He crossed the deck to the starboard rail. At the impulse/mule desk, Zane Bonifay indeed made a pathetic sight, his face hot and wet, throat tight, his hands dug halfway through his black hair, both elbows planted in frustration upon the pulpit's wrist roll. His reddened eyes were fixed on one of the dozen small screens, each of which was crammed from frame to frame with numbers, several of them running complex data in some kind of computer panic.

"I can't do it..." His voice caught hi his throat. He was a child again, helpless to affect what he saw. "There's no way to replicate or match then- power levels. It's ... it's time-compressed somehow. This is like cramming a whole year's worth of starship power into one day. The grave ship's still working on other-universe time."

"We can't keep the gateway open then," Shucorion concluded.

"Not a chance," Bonifay mourned on a sob. "We have the energy, but we can't time-compress it" He slumped further, and pressed his hands to his face and finger-painted with his own tears. "Can't we go after him?"

"No."

Bonifay pivoted sharply. "Why not? Because you won't take a risk?"

"Because he ordered us not to go."

Perhaps Bonifay saw the misery in Shucorion's own expression, for he retracted his contempt and went back to simple suffering.

Shucorion pressed his elbow to the rail, leaned there, and peered at the gateway. "I should never have let him go-Behind him, Bonifay mumbled something in a dull tone. The words were lost.

Shucorion turned. "Something?"

With an agonized sigh, Bonifay slumped against the useless readout board. "I said ... it's not your fault."

"My thanks. I don't know my role here yet. Thus, I fail."

"You're in command now. That's your role." Bonifay gathered his emotions somewhat and turned back to his miserable attempts to widen this narrowing tunnel they were in.

The turbolift hissed. When Shucorion turned, Delytharen stood on the quarterdeck, unhappy and stern.

"Avedon," Shucorion greeted.

"I have come for the criminal," the Blood commander announced.

"Mr. Keller has not yet returned."

"He never will return. The gateway has consumed him. I offer my sympathies."

"Your sympathies!" Grief boiled out of Bonifay. He pushed up from his chair.

Shucorion raced to the aft steps and got between them in time to block Bonifay's charge. Delytharen, though missing an arm and twice Bonifay's age, would easily have turned the bosun to pulp. In fact, the other Avedon did not even flinch at the attempted threat.

"He is in my custody," Shucorion said, holding Bonifay behind his arm. "The agreement will be satisfied."

Delytharen tilted his head and scolded, "You know better than this ..."

"I do, but I'm stalling."

Bonifay relaxed his pressure on Shucorion's arm. "Subtle."

"You must realize Keller is wrong to protect him," Delytharen attempted. "Belle Terre needs Blood Many, and we will not help them if Keller refuses to punish this man."

"Questions have arisen," Shucorion said. He heard uncertainty come out in his tone and knew Delytharen heard it too. "Flexibility may be required from Blood Many."

"Never." Delytharen shifted and gazed at him. "You will topple us all with these caprices. You should be the bulwark here. Instead, you flex."

"He's a rebel," Bonifay commented. "Rebels flex." The anger seemed to have gone out of him, or something else had taken over. He moved back, away from Delytharen and Shucorion, folded his arms, and sadly leaned against the burbling consoles at the communications station.

"I will take him," Delytharen quietly claimed.

Shucorion shook his head. "Not until - "

"Activity!" On the sci-deck Savannah Ring bolted to the forward rail. "Oh, please!"

At the helm and nav stations, Creighton and Quinones popped to renewed life, to new tension. Zoa stood up at tactical, staring forward.

"Sir, I'm readying metallic objects!" Creighton cried. "Could it be ships?"

At the helm, Quinones blurted, "Should we go and meet them? Should we?"

Dropping from the quarterdeck to the main arena, Shucorion felt his chest tighten. "I will never doubt him again if he has done this thing ..."

No one else spoke as they watched the gateway's insides smolder, brighten like a spotlight behind smoke, and ultimately spew a single bulb-shaped ship made entirely of brass. The new ship was alone for only seconds before four more ships came behind it, then four more, and more and even more after those, until a swarm of brassy ships crowded space around the frigate.

"Those are transports if I ever saw one!" Creighton said, shivering with excitement. "Bet there's a thousand people on every one!"

The crew rose in a singular cheer that charged Shucorion to the depths of his being, but he could not react himself except to stare with a daring anticipation at the oncoming ships.

"Should we hail them?" Quinones asked.

"No," Shucorion countered. "We'll give them - "

A dot of light appeared on the port side.

"Stand back!" he snapped to Quinones at the helm, then wasn't satisfied and physically pulled her out of the way.

From the dot of light, a micro-gate spun itself into presence, a hole in the air that led to heavily draped surroundings of silver and brass curtains.

"No, stay put."

It was Keller's voice! Nick Keller's voice speaking inside the micro-gate!

Shucorion almost stepped through, so magnetic was the sound of that voice. Only the greatest self-control prevented such action.

And to the good - a hand appeared on the edge of the micro-gate. A moment later, Nick Keller himself appeared - or a frazzled version of Nick Keller.

His hair, once sand-brown and casually tidy, now was beaten to a crispy shag about his shoulders, blackened at the ends as if burned. His friendly face was leathery from exposure, his clothing a perfect nightmare. He wore his regular trousers and burgundy crew sweater, but they were gaudily patched with interwoven segments of chain mail where some catastrophe or other had torn them. The left sleeve was entirely mail now, and it had brass patches on the silverwork. More than one catastrophe, apparently. What must it be like through the gateway?

Fighting thoughts of his father's last years, Shucorion's heart hammered as he forced himself to stand still, to let their prodigal regain his bearings.

Keller seemed to be having trouble with his eyes. He blinked around, put out a hand to steady himself, and stepped onto the bridge. Shucorion reached out to him, to offer help if he needed it. Now Keller stepped more confidently forward. He seemed to know who had him.

The micro-gate withered and winked away behind him. He didn't give it so much as a glance.

"That you up there, she-devil?" He peered up to where he knew the sci-deck was. Perhaps he recognized the shape of Savannah Ring, or could see the dark red of her hair.

"Right here, sheriff," she managed, controlling herself valiantly.

'Tell Riutta to stop powering the gateway. There's nobody left on the other side. We'll need the grave ship's system to move these freighters. There's no more power coming from the other side. Just let the damned hole close up for good."

"Sure," she rasped. Relief poured out. "Good idea. I can cure interstellar post-nasal drip - why not?"

"That's the spirit." Keller inhaled deeply and seemed to be tasting the air. He shielded his eyes with one hand for a moment, then focused on Shucorion. "Hey, shadow," he greeted.

On a ragged breath Shucorion asked, "Where are... the ... others?"

"They're all over on those ships, pretty much panicking." Keller pressed a hand over his eyes to block out the blaze. "And I don't blame 'em..."

Shucorion grasped his arm. "Are you all right?" "Uh-huh, but you wouldn't believe what I'm seeing! What senses forget in a few months... I'm just... dazzled!"

"I understand. I once went to the mountains on my planet to search for ore vanes. When I returned, the land looked so flat... I could scarcely breathe." Keller held up a finger. "That's it, you got it." He lowered his hand to Shucorion's arm and they held on to each other as if they might stumble without support. He looked around, adjusting, and reveled in what he saw - the quatrefoil-cut spark shield on the sci-deck, the cobalt-obsidian dome overhead, the multitude of flickering data screens, the carpet, the rail. "This bridge is ... beautiful!" Now he turned his fatigued gaze to Shucorion, to Savannah, Quinones, and Creighton, and finally to the quarterdeck at Zoa and Zane, and even Delytharen, indulging in a moment's communion with each. After all, he hadn't seen them in more than a year.

"You're all beautiful," he sighed.

Suddenly overcome, Zane Bonifay skipped down the deck steps, shot past Shucorion, and flung his arms around Keller. He tried to speak, but couldn't. The embrace spoke well enough. He had been lost to them, and they knew how long the time had been and how small the chances for this moment to have arrived at all.

"Aw, the famous Bonifay true-blue cryptomorphic gypsy campfire bearhug," Keller murmured. He smiled genuinely. The reddened skin on his cheeks and around his eyes crinkled into patterns. "Home on the Range."

"Delytharen, how are ya?"

"Mr. Keller. My congratulations on your mission."

"Thanks."

"We have an agreement."

"I know we do. Give me another minute."

"I have already - "

"You can wait another minute. Zane, come here."

Nick Keller stepped forward on the bridge, away from everyone else, to a place near the stunning visions on the main screen where a bit of privacy could be culled off. He brought Zane Bonifay with him, and motioned Shucorion back.

Zane swabbed his eyes with his sleeve and made a heartwarming effort to regain officer demeanor. He wasn't too great at it, but he tried. He wasn't the type to care much about who saw his emotions when they bared themselves.

He leaned back against the end of the quarterdeck rail and took a couple of steadying breaths. "You look I different," he commented.

"Bet I do."

Keller marveled briefly at the wonders of Bonifay's doeskin complexion and navy blue sweater, but also controlled himself to say what had waited a year to be said.

"There have to be laws. You did understand your rank and obligation. It was disrespectful to act on your own. What if there'd been a hundred crewmen on that Plume? Would you have left?" "No, course not," Zane admitted. "The decision wasn't yours to make. We can't have two people on a ship making the same decision. For every man who acts on his own, there are a hundred more who think about it, and don't. We can't have crewmen rushing to escape when we ask them to stand. If every deck acts on its own, the ship falls apart."

Zane simply folded his arms and nodded. Apparently he had been thinking about this too.

"We live in what amounts to a logging town," Keller told him quietly. "Small towns are different from other places. We need help from Shucorion's people. They have to be able to trust me - "

"I get it, Nick." Offering a gaze of surprising candor and maturity, Zane unfolded his arms and stood straight. "I said I wouldn't die for nothing. I never said I wouldn't die for something."

The bridge winked and murmured its faint electrical song around them, so different from the disorderly crackle of Metalworld.

Deeply moved by this gallant change, Keller took a moment to appreciate Bonifay, and silently let him feel the admiration. That's the spirit.

He took Zane's arm and escorted him in some kind of personal propriety to the quarterdeck, to Delytharen.

"Avedon," he addressed, "your prisoner."

"My thanks." Delytharen reached down with his one remaining hand to draw Bonifay up the steps, but Bonifay pushed the hand away.

"Don't touch me. I'm a Starfleet officer and I'm coming with you. My word's good, and so's his." He nodded toward Keller.

Delytharen seemed to respect that. "Very well. Our thanks."

Keller turned to Shucorion. "You're going with him."

"I?"

"Yes." He jammed his finger into Shucorion's chest and warned, "Make sure it's fair. Make sure it's quick."

There was something in his eyes that rattled Shucorion to the bone, and made the others cold around them.

Keller knew he had come back changed. He just hadn't quite figured out which changes were permanent.

"What will you do with the Living?" Shucorion asked.

"I'll decide that later."

With all his crew watching him, he found his way to the command chair and ran his hand along the studded forest-green leather, which looked to him as if it actually glowed.

"Whatever happens," he said, "you can bet they'll hear the ring from hell to Belle Terre."































******
STAR TREK DEEP SPACE NINE
HORN AND IVORY
Keith R.A. DeCandido

Chapter 1

The ax nearly took her head off.

Its wielder was large by the standards of the Lerrit Army, but she still stood half a head taller. The plate armor he wore on his chest was too small for him, and it slowed him down, making it easier to anticipate his movements, and therefore just as easy to duck the attack.

That it still almost decapitated her spoke to how long she'd been fighting. How many hours had they clashed on this grassy plain just outside the capital city? She'd long since lost track, but however long it was, the fatigue was taking its toll. Her muscles ached, her arms and legs cried out for respite.

She ignored the pleas of her limbs and fought on.

The ax-wielder probably thought the sacrifice of movement was worth the protection his armor afforded. The problem was, it only covered his chest and groin, leaving his arms, legs, and head exposed: still plenty of viable targets. So as she ducked, she swiped her staff at his legs, protected only by torn linen. She heard bones crack with the impact - the staff was made from a kava tree, so it was as hard as they came - and the Lerrit soldier went down quickly, screaming in pain at his broken leg.

She stood upright and surveyed the battlefield. The smell of mud mixed with blood combined with the faint tinge of ozone left from the morning's rainstorm to give her a slight queasy feeling, but she fought it down with little difficulty.

As they'd hoped, the Lerrit Army's formation had been broken. As last stands go, she thought, this is pretty weak. The war had been all but won on the seas, after all. Lerrit had lost all control of the port, and without the port, there was no way they could hold the peninsula, even if they somehow were able to win today.

Based on the number of Lerrit Army bodies on the ground, that wasn't going to happen.

