Presumed Guilty

by G.Dunbar

One week from Hell

1. Default Chapter Title

PRESUMED GUILTY PART ONE and TWO: What begins to the tune of a dark comedy ends on a potently serious note when the culmination to a nightmarish week finds O'Brien on trial for the attempted murder of the Bajoran representative to the Federation-Bajoran-Cardassian conference Doctor Janice Lange. A young Human Neutral unknown to be the wife of Dukat's eldest son Anon, Cardassian representative to the caucus.

Author's Note:

Employing Gene Roddenberry's creation Star Trek together with the characters and setting of Star Trek: DS9 and the occasional character/lifeform/species from the original series and Star Trek The Next Generation, The Time of Hagalaz is an umbrella title for a series of alternative Star Trek novels. Not meaning the story takes place in an alternative universe, though the reader is certainly welcome to view the story in this manner, but rather simply exploring the infinite realm of possibilities and variables in the universe.

Presumed Guilty is the first novel told in two parts. Its story, prophecy, and characters, Gul Anon and Sentinel Pfrann Dukat, Doctor Janice Lange, Anar (aka Shakaar Adon, the elder), Shakaar 'Hawk', Chief Engineer Tan, Sian, Mister Paq, Doctors Tracy and Veronica Sorge, Michelle Faraday, Nadya, Elise, Hatrem Ranit, Dak'jar, Assura, and assorted supernumeraries are the author's own creation.

As far as Stardate/placement/time The Time of Hagalaz is roughly set in the aftermath of Ziyal's death at the hands of Damar. A point where Dukat is not free to wreak further havoc, but instead detained by the Federation, undergoing intensive psychiatric treatment in an effort to bring him to trial for war crimes. The Dominion has retreated to watch, Damar assuming precarious control of the Cardassian Government in conjunction with its Civilian Council.

The following is the novel's prologue, utilized in this instance also as a brief synopsis of the tale's (as a whole) basic premise. G. Dunbar gad@lynchburg.net

PRESUMED GUILTY

THE TIME OF HAGALAZ

The Anatomy of a Bajoran Prophecy as told by its butchers, its makers,

adversaries, Guardians and friends

"In the time beyond the Time of Hagalaz…" From the extradimensional realm of his Continuum, Q's voice rang out across the four quadrants of the galaxy for anyone who wanted to listen, and listen well they should to what could be the tale of their own doom. "On a star date yet to be determined, but one which will come to pass…"

The Continuum took upon itself the aura of brilliant light. A kaleidoscope of every known color engulfed the Heavens that were, would be, and had once been. As quickly as the supernova exploded, it dimmed to a far less blinding array of light where from its center a simple mobile of four gray globes emerged. Unequal in mass and awkward in position, the four globes were proportionate in size to that of the Federation, Cardassian, Klingon and Romulan Empires, whom the mobile represented in all their lifeless glory.

As were the many colors of light merely a reflection off the dazzling robes of the aforementioned divine and superior entity known to the worlds of worlds, men, beasts, voles and targs alike, as his Excellency, the royal, the regal, the Q.

Q grinned. A handsome figure in humanoid form, as in any other, he didn't mind concurring with the thunderous round of applause greeting his entrance. Their cheers. Their tears. Their promised threats of suicide. The mobile carried by his omnipotent and powerful hand.

"Whoops!" Q could have dropped the mobile and that would have been the end of that, but he did not. Benevolent, kind, he simply set the mobile to gently swaying in tune with the somber tolling of bells, continuing his horror story of death, destruction and mayhem. Blood, guts and gore, for the benefit of those who were interested, and in particular for the benefit of those who were not, walking the mobile over to Humpty-Dumpty sitting on his low, stone wall. "The Klingon-Cardassian situation has once again achieved critical…"

Humpty eyed Q with mild apprehension. Q smiled to alleviate any fear, merely borrowing a spot beside Humpty to set the mobile down with a promise for the delicate little egg. "It is a prophetic story of action and adventure in which you play a major role."

This seemed to satisfy Humpty. He granted Q the opportunity and time needed to finish his long-winded piece.

"Escalating into several sectors of the Alpha and Beta Quadrants," Q resumed to reference the future of a conflict to end all conflicts however tired and old that particular cliché. "Involving and alarming many. The Federation in response to a number of interested parties — principally Cardassia, and beyond her, Romulus — has proposed a bipartisan Committee assembly to review the issue and make recommendations…A committee, by any other name, a Task Force," he momentarily digressed to devilishly disclose. "But then beyond Cardassia's interests, and those as always numerous petty complaints, there are the major points of the balance of power within the quadrants should the Klingon Empire prevail. As is," he shrugged, "the political stability of the Klingon Empire unto itself a question…

"As is," he assured, his voice dropping emphatic and low, "the position of those endearing twins Romulus and Remus. Rumor has it Cardassia has been in negotiations with the Romulan Star Empire for assistance. In response, rumblings from the Klingon home world span arrogant disinterest all the way to propositions of a Klingon-Romulan allegiance rather than a Cardassia-Romulan one. Either way Destiny might write the ending, a Cardassian-Romulan alignment would alter the balance of power within the quadrants. Not beyond the worry that if the Klingons are successfully routed from Cardassian Space, will the Romulans then leave? If not, or if so, where will the allegiance…

"Of Cardassia and the Romulans then go? O?" Q haughtily eyed the arguably timely appearance of a divine Organian disgustingly pure in his lavish white light and decrepit humanoid form. "On the Klingon side of the line a Klingon-Romulan Empire would alter the balance of power, insure the final downfall of Cardassia, and where in turn, would their allegiance go from there….I'm getting there," Q argued against the silent pressure of the Organian so insufferably impatient as the rest of his uncompromisingly merciful race. "The Big Four distinctly in danger of becoming the Big Three, faces the ultimate reality of becoming the Big One. A Klingon-Romulan Empire or Klingon-Cardassian one would dwarf the Federation. A point it's told, Cardassia has made repeatedly in her petitions to the Federation for assistance. Underscored by the fact Cardassia has no intentions of fading quietly into oblivion with or without the UFP's help…and then there is, of course," Q waved, elaborating on the obvious for those who still refused to pay attention, "the aside issue of the newest fledgling Peoples Government of Cardassia. Instituted by a coup, it could find itself ousted by a coup. From there the resurgence of a Stratocractic Union overseen by the dreaded Obsidian Order and obnoxious Central Command. Furthermore," he nodded to the Organian nodding along with him, "there exists the ongoing threat of the Dominion. The Borg ever-hovering in the background, et cetera, et cetera. There are a multitude of problems and possibilities in other words and something has to be done about them…" Q's voice faded away as did he and his accompanying aura of light much to Humpty's relief who pulled a pillow out from behind his wall, propped it against the mobile, and promptly went off to sleep.

Q reemerged in a desert, his dazzling robes and blazing crown subdued to a brightly gilded red, the divine Organian nowhere around. He sat at a table, square in shape, its four legs cut unevenly, balancing its weight precariously in the dusty sand. The entire tabletop was a chessboard adorned with oddly shaped figures the unpleasant color of burnt wood and all so strikingly individual in size. Three vacant chairs of unrelated styles from rusted chrome to polished stone, sat waiting in vain for their occupants around the table's empty sides. Q continued talking while playing with the figurines. "And so it is not surprising that the response to the Federation's suggestion was overwhelming. From the farthest and the nearest regions they came. The Federation worlds. The friendly worlds, and even the hostile ones. Delegates, diplomats, their assistants and their aides. Their number into the hundreds, and all gathered together on a remote outpost by the name of Silas 4. A former Federation colony, since the time of the oldest Federation and Cardassian wars on the Cardassian side of the line. And where better to begin their journey from into this deepest part of space? Why, naturellement, Deep Space Nine…

"While, as far as the incident..?" Q picked up a chessman, the blinding aura of colors and light returning on a sweeping wave across the sand. "There were two. One was a matter of coincidence. The other was War." He set the chessman down in checkmate to the King. His props, setting, the last of his words, slowly fading into the light. "The committee's Magistrate was Vulcan. The Romulans were there as observers…

"But, first," Q sighed, halted in his escape by the pressure of a hand pressing down on his wrist; the divine Organian had returned. "Something needs to be done in the not too distant present of future's past otherwise chances are no one will live to die at Silas 4. How droll."

To the contrary, the incorporeal Organian was a being steeped in wisdom so far more advanced than his simple white robes and elderly flesh might suggest. He not only understood the Bajoran prophecy of utter doom and death to a galaxy waiting a mere five generations in the wind, he wanted to do something about it. But then he had stood on the worlds of the Federation and Klingon a century in Time ago in the auspicious age of Federation Captain James T. Kirk, and he would stand on them and others again throughout this millennia and on into the next, if the need arose, until the humanoids learned to stand on their own.

"The seeds of life," the Organian pressed the seeds of change, otherwise known as the seeds of Bajoran grapes, into Q's unwilling and playful fist. "The fruits of the vine are bountiful and plenty. The juice of their harvest still far too bitter to drink. But if you kill the vine of vinegar…"

"I know, I know," Q didn't necessarily mean to yell, "you'll never drink the wine. The quaint symbolism of your prophecy has not escaped me…" He turned from the Organian sitting down to the glowing figure of the Bajoran Kai Opaka divine in her own omnipotent right, and parked at the head of the table across from him; the lingering fourth chair still unoccupied. "But then I, too, am divine. It's not the future of the galaxy I debate, it is the question of the millennia I repeat. Your Prophets called upon me for assistance, I answered, now kindly expound on what you would like…the three of us to do…" The vacant seat to his left cried out for his attention. Q ignored it to toy with a remarkably grotesque chessman carved in the astounding likeness of one of the blackest of black Knights, Cardassia's Gul Dukat, a seriously ugly man. "When you say vinegar…" Q mused. "When you speak of all things dreary, dark, and vile wallowing in debauchery and everything else obscene…"

"She speaks of Chancellor Gowron as well." The Organian had this thing about the Klingons, he really did.

"They come of their own accord," Opaka tipped her frail and ancient head. The weight of her world as light or as heavy as the crowning cap of the Bajoran Vedeks she wore.

"Do they?" With a flick of his fingers Q sent Dukat shooting into his next life and on into his next as he bounced across the sand finally coming to rest upside down, his feet where his head should be, and his head, of course, the other way around.

"Future's guardians, I take you to mean." Q continued to deny any interest in the identity of their absent fourth guest be it a guest, a partner, or enemy of the universe with an egotistical smile for the all-enlightened Organian. A bleeding heart liberal, Q suspected, as well as a muddleheaded fool. Someone who would have preferred to have been given the opportunity to hold onto Dukat for safekeeping rather than leave him unattended regardless of how upside down he appeared to be with his head stuffed firmly in the sand.

"Yes," the Organian confessed.

"I'm sure there are few other species who would even profess to care," Q smirked to Opaka. "Getting back to those guardians — they better hurry up. Silas 4 is a year, no more than two Federation years in the distance, her destiny waiting, not going away. In another time, universe, galaxy, dimension or place, your cantankerous Prefect Dukat not only has the desire and means to destroy all that is and subsequently all that should have come after, he's no doubt doing so as we speak…

"In this universe, however…" Q rose from his seat in all his immense power and glory, so much more than merely capable of defending a galaxy he occasionally, if not fondly, looked upon as Home from the likes of some far greater adversary than the ego of his putrid Dukat. "This galaxy, dimension, time and place, he's the least of Q's concerns…

"Though we understand," he respectfully tipped his gilded red crown following a disgruntled glance over the Organian trying his hand at stomping his foot down on the hem of Q's gown in a valiant, though vain effort to keep him in line, "Dukat's tireless penchant for wreaking havoc while boring in Q's opinion, is obnoxious in yours."

"Five harvests," Opaka nodded in agreement with her Prophets' prophecy, before the grapes of vinegar became the grapes of wine. "The legacy of Prefect Dukat is not his past, nor his present, nor his future…"

"But the unborn soul of an intra-galactical savior of mixed and unmentionable descent five generations and four centuries in Time…Two Federation years at best until the incident at Silas 4," Q's interjection included a reminder, withdrawing a long and lengthy scroll from the breast of his voluminous robes. "First things first before none of us are here to drink the wine, erstwhile efforts of your Emissary and mon Capitaine Sisko aside. Now, the way I think we should proceed…"

The Organian's hand clamped over his wrist. Q sighed with a second dignified nod of his regal bonnet to Opaka. "Fine. It's your prophecy, we'll try it your way first — though I insist," he stressed, "be it now and forever recorded in the official minutes of this historical tête-à-tête, unmindful of the infinite number of universes and their infinite possibilities, in this realm of existence there is no UFC. Merely a unified understanding of how we live here as well, and grumble and complain all they want, the lower lifeforms shall and will clean up their act, or we shall and will clean it up for them."

Silence fell over the small group of two, his words so profound. A day passed and then another in the mortal measurement of things. Here it wasn't very long at all before Q began tapping his toe, the Organian frowning, Opaka faceless with her blank Bajoran stare. "Hello," Q inclined forward. "C. Continuums. Get it? There may be a United Federation of P, Planets, but there is no UFC."

"Agreed," Opaka called forth the soul of the child Tora Ziyal, half-Bajoran daughter of the Cardassian has-been Gul Dukat. A young woman of early twenties, in death as she had been in life, Ziyal was decidedly Cardassian in her physical appearance as well as her choice of dress. Her feminine frame heavy and strong. Her ecto-skeleton softened just slightly by her mixed blood, the only thing even remotely Bajoran about her was the awkward addition of those ridges across the bridge of her nose. Nevertheless she was, and had been loved. By someone, somewhere, in some and other points in time, and she was loved by her Prophets now. The divinity of their eternal eyes able to see beyond the superficial; if they couldn't, they wouldn't be divine.

"The fate of the galaxy shall not be sealed in the graveyard of space between Terok Nor and the Cardassian outpost Silas 4," Opaka spoke candidly to Ziyal of the perilous state of things. "As it shall not be sealed along the borders of our worlds, the halls of Terok Nor, the trials of one or all, nor by the one called O'Brien. The Time of Hagalaz is one of hope and light, not the despair of darkness and death. Under the guidance of your eldest brother the contribution of the Cardassian Union to the galaxy shall be one of silence for twenty years, not war. But as the children of all your siblings and their mates cannot exist without their parents, neither can the soul of your youngest brother flourish and be born if his mother dies before your father or your father dies before her. Seek your father's penance for his many sins and more than you shall fail. Seek the power and strength of his arrogance and the child of his eternal mate shall rise above the stench of his heritage. Though the adversaries of his parents are powerful and many, his fate is not only one of bigotry and hate, but that of a trusted friend and advisor to the Emissary Sisko in his twilight years. Do you understand?"

"I believe so, yes," Ziyal answered cautiously. A novice in her Bajoran heritage while living, Q understood, she was earnestly attempting to learn her role now that she was dead. "All I have to do is figure out a way to convince my father…unfortunately," she sighed heavily with the weighty knowledge of a daughter, "I don't think preservation of the galaxy qualifies as one of my father's deeper concerns. He's a coward and a scoundrel, he really is. So much more so than even I have cared to think…oh, my," Ziyal's watery Cardassian eyes blinked suddenly and wide. "Why, I believe I might have an idea after all. Yes, I believe I just might."

"Oh, good," Q yawned his approval. "Dare I profess to speak for Captain Sisko no doubt waiting to hear your idea with baited breath, the same as I…" he paused to gape at the unoccupied fourth chair. "The trials of the one called O'Brien? What, in the name of your Prophets' wildest fantasies, does Chief Engineer Miles Edward O'Brien have to do with protecting and preserving the flesh of Dukat, and hence the galaxy, for the next four hundred years? Speak!"

"They come of their own accord," Opaka dipped her head.

"Future's guardians," Ziyal clarified. "As do its adversaries."

PRESUMED GUILTY PART ONE

CHAPTER ONE

Stardate: 10…9…8…7…6…

The remote sector of Bajoran Space on the edge of her outermost colonies exploded with disruptors ripping through the eternal, silent blackness. Their brilliant flashes of might illuminating the immediate area surrounding the two Klingon Birds-of-Prey pitting themselves against the equally determined Cardassian transport a ghastly purplish-white.

"I thought the war was over!" The youthful face of Gul Dukat's sixteen year old son Pfrann, second eldest of the former Emperor of Cardassia's lengthy list of heirs, contorted in rage as he screamed at the elbow of his eldest brother manning the central weapons control station aboard the bridge of their transport where it was hardly quiet.

Pfrann's scream then, their resident Vorta clone Weyoun made a silent and generally disinterested note, was solely meant in an effort to be heard above the head-pounding echo of the Klingon strikes. The bridge in imminent danger of disintegrating around them. The smell of burning plasma nearing intoxicating levels as the scattered fires continued to spread quickly.

"Someone forgot to tell the Klingons." Gul Anon Dukat, the eldest, and commander of the transport, though only of the youthful age of twenty-three himself, was equally disinterested for the moment; both as to why his brother might be screaming, as well as the condition of his bridge. Instead, he stood intently focused on getting his weapons array to respond. The heated air around him intense even for a cold-blooded Cardassian, sweat stained his heavily boned face and corded neck. His watery red eyes steely in their concentrated frown when he glanced up from the console to the dimming forward screen with its distorted view of the enemy craft.

"Bring us around," he instructed his helmsman, his voice quiet in its authority. A personal trait that might be considered to be unusual by some being as he was the eldest son of one of the more flamboyant and emotionally charged personalities of the times.

"Attempting," his helm agreed.

"Don't attempt," Anon corrected, "do it."

Somehow they managed to. By the hand of some divine fate, they managed to maneuver the ponderous frame of their transport back around to face the far more lithe Birds-of-Prey at the same time Anon managed to coerce his weapons array into working.

The phasers struck a direct and fatal hit, rocketing one of the Klingon battle cruisers and her crew of howling warriors into their spirit world.

"Yes!" Anon's fist struck the console in triumphant satisfaction. The radiance of the fiery debris blinding as it filled the viewer screen moments before the rippling waves of tormented energy abruptly released by the destruction of the Klingon warp core struck, knocking the transport a few thousand meters off the beaten path, and sending Anon and his crew flying.

It was pitch dark until the ship's emergency lighting flickered to half light. The only sounds to be heard, the crackling angry snaps of the electrical fires.

"Damn." Anon remained lying on his back on the floor for another moment deeply breathing in the acidic air before shifting himself into a sitting position. The flesh of his left hand painfully charred and blistered, blood slowly stained the front of his uniform, seeping from around a shard of steel piercing the woven armor of his tunic and the leathery skin of his left breast. He stood up, working to pull the triangle hunk of shrapnel loose.

"Anon!" His brother was at his side, concern in his voice.

"Sire." The clown white face of the clone Weyoun was at his other side, ghoulish anticipation in his.

"No, I'm all right," Anon reassured his brother, ignoring Weyoun. "Get me an injury count."

"And a damage report," Weyoun added to that, not that he had been asked.

"I don't want a damage report," Anon corrected Weyoun's instructions, not quite as polite in his quiet authority.

"You don't want a report..." Weyoun stopped to duck in an effort to avoid the resulting thin spray of blood as Anon managed to pry the metal loose from his chest in the same manner as one would pop a cork from a bottle.

"No," Anon tossed his bloodied souvenir aside to resume his post at his weapons console. Weyoun stood there looking down on his splattered shirt. "The damage I can see. I want to know how many injured men I have -- and whether or not we have shields," he instructed his helm as he eyed his failing screen and the remaining Bird-of-Prey coming around for a final strike at them, prepared for the kill. "Don't worry about the engines -- "

"Six injured," his brother joined him.

"Keep your fingers crossed it stays only six," Anon nodded. "Shields are down throughout."

"What?" The younger stared at his elder.

"Yes, well, your father, you certainly aren't," Weyoun agreed, not meaning to suggest his former Emperor would be crying in the corner over an injured shoulder, but he certainly would be screaming.

"Sorry to disappoint you." Anon's fist engaged his phasers with some timely advice for his brother. "Prepare for impact." Phasers charged at seventy-five percent struck the Klingon battle cruiser dead on less than a thousand meters off the transport's forward bow.

"Not to say I know your father personally," Weyoun attempted to maintain his balance as the first of a staggering series of shock waves vibrated through the ship's unprotected hull with the force of hurricane winds. "Maybe you should have reconsidered that part about the engines."

"Maybe I should have," Anon acknowledged a second before everything whirled to black.

He regained consciousness fifteen minutes later to find himself miraculously still alive, as was his brother, the rest of his small bridge crew, and unfortunately the tiring Weyoun. Below decks the injured count had risen to eight, two of them critically.

"Forward engines are responding at impulse," Pfrann reported in relief.

"Good. Now you give me some good news, Tan," Anon hammered away at his console in search of his Chief Engineer, his breathing slightly labored.

"Oxygen's only at fifty percent," his brother nodded.

"Such as my life support systems, Tan. They're working, right?" Anon swiped annoyed at Weyoun's hand passing a field unit over his head for some reason.

"You're speaking with a rather annoying guttural accent," Weyoun informed him. "Trust me. I can hear it. You must have damaged your universal translator when you struck your head."

"Learn Cardassian and you won't have to be concerned about it," Anon settled that, the ship lurching as the engines suddenly failed and he moved to assist his brother.

"Orbit is beginning to deteriorate -- "

"That might not be a bad idea," Anon agreed.

"What?" Pfrann stared at him.

The buckled door of the main docking bay of the transport finally popped free, landing with a dull thud on the sandy Bajoran terrain. Anon and his Cardassians emerged to stand shivering in the cool, orange sunlight, breathing in fresh air for the first time in several hours.

"So much for not being able to land one of these things," Weyoun cynically mentioned, dusting himself off.

"No one says you can't land 'one of these things'," Anon accepted a thin, insulated shirt tossed his way, tossing a second one to his brother. "It's just not recommended."

"I can't imagine why," Weyoun drawled. "Certainly it was one of the smoothest spins through the layers of a planet's atmosphere I have ever experienced -- Go on," he encouraged Anon; the Gul paused in his disrobing to eye the battle-scarred hull of his ship. "If you're cold, you're cold. To me, seventy degrees is seventy degrees. To you, I am aware it is something else entirely.

"Still, I wouldn't worry about it," he continued while Anon pulled off his tunic to pull on his shirt, briefly exposing a set of plated pectorals that would inspire fear in some, nausea in others, and at least a glance or two from the rest of the known species of the galaxy's four quadrants. "Not with a chest like that. No one's liable to say too much. Not out loud.

"Unless, of course, they're Klingon," he shrugged as Anon straightened his dignity along with his rank. "Bajoran. Jem'Hadar..." his cold, thin smile, met Anon's cold, glowering stare. "I know. You don't like me. You can't imagine what it is about my species your father might have begun to find amusing.

"Of course your father didn't find us amusing," he followed along behind Anon moving on to check with his men busy scanning the area for any Maquis cells hidden among Bajoran colonists sure to greet them with open arms. "Anymore than it's my understanding we found him particularly entertaining. He found us necessary. Somewhere along the line that became confused with bringing the Dominion to its knees...Bowing to him, of course," he inclined his head.

