleep in this timeframe.”

Quark straightened his jacket grumbling. “And what happens when you take over from that kid tomorrow morning and find out you paid him a visit tonight?”

Odo knelt by Dukat and opened the case. “That's just it, Quark. I didn't. Tomorrow morning, I'll have breakfast with Major Kira, go up to Ops to see how the computer repairs are coming, then get called back down here when the Orb is discovered. I never find out that I was in two places at once, and neither do you.”

“Oh, you think you're so smart,” Quark snorted.

“You'd better hope that I am. Now, stand back.” Odo snapped confinement forcebands around Dukat's ankles, then pulled the Cardassian's arms together to secure another set of bands around his wrists.

Dukat stirred, mumbling.

“He's waking up!” Quark warned.

“I can see that, Quark.” Frankly, Odo was surprised at Dukat's premature recovery from the concussive blow he had given him. The changeling had used a technique he'd learned in the Great Link. First, he had swiftly flowed around Dukat's body like a rubber membrane, then instantly compressed against every square centimeter of the Cardassian at once. To a solid, the changeling had been instructed, the effect was similar to being caught in the blast wave from an explosion.

Odo pulled another, wider forceband from the restraint kit, tuned it to half strength, then slapped it over Dukat's eyes. Even if the Cardassian came to full consciousness now, he wouldn't be able to see a thing. Odo hoped that might reduce the effectiveness of whatever Pah-wraith powers he could wield while restrained.

Quark didn't look impressed by Odo's elaborate precautions. “Why don't you just kill him?”

“Because he doesn't annoy me even half as much as you do.”

Next, Odo chose a clear cylinder from the kit and snapped it in half, activating the tiny device inside—a general-purpose neurocortical stimulator, preset to induce deep sleep, authorized for application only by law enforcement officials. As a further safeguard against misuse, Odo knew, the device would only remain active for half a day after opening. It was an extreme, though safe, method of capturing potentially dangerous suspects and much more humane than even a phaser stun in Odo's opinion.

The moment the stimulator was fixed on Dukat's temple, the Cardassian ceased his restless muttering and lay still again.

Odo allowed himself to sit back with a sigh. “I think I did it.”

“You did it?! What about me?!” Quark said.

Odo straightened up with a sigh. “You know, Quark, when it comes right down to it, none of this would ever have happened if it hadn't been for you.”

“That's not true,” the Ferengi protested.

Odo bent down, hooked his hands under Dukat's arms, and hoisted him up with a grunt. “Get his feet, Quark. And yes, it is true.”

Scowling but complying, Quark lifted Dukat's feet and began backing up toward the bar's entrance. At the same time, Odo began walking backward in the opposite direction, with their opposing actions threatening to tug Dukat in half. But Odo had the advantage of height and changeling strength.

Quark promptly dropped Dukat's feet with an exclamation of disgust. “Aren't we taking him to Security?” Quark demanded. “And if you ask me, this is all Vash's doing.”

“Pick him up, Quark,” Odo growled so fiercely the Ferengi instantaneously obeyed. “If I take him to Security, then as soon as I wake up tomorrow morning, the report will be on my personal padd. And since it wasn't on my padd, we're not taking him there. Besides, it's a bit crowded with all your friends and business partners already locked up in it. Base and Satr and Leen. And aren't you ashamed, blaming your shortcomings on a woman who's no longer here to defend herself?”

Quark huffed in his struggle to keep his end of Dukat in position as Odo directed them toward the bar's backroom. “We're not putting him into my storage room?!” Quark gasped.

“As a matter of fact, we are,” Odo said as he shouldered open the storeroom door.

Having lost the battle, Quark was anything but gracious in defeat. “Well, anyway, don't forget Sisko brought the other two Orbs in here. It's his fault if it's anyone's.”

Odo lowered Dukat to the deck. Once again, Quark simply let go of Dukat's feet, and they fell with a thud.

“Now what?” Quark sighed.

“Now we let time catch up with us,” Odo said. “Any moment now, we're going to be swept into a timeframe after the station's destruction—”

“Speak for yourself, Odo. You all disappeared last time, remember? But I stayed put with Dukat.”

Odo paused and thought about that. Quark was right. Everyone in the storage chamber had shifted to the future timeframe, leaving only Dukat and Quark behind. Odo himself had hurried through the empty station to become a cover for the dabo table, so that when he had been swept back to the same timeframe Odo and Dukat occupied, he had been ready to attack in the bar, where he had strongly suspected Dukat would come.