She caught sight of General Torrna Antosso, the leader of the rebel army for whom she fought, and who looked to be the victor this day. As she ran toward him, one man and one woman, both much shorter than her, and both unarmored, came at her with swords. She took the woman down with a swipe of her staff, but the man was able to strike, wounding her left arm before she could dodge the blow.

Gripping the upper part of the staff with her right hand, she whirled it around so that it struck her attacker on the crown of his head. He, too, went down.

Tucking the staff under her injured arm, she put pressure on the wound with her right hand and continued toward Torrna.

As she approached, she heard the reedy sound of a horn.

Torrna, a wide-shouldered bear of a man with a full red beard and bushy red eyebrows that encroached upon his nose ridges, threw his head back and laughed. "They retreat!" he cried.

She came up to his side, and he stared her in the eye - easy enough, as they were the same height. "We've done it, Ashla," he said, his yellowed, crooked teeth visible in a smile from behind the beard. "We've driven the last of them off!"

"Yes, we have," she said, returning the smile with her perfect white teeth. The nickname Ashla - which meant "giant" - was given to her shortly after she joined the rebel army, since she was taller than all the women, and as tall or taller than most of the men.

Torrna's words were prophetic: the horn was indeed the sound of retreat. The Lerrit soldiers who were able ran as fast as they could northward. No doubt they were returning to the base camp the Lerrit had set up on the other side of the hills that generally demarcated the border between the peninsula and the rest of the mainland.

Raising his own ax into the air, Torrna cried, "Victory is ours! At last, we are free!"

The remaining soldiers under Torrna's command let out a ragged cheer.

Next to him, Kira Nerys did the same.

Chapter 2

The meeting room needed a paint job, but at least it didn't smell like a charnel house anymore, Kira mused. A particularly brutal battle had been fought here when the rebel army took over the capitol building. Even with the tide of war turning, the building was still the most heavily guarded, and the fight to take it was a brutal one with excessive casualties on both sides.

But someone had done their job well enough to make the place habitable, if not aesthetically pleasing. The meeting table had been scrubbed, the chairs repaired, and the floor, walls, and ceiling washed.

Looking around at the assorted happy-but-tired-looking faces in the meeting room, Kira wasn't entirely sure what she was doing here. It was, after all, for the high-ranking members of the rebel army. At best, she was a soldier - hardly what anyone would consider important.

And she didn't want to become important. She'd done enough time-traveling - both voluntary and involuntary - to know the risks.

Flexing her left arm, Kira winced slightly. The wound from the sword had been long, but not deep, and was proving maddeningly slow to heal. Unfortunately, Deep Space 9 and Julian's infirmary wouldn't be built for many millennia, leaving Kira to heal naturally, just like when she was in the resistance. Her tendency to scratch at her wounds and not give her body a chance to heal properly hadn't changed with age. In fact, she remembered a snide comment Shakaar had once made about how symbolic it was that Kira always picked at her scabs....

Kira had met most of the people in the room only once or twice. The ones she'd gotten to know thus far were Torrna and the tiny, short-haired woman who entered the meeting room last: Natlar Ryslin.

"Thank you all for coming," she said as she approached the seat at the head of the table. "Please, everyone, be seated."

It soon became apparent that there were far more people than chairs, by a factor of two to one.

With a small smile, Natlar amended, "Or stand, whichever you prefer."

Soon enough, many were seated around the table, with the rest standing against the wall. Kira was among the latter - Torrna, though, sat in the seat opposite Natlar, at the foot of the table.

Her expression serious, Natlar said, "I hereby call to order the first meeting of the government of the Perikian Republic."

A cheer, much less ragged than the exhausted one Kira had participated in on the battlefield, met that pronouncement. Periki Remarro had first agitated for independence against the oppressive Lerrit regime years earlier. The nation of Lerrit had ruled the peninsula with an iron fist and a hefty tax burden, and, though she was not the first to desire the removal of their yoke, she was the first to say so publicly.

Periki had died soon after she began that agitating, hanged by Lerrit authorities. Her cause had lived on, and was now, finally, victorious.

/ always wondered how the Perikian Peninsula got its name, Kira thought with a smile.

As Natlar went into the details of what needed to be done next, Kira found herself tuning out. She had been to plenty of meetings just like this - hell, she'd led meetings just like this. But those meetings were far in the future and, paradoxically, in her own subjective past. She saw no reason to involve herself now.

She stared out the window, seeing the people of the capital city - which would no doubt also be renamed at this meeting - rebuilding their homes and places of business. The window faced south, so she could also see the docks and the large port beyond the city - the true heart of the peninsula.

Docked there were several warships, armed with massive cannons, that carried the flag of the nation of Endtree.

Kira turned back to the table just as Natlar was saying, "Admiral Inna, once again, we thank you for all you have done for us."

Inna Murent, a short, stout woman with salt-and-pepper hair severely tied back and braided, nodded her head. Kira noticed that she gripped the edges of the table - no doubt a habit from a life aboard a seafaring vessel where the surface beneath her feet was never steady. "We simply followed the road the Prophets laid out for us," she said.

Kira's eyes automatically went to the admiral's right ear, which was adorned with an earring. Though it was nowhere near as elaborate as those worn by Kira's time, Kira knew that it symbolized devotion to the Prophets - a way of Me that had not become as widespread in this era as in hers. Kira wasn't completely sure how far back she had gone, but, based on the clothes and weaponry, it had to be over twenty thousand years in the past. Which means, she thought, the first Orb won't even be found for at least ten thousand years or so. Still, though no Lerrits she saw wore earrings, a few from the peninsula did, as did most of those from Endtree.

And, of course, Kira, though a believer herself, didn't wear one either, thanks to a decree by a religious authority that did not yet exist.

The admiral's comment elicited a snort from Torrna. "I doubt that the Prophets were the ones who put those cannons on your ships, Admiral."

A chuckle spread around the table.

"Be that as it may," Natlar said before Inna could reply, "I am afraid we have more business with our neighbors in Endtree."

Inna seemed to shudder. "With all due respect, Prefect - " Kira blinked; she had missed Natlar's assumption of that title " - I'd rather leave any other business to the diplomats and politicians. I was happy to aid you in casting out those Lerrit leeches. Their shipping tariffs were an abomination. But whatever further relationship there is to be between our governments, it is not for me to arrange. I would simply like to return home and await new orders."

"I, however, would rather you did not return home just yet." Natlar folded her hands together. "While General Torrna has assembled a fine army, and one that I would pit against any other nation's in the world, we are still vulnerable at sea. Lerrit does have a navy of their own, after all, and the moment we lose the protection offered by your fleet, they will return and take us back with little difficulty."

"Perhaps," Inna said cautiously. Kira knew that tone of voice. The admiral knew that Natlar was absolutely right, but to admit h would mean going along with something she did not want to do.

"I therefore would like to request that Endtree leave a delegation of five ships behind to protect the port."

Torrna slammed his fist on the table. "Prefect, no!"

"Is something wrong, General?" Natlar asked, her tone never changing from the reasonable calm she'd been using all along.

"We've just fought for our independence."

"With our help," Inna added with a small smile.

Sparing the admiral a glance, Torrna said, "For which we thank you, Admiral. But if we allow them to stay here, we become as dependent on them as we were on Lerrit! We'd be exchanging one oppressor for another!"

"My people do not 'oppress,' General," Inna said sharply. "The Prophets - "

"I'm fully aware of your people's religious beliefs, Admiral. They don't change the fact - "

"Many worship the Prophets," Natlar said. "It is not a reason to dismiss Endtree as a potential ally."

"I still think - "

"General, can we adequately defend the port with our current forces?"

Torrna grimaced. "Given a few months, we can assemble a fleet that - "

"And until that fleet is assembled?"

Kira winced in sympathy for her friend. She understood all too well the difficulty Torrna was having.

Some things never change, she thought.

Inna was speaking now: "One of my ships is setting out for home with a full report at first light tomorrow. I will include your request, which will be put before the Council."

Nodding, Natlar said, "Thank you, Admiral. General Torrna will serve as your liaison to me - and, should the Council see fit to honor our request, he will continue in that duty."

Torrna stood up. "What!?"

Before Torrna could argue further, a young girl came in. "Excuse me, but three men are here claiming to represent the Bajora."

Kira blinked. Just when I thought this couldn't get more interesting.

Natlar barely hesitated. "Send them in." To Kira's ear - well used to the nuances of politicians - the prefect sounded relieved that her argument with Torrna had been interrupted.

For his part, the general sat back down, but glowered at the prefect. Kira knew Torrna well enough to be sure that he would pick up this argument sooner rather than later.

Three men entered. They wore red robes that reminded Kira a bit of those of a vedek in her time, though these were shorter and tighter about the sleeves.

They also wore earrings in their right ears.

"Greetings to you from the Bajora," said the one in the middle, the oldest of the three. "Do we have the pleasure of greeting Natlar Ryslin?"

"I am Prefect Natlar, yes."

All three bowed their heads. "We would like to extend our respects to your provisional government, and - "

Torrna stood up again. "There is nothing 'provisional' about our government! We are the Perikian Republic, and we will be treated with the respect we deserve!"

The envoys looked a bit nonplussed at the general's outburst. Good, Kira thought They seemed a bit too obsequious to her.

"My apologies for my imprecision in speech. Regardless, we do come to you with an offer."

"Really?" Torrna said with a laugh. "The battle has been won less than three days, and already the Bajora have sent their envoys. Were you flown here by remla bird with this offer?"

"General, please," Natlar said in her usual calm tone, but it was enough to induce Torrna to take his seat. The prefect then turned back to the envoys. "General Torrna's point is well taken. You cannot have received word of our victory and composed any offer in so short a time."

The envoy smiled a small smile. Kira noted that the envoy had yet to provide a name for himself or his two aides. "You are correct. We have been in the city for several weeks now, awaiting the outcome of your war. If you were victorious, as our intelligence reports indicated you likely would be, then we were prepared to offer you entry into the Bajora. If you lost, then we would simply return and await a more felicitous time to add this region to the glory of the Prophets."

"The Prophets?!" Torrna's voice was like a sonic boom. "You wish to make us part of your theocracy?"

In a snippy tone that Kira recognized from certain vedeks back in her time, the envoy said, "We are not a theocracy, sir. The Bajora is a democratic government of the people of this world. Our goal is to unite the planet once and for all."

"Really?" Torrna's tone was dubious.

"For too long," the envoy said, and now he was addressing the entire room, not just Torrna or Natlar, "we have squabbled and bickered in conflicts much like the one you just finished."

"That was hardly a 'squabble,' " Torrna said angrily.

"True," the envoy said, sparing the general a glance, "many lives were lost. And they need not have been, for if we were a united Bajor, there would be no such conflicts. Sister need not fight against sister, blood need not be spilled recklessly - we would all be free to follow our pagh without worrying about who rules us or who we will fight tomorrow." He turned to Natlar. "I urge you, Prefect, to consider our offer. The Bajora can only bring benefit to you in these difficult times. You would have the service of our navy to guard your port, you would have the benefit of our assistance in repairing your soil - "

"And all we'd have to do in return is worship your Prophets, yes?" Torrna said. "A small price to pay, I'm sure."

The envoy turned to the rest of those gathered. "And does this man speak for you all? Will you let one man stand between you and progress?"

Natlar suppressed a smile. "General Torrna does not speak for us all - he simply speaks loudest." A small chuckle passed around the table at that - though Torrna looked even angrier at the barb, and Kira couldn't blame him.

"The point is," the envoy continued, "you have been weakened by this conflict. True, the Lerrit have as well, but they have greater resources. The Bajora, however, have even greater resources still, and we're expanding. It is only a matter of time before we have united the entire planet - we urge you to aid in that process."

The envoy went on for quite some time, outlining in more detail what joining the Bajora would involve. Kira found her attention wandering. It reminded her a bit too much of the meetings with Federation dignitaries when they carried on about the joys of joining them.

Another parallel...

Finally, Natlar said, "You have given us much to think about." She signaled to one of the guards who was standing at the door, who sent the young girl in. "We do not have the finest accommodations, but Prilla will show you to a chamber where you may refresh yourselves while we discuss your proposal."

Prilla came in as the envoy nodded. "We thank you for your hospitality and your indulgence, Prefect." Then he and his two aides followed Prilla out of the conference room.

Silence descended upon the room for several seconds, before Torrna's booming voice, predictably, broke it. "You can't possibly be considering their request, can you?"

Natlar sighed. "Of course I am considering it, General. I would be a fool not to."

Torrna slammed a fist down on the table. "No, what would be foolish would be to accept their offer! We'd be trading one oppressor for another!"

One of the other people at the table, an older man, said, "You keep saying that, Antosso. What, you're saying the Bajora, Lerrit, and Endtree are all the same?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying."

"Then you're even more naive than I thought."