"You're right," Anon agreed, "I don't like you. Don't make me repeat it. I also hate repeating myself -- about as much as I hate inane banter," he stressed with a meaningful hint.

"You really aren't your father," Weyoun tittered in his irritating cackle. "Not that that's necessarily a criticism." But then he was privy to the same rumors as everyone else of a thoroughly disagreeable man now gone insane. As if there hadn't been a question regarding his Emperor Dukat's sanity for the past several years.

"And don't," Anon's field unit caught Weyoun on the tip on his nose, "try to flatter me."

"I'll keep it in mind," Weyoun lied. "While reminding you at this most inappropriate time of how the Dominion has officially withdrawn any support of your beloved Cardassia, leaving you to your own well deserved demise."

"I'll cry tomorrow," Anon snorted.

"Yes," Weyoun supposed he would. "In the meantime…" he gave up his worthless attempt to read over the heavy shoulders of Anon's towering giant of a Chief Engineer, Tan. "What do we have, if I may ask? Aside from a weighty piece of salvage and a series of worthless engines?"

"A small village," Tan identified for Anon the whole of their immediate potential for trouble. "Thirty or so of them..."

"About twenty kilometers," Anon nodded. "Energy readings are limited. I believe that, don't you?"

Tan snorted. "About as much as I believe in their Prophets."

"Well..." Weyoun considered, "I don't suppose we can tell by their energy readings if they are farmers or militia?"

"I've never met anyone from the militia who wasn't a farmer, have you?" Anon tossed the field unit back to Tan with a wink for his brother striding up, ready to fight to protect, defend, whatever he needed to do. "Stay with Tan and our cargo. We need it as much as we need each other."

"Nor a farmer who wasn't in the militia," Weyoun agreed with Anon giving a shout for a round of phaser rifles fully charged and the men to go with them. "Yes, we probably could use a few of those, couldn't we? Or at least you could," he smiled at Anon surrendering to looking at him. "But then I believe your father's Advisor Weyoun repeatedly attempted to explain to him that to ostracize the Bajoran people was really not in his best interest."

"That," Anon acknowledged, checking his phaser rifle over before reaching to grab Weyoun up by the scruff of his collar, "is about the only thing I might find questionable about my father's actions."

"What?" Weyoun said as he was lifted up off the tip of his toes.

"What, what?" Anon smiled. "Do you really think I would leave you here? Do you really think I would ever trust you? Do you really think I am not at least my father's son?" he needlessly wondered last.

"Unfortunately no to all three," Weyoun sighed.

"Smart man," Anon approved with his increasingly irritating accent that he personally was beginning to like -- until he had to talk to someone he needed to talk to who didn't understand Cardassian any more than Weyoun did.

"No, we come as friends!" Anon and his armed troupe of six descended down on the small farming township with phaser rifles fixed.

"Friends?" Weyoun startled along with the few Bajorans scattered in the village center. "You're pointing phasers rifles at them."

"Shut up." Anon waved his rifle at one particularly dangerous looking eight year old standing with her pregnant mother. "Call your tribe in from the fields -- we want your Elder!"

He paused there, briefly for a moment, to exasperatedly hammer himself in the side of the head with his fist. "Tribe? Did I just say tribe? Yes, I heard myself say tribe."

"Oh, for pity's sake..." Weyoun flashed a welcoming smile for the obviously harmless group of two being joined by a few others. All of them understandably mesmerized by the Cardassian commander punching himself in the head. "I told you, your universal translator isn't working correctly."

"I know it isn't working," Anon sputtered, "I can hear it!"

"So can they," Weyoun assured, highly doubting if a universal translator would be found among the lowly troupe of peasants, and that was fine with him. His was working perfectly. "Advisor Weyoun of the Vorta," he gushed to the puzzled looks slowly releasing Anon to regard him with mild interest. "He's quite right. The Dominion is your friend...And, well..?" he said, as far as Anon standing there talking to himself and punching himself the head? "He's Cardassian. What else can I really say?"

"Not too much, apparently," one of the approaching Bajoran farmers chuckled; a tall man with a weather-worn smile creasing his face. His wife and daughter's stifled laughs agreeing with him as Anon stopped hammering at himself to hammer Weyoun back into line with the butt of his rifle.

The summoned Town Elder went a step further in capturing the Cardassians frowning attention than his amused townspeople as he moved forward, out from the ranks of the farmers to command center stage. A courageous act. Not so much the words the Bajoran spoke, or his provocative, relaxed stance. His face. It was an aging one belonging to Bajor's illustrious First Minister Shakaar Adon being worn by someone else with white hair and blue eyes. "No, please," he implored the annoyed and apparently injured young Gul faced off against them as if he were still in the heat of his battle. "Have mercy on yourself, Commander, not only us -- we can understand you. Yes, completely. Without any difficulty at all."

"You speak Cardassian?" Anon recovered from the unexpected to regard the smiling Elder suspiciously. Wondering if that face of Shakaar's was joke the townspeople were laughing at; he knew it wasn't him. They wouldn't dare.

"Oh, yes." He was assured by the peasant in his worn and lowly cloak of rough cotton. "As most my age do...Even though you are speaking Bajoran...to me." The Elder's nod moved thoughtfully from the tightened face of the broad and powerful looking Cardassian with his glittering red eyes to that tunic with its darkened purple stain that, to him, suggested a substantial loss of blood. "Klingons? They have been slow in communicating the cease fire to their troops. Something about trouble with their deep space relay stations."

"Militia..." Anon decided, meaning the Elder and what had to be his true identity. "Ridiculous. We have destroyed the Maquis."

"Universal translators, at least," the Bajoran smiled again. "I am Anar. Town Elder of our small settlement. If you will permit my granddaughter -- Again for your own benefit," he inclined his head when Anon stiffened in anticipating of stopping anyone from leaving; one harmless child or not. "We have a doctor with us. Janice..."

"We need a doctor," Anon insisted. "I have eight injured men."

"Not with you apparently," Anar agreed since all others appeared to be quite fine.

"No," Anon assured, "with my transport. You must have seen us."

"Probably," Anar shrugged. "Either that or heard. I'm sure someone did. I really wasn't paying attention."

"No, you were out in your fields," Anon silenced him with a wave of his rifle. "You confuse me with someone who cares."

No more than he confused the ragged weeds in the distant background to be grain. Anar maintained his passive posture, daring to contradict the Gul calmly. "No one's out in the fields. They're all at the Temple with Janice...Meeting in prayer," he offered Anon continuing to eye him as if expecting the face of Shakaar Adon to change into someone else's; it wasn't going to.

"Yes, all right," Anon finally gave another wave with his rifle, granting permission. "Send your granddaughter for this -- Janice?" his stare crinkled into a frown.

"Janice Lange," Anar nodded after his little Nadya darting off in compliance. "She's...Well, obviously," he granted, "if she's a she, she's a woman."

"Sounds Human." The Vorta added to that with his dripping smile that Anar personally trusted less than the Cardassian's glower. "Or at least Federation. Is that what you were going to say?"

"You're half right," Anar acknowledged without clarifying which. Nadya rejoined shortly them with an interesting statement.

"Janice said to tell you she can't come right now."

Anar sighed. The child, never mind the Cardassians, was destined to be the death of him. One would think of all the things he had managed to learn over the past six months, Janice would have managed to learn one thing. "Tell Janice she has to," he corrected his granddaughter gently, not to alarm her, or enrage their guests. "Gul…"

"Dukat," Weyoun supplied.

It was Anar's turn to pause. "Dukat?" he repeated to Anon. "Meaning you? Or meaning..?"

"No, meaning him," Weyoun nodded playfully. "You're quite right. It is quite a name to live up to -- or to live down."

"Actually," Anar offered Anon, "all I was going to say is it doesn't change anything if you have Gul Dukat or Jem'Hadar among your group. Janice would never stand for our apathy, I'm afraid. And we gave up arguing with her about it quite some time ago."

"I am Gul Dukat," Anon assured. "Who are among my group are Cardassians."

"As is their commander among his own listing of wounded," Anar agreed with a nod for that tunic.

"And what will not change," the young Gul inclined forward in an effort to look particularly dangerous and deadly for this poised and confident Bajoran who may have survived his father's Occupation, but wouldn't necessarily survive his, "is your assistance. Or I will kill your tribe, beginning with your pregnant daughter, and take your doctor."

As the Federation would say it was a flip of a coin if he would or he wouldn't. He might. But then again if Anar truly believed and trusted the infinite wisdom of the Prophets, it was always possible this Gul Dukat was as terrified of the prospect of having to kill a pregnant woman than he was of losing his position in front of his men.

"Elise," Anar identified his son's wife with a smile, comfortable with the secrets of the ages even if he wasn't comfortable with the reality of the age. "And, no, you won't. Not because you're not capable, simply because you won't have to."

Anar's granddaughter reemerged from the Temple with an athletic looking young woman in male dress and hiking boots. Her complexion reddened and tanned from the Bajoran sun. Her wildly wiry, long brown hair pulled back in a loose tail tied down by a primitive leather strap.

"She's Human?" Anon questioned with a puzzled scrutiny of the hair that looked traditionally Klingon to him.

"Yes," Anar replied. "The half that was right."

"What?" Anon's frown turned on him.

"Janice is a Neutral, not Federation," Anar explained. "Ardently so."

"Neutral," Anon turned back to the woman standing in front of him with a soft and pleasant expression on her face that he did not know was considered by Human standards to be attractive. A smile he understood, though dismissed it. "Our scans said only Bajorans are here."

"That can also be explained," Anar promised.

"I know it can be explained," Anon assured.

"Now?" Anar blinked.

"Later," Anon grunted, something else on his mind, anyway. "Why are you staring at me?" he irritably questioned the woman who had dropped her smile to peer at him curiously for some reason.

"Oh," Janice replied as pleasantly and curiously as the expression on her face. "Well, why are you shouting? I can hear you back at the Temple."

"Ah...well, yes, you are shouting," Anar diplomatically cleared his throat as Anon hesitated. "But that's all right."

"No, it isn't all right," Janice shook her head.

"Yes, it is all right," Anar quickly corrected her foolishness. "His universal translator isn't working correctly, Janice."

"Oh," Janice said that time with a frown for Anon's bloody tunic. "Is it in your chest? Nadya said something about you punching yourself in the head -- "

He grabbed her wrist when she reached out to touch him.

"Ask his permission first…" Anar hinted through tightly pursed lips, casually looking up and around.

"Permission?" Janice blinked into Anon's unblinking red eyes. "But you called me. I'm Doctor Lange."

"Gul Dukat," he informed her.

Who? She really wanted to ask him. He presented his name as if she should know him immediately. She didn't. Vaguely familiar, Anar knew, was as close as she could get. He sighed again.

Dukat read something else in the child's silence. "Anon Dukat," he groaned heavily in exasperation. The constant battle to establish his own identity outside his father's no more tiring than it was that day. "Yes, Anon Dukat. Gul Anon Dukat. Son to the Imperial Emperor -- "

"Janice Lange," the woman interrupted him with emphasis and a light laugh; he returned to eyeing her. "Daughter to the Imperial Harrison Lange."

"Who?" Anon said.

"My father," Janice shrugged. "He could be a dictator too when he wanted to be."

"A dictator?" Anon repeated to Anar.

"A dictator," Janice promised. "May I have a look at your chest now, Anon? Or I'm just going to go back to the Temple -- not to be rude," she reassured Anar. "I really am very busy. I'm sure he can understand...If not respect that," she smiled again at Anon. "But then ryetalyn is an antidote, not a vaccine."

"Ryetalyn?" Anon had heard that word somewhere before.

"Yes, ryetalyn," Janice nodded. "You're below the fever line. Didn't you know that?"

Apparently not. "Did you just say fever line?" The Vorta Weyoun paled, paler than he already was as Anon and his men looked among themselves.

"Rigelian fever?" Janice offered Anon looking back at her. "You didn't know, did you? Half of the systems in this sector have been under quarantine for the last two months -- Not that that's detoured the Klingons," she admitted. "But you can't blame them, they're right. Where there's Rigelian fever, there's someone who has the antidote. You probably ran into a scouting party."

"I have a transport full of vital supplies I must get to Cardassia!" Anon dropped her hand to grasp her tightly by those frail shoulders she wore under her shirt, his face tight and pulsating with fury. Anar felt himself rear, ready to strike out in the child's defense but for some reason he wasn't moving. Neither was his son or any of them. The Prophets' will far more powerful than anyone's. "I don't have time for any stupid Federation games!"

"Federation games?" Janice wasn't trying to sound dense.

"Tricks! Ploys! Call them what you like, Janice Lange!"

"You have a hole in your chest, Anon," she reminded him. "Is that a stupid Cardassian game?"

"What?" he stopped.

"Bring your men to the Temple," she eased herself loose of him. "I'll do what I can to help you. I have a wonderful old mummy I found in the grotto last year if I get stuck with anything."

The Gul's expression was questioning. Confused. Anar cleared his throat again. "Actually, Janice's doctorate is in anthropology."

"With a second doctorate in forensic sciences," Janice grinned. "Not to brag. I'm an archeologist."

It wasn't an answer Anon believed he wanted to hear distorted by his translator or otherwise. "Forensic," he took a faltering step back from her, listening to his heart starting to pound. "Forensic...That's dead. Death. After someone has died..."

"For heaven's sake, you're not afraid of me, are you?" The woman was peering at him again.

"No, I am not afraid of you," Anon insisted. "I just think you are too young to have..." he wiped at his perspiring face, feeling the ground sway.

"Two doctorates?" Janice said. "I'm twenty-three. Is that still too young?"

"To be a doctor, or to be a Gul?" Anar wondered as Anon stiffened, or tried to before he fainted. "Probably yes to both. But that's all right, he'll take it."

CHAPTER TWO

He woke up in the Temple next to her wonderful old mummy that was not only female, but Bajoran, the suffocating stench of their incense threatening his stomach. "You think I look like her?"

"Well, no," Janice admitted from under her surgical mask as she sat there painting her bowl of broad, flat leaves with a thick, purple ointment. "Why? Did I say she was Cardassian?"

"You said she could give you information," he made an effort to sit up to see what she was doing; the effort failed. He fell back onto his back under a heavy weight holding him down.

"She can," she promised. "She gave me her recipe for the prevention of post-operative infection, and/or infection due to plasma burns -- see?" she held up one of her leaves before pressing it in place on his arm. "Guaranteed to last a minimum of four thousand years. What's best of all, it really works."

"Plasma burns," Anon scoffed. "I suppose she died of plasma burns."

"No more than she died from someone stabbing her in the chest with a knife."

"Ha!" Anon corrected her. "You mean a piece of my ship, and I took it out."

"Ha!" she corrected him. "You mean you broke it off. Not too bright."

"Really," Anon looked her up and down. "Why do you say that?"

"Because you cut your fingers when you did it," she picked up his hand to show him the little tell-tale slits in his fingertips. "And I almost cut mine trying to dig it out. Don't do it again. Which you probably will."

"The Klingons look worse," Anon struggled to see down over his chin to what he really looked like. "Why did you say I have to wear this stupid grass?"

"Do you really want purple goop all over your nice silver shirt?"

"What?"

"Because the Klingons who were here before your friends took our replicators the Klingons before them left?" Janice suggested. "And bandages are a precious commodity when you're a week by shuttle from the nearest outpost even if you weren't under quarantine and had a shuttle, which we are and don't?"

"Oh," Anon frowned, trying to piece it all together. "Why did the Klingons before the ones who took your supplies, leave them?"

"Because we still had men who could fight then," Anar let go of his shoulders to give him a hand up. "Those of our colony who didn't join the Federation in the Dominion

war, ended up succumbing to the fever. We were very lucky Janice managed to locate a supply of ryetalyn, otherwise there would have been no one here when your transport crashed."

"It didn't crash," Anon assured. "I ordered the landing to repair the engines. Where did you find your ryetalyn? How did you get it if you can't leave here? Why wouldn't someone bring you bandages when they brought you your antidote?"

"Are you always this suspicious?" Janice teased.

"Answer me!" Anon insisted.

"All right," she shrugged. "They did bring me bandages. See?" she held one up, ready to wrap around his arm and keep his leaves in place. "But this way we can conserve what we have by using them for wraps and the leaves as the dressing. After that, we're back to cloth."

"Maquis," Anon nodded. "No one brought you anything. You stole it."

"Neutral," Janice shook her head. "Human Neutral born on Martian Colony 3 to Doctors Harrison and Rebecca Lange, also archeologists, also Neutrals. My father believed if you really wanted to get anywhere in this galaxy -- or at least get to see anything in this galaxy," she agreed, "the best way to do it was as a Neutral. He was right. Anar was afraid though once the war started my neutral status wouldn't be enough to protect me…so he gave me this…" she pushed up her sleeve to show him her implant. "It's a tiny, little transmitter that blocks your scans from recognizing my DNA as Human. To your systems, I'm just another tree."

"It's easy when you know how," Anar offered Anon. "And, yes, I admit, fifty years of Occupation, fifty years in the Resistance, I do know how. But we're still not Maquis. Janice would have taken her mummy and left us long before now."

"For where?" Anon scoffed at Janice. "It's pretty naïve of you to think your neutral status really means anything, anymore than that toy can protect you."

"Well, it's pretty naïve of you to think it doesn't mean anything," she handed him his shirt, "because it does. To me. That'll be bandages and a couple of weeks rations when you leave us. Until then Anar says you can use the town center -- if you want to stay in the village with your men. Or you can go back to your transport. I'd like it if you didn't. We have enough of the antidote to share, but why increase the risk of exposure to your men since you do have, or you will have Rigelian fever?"

"You don't know that," Anon shook his head.

"I do know that," she nodded. "The same as I know your second engineer has a lacerated liver. I've managed to stop the hemorrhaging, and Anar has issued a distress call to the outpost for their doctor. But it will be a week before he's here, if he'll come. I don't know if your engineer will live a week even with blood transfusions we may be able to take from your crew, but we can try -- "

"Try?" Anon interrupted.

She blinked. "Yes, try. You're not suggesting we shouldn't, are you?"

"No, of course I'm not suggesting that," Anon waved impatiently.

"Good," Janice pulled off her mask where he could see her smile; an impression from the cloth mask creasing her face above her upper lip. "Anar can help you with working your way through the maze of this place to find your men. I'll be in the Temple giving thanks…" she counted off. "Praying for a good season. That we have enough raw serum, which I know we do, but it doesn't hurt to mention it. And that's probably about it -- Other than your engines," she pointed at him. "Anar says you're not supposed to pray to the Prophets about things like engines. But the way I look at it, the engines are what make the transport move, and the transport carries the supplies you need to get home to your people. So, definitely, I'll make sure I mention your engines."

"Yes, she's serious," Anar claimed when Anon stayed frowning after Janice as she left them. "Serious about everything she says, and everything she does."

"That would be stupid," Anon decided with a sneer. "You, too." His hard red eyes drilled into Anar. "I know that face. I've seen it."

"Shakaar Adon," Anar accepted the challenge to embrace or deny his family with an incline of his head. "A curse or a blessing I wear the face and carry the name even if I don't harbor the soul. I've heard that before, of course. All his Minister's life. A face is difficult to hide. It is your arm that is burned, not your eyes. As my eyes are fifty-eight, not blind. I know your brother's face. I've seen it. Yours is new."

"Aren't I in the Temple?" Anon insisted when Anar turned from him to move Janice's mummy back out of harm's way, reactivating her protective field so she would be certain and survive another thousand years.

"You're in the morgue, actually. Our power sources are limited. Sterile fields consume energy -- nine surgeries in a row? That's an enormous amount of energy."

"That's not a waste of energy right there?" Anon gave a stiff nod for the finely wrinkled cadaver, missing the significance of what Anar was saying.

"Yes, it is," Anar agreed. "In my opinion it is. But I'm not going to tell Janice no. She's her inspiration…Did you hear what I said to you?" his checked temper edged close to the surface over the Gul's uncompromising arrogance when what he should be expressing was gratitude. "The child just spent twelve hours saving your life and the lives of seven of your men. And no, she isn't a medical doctor."

"I heard what you said," Anon assured. "If my engineer dies your Janice Lange will pay with her life. Is that understood?"

"Actually," Anar contemplated the ceiling, standing there with his hands on his hips, "yes, it is. If not all too keenly familiar. Have confidence in yourself, Gul Dukat. I repeat, your presence is noted and effective whether we are farmers…Or whether we are…" his gaze dropped to Anon with emphasis and meaning, "in truth, surviving Maquis."

"Then why doesn't she understand it?" Anon was back to frowning in the direction Janice had left, and Anar paused.

"I asked you a question," his cold, accusing stare bore back into Anar. Still, he didn't look anything like his father at all. Not in the features of his face, or those penetrating eyes. He didn't sound like him. Not in the affectations of his voice, or its tone. He didn't stand like him. Pose, or strut like him. Did he think like him? Anar couldn't decide.

"You mean because she has two doctorates by age twenty-three?"

"That is exactly what I mean," Anon insisted. "She is an intelligent woman. She has to know it is not in her best interest to dismiss me. If she doesn't, explain it to her."

"By the Prophets I've tried to," Anar's mouth twisted in his smile. "More than about you. I'm not sure why or what Janice doesn't understand." He thought about the question. "I do know Janice isn't dismissing you. You're simply equal in her eyes perhaps? Not higher or lower than anyone? Why? I don't know," he maintained. "I've no idea what it is Janice sees when she looks at people, or even things. She was five years old when her father took her on her first dig. Close to the age I was when my father took me on my first raid. At fifty-eight I'm not the oldest Town Elder there ever was, but unfortunately, I'm also far from the youngest."

It was a poignant point. Meant to underscore the horror of a society that had endured years of occupation and war. To achieve the life span of fifty-eight years should not be the goal of a modern society, and certainly not one of a future generation.

Anon missed the point entirely. The same as he missed the romanticism and inspiration of things specific, and life in general. A flaming sunset by way of example, whether its rays inspired romance or world domination, he missed it either way. Had Anar been aboard the transport during her battle with the Klingons he would have realized it, as well as understood a part of what was confusing him now about the young Gul. It wasn't revenge, or glory that drove Anon Dukat. It was the simple fact he needed to get the Klingons off his back. Once it was over, it was over.

"Fifty years," Anar stared out at the dying embers of sunlight sprinkled through the darkening air. "I was there at the beginning, and there at the end. It is inconceivable to me how many of my people I have watched die. But, still no, I have no idea what the answer is to your question that Janice claims is very simple."

"Simple," Anon scoffed.

