2

THE CARDASSIAN SHIPS IN FRONT OF THEM SWEPT UP AND OFFSCREEN IN a dizzying blur, the Defiant cutting starboard, dropping beneath Macet’s ship. Prynn let herself relax into the controls with a deep breath, making her muscles unknot in spite of the high, tight thrum of her nerves. As their ship fell away into empty space, so did thoughts of her mother, worries about what was happening on the station, the confusion and anger that her father represented for her now. There was nothing else in her mind, nothing but her and the ship and movement.

“They’re sweeping, antiproton, tachyon, and chroniton,” Shar said. “Sensor arrays concentrated on an area between zero-seven-five mark four-zero and mark six-five, z-plus thirty-eight degrees.”

Too high, they’re looking too high.

“Let me know if they find us,” Vaughn said, a touch of humor in his voice. Prynn filed Shar’s information, ignoring her father’s voice. She only needed numbers and facts and her own hands, her own honed instincts.

“Cardassian ships spreading into a defensive pattern between us and the station,” Bowers said.

Evek Arrangement, Prynn decided, without looking at her console. A Cardassian standard. A second later, Shar called off a series of designations, the numbers confirming it. Five ships in a kind of slanted wheel shape, maximum coverage to perform a sensory sweep, and to act as a kind of loose barrier; flying through it would pass a cloaked ship close enough to at least one of the five for a read, and with the ships on a constant rotation of outward sweeps, bypassing such a formation could prove difficult.

Shar rattled off a new string of numbers, then another. Except for three, all of the Cardassian ships were grouping into Evek formations, surrounding the station.

“Shar, establish sweep patterns on formation at two-seven-five mark ten,” Vaughn said. Prynn would have chosen the same. He meant to go in as close as possible, pass between the lower docking pylons and the fusion reactor—the riskiest, and therefore least likely, approach. At least, from a Cardassian standpoint. It was the one area that would receive only partial coverage from their sweeps.

“Dropping to two-seven-five mark ten,” Prynn said, not needing Vaughn to tell her what to do. Her voice was distant to her ears, her attention entirely focused on the unfolding dark in front of her and the rapidly shifting numbers on the panel at her fingertips. The ship responded to the slightest adjustments of her hands like an extension of her will, the power of the act as exhilarating and awesome as it had been her first day solo at the Academy.

“Nog, how close are we to breaching the block?” Vaughn asked. Prynn reflexively looked for herself, not hearing Nog’s response as she calculated, speed, distance, allowance for impulse cut

two minutes, give or take. Assuming the Cardassians didn’t manage to stop them.

“

let me know the instant we’re through,” Vaughn said. “Dax, work with the secondary comm bank, see if you can boost our signal to the station

and have a text ready to send, in case we have to abort before we can make contact.”

“They’re hailing again,” Bowers said.

Vaughn didn’t have to tell Sam to ignore it. “Mister ch’Thane, feed whatever you’ve got on the sweeps to navigation, with your recommendation. Tenmei, pick us a hole.”

She could hear the pleasure in his voice and felt a flush of cold anger, in spite of the fact that she was surely just as excited to be in action. What right did he have to be enjoying anything, after—

—let it go. Fly.

She flew, watching the reads as Shar’s calculations dropped onto the screen. There, at three-one-four mark five, intervals of

four seconds clear, seven second sweep, then four clear again. The other two openings Shar had pinpointed had shorter sweeps but only offered windows of two and a half seconds. It was going to be tight, very tight, but she could do it. She would do it, she had the reflexes and the training and the nerve.

The Defiant moved closer to the station, where Prynn could see the U.S.S. Gryphon docked at an upper pylon. Its silver-white hull was streaked black with battle damage, but there was no way to know how recently she’d come under fire. Behind Prynn, Vaughn continued to call out orders—stand by to drop cloak, to send text, to raise shields. She concentrated on her mark as she swept the Defiant up toward the reactor at ninety degrees, preparing to cut impulse and go to warp once they’d coasted through, Shar’s sensors taking in whatever they could. Forty, forty-one seconds from contact and the flying was fine, she was as good as her reputation and with as messed up as her life usually was, it was one sure thing to be proud of, to hang on to

Bowers’s voice cut through that good feeling, turning it to dust.

“Target group falling out of formation.”

Shar was confirming, and Prynn barely had time to register the new numbers that were pouring onto her screen before she had to move. Three of the Cardassian fighters at the reactor group were spreading out, dropping slowly toward the Defiant as it sped upward.