Again, Torrna slammed his fist on the table. Kira half expected to see a dent in the wood at this point. "I'm naive? I have been fighting for our lives out there, Morlek! Don't you dare tell me - "

"No one is doubting your accomplishments," Morlek said, "but the truth is - "

"The truth is, we are free!" Torrna looked at each person at the table as he spoke. "But we are not going to remain free if we just let someone else do exactly what Lerrit did! So many have died so that we could shape our own destiny - not so we can let someone else do the same thing. No matter who it is - Bajora, Lerrit, Endtree - we cannot let anyone direct our paths!" He turned back to Morlek. "You're right, Morlek. Lerrit, Endtree, and the Bajora are not the same. But from our perspective, they are all outsiders, and that is what concerns me - and should concern all of us. If we are simply going to allow ourselves to be subsumed by the next power that comes along, then I have to wonder what, precisely, we have been fighting for all this time."

Torrna strode purposefully toward the exit. "I will abide by whatever you decide in this room, Prefect," he said as he walked, "but I will not sit here and listen to any more foolish ramblings. Just remember this one thing." He stopped and gave the table one final glance. "Periki Remarro did not die so we could become part of the Bajora. Or part of Endtree. She died so we could be free. If we are to name ourselves for her, then we should never forget what she stood for."

And with that, he left.

Chapter 3

Kira found Torrna two hours later in his quarters. He was sitting on the windowsill, staring out the window at the port. Kira noticed that his quarters were clean, which was a first. Guess that's how he spent the last two hours, she thought with amusement.

"You want the good news or the bad news?' Kira asked as she entered.

Torrna didn't even look at her. "I find it impossible to believe that there is good news."

"Well, there is. Naflar rejected the Bajoran offer."

Shaking his head, Torrna said, "Amazing. I wouldn't have given them credit for thinking that clearly."

"Why not?" Kira asked angrily. "You think you're the only one who was fighting out there?"

Torrna sighed. "I sometimes wonder." He shook his head. "No, of course, you're right, Ashla. I simply don't want to see everything I - we fought for ruined by shortsightedness."

"Give Natlar a little credit, Antosso. She's not about to throw everything out the window."

"I suppose not."

Kira wasn't finished. She moved closer to Torrna and went on: "But give the Bajora some credit, too. What they're trying to do is important. I know you don't believe in the Prophets, but what they're doing is bringing - bringing the world together." She had almost said, "bringing Bajor together," but that word would not be applied to the planet as a whole until after the Bajora succeeded in uniting it many years hence. "Don't let a little bit of agnosticism blind you to that."

Chuckling, Torrna said," 'A little bit of agnosticism.' What a wonderful way of phrasing it. I may not be the most spiritual person in the world, Ashla, but - " He hesitated. "Perhaps you're right. But even if I thought the Bajora were the most wonderful people in the world, I wouldn't want to become part of them. Someday, maybe, but not today. Not after all we've fought for."

Kira put a soothing hand on Torrna's shoulder. "I know, Antosso. Believe me, I know. But you can't blind yourself to a good thing just because you don't like it."

"I know that." He smiled. "Well, at least, I sometimes know that."

Taking in the newly cleaned room with a gesture, Kira asked, "That why you had the cleaning frenzy?"

Torrna laughed. "It was either that or punch through the walls - and I do have to live here."

Wincing, Kira said, "Well, actually, no, you don't. That's the bad news - the prefect wants you to relocate to the port and set up your office there to serve as liaison to the Endtree fleet."

It took only a second for Torrna's face to go from amused contriteness to vicious fury. "An office? Inna hasn't even asked her government's permission yet, but Natlar wants me to set up an office?"

"She's hoping for the best," Kira said with a shrug. "Besides, after your performance today, I think she wants to keep you far away from the capitol building."

"Yes," he said bitterly, "to keep my voice from being heard."

Kira smiled. "Antosso, even from the port, your voice is going to be heard."

Torrna whirled on her, then let out a long, hissing breath that sounded like a deflating balloon - apt, since the crack seemed to deflate his anger. "How do you do that, Ashla?"

"Do what?"

"All of this."

"I haven't done anything, Antosso."

"You may not think so, but you have been a most valued right hand. And one I am reluctant to lose. If I am to be exiled to Natlar Port - "

"What?"

He smiled. "The resolution to pass the name change has been postponed until the prefect isn't in the room, since she'd never let it come to a vote otherwise. In any case, if that is where I am to be sent, I want you by my side. To guard my back and to keep me from making a complete ass of myself."

Kira hesitated. "Can I think about it?"

"Of course. Let me know tomorrow. It will take me that long to pack up my own belongings and inform Lyyra and the boys that we'll be moving."

"Moving where?" came a voice from the doorway.

Kira turned to see a large, stout woman with a mane of red hair to match Torrna's own standing in the door-way to Torrna's quarters. She had met the general's wife only once, but she was probably the only person who could stand up to Torrna and not be killed for their trouble.

"I am to be the new liaison with the Endtree fleet that will be occupying the port."

"Good. The change in climate will do some good. The humidity opens your pores, you know." She turned to Kira. "How are you, Nerys? Is the arm healing well?"

Lyyra was an apothecary, and the first time Kira had met her was when she'd given her a remedy to help heal her arm faster.

"Well enough," she said neutrally. I'd kill for a dermal regenerator, but this'll do.

"I still want to know what you've done to keep your teeth so perfect."

"Nothing special." Not wanting to pursue this line of questioning, she said, "I need to get going - and think about your offer. I'll talk to you tomorrow. Good to see you, Lyyra."

Chapter 4

Kira Nerys lay on the bunk in the barracks that she shared with a dozen other soldiers. It had been surprisingly easy to readjust to sleeping in uncomfortable beds or no beds at all. Since arriving here - Whenever that was...

- she had either slept on cold ground or on uncomfortable beds, either way crammed into a too-small space with dozens of other soldiers.

Just like the good old days, millennia from now.

Kira's memories of arriving in Bajor's past were hazy. She often didn't bother trying to think about it, simply accepting what her senses told her as reality.

Tonight, facing the end of the conflict that had raged since she arrived here - However that happened. . .

- and the start of something new, she once again cast her mind back to see how she should proceed forward.

The last thing she remembered with any clarity was that arid desert planet in the Delta Quadrant.

Everywhere she looked on the ground was sand, broken very rarely by bits of plant life, and the one freshwater lake that she had made sure to land near. It was flat land, with the only variations being the curvature of the planet itself. Not even any hills or mountains or sand dunes in sight.

She'd gone there and abandoned her runabout in order to block a gateway, a portal in space through which deadly theta radiation was flowing into orbit around the inhabited planet of Europa Nova, in the Alpha Quadrant. Kira's actions had prevented one lethal piece of radioactive waste from going through the gateway, thus saving the lives of the Europani as well as the task force she herself had assembled to evacuate the planet.

But to do that, she'd also had to abandon her companion, the Jem'Hadar named Taran'atar, who had stayed behind to fight a Hirogen hunter, keeping him occupied while Kira blocked the gateway.

After that, she couldn't recall what happened. She knew that she found a gateway on the planet where there had been none before. She knew that the theta radiation on the planet had grown to fatal levels.

And she knew that she was now many thousands of years in Bajor's past, fighting in a rebellion that the history of her time had long forgotten. She wasn't even sure how long it had been since she'd arrived in this time. All she was sure of was that she no longer had the radiation sickness she'd been afflicted with - - and the Prophets had something to do with her sojourn to the past.

Maybe.

The gateways weren't built by the Prophets, after all, but the Iconians - in fact, there weren't any gateways within ten light-years of the Celestial Temple. Based on the reports she'd read en route to Europa Nova, the gateways had not only come in all shapes and sizes, but types. Some even seemed to work interdimensionally - so it was quite possible that they could move through time as well.

(Of course, the Orb of Time had that capability, too, as Kira knew from more than one firsthand experience ...) Still, she hadn't questioned her odyssey, simply because it felt right. Once before, during the Reckoning, she had served as a vessel for the Prophets. That same feeling she'd had then, she had now.

Well, okay, she thought wryly, it's not exactly the same - then I couldn't even control my own actions. But I can't shake the feeling that They're the reason I'm here, somehow.

She lay awake on her pallet, listening to the sounds of the other slumbering soldiers. Some snored, some mumbled in their sleep, some simply breathed heavy. Until the Cardassians pulled out of Bajor, Kira Nerys had always slept in large groups of people, so tuning out the sounds came easily to her. In fact, when she'd first been assigned to Deep Space 9, one of the hardest things had been learning to sleep in a room by herself.

But sleep eluded her, not because of the noise, but because she wrestled with her conscience. Fighting with the rebels had been an easy choice. Agreeing to accompany Torrna to his new duties at the Natlar Port was somewhat less so.

On the one hand, she was concerned about altering the past. On the other, very little was known about the history of this region.

If the Prophets had sent her here - and she felt at the core of her pagh that they were involved somehow - then they'd done it for a reason. She needed to continue down the path that was set before her.

Dying didn't concern her. She had accepted the reality of her own death in the Delta Quadrant. As far as she was concerned, any living she did from this point forward was a gift. That was why she had no compunction about fighting alongside Torrna with weapons far more primitive and, in their own way, more brutal than any she used in the resistance.

Besides, she thought, / have to believe that I'm here for a reason. There are far too many similarities to my own life for this to be a coincidence.

She resolved to accept Torrna's offer first thing in the morning.

Within minutes of making that resolution, she fell into a deep, peaceful slumber, unbothered by the breathing and snoring around her.

Chapter 5

"Look, Torrna's not going to bite your head off if you take this complaint to him."

"Are you sure?" The merchant looked dubious. More than that, he looked scared to death. "I've heard about how he drove off the Lerrit Army by breathing fire into their camp and setting them alight!"

Kira tried not to laugh, but she did at least keep an encouraging smile on her face. "I can assure you that his days of breathing fire are long in the past. Just go to him and tell him that you object to the inspections. I can't guarantee that he'll do what you ask, but he will listen. Just give him a chance."

The dubiousness did not leave the merchant's face. "If you say so."

"I say so. He should be back in the next day or two, and I'll make sure you get to see him, all right?"

"Fine. Thank you, ma'am."

Nodding, Kira excused herself from the merchant, leaving his quarters and going out onto the deck of the docked merchant trawler. It never failed to amuse her, this fear that people had of Torrna. Mainly because she knew that his bluster was worse than his bite.

She also had to wonder, though, if this was what people thought of her after the Cardassian withdrawal. Did people fear that she would breathe fire? Was that why she had been sent to Deep Space 9? After all, she'd been assigned as first officer and Bajoran liaison before the discovery of the wormhole turned the station into a major port of call. She'd never had any illusions that it had been done to get her out of the way of the provisional government, who found her intemperate ways to be too much for them to handle - at least nearby. So they sent her into orbit.

Natlar had all but done the same to Torrna. The disruptive influence he could have in the council chambers - as evidenced by the way he all but took over the meeting shortly after the Lerrit Army's final retreat - was probably seen by the prefect as an impediment to actually getting anything done.

Kira walked down the gangplank of the merchant's ship to the marina and took a deep breath of the sea air. She'd lost track of how long she'd been serving as Torrna's adjutant at the Natlar Port, but she'd been enjoying it immensely - particularly now that the weather was warmer, the sun was shining, the Korvale Ocean was a clear green, and a lovely breeze was pretty much her constant companion every time she walked outside. She hadn't spent much time near the sea prior to this, and when she did, it was during her days in the resistance. She had other things on her mind, then.

She nodded to the assorted dockworkers who passed her by, then whirled around when someone cried, "Look!"

The Perikian Peninsula jutted out into the Korvale . Ocean along the southern end of the coast of the continent. Any ship that came down the coastline from the west would have to, in essence, come around a corner and therefore would not come into sight from the marina until it was almost ready to dock.

Right now, one of the largest and most impressive ships that could be found on the planet was coming into view around that bend. It stood at ten meters above the surface of the ocean, with the green-and-black flag of Endtree whipping in the breeze from the mast.

Kira peered more closely and noticed that there was a second flag under it: the flag of the Perikian Republic. Interesting, Kira thought. That wasn't there when they left.

The ship was Admiral Inna's flagship, the Haeys, returning a day early from their investigation of the reports of pirate activity.

Several people on the marina stopped what they were doing to see the flagship approach the dock. As it settled into port, a cheer started to break out, which spread all the way across the marina. Kira found herself joining in the cheer - and she wondered how much of it was general goodwill toward Admiral Inna's fleet and how much was the new presence of the Perikian flag.

Within half an hour, Inna and Torrna had extricated themselves from the admiring crowd. Kira noted that they had been chatting amiably as they approached the gangplank before they were set upon by the admirers. Quite a switch, she thought, from all the sniping they've been doing. The admiral went off to consult with the captains of the other fleet ships in dock, and Torrna walked with Kira back toward their office in the rear of the marina.