"That we're all the same," Anar stared thoughtfully into the shadows cloaking the landscape and moving figures outside, muting their definitions and outlines until you couldn't tell who or what they were…other than the giant whose name Anar believed was Tan. Posting guard and standing close beside the younger one whose face, contours, body and carriage was so strikingly a mirror image of the father Dukat even in the dark. Anar nodded. "Simply that we're all the same. Her doctorates didn't teach her that, nor confirm her belief for her. They merely support her -- like that mummy over there," he straightened up. "Who died of drowning, by the way. And, yes, I owe the creature a bit of thanks myself. There were a few die-hard traditionalists I can think of who lived here who would have blamed Janice's removing the mummy from her natural grave as what brought the wrath of the Prophets down upon us. First as the war. Then as the Rigelian plague. The truth is, both the war and the fever came first. We had no idea what the fever was initially. All we knew was everyone was sick and everyone was dying. Without Janice's medical background, we may never have known. Even once we knew we had to continue burying our dead until we could locate the antidote. That's how Janice found her, digging a grave. She had been doing work out here in the colonies for over a year. She had been with us for over six months, just about three weeks before the Federation-Dominion war started. And nothing. Bits of pottery, a few pieces of jewelry, and suddenly there she was. Four thousand years old, perfectly preserved. Flesh, organs. No more than a couple of meters beneath the earth. In her spare time Janice has been conducting every conceivable study on the soil, the plant life, water, air. And who knows? Perhaps there is something here of lasting value beyond a scientific quirk -- that, yes, I understand a great many of these types of discoveries can turn out to be. A once in a lifetime, and only once in a lifetime.

"There's at least that purple goop," he chuckled with an indication of Anon's hand. "As Janice calls it. A word to the wise, though. Don't let Janice's informality mislead you. She can tell you every organism and chemical there is to her compound. She concocted it from mud scrapings she took from her mummy. A premise based solely on the radical theory that if the flesh of one being could reject deterioration and infection for four thousand years, what would happen if you applied it to the burning flesh of a living body? Could it possibly control an existing infection? Assist in preventing the chronic course of re-infection? Have you ever seen Rigelian fever? Even the antidote is useless after a certain point. It certainly can't create tissue regeneration in a body that's been literally eaten away. So those scrapings would either help, or they would hurt, or they would do nothing. We prayed they would help. Our prayers were answered. Answered again two days later when Janice and I managed to locate a colony who had the ryetalyn. More importantly, willing to share."

"Why didn't you just simply give everyone the antidote once you had it?" Anon demanded coarsely.

"Why didn't those Klingon cruisers just kill you instead of it being the other way around?" Anar gripped the table in anger. "It's in the air around you. The soil. The water you drink. It has to run its course. Viruses mutate constantly from the simplest cold, to the deadliest disease!"

"Oh," Anon said, unmoved by the outburst. "What happened to her hair?"

"What?" Anar said. "Her hair?" he repeated as Anon rose from the table to put on his shirt. "Whose hair?"

"Janice's," Anon nodded. "It sticks out."

"Sticks out?" Anar glanced down the path Janice had taken. "What are you saying? That Janice's hair is some sort of measure of her ability to treat your men adequately?"

"What?" Anon turned around to him.

"No, of course you're not saying that," Anar shook his head in agreement. "You couldn't possibly be. What does Janice's hair have to do with anything? Where's the correlation? There isn't any. Is there?" he stared at Anon.

"I said her hair sticks out," Anon replied coldly.

"We were discussing the child's education and background!" Anar's fist struck the table. "I am attempting to alleviate your suspicions that Janice might harm your men. Even by way of something such as lack of education. Which would be through no fault of her own! Except even that isn't going to happen. I firmly believe Janice is quite capable of saving any man who can be saved. The same as I highly question any doctor in the galaxy could save your engineer. That man had to have been lying under a crossbeam crushing his abdomen for hours!"

"Four hours," Anon pulled on his tunic, moving to survey the mummy lying there in her tranquil state. "You are right. Janice's education is not important to me. It's important to me my man lives. I don't care who saves him. The finest doctor in the galaxy, or some Janice Lange. It is as immaterial as her hair -- Which sticks out," he assured.

"Yes," Anar agreed, fascinated. "Yes, it does. I suppose it does stick out. It stuck out like that when she came here."

"Like a Klingon's," Anon's disdainful eye strayed over the mummy. "She has the fragile face of a Bajoran and the hair of a Klingon. An air of energy, rather than mysticism around her. I've never met a Human before. I am not sure what I think of them. I am familiar with the Federation belief Cardassians and Bajorans are cousins from the same seed and it's bullshit. It's probably bullshit to suggest the Klingons and Humans are cousins, too."

"I don't believe…" Anar answered slowly, "anyone's ever proposed that particular theory before."

"Good," Anon said. "Because it doesn't make any sense to me."

He didn't look like it didn't. He looked and sounded very much like he was questioning something. Rather innocently. In a way such a child might do. Walk in a room and ask why the sky was green, blue or gold. Not because they really wanted to know necessarily, simply because it was a thought that had occurred to them.

"No," Anar cautiously pressed, "carefully constructed interrogation?"

The Gul eyed him. Understandable because it was a valid point. Even though Anar hadn't meant to voice his thinking out loud, suggesting Anon might only be asking questions because he was by nature a person who asked questions without pre-existing motives. Innocence? That was a thought Anar managed to keep to himself. There was an inconceivable air of youthful innocence alive in Anon Dukat. Unwashed away by training and the legacy of the man who sired him. What was even more inconceivable was to suggest the young Gul wasn't thinking seriously about things like surviving Maquis cells incorporated among Bajor's outer colonies. Of course he was. Innocence wasn't stupidity, it was simply innocence. Occasionally preoccupied with other things more important to it.

"I am also familiar that tribal medicines have been around for thousands of centuries on every planet in this galaxy," Anon either warned or simply mentioned. "The same," his eyes met Anar's, "as I am familiar, it is not only your viruses and diseases that mutate, but the simple principle that we are not all the same."

He didn't walk like his father either. Anar frowned after Anon striding away through the soft light of the cold, stone corridor. The pace was fast, a stalk. His back stiff and arched. The steps he took as broad as they were long as he seemed to walk from side to side as well as forward, the arms swinging along at his sides. His face set in concentration looking neither left nor right as he cleared a path for himself, unmindful of whether anyone noticed him or not, which they did. Long before they ever knew his name. A detached and unemotional, stiffly serious young man who walked…

"Like a man who's just gotten off a horse." Anar's brow remained wrinkled in its pensive wondering. "Her hair sticks out?" He still wasn't sure he fully understood that one, and so he just shook his head, tired of thinking about any Gul Dukat. "It must be me. What's in a name? The power in a name?" Was there power in a name? Could there just be something about the name Dukat that mandated the wearer strive to make a lasting impression?

"You know the answer to that without the Prophets' assistance." Anar turned to study his softly aging face reflected by the power console. Its features and aura made famous by his charismatic nephew. "And would I have likely expected you, Adon, to grace my humble township long before the flesh of Prefect Dukat. To believe the soul of a savior could be born of the womb of Cardassia is one thing. To believe one could be born of the loins of Dukat? I must say the Prophets' faith in my ability to look beyond the stench of ten million corpses is interesting. I pray for the souls of the future and those alive in its past, that it is not misplaced."

"Father?" his daughter-in-law's voice called over the com system.

"Yes?" he answered her hail.

"Just checking." Anar could hear her fear she attempted to cover with her laugh. "Your son is pacing."

"My son always paces," he assured. "Remind him you carry life in your stomach. The Prophets have never betrayed our faith and trust before, they will not betray us now. They are simply tired, as I am, of watching my children die."

"I'll tell him."

"Good."

The engineer died the following afternoon. Anar canceled the call to the outpost. Half of Anon's crew contracted Rigelian fever within three days whether he returned to the transport or not. He returned to the transport, and was one of the first to return to the village desperately sick with the plague. Janice was kind about it, teasing and joking as she reminded him how she had told him so. Assuring him yes, it was all his fault, as he lay there sweating black sweat, his temperature edging up over a hundred, delusional with visions of Klingons leaning over him.

"Whoops!" Janice caught her bowl of painted leaves and purple goop as Anon lashed out, almost sending all of her hard work flying. "No, we don't want to do that!"

"He thinks you're a Klingon," Anar laughed.

"What?"

"He's afraid of your hair."

"My hair?" Janice blinked down on the man gasping for air through his overheated skin. "Oh, my goodness. No, we can't have that either." So she borrowed his insulated shirt to tie around her head, covering her hair. "This to you looks normal," she nodded, proceeding to change his dressings without further incident. Anar just hung his head with a resigned shake. "I am wearing a shirt on my head, but this to you looks normal. Boy, are you sick."

Eighteen hours later the antidote finally took effect and Anon was better to spend the next three days violently ill from the serum. They never could get the engines to work, not well enough to lift off. Between the fever, the quarantine and the red tape, it was two months before a new Cardassian transport was able to secure the crew and the cargo from Anon's ship that had inadvertently set down on the remote world called home by the remnants of Anar's band of Maquis raiders. A proud troop first beset by Klingons in the Klingon-Cardassian war. Then a Neutral archeologist with failing shuttle controls. Then the Federation-Dominion war that brought more trouble with the Klingons than anyone else. Then the fever, the quarantine, and finally Anon and his Cardassians. It was suddenly eight months down a road Anar had had little control over traveling. He wasn't certain he wasn't becoming comfortable with the road. In a lot of ways the journey was familiar. The fever and quarantine simply a different kind of fight for survival against such staggering odds.

Federation regulations controlling the distribution of the serum were strict to prevent mishandling of the supply. But even if it had just been passed out on street corners like loaves of bread to starving mouths, the Maquis would not have been among the recipients. Their once powerful organization officially declared destroyed by the Cardassians, the decade long chapter of resistance forever closed, it remained a Federation offense to provide food, shelter or medical supplies to any known outfit or settlement sympathetic to the Maquis. Violation of the embargo carried a mandatory prison sentence. It didn't seem to matter nor keep the bureaucrats awake at night that the sanctions in the face of something such as Rigelian fever was a death sentence imposed on people who didn't necessarily warrant being condemned to death. The justifying rationale? For all the eight year old Nadyas who died instead of lived, it was their Maquis grandfather Anar who killed them by his actions, not the Federation sanctions.

Neutrals were immune from Federation sanctions. They could not be held accountable for treating Bajorans, Maquis or Cardassians alike. For every bureaucrat Anar cursed at night before he fell asleep, he thanked the Prophets for sending them Janice Lange. What continued to confuse his clear and perfect world was why the Prophets had also sent Anon and his transport laden down with supplies that Anar never even considered investigating -- he'd like to think because he simply didn't have the means or men available.

The same as he'd like to think Anon never got around to conducting his own investigation into just who these settlers actually were, simply because he didn't have the interest or the time, even though Cardassians always had the interest and the time. Anon Dukat was a paradoxical young man. Not yet settled in his own identity. Prudent and formal in his actions, as actions were what counted and defined the man.

Either that or he was simply better at putting on a more believable show than his father. Less obvious in his attempted seduction of young women and town elders.

CHAPTER THREE

"Oh, Anar look at all of this stuff!" Janice squealed over the variety of containers waiting for them in one of the transport's cargo holds.

"There's enough here for six months…" Anar joined her in staring over the neat stacks of supplies.

"Six, seven months, yes," Anon agreed, "until your fields start to produce."

"Our fields…" Anar started to say, but Anon was already turning away from him to bear down on a replicator.

"This, too. You can have it."

"The replicator?" Janice blinked.

"You said supplies and bandages, right?" Anon reminded her. "There are your supplies, and here are your bandages. I can't program the banks…Well, yes, I can program them," he adjusted his claim not to lower himself in her eyes. "I just don't have the time -- " he jumped back three feet when she kissed his cheek, terror scrawled across his face. "What are you doing?!"

"Saying thank you?" Janice suggested as he stood there irritably swatting at his cheek.

"Thank you?" he accused her. "Is this how you say thank you to someone?"

"Well, someone, yes," Janice supposed with a shrug. "No, not everyone."

"No, not everyone," Anon agreed. "And not me!"

"I'm sure Janice didn't mean to offend you," Anar tried not to laugh at Anon's surprising discomfort. "It's a Human tradition."

"I'm Cardassian, not Human," Anon gave his cheek one last angry swipe. "We kiss for specific reasons."

"So do Humans," Anar promised. "The same as the rest of the galaxy. A form of thanks is only one of them."

"The rations are Cardassian," Anon ignored him to return to the supplies. "You realize that."

"I realize I don't care." Anar answered honestly. "And neither will anyone else."

"Good," Anon set a weapons locker down in front of them with a bang. "This is how someone expresses thank you. They accept what is given…"

"Phaser rifles?" Janice said when Anon flipped open the locker; Anar could only stare.

"Six of them," Anon picked one of them up. "And extra cell packs -- "

"Oh, but we don't need…"

"Now, wait a minute, Janice," Anar stopped her as Anon huffed, "Janice!"

"But we don't need them," Janice insisted. "We really don't."

"Yes, you do!" Anon's arms flailed in demonstration. "What are you going to do if the Klingons come again? Just give them your replicator like you did your last one?"

"He has a point, Janice," Anar supported quietly. "We do need them for protection."

"Exactly. For protection. No one is going to win a war with six rifles, Janice. And no one is going to start one!" he slammed the rifle back inside the locker, closing it. "Take them, don't take them. They're here, they're yours, do with them what you want. If I had a shuttle I'd give you one of them, too -- with charged phaser banks!" he smacked the locker and left.

"Something I said?" Janice winced to Anar reopening the locker with a low whistle.

"It's a new one, I have to admit. Cardassians giving phasers to the Maquis -- you didn't hear that," he reminded her. "A wise and kindly town elder. Nothing more. Nothing less."

"No. No, I did hear it, Anar," Janice shook her head. "And you're wrong. Anon's wrong, and you're wrong. He means well, but the only thing he's right about it is no one is going to win a war with six rifles. They're not. Not against the Cardassians. Not against the Klingons," she picked up one of the rifles. "Six rifles, Anar? Against a squadron of Klingons? That isn't protection, it's suicide."

"So what do we do instead? Give them the replicator when they return? If they return? They will return."

"Yes. That's exactly what we do. Give them the replicator, and everything else. Except our lives."

Anar took the rifle away from her to remove its power cell. "You're right, of course."

Janice grinned. "I am?"

"Yes. Though there's no guarantee they won't take our lives even if we don't aim phasers at them."

"But we probably stand a better chance," she nodded.

"Yes," Anar heaved a sigh tinged with fond memories for the rifle, "we probably stand a better chance -- until harvest. I don't know anything about farming. Not a reaper from a sower -- What?" he said to her gasp. "Why? Do you?"

"No, it's not that. I forgot to give Anon the serum!"

"Oh. Well, I'm sure he's still here. That's all right. You go and I'll…I'll dismantle the rifles and put them in the replicator," he agreed. "The power cells we can probably use for something else."

"Like repairing the transmitter?" Janice smiled.

"Well, that we can probably fix with what we manage to scrounge from the transport's communication system -- we'll have to see. Depends on what else Anon may have left us -- not that this isn't enough. It is. Certainly more than anything I ever expected."

"Oh," Janice bit her lip, suddenly a little concerned others might see Anon's generosity in a different light. "Why? Do you think he's going to get in trouble?"

Anar chuckled. "To the contrary. I'm sure whatever is not accounted for in his inventory he'll just pass off as having been destroyed in the crash."

"Landing," Janice nodded.

"Crash," Anar assured. "He landed all right. With a bang. Now, run and give him the ryetalyn before he does leave us. And I'll…I'll…" he grimaced at the rifle in his hand.

"The first one's the hardest," Janice promised, leaving to catch Anon before he transported aboard his new ship.

"I believe you mean the last one," Anar set the replicator to assimilate the rifle's housing, closing his eyes with a quick prayer to the Prophets he was doing the right thing.

"Oh, your Eminence," Weyoun brightly called Anon's attention away from checking over the equipment removed from the downed transport when Janice appeared through the cargo door on the run toward them. "I believe Doctor Lange might be looking for you."

The young Sentinel Pfrann looked up quickly, a flicker of apprehension clouding his bright, golden stare.

"Yes, all right." Anon's answered Weyoun, his question of his brother equally benign. "Is this the last of it?"

"Yes," Pfrann agreed quietly. "Anon…"

"Order it aboard," Anon tossed him the padd with its list of inventoried items.

"Understood." Pfrann's apprehension lingered, watching his brother walk away.

"Or is it just me?" Weyoun smiled.

"It's you!" Pfrann snapped, hammering his communication badge.

"Of course," Weyoun inclined his head.

Her hair was flying free and loose like a maddened Klingon's as she ran up to him. "Did you change your mind?" he wondered.

Janice breathed deeply to catch her breath. "About what? The phaser rifles? No. Anar changed his. We're keeping the power cells, but destroying the housings, yes."

"Of course," Anon nodded ruefully. "You're a dangerous woman, Janice Lange, you know that? Far more dangerous than me."

"Oh," Janice said. "Well, I don't happen to think you're that dangerous," she shrugged.

"You don't?" he paused. "Oh. Well, you're wrong. Look at me. I am dangerous. Pfrann, too. Tan. All of us. That's the way it is."

"Well, maybe it is, maybe it isn't. In the meantime…" she handed him the vile of ryetalyn. "Anar and I would like you to have this to remember us. It's raw serum."

"Raw serum…" Anon stared at the slender silver tube he held.

"Ryetalyn. The epidemic's over -- at least here. I don't think it reached your colonies. I hope it didn't, or that it ever will. But just in case you should ever need it, now you have it. There's enough there to save…maybe two thousand people? I realize it's not a lot -- "

"It's a lot," Anon corrected, and she smiled again. "What about you?"

"Oh, we're fine. Really. We have plenty. More than enough to share with the next transport that happens by…And Anar's really looking forward to getting back to the fields -- or into the fields," Janice laughed. "You can't replicate a sower can you? Or even just a manual on farming?" she finished nervously.

"I don't know," Anon studied the vile.

"Oh," Janice said. "Oh, well, I'm sure you could. The same as I'm sure Anar can. So I guess this is goodbye then."

"Yes, it is goodbye," Anon agreed.

"Yes," Janice stepped back with a wave towards the transport site. "Well, you better go. Pfrann's waiting. Weyoun -- what's going to happen with Weyoun now that the war is over?" she wondered suddenly, really never having thought of it before.

He was going to kill him. Anar knew that, standing there in the cargo hatchway watching them. The Vorta was a liability the Gul had carried much longer than he had planned. More so now because he was also a witness.

"Anon?" Janice asked.

"Thank you," he saluted her with the vile of serum and turned away. He turned back after a step to Anar's surprise, but then again it wasn't.

"Anon?" Janice said.

He kissed her. To him it was like kissing a soft, silk pillow. To her it was like kissing a smooth, cool piece of leather.

"Thank you again," he nodded when he let her go.

Janice swallowed. "Any -- anytime."

"Like father, like son," Anar mentioned from behind after Anon and his group transported off the planet. Janice jumped. "Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

"Oh, no, you didn't startle me," she denied, flushed and breathing a little heavier than she did normally. "What do you mean like father, like son?"

"Well…" Anar said as they walked back to the transport, "not to malign a criminally insane man…"

"Oh, please!" Janice swatted him with a laugh. "You're maligning him just by saying that!"

"Worse has been said," Anar promised. "All of it true. So, yes, it's also accurate to say the senior Dukat had as notorious of a reputation when it came to women. Especially Bajoran. Especially young ones."

"Well, I'm not Bajoran," Janice tucked her arm through his. "And actually I think he's kind of cute."

"Anon?" Anar smiled. "For a Cardassian, I suppose he is."

"You're not shocked."

"No, my child," he assured. "I'm far more shocked that at age fifty-eight I'm about to become a farmer."

"You'll make a wonderful farmer," Janice believed. "You'll see."

CHAPTER FOUR

Stardate: 5…4…3…2…1…

Major Kira Nerys stood on the Ops deck stifling a yawn.

"The Cardassian government has petitioned the Federation with a request to install the First Cardassian Consulate on Bajor Prime in an effort to improve the standard of living among its Cardassian-Bajoran citizens." The deep brown eyes of Captain Benjamin Sisko, Federation commander of the Bajoran outpost station Deep Space Nine, twinkled as he leaned over her cup of Klingon raktajino with a Cheshire cat grin.

"Huh?" Kira's Bajoran eyes looked back at him, and Sisko's grin widened.

"Don't you just love it?"

"Benjamin, I haven't even had my coffee yet," she suggested. "Could we wait with the jokes?"

"It's not a joke," Sisko shook his head.

"It's a joke," Kira assured.

"It's not a joke," Sisko shook his head.

"What do you mean it's not a joke?" Kira eyed him.

"I mean…" Sisko gently removed the cup of raktajino from her hand, leading her towards his office, "it's not a joke."

"Oh, for!" The heel of Kira's boot struck the deck sharply as she stalked into the office. Eventually she calmed down.

"I mean," she paced back and forth with Sisko watching her from behind his desk, "what am I concerned about? I'm not concerned. There is no way the Federation is going to listen to this. They're not even going to consider listening to this."

"I have my doubts about that also," Sisko agreed.

"Of course you do," Kira ran her fingers through her short, dark red hair, her nod firm. "Of course you do. It's nonsense. It's utter and complete nonsense. It is by far the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard."

A week later the Federation had decided otherwise.

"What?!" Kira's fingernails threatened the smooth surface of Sisko's desk as she loomed over him.

Sisko put up his hand. "They've only agreed to present the matter at their next session for discussion."

"Oh," Kira said. "Oh, well, I suppose there's really no way around that -- Is there?" She was back to eyeing Sisko.

"Not really, no," Sisko admitted. "If Federation and Cardassian relations are to continue to improve -- "

"Why do they have to continue to improve?" Kira verified.

"Because they have to," Sisko nodded, and she shrugged.

"It was worth a try."

"So it was. And I wouldn't be concerned, no."

"I'm not. This way the Federation Assembly can -- can -- "

"Discuss the matter?" Sisko offered.

"Right. They can discuss the matter, and the Cardassian government will just have to accept their decision."

Two weeks later the decision was to send it out for a vote.

"A vote?" Kira echoed. "Did you just say a vote? They're seriously sending it to the floor for a vote?"

"It'll never pass," Sisko promised.

It passed.

"Passed?" Kira's voice was shrill. "It passed?"

"Major," Sisko's hand went to his forehead, a pounding headache throbbing behind his eyes, the smooth flesh of his brow wrinkled in concentration.

"Damar has no more interest in the Bajoran-Cardassian situation than anyone before him!" Kira insisted.

"I agree with that, Major. However Legate Damar -- "

"Legate," Kira threw in with a sneer. "He's a helmsman!"

Sisko continued. "Is claiming to have an interest, as well as requesting an opportunity to do something about it."

"And the Federation Assembly bought it!"

"Yes, they bought it," Sisko paused to think about that briefly.

"But it isn't true!"

"No," Sisko also agreed with that.

"He's looking," Kira gestured wildly, "to install some organized, centralized spy network!"

"Aren't they all?" Sisko sighed.

"What?" Kira said.