Rate of acceleration, projected course, estimated sensory movement—Twenty seconds to contact with the station, give or take; and only eleven or twelve seconds before they were made.

Unless.

Prynn scanned the numbers, saw what she wanted, as much a leap of trained intuition as anything. She didn’t have time to calculate it to a certainty, but there was a one, one and a half second opening at zero-zero-seven mark one, she was sure of it.

“Ch’Thane, report,” Vaughn snapped.

“Their sensors will find us in the next ten seconds,” Shar said, his voice mild and relaxed. The calm in crisis of a trained Andorian.

“Tenmei—” The commander started.

“There’s a hole,” she said sharply, hoping to hell that she was right. “I can get us through.”

Vaughn didn’t hesitate. “Then do it.”

Prynn rotated the Defiant, set her mark, the controls warm beneath her fingers. She was going to shoot between two of the descending ships at an angle, twisting at precisely the right instant to avoid their sensory sweeps and curving in to avoid the sweeps of the two stationary ships, both cruisers, situated near the two of the station’s lower pylons. The Defiant was going to have to pass extremely close to one of the dropping fighters to catch the opening. If she made a mistake—

They’ll see us. Or crash into us.

Bad thinking, she let it go. She wouldn’t make a mistake.

Just another few seconds, and each ticked down in her mind like a pounding hammer, the Cardassian ships rushing toward the viewscreen, blotting out the darkness, her gaze steady on the numbers, her fingers steady at the helm—

—and they moved, all three of the descending ships turning. Changing sweep patterns.

Prynn hissed through her teeth, forcing her hands not to jump, reflexively pushing the controls with the gentlest of touches

and the Defiant blew past them, twisted and arced, clearing the closest vessel with barely enough distance to avoid bouncing off their shields.

Prynn’s cocksure attitude went down in flames. Good piloting or no, the Cardassians had them.

Almost as one, the three ships ceased their descent, the two cruisers near the pylons turning to face the rapidly approaching Defiant. Prynn ignored them, focused on controlling their advance, slowing to quarter impulse, her chest tight with frustration. They were still seconds from breaking through.

“Sir, signal from the station,” Bowers announced. “It’s Colonel Kira. She’s ordering us to stand down.”

“Cut the engines,” Vaughn snapped. “Full stop.”

Prynn hesitated, then did as he asked, still too dismayed by the outcome to register what Bowers had said.

Six or seven seconds, we would have been through, she thought, her jaw clenching. At most.

“Detecting EMP generator readings coming from the ships at one-three-five mark thirty and mark forty.” Shar said. “And

both of the cruisers have powered their spiral wave disruptors and fixed on the Defiant.”

Prynn’s heart skipped a beat.

“What the hell’s going on?” Vaughn asked quietly. “Sam, are you sure it’s the colonel?”

“Voiceprint confirmed,” Bowers said. “The Cardassians opened a comm window.”

Prynn sensed Vaughn rising to his feet. “All right, drop cloak,” he said, “and put her on screen.”

As the cloak dissolved, Ezri realized she was holding her breath and let it out. If it really was Kira, they might finally get some answers. And if it wasn’t, if it was some trick of Macet’s

Too late to second guess now, she thought, moving to Vaughn’s side. Too late for any outcome but this one. If she’d learned anything since moving to command, it was that hindsight could be devastating for a leader.

Before she could take the thought any further, Kira appeared on the viewscreen, in a tight shot of ops on board the station. At her side, dwarfing her, stood Admiral Akaar.

“Colonel?” Vaughn began. “Admiral? I hope you’ll pardon my bluntness, but do you mind telling me—”

“Commander,” Akaar interrupted. “Who is your daughter named for?”

“Excuse me?”

“Answer the question, Commander.”

Vaughn blinked. “T’Prynn of Vulcan.”

“And have you spoken with T’Prynn since becoming first officer of Deep Space 9?”

“You know perfectly well Commander T’Prynn died almost thirty years ago,” Vaughn said, his frown deepening.

He’s challenging Vaughn to prove his identity, Ezri thought. But why?

“Yes,” Akaar continued. “At Raknal V.”

“No, in deep space, during a mission against renegade Ktarians. T’Prynn was never at Raknal.”

That appeared to satisfy Akaar, who turned to Kira. But instead of offering an explanation, the colonel said, “Doctor.”

Ezri felt Julian move alongside her. “Yes, Colonel?”

“I don’t think I ever thanked your properly for the care you gave me during my pregnancy.”