"So what happened?" Kira asked.

"We found the pirates and took care of them in fairly short order. They didn't have anything to match Murent's cannon."

Smiling, Kira said, "'Murent'? That's new."

"I beg your pardon," Torrna said, a little indignantly.

As they approached the office, nodding to the sergeant at the desk, Kira said, "It wasn't that long ago that the only way you referred to her was as 'the admiral' or 'that damned woman.' "

To Kira's surprise, Torrna actually blushed, his skin turning the color of his hair and beard. "I suppose so. But she showed me something on this trip that I didn't expect. She was efficient yet merciful with the pirates, she was very effective in questioning the pirate leader without being unnecessarily brutal, and she agreed to fly the Perikian flag."

"I was going to ask you about that."

They entered Torrna's tiny office. The general sat behind his rickety wooden desk, which was cluttered with assorted pieces of paper that required his attention. Torrna ignored them and instead poured himself a drink from the small bar that sat under the window looking out onto the mainland. Torrna had specifically requested a north-facing office so he could look out on, in his words, "the republic that I fought for, not the ocean that is controlled by someone else."

He offered Kira a drink, which she declined. They liked their drinks a little less smooth in the old days, she had thought after the first drink she had shared with Torrna, and she made it a point to avoid the stuff when possible.

"It took surprisingly little argument," he said as he sat down. "I pointed out that her fleet was there at the invitation of the Perikian government and was there to protect Perikian interests, so it made sense that they should fly our colors. Not that she gave in completely, of course ..."

"Let me guess, you wanted the Perikian flag on top?"

Kira had spoken with a modicum of facetiousness, but Torrna leaned forward and said gravely, "These are our waters, Ashla. We must never forget that."

"I haven't," she said with equal seriousness.

She also noted that she'd said "the Perikian flag," not "our flag." Perhaps a minor point, but, even though she had fought for the republic's independence, even though she now worked for Torrna, she still couldn't bring herself to think of this as home. She knew this was the right place for her to be, but in the back of her mind was the constant feeling that this was not her new home, that she was only visiting. It made no sense to Kira on the face of it, and she wasn't sure what to think of these feelings.

Deciding not to dwell on it, she leaned back in her chair. "So what did the pirate leader say when Inna questioned her so efficiently?"

Taking a sip of his drink, Torrna said, "Actually, the most interesting intelligence we received wasn't from the pirates, but from their slaves. The most recent conscriptions they picked up were refugees from a disaster in the fire caves."

Kira blinked. "What?"

"Apparently the entrance to the fire caves collapsed - and completely destroyed Yvrig." Yvrig was a city on another peninsula west of Perikia but on the same continent; it, too, had a thriving port.

Torrna snorted as he continued. "Some of the slaves claimed there was some kind of blue fire when the caves collapsed, but I don't put much stock in that."

Kosst Amojan imprisoned. .. the Pah-wraiths banished to the fire caves... Shabren's Fifth Prophecy.. . the Emissary going to the fire caves to stop the Pah-wraiths from being freed...

Kira knew exactly what had happened, remembering her experience channeling the Prophets during the Reckoning, and now knew precisely when she was. Some thirty thousand years before she was born, the Prophets banished the Pah-wraiths to the caves, sealing them in there forever. Only their leader, Kosst Amojan, was imprisoned elsewhere, on a site that would one day be the city of B'hala. The others remained in the fire caves, until Winn Adami and Skrain Dukat attempted to free them only a few months ago, subjective time. Only the sacrifice of the Emissary - Benjamin Sisko - had thwarted the scheme.

Or, rather, will thwart it. I hate time travel. We need new tenses .. .

Until now, though, it never occurred to Kira that the Prophets' actions at the caves might have had harmful consequences for the people near the site.

"We've got to help those people. There may be - "

"Sit down, Ashla," Torrna said, which was when Kira realized that she'd stood up. As she sat back down, Torrna continued. "This happened over two weeks ago. There's very little we can do."

Right. Of course. There is no instant communication here. Kira nodded in acknowledgment.

"However, this does mean that we're going to see a significant increase in traffic in the port. Without Yvrig, we're the only viable port on the southern part of the continent."

Kira nodded. "Traffic's going to increase."

"That's an understatement." Torrna broke into a grin.

Yet another parallel, she thought. The discovery of the wormhole transformed Deep Space 9 from a minor outpost to a major port of call. This wasn't quite on the same scale as that, but Kira did remember one important thing from those early days on DS9.

Torrna continued speaking. "We'll need to work on expanding the marina to be able to accommodate more ships. Maybe now Marta won't close her tavern down the way she's been threatening to. For that matter, we'll probably need a new inn. Plus - "

"We'll need more ships from Endtree - or we'll have to start building some of our own."

Frowning, Torrna said, "What for? I mean, we'll need more people for the Dock Patrol, obviously - the number of drunken louts on the docks will increase dramatically - but I don't think we'll need - "

"We're going to need more ships to hold off the pirates - and the Lerrit Navy."

Torrna snorted again. "The Lerrit Navy is barely worth giving the title."

"Don't be so sure of that. We just got another report from Moloki." Moloki was one of the spies that the Perikian Free Army had observing the goings-on in Lerrit. In fact, the PFA had many such operatives, more than even Torrna or Kira knew definitively about. "He says that they've employed shipbuilders from Jerad Province to completely rebuild their navy from scratch. Within the year, they may well be a legitimate naval power - or at least legitimate enough for us to worry about. And with this change in the geography, they're going to be more interested in taking us back, not less."

Torrna frowned. "Isn't Jerad part of the Bajora?"

Kira nodded.

He shook his head. "Wonderful. We don't join their little theocracy, so they help Lerrit take us back."

"You can't blame them for taking on a lucrative contract like that," Kira said, trying not to examine how much that sounded like Quark.

"I can damn well blame them for anything I want!" Torrna stood up and drained his drink. "Damn it all, I was actually enjoying the good news."

"I'm sorry, but - "

Torrna waved her off. "No, that's all right. That's why I keep you around, Ashla. You have the knack for dragging me back to reality when I need it most." He turned to stare at the view from his window. "There is a great deal of work that will need to be done."

Kira got up and walked to Torrna. "Then we'd better get up off our butts and do it, shouldn't we?"

"Definitely." Torrna smiled. "What else did Moloki have to report?"

"Nothing different from his last few. The official word is that the Queen is dying, but she keeps showing up at official functions. She hardly ever says anything, but she's there and smiling a lot. Moloki seems to think that Prince Avtra is doing all the real work."

Shaking his head, Torrna said, "That woman will never die. You know, she swore that she would live long enough to see the peninsula brought back under her rule. She's probably the one who contracted the Jeradians to build her a navy so she could fulfill that promise. I daresay she's clinging to life solely for that reason."

"Maybe." She hesitated. "I'm glad you and the admiral are getting along better."

"Yes, well, her tiresome insistence on giving those silly Prophets of hers all the credit for her work aside, she's quite a brilliant tactician." They both sat back down in their seats after Torrna poured himself another drink. "She was able to deal with those pirates with a minimum of fuss. You should have seen ..."

He went on at some length, describing how she stopped the pirates, and her ideas for curtailing some of their activities in the future. Kira smiled and nodded, but naval battles were not an area of great interest to her - her tactical instincts for vehicular combat of that sort tended to be more three-dimensional.

She was just glad that Torrna and Inna were getting along. She had a feeling that that would be vital in the long run ...

Chapter 6

The worst thing about the dungeon was the smell.

True, Kira had spent most of her formative years living in the caves of Dakhur Hills and other less-than-hospitable places. But even though she had been roughing it by the standards of her culture, it was still a world that had replicators, directed energy weapons, faster-than-light travel, near-instant communication over interstellar distances, and other luxuries that Kira had always taken for granted. Such a world did not include a dungeon that smelled of dried blood, infected wounds, and the feces of assorted vermin.

She looked over at Torrna, sitting in the corner of the cell. The wound on his left arm was growing worse. If it wasn't treated soon, the gangrene would probably kill him.

Just hope our capture did some good, she thought.

Kira had no idea how long the war with Lerrit had been going on. At this point, she couldn't even say for sure how long it had taken the retreating troops to bring Kira and Torrna to Lerrit's capital city and the dungeon where they'd been languishing. On the one hand, in a world where communication and transportation was so slow, the pace of life was much slower than Kira was used to - on the other, it seemed like the rebellion had only just ended before this new war with Lerrit had begun.

Kira had been fearing this very thing since the collapse of the fire caves meant more business for the Natlar Port. The port had indeed thrived, giving the Perikian economy the shot in the arm it so desperately needed in order to truly start building itself into a legitimate power in the region, instead of an insignificant nation lucky enough to have a nice piece of real estate.

What she had not expected was the sheer strength of the Lerrit Army. The same army that Kira had helped repel had doubled its numbers and was much better armed. The navy was giving the Endtree ships a run for their money - and the war had been declared on both Perikia and Endtree, so there was also fighting in Endtree's territory, both on land and sea.

Still, they had won a major battle at Barlin Field, driving the army completely out of the Makar Province.

All it had cost them was their best field general.

The door to the dungeon opened, and Kira winced. The place had no route of escape (Kira had spent the first six hours in the cell scouring every millimeter for just such a thing), and only one window, which was fifteen meters above them - just enough to provide a glimmer light and hope for escape without any chance of that hope being fulfilled. A (very small) part of Kira admired the tactical psychology that went into the dungeon's design.

The flickering torchlight from the hallway, however, was far brighter than the meager illumination provided by the faraway window, so it took several seconds for Kira's eyes to adjust. When they did, she was confronted with the guard who brought them their food and waste buckets (not replacing them nearly often enough to suit Kira). The guard wore the usual Lerrit uniform of gray and blue, with the addition of a shabby black cloak that probably served to keep the stink and filth of the dungeon off the guard's uniform. Standing next to him was a very short man dressed in a white jacket and white pants, both with shiny gold fastenings, and a white cape that served the same function as the guard's cloak - and, being white, was more noticeably the worse for doing so.

Kira recognized him, barely, from the coins that sometimes changed hands on the docks: this was Prince Syba Avtra of Lerrit.

"You look better on your coins, Your Highness," Kira said.

The prince looked up at her. "Very droll."

Then he glanced at the guard, who rewarded Kira's comment with a slap to the face. All Kira could think was, I've known some Cardassians in my time who would eat you for lunch. She gave the guard a contemptuous look in reply.

Avtra, meanwhile, had moved on to Torrna. "You will rise in the presence of royalty, General."

Torrna looked up at Avtra with the one eye that wasn't swollen shut. "As soon as I'm in the presence of some, I'll consider it."

Again Avtra gave the guard a glance. Since Torrna was seated, the guard elected to kick the general in the stomach rather than bend over to slap him.

After coughing for several seconds, Torrna said, "I'm disappointed. I was hoping that Her Royal Highness herself would come to gloat over our capture. It is, after all, the only true victory you have won in this war."

The prince laughed heartily at that.

"Something amuses you?" Torrna asked the question with contempt and with a few more coughs, diluting the effect of the former.

"My 'dear' mother has been dead for some time, fool! Do you truly think she engineered this war? Or our alliance with the Bajora?"

This time Kira felt like she'd been kicked in the stomach, though the guard had made no move toward her. The Bajora? No wonder they're so well armed!

"I can see by the look on your face that you appreciate the position you're in, General. With the Bajora behind us, we will destroy Endtree, squash you upstart rebels and finally control the entire southern coast." He moved toward Torrna, looking down on the general's duty, bruised, swollen face with a sneer on his own clean visage. "Now I don't suppose you'll tell me what the troop movements are for your little band of spear carriers?"

"If I thought you were worth wasting the spit, I'd spit on you right now," Torrna said. His voice was more subdued than usual - not surprising after the ordeal they'd been through - but the tone was abundantly clear.

"I assumed as much. Besides, I can't imagine that even your soldiers are so stupid as to retain the same battle plan after one of their generals have been captured. Still, I had to ask. And I wanted to see the infamous General Torrna in our dungeon for myself. You will be publicly executed at dawn tomorrow. It was going to be yesterday, but the demand for tickets is simply outrageous, and we had to postpone so we could put in extra seating in the stadium."

Kira wondered if that was the same stadium that had been unearthed in this region during the Occupation. After the Cardassian withdrawal, Bajoran archaeologists had speculated that sporting events had been held there as long as fifty thousand years prior to its rediscovery. That it was used for public executions was a fact of which Kira could happily have remained ignorant.

Avtra finally turned back to Kira. "As for this one - I suppose we should let Torrna have one final night of companionship before we take her to the front lines. She'll make fine arrow fodder."

With that, he turned and left, saying, "Enough of this. I need to get the stink of this dungeon off my person."