"A reputation, Major," Sisko nodded, "that has followed the idea of Consulates for years."

"In the instance of Cardassia, it's true! The war hasn't even been over six months!"

"Major?" Sisko requested.

"All right, fine," Kira took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. It's not you. There's still the Council of Ministers. Shakaar will kill the petition himself before it reaches the Vedek Assembly."

"On the basis of frivolity alone, he has that authority," Sisko concurred.

First Minister Shakaar Adon of Bajor forewent exercising his authority. The Vedek Assembly forewent expressing opinion. Sisko studied the notice from Bajor's Council of Ministers agreeing to Bajor's participation in a series of talks with the Federation and Cardassian government.

"Except Bajor's participation, Major," Sisko explained to Kira, "will be by way of a Neutral employed by the Council of Ministers and sent in representation to hear the Cardassian proposal."

"There has to be some mistake," Kira borrowed the padd have a look.

"No mistake, Major." Sisko stood up to study the Ops area through the windows of his office where Chief O'Brien worked diligently at removing the last traces of Dukat's recent occupation alongside Dax, Worf and others at their respective consoles; all comfortable and comforted by six quiet months.

"What are you thinking?" Kira was at his side.

"The truth?" Sisko answered quietly. "A great many things. Not all of them good. Under guise of wanting to ensure fair and unbiased participation due to the sensitive subject of the Bajoran-Cardassian situation, the truth is any improvements which may have come of these sessions will be completely unbinding on the part of Bajor with a Neutral acting as representative. First Minister Shakaar is playing his cards close to the vest, never mind anyone else, and quite frankly, that to me reeks of a token effort. Simply put, why bother? Unfortunate, in my opinion, because, yes, I do see an opportunity being wasted here."

"What opportunity?" Kira denounced. "The only opportunity Damar sees is a way to further his own agenda."

"Yes," Sisko agreed. "By ingratiating himself with the Federation, rather than seeking to ostracize Cardassia like Dukat. That is very true. As it was a perfect opportunity for the Federation to call Damar's bluff," he turned around to her. "Also true, Major. In the meantime, regardless of Damar's agenda, for him to accomplish it, we could have ended up with the first Cardassian Consulate on Bajor. Undeniable, and indisputable progress between your two worlds. Matters of the Bajoran-Cardassian population would have had to have been addressed for the first time in over fifty years. A point, obviously, Major," his head tipped in solemn concession, "that Bajor is not yet willing to address. Shakaar can't say no to Damar because he could be accused of undermining Federation-Cardassian negotiations. He can't say yes because he has the opinion of his own people to consider, as well as face."

"That doesn't sound like Shakaar to me."

No. Nor to Sisko either. Which was why the expression close to the vest. "What's his agenda?"

"I can't begin to think of one. Other than he doesn't trust Damar anymore than he trusted Dukat."

"Then say so," Sisko insisted. "At those talks, Major, say so. Don't send your maid to say it for you. Damn Damar. And, yes, damn ruffling a few Federation feathers. If progress is to be made, true progress, then this constant treadmill has to stop. Beyond wasting everyone's time, ten thousand people pour through those airlocks every day. Unless I am willing to wall this station off from the rest of the galaxy at a time when we have only just begun getting ourselves back to normal, the security risks for this type of affair are staggering. I am hardly anxious to begin addressing them for little more than sheer nonsense; I refuse to."

"I certainly agree with you there."

"Good!" Sisko approved excitedly. "Because we have a fight on our hands that I intend to win. Cardassia has jumped on Shakaar's bandwagon of neutrality with vigor. The Federation is not too far behind. Under the guidelines drawn and accepted, as Emissary to the Bajoran people I have been precluded from active participation in the talks either on behalf of Bajor or the Federation."

"What?" Kira gaped at him.

"So have you, Major," he advised. "As has Dax. By simple definition, as Emissary to the Bajoran people, I am not unbiased. Even if I surrendered my position, I am still the commander of this station, and therefore biased. You are a former member of the Bajoran Resistance, you can't be unbiased. Dax is married to Worf. A Klingon. And lest we all forget the Klingon-Cardassian conflict."

"This is utterly absurd!" Kira sputtered. "Fine! Exclude me! But you are the commander of this station, and Dax is a skilled arbitrator!"

"So she is. And if anyone should be seated at that table in representation of the Federation, either myself or Dax should be."

"Shakaar has to realize that!"

Sisko just looked at her.

"All right, fine," Kira conceded. "So Shakaar isn't taking it seriously. But what about Damar? How unbiased is he!"

"He isn't," Sisko assured. "Who he is, is the man whose idea is being brought to the table. A very clever man. In a gesture of support of Shakaar's concerns, Damar has offered to remove himself as the Cardassian representative. He'll be here for the talks, yes. But only in the background should his replacements have any questions regarding Cardassia's position."

"Replacements?" Kira emphasized.

"A team of two," Sisko nodded. "A primary speaker and his aide -- and that, Major," he pointed, "is what we are going to use as our argument."

"If Damar's speaker can have an assistant…" Kira believed she was following him. "Why can't the Federation?"

"Or at least someone available in the background to answer any questions that might arise concerning the Federation's position," Sisko smiled.

"You," Kira nodded. "Are you going to push for Dax to be the speaker?"

"I am. Who I would also like to push for is you. On behalf of Bajor. There aren't too many Neutrals familiar enough with the intricacies of the Bajoran social structure to present a coherent platform. Unless Shakaar truly is just looking for someone to sit there and mouth words, he has created quite a tall order for the Council of Ministers to fill."

"Yes he has," Kira frowned. "There's also the position of the Prophets to consider."

"Precisely. I'm not proposing you're an expert, Major, but I am confident you are far more than adequately versed in your own beliefs than any Neutral to know if the Cardassian or Federation positions fall within an acceptable range of moderate interpretation -- specifically Vedek Bareil's interpretations. Shakaar's representative will be using the basis of Bareil's Cardassian Peace Accord as a formula for these sessions."

"Oh," Kira said. "Well, yes, I'd like to believe I'm versed in Bareil's writings -- even though I don't agree with half of them."

"You don't have to agree," Sisko reminded. "You have to be able to maintain an open mind."

She realized that. What she was not so confident about was her ability to detach herself well enough to be able sit in the same room as Damar. "About Damar? You want me to maintain an open mind with Damar?" Kira's face hardened in a grimace, her chest tight, the palms of her hands feeling wet with sweat.

"Can you do it?" Sisko was asking.

"He killed Ziyal!" she exploded. "No, she wasn't my daughter. I realize she was Dukat's daughter, but he murdered her!" There. She said it. Of all the things Dukat had ever done, Damar was the one who killed Ziyal. "What does that say about him and his concern for the Bajoran-Cardassian population! What does that say? He's sorry?"

"I'll push the issue to the wall and beyond if you tell me you can."

"Damar will never sit still for it."

"I'm willing to gamble Mister Damar will end up not having a choice."

"Start pushing," Kira pointed.

"Thank you!" Sisko said.

A month later Sisko's drive through the rigorous Federation and Bajoran screening process mired in red tape was still afloat. Another month and he knew his push for Dax was doomed when he received a communiqué requesting an alternative recommendation selected from his senior staff. He didn't have an alternative recommendation other than himself or Kira still under consideration as the assistant to the Bajoran representative. Reiterating Dax's credentials, he inserted Kira's name alongside his own and crossed his fingers. Six hours later the Federation's decision was on his desk.

"I beg your pardon?" Chief Engineer Miles O'Brien crawled out from under a conduit.

Sisko wet his lips. "You've been chosen as the Federation's Consular Representative for the opening session of Cardassia's conference with Bajor."

O'Brien had missed hearing about that one. "What Cardassian conference with Bajor?"

"We'll get to that," Sisko promised.

"Before or after we get to the part about is there something I know about being a Consular representative that I don't know I know?"

"I don't know," Sisko handed him a padd.

"Sounds about right. What's this?"

"Rules of Protocol," Sisko nodded.

"I guess that's as good a place as any to start," O'Brien pocketed the padd.

"Chief?" Sisko said.

"Well, it's not like it's tomorrow," O'Brien gestured. "I can finish what I'm doing, can't I?"

"Monday," Sisko nodded.

"Monday?" O'Brien squealed. "Today's Friday!"

It was Saturday evening before Sisko knew the name of Shakaar's representative scheduled to arrive by shuttle Monday morning two hours before the conference for her final medical screenings.

"Doctor Janice Lange?" Kira read the notice with a shrug. "Never heard of her."

Late Sunday afternoon before Sisko knew the name of Damar's representatives also scheduled to arrive by battle cruiser Monday morning a few hours before the conference for their final medical screenings.

"Gul Dukat," Sisko handed Chief Constable Odo the padd handed to him by a security officer who caught up with them on the bustling Promenade on their way to Odo's office to go over the security schedule for the conference.

"What?" Kira snatched the padd from Odo to stare up at Sisko. "His son?"

"Sons apparently," Sisko gazed out a porthole into the misleadingly peaceful vacuum of space. "Damar's covering all of his bases evidently includes an attempted strangle hold on the Cardassian public. Dukat has his critics, but he also has his fans."

"This is too much! We just got rid of one of them, now we have two?"

"Probably changes a few things at that, doesn't it?" Odo grunted.

"Just a few," Sisko turned around.

"What's the latest word from the Federation Assembly about your and Major Kira's appointments?" Odo asked. "Or has there been any word?"

"Funny," Sisko smiled, "for some reason I was just thinking of making a call."

CHAPTER FIVE

Time: 2375 Eight months post Federation-Cardassian war

Place: Bajoran Outpost Station Deep Space Nine

Stardate: Unknown

"Ah, here's two more of us," Chief Medical Officer for Deep Space Nine, Doctor Julian Bashir bit into his flavorful jumja stick, a boyish grin crinkling his handsome face for the station's resident newlyweds Commanders Jadzia Dax and Worf working their way through the crowded second level of Quark's Ferengi bar and entertainment palace, to join him waiting with their resident Cardassian tailor Garak, and their one and only Chief Engineer.

"Eh, heh."

For some reason Chief O'Brien didn't seem quite as amused by this whole affair as Julian. Garak feigned shocked to realize this, while Dax availed herself of the opportunity to critique their good doctor's eating habits.

"What was your first clue?" O'Brien rolled his eyes. "When I groaned, or when I moaned?"

"Appetizer of choice?" Dax smiled in greeting, sitting down.

"Oh, quite," Bashir assured. "Had to do something while waiting. Eating seemed like a good idea."

"'Eating seemed like a good idea,'" O'Brien mimicked with a snort. "Go ahead. Fine. Rub it in."

"Julian threatened the Chief with an annual physical," Garak disclosed for Dax. "If you're wondering how he managed to convince him to join us. It's my understanding over the last six months he's gained ten pounds -- "

"Do you mind?" O'Brien interrupted.

"Well, personally no," Dax said. "You look your usual vibrant and healthy self to me."

"Another comedian," O'Brien nodded. "But laugh, go ahead laugh. So I may have gained a little weight. What of it?"

"Well, what of it," Bashir cautioned, "is ten pounds every six months times six years begins to add up."

"Yes," Worf frowned at the Chief, a strong man with a strong frame as Jadzia had proposed. "You have gained one hundred and twenty pounds since the Enterprise? That does not seem possible."

"Two hundred," O'Brien assured, "at least. No, I haven't gained 120 pounds. Julian has. In his head."

"It was meant in a hypothetical sense," Bashir explained. "Whose point is, there's no time like the present to begin eating sensibly."

"I like my food to have a little taste to it," O'Brien reminded. "I can always eat what you call sensibly when Keiko returns."

"Oooooh," Bashir hooted around the table. "Now that was a low blow. The poor woman's not even here to defend herself."

"That's not what I meant," O'Brien groaned. "Look, just change the subject. Now. Change it."

"Yes, please," Garak petitioned. "Really, Julian, you are very close to being insensitive."

"By promoting good health?" Bashir blinked innocently. "That's an interesting theory. But, fine," he surrendered, "you want to change the subject, we'll change it -- is the verdict in yet as far as who the Chief can expect to be his assistant pencil-pusher?"

"Not yet." Worf was noticeably concerned by the continuing delay himself. The Captain's assessment of an overwhelming burden facing the security task force was reasonable and accurate even if Sisko was not likely to find himself sequestered for a week. It was a burden made worse when Worf, though Chief of Strategic Operations, by virtue of being Klingon, was excluded from being involved with the small assembly of diplomats, as had Jadzia been excluded as his wife. Even though Jadzia, a joined Trill, hosted the symbiont Dax formerly hosted by Curzon. One of the most widely respected Federation mediators of the times.

"But the Federation and the Bajoran Council of Ministers have reassured the Captain he will have their answer by tomorrow," Worf concluded stiffly.

"That's cutting it just a little close, isn't it?" Bashir looked to Dax. "After all, the Chief's conference is scheduled to begin tomorrow at 0900 sharp -- That's less than fourteen hours from now," he reminded O'Brien, lest he had forgotten.

"I'd like to," O'Brien assured.

"Hadn't noticed," Bashir grinned. "But that's what you get."

"For what?" O'Brien snorted. "How?"

"For being the last one available for the Captain to choose -- which reminds me," Bashir withdrew a message cylinder from his pocket to wave at Dax. "I've brought something for you to read…"

"Now, Julian," Dax shook her long, dark, and lovely hair in pity, "have you been writing letters to yourself again?"

"Ha, ha," Bashir pressed the cylinder into her hand. "The answer, of course, is no. I do know Doctor Lange as I have stated to you. Quite well and quite personally. Which is why I was precluded by the Bajoran Council from the screening, as quite obviously they were already aware. That is a copy of a recent communication from Janice."

"A love letter?" Garak brightened. "Really."

"No, it's not a love letter," Bashir denied. "Calling Jadzia's bluff shouldn't require I disclose intimate details of our relationship."

"Oh?" Quark's nasal voice interjected from above their heads. "Why not? I've got to get something for my time -- And space," he leaned over, barbed wit and calculator ready. "If anyone is following my drift? I don't usually charge by the hour, but I think I'm going to be making an exception in this case."

"We will be ordering," Bashir crossed his heart, "as soon as the Captain and Kira are here."

"Uh, huh," Quark was not so easily swayed by charm or boyish good looks. "And you are anticipating soon to be?"

"Around the time the Bajoran Council of Ministers makes its decision regarding Chief O'Brien's assistant," Garak offered.

"I think I came in on that part," Quark sneered, far more interested than they believed he looked.

"No," Garak cooed in correction, "you came in on the part about Julian's love affair with the Bajoran representative Doctor Lange."

"That was it," Quark snapped his fingers. "Love affair, huh? Should I be shocked? Or just pretend to be?"

"Whichever suits you," Garak borrowed Julian's message cylinder from Dax. "It's all right here."

"A hologram program?" Quark peered at in disgust. "Big deal. If he wants to call her Janice, let him. He's an adult."

"No, it's not a hologram program," Bashir snatched his cylinder away. "Anymore than it's a love letter to myself. Janice is quite Human, the same as I am, and we had a relationship, yes. Twelve years ago when we were both still in medical school."

"Uh, huh," Quark said. "And someone is having trouble with this?"

"Trouble?" Bashir replied. "Well, no. The only trouble anyone's having is for some reason no one believes me. They all seem to think it's some sort of pathetic attempt on my part to explain away why I was overlooked by the Bajoran Council of Ministers in lieu of the Chief."

"Reason being?" Quark looked around the table.

"Well," Bashir supposed, "reason being to my understanding is they all claim I've never mentioned Janice before now, which is simply not true. Granted, I may never have had a heart to heart talk with anyone about Janice, but I'm quite sure I have mentioned her. It doesn't make any sense that I wouldn't have. We have kept in touch. Hello on each other's birthday. That sort of thing."

"Uh, huh," Quark was following him. "Is she attractive?"

"Janice?" Bashir frowned. "Well, yes, she was certainly quite attractive at the time I knew her. I really can't attest to now. But then we haven't seen each other in -- oh, seven or eight years? People do change."

"That they do. I believe it."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I believe it. If anyone has any doubts, I believe it." He waddled away.

"Oh," Bashir said. "Oh, well, there you have it," he smiled, "Quark believes me."

"That's quite a witness," Dax agreed.

"It's also quite a letter," Bashir set the message aside with a wink. "From quite a woman."

Worf huffed. "If this Doctor Lange is a friend, is there a reason why you are now mocking her?"

"Because he's a cad," O'Brien assured with a whistle and a wave for Quark. "Excuse me, but I have to eat -- some of us do have some work to do."

"Actually, yes, we do," Dax admitted. "Worf and I really should order now also. Benjamin and Kira must have been delayed with Odo."

"Be still my heart," Quark thrust a menu down in front of her. "Twenty-five percent gratuity is the acceptable standard, and there's a per person minimum after seven o'clock for parties larger than six so don't even bother looking at the specials."

"Where's it say that?" O'Brien borrowed the menu.

"Read the fine print."

"It's in Ferengi."

"That's your problem."

"Or yours," Bashir quipped. "There's only five of us."

"Better men then you have tried better lines than that one," Quark promised with an eye on Odo moving up to join the group. "Eight months after the occupation I've still got three months worth of IOUs to make up for -- and here I thought the Klingons were cheap."

"Klingons are not cheap," Worf huffed, "your prices reek of extortion."

"Give it a week," Quark ogled Odo. "No freeloaders. You don't eat, you don't sit unless you pay anyway."

"Yes, well, I don't eat," Odo drawled.

"But if I were you I'd reconsider that part about not sitting," Dax hinted.

"Not that that's meant as any form of extortion," Sisko appeared with Kira to take the menu from O'Brien with a twinkle. "Ah. I've been looking forward to this -- "

"Barbecued spare ribs," Quark took the menu back.

"Hot. Spicy…" Sisko rubbed his hands together in animated glee.

"Until your senses are flaming," Quark knew the drill.

"Or at least your sinuses," Kira took the menu.

"Look who's talking Bajoran and cuisine in the same sentence," Quark took the menu back. "I've seen less tears at a funeral and smelled better breath on a -- " he eyed Worf. "Targ."

"Yes, well…" Bashir raised his hand as Quark turned away to collect the libations.

"I've got it covered. He wants ribs. She wants heartburn. He wants lamb. These two want to gagh together. He wants anything that smells like fish. And this other one over here wants air."

"Yes, and?" Bashir said.

"And Julian will have anything that makes an impression," Dax nodded.

"What she said."

"Right?" O'Brien joked. "And probably ten percent higher in cost then the rest of us peasants."

"At least," Dax smiled at Bashir.

"Yes, well, actually, I'm not quite sure what would make an impression put alongside indigestion, worms and air," he admitted.

"Oh, I don't know about that…" Dax picked up his discarded message cylinder. "A love affair with the Bajoran representative just might -- May I?"

"A what?" Kira paused in refusing a glass of wine from Quark. "No, I want a cup of raktajino."

Quark sighed. "Is there ever a day you're not difficult? It's wine. Not poison. Wine. Civilized people drink wine with their meals -- Okay, I'll get the coffee."

"I don't know about difficult…" Garak ogled Kira interested. "Just a little late in the day, perhaps?"

"Trust me, I need it."

"Really?" Garak's brow arched intrigued. "Meaning? You've either not yet heard from the Federation or the Bajoran Council, or you have?"

"Oh, no, we have," Sisko's grin blossomed. "And, yes, Major Kira has been approved to assist the Bajoran representative."

"Really," Garak beamed. "I know that must be a great relief off of your mind."

"To an extent, yes," Sisko was smiling distinctly amused and interested at Bashir. "However, I must admit I'm a little curious myself -- did Dax just say something about a love affair with the Bajoran representative?"

"Doctor Lange," Garak dismissed, "yes. Apparently the UFP considered Julian's personal life far more significant than Chief O'Brien's past experiences in the Federation-Cardassian wars -- please, Captain, don't keep us in suspense. I know the Chief is quite anxious to know -- "

"Oh, yes," O'Brien supported, "he's just dying."

"A slight exaggeration," Garak assured.

"Don't be too sure," O'Brien warned Sisko. "Common sense hasn't exactly prevailed. So, yes, let's have it. What pinhead's been assigned to assist me?"

"Me," Sisko's grin flashed broadly.

"Oh," O'Brien said as half of the group broke out in titters.

"Open mouth, insert this," Quark handed O'Brien a glass of Bajoran ale.

"Not a bad idea," O'Brien toasted Sisko. "No offense."

"None taken," Sisko promised.

"But only because common sense hasn't exactly prevailed," Dax patted Sisko's hand. "What changed their minds? It couldn't have been a subtle reminder from you just whose station this is?"

"How did you guess?" Sisko's grin turned on her.

"Because I know you. And you have the patience of a Saint -- up to a point."

"Well, I don't know about that," Bashir lifted his wine in preparation of a real toast. "Fourteen hours before the conference is scheduled to begin seems pretty patient to me."

"Yes," Worf upheld. "Ideally though, the Federation representative should have been Jadzia."

"No offense," Bashir winked O'Brien.

"None taken," O'Brien assured Dax as their glasses clinked. "But only because I happen to agree."

"Well," Dax offered, "personally I think between you, Benjamin and Kira, the Cardassian government doesn't stand a chance with -- whatever it is they're actually up to," she shrugged to Kira.

"No, they don't." Kira's eye was on Quark. "Raktajino?"

"Speaking of patience," he countered.

"As well as no offense," Garak preempted Bashir. "None taken I can assure you."

"But only because he knows you're right," O'Brien chuckled.

"So I do," Garak purred easily, hardly blind to his own race. "I highly doubt Emperor Damar's sudden interest in the Bajoran-Cardassian orphan situation is wrought from guilt."

"No," Sisko agreed somberly. "I'm glad you're here, Mister Garak -- "

"Why?" Garak's familiar smug glint fixed itself on him. "Surely you're not going to suggest Damar has had a change of heart and is going to be joining us after all?"

"I was explaining how some of this came about," O'Brien offered to Sisko's glance. "Didn't think it was in violation of any rule."

"As of 0900 tomorrow, Chief," Sisko verified. "Under no circumstances can any of the proceedings be discussed with anyone other than your designated assistant."

"Got it. Not that there's going to be that much to discuss."

"That will depend, of course," Sisko settled back on Garak, "on what Legate Damar intends to present."

"I see," Garak said tightly. "Not exactly the answer I preferred to hear."

"By way of his representatives," Sisko inclined his head. "Though, yes, Damar will be here throughout the conference."

"And you naturally want a guarantee of no trouble," Garak picked up his wine with a smile. "Well, trouble, Captain, unfortunately, could very well be largely a matter of opinion. From my point of view, I could be doing Cardassia a great service by executing our Emperor."

"As well as a great disservice to yourself," Sisko suggested.

"Again," Garak's smile remained, "largely a matter of opinion."

"I'll make it an order, if I have."

"Except you can't," Garak drained his wine. "I am a private citizen. The only recourse available to you is to arrest me -- after the fact. And only if someone complains."