Julian nodded. “You’re, ah, very welcome, Colonel.”

“That was your first Bajoran delivery, wasn’t it?”

Julian folded his arms. “I didn’t deliver Kirayoshi, Colonel. He was delivered by a Bajoran midwife, Y’Pora.”

“But it was in the Infirmary.”

“No, in one of the station’s guest quarters. It was set up as a traditional Bajoran birthing room.”

“Doctor,” Akaar said.

“Yes, sir?”

“Please step directly behind Lieutenant Dax.”

Julian did as ordered, everyone on the bridge watching closely.

“Examine the back of her neck, please.”

Vaughn’s attention snapped back toward the viewscreen. The reference to the back of her neck

Ezri wondered if he knew what was happening. Then at least one of us would.

“What am I looking for?” Julian asked. His familiar fingers slid through her hair.

Akaar was looking directly at her. “You will know it if you see it.”

After a long moment of careful examination, Julian sighed. “I don’t see anything.”

“Look carefully. Feel the skin.”

Julian’s fingers were gentle, as always.

“There’s nothing unusual about Lieutenant Dax’s neck, Admiral,” Julian said.

Akaar and Kira both relaxed visibly. “That’ll do, Doctor, thank you,” Kira said. “Sorry about the precautions, but we had to be sure. Welcome home, to all of you.” She looked haggard and tense, the lines of her face tight, but she also wore a small, crooked smile that did Ezri’s heart good. Whatever was happening, Kira was Kira, and it was good to see her.

“You’ll need to examine the rest of the crew,” Vaughn said, addressing Kira. It wasn’t a question.

Kira nodded. Her smile faded, her gaze darkening. “Once you dock. Take port one. The Cardassians will be handling the examinations.”

Vaughn raised an eyebrow. “That’s interesting,” he said. “I take it we can expect a briefing?”

“Once you’re cleared, yes

. Tell the crew not to resist the exams, or any security measures you find in place. I’ll explain when I get there.”

She smiled again, this one less sardonic. “You may be sorry afterward, but it’s good to have you back,” she said, and the screen went blank. A second later, Macet appeared. He didn’t appear to be angry or pleased. Ezri thought he actually seemed relieved.

“Well played, Commander,” the Cardassian said, his expression tight but not unpleasant. “I have ordered my ships to stand down. You may dock at will.”

“Thank you,” Vaughn said. “Will I see you aboard the station?”

Macet nodded. “I will be there presently. Macet out.”

The view onscreen returned to stars and ships, to the station itself. To home, where something had gone very wrong.

Jake, Wex, and Opaka were called up to the bridge shortly after the Defiant docked, and were walked to the airlock a few minutes later along with most of the bridge crew. Leading the way—and surrounding them, and bringing up the rear—were a number of Cardassian soldiers, armed and silent.

A handful of Cardassian medics and techs were waiting for the disembarking crew just outside the airlock, holding unfamiliar medical equipment. A female Cardassian in civvies was in charge, identifying herself simply as Vlu, and she politely but firmly explained what would happen—that except for the officers and passengers, the rest of the crew would stay aboard the ship for the moment, that it would be easier for her people to run their security scans in a “contained” environment

though she didn’t explain what needed scanning, exactly. Jake could see that although the commander wasn’t entirely comfortable with it—and after hearing a hastily whispered abridged version of their homecoming from Nog, Jake could understand why—Vaughn went along, making it clear that they would all cooperate.

More Cardassian soldiers and medics boarded the Defiant for the unspecified security check as Jake and the others waited their turn to be scanned, lining one wall of the corridor outside the airlock. Jake was looked over by a young male medic who frowned a lot, read off his vitals, and ran cool, scaly fingers over the back of Jake’s neck before nodding him away, to stand with the others who’d already been checked. No questions were answered, no information about the scans given. It was decidedly creepy, but no stranger than some of what he’d been doing in the past six months. Being among old friends again definitely made it more bearable.

Jake stood with Nog, Wex, and Opaka, watching as Ezri walked over to join them, using her fingers to comb her short hair down in the back after having it ruffled (for the second time, apparently) by one of the medics. Dr. Bashir was close behind, frowning thoughtfully as Ezri took his hand. Except for Wex and Opaka, who watched the scans silently, they all spent a few useless moments guessing at what they were being checked for as more officers were waved toward them. Dr. Bashir said he recognized at least two of the programs being used by the subsonic pulses they emitted, naming them both with impossibly long medical terms that Jake instantly forgot—though basically, they were to scan for physical abnormalities. The most popular guess was that some sort of illness had come to the station. Ensign Juarez, someone Jake hadn’t met before, proposed that perhaps a ship carrying the disease had docked at DS9, and now all incoming ships were being checked over.