The guard closed the door, leaving Kira wishing she could get the stink of the prince off herself as easily.

"We have to get out of here," Torrna said.

Kira snorted. "I'm open to suggestions. The only ones who have free rein in and out of this cell are insects and rodents."

Torrna tried to stand up, but made the mistake of bracing himself with his left arm, and he collapsed to the floor.

Kira moved to help him up, but he waved her off. "I'm fine. Just forgot about the damn wound. Stupid arm's gone numb." He staggered to his feet. "Damn those foul Bajora - I hope those Prophets of theirs strike them down with lightning."

The Prophets don't work like that, Kira thought, but refrained from saying it aloud.

"We have to - argh! I'm fine," he added quickly, again brushing off Kira's offer of help. "We have to get this intelligence back to the prefect and to Inna. If the Queen is dead, and the Bajora are helping ... You were right, the fire caves' collapse definitely made our land more attractive."

"I don't think that matters as much as we thought. From the way that kid was talking, he's been wanting to start a war with us for years, but his mother's been holding him back. The collapse of the caves probably made it easier for him to justify it, but I'm willing to bet that we'd have had a war on our hands as soon as the Queen died no matter what."

Torrna nodded, and Kira could see him wincing in the dim light. He's more hurt than he'll admit, and the stubborn bastard won't let me help him.

"We've got to find some way out of here! If we can get back, tell them about this, we can change our strategy, try to hit the supply lines the Bajora are using...."

Sure, no problem. I'll just tap my combadge, order the runabout to lock in on our signal, and then we'll beam out of here. Then we can transmit a subspace message with our Intel. That'll work...

The door opened suddenly again. A guard - a different one - came in with two buckets.

Then he closed the door. What the hell - ? The guards never closed the door.

The guard dropped the buckets, then reached into his cloak and pulled out a set of keys. "C'mon, c'mon, we haven't got much time. Take these, take these."

"Who the hell're you?" Torrna asked.

"Right, right, the password." The guard then uttered a phrase in Old High Bajoran that Kira only recognized two words of.

Torrna's eyes went wide. "Moloki?"

"In the very frightened flesh, yes."

"We thought you dead."

"I probably will be after this stunt, believe me. Don't know what I was thinking coming up with this ludicrous plan. They'll use my guts for building material, they will."

Kira took the keys from Moloki. "What happened to you?"

"Nothing happened as such. I simply couldn't get any messages out. The moment Her Royal Senility dropped dead, all hell broke loose. Truly, a spy can no longer make anything like an honest living in this environment."

"Can you get us - " Torrna started.

"Yes, yes, I can get you out of here, just give me a moment to collect myself. I've never been much for impersonations, and I had to pull off being one of those imbecile guards that the prince likes to employ. Stomping 'round all day, bellowing at the tops of their lungs so loud you can't think." He shuddered. "No style at all, more's the pity." He reached into his cloak. "In any case, here's a map that'll show you how to get out of here once I bring you to the surface, as well as a map that shows the supply lines the Bajora are using. Assuming you get home alive, that should be fairly useful." He put his hand on Torrna's shoulder. "Let me make something abundantly clear, General - it will not be easy to get home. It will involve going through a swamp and then across a mountain range. Deviate even slightly from the route I've mapped out, and you're guaranteed to be captured."

"And if we stay on the route?" Kira asked.

"Then you're just likely to be captured."

"I was afraid of that," Torrna muttered.

Kira looked at Torrna and winced. "He's not going to make it with his arm in the shape it's in."

"He has to, dammit!" Moloki said sharply, in marked contrast to his more affable tone. Then he composed himself. "Listen to me, and listen very carefully, because I'm only going to say this once. Years ago, I offered to help Periki Remarro in whatever way was necessary - not because I have any great love for that silly peninsula of yours, but because I want to see Lerrit great again. That isn't going to happen as long as those inbred mutants are in power."

"So you've been working to undermine them from within?" Kira said.

"Something like that, yes. It's been a bit of a chore, but I thought the end was near. Avtra is sterile, you see, and so can't produce any heirs. I had hopes that the Syba dynasty would finally end its pathetic chokehold over my home." He sighed. "This ridiculous alliance with the Bajora changes all that, of course. The Bajora know damn well that Prince Idiot is the last of his moronic line, and they plan to use this alliance to gain a toehold so they can take over once the Crown Imbecile dies." Moloki unsheathed the sword he had in a belt sheath. "You'll need this more than I will."

Kira took it and hefted it. It was a pretty standard design, average balance, nothing spectacular. But it beats being unarmed.

She looked at Torrna, who was now sweating rather more than was warranted by the temperature in the chilly, rank dungeon. "You okay?"

"No," Torrna said honestly, "but it doesn't matter. Moloki is right, we must return with this news or everything we've fought for will be lost!"

Chuckling, Moloki said, "You're as much of a crazed zealot as I suspected, General." He held up a hand to cut off Kira's protest. "I meant it as a compliment, my dear, believe me. I can say that as the craziest of crazed zealots. Now come, let us go over this map quickly before someone decides to check up on us ..."

Chapter 7

In over thirty-three years of life, Kira Nerys had been sure many times that she was going to die.

Thus far, she'd been glad to have been wrong each time, but as she crouched in the half-meter of snow, sweat pouring from her brow even as she shivered uncontrollably, checking to see if anyone was coming up behind them, she was starting to wish she would die, just so her present hell would end.

First they had spent two days trudging through a swamp. She had done what she could to keep Torrna's arm from getting worse, but it was an uphill battle, and she was no medic. Plus, they had no food - Kira had many skills, but foraging had never been one of her best. They'd scavenged a few animals here and there, but most weren't anything larger than a paluku.

Resistance had been less than expected, but as Moloki had explained, the castle itself was not very well guarded. Support from the Bajora notwithstanding, in order to fight, in essence, a three-front war - on the ground against both Periki and Endtree, on the sea against their combined navies - the prince had limited resources to keep an eye on things at home. Kira and her newly acquired sword had been able to take care of the few guards they had seen with little difficulty.

Then they'd gotten to the mountains.

From humidity and high temperatures to snow and frigidity. From her old wound feeling just fine to her arm stiffening up from the cold. And now, quite possibly, coming down with pneumonia.

If Julian were here, he 'd give me a shot of something, and I'd be fine. Of course, I'd have to listen to a lecture about not taking better care of myself.

She shook her head. That part of her life was over now. She was here, and she had a duty to perform. The Prophets sent her here for a reason.

Right. To die on a mountain with a blowhard general who got himself captured, and was only able to escape imprisonment thanks to a spy. Makes perfect sense.

Sighing, Kira satisfied herself that they still weren't being pursued, despite the five corpses they had left behind in the castle and the obvious trail they had made through the swamp. She got up, hugged herself with her arms (wincing in pain from the wound), and, shivering all the way, went back to the small inlet where she'd left Torrna.

"Dammit!" she yelled when she saw that Torrna had fallen asleep. He'd been fading in and out for quite some time. Kira's medical knowledge was limited, but even she knew that going into shock would be deadly.

She slapped his face a few times. "Torrna. Torrna! Dammit, Antosso, wake up!"

He blinked a few times. "Ash - Ashla?" he said in as weak a voice as she'd ever heard him use.

"Yes, it's me," she said, plastering an encouraging smile to her face, hoping her teeth weren't chattering too obviously. "We're still not being followed. And we've only got a few more kilometers to go. Think you're up to it?"

He nodded. "I think so. I just - arrrrrgh!"

Torrna had started to rise, then collapsed back to the snow-covered ground. "Sorry," he said through clenched teeth. "Keep forgetting that the arm doesn't really work."

"Let me take a look at it," Kira said, moving as if to pull back his cloak - stolen off one of the guards they'd killed on the way out.

With his good arm, Torrna grabbed Kira's wrist. "No!" He took a breath. "I'm sorry, Ashla, but you fussing over it isn't going to change the fact that it feels like someone's driven a flaming hot poker through my shoulder."

"Once we get back home - "

"It'll be too late, then. Ashla - I need you to cut the damned thing off."

Kira laughed derisively. "Antosso, I'm not a surgeon. And I don't have anything to staunch the bleeding or cauterize the wound with. If I cut your arm off now, you'll bleed to death." Not to mention that I'm shivering so much that I'll probably cut off your head by mistake ...

"And if you don't, I'll die from the infection. You yourself said that was a risk."

"A risk means the possibility of success. If I just hack your arm off right now with no alcohol, no bandages, no cauterizing agent - "

"All right! You've made your point." Smiling grimly, Torrna added, "I suppose this means I'll just have to make it back to Perikia, then."

Kira just nodded, and helped him to his feet.

They trudged their way through the snow-covered region, climbing over outcroppings, under crevices, and through chest-high snowdrifts.

She didn't know how long it was before she drained the water supply. Or, for that matter, when the blisters started breaking out all over her skin. She didn't have the wherewithal to check her tricorder to see how bad the radiation was. Every fiber of her being was focused on the overwhelming task of putting one foot in front of the other.

How long ago was it that she had been trudging through the hot, arid wasteland of that theta-radiation-racked planet in the Delta Quadrant? Days? Months? Years? Now she was engaged in the same mindless task, staying focused solely on moving forward, ever forward, in the hopes of reaching her goal. Then it was to reach a gateway. Now it was to make it back to Perikia.

Of course, the gateway took her to Perikia. Is there some kind of symbolism here?

Or maybe it's just nonsense. Maybe all of this is. Maybe I'm just here because it's where the gateway sent me. There's no purpose, no road the Prophets have put me on, I'm just here because some portal built by a bunch of aliens hundreds of thousands of years ago happened to show up when I needed it to get off a planet.

She closed her eyes and then opened them. Focus, she thought. Just put one foot in front of the other and try not to think about the fact that your internal temperature is skyrocketing while your external one is plummetting. At this rate, I'll explode by nightfall. ..

Kira trudged her way through the snow, willing the feeling to stay in her feet even though they were starting to numb again - the last time they did, they had stopped in the crevice.

"Yet your gods cast you out."

"Not my gods. Only a few men and women who claim to represent them."

Kira had no idea why the conversation she and Taran'atar had had in the Euphrates was coming back to her, but she tried to banish it from her head. "Shut up!" she cried.

"What?" Torrna asked from behind her.

"Nothing," Kira said, embarrassed. Great, now I'm yelling at the voices in my head.

"We will make it, Ashla. We must. There is no other way - if we do not, Perikia will be lost. It's our land - the Lerrit do not belong there, and I'll do everything I can to keep them out! But we can't do it if we don't get Moloki's information back to the prefect."

Kira looked back at Torrna, and saw the look of determination on his face even through the snow and facial hair, through the bruises, and through the pain he felt.

And she felt ashamed for doubting.

"We'll make it," she repeated.

One foot in front of the other, she thought. You can do it. We can do it. We 'LL make it back.

Half an hour later, she collapsed face-first into the snow.

Chapter 8

"Major? " "Sir?" "Tell me another story."

"While you had your weapons to protect you, all I had was my faith - and my courage. Walk with the Prophets, child. I know I will."

"I was there."

"Sir?"

"B'hala. It was the eve of the Peldor Festival. I could hear them ringing the temple chimes."

"You were dreaming."

"No! I was there! I could smell the burning bateret leaves - taste the incense on the wind. I was standing in front of the obelisk, and as I looked up, for one moment, I understood it all! B'hala - the Orbs - the Occupation - the discovery of the wormhole - the coming war with the Dominion..."

"A people can be defined by where they come from. Who the Bajorans are is shaped in part by our world. It's part of what ties us to the Prophets. The Cardassians didn't belong there, so I fought them. All my life, I've fought for Bajor because that is my unit."

"You believe caring for your home brings you closer to your gods?"

"I suppose that's one way of looking at it."

"Yet your gods cast you out."

"Not my gods. Only a few men and women who claim to represent them."

"Why have you taken this woman's you did a good job of keeping the wound clean. If you'd continued your summer stroll for much longer, it would've been infected, but he got the two of you here in time." One last beard-tug, then: "Enough gossip. You need your rest."

"I'm fine," Kira said, and she started to sit up. The room proceeded to leap around, whirl in circles, and generally behave insanely - until she lay back down, and then everything was fine. "On the other hand, maybe rest isn't a bad idea."

In a tone that sounded irritatingly like Julian at his most smug, Maldik said, "Soldiers make such wonderful patients. Try listening periodically, it'll do you wonders."

Chapter 9

Kira spent what felt like an eternity on her cot. Every once in a while she was able to sit up, but never for very long.

As time went on, news from the front lines, and from the capital, came in the form of messengers. Admiral Inna led a convoy of ships to the Kendra Valley River in an attempt to cut off the Bajora's supply lines. Natlar also sent an envoy to the Bajora, asking them to cease their support of Lerrit.