"Garak…" Major Kira inclined forward in a surprising and extraordinary touching expression of sympathy.

"Extraordinary and equally ineffective," Garak advised her. "Not to be cold, Major, but I must say I find it interesting that you are so unaffected by Mister Damar's visit."

"I'm not unaffected. I'd give anything to have Damar never make it through that airlock alive. But I can't," she apologized. "I'm sorry, but I can't. Because I also have a duty and responsibility to Benjamin. To Shakaar -- "

"And what about your duty to Ziyal?" Garak injected. "Sworn duty, I seem to recall. The entire point of having Ziyal live here on the station was for her own protection. To ensure her the opportunity to have a life. Instead, the delightful child was brutally murdered by Damar -- for sheer political greed, I am convinced. The same as I am convinced Damar never would have dared if Ziyal wasn't half Bajoran, which, of course, she was. Thanks to that delightful character of a father."

"And Ziyal," Kira agreed. "Especially Ziyal. So do you. Killing Damar isn't going to bring Ziyal back to life."

"Odd," Garak's thin smile returned, "but if I didn't know you better, Major, I'd say you sound as if you almost believe Damar's claims of improving the standard of life among those hundreds of thousands unfortunate enough to find themselves in Ziyal's position."

"I believe we can beat Damar at his own game. I believe, yes, the same as Benjamin, perhaps some good can come out of this."

"Good?" Garak's challenge was a short laugh. "What sort of good are you referring to? To the more liberal of my constituents who likewise believe in these sorts of fairy tales, Shakaar's refusal to attend the conference is a slap in the face. Not one to be remembered with fondness. Only one to be overlooked for the moment. But then Damar's game for the time being, Major," he promised, "is an effort to obtain a license to spy. His proposed Consulate will be nothing more than a legalized Intelligence operation -- to be used against Bajor. Certainly not for her. You can't possibly be that naïve."

"Do you know that for a fact?" Julian questioned him, ever the liberal, no matter how foolishly.

"Of course I know it for a fact," Garak accepted a refill from Quark. "So does Captain Sisko…As does Captain Sisko," he toasted Sisko, "know he can't begin to insure Damar's safety aboard a station the size of this one. Anymore than he can insure the safety of anyone associated with the conference. Terrorists come in all shapes and sizes, as well as races."

"So they do," Sisko said. "I want your word, Garak."

"That I will not be among their staggering numbers? That the bomb you hear exploding in Damar's quarters, was not planted by me? Fine. You have it. No bomb, Captain. No phaser. No weapon of any sort. Just wishful thinking and hopeful prayer that Damar gets exactly what he deserves."

"I'll certainly support that," Bashir agreed. "At least the part about wishful thinking and hopeful prayer. What are you planning to do as far as personal security? Fair to say however unaware everyone might be as of today, by 0900 tomorrow morning that will have changed dramatically."

"So it will have," Sisko turned to Dax. "I've ordered you assigned to head up the security for the Bajoran representative and Kira."

"Me?" Dax was understandably surprised.

"I'll also support that," Bashir likewise contributed with a startled blink. "I would have thought nothing short of divorce would make Jadzia acceptable, and it would be a question even then -- On the basis of past associations," he grinned at her. "Highly regarded or not, Curzon was the Ambassador to the Klingon Empire."

"I don't give a damn what anyone considers acceptable," Sisko corrected.

"More of 'this is my station'," Dax's smile was understanding.

"So it is," Sisko turned to Worf. "You're assigned to head the security for Chief O'Brien and myself."

"As far as Emperor Damar and his team," Odo put in, "we've agreed to one personal assistant beyond the two conference representatives. The rest of the security staff will be Bajoran."

"Bajoran?" Bashir choked.

"Bajoran," Sisko said. "Therefore, if any of you see a Federation security uniform within fifty feet of you -- I suggest you duck."

"He's joking," Bashir promised Dax.

"I'm not so sure," Dax studied Benjamin.

"Well," Bashir supposed then, "as long as no one borrows a Bajoran security uniform, we should be all set."

"Security is being provided jointly by Starfleet and Bajoran Special Forces on loan from the Bajoran military, in all seriousness, Doctor," Sisko smiled. "The uniform is Bajoran, and distinct to the occasion."

"Meaning you can't miss it," Kira offered. "It's bright yellow."

"Bright yellow?" Dax winced, thinking of the vibrant, sweeping line of violet Trill markings adorning her hairline and neck.

"Why?" Kira said. "You'll look fine."

"I'll hold you to that tomorrow," Dax nodded back.

"Yes," Worf was pensive. "Yellow would not be my first choice either."

"I don't know why not," Bashir grinned. "Jadzia's concern for her appearance is one thing. A seven foot Klingon canary is something else entirely."

"A little too something else," O'Brien was laughing to the point of coughing.

"You'll also be required to wear one, Doctor," Sisko enlightened Bashir.

"To blend in?" O'Brien gasped. "Or to assist in blinding the Maquis?"

"Oh, I would extend my concerns far beyond a resurgence of the Maquis," Garak cautioned. "The Bajoran-Cardassian issue lies very close to the hearts of the Bajoran world as a whole. It would be a lie to say otherwise."

"So it would be," Sisko was back to eyeing Bashir. "A love affair?"

"What?"

"Doctor Janice Lange," Sisko prompted. "I had no idea."

"Oh," Bashir said. "Well, you won't be opening any old wounds, if that's a concern. Janice and I are quite good friends -- Or at least we parted friends," he smiled. "Who knows. She may decide otherwise and not even bother to speak to me."

"I can't imagine why," Sisko admitted.

"Neither can I," Bashir confided, borrowing his message cylinder back from Dax. "I wouldn't go as far as saying we ever discussed marriage…."

"Really," Sisko shook his head. "I truly had no idea."

"Neither did the rest of the Federation, the Cardassians or the Bajorans," O'Brien assured. "Face it, Julian, the better man was chosen for the job."

"Better man?" Sisko requested.

Worf sighed. "Doctor Bashir has decided his love affair precluded him from being an acceptable candidate for the position of Federation Consular representative."

"I see." Sisko believed he understood. "And, yes, it would have."

"If anyone was aware," O'Brien pointed out.

"Which, yes, someone may have been," Sisko agreed. "I simply meant it was not something that was brought to my attention."

"By the Federation, Cardassians, or the Bajorans," O'Brien nodded.

"No," Sisko smiled at Bashir for no reason other than he just smiled.

"Oh, well, it was quite a while ago, Captain," Garak hurried to offer in unnecessary defense of Julian. "Oh, yes, long before Julian came to us. The same as it is entirely possible Doctor Lange brought the point to the attention of the Bajoran Council of Ministers herself in her own initial screening. Very likely just as a matter of a routine listing of Federation associations, past or current."

"Long before?" Sisko's head was turning from Bashir to Kira frowning.

"Yes," Bashir said. "Twelve years as a matter of fact since our relationship. Why? Should it have made a difference to the Bajoran Counsel's decision?"

"Yes, well, notwithstanding Shakaar's potential interest in his representative's past and present Federation affiliations," Odo grunted. "Why just might be Doctor Lange is twenty-four years old. Twelve years ago she would have been twelve years old -- if I have your Federation calendar right."

"Twelve -- " The color drained from Bashir's face.

"Excuse me?" O'Brien's glass paused halfway to his lips.

"So much for those after school baby-sitting jobs." Kira picked up her coffee, satisfied the morals of her home world's representative weren't the only ones in question.

"No kidding," O'Brien said. "Excuse me? Twelve years old? Twelve Federation years old?"

"Oh, but -- " Bashir stammered.

"I should say," Garak was blinking at him. "Certainly, Julian, few cultures would find that to be acceptable, that's very true."

"It's disgusting," Quark snorted. "If not in poor taste."

"If not possibly still within the Federation's statute requirements for prosecution," Odo assured.

"Prosecution…" Bashir echoed.

"We'll have to check them, Constable," Sisko nodded.

"Check?" Bashir swallowed. "Oh, but that's absurd. I mean obviously -- "

"Obviously Julian must have confused Shakaar's Doctor Lange with a different Doctor Lange," Dax generously extended Benjamin Bashir's message cylinder.

"Her grandmother," O'Brien chuckled.

"Yes, quite obviously I have," Bashir stared at the cylinder. "I'm not so sure about her grandmother…I mean, you can't be serious…Truthfully," he stared at Sisko, "you can't possibly think -- "

"I don't know what to think," Sisko admitted. "We'll have to see."

"See?" Bashir repeated. "See what?"

"If she recognizes you, of course, Julian," Garak said.

"As in identifies you," the Chief chortled.

"Or if she ignores you," Worf huffed. "I am confused. Are you now saying you have no idea who this woman is?"

"Yes, I am saying that," Bashir nodded. "I am definitely saying that. The Janice Lange I know -- Or knew -- " he shook his head.

"Twenty-four years old?" O'Brien suddenly peered at Sisko. "Wait a minute. Are you telling me I'm going to be sitting across the table from some snot-nosed kid?"

"Three kids," Sisko's eyes twinkled. "Doctor Lange, Gul Dukat and his younger brother."

"Give me a beer," O'Brien thrust his glass at Quark. "Make it a real one. None of this watered down Bajoran synthale."

"Chief?" Sisko reminded an open mind likewise would require a clear mind less than fourteen hours from then and counting.

"I've got twenty-four years of service under my belt -- more than twenty-four years," O'Brien pointed. "The last thing I need is to be under the gun of a bunch of kids who know everything and don't know anything…" he trailed off.

"Gul Dukat?" Garak filled in the blank quite nicely.

"I'm with you," Quark downed O'Brien's ale.

"Anon Dukat," Sisko informed his captivated audience. "Dukat's eldest son who yes, also happens to be approximately twenty-four years old -- if anyone's thinking of claiming to have had a love affair with him," his smile settled back on Bashir.

Bashir groaned. "I never claimed to have an affair with anyone."

"Words to the wise, Doctor," Sisko submitted, choosing to remain neutral himself, both as far as the subject matter, and Bashir's potential motives. Ones he suspected had more to do with Dax than feeling slighted by the Federation or the Bajoran Council of Ministers. But then Bashir not only had a tendency to wear his heart on his sleeve, he also had a tendency to wear his ego. And Dax's marriage to Worf had been a distinct bruise to his ego, whether or not it truly affected his heart. "There's an old Earth saying I'm sure you have heard. 'Loose lips sink ships.' Mind what you say, in other words. Lest you find yourself speaking out of turn to someone's detriment, including your own."

The Captain was right, of course, in what he was saying and/or thinking. Bashir looked back at Sisko. Including that part about him being madly in love with Dax, if he was capable of being madly in love with anyone. Who knew; certainly not him. Frustrated and actually angry over her relationship with Worf one moment, he was equally disinterested and carefree about it the next. Teasing her about the potential for rekindling some long-lost relationship of his seemed like a good idea at the time he thought of it. A fair way of getting even for the occasional turmoil she persisted in invoking in him; it still seemed like a good and fair idea.

"Understood," Bashir picked up his wine in smiling agreement with Sisko. "On the other hand, however in error I obviously was in assuming a reunion with a former classmate of mine, I trust there's no objection to my making the acquaintance of this Doctor Janice Lange? Particularly since at age twenty-four, she's now of legal age?"

The Chief's last supper, as he had jokingly dubbed the gathering, was interrupted at that point, preempting Sisko's response with a call for him over his com badge by a security officer at one of the main docking bays.

"Captain?" The Lieutenant's voice rang clearly. "I have a Doctor Janice Lange who's just arrived by the local Bajoran shuttle. She's looking for -- " The officer's hesitation and confusion was equally clear. "The Cardassian conference?"

"Lange…" Kira startled. "What's he talking about? She's not supposed to be here…"

Sisko's uplifted hand stopped her to address the waiting security officer. "Thank you, Lieutenant. Major Kira and Commander Dax will be right there. Sisko out."

"Well," Dax stood up as Sisko signed off, "I hope no one minds that I'm in blue."

"It'll have to do," Sisko's nose wrinkled in reassurance. "Oh, and, Major?" he stopped Kira with a silent, pointed look of how diplomacy went a long, long way.

"I know," she got the message behind the look. "I would have been more surprised if it started out smoothly."

"Yes," Sisko nodded. "Yes."

CHAPTER SIX

"So?" Legate Damar, Gul Dukat's one time Lieutenant, turned Ruler of Cardassia in his former Emperor's unavoidable absence, irritably tossed the notice of Sisko's and Kira's respective appointments back towards the officer who brought it, a heavy scowl creasing his prominent face. "What do I care? Eh?" He rose from his slumped position under the watchful eye of his assistant to clap his hand around the shoulder of young Gul Dukat dutifully studying his Emperor's proposal as they sat in the commissary aboard their battle cruiser en route to Deep Space Nine, Dukat's brother Pfrann bristling immediately in apprehension as the hand touched his elder's shoulder.

"Do you care?" Damar ignored the nervous child to flash a facetious smile over Dukat ignoring him as always.

Anon continued to ignore Damar to Pfrann's mixed feelings of concern and relief. Finishing his study of the page he was reading he rose to his feet, Pfrann immediately falling in step next to him.

"Dukat," Damar forestalled the defiant exit.

It was a long moment before Anon consented to turning back around, expressionless and silent in his stance.

"If you could," Damar's thick neck swayed forward in a movement reminiscent of Dukat the father, the voice laden with stark, glib sarcasm, "see to pretend your obedience, you'll find it most appreciated."

"I didn't punch him," Anon remarked finally in the turbolift with his brother.

"Why would you even think to punch him?" Pfrann groaned.

"Because I don't like him," Anon shrugged.

"It is not your position to like or dislike him. Anon!" Pfrann's hand went to his head, exhausted and confused by more than why they were even here.

"What you confuse is blindness with love," Anon reminded. "I don't have to be our father to honor him, or bring him justice. Walk in his footsteps of these constant games and you'll make yourself dizzy. I don't have the time."

"No!" Pfrann refused. "No, you abuse his memory with your arrogance! You mock him!"

"Abuse," Anon scoffed. "I don't abuse anything Dukat didn't abuse himself."

"That is a lie!" Pfrann grabbed at him in fury.

"No, it isn't a lie!" Anon pushed him away with a snap. "The same as it is a fact that regardless of Emperor Dukat's motives, his views, his personal quests, he was right! No one can deny that. The Klingons were destroying the Union. They had to be stopped! The Dominion was a chance. The Romulans. Not the Federation whose boots Damar bends to lick to secure his own position, not Cardassia's! The UFP will do nothing to assist us, as they did nothing throughout the Klingon war. We must infuse power back into ourselves as our father attempted to do.

"But we must do it this time," he shook the data padd at his brother. "Not play games with fifty year old grandfathers no one cares anything about. We must redefine the Union. Prevent a new civilian revolt which will only weaken us further -- again! When we need to grow strong!"

"Anon!" Pfrann grabbed his wrist.

"Not waste our time seeking revenge on a world of monks too arrogant to bow their heads," Anon insisted. "Our father had to be out of his mind to threaten the Federation with the Dominion at his side only five minutes!"

"But this is an Intelligence network," Pfrann snatched the padd from his hand. "If we are to protect ourselves from a renewed Klingon threat, the Federation is our best source of information. They tell the Bajorans everything!"

"Who Dukat should have threatened was Gowron," Anon spit the Klingon Chancellor's name coldly. "Demanded the immediate release of all occupied territories, or the home world attacked would be Qo'noS, not Bajor. What could the Federation have said to him? No? You have to continue to allow the Klingons to annex your space? From the Neutral Worlds, to the Ferengi Alliance, to their own delegates -- to Bajor, they would have turned from staring at Legate Dukat to staring at the UFP."

"Anon!" Pfrann insisted.

"I didn't say it wasn't a good idea," Anon snatched the padd back. "I said the issue of the Bajoran-Cardassian population is self-explanatory by their existence. We don't have to spend a week dancing like fools to justify our petition. They are our people. We want a Consult on their world. Two sentences, Pfrann! Not a data bank!" he flung the padd across the lift. "They can't deny them a voice in their own government. Representatives in the Council. Force them to chose between one world or another. Not the Federation or Bajor. Attempt to and they are in violation of their own articles. Organize them, and the new uprising will be on Bajor, not Cardassia Prime!"

"Is that why you agreed to represent Damar's proposal?" Pfrann stared at him in revelation.

"I agreed," Anon heaved a breath, "because I like to watch Damar make a fool out of himself. I like the looks when I and you walk across the Council floor. We are reminders. We are memories….We are!" he seethed, "Dukat! Damar is nothing but the man who follows behind Dukat's footsteps, in his footsteps, because he has no idea how to make his own! The tool he seeks to use is the tool he needs and it is Dukat. The voice that speaks. The face you see…"

The face he saw was his father's, his brother's. One older, one so much younger. Gaunt. Sharp. Angular. Mocking when it wanted to be. Glib. Sneering. Vicious. Afraid. Whatever it wanted to be. Thought it needed to be. Fearful that it had to be. They were one and the same. Physically and emotionally, and so oblivious to just employing common sense in so many ways.

"Yes, Pfrann," Anon nodded, "if we are to protect ourselves against a renewed Klingon threat we need to reestablish our Intelligence networks now. And the Federation is a reliable source who tells the Bajorans everything. The Cardassian-Bajoran orphans are perfect. They are not all fifty year old grandfathers with children of their own having children. Some of them are six. Some of them are two. Some of them are being born as we speak. Ignorant. Suppressed. Denied. We are there to relieve, not coddle them. We are there to uphold, not support them -- We are there!" he seized Pfrann, "to install an Intelligence cell which we will do! Damn the Federation, Shakaar and this Kira Nerys!"

"Do you even realize who Kira Nerys is?" Pfrann ventured cautiously.

The question provoked silence.

"Anon?" he said as Anon released him to collect his data padd from the floor.

"Yes, of course, I realize who she is," Anon fingered the padd. "I pay attention even if you don't think I do."

"I can never tell with you," Pfrann shook his head.

"The same as I realize I am more interested in Captain Sisko than some concubine of Legate Dukat," Anon straightened up to recast a smile in his brother's direction. "And of the terror that must have reverberated through the Federation Assembly when they found out the Cardassian representatives bore the name Dukat. We are significant enough that they would in moments cast aside Shakaar's insistent of unbiased arbitration that they have staunchly upheld for three months and insist we participate. Damar is nothing. I say it. You say it. And now the Federation is saying it. They are terrified of us. Thinking what we might do. What we could do. They want to know everything that is in our minds today, and what might enter our minds tomorrow. You call it abuse when I accept the power bestowed on us by others in our father's name. You call it denial when I reject his shadow. Make up your mind, Pfrann, you can't have it both ways."

"I bear his curse of indecisiveness," Pfrann acknowledged.

"Only if you want to," Anon promised. "With Sisko there the Federation representative is nothing more than a puppet. The conference is now between us and the Federation. Us, Pfrann. Which is what we want because we are Cardassia. In control, not out of control. Our presentation firm, decisive. Emphatic, not sarcastic. Damar, like an idiot willing cast himself in the background, where he will be lost. Where he will stay lost. Yes, I know who Kira Nerys is. A desperate attempt to re-equalize the footing Shakaar lost when he declined Damar's invitation, sending some stupid Neutral in his place….It's perfect, Pfrann," he exited the lift to stride across the bridge of his battle cruiser and assume command. "I really can't see how much more perfect it could get -- ETA to Terok Nor?"

"Thirty minutes," his helm reported. "Still no sign of any Federation patrol."

"See what I mean?" Anon grinned up at his brother. "Send a transmission we will be requesting permission to dock."

"We are several hours early," Pfrann reminded. "They may deny it."

"Bullshit," Anon scoffed, confident. "Sisko finds his seat in our father's office too comfortable to leave the sons of Legate Dukat hovering around the station in a battle cruiser with nothing but time on their hands. He'd rather have us in his nest as quickly as possible where he can watch us."

"Kira Nerys?" Shakaar's representative was an attractive young woman overflowing with vibrancy, dressed in a simple understated tunic of beige cloth, hearty smile, emerald green eyes -- and the biggest head full of snarled and mottled brown hair Dax had ever seen on a Human in her life.

"What?" Kira's face contorted.

"Sorry," Dax winced in whispered apology as Kira's expression of bewilderment moved from staring at her hand being vigorously pumped up and down to staring up at Dax.

"Yes, I'm Major Kira Nerys," Kira gave up on Dax to focus on…

"Janice Lange," Janice turned her warm and generous smile from Kira to Dax. "You must be Jadzia Dax. Adon told me to expect you."

"Well, Adon is one up on me," Kira muttered under her breath. Not that she meant to be catty, or to infer Doctor Lange's suggestion of familiarity by her use of First Minister Shakaar Adon of Bajor's first name might tug at her heart strings.

Anymore than Dax had meant to be catty about the doctor's eye-catching impersonation of a wide-eyed homeless waif that wasn't eye-catching, except to possibly a man. Most men. Klingons included. "Lt. Commander Jadzia Dax, yes," Dax smiled in return with an added witty hint. "But you don't really see me. I'm not really here."

"Oh, but you are here," Janice laughed. "I can see you."

"Yes…" Dax's look at Kira was blatant that time. Her unspoken message clear. Doctor Janice Lange either had her own healthy sense of humor to go with her healthy smile or she was a Dabo hostess in disguise. The choice was Kira's.

Kira chose to clear her throat rather briskly, her innate Bajoran reserve around strangers piqued and mildly flustered by the outgoing young woman…

With the biggest head full of hair Kira had ever seen on a Human in her life. Kira stared briefly at the massive, long brown mane heavily streaked with stripes of gold before she just shook her head and refocused on Doctor Janice Lange the person, not the hair, who was not supposed to be there never mind Dax.

Kira frowned. "You're early."

"I am?" Janice said. "Oh, well, that explains it," she smiled at her newly acquired dear friend Tom, better known to Kira and Dax as security officer Lieutenant Jacobs, standing there with a stupefied grin on his face.

"Well, of course it explains it," Kira gestured impatiently back toward the airlock. "Adon -- First Minister Shakaar," she immediately checked her own familiarity to fairly accuse Lange of attempted espionage, "was supposed to provide priority escort. You were supposed to arrive by escort tomorrow morning. Not by -- by -- "

"Local passenger shuttle," Dax volunteered, "tonight."

"Oh," Janice smiled.

And that was all she smiled. Or said. Dax had her suspicions if she and Kira chose to stand there for forty-five minutes that was all Doctor Janice Lange would have smiled. Or said as far as arriving twelve hours early by local shuttle.

Kira huffed. "Didn't Shakaar explain -- arrange all of this?"

"No," Janice shook her head. "He just pointed me in the direction of the shuttle port and -- wait a minute," she paused to think about it for a moment. "Maybe I did misunderstand. Because yes, he also mentioned something about a restaurant, but I was just thinking I could always eat when I arrived here…"

"Never mind," Kira settled the matter with a decisive slice of her hand through the air. "It's not important. What is important…" she took a deep breath, "is you're here. Yes, you're here," she broke into her own warm and welcoming smile with a warm and welcoming grasp of Doctor Lange's hand.