“So

maybe the Cardassians are immune?” Jake said. “And that’s why they’re running this

lockdown?”

“That would make sense,” Ezri said, nodding.

“They’re looking for abnormality, though, they’re not running standard viral or bacteriological checks,” Bashir said. “That would suggest an advanced stage

or something else entirely.”

“Do you think it could have something to do with what happened to us, with the cathedral artifact?” Nog asked the doctor, somewhat anxiously. “Maybe when we were changed

“

“I very much doubt it,” he said. “After our second encounter with the artifact, we were returned to the same physical states we’d been before.”

At Jake’s puzzled look, Nog briefly filled him in on a Gamma adventure that he, Ezri, and Bashir had been involved in, one that had actually altered them physically for a time. As interesting as it was, Jake found it hard to pay attention. Now that he was actually back on the station, he was too busy taking in the environment, feeling like he was in a dream but also in hyper-reality, both at once.

It was beyond weird, to be back after almost half a year in the Gamma Quadrant, even without the unnerving greeting. The air was so familiar, cool and clean, the lights so perfectly muted, the beautifully bland architecture

and yet it was all different, too. He was different, maybe. Whether or not that was a good thing

he thought it was, but wasn’t sure, either. His own Gamma Quadrant experiences had altered his perspective in ways he didn’t entirely understand yet.

It’s good to be home, though. Maybe Kasidy would come to the station to meet him, so he could spend some time just existing again in familiar territory. But then, she might be close enough to her due date that she shouldn’t be traveling; he’d have to call her and see. The communications blackout probably wouldn’t be a problem; along with being the son of the Emissary, being friends with the station’s commander had its advantages, and considering her own status, he couldn’t imagine Kas being turned down for anything.

Nog wrapped up his story as Commander Vaughn joined them. Bashir told him what he’d noticed about the scanning devices, but Vaughn seemed distant, saying only that they should wait for Kira. He kept glancing over at two young ensigns standing together several meters away, the Andorian science officer and a dark-haired human woman he hadn’t met yet. Jake thought that the woman, at least, was consciously ignoring the commander. Quite an age difference for lovers, Jake thought, but decided in the same thought that they weren’t. Whatever the relationship was, there wasn’t any romance to it.

He noticed that Wex and Opaka were standing with a pair of Bajoran deputies—additional security, Jake assumed—Opaka smiling gently as they bombarded her with questions and stories. Wex only observed, taking it all in, and though Jake had never been entirely at ease around her—the slender gray alien’s manner was somewhat stiff, almost to the point of unfriendly—he felt sorry for her, now

stuck in a strange new place with people she didn’t know, caught up in some kind of security crackdown. She had followed Opaka home, she claimed, to learn from her—apparently, spiritual pilgrimages were an integral part of life among her kind—but she definitely hadn’t signed up for being poked and prodded by Cardassians in the midst of some kind of plague alert.

Jake moved closer to her, smiling. “So, how do you like the Alpha Quadrant so far?”

“It’s

different,” she said, brushing a length of pale hair behind one tiny ear. She seemed as distant as Commander Vaughn, her liquid black gaze fixed to the end of the connecting corridor that led into the station proper.

“Once this is all sorted out, you’ll be able to go to Bajor, with Opaka,” Jake said. “And me, probably. I owe Kas—Kasidy, the one I told you about—I owe her a visit. Besides, she’ll probably need me pretty soon, she’s going to have a baby any time now

“

At the look on Wex’s face, Jake faltered, turning to see what it was that had so completely seized her attention—and grinned widely. Kira Nerys was striding down the hall to meet them, nodding to the Cardassian medics as they finished with the last few crewmembers

and when she saw Jake, she stopped in her tracks.

“Jake?” Almost a whisper.

Jake stepped forward, nodding, and she half ran to him, catching him in a huge embrace.

“Hi, Nerys,” he managed, and she stepped back, grinning, searching his face with shining eyes.

“Where—how did they—oh, it’s so good to see you, you have no idea,” she said happily. An instant later she was frowning, her voice dropping half an octave.

“You had me so worried, Jake. Terrified. And Kas, she’s been beside herself, and your grandfather

Jake, what happened?”

Jake started to answer, then simply looked toward Opaka, who was watching with her own mild smile of pleasure. “I had to give someone a ride,” he said.