It turned out that the battle at Barlin Field had been more decisive than Kira and Torrna had realized, busy as they were being captured. It had been a major victory, and led to the complete reclamation of not only Makar Province, but also most of the Lonnat Valley.

By the time Kira was well enough to travel, a ship was coming down the coast - the fort was located near the Korvale Ocean - to bring injured troops home. Being, in essence, an injured troop as well, Kira went along.

The captain of the ship was a very short, no-nonsense woman named Tanhul Din. Kira noticed that she wore an earring in her right ear. "Who the hell're you?" was her way of introducing herself.

"Kira Nerys. I'm General Torrna's adjutant."

"Didn't know he had one. Well, find yourself somewhere to sleep. If you get sick, do it over the edge or clean it up yourself."

"How's the fighting going?"

Tanhul shrugged. "We haven't surrendered yet."

Kira had never traveled much by sea. Her initial assumption that it would be much like flying in an atmospheric craft turned out to be optimistic. She managed not to throw up, but that only through a supreme effort of will.

When they came around the bend into sight of Natlar Port, she had other reasons for being ill.

The port was on fire.

She stood at the fore of the ship, next to the wheel, watching in shock. Tanhul was next to her. "Well, that was damn stupid o' them Lerrits."

Kira looked at her. "What do you mean?"

"Port's what makes this land so damn desirable. Why'd they cannon it to smithereens like that? If they're trying to win back the land, why screw up the most valuable part of it?"

"It depends on your goal," Kira, who had spent her formative years as a terrorist, said after a moment's thought. "If you're trying to take land from the enemy, you're right, it is stupid. But if you're trying to do damage to your enemy where it hurts the most, that's the thing to do."

Tanhul looked at her like she had grown a second head. 'That's insane."

Kira had to bite back her instinctive response: You say that because the tactics of terrorism haven't really been invented here yet. They haven't needed to be. And you should thank the Prophets for that every night before you go to bed.

Instead, she said, "It's actually a good sign, believe it or not."

"How's that, exactly?" 'They wouldn't have attacked the port directly if they had any intention of taking it. This was the final Defiant act of a navy that knows it's lost. A kind of 'if I can't have it, no one can' gesture. This probably means the war's going well for our side."

"Your definition of 'well' differs from mine," Tanhul said dryly.

There were no obvious piers available for docking - half of them were damaged beyond usefulness, and the rest were occupied. The marina itself was a mass of chaotic activity, with small fires being put out and people coughing from the smoke.

Someone noticed them eventually, though, as a small rowboat approached the spot where Tanhul had dropped anchor. Kira recognized its occupant as the assistant dockmaster, Hiran. As he pulled up alongside the ship, Tanhul ordered a ladder lowered for him.

"Good to have you back, ma'am," he said upon sighting Kira as he arrived on deck. Then he turned to Tanhul. "I'm sorry, Captain, but as you can see, we're a bit shorthanded."

"I've got wounded here."

Hiran frowned. "Let me see what I can do. I might be able to get a few skiffs over to offload the worst of them." He turned to Kira. "Ma'am, you should know that General Torrna's in his office. You might want to see him."

Kira didn't like the tone in Hiran's voice. "Is he all right?"

"I really think you should see him, ma'am." Hiran's tone was more urgent. Kira also knew him well enough to know that he was unlikely to say anything else.

She accompanied him back on the rowboat to the marina. As Hiran stroked the oars, Kira asked, "What happened here?"

"Lerrit's last stand, you could say, ma'am," Hiran said, almost bitterly. "General Torrna pretty much beat them on the land. See, on his way back from Fort Tendro, he came across General Takmor's regiment - but Takmor'd been killed."

Damn, Kira thought. She was one of the good ones. "I'd heard that she was the one who reclaimed Sempa Province."

"Actually, that was General Torrna, ma'am. The general, see - well, he just plowed on in and led them to victory. They were ready to call it quits, but he rallied'em, and they took Sempa back. Meantime, Admiral Inna came back here when she found out that the Lerrit Navy was gonna throw their whole armada at us."

Kira looked at the smoky, ruined port. "Looks like they did."

"Oh, the admiral, she threw back pretty good, too. Cost her her life, mind, but - "

"Inna's dead?"

Hiran nodded. "Just what we needed after everything else."

"What everything else? Hiran, I've been laid up at Tendro, and obviously I haven't been getting all the news."

"Oh, ma'am, I'm sorry," Hiran said in a sedate tone.

"I guess you didn't hear that Prefect Natlar was killed, too. See, same time the Lerrit Navy did their last stand here, the Lerrit Army did likewise in the capital. Didn't work, of course - thanks to the blockade, they were underfed, understaffed, and underarmed. We beat'em back mighty good, truth be told, but -" He sighed. "Not without a cost, if you know what I mean."

Kira shook her head. "So we won?"

"Yes, ma'am, if you can call this a victory."

They arrived at the marina. Kira disembarked from the rowboat, and couldn't help contrasting this with the last time she set foot on the dock. Then, the sun was shining, a stiff breeze was blowing, carrying the smell of fish and seawater, with the Korvale Ocean a sparkling green in contrast to the dull-but-solid brown of the dock's wood. Now, the sun was obscured by billowing smoke, and the wind carried only the smell of that smoke, occasionally broken by the stench of blood and death.

Then she saw the bodies.

They were arranged in a row just past the marina in a ditch that hadn't been there before. Many wore Perikian uniforms; many more wore Lerrit uniforms. A few - though even a few were too many - wore civilian clothing.

Nerys walked into the other chamber, Furel right behind her. Kira Taban's body was laid out on the pallet. She had seen far too many dead bodies not to know one now.

Her father was dead.

"He died calling your name."

It took an effort for Kira to pry her horrified eyes away from the array of corpses and continue her journey to the office where she and Torrna had spent so much time together.

The small wooden structure had held up remarkably well during the attack - only a few scorch marks differentiated it from Kira's memory of the building. Several familiar faces greeted her hastily; others ignored her completely. One person, a merchant who had set up a shop specializing in merchandise from Endtree, muttered, "Thank the Prophets she's here. Maybe she can talk some sense into him."

Nobody sat at the sergeant's desk.

She entered Torrna's tiny office. The general sat behind his rickety wooden desk, which was piled top to bottom with enough refuse and detritus to be a serious fire hazard, given the conditions outside. The small bar that sat under the window was full of empty, overturned, and broken bottles. Kira was therefore not surprised that the smoky stench that had filled her nostrils since Tanhul's ship came around the bend was now being overpowered by several different types of alcoholic beverage. At least three more bottles were visible on the desk, not to mention the large glass that Torrna Antosso clutched in his right hand.

The smoke obscured the view of the mainland, as it obscured everything right now.

The general looked like a zombie. His eyes stared unblinking, straight ahead. If not for the smell of alcohol - not to mention Torrna's atheism - Kira would have thought he was in the midst of a pagh'tem'far vision.

"They're dead," Torrna said without preamble, his voice barely more than a monotone. "Dead dead dead dead."

"I know, Hiran told me about the prefect and Admiral Inna. But - "

Torrna made a sweeping gesture, knocking over one of the empty bottles. "No! Not them. I mean, they're dead, too, but that's not who I mean."

"Who's - "

"Lyyra! She's dead!"

Kira found herself unable to reply at first. She had been prepared to console Torrna on the deaths of Natlar and Inna even as she herself struggled with the fact that the serene prefect and the no-nonsense admiral were gone.

"What about the kids, are they - "

"They're dead, too. All of 'em, dead dead dead dead dead. An' they didn' know."

Frowning, Kira prompted, "Didn't know what?"

"Th'I was alive! B'fore I could get home I found Takmor's regimen'."

"I heard."

"By time I got home, they were dead - an' I never got to tell 'em I was alive!"

"They probably found out from the dispatches," Kira said, not sure if, in the chaos of the end of the war, anyone would have the wherewithal to contact Lyyra about so trivial a matter as the fact that her reported-dead husband was still alive. Especially if she and the kids were close enough to the fighting to be killed. Hell, knowing Lyyra, she was right in the midst of it. She was always a healer at heart.

"Doesn' matter. Nothin' matters. They want me to take over now't war's over. Ain't gonna do it."

"What do you mean?"

"Gonna drink m'self to death. If that doesn' work, I'm gonna cut m'throat. Don't wanna live in this world without 'er." .. . Odo "putting on" the tuxedo for the last time before descending into the Great Link. . .

"Listen to me, Antosso, you can't just give up."

"Why not?" He pounded his fist on the desk, rattling the bottles and knocking several papers off. "Haven' I done enough?" ... Bareil, his brain barely functioning, slowly fading away on the infirmary biobed...

"No, you haven't! You've spent all this time fighting, you can't give up now! Perikia needs you! They couldn't have fought this war without you, and they certainly wouldn't have won it without you."

"Doesn' matter. Without Lyyra - " ... Captain Sisko - the Emissary - traveling to the fire caves, never to be seen again...

'There are still hundreds of people out there who fought and died for Perikia - including Lyyra. Without Natlar, without Takmor, without Inna - they're going to need your strength. They need the man who beat back the Lerrit Army. They need the man who trudged through the swamp and the mountains to get home. They need you." ... her father lying dead in the caves of Dakhur Hills...

Torrna shook his head. "Can't do it. Jus' can't."

Snarling, Kira got up and went to the other side of the desk. She grabbed Torrna by the shirt, and tried to haul him to his feet. Unfortunately, while they were the same height, he was quite a bit larger - and, in his drunken state, so much dead weight.

... Opaka lying dead after a shuttle crash on some moon in the Gamma Quadrant. ..

"Get up!"

"Wha' for?"

"I said get up!" ... Furel and Lupaza, only on the station to protect her, being blown into space by an embittered, vengeance-seeking Cardassian .. .

Torrna stumbled to his feet. Then he fell back into the chair. Kira yanked on his arm, which seemed to be enough to get him to clamber out of the chair again.

She led him outside. She propped him up on one of the wooden railings that separated the small office building area from the main marina and pointed. "You see that?"

"I don't see anythin' but - "

Losing all patience, Kira screamed. "The bodies! Look at the bodies! Those people died fighting for Perikia! So did Natlar, so did Inna - and so did Lyyra. You have no right to give up now - because if you do, Lerrit has won. There's no one else who can unite these people the way you can now - you're a hero! Without you, they'll fall apart, and either Prince Avtra or the Bajora will be able to come right in and take over."

Torrna stared straight ahead for several minutes. Then he turned back to Kira.

When she first entered his office, Torrna's eyes were glazed over. Now, they were filled with sadness.

In as small a voice as he'd used when they were traveling through the mountains, Torrna said, "I'm sorry."

Kira remembered that the ground-based gateways tended to do one of two things: jump randomly from vista to vista every couple of seconds, or, like the one at Costa Rocosa, stay fixed on one location. This one, however, was different: it jumped back and forth between only two destinations.

The first was ops on Deep Space 9.

The other was the comforting light that Kira Nerys knew in her heart belonged to the Prophets.

As she stared at the pathetic, drunken figure of Torrna Antosso standing in the midst of the wreckage of Natlar Port, Kira at once realized that she made the right and the wrong choice in stepping through the gateway when she did.

This, she thought, is me. And whether or not Torrna decides to drink himself into oblivion or takes charge of the Perikian government - doesn't matter.

Kira walked away, then. Away from Torrna Antosso, away from Natlar Port, away from the Korvale Ocean, away from the Perikian Peninsula.

Or, more accurately, under it.

She'd been in these caves before. The last time was when the Circle had kidnapped and tortured her thirty thousand years from now. She had no idea why she came down here, and yet she was never more sure of anything in her life.

Despite the fact that the Denorios Belt's tachyon eddies prevented any gateways from being constructed within ten light-years of Bajor, Kira was not surprised by the fact that an active gateway was present in the caves. She didn't know where it would lead her, but she felt supremely confident as she stepped through it, ready to face what lay beyond ...

Chapter 10

Kira Nerys stared at the galaxy.

She had to look up to see it in its entirety, its bright face filling half the sky. She'd seen images of the galaxy before, simulations and holos taken from deep-space probes launched centuries ago by any number of worlds. But nothing prepared her for the sight before her now.

The galaxy stared back down at her, a still and silent maelstrom that seemed to scrutinize her as she stood beneath it, and she knew that it was no simulation. She was as far from home as she'd ever been, and might ever be, and under the unblinking eye of the immense double spiral, Kira Nerys felt very, very small.

She was only partly aware of her surroundings: the smooth circular floor beneath her feet, the central console with its brown-and-blue color scheme and alien markings that registered dimly as matching the known designs of the Iconians.

And no walls. Only sky. She stood in a room without shadows, lit by a hundred billion suns.

Must be a forcefield, but - "Ah, there you are."