That she promptly proceeded to shake. Dax turned away with a wince.

"Yes, I'm Kira Nerys," Kira assured, "and this is Jadzia Dax, and we would both like to officially welcome you to Deep Space Nine."

"I guess so," Janice laughed.

"What?" Kira said through her glued and fixed smile that she knew was glued and fixed.

"We just did all of this," Janice nodded at her hand.

"Oh," Kira glanced down. "Oh, well, we're all just a little excited," she went on to dismiss, casually that time with another wave.

"Oh, yes, it is very exciting," Janice exuded her support of Kira's enthusiasm. "Could one of you do me a really big favor?"

"Anything," Kira swore. "Anything at all."

"Where can I find a toilet?" Janice whispered, slightly embarrassed.

"A what?" Kira's smile slackened.

"There were these two little twins on the shuttle," Janice confided. "The cutest little girls -- "

"That way," Kira interrupted to point. "Yes, that way."

"Thank you." Janice gratefully hurried off, leaving Kira and Dax free to mull over a few things.

"A toilet," Kira said. "She asked for a toilet."

"Yes," Dax nodded.

"She's twelve hours early and she asks for a toilet!" Kira gestured in disbelief. "Why didn't she just use the toilet on the shuttle?"

"Probably something to do with the two adorable little twins," Dax nodded.

"What?" Kira said.

"Maybe they were sick?" Dax shrugged.

"Sick," Kira said. "Sick," she looked down at the two enormous canvas duffels Lange had she left behind. "She called him Adon," she admitted finally, studying the luggage with a concentrated frown on her face alongside Dax studying the luggage with her hands clasped behind her back, her expression a blend of relaxation and mildly pensive thought.

"Yes, she did," Dax agreed with Kira's notice.

"Not that I care she called him Adon," Kira assured how she didn't care. Her year long personal relationship with Shakaar had ended amicably well over a year ago.

"No, of course you don't," Dax agreed.

"Of course I don't," Kira descended on the duffels to give one of them a hard yank. It didn't move. "What does she have in here?" She returned to frowning at the luggage that had to weigh several kilos more than she did.

"I wouldn't think clothes," Dax agreed.

"Clothes?" Kira said.

"She seems somewhat natural," Dax referenced Lange's simple beige tunic with its matching cloth hose dangling freely from its short hem line; her feet comfortable in flat, cloth slippers.

"Well, she's young," Kira shrugged.

"Very young," Dax nodded.

"Poised though," Kira extended. "Confident."

"Though I wouldn't necessarily go as far as saying relaxed," Dax considered.

"No, neither would I," Kira assured.

They fell into silence again briefly until Kira gestured in a general reference to her hair. "What's all that…"

"Yellow?" Dax smiled. "I'm not sure. Cosmetic, I would imagine."

"Cosmetic," Kira thought about that as well as the snarled mane that would break a steel comb if it had ever seen a comb.

"Worf will love it," Dax acknowledged wistfully.

"Worf," Kira snorted. "I can just see Bashir."

"And the Chief," Dax nodded.

"Quark," Kira assured.

"Benjamin?" Dax frowned just slightly.

"No," they both decided. Benjamin Sisko was a very solid man. Sober-minded and sensible.

"So's Worf," Kira reminded.

"True," Dax agreed.

"And the Chief is really also," Kira felt.

"Yes," Dax believed so too.

"Actually," Kira rolled her eyes, "the only one we really have to be concerned about -- "

"Is Julian," Dax reached down to swing one of the duffel's over her shoulder. "Rocks, maybe?"

"I was thinking souvenirs."

"From the Council of Ministers?" Dax grinned. "Or the Bajoran National Treasury?"

"You're security," Kira waved.

"True."

"All right, fine," Kira surrendered. "We won't look, we'll ask first, and then we'll look."

"Sounds fair," Dax considered. "After all we can't start out blatantly accusing…" she eyed Kira attacking the second duffel.

"In another life, maybe. I don't have time to be fair," Kira briskly flipped open the duffel to reveal an extensive collection of data. "The Bajoran-Cardassian Peace Accord?"

"Reference material?" Dax surmised.

"Well, I know Bareil was prolific," Kira tentatively admitted. "Wait a minute…" she dug through the duffel Dax was holding, ultimately surrendering in exasperation. "She has a whole Library here! From the Prophets to the First Hebitian Society to Vulcan's first contact with the Federation!" She tossed that one back in with disgust.

"You know what's worst of all?" Dax said.

"She seems pleasant enough," Kira sighed.

"Yes. I have a feeling she is. Though I'm not quite sure what that means as far as her capabilities."

"Or if it means anything at all." Kira tried not to think about what might have swayed Shakaar's decision if it wasn't Lange's diplomatic skills.

"We'll find out," Dax smiled in the direction of Janice on a fast pace back to them.

"Oh, for goodness sake," Janice laughed to Dax standing there weighted down by the combined Libraries of three worlds, "you can't lift that."

"Oh, but I did lift it," Dax twinkled back. "As you can see."

"Yes, I guess that's true. You're certainly much stronger than I am…" Janice expression of merriment included Kira standing there with the strap of the second duffel in her hand like she was getting ready to take it for a walk. "I just usually drag them."

"I was just waiting…" Kira explained.

"I don't blame you," Janice grabbed for the strap. "I wouldn't have bothered except I wasn't quite sure of the data facilities available…"

"Extensive," Kira gave her a hand with tugging her duffel along. "Yes, we have an extensive Library of data -- "

"Even on worlds outside of the Federation?"

"Well, yes," Kira hesitated, not quite sure if Lange was making a point or just asking a question. "DS9 is a Bajoran station, not Federation. And it does pride itself on being a gateway between Bajoran and Federation space. As well as the Gamma Quadrant, Cardassia -- "

"Yes," Janice nodded, "I understand from Adon the station played a very significant role throughout the Dominion-Federation War, as well as the Cardassian-Klingon Conflict."

"Yes, well, unfortunately, the station's strategic -- "

"Strategic," Janice stopped with a distant smile. "Wouldn't it be wonderful if the station's strategic location mandated it be a gateway between Bajoran and Federation Space? As well as the Gamma Quadrant and Cardassia for the purpose of science and exploration? Commerce and trade?"

"In whose lifetime?" Kira's reply was curt. "No, I'm sorry," she apologized a moment later. "I shouldn't have said it that way."

"You don't believe Legate Damar is sincere in his proposal, do you?" Janice nor her smile were offended.

"No," Kira answered honestly. "But it's not my place to comment on Legate Damar, or his proposal. I'm simply here as an advisor on the Prophets' teachings -- or Bareil's principles," she indicated the luggage. "If you have any questions…"

"Oh, yes, I understand from Adon you knew Vedek Bareil personally. How wonderful for you."

"Yes," Kira nodded. "Yes, it was wonderful."

"But, I didn't know…" Janice frowned.

"That Kira had been appointed as your assistant advisor?" Dax suggested. "Even though Shakaar told you to expect us?"

"Well, no," Janice laughed. "How did you guess?"

"Because the Federation's decision just came through while you were en route."

"No!" Janice gasped in open-mouthed wonder.

"Yes!" Dax assured in equal animation.

"Why?" Kira just said.

"Why?" Janice blinked. "Because you're perfect!"

"Perfect?"

"Perfect," Janice happily gave her duffel a tug, starting off again. "From your experiences during the occupation…to your work with the Bajoran-Cardassian war orphans…"

"Wait a minute…" Kira stopped her.

"To your personal knowledge of Vedek Bareil," Janice beamed.

"Bareil, I can help you with. Any questions you may have concerning the Prophets. But as far as my experiences in the Resistance?" Kira looked at Lange tenderly because, yes, she decided she liked Doctor Janice Lange. She had a very good feeling about her. Very comfortable. She was very young. Obviously very enthusiastic. Possibly a little bit overwhelmed. Possibly just a little nervous. "Or my experiences at all? I can't discuss them with you. Don't misunderstand me, I would love to. But the Federation and Bajoran Councils agreeing to my appointment as assistant is not a license to direct you in any way. Shakaar was adamant about using a Neutral for the very reason you are neutral. I'm not. I'm Bajoran."

"Oh," Janice said.

"But that's good," Kira promised, a legitimate smile on her face as her hands clasped the young woman's shoulders. "That's wonderful. Because you can see things, that I can't. You can…" she said with a trailing glance over that simple beige tunic Janice wore. "Where are your clothes?"

"My clothes?" Janice repeated.

"Your clothes. You're going to be here for a week. The only thing Dax and I found…"

"I've been appointed Chief of Security for the Bajoran side," Dax clarified her role as Janice glanced from the duffel she and Kira were dragging to the one Dax was carrying.

"They're on the shuttle," Janice nodded.

"The shuttle?" Kira blinked.

"I guess I forgot about them," Janice admitted.

"You forgot -- your clothes?" Kira started to laugh. "You remembered all of this…"

"Not too bright, huh?" Janice bit back her own giggle. "Is there anyway we can stop it? Is it still here?"

"The shuttle?" Kira looked at Dax. "No…We can try to get them back for you some time tomorrow…"

"Oh, tomorrow will be fine," Janice assured. "I'll just wear this."

"No, you can't wear that," Kira shook her head.

"I can't?" Janice looked down at her comfortable tunic.

"No!" Kira scoffed. "You wore it on the shuttle, didn't you?'

"Well, yes…"

"Don't worry about it," Kira gave the duffel a tug to get it going. "We have replicators…We have shops…"

"We have Garak," Dax nodded. "Do you have an expense account?"

"An expense…" Janice started to say.

"Garak?" Kira grimaced.

"It'll give him something to do," Dax grinned.

"Point," Kira pointed with a nod for Janice. "And we have Garak. Don't worry about anything."

"Oh," Janice said. "All right," she shrugged, "if you say so."

"I say so. In the meantime we can take care of your medical screening -- "

"Medical screening?"

"All members of the conference are required to have a medical screening by Doctor Bashir prior to opening the proceedings," Kira explained. "It's for you own benefit as well as ours. You'd want to know if you were carrying any viruses or illnesses, wouldn't you? The same as we would want to know."

"Oh, well, I have my medical clearance from Bajor…" Janice reached for her duffel.

Kira stopped her. "We also want to make sure you are who you say you are. Captain Sisko's orders."

"Security procedures," Janice got it. "I think."

"Security," Kira nodded. "I wouldn't worry about it. It's pretty painless."

"Pretty painless?" Janice shivered. "I'm not so sure I like the sound of that."

"Julian will be taking a blood and DNA sample for analysis as precaution," Dax said.

"What sort of precaution that can't be determined by a non-evasive screening?" Janice frowned. "I'm quite serious. I really don't think I like the sound of what you're saying."

"That you're not a Changeling," Dax smiled. "We could always hit you with a dose of radiation if you prefer -- "

"Or we could force feed you," Kira interjected.

"Force feed me?" Janice repeated.

"I wonder why the UFP never thought of that?" Dax agreed.

"I don't know," Kira shrugged.

"Probably comes under humane statutes," Dax offered Janice. "Changelings don't have digestive systems -- or any type of system common to humanoid races. Any solid form they present is the form they take on at the moment."

"Yes, I know," Janice assured. "Their natural state is a formless jell-like substance. They're extraordinarily advanced telepathically with the common element they call The Great Link which basically unites them as one."

"That's about the size of it," Kira agreed sourly when they entered Quark's and twelve chairs appeared from nowhere. Yanked out from tables, from behind pillars, as that common element called Male rose to their feet in a united wave amid a chorus of, "Oh, here."

"Oh, my."

"Oh, yes."

"Hm."

And one deep, reverberating, "Glorious," in a monotone Dax knew well.

Benjamin, on the other hand, found himself restricted to, "Um, ump, ah!" As he attempted to swallow what he was eating, clear his throat, and leap to his feet at the same time.

CHAPTER SEVEN

A tray clattered to the floor at Kira's feet announcing the arrival of Quark better late than never to gush, "I'm in love."

"So much for sober and sensible?" Dax smiled at Kira.

She could say that again. Kira looked up from the tray to Quark. "Hey," he sneered. "When you're in love, you're in love…And I'm in love…" He stepped over the tray.

Kira's arm caught him dead across the chest. "One more step and you'll be wearing your lobes upside down on the back of your head."

Quark shuddered. Those large and protruding Ferengi ears of his she so callously threatened to dismantle were one of the more sensitive erogenous zones of his race. "You really know how to hurt a guy."

"That I do," Kira promised. "That I do."

The sound of a duffel bag stocked with data files dropping to the floor roused Worf from his stupor. His mouth closed, his eyes cleared and he was staring at: "Jadzia," Worf breathed, terror pounding in his Klingon hearts.

"Glorious?" Dax accepted the empty chair clutched in his hand.

Worf groaned. "I meant the gagh."

"You meant her hair," Dax assured, generously turning to mention Benjamin clutching the chair on her left. "You have barbecue sauce on your upper lip."

"Thank you," Sisko thanked her through his teeth, snatching up Garak's napkin to scrub his smile clean.

"Not at all," Dax said with a second flash of her smile up at Worf.

"I meant," Worf insisted, "the gagh. It is glorious!" He barked across the masses to Quark.

"Go on," Quark waved back with a blush, promptly proceeding to hammer Kira out of the way. She hit the floor with a crash. Quark halted to eye her but then he just shrugged. "You only live once."

"Yes, apparently," Bashir snapped to attention with a hurried and shocked reach for Kira.

"Leave me alone!" she ordered. "Just leave me alone! Let go!"

"All right." He let go, and Kira promptly hit the deck a second time. Bashir grinned sheepishly down on her. "You said to let go."

"Yes…" Odo said as Kira rose stiffly, straightening her uniform with a contained nod to Janice understandably taken aback.

"Are you all right?" Janice asked.

"I'm fine," Kira's nod turned to Sisko waiting patiently. "I'd like you to meet -- "

"Garak!" Garak exhaled in appreciation at Kira's side, delighted to make the acquaintance of such an attractive young woman brightening up their otherwise dull and meaningless lives. "Elam Garak!"

"Julian Bashir!" Bashir heartily supported Garak's appraisal.

"Miles O'Brien!" The Chief threatened to make it unanimous.

"Oh, for -- What do you think you're doing?" Kira gave O'Brien a judicious clout in the arm.

"What?" he insisted defensively. "I can't say hello to the woman?"

"Quark," Quark slipped in with an oiled smirk, firmly planting himself in front of Doctor Lange and his hand casually down in O'Brien's dish. "Coffee, tea, or…" He felt the warmth of mashed potatoes and gravy oozing through his fingers.

"Lamb," O'Brien nodded as Quark picked up his dripping hand with a scowl.

"Glorious," Dax agreed.

Worf huffed. "Your hair," he assured the Human female by the name of Doctor Janice Lange. "It is glorious. I am Worf; a Klingon. And to a Klingon, your hair is glorious. Worthy of mention."

"Oh," Janice bit her lip with a light giggle for the imposing Klingon Worf towering a head or two above everyone. "Well, actually, I was admiring yours."

"Mine…" Worf's hand strayed to his long and tightly braided locks pulled back in a heavy, neat tail.

"Yours. I would love…"

"I would be honored…" Worf swelled to volunteer before he sat down suddenly and hard.

"We get the picture," Dax released the back of his tunic gnarled in her fist.

"To explain to you the procedure," Worf extended Janice. "With Jadzia in attendance, of course."

"We're a couple," Dax pleasantly added. "Where Worf goes, I go. It's just the Klingon way."

"Oh, good," Janice said. "Because, that might be fun…" Out of the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of Kira shaking her head. "Or maybe not."

"No. I'm sorry, but no." And Kira extended that unyielding no to Bashir.

"No, what?" he blinked, innocently, he might add.

"Indeed, Major," Garak agreed equally befuddled by what Kira could possibly mean. "No, what?"

"I said, no," Kira insisted.

"What no?" O'Brien scoffed. "I said hello, I can't say hello?"

"Shows how much you know about politics," Quark sneered at her. "I'm a Neutral."

Odo eyed Kira expectantly, his voice droll. "No, what?"

"Just no," she laughed. "I didn't want to make you feel left out."

Odo grunted. "Yes, well, shows how much you know about Changelings… Constable Odo," he moved past Kira's agog expression to introduce himself to the young woman responsible for the group of them taking turns at making asses out of themselves. "Chief of Security for DS9. Though in your express instance you'll find your security advisor to be Commander Dax -- Doctor Lange? I presume?"

"Oh, yes," Janice quickly apologized to the interesting looking Constable Odo with the soft, understated features that almost looked as if they weren't finished. He wasn't a species she recognized. His manner as soft as his appearance though, she felt immediately comfortable with him. "Janice Lange, yes," she smiled. "I'm sorry, where are my manners…"

"You should probably ask where are ours…" Odo turned to Sisko. "This is Captain Benjamin Sisko, who I believe Major Kira had been about to introduce."

"Oh, yes," Janice shook Sisko's outstretched hand, her emerald eyes sparkling in excitement to meet the Captain she had heard so much about over the last few weeks. He was a muscular man with smooth dark skin and a cleanly shaven head. Approximately the same height of his lanky Constable, he was somewhere between the age of Odo and the shorter, broader Miles O'Brien. A narrow, closely clipped beard added a devilish, almost provocative flare to Sisko's appearance that she didn't believe for a moment. Bristling energy and strength tempered with kindness emanated from him. Good humor; good fun. "How do you do, Captain Sisko? I'm Doctor Janice Lange, First Minister Shakaar's representative."

"I'm quite fine," Sisko's deep, vibrant voice was welcoming. "I trust you are also. Your trip?"

"Oh, yes," Janice agreed. "But please, call me Janice -- or is that allowed?" she checked with Kira.

"No," Kira maintained whether it was or not.

"Oh," Janice said with apology for Sisko. "I'm sorry, all of these formalities have me a little confused."

"Chief O'Brien will certainly agree with you there," Sisko gestured for her to be seated.

"Yes, Chief O'Brien certainly will," O'Brien assured. "Or is that allowed?" he verified. "I mean, can I talk to the woman? Or is that a violation of some protocol?"

"Not for this evening, no," Sisko smiled. "And certainly not," he reassured Janice, "in the presence of all sides -- or most sides," he smiled. "The Cardassian representatives have not yet arrived. Still," he smiled, "as commander of this station, I see no harm in everyone meeting each other under social and hopefully pleasant circumstances.

"As it is possibly I who should be apologizing to you," he smiled, "on the behalf of my staff and guests…" A warm, twinkle flickered through his eyes turning to Dax. "I know that must be crossing Dax's mind…"

"Just briefly," Dax smiled in return.

"Yes…" Sisko cleared his throat. "As well as Major Kira's…"

"For a moment or two," she said.

"Yes…" Sisko quickly opted to retreat back to Lange. "However, I can assure you, we were all simply startled to find you had arrived…"

Dax likewise noticed Benjamin just glossed right over how he and the rest of them had been notified over his com badge of Lange's unanticipated arrival by security.

"Oh, yes, I understand from Major Kira I'm early," Janice nodded.

"Several hours," Sisko accepted without the slightest thought of accusation. "But quite all right as I said. We do have Mister Garak with us…" he reintroduced Garak seated to her immediate left; a Cardassian of average height and weight with a highly provocative air, invitational. Like a spider coaxing a fly into its web. Garak made Janice want to laugh; she wasn't quite sure why. "A native of Cardassia Prime, should Legate Damar have any questions."

"Which, of course he will," Garak beamed at Doctor Lange, truly an exceptionally attractive young woman by Human standards, that he did concur. Highly provocative in her own right with her flagrantly understated tunic and untamed mane of hair. She looked wild, free. So utterly natural and extraordinarily delicate at the same time. "But never fear, my dear, as always, Captain Sisko's wish is my command."

"Oh, good," Janice breathed relieved. "Because it doesn't matter to me what I sleep in, but I will need to borrow something from you to wear in the morning; I hope that's not too inconvenient."

Worf stabbed himself in the mouth with his fork. Bashir choked. O'Brien inhaled his beer while Quark dropped another tray. Sisko just cleared his throat again in tune with Garak's halting stammer, "I beg -- I beg your pardon?"

"I left mine on the shuttle," Janice shrugged. "I don't know how I did, but I did. Major Kira's already mentioned if anyone could, you would be able to help me."

"I see…" Garak's slow and deliberate nod of understanding trailed its way to finding Kira even though no, he didn't understand anymore than the rest of them -- Other than Commander Dax, Garak noted. Yes, apparently she did understand something.

"You're a tailor, Garak," Kira reminded him coldly.

"Oh," Garak said. "Oh, yes, that's true I am, aren't I?" he recalled.

"Yes!" she snapped.

"And how very kind and thoughtful of Major Kira to recommend me, my dear," Garak oozed his way back to Janice. "Oh, yes, how very generous of her. Because, yes, I am a tailor by trade, that's very true…Not always, naturally," he candidly disclosed for her information. "But, yes, for the past several years since I have been living here on DS9. Prior to that -- "

"He was a tailor on Cardassia Prime," Major Kira attempted to be humorous.

"A spy, actually," Garak's coating smile paused to coat Kira. "You're missing a unique opportunity, Major; I am surprised to have to point out. Should Legate Damar present any questions regarding my involvement with Doctor Lange, which of course he will, we'll just remind him how I was once a member of our once illustrious Obsidian Order…Something that should alleviate any concerns," he promised Janice, "that I am not spying on you. Because of course, I am; I spy on everyone."

"You're funny," Janice was glad to find she been right to like him immediately even though she did believe that distinct devilish glitter in his watery eyes. The same as she believed the one she could see in Commander Dax's. Major Kira, she suspected was one of the more serious members of the small group. Kira reminded Janice of someone and she knew just who. Anon. Janice smiled at Garak, one of the few Cardassians she had ever met in her life beyond Anon and his small crew. Despite Shakaar's liberal and generous effort to prepare her for what should be the culture shock of her life, Garak really didn't seem to be anymore disdainful or ominous than Anon had.

No more intimidating than the strong and silent Klingon Worf.

No more suspiciously watchful than the young doctor Julian Bashir.

No more suspicious than Chief Miles O'Brien whose energy held a slightly sharper edge than Captain Sisko. Charged with a stream of mild impatience and minor irritation, Chief O'Brien appeared to be a man who needed to be shown things rather than told. Similar to Major Kira, and certainly no more frightening himself than the playful Commander Dax, equally powerful in her physical appearance and aura.

Speaking of playful. Janice's attention flitted between listening to Garak and smiling back at Quark's impatient look of disgust smeared across his face.

"A much appreciated compliment," Garak was nodding. "If I may compliment you in return, for while not being Klingon, I must say your hair is quite striking. Really quite extraordinary. From the texture to the color."

"Oh, yes," Bashir supported.

"Definitely," O'Brien promised, "top notch."

"We know," Quark assured Worf opening his mouth, "glorious."

"That was my foot you kicked, by the way," O'Brien alerted Dax. "Worf's the one on your left. I'm on your right."