Kira followed his gaze and visibly paled, even as she laughed, a short, surprised sound. Her gaze welled up, but she managed to hold it together as the former kai stepped over to join them. Vaughn and the others held back, obviously aware that it was an emotional meeting for Kira; Jake even backed up a little as the two women faced one another, not wanting to intrude. He exchanged smiles with Ezri as Opaka and Kira embraced, Kira hanging on to the smaller woman as though her life depended on it.

“Oh,” Kira breathed, “oh, thank the Prophets.”

After what seemed a long time, it was the kai who stepped back first, reaching up to touch Kira’s left ear, her eyes closing slightly. Watching, Jake thought there was something different about Kira’s face, something he couldn’t quite place

a new haircut, or

Her earring. It’s gone.

Opaka smiled again, letting go. “I’m happy to see you again, Kira, and I hope we’ll have a chance to talk soon

but you obviously have business of some urgency to attend to.” She nodded slightly toward the Cardassians. “And I should like to rest awhile. Perhaps we can meet later

?”

Jake was impressed. For someone who claimed no political tendencies, Opaka Sulan was amazingly diplomatic.

“Yes, of course,” Kira said, straightening. Her eyes were still overbright, but she was a colonel again, in control. Jake was surprised that she’d let herself show so much feeling in front of other people, though he supposed it wasn’t every day one’s long-missing spiritual icon came strolling through the door. If that wasn’t a reason for an emotional reaction, nothing was.

Kira turned toward him again, but before she could speak, he realized that Opaka had the right idea. Kira had her hands full enough without having to deal with personal considerations. He glanced at Wex, deciding that a hurried introduction would have to do.

“Ah, Colonel Kira, this is Wex, from the Gamma Quadrant. She’s a Trelian. She’s here with the kai.”

“Welcome to Deep Space 9, Wex,” Kira said, raising her chin slightly and squaring her shoulders, reminding Jake that the Trelian were a new species for the Alpha Quadrant. “I’m sorry that your arrival has come at such a turbulent time, but we’ll do whatever we can to make your stay here comfortable. I’ll see to it that one of our diplomatic aides is available to you for any questions or concerns you might have.”

She nodded politely at the petite Trelian girl, who nodded woodenly in turn, her expression strangely blank.

“If it’s all right, I’ll take the kai and Wex to guest quarters, get them set up,” Jake continued, and saw a flash of relief cross Kira’s eyes.

“That’d be great, Jake. I’ll come find you as soon as I have a moment. We can call Kas together.”

She seemed to know what he was thinking, adding, “Even a blackout has exceptions. I wish I could explain

“

You and me both, Jake thought, but he shook his head reassuringly. “Hey, remember who you’re talking to. You’ll tell me about it when you can.” She smiled again, reached out to squeeze his hand, but already, he could see that she was turning her thoughts to whatever crisis the station was dealing with, her gaze sharpening, her warm smile turning brisk as she let go. Jake took the cue. He tapped Nog’s shoulder, exchanging a look with his friend that said they’d hook up later—Nog had already insisted that Jake bunk with him about fifty times—and, with a final smile at the Defiant’s crew, he gathered Wex and Opaka and started down the hall.

An armed Cardassian followed them at a discreet distance, though Jake ignored her. No matter what was going on, he was glad to be back.

Seeing Jake again, and Kai Opaka

Kira was stunned and overjoyed and hugely curious, and much, much too busy to investigate any of it, mentally, physically, emotionally. She compartmentalized the feelings, setting them aside as she welcomed her friends back—people she’d missed and cared about, people she respected. It was selfish, she knew, to be glad that they were now locked down with the rest of the station, but she was glad. She hadn’t realized how lonely she’d been, how unsupported she’d felt in her work, but seeing all these familiar faces, confused by the circumstances but so open and friendly

and Jake! And the kai! It was impossible not to think about it. Jake was home, where he belonged

and her own personal reaction aside, as far as Kira was concerned, the former kai was every bit as important to Bajor as any one of the Orbs. Especially now.

After getting an all-clear from Vlu, Kira asked Vaughn and the Defiant’s other senior officers—Julian, Ezri, Nog, Shar, Merimark, and Sam Bowers—to accompany her, promising a debriefing to the remaining crew members within the hour. They started toward the wardroom, Kira asking that they hold their questions for the time being—as much for the opportunity to collect herself as for the fact that the wardroom was heavily shielded—and though her thoughts edged back toward the briefing, on who was waiting for them and what needed to be said, she couldn’t suppress the new lightness in her step.