She felt the voice more than heard it, as if it came from within her. Kira wanted to turn around to respond, but found herself transfixed by the starscape.

A finger seemed to appear from nowhere and point at a spot in the lower left quadrant of the vista spread out before Kira. The voice said, "It's here."

Kira finally tore her gaze away from the view and followed the finger back up the hand and arm it was connected to, and finally to the body. The figure was huge, though definitely bipedal and apparently humanoid, standing at well over two and a half meters tall, dwarfing even the immense Hirogen hunter that she and Taran'atar had faced in the Delta Quadrant. He - the voice sounded male, at least - wore a maroon cloak with a hood that obscured his features.

"Wh- what?"

"The world you come from is here. I believe you refer to it as Bajor."

"Who are you?"

The figure hesitated. "You might say I'm an emissary of the people who built this outpost, but that might have unfortunate connotations for you. Suffice it to say that I am the custodian of this place."

"You're an Iconian?"

There was a movement inside the cloak that Kira supposed could have been a nod. "You'll be pleased to know that I was able to cure you of that unfortunate energy."

Energy? It took Kira a moment to realize that he was referring to the theta-radiation poisoning. She had been on that arid desert of a planet in the Delta Quadrant, theta radiation eating away at her, when the gateway beckoned. Her tricorder had told her that the radiation levels were fatal....

Of course, the rational part of her brain said as she looked down and saw that she no longer wore the ancient clothing of Bajor's past (did I ever?) but was instead in her sand-soiled Militia uniform.

It was some kind of dream, she thought, that's all. Or maybe a pagh'tem'far. That would certainly explain - She cut the thought short as she felt a mild stiffness in her left arm. Looking down, she saw the badly healed wound she'd received the day they drove the Lerrit Army out of the capital city. "How did - how did this get here?" She pointed to the wound.

The hood tilted a little to one side. "Presumably you received it at an earlier date."

"You're a big help," she muttered.

"I assume that you wish to take the gift that has been given to you and then go home?"

Kira almost asked the figure what he meant by that. But duty took over. Like Torrna Antosso, she had a role to play, a duty to perform, and a planet to defend - regardless of what obstacles had been placed in her path.

"Actually, I need to return to Europa Nova. I made a promise that I would do everything I could - "

Before she could finish the sentence, the custodian drifted - walk was too clumsy a word to describe how he moved - over to the center console.

"Ah, I see. One of our hezlat gateways is in orbit of that planet," he said after touching one of the triangular controls.

"Hezlat?" Kira asked as she approached. Two small holographic displays hovered on either side of the blue globe atop the console, each showing a star system. The sizes and magnitudes of the two stars matched those of Europa Nova's star and the star where they'd found the tanker in the Delta Quadrant.

"Many different types of gateways were constructed over time," the custodian said, "some large and inelegant, some small and functional, others that could be held in the palm of one's hand. The hezlats were among the first, and also among the largest. Let's see, this one is stable - it links System X27KL with System J55AQ."

The custodian seemed to be just staring at the display, so Kira helped him along. "Someone decided to dump theta radiation into that - that hezlat of yours. We had to evacuate everyone from the planet on the other side before the radiation levels became fatal."

"Yes... I see that now. But there is something blocking part of the gateway."

Thank the Prophets, the Euphrates is still there. "Yes, that's one of our vessels. That's how we travel, by ship - and I used mine to block the radiation from coming through and - "

"I understand, Colonel. I observe your ships traversing the galaxy all the time from here. It is not a pastime shared by all my people."

"There are more of you, then?"

"Yes. Some of them are dealing with this crisis now. I have faith in the Sentries."

Kira had no idea what that meant, but she didn't want to get off topic. "What about Europa Nova?"

"Hm?"

"System - " She peered at the console screen, but couldn't read it. "X2-whatever," she said. Finally, she pointed at the holographic display. "That one!"

"Oh, yes. I am searching now. Ah, there we are. System O22i|/T has a star that will suffice for the purpose."

A third star-system image appeared in the holographic display. From the brightness and magnitude, it had an O-type star.

"I can reprogram this particular hezlat gateway to transport the matter that is emitting the energy on both sides into the star in System O224/T. The star there will render the energy inert." He turned to Kira. "I will also remove the object blocking the gateway. Would you like it in System O22iVT, System X27KL, or System J55AQ?"

"Uh, the second one," Kira said. "Is the place where you're sending the waste uninhabited?"

"Of course," the custodian said as if the answer were self-evident. Kira had no such assurances, though. After all, according to most of the legends, the Iconians were conquerors.

The custodian made some adjustments on the panel. "I assume by the state you arrived in that your species is vulnerable to this type of energy."

Assuming that he meant theta radiation, Kira said, "Yes, very vulnerable."

"In that case, you must be careful. The gateway can remove the matter, but some of the energy will remain around that planet you were concerned with. You say it was evacuated?"

Kira nodded.

"Repopulating it will be a challenge."

"Like I said - I made a promise."

Again, the custodian made a gesture that might have been interpreted as a nod, then said, "It is time for you to leave." The Iconian touched a series of triangular panels. A blue light shot out from the globe and then a gateway opened near the edge of the floor. Through it, Kira could see the bustle of ops, with Dax giving orders to Sergeant Gan.

She looked at her host. "We thought there was a natural phenomenon preventing your gateways from functioning in the space around my planet," Kira said. "That isn't completely true, is it?"

"No," the Iconian confirmed. "But we respect the beings who watch your worlds. And we long ago promised never to interfere with them."

"Worlds ... ?" Kira asked.

"Farewell, Colonel."

A million questions on her lips, it took a conscious effort to turn toward the gateway. Taking a deep breath, Kira walked around the console.

Before stepping into the gateway, she took one last look at the immense galaxy above her.

She once again found the spot where the custodian had indicated that Bajor was. From there she traced an imaginary line to the region she knew was the Delta Quadrant, and wondered whether or not Taran'atar had survived his battle with the Hirogen. Then her eyes drifted to the Gamma Quadrant, to the expanse that contained the Dominion, and the Founders' world.

You don't look so far away from here, Odo.

The custodian waited patiently while she took it all in, and eventually she turned away from the sprawling mass of stars.

Enough self-indulgence. It's past time I went back to work.

But as she approached the gateway, it seemed the custodian had one more thing to tell her. "One of the things that doomed the Iconian Empire, Colonel, was that the gateway technology meant that we could no longer travel. We lost sight of the journey in our desire to achieve our destination. Don't make that mistake."

Kira smiled at the cloaked figure. "I won't. And thank you."

Then she stepped through the gateway, knowing full well what lay beyond.

Chapter 11

Ezri Dax had, Kira knew, centuries of life experience thanks to the Dax symbiont, and she also knew that, among her nine lifetimes, she had probably seen everything.

So seeing her jump up, scream, and drop the PADD she was holding when Kira walked into ops made for a fairly amusing sight.

As usual with the gateways, there was no feeling of transition from one point to the other. It was as if ops had been the next room over from the extragalactic outpost. The only change was that the Iconian outpost's gravity was a bit lighter than that of DS9, so Kira stumbled a bit upon her arrival.

Dax blinked several times. "Colonel?"

"Yes, Lieutenant, it's me."

Gan said, somewhat redundantly, "You're alive."

Kira resisted the obvious rejoinders. "Report."

"Europa Nova has been completely evacuated. Most of the refugees are on Bajor. The station's also filled almost to capacity. Lieutenant Ro, Sergeant Ychell, and Quark have returned, and Ro says she's got some good news regarding the Orion Syndicate. And Taran'atar's in the infirmary."

Kira's eyes widened. "He's all right?"

Dax winced. "I wouldn't go that far, but he'll recover. Whatever he fought gave him quite a beating." Then she smiled. "Apparently enough to cause delusions, since he reported that you were dead."

Probably didn't read my life signs on the planet and made assumptions, Kira thought. Given the radiation levels, I can't really blame him. "Let's just say I was able to make the gateway technology work for me. Go on."

Dax continued with her report, including the fact that the Defiant had gone off to rendezvous with the Marco Polo to help implement a plan to deal with the gateways; that the Trader was attached to Upper Pylon 1, Gul Macet having been invited to stay for a bit by Vaughn; the continued presence of Councillor Charivretha zh'Thane on board the station; and the fact that Lieutenant Bowers had taken the Rio Grande back to Europa Nova to keep an eye on the gateway there.

"It's been taken care of," Kira said. "There won't be any more antimatter waste in orbit of Europa Nova at all. Send a message to Bowers; tell him to do a full sensor sweep to determine how much contamination is still there. If we're lucky, it's little enough that we can work on repopulating sooner rather than later." She smiled. "And tell Bowers when he's finished to tow the Euphrates back. It should be in orbit." With, she recalled, remembering the shield enhancer she had salvaged from the tanker, a nice piece of new technology.

"Yes, sir," Dax said, moving toward a console. Then she stopped, and smiled. "It's good to have you back, Nerys. I don't think this place could've taken losing another commanding officer."

"Good to be back, Ezri. Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere. I've still got too much work to do."

Chapter 12

Kira sat in her office, looking over the historical records she had been able to scare up from the Perikian region. There was distressingly little from as long as thirty thousand years ago. She had found no record whatsoever of the Lerrit, aside from some archaeological indications of some kind of empire from that time period that looked Lerrit-like to Kira.

Kira had taken care of a variety of administrative duties - not to mention assuring everyone from station personnel to First Minister Shakaar that she was, in fact, alive, contrary to reports - and also been sure to visit Taran'atar in the infirmary. He was fairly weak, but recovering quickly, though Julian had made noises about even laboratory-bred supersoldiers needing their rest when they have the stuffing beaten out of them. For his part, Taran'atar had only one thing to say: "It is good that we have both reclaimed our lives."

"You don't know the half of it," Kira had said.

Afterward, she returned to her office and tried to find out what she could about the Perikian region thirty thousand years ago.

The name of Torrna Antosso did come up in several texts, as did that of others with that family name. Historians had debated just who Antosso was and what form his apparently tremendous influence had been in the peninsula, but given the number of landmarks and streets and such that had been named for him or other members of the Torrna family, it was obvious to Kira that he had taken her advice.

Assuming I was ever really there, she thought, as she rubbed her left arm, which still had the scar. Julian had offered to remove it, but she had refused.

Shutting down the computer terminal, Kira stared straight ahead for a moment, then picked up the baseball.

Benjamin Sisko had always kept that baseball on Ms desk. The central element of a human game that he'd been inordinately fond of, the white spheroid with red stitching was a symbol of Sisko's presence. When the station had been taken by the Dominion during the war, Sisko had deliberately left the baseball behind as a message to the occupying forces that he planned to come back - a promise he had fulfilled.

Even though the station was now hers to command, Kira had not been able to bring herself to remove the baseball. She wasn't sure why she had left it there.

No, I know why. I kept thinking in the back of my head that the Emissary was going to return - hoping that he 'd return and take the burden off of me, that he 'd take the station back just like he did two years ago, and everything would be back to normal.

But that's not going to happen. This station is mine, now. I may have lost the Emissary, Odo, Jast, and the kai, I may be Attainted - but I've got responsibilities, just like Torrna did.

And dammit, I'm going to live up to them.

She opened a drawer in the desk and placed the baseball in it.

I’ll hold it for you, Benjamin, for when you come back.

But I need this to be my office now.

She got up and went back into ops, knowing her journey was far from over.


Two gates for ghostly dreams there are: One gateway of honest horn, and one of ivory. Issuing by the ivory gate are dreams of glimmering illusion, fantasies, but those that come through solid polished horn may be borne out, if mortals only know them.

- Homer, The Odyssey









































******
STAR TREK VOYAGER
IN THE QUEUE
Christie Golden

Chapter 1

"Intruder alert!" The voice was rich, deep, and oh so wonderfully familiar.

Janeway stared, almost unable to bear the joy of it, at the familiar surroundings of a starship. Not just any starship, either. With Barkley/Fluffy still wriggling in her arms, she turned and beamed at Captain Jean-Luc Picard.

"Captain Kathryn Janeway requesting permission to come aboard," she stated in a voice that, despite her best efforts, quavered. "Belatedly."

That patrician mien softened and melted into a warm, surprised smile.

"Kathryn," Picard rumbled, rising and staring at her. "My God. You are literally the last person I expected to ever see on my bridge." He strode to where she stood beside the turbolift, hand outstretched. "Welcome home, my dear. Welcome, welcome home."

Janeway let Barkley jump to the floor, where he obediently plopped his behind down in a formal sit/stay right beside her left foot. She moved forward quickly and gratefully took the extended hand, feeling it close, warm and strong, about her own slender fingers. Tears welled in her eyes, and for once, she let them come.