"Sorry," she shrugged.

"It's all right." O'Brien just passed the kick onto Julian who passed it on to Kira who passed it on to Odo who passed it across to Worf.

"So what's the bottom line here?" Quark questioned Janice, more interested in the hairdo that took up three times the space than she did at the table than in who was kicking whom. "Half the customers are asking if you're Klingon, the other half have a bet going you were hit with a phaser on stun."

"Human," Janice crossed her heart.

"Uh, huh," Quark gave Bashir a sock between his shoulder blades. "That's okay. We'll find out. You've got a date with him later for a physical -- trust me, I know everything," he forestalled Kira's indignant yelp. "I'm surprised I have to point that out."

"Well, personally, I, for one, am glad you did," Bashir jumped to his feet. "For heaven's sake, the woman could be highly contagious. Exposing us all to all sorts of deadly -- "

"Sit," Sisko directed, "down."

"Sitting," Bashir sat back down with a grin. "Just a joke, of course… Though I'm sure either Kira or Dax have explained to you," he confirmed with Janice, "that you will have to undergo a medical screening. Nothing too dramatic. Just a small sample of your DNA. I have all sorts of things like teddy bears for you to hold, if you're a coward like the rest of us."

It was around that time that Sisko was interrupted again over his com badge by security officer Lieutenant Jacobs.

"Captain?"

"Sisko, here," Sisko's attention was absorbed by Quark handing Janice a menu; five voices joined in a chorus of recommendations.

"We just received a transmission from the Cardassian battle cruiser Tir. They will be requesting permission to dock within the next thirty minutes."

Sisko snapped to attention; Janice Lange forgotten.

"Captain?" Lieutenant Jacobs pressed.

"Understood, Lieutenant," Sisko assured. "Permission granted. Thank you. I'll take it from here."

"Is everything all right?" Janice asked when Sisko hurriedly begged off with Worf and Odo.

"Oh, it's fine," Kira settled down next to Dax. "It's fine. Legate Damar is apparently early also…I think what I'd like to do is schedule the medical screenings for tonight?"

"Yes," Bashir understood her reasoning. "That way I can just take a second DNA and blood sample tomorrow morning for comparison analysis right before the conference."

"I agree," Dax nodded.

"Not that we mean to suggest we're paranoid," O'Brien joked to Janice's cringe.

"Oh, no, I understand. Kira explained to me about the concern for Changeling infiltration -- Is Odo by any chance a Changeling?" she wondered curiously.

"Well, yes," Kira answered slowly. "Why?"

"An excellent question, Major," Garak agreed, intrigued and thinking about Shakaar's briefing that was either extraordinarily vague, or extraordinarily detailed as far as whom his representative could expect to come in contact with during her short stay. A decision one could probably reach by simply deciding if they accepted Lange's casual appearance and air at face value. Considering the subject matter Doctor Lange was there to discuss, it wouldn't make any sense if they did.

Doctor Lange, however, was casual and simple in her answer to Major Kira. "I noticed he didn't appear to be eating or drinking like everyone else…That and his facial features are extraordinary. Smooth. Formed, but almost formless at the same time…I'm sorry, I'm probably not making any sense…"

"Oh, no," Julian was eager to interject, overruling her self-criticism with a remarkably weak argument that was sure to glean everyone else's attention even if failed to capture Doctor Lange's. "What's extraordinary, actually, is your observation to your hypotheses. Both entirely correct, and almost empathic in character. Are you quite sure you're entirely Human?"

"As opposed to…?" Dax couldn't resist petitioning Kira.

The Chief's groan was more to the point. "Oh, Jeez…here we go."

"As far as I know I am," Janice laughed to Bashir. "Are you being serious?"

"I'll never tell," he smiled. "Though my medical scan just might."

"Oh, really," she pushed up the sleeve of her tunic in teasing counterpoint. "What will your medical scan say about this?"

"An implant?" Kira frowned at the evidence of small electronic node visible beneath the soft underside of the doctor's forearm.

"Yes," Janice nodded. "I could really be a tree, Doctor, I should warn you. Instead of blocking my DNA patterns, it could really be a pulse center for your scans to lock onto."

"Well it's definitely on a pulse center…" Bashir rose to his feet, fascinated. "May I?"

"Of course," she extended her arm for his inspection. "You will anyway."

"So I will," he grinned. "Dare I try out my own empathic abilities? I say Bajoran. True or false? Probably not farfetched to think of a DNA inhibitor."

"True," she laughed again. "My work on the outer colonies found me there during the Federation-Dominion war. The elder of my village was concerned for my safety from any scout ships that might be in the area, so he gave me this to block their scans."

"Extraordinary onto itself," Bashir examined the area as best as he could without a tricorder. "Certainly quite thoughtful of him -- Garak, you see this?"

"Oh, yes," Garak assured. "Yes…Your village elder is a former member of the Bajoran Resistance, my dear, I take it?"

"Possibly," she shrugged. "I really don't know."

"Though safe to presume," Garak smiled. "As it's also reasonable to presume your Bajoran friend was mildly apprehensive that being Human you might experience some form of rejection to his prosaic technology. It really should be implanted just slightly deeper for maximum effectiveness."

"Well, actually, yes it should be," Kira agreed. "But, no, this will work…" She denounced Garak's indifference impatiently. "You know it will work."

"Oh, yes, I do know," he purred. His senses, not only Julian's, increasing aroused by this young woman with every passing moment. "From our short range scans, quite well. As well as the Federation or the Klingon Empire. From the Dominion? I would be far less confident. All really moot points, my dear, because you realize once in your presence, it would be a different story entirely. Of Human ancestry or some other species somewhat more advanced, you're quite obviously not Cardassian or Jem'Hadar. Fortunately though that did not happen?" he waited eagerly for Janice to contradict him; mildly disappointed when she did not.

"No. Do you have to remove it?"

"Oh, no, I wouldn't think so…" Bashir looked to Kira for confirmation. "I will have to make record of it, yes. Possibly conduct a few other scans…"

"I'm sure that will be fine with Sisko," she said. "After all, Shakaar is certainly aware -- "

"Oh, yes, Adon knows all about it," Janice nodded. "He insisted it be documented on my medical screenings."

"Did he?" Bashir grinned at Kira.

"New?" Dax scoured the carpet in an attempt to change the subject.

"Two years," Quark snorted from above her tipped head.

"Nice try though," O'Brien extended.

She thought so.

"Well, we certainly can't argue with that," Bashir's grin pressed Kira.

"I'll clear it with Benjamin," she said. "But, yes, I'm certain you can keep it."

"Oh, good," Janice relaxed. "It's almost like a gift from a friend. I'd hate to have part with it."

"It is a gift, my dear," Garak reiterated. "A very thoughtful one -- what exactly is your line of work, if I may ask?"

"Archeology," Janice accepted a glass of wine from O'Brien. "I have a grant from the Bajoran government for two years to do studies on -- well, the outer colonies," she smiled. "Makes sense."

"I see…" Garak contemplated the explanation. "And that's how all of this came about…I mean, as far you're being chosen as First Minister Shakaar's representative?"

"Yes." Lange disappointed him again with the simplicity of her answer. "And that's how my hair came about -- the color. It's a root dye. I have a little friend -- Nadya," she told Kira. "You'd love her. She's nine years old. Hates my hair. Absolutely hates it. She made me promised that before I went to Bajor Prime to meet the Council of Ministers I'd let her help me do something with it."

Bashir smiled. "Well, that very well may be because she doesn't hate it quite as much as she claims to."

"No, she hates it." Lange proceeded to tell her story about her little friend complete with animated gestures and asides to everyone's sheer delight. Kira and Dax found the short tale generally interesting as well; difficult not to. Doctor Janice Lange was a personable young woman. Unpretentious and refreshing with her open honesty. That concerned Dax just a little. If the Klingons were predators, the Cardassians were destroyers, both often acting without provocation. Both seemingly steadfast in their refusal to develop their societies beyond their advanced technologies to the practices and principles of what truly separated a civilized world from barbarians. Dax wasn't so sure bright and gifted Janice Lange was a person capable of enacting change on an audience that didn't want to change. For all her talents, she lacked the one most needed endowment of all; armor. Personal armor. Without it the change far more likely to occur would be within Janice Lange. Confusion, if she was lucky. Destruction, if she was not. Dax glanced at Kira wondering if she was thinking what she was thinking, having a feeling she was.

Kira was. Carrying the premise of Janice Lange needing a receptive audience in order to be effective all the way to Shakaar who had to realize that. That troubled her deeply. Uncertain as to what the destruction of Doctor Lange would ultimately achieve other than Bajor was, as always, right? And Cardassia was, as always, wrong? Like a lamb before the slaughter, Kira eyed Janice surrounded by her enthralled audience that wasn't captivated to the point that the one with the power and control was Janice Lange. Far from it. From Quark setting down a tray with a selection of every conceivable food item he could fit on one plate. To Bashir's rapt attention, to the glint in Garak's eyes, to the Chief's unabashed interest.

"I've tried to explain to her," Lange was saying, "'Nadya, this is my hair.' 'What can I do?' Make it a different color. What color? Yellow.

"Yellow," she nodded to Kira.

"Yellow," she said to Dax.

"I'm thinking to myself," she reminisced with her laugh, "of this gigantic sun surrounding my head. I couldn't do it; I just couldn't. So we compromised. That way Nadya was happy, and Bajor Prime was happy -- I guess," she laughed again. "No one told me to go home."

"What a marvelous story," Bashir applauded.

"So it is," O'Brien helped himself to sampling her dinner. "Want a job?"

"A job?"

"Babysitting."

"Oh, you have children," Janice smiled tenderly.

"Two," O'Brien nodded proudly. "Little boy, little girl. They're on Earth with their mother -- Keiko's her name. But they'll back. The lot of them. Soon."

"How wonderful for you."

"Oh, yeah?" O'Brien chuckled. "Who says? Nah, I'm just kidding you," he promised when she blinked. "Yes, it is wonderful. I'd be lost without them -- I am lost without them. I'm also serious. Anytime you want to give up this archeology business, come see me. Molly would love you -- heck," he grinned at Kira. "The lady lets some kid paint her hair? Trust me, she'd love her."

"Eh, heh," Kira flashed a row of clenched teeth.

"What, 'eh, heh'?" O'Brien blustered. "What am I doing? I'm talking -- excuse me," he patted Janice's arm. "I can't talk to you. I'm cheating on my wife if I do."

"Oh, well, that's very true, Chief O'Brien," Garak collaborated. "At least as far as being a married man," he notified Janice. "Which no, neither Julian or myself -- "

"Or Quark," Quark interjected.

"Happen to be," Garak agreed.

"Oh, no," Bashir hurried to confirm his single, and therefore highly eligible status. "No, Quark's brother Rom stole my last girl, I'm sorry to say. Where Worf…" he batted his eyes at Dax, "stole the one before her."

"And neither was too difficult," Quark assured.

"No, unfortunately," Garak's head swayed in sad support of Julian's perpetual heartache. "Inexplicable really. It's not as if there's anything noticeably wrong with Julian -- though quite apparently there must be something terribly wrong, somewhere."

"Think if I vomited anyone would notice?" Kira wondered.

"Probably not," Dax offered her a taste of gagh just in case she wanted to try.

"I'll pass."

"However, not dismissing lightly Julian's painful history of chronic rejection," Garak was saying, "I would also like to say how very much I enjoyed your story about your hair -- notwithstanding you, personally. What a delightful and charming individual you are, Doctor Lange. Truly, the Cardassian Union doesn't stand a chance."

"Good," Janice approved. "Because if any of you," she pointed to O'Brien. "You," she pointed out Sisko's empty seat. "Or you," she promised Garak and Bashir. "Pretend you're the Cardassian representatives for a moment -- try to be difficult, remember Adon, Kira and I are going to come away with our Consult anyway."

"Consider us on notice," Bashir smiled. "Though I admit I hadn't realize First Minister Shakaar actually supports the Cardassian proposal?"

"No," Kira was startled, "neither did I."

"Oh, yes," Janice picked up her glass of wine. "Absolutely. He's quite adamant about it -- Not that there isn't room for compromise. There's always room for compromise. That's what we're here for. Right?"

"Has my vote," O'Brien lifted his glass in toast.

"And also mine, my dear," Garak joined in, in all good fun. "In my temporary assignment as Consular Representative for the Cardassian Union, I can't imagine Gul Dukat not being as receptive to you as I am."

She heard him wrong. Janice's glass paused on her lips. "Gul Dukat?"

"Don't panic." Doctor Bashir moved to relieve any concerns she might have over meeting the infamous Cardassian tyrant face to face. But then he had to be thinking of Anon's father; of course he was. To where she wasn't thinking of anyone other than Anon. Janice shook her head in an effort to pay attention to what was being said.

"Oh, well, no, I'm not panicking…" she denied. Garak noticed her quick look up from her wine for Kira. "Am I?"

"Maybe a little." Major Kira agreed in thorough understanding.

"For no reason, really," Garak upheld. "As Julian claims…"

"We'll protect you," O'Brien swore in oath.

"That's very kind of you, but I really don't think I need protection…"

Garak watched her eyes flit anxiously between Kira and Commander Dax.

"I was just surprised. I had no idea…"

"Benjamin just received the disclosure notice himself a couple of hours ago," Dax explained. "While you were en route from the planet's surface -- Something which actually, yes, should have been clue," she submitted to Kira.

"That Damar was also en route," Kira agreed sourly. "Federation and Bajoran surveillance would have picked up the Cardassian battle cruiser on long range scans; even before they crossed the border."

"I'm sure they did," Dax told Janice. "However, the UFP supported the Cardassian Government's request to keep the names of the delegates concealed until the time of the conference…"

"And when we found out who they were," Bashir assured, "we could certainly understand why."

"I'm confused." Doctor Lange was still shaking her head. "Who are you saying is going to be here?"

"Gul Anon Dukat," Garak clarified for her. "The eldest son of the former emperor of Cardassia, my dear. Along with a younger brother, yes, is my understanding. Anon is only about your age -- in Federation years, of course."

"Yes," Kira squeezed Janice's hand tightly. "No, the representative isn't Dukat."

"Definitely only his sons," Bashir promised. "Good heavens, we'll have the woman in tears…."

"Oh, I'm not near tears," Janice denied. "I'm just…well, surprised," she maintained. "I had no idea. But…." she straightened her shoulders, setting her glass firmly down on the table. "I do now."

"Very true," Garak cooed. "As I maintain, it's quite reasonable to suggest Gul Dukat's apt to be as surprised in meeting you."

"Oh, yes," Janice nodded. "Yes, I can appreciate that."

"Can you? How extraordinarily confident of you, my dear," Garak picked up her wine to offer it back to her. "Really, most becoming -- "

"That's enough!" Kira snatched the glass away. "Two's enough! We don't need three!"

"And we'll tell him, if necessary," Chief O'Brien boasted in reminder.

"Quite," Bashir begged the glass back from Kira. "Like father, like son -- I'm sure you've heard that before. Interestingly enough the Klingons have a similar saying. 'The sins of the father -- '"

"Actually," Dax interceded with a smile, "it's the dishonor of the father dishonors his sons and their sons for three generations."

"Close enough," Bashir handed Janice her wine.

"So it is," Garak agreed. "Forewarned is forearmed, my dear, I believe you Humans also say?"

Yes, they did. Though Janice wasn't sure what any of them seemed to think they meant as far as Anon. "What was your father like?" she asked Bashir.

"A con artist," O'Brien chuckled. "So forewarned is forearmed, is right."

"And yours?" Janice's laugh turned to Garak.

"Unfortunately," Garak inclined his head, "my father was a man who delayed saying what needed to be said until it was too late."

"Like my brother," Quark assured her.

"And yours?" Janice asked O'Brien.

CHAPTER EIGHT

A strong man with a strong frame. Gul Dukat's eldest son Anon was shorter than his father. Much broader and heavier through the neck, across his shoulders and chest. The face stern. The eyes cast in concentration, his thoughts inward. In contrast, the younger brother was the image of who his father must have been at his age. Tall. Slender. His shoulders carried high and back, supported by his hands on his hips as he looked around the airlock.

"Right down to the watchful, darting pupils," Sisko noted under his breath, completing Odo's observation of the Sentinel Pfrann dubiously promoted to the rank of Lieutenant for the occasion -- as if there wasn't something dubious surrounding Dukat's rank of Gul; Odo was sure there was.

"Hm," he grunted, stopping shy of proposing perhaps they should consider themselves to be lucky the one in charge was Damar. That, of course, would remain to be seen. They same as it would as far as just how much weight a man's looks, or lack of them carried; Odo highly doubted if it was very much at all for either of them.

"Speaking of which," Odo gave a cynical nod toward the hefty, ponderous figure of Damar exiting the lock; quite possibly the youngest Emperor on record ever to rule Cardassia, Union or otherwise. That was not a bad achievement for thirty years of life; not bad at all.

"Sisko." Damar endeavored to greet the Captain cordially, his eyes more on Worf. "Bending rules already?"

"Apparently so," Sisko returned smoothly.

Damar threw back his head with a laugh. "We're two of kind."

"I wouldn't count on it," Sisko replied to the hand clapping down on his shoulder.

"We'll see," Damar promised with a nod in his assistant's direction; a Cardassian vole for lack of a better description. "You know my Mister Paq…"

"I believe we may have met, yes," Sisko acknowledged one of Dukat's former security chiefs while in residence aboard Terok Nor. Obviously Paq's interpretation of loyalty was similar to Damar's. For that matter similar to the Dukats; both young and old.

"My two representatives," Damar's hand called Dukat and his brother to come to attention. "Gul Dukat and his lieutenant…"

Dukat's step forward was sharp and immediate once apparently realizing he was being spoken to. His surprisingly quiet reply, a crisp, terse question. "Where are our quarters?"

"Well…" Odo thought he covered the pause rather nicely, "they're not here."

Dukat's quick glance over Odo was equally crisp and disinterested. "Then we are to be escorted to them -- "

"Captain," Sisko interrupted him, "Benjamin Sisko. Commander of Deep Space Nine, Gul Dukat."

Dukat's eyes traveled back to him with caustic, though still quiet, assurance, "I know who you are."

He walked off with a call for his brother to follow him. And so perhaps the striking resemblance the younger of the two brothers bore to the father was solely physical, but then again, perhaps it wasn't. Sentinel Pfrann followed his brother, but not before he turned to Sisko with an, oh, so familiar expression. And an, oh, so familiar ring of heavily burdened exasperation conveyed by a deep sigh, "If you will excuse us, Captain."

"Youth," Damar shrugged like a permissive parent.

"Arrogance," Sisko corrected. "Curb it."

"We were early, Captain," Anon announced to Sisko approaching him waiting at the turbolift with his brother, "because for some reason our two borders seemed devoid of Federation patrols."

If it was an effort to employ that infamous Cardassian sarcasm, the Gul failed. The only thing Dukat continued to sound to Odo was irritable. A few decibels lower and deeper than his father's usual volume, that was true. But then the voice was a little hoarse, or raw around the edges, and so that perhaps explained why; Dukat had a cold.

"Sorry to disappoint you," Sisko activated the turbolift via a control panel; a security measure set in place for the auspicious occasion.

"Ha," Anon clipped his laugh short. The door swished open and he stepped inside. "No disappointment. I presume Klingon cloaking devices."

"You presume incorrectly," Sisko said evenly. "But that's quite all right. You are welcome to presume anything you like -- Acting upon it however is an entirely different matter," his dark-brown eyes met Anon's watery red stare; Odo had already made a note of that. Bilateral implants designed to improve the Cardassian vision in bright light, as well as night. He was a Gul. Not one who achieved his rank sitting behind a desk.

"You will be scheduled for a complete medical screening…" the Captain was also taking note of the optical implants and thinking of others.

"I have the notification," Anon interrupted and Sisko paused, waiting him out.

He didn't have to wait long. "What do you expect me to do?" Anon requested impatiently. "Argue with you about it? Sorry to disappoint you," he faced the door of the lift waiting for Sisko to give his orders. "Where are we going?"

"Promenade," Sisko directed, and the lift engaged.

"Promenade?" Anon scowled slightly at Pfrann. "Our quarters are on the Promenade?"

"The Bajoran representative has arrived ahead of schedule -- "

"Surprise," Damar's snort interjected over Sisko.

"I don't see the harm in everyone meeting each other this evening," Sisko continued.

"No," Anon refused. "We have no interest in socializing. We are here for one purpose. Stop the lift. Stop it!" he insisted, his finger pointed directly in Sisko's face. Worf's defensive reaction was immediate. Sisko was even quicker. His hand shooting out in a preemptive strike, stopping Worf before Dukat found himself a permanent part of the station's sub-structure.

"Take your finger out from in front of my face," Sisko advised the unimpressed and motionless Gul quietly, "before I snap it off."

He did. Almost triumphantly with that short laugh, the hint of a smile flitting across his face. "My father is right about you."

"Possibly," Sisko granted.

"Depending," Anon understood, "on what he says."

"Regardless," Sisko assured, "of what he says. Understand one thing, Gul Dukat, your father's son or not, this is my station."

"And like all young men," Damar settled back with a chuckle, "he can't decide who he is."

"And you can, helmsman?" Anon retorted. Damar reared to find his advance in turn immediately checked by Worf, Odo, and Odo supposed if one wanted to push it, the loyal assistant Mister Paq.

"That is enough!" Sisko barked, livid. "Halt program!"

"Anon, please!" his brother's plea supported that request.

"Don't correct me!" Anon silenced him with a snap; his glittering infra-red pupils focused on Sisko. "We prefer to adhere to the drawn protocols of contact accepted by the Cardassian Union."

"I don't give a damn what you prefer," Sisko assured. "Less interest in your domestic quarrels. One last time, Dukat, this is my station and if I say jump, Mister, you will jump. That includes extending your superiors the respect due them -- in public! I don't care if you slit each other's throats elsewise. But, not on my station, and not on my time."

"Kira Nerys," Anon nodded. Not that that had anything to do with anything other than reiterating his continued lack of interest in anything Sisko might have to say.

Sisko stared at him. "What about Major Kira?" he insisted. "Yes, Major Kira has been appointed to the position as assistant to the Bajoran representative. If you have any complaints, address them to your own Council!"

"I have the notice," Anon agreed. "I didn't read it. I was…" his hand fluttered in the direction of Damar, "too busy reading his position. Did they grant the post of Federation assistant to you?"

"They did indeed."

"Good," he approved, turning to face the door of the lift. "Address your questions and recommendations to me. Instruct Nerys to do the same and the Cardassians will leave your station within two days, not a week."

"I'll make a note of that," Sisko finally replied.

"Your choice," Anon shrugged. "You want to dance, dance. Me? I prefer to jump."

"Yes, well," as far as Odo could see what the Captain probably wanted to do more than anything was knock him down more than a peg or two. Though, of course, Sisko didn't; that would have been rude. Likely in violation of some diplomatic protocol -- to borrow Garak's defense -- should anyone happen to complain.