Could it be possible that Quark was permanently in phase with this timeframe now?

Odo reached out and took Quark's arm.

“Now what?” Quark exclaimed in total frustration as he tried to wriggle out of Odo's grasp.

“Now we find out if—”

A flash of red light burst around the changeling, and when it faded, Odo was alone in the backroom of Quark's deserted bar.

Poor Ferengi, Odo thought.

It had happened again.

Quark and Dukat were alone in the past with each other.

It was a toss-up to Odo which one would be more dangerous.

Jake looked up from the main display screen on the master console in engineering and checked the time readout.

Forty-seven minutes.

And he still hadn't found what he needed.

“Think, Jake,” he said aloud. “Think!” Still talking to himself, pacing back and forth by the console, he suddenly came up with an approach. “What would Higgs and Fermion do?!” He shook his head, quickly chose another scenario. “No! What would . . . Marauder Mo do?!” At least he knew the answer to that one. Mo would call for help from Nit, his comic sidekick, and Nit would come bumbling in, crash an aircycle into the villain's warpship or, better yet, stumble and knock poison into the vat of slicerfish his partner was slowly being lowered into, or otherwise end up freeing Marauder Mo by accident.

Mind racing, thoughts tumbling, Jake discarded the idea of an accident—that was too much to hope for now.

He stopped pacing. Then again, the idea of calling for help . . .

He brought up the emergency communications screens on the master console. Everything he wanted to do was already built into the ship's comm system!

“Jake? Are you still there?”

Arla's voice was huskier, as if she'd been shouting. Or coughing. Or weeping. Jake didn't reply to her. There was no reason to.

“If we're together when the end comes, Jake, then maybe we can end up in the next realm of existence together. Would that be so bad? We wouldn't be alone then.”

Great offer, Commander, Jake thought. That's just how I'd like to spend eternity. In a Pah-wraith hell with someone infected by nanites. He pressed his hand to the large red square that appeared on the console and immediately a new screen confirmed that he was transmitting a Starfleet general distress call on all subspace and electromagnetic frequencies.

The response was almost immediate, as if someone had been listening specifically for his signal. Jake almost whooped in his excitement, in his relief.

“Dax to Defiant! I am receiving your distress signal. Come in, Defiant!”

Jake leaned forward, staring at the screen, almost unable to believe that after all he had been through, the solution to his nightmare had been so simple. But the emergency comm system was designed to be used by people with no experience with starship procedures. Now all he had to do to reply was touch the command line indicating the preferred mode of communication—in this case, ordinary radio.

He touched the control with one trembling finger. “This is Jake! Dax, where are you?”

“Jake, we're all on the station.”

“Is my dad there?” Jake held his breath as he waited for Jadzia's reply. As he waited to hear if his nightmare was really over.

And it was. Sort of.

“He's here,” the Trill said, “but . . . you know about the timeshifts. Right now, he's back at the Day of Withdrawal. But the rest of us, we're back full circle, Jake. Right on the day the red wormhole opened.”

Now Jake needed to know why his father was alone in the past. “Can you bring him forward? Are we going to make it? And what about Worf?”

“Worf's stable,” Jadzia answered. “Julian says whoever treated him on the Defiant saved his life. But Jake, now we have to get you and Arla and the last tech off the ship. Can you get to a transporter room?”

“Can't you beam me off from here?” Jake asked, his voice rising, unwilling to let hope slip so soon from his grasp. Quickly, he filled Jadzia in on what had happened to Arla. What she had done to the tech. Why he couldn't leave engineering.

Jadzia's answer was heartstopping. “I can't beam you out while your shields are up, Jake. Can you drop them?”

“I don't know,” Jake said, despairing. “Can I?”

A new voice came on the circuit, and Jake's spirits rose again at its capable, practical sound. “Jake, it's Miles. Where are you exactly?”

Jake told him everything. What was on the displays. The tricks he had used to seal engineering and block Arla from taking control of most of the ship's subsystems—most but not all.

On the bridge, Arla still controlled the shields.

“And I'm not going to let them down,” Arla's voice suddenly said as she intruded into the circuit. “If that's what it takes to make you people accept the inevitable, I am not going to let them down.”

Jake heard something else on the circuit then. Something he had never ever heard before.

Chief O'Brien swearing.

And that told Jake there was no use in struggling anymore.

If the Chief couldn't get him off the ship, no one could.