"I can't believe this," she stammered. She heard voices talking in murmured excitement, felt rather than saw the strong presence of Will Riker loom up beside her. She had met him once before, when Q had transported him to Voyager as a witness in the trial of the alien who later took the name Quinn ... and not long after that, took his own life. Riker, of course, would have no memory of the encounter. She turned to address him. She'd forgotten what a large man he was. Shaking and laughing, she wiped at her wet eyes while extending a hand.

"Captain Kathryn Janeway. We've met. I'll tell you about it later. I can't believe this," she repeated.

"So, Captain, I'm delighted that you're here, but I'd like to know why and how," said Picard, stepping back and letting her regain control. "The last we heard, you were still in the Delta Quadrant. Operation Pathfinder has only just reported making contact with you. We'd hoped that you'd make it home one of these days, but I confess, manifesting on my bridge like some sort of ghost was not what I had expected."

He eyed the small animal. "And I see you've brought a friend," he added, a hint of disapproval creeping into his sonorous voice.

Fluffy barked and wagged his tail.

"It's a long story," said Janeway, clearing her throat and trying to recover her usual decorum. "A very long story."

"One which I and Starfleet Command will be very eager to hear," said Picard.

Janeway took a breath, preparing for a debriefing, which, if she knew Picard, he'd want to hear immediately, if not sooner. Instead, he did something which took her completely by surprise.

"Whatever it is, it can wait until you've had a chance to freshen up and eat something." She frowned and began to protest, but he held up a commanding hand. "I won't hear otherwise. I'm certain that whatever journey you and this creature have been on, it's been arduous and long."

She stared at him. Her "journey," or at least this most peculiar leg of it, had been approximately five minutes - most of which had been spent on Picard's own bridge. Mentally, she shrugged. Who was she to contradict Captain Picard on the bridge of the Enterprise?

"I'd consider it an honor if you would use my quarters," Picard continued. "Take all the time you need to refresh yourself. I'll meet you there in an hour or so for a bite to eat and I assure you I will be all ears, eager to hear about your adventures."

With that, he turned and resumed his seat. Will Riker was still standing beside her. With a grin, he made a mock bow.

"You're almost legendary in this quadrant now, Captain Janeway," said Riker. "I hope you'll afford me the honor of escorting you to Captain Picard's quarters?"

Janeway hesitated. She had no wish to appear discourteous, but she would have been much more comfortable sitting with Picard in his ready room, sipping coffee (he'd probably order that nasty Earl Grey tea he was so famous for drinking) and telling her fellow captain all about the gateway. Who knew how long it would be open? All the others had closed. Starfleet would certainly want to hear about them, and precious time was ticking by.

"Captain, I have no wish to appear ungrateful for your hospitality, but - "

"Then don't," said Heard, a touch irritably. "Go to my quarters, have a bit of a rest and a bath, and I'll meet you for dinner."

"Captain Picard - "

"Has spoken," said Riker smoothly. 'Trust me, you won't do well to question him." Playfully he extended his arm. "Come on. Put aside the trappings of command for a little while. After more than five years lost at sea, you could use a little break and some pampering Starfleet-style."

Janeway was at a loss for words. There was no way she could continue contradicting Picard, certainly not in front of his crew. Finally, she nodded, and, uncomfortable with the gesture but not wishing to appear rude, took Riker's arm. They entered the turbolift, Fluffy trotting obediently beside her. As the doors hissed closed, she kept wondering why Picard hadn't debriefed her at once, especially after so extraordinary a materialization on his bridge. It was out of character for him.

But then, she had been gone a long time. She knew how people can and did change.

And frankly, a hot bath sounded wonderful.

"So what's this about you meeting me before?" asked Riker, breaking her reverie.

"You were on my ship. Courtesy of one Q," she said. Riker's blue eyes widened, and he laughed.

"That Q. Up to his old tricks, is he? I suppose he's gotten bored with dour old Jean-Luc."

Janeway raised an eyebrow at the familiar, almost condescending tone Riker used. She knew his reputation; "fun-loving" wouldn't be an inaccurate term to describe him, but she had expected more respect from a first officer toward his captain, especially in front of someone who outranked him.

"You were a key witness in a trial," she continued, trying to overlook Riker's faux pas. "Q brought you to my ship in order to testify for his side. Afterward, he returned you and wiped your memory of the incident"

That, she thought, ought to ruffle him. Instead, Riker laughed aloud. "Doesn't that bother you? That you were snatched against your will, transported halfway across the galaxy, and you don't even have a memory of it?"

"Not really. I mean, that's Q for you, isn't it? He's not all that bad. He always means well, even if sometimes he doesn't understand how things bother us humans."

She stared at him, then shrugged. "I guess I have been away a long time, if the first officer of the Enterprise harbors warm and fuzzy feeling toward Q."

Riker merely grinned.

Janeway had often lamented the fact that all other Starfleet vessels were equipped with sonic showers. The only bath that had been taken aboard Voyager had been indulged in by Neelix when he first came aboard her ship. He had been overwhelmed by the proliferation of water and had simply had to try the experience of actually immersing his entire body in the liquid.

She personally hadn't had a real, hot water bath since she and Chakotay had been left on that planet together, when they had been infected by a disease the Doctor couldn't cure and the only way to save both their lives was for them to remain on the planet where they'd been infected. He'd built her a bathtub, and my, how she had enjoyed it. There had been much about that time together she had enjoyed, and regretted leaving.

Janeway was surprised to discover that Picard's quarters had a tub. Well, she thought, the Enterprise is the flagship. I would imagine Starfleet would think it a minor luxury for their esteemed Picard if he asked for it.

There was even a bottle of bubble bath perched on the side. Janeway stifled a laugh at the thought of Picard in a bubble bath, but who was she to judge? She certainly had no compunction about using up a bit of his supply. She liberally poured the liquid into the hot water, shed her uniform, and stepped into the tub.

"Oh," she breathed. The pleasure was keen, almost painful. She lay back and enjoyed the hot water penetrating to her bones, and played lazily with the mounts of white, frothy bubbles. Laying her head against the tub's edge, she closed her eyes and drifted....

"Mustn't stay in there too long," came Picard's booming voice. "You'll get all wrinkled."

Gasping, Janeway started awake. To her utter shock, Captain Jean-Luc Picard stood in the doorway to the bathing room, a smile on his lips, holding two glasses of wine. He was clad in loose-fitting white pants and a matching shirt that revealed small curls of gray hair. Comfortable-looking slippers adorned his feet.

Intellectually, Janeway knew the mound of bubbles shielded her body from his gaze, but that didn't matter.

"Captain, this is improper and inappropriate behavior. Please close the door." Her voice was icy, summoning all the dignity and confidence she could muster. Which, at this terribly awkward moment, wasn't a lot.

"All right," he said affably, stepped inside, and closed the door behind him. He stepped toward her, extending a wineglass. "This is a lovely merlot. I think you'll enjoy it."

Janeway snatched the nearest towel. Heedless of how wet it would get, she immediately wrapped it around her. "What the hell are you doing? I'm going to report this to Starfleet Command!"

"Oh, no, I don't think so," said Picard, leaning against the door and grinning.

"I do," Janeway stated. Dignity in every movement, she rose, clutching the sopping towel around her, and stepped for the door.

"You're late again, cadet."

Janeway blinked. She was no longer standing, naked save for a dripping wet towel, in Captain Picard's private bathroom, but in the doorway of a classroom. Standing at the desk was Professor Kerrigan, the woman who had become Janeway's personal bete noir. Janeway stared, first at Kerrigan, then at the sack full of PADDs she carried, then down at her own smaller, younger body.

"What's happening?" she whispered.

Kerrigan cleared her throat. The young Janeway looked up at her. "I said, you're late again, cadet. Do you want to add more homework?"

"S-sir, yes sir. I mean, no sir...."

"Which is it, Janeway? I've told you before, just because your father is a notable figure in Starfleet doesn't mean you're going to simply ace this class."

"I - I'm late, yes sir, and no sir, I don't want to add more homework."

"Then take your seat." Kerrigan, all height and muscle and frosty blond hair, returned to her old-fashioned podium while Janeway stared aghast at the array of seats. Familiar faces stared back at her. Eddie Capshaw made his famous rubber face, crossing his eyes and sticking out his tongue. She had always thought it terribly immature behavior for a nineteen-year-old cadet, and it seemed even more so seen from her true forty-something perspective.

Which seat was hers? She'd be in for a special project if she kept standing in the doorway like an idiot - "I'm a starship captain," she said softly, to herself. But Eddie Capshaw had heard the murmured comment and gaped.

"What was that, cadet?" Kerrigan's voice cut through her fog.

Fluffy. Where was the little animal? "Barkley. Fluffy," she called, and the class erupted in laughter.

"Silence!" ordered Kerrigan. The cadets tried to comply, but couldn't quite manage to completely eliminate a few stray snorts and snickers. "Cadet Janeway, take your seat. Now. And report to me after your classes today. I've got something special lined up for your detention."

At that moment, with a snicking sound of claws on smooth flooring, Fluffy/Barkley skidded around a corner and rushed up to her. Dropping the bag of PADDs, she scooped the animal up and felt him lick her face. Even though she clasped him to a petite, nineteen-year-old body, the memories of the true years were emblazoned in her mind. Voyager. Chakotay. Tuvok. All the rest of her incredible crew. The journey they had undergone, the losses, the tragedies and victories that had kept them going. That was what was real, was true and important, not this false classroom.

She turned to face Kerrigan. "You're a petty tyrant, Wendy Kerrigan. You were abusing your power for years before I got here and you're still doing it even in my imagination."

Kerrigan straightened to her full, imposing height of nearly six feet. "I hope you like civilian life, Janeway, because you're about this far from getting yourself expelled."

"I graduated with honors," Janeway retorted, warming to the task. "I have my own command, a crew that's as loyal and true to the ideals of Starfleet as you are bitter and false to them. I don't know why I haven't acted earlier. I'm going to see to it that you're fired. I'm going to tell them everything. The last thing impressionable young cadets need is someone like you beating all the life and enthusiasm out of them."

"You may leave, Janeway." Hate blazed in those eyes. Janeway lifted her chin and stared right back.

"I'll leave, all right. But I'll be back. You won't."

She turned and - - stood at the front of the room. Twenty-six faces gazed up at her with rapt attention. Janeway smiled a little, then touched the holographic display unit.

"Who can tell me what this is?"

Twenty-six hands shot up. Janeway picked the shy little girl in the back. "Cadet Anson?"

"That's a Borg cube," the girl whispered, barely audible.

"Correct. And what is this?"

It was a loaded question. The image of Seven of Nine appeared, looking the way she had when she was still part of the collective. The bald head, the arrogant gaze, the fit body tightly swathed in black. More hands shot up.

"Cadet Garcia?"

"That's a Borg," he replied with confidence.

"You're right... and you're not right. Can anyone tell my why Garcia's identification is only partially correct?"

Now there were only a few hands. Janeway picked Cadet Bedony. "Yes, Cadet?"

"It's a Borg, but it's also your crew member Seven of Nine. Before you liberated her from the collective."

Janeway smiled. "That's right." She touched another button and a holographic Seven of Nine, most of her humanity restored, stood beside the image of her former self. Janeway had to chuckle at the reaction of some of the male cadets, and one or two of the females. Seven of Nine was indeed a strikingly attractive woman. She was almost unrecognizable as the drone she had been. Even though these cadets were familiar with her - who wasn't? Seven was the biggest celebrity of all of them from the minute they returned home - Janeway wasn't surprised that most of them had found her unrecognizable.

She continued her talk, showing images of Neelix and Kes, the Hirogen, the Vidiians, the Caatati, the Malons, and several of the other races Voyager had encountered during its amazing trek. Her mind drifted back to the day when she and her entire crew had been feted with a glorious parade in the heart of San Francisco.

Janeway frowned. Something was not right. She could remember the parade, but not preparing for it, nor what had happened afterward. She glanced down at her notes. They were all gibberish scribblings. There was not a single recognizable word on the PADD. And beside the podium at which she stood sat a small doglike creature. When it caught her gaze, its tail began to thump happily.

"Barclay," she whispered.

Hands shot up. She looked up, confused. "What?"

"Reginald Barclay. The one who made contact with you through Pathfinder. He was the one who brought you home." Cadet M'Benga looked very pleased with herself.

Feeling somewhat dizzy, Janeway looked down at the creature. No, she hadn't been talking about Reginald. She'd been talking about this creature. Barkley. Fluffy. Tom and Neelix had argued about naming him, and as far as she had heard, they never had decided....

Her hand went to her temple. A vein throbbed there. She tried to concentrate.

"Admiral Janeway?" It was young Cadet Anson, standing beside the podium. Concern was on her face. "Are you all right?" Tentatively, the girl stretched out a hand and placed it on Janeway's arm.

Janeway, moved by Anson's gesture, reached to pat that hand. She froze in midmotion.