Things on Bajor, for Bajor, had been rough lately, but everything would be different now; Opaka coming home changed things, giving Kira real hope for the first time since Shakaar had been killed. She and Opaka had never been especially close personally, but the respect and religious awe she felt for the older woman was beyond what she’d ever felt for anyone, even the Emissary. Kai Opaka had been Bajor’s spiritual guide through much of the Occupation; she had sacrificed everything to take care of her people in that bleak time, including the life of her own son

and she had never wavered in her faith, never turned to anger or violence, never doubted that the Prophets would somehow provide.

And she’s back, she’s back and the Orbs are home, and the whole planet will welcome her return. She’ll lead us all through what’s happening, with the Prophets’ help

except

the Attainder.

Kira felt the absence of her earring, and the reflexive despair that came with it—but let it go, let it die before the memory of Opaka’s smile when she’d reached for Kira’s pagh. Opaka Sulan would never turn anyone away.

As they reached the wardroom, Kira realized that she was doing an extremely poor job of setting anything aside, reminding her that she was tired, that life had been one crisis after another for what seemed like months. She thought of Shakaar, of what Asarem wanted, of what General Cyl had told her on their way back from Trill

and with the firm reminder of what was at stake, her mind was focused once more as the doors to the wardroom slid open in front of them.

Except for Ro, the others were already waiting, and stood as Kira made introductions. Starfleet Admiral Akaar knew everyone, as did Councillor zh’Thane, Andor’s representative on the Federation Council. Out of respect for the ambassador and her family, Kira hadn’t asked zh’Thane to attend the meeting. Charivretha zh’Thane had been of great help in their crisis so far, smoothing the Federation’s suddenly troubled relations with Bajor, but her presence at the Defiant’s briefing wasn’t necessary

and besides, it would be her first interactive contact with her offspring, Shar, in months, their first since his betrothed’s suicide. Inappropriate or no, however, it seemed she’d taken it upon herself to be present.

For what good it’s doing, for either of them. Though she tried not to, Kira could see the strain between Ensign ch’Thane and his zhavey, the lack of eye contact, the careful distancing after a brief, unemotional greeting. From the quick, sympathetic looks exchanged among the rest of the Defiant crew, it appeared that Shar’s private tragedy had become common knowledge. Whatever they might be feeling, however, the ambassador and the ensign controlled themselves well, much to Kira’s relief. Starfleet and diplomatic training might rechannel the Andorian tendency toward violence under stress, but nothing could change the biology.

The only formal introduction that needed to be made was that of General Taulin Cyl, an older, white-haired man from the Trill Defense Ministry, whom the Trill Ambassador had sent in his stead. Upon learning of the general’s arrival at the station Seljin Gandres had been visibly relieved to turn the whole crisis over to Cyl. Privately, Kira was surprised at the ambassador’s reluctance to take part in what was happening, but Cyl seemed to have a better grasp of the situation, anyway.

Kira noticed the surprise and unease with which Dax reacted to the introduction of General Cyl. Kira couldn’t even imagine how strange it must be, for either of them; on their journey back from Trill, Cyl had informed Kira privately of his previous connection to Dax, several host lifetimes before—One of Dax’s previous hosts had been the mother of a woman who became a host of the Cyl symbiont. Confusing, to be sure. Kira knew that the Trill frowned on symbiont reassociations through new hosts, but it hadn’t seemed to bother Jadzia much, and Ezri apparently felt the same. As for Cyl

Kira watched Cyl’s expression as he regarded Ezri, gazing at her with the intimacy of history, and the grim seriousness of the threat they now faced. She hoped there wouldn’t be any problems between them. With what they were up against, no one could afford a personal crisis.

Ro walked in as they were all seating themselves, followed by Gul Macet, who nodded to Kira as he entered the room. He took a place standing near the door, from where he could watch everyone during the proceedings, keeping his distance. Kira didn’t envy him his situation; his forces were here at the Federation’s request for help, yet he was surrounded by people whose first instinct was to mistrust him simply because he was Cardassian.

Ro Laren took a chair near Shar’s, her usually sharp expression softening slightly as she nodded to him and to the other returning officers. She carefully set the padds she’d carried in on the table in front of her, keeping her hands on them as though they might suddenly disappear. Kira knew the feeling; nothing was as it seemed, anymore.

Everyone was present, and though it had been only minutes since they’d left the docking ring, it already felt like too long. Kira took a deep breath, picked the most obvious starting point, and began to speak.