"Promenade," Sisko turned away.

The lift reengaged, stopping again shortly thereafter. The door opened. Dukat exited to shrug at the swank display of Federation prosperity spreading out over the Promenade once drenched in the sweat and filth of Bajoran workers beneath those magnificent Cardassian archways. "You like your trinkets of glamour."

One step though and he stopped to look at his brother silent beside him, a grin, interestingly enough creasing the Gul's face. "Who cares where we eat. Our quarters or some Quark's. Do you care?"

"No, I don't care," Pfrann shook his head quietly.

Anon eyed him for another long moment to suddenly throw back his head with a laugh. He clapped his arm around Pfrann's shoulders.

"Anon…" Pfrann attempted to shrug the arm off.

Anon would have none of it. He strode off under those magnificent archways, his arm firmly in place, the other gesturing as he spoke, cajoling his brother. Taunting, teasing until the younger one surrendered to the pulls, the punches, the pokes, and started to laugh.

Sisko was watching two brothers. One a very powerful young man, unharnessed in some ways, far too confident in others. The younger one blatantly terrified of losing his elder, possibly to himself. "His father's station," he remarked to Odo stepping up beside him.

That also warranted little more than a grunt. "Yes, well, it's not his father's station."

"Tell him that," Worf spoke from above their heads.

To the contrary, Sisko would rather tell someone else, something else. He turned to Damar.

"Have patience with him, Captain," Damar proposed with a tolerant smile in an attempt to cloak his impotence put alongside his former master's prodigy.

"Interesting choice for a representative, Legate Damar," Sisko assured. "Extremely interesting."

Pfrann saw her first as they entered Quark's upper level. Anon was too busy attempting to further his understanding of his schizophrenic father as he gazed around the glittering glitz and glamour of Quark's entertainment palace. "No wonder Dukat likes this place. No wonder he can't stay away.

"No wonder he loses it," he turned to follow after Pfrann with a knowing chuckle. "He doesn't know what to do with it."

"Anon!" his brother whirled back to crash into him like a maddened Klingon targ was on his coattails.

"What's the matter with you?" Anon scoffed. "No one's going to stop you. See all those?" his finger flickered around to twenty odd yellow statues assembling to enclose the immediate area; an effort not too noticeable to the rest of the patrons pausing in their dinners to cast a puzzled, interested look.

"I want to go," Pfrann pleaded in desperation. "Please, let's just go."

"No, we're not going anywhere," Anon stepped around him to continue his stride on through the dining area. "If they want to look, let them look…" he spotted the two pieces of luggage in the middle of the floor. The young, slender, brown-haired Human male in Federation uniform sitting on one of them. The small Bajoran woman attractive in her delicate bone structure and short dark red hair seated on a chair across from him on the other side of the table.

"Anon," his brother said in his ear.

Anon noticed Garak last after he looked over the tall woman, striking and beautiful with what appeared to be tattoos framing her face. She sat between the Bajoran officer who had to be Major Kira and a muscular man; another Human. A Ferengi waiter hovering in the foreground.

"Anon," his brother begged.

"Janice," Anon answered. Her clothes were as simple as he remembered them. The insanity of her hair surrounding her. A familiar smile contorting her face as she talked to the tall woman with the tattoos seated across from her. Anon frowned. "What species is she?"

"A Trill, I think," Pfrann sighed, far more interested in the threat of Janice Lange. "Anon…"

"Curzon Dax," Anon nodded, pleased. "Good. If Shakaar or Sisko attempt to scream contamination we'll just blame it on him."

"Him?" Pfrann stared at Dax.

"Her. Him. Whoever," Anon dismissed. "The Cardassian is Garak."

"Garak?" Pfrann's troubled look shifted immediately from Dax to his father's enemy.

"Trust me, Pfrann," Anon's hand clapped down on his shoulder, "the Federation and Shakaar have far more to be concerned about than we do."

"Anon!" Pfrann grabbed to stop him when he removed his hand.

"I love her, Pfrann!" Anon angrily pulled away. "I'm not going to betray her, anymore than she is going to betray us, and neither are you!"

"What?" Pfrann stared at him.

Anon sighed. "I think after eight months I know this."

"What are you talking about eight months?" Pfrann hissed. "You haven't even seen her!"

That was true. Anon studied Janice. "You're right. I think I should tell her now that I do." He pushed ahead of his brother.

To Worf approaching with Sisko and the others it almost appeared as if the two brothers were engaged in an embrace for some reason until Worf looked past them to the table. He stiffened. "Garak."

Sisko's attention shifted immediately from Damar to Garak; the man he had completely forgotten about. "Worf," he directed in agreement as Dukat took a step around his brother.

"Garak…" The voice was Damar's, bristling beside him.

"At ease, Mister Damar," Sisko moved forward quickly after Worf.

"Legate Damar," Odo reminded in his ear.

"Whichever," Sisko waved.

They looked up, Janice included, when Anon appeared to circle the luggage before looking beyond his survey, past Bashir quickly standing up, to Garak. Something in the air perhaps? Something in the eyes? Something prompted Janice Lange to turn back around to Garak, her hand reaching out to clench his. Her gesture and soft, gentle smile generating a look of confusion across his face.

"Yes, well, if that's not empathic…" Bashir muttered as Janice turned back to face Dukat, positioning herself between him and Garak.

"I'll say…" O'Brien muttered back.

"Or briefing," Dax offered, not to dampen the romance.

"Briefing?" O'Brien scoffed. "Briefing?"

"Quite," Bashir agreed. "Wouldn't it have been prejudicial of Shakaar to mention Ziyal?"

"Yes," Kira answered coldly.

Garak spit Janice's hair out of his mouth to find himself face to chest with Worf planted between him and a sullen Damar.

"Doctor Janice Lange, Gul Dukat," Janice reached out to shake Anon's hand hanging straight at his side. She grasped it anyway, in both of hers, explaining pleasantly as he looked, "It means welcome. Peace. Friendship -- "

"And thank you." The cool grip of his hand around hers was tight. His eyes probing hers deeply. The silent moment shared between them, to him, was awkward. He wasn't sure if he wouldn't have preferred to have been the one to lie about any past acquaintance rather than her. It was unlike her, he would have thought. That disturbed him. Annoyed him in some ways, excited him in others. Her warm hand clenched his as tightly as he held hers; her eyes hopeful, happy, anxious, sad. It was going to be difficult to talk to her privately, regardless of what he told Pfrann. It was going to be more difficult not to talk to her at all.

"Interesting…" Garak immediately caught the distortion in Dukat's voice pattern indicative of a universal translator in desperate need of adjustment, even if he missed noticing the strength of Dukat's grip, or the lengthy moment shared between him and Doctor Lange.

"Yes," Janice smiled at Anon, acknowledging his brother over his shoulder. "You must be Pfrann…"

"Pfrann, yes."

The brother's voice was soft, the translation perfect. More importantly, Garak noticed how quickly Pfrann agreed with Doctor Lange's presumption of who he was. Odd, because Garak didn't recall anyone mentioning the younger brother, certainly not by name.

"And, of course…" Janice turned to Damar, a broad Cardassian similar to Anon, roughly the age of Doctor Bashir.

"Yes, yes, yes," Damar waved impatiently at her. "Legate Damar. Sit, young woman. Sit."

"All right, I'll sit," Janice shrugged, and sat.

She sat. Garak ogled her. Certainly there was an air of familiarity about the young woman in her approach; he had noticed that much earlier. And while a charming characteristic in a woman as young and attractive as she was, it wasn't necessarily a preferred attribute for a diplomat. Interesting because though a diplomat's chief purpose commonly was to invoke unity and accord between peoples, appropriate public etiquette demanded they hold themselves aloft.

"Oh, Jeez…"

Garak likewise noticed how Chief O'Brien looked away, also apparently not quite sure if Doctor Lange's action of immediate compliance had been the smartest thing for her to do; certainly open to an interpretation of sarcasm, and therefore disrespect.

Nevertheless Lange's obedience or defiance that may have momentarily surprised Damar as well was lost in the attention he was currently paying Garak from behind Worf.

"Garak," the Emperor said, the back or chest of a Klingon not quite broad enough to hide them from each other completely.

"An interpreter, perhaps, your highness?" Garak offered glibly. Personally inspired by Doctor Lange's actions. "I could be wrong, but I don't believe your representative's universal translator is working completely up to specifications."

"I like it when it doesn't work," Anon stepped around the luggage to claim possession of the unoccupied chair next to Janice.

"Oh? Why is that?" Garak's smile glittered with a particularly interested glance over the Gul sitting down.

"Privacy," Anon eyed Kira standing at attention. "You are Major Kira Nerys?"

"Yes," she agreed.

"My father sends his regards." He left her to mull that over while he pursued a study of Quark.

"Social Director," Quark offered. "Funny, I was just about to say you don't look anything like him -- where you do," he alerted the younger one. "Good, bad or indifferent, you do."

"The same old Quark," Damar's laugh was forced, his words an utter lie. He reached for the chair previously occupied by Kira. "May I?"

"Of course," Kira stepped aside.

And so they played musical chairs for a short while until everyone was seated, introductions made, the conversations limited and sporadic. One or two of them picking over their cold food while Damar busied himself with Sisko reviewing the security itinerary for the week; Federation and Bajoran Special Forces hurriedly assembled to form a protective shield around the area.

"What is in the luggage?" Anon solicited Janice with a flick of his head back towards the duffels as he sampled a cool crisp carrot from off her dinner plate.

A reasonable action, Garak surmised, considering the size of the entree, the Gul probably assumed it was there for the taking of anyone.

"Quantum torpedoes," Janice shrugged.

He laughed. He paused, and then he laughed, asking permission as he stretched for one of her canvas sacks. "May I?"

"Of course."

He flipped open the duffel tossing his brother one of the logs and keeping one for himself. "We do this also; Cardassians. Research for our platforms."

"Well, I should hope so," Janice leaned over to help him configure his access.

"No, I can do it," he stopped her. "Cardassian, Federation technology it's all the same."

"It's Bajoran."

"It's the same," Anon stuffed the log in her face. "See? Vedek Bareil. I can even read it. Tell me what this is instead," he held up the carrot. "Do you know?"

"A carrot," she nodded.

"A carrot." Anon challenged Quark. "How do you get it so crisp?"

"Trade secret. Ten strips and it's yours."

Janice laughed. "It's a vegetable. Not cooked."

"A vegetable?" Anon eyed the plate. "Whose is this food? Yours or the Klingon's?"

"Well, yes, it's mine," Janice agreed. "Why?"

"I thought it was his," he shrugged.

"You thought it was…" her brow wrinkled. "Is that why you're eating it? Because you thought it was Worf's?"

"Yes."

"But that's terrible!" she laughed again.

"No, that's terrible," Anon pointed out the gagh. "I'll have the same thing, without the gagh -- and, wait a minute, wait a minute," he stopped Quark before he took the plate away. "What's that?"

"Sand beetles," Quark sighed. "Ferengi sand beetles. By any other name, Ferengi caviar."

"Yes, all right, that's fine," Anon waved. "Same thing. Her, too. Bring her a new one. This one's cold."

"Well, wait a minute!" Janice stopped Quark. "Wait a minute!"

"Need I say why," Quark turned back with a roll of his eyes.

"You eat sand beetles?" Janice peered at Anon. "But you won't eat serpent worms?"

"You eat carrots?" he countered. "But you won't eat -- what's this?" he picked up the parsley.

"Parsley," she identified. "No, I won't eat it, that's why it's still there."

"I figured that out." he assured. "What's it taste like?"

"I don't know," she shrugged. "Taste it and see."

"Taste it. How do you know you don't like it if you haven't tasted it?" Anon scoffed, taking a handful and dismissing Quark. "You want to make a profit?"

"Come again?" Quark's lobes twitched.

"Wait on your customers." Anon tossed a twig of parsley to his brother, Damar's assistant Paq, as well as Damar preoccupied with Sisko's security log.

"Am I mistaken…" Dax leaned confidentially toward Kira.

"No," Kira answered, her arms folded, her face set as she slouched in her seat.

"Hm," Odo agreed behind them.

"Oh, well, I don't know." Bashir wouldn't be so hasty to presume Dukat was misbehaving for any particular reason. "I mean," he grinned for Kira and Dax skeptical to say the least, "if you're referring to a traditional Cardassian mating ritual, shouldn't Dukat be snarling, and sneering, and throwing chairs…" he caught a glimpse of Worf's eyes sliding to the side. "Rather like Worf?"

"Or throwing parsley," Dax nodded.

"This surprises someone?" Quark clomped by and down the stairs.

"No," Kira assured.

Sisko and Damar glanced up with the twig of parsley mysteriously appearing in front of them.

"Try it," Anon gestured to Damar's suspicious scrutiny.

"Yes, all right," Damar picked up the parsley with a sigh, his somber expression changing with first bite.

"Yes?" Anon said.

"Fine," Damar waved, resuming his conversation with Sisko.

"All right, go ahead," Anon nodded to his brother waiting.

"What?" Janice blinked startled with a scolding whack of Anon in his chest. "Why that's terrible!"

Garak inhaled sharply in shock, followed closely by O'Brien's groan. Kira, Dax, and Julian merely succumbed to staring.

"What's terrible now?" Anon laughed. "Someone had to try it first. Why shouldn't it be Damar?"

"Well, yes, I realize someone had to try it first," she nodded briskly. "That's not the point. It's parsley, not poison."

"It could taste poison," Anon shrugged with a grin for his brother. "You like it?"

"Yes," Pfrann agreed quietly.

Good," Anon promptly rose to bellow over the rail for Quark.

"Oh, Jeez…" O'Brien turned around in his chair for a pained study of Odo as Kira's face set harder and Sisko almost jumped out of his skin.

"You were saying?" Dax said to Bashir.

"Quite…" Bashir's dazed nod was slow.

"Um, hm," Odo agreed.

"Like father, like son," Dax settled back in her seat with a smile.

"You got that right," O'Brien sneered.

"Yes, you do," Kira assured.

"Well, why doesn't someone say something?" O'Brien insisted. "She majored in anthropology -- "

"Not sex?" Dax offered.

O'Brien looked at her. "He's Cardassian."

"It's pretty universal," Dax nodded.

"The practice or the method?" Bashir grinned.

"Excuse me," O'Brien stood up, once a father, ever a father apparently.

However, Odo's hand pressing down on the Chief's shoulder stopped him from being that fatherly someone to intervene. Leaving it to Damar jumping to his feet with an annoyed and insistent, "Dukat!"

Anon ignored Damar to the added confusion of everyone who hadn't been in the turbolift earlier for Sisko's lecture on appropriate public etiquette.

Or almost everyone. Odo's gaze moved from Garak's bright eyes to settle on Doctor Lange pensively lost in thought. Suggesting to him she either knew little about Cardassian cultural antics as the Chief professed, or Commander Dax was right and the antics were universal. In any event it did appear as if she was diligently trying to figure something out.

"A way out," O'Brien assured. "She's no match for him. You know it. I know it. And he knows it."

"Yes, well, if that's true," Odo grunted, "I'd say not only Doctor Lange, but Shakaar has a problem on his hands."

"I have to agree with Odo," Dax admitted to Kira. "If she's going to be that easily intimidated I don't think the conference stands much of chance."

"If." Kira studied the young woman with her head bent staring at her feet.

"I think it was more just a natural reaction," Dax nodded.

"What was?" Kira looked up.

"The slap she gave him?"

"Oh," Kira said. "Yes, I'm sure it was."

"So then just how intimidated could she be?" Dax understood after thinking about it briefly.

"Exactly," Kira assured.

"Interesting point," Dax agreed.

"I mean," Kira gestured, "I really don't think Shakaar…"

"Would turn a kitten loose in a den of lions?" Dax offered.

"No," Kira was firm. "I don't think he would."

"Also an interesting point," Dax acknowledged.

"But?" Kira said.

Dax smiled. "I'm not so sure Dukat would have laughed if he didn't think Lange wasn't a kitten."

"Doesn't mean he's right," Kira insisted.

"No," Dax granted, "but it doesn't mean he's wrong either. Sometimes kittens do just respond out of reflex action."

CHAPTER NINE

Half of the cultural antics in the immediate area died down to a collective hush to stare up at the Cardassian Gul screaming down over the rail to the bewilderment of the public already intrigued by the walls of yellow armor strategically lining the section.

"What?" Quark turned back with a snarl.

"Make it five!" Anon instructed. "Same thing! Five people!"

"Why don't I just bring a tray!" Quark shouted back.

"A tray?" Anon thought about that. "You mean a big one?"

"No, I mean a small one," Quark scoffed at a nearby table full of patrons struck dumb even if they didn't recognize Anon as the Number One Son of his one and only, apparently not so one or only.

"Dukat!" Damar demanded.

"Shut up!" Anon turned on him with a snarl. "I can't hear the Ferengi if you're talking too!"

"Shut up…" Garak could feel himself swoon at all the possibilities such an open and obvious hostility could present.

He wasn't the only one. "Apparently there's no love lost between those two," Dax remarked to Kira frozen in her seat.

Sisko was far less impressed than his senior staff. "Gul Dukat…" his voice, quiet and emphatic penetrated the stunned silence.

For naught, Odo nodded. Dukat turned his back on Sisko as well to shout over the rail for Quark.

"Of course I mean a big one!" Quark hollered up as Sisko stood there, his face drawn and flush with fury, a melee moments away from breaking out.

"That was a mistake," Dax's spots flamed deep violet. Kira's knuckles white as she gripped the arms of the chair, a breath away from leaping to her feet.

"Actually, that's not a bad idea!" Bashir sprang to his feet, tripping O'Brien and colliding with Janice jumping up from the table with Damar's outraged reach for Anon that had Pfrann leaping to protect his brother.

"Janice!" Anon exclaimed as his brother toppled into Garak's arms, Janice sandwiched somewhere in the middle of them and Bashir in a tangle of arms and hair. A feat that was at least effective in bringing everyone else up short even if half of them fell down.

"Quite," Bashir grinned at Janice, attempting to ignore Sisko's blackened stare and Kira's coarse, "Bashir!"

"Are you all right?"

"A little startled, I'd have to admit," Garak answered from somewhere close by. "But otherwise unharmed." He collected himself with the assistance of someone -- Worf, he believed it was -- to flutter his smile over Julian and Doctor Lange, and, yes, Major Kira and Commander Dax, all embracing Dukat and his brother in a group hug. "The same, I trust, holds true for the…six?" he verified, "Of you?"

"Three," Dax smiled. There only to assist Kira and Worf with identifying and separating the bodies.

"As well as you?" Garak included Anon. An unlikely hero, but nevertheless valuable in preventing the group of them from plummeting over the rail entwined in that same tangle of arms and hair.

"What?" Anon said to Bashir, no doubt as confused to have found Julian in his arms, as he was confused to find…

Janice. Garak suddenly realized what he had heard Anon say, and what he said made little, if any sense at all.

"No, not me." Julian was shaking his head. "Garak's asking if you're all right."

"Yes, of course, I'm all right," Anon diligently worked with Kira, Dax and Captain Sisko, Odo and three conscientious security officers to extricate his brother's banner snarled in Doctor Lange's hair.

"Yes, well, I think…" Bashir offered, an accomplished surgeon and therefore familiar with these types of intricate procedures.

"Don't touch it!" Captain Sisko and several others insisted in mutual agreement.

"Do not," Worf added to that.

"Anything!" O'Brien upheld.

The Chief, Garak smiled, was obviously not as fortunate as the rest of them as he came away from Julian's acrobatic endeavor wearing Commanders Dax and Worf's gagh in an interesting motif on his uniform breast. The three security officers just kept working.

"Well, I guess that tells me," Bashir grinned at Pfrann standing there as patiently as one could expect under the circumstances.

Eventually however sixteen hands proved better than two. The group disbursed, leaving the responsibility of plucking the remaining strands of hair left behind in sacrifice from the banner to Dukat and his brother -- and, yes, Garak noticed, Doctor Lange, until Anon waved her back to her seat. "No, it's fine, it's fine. Thank you."

"Enough for everyone," Bashir nodded as he got Janice's chair for her; really, she was a most trusting young woman Garak did have to say.

"What?" Anon's head snapped up from giving his brother's uniform one final review.

"Not your hair," Bashir grinned at Janice. "The meal. We'll just all share from the same meal. Humans call it breaking bread. A gesture of unity…And we certainly are all united; at least in an idea," he smiled at Anon's contorted and incredulous expression. One spreading throughout the group poised to take action, probably not against Dukat. "Even if we haven't agree upon the method."

"Oh, we're in agreement," Kira muttered under her breath. "Death."

"It's probably the only answer," Dax nodded.

"Hm," Odo agreed.

"What's wrong with him?" Kira insisted. "Is there something wrong with him?"

"Julian?" Dax smiled.

"Hm," Odo agreed.

"He's talking about the conference," Pfrann explained quietly to Anon scowling at him.

"Yes, all right," Anon waved impatiently in unlikely understanding to Bashir. "What about the Klingon? Do you want Quark to include the gagh then?"

"I beg your pardon?" O'Brien blurted out, Garak's eyes glittered in appreciation of his and Worf's thoroughly understandable startled reaction.

"For two, please," Commander Dax exhibited her usual poise under pressure.

"For two!" Anon resumed bellowing over the rail for Quark.

"Did you ever have one of those urges to kill someone?" Quark halted with a sigh; a tray precariously balanced in his hand.

"He can't hear me," Anon shook his head at Bashir.

"No, he can hear you," Bashir promised, joining Anon in a shout that would wake the dead.

"Oh, Jesus…" O'Brien just turned his back on the lot of them.

"And that's before the kanar," Odo mentioned, not to exclude or excuse Bashir.

"Kanar?" O'Brien groaned. "Oh, please."

"Make that two someones," Quark nodded at a table full of patrons no less startled by the sight of Bashir hanging over the rail, his arms spread in demonstration.

"A huge platter! And include the gagh for Worf and Dax!"

"Include the gagh," Quark nodded. "Five minutes ago they didn't want the gagh, now they want it again."

"What do you want to drink?" Bashir asked Anon. "Wine? Kanar?"

"Kanar?" Anon looked Janice up and down. "No, Janice won't drink kanar," he shook his head, but the was hardly the point. Yes, hardly the point at all.

Janice? Garak glanced at the parsley scooped up and dangling from Anon's hand.

"If she won't eat this, she won't drink kanar."

"Well, you never know," Bashir smiled.

"I know," Anon assured.

Do you? Garak regarded the Gul as confident as he alluded to being familiar. Are you? He wondered why.

"Fussy when you have a choice," Anon teased Janice with a laugh.

Is she? Garak ogled Doctor Lange who he would presume to be a woman remarkably unpreoccupied with trifles of any sort. He judged this, naturally, based on her appearance and their hour or so acquaintance. Certainly hardly qualified to suggest otherwise with such definition.

"Who isn't?" Janice shrugged.

"That's true." Anon passed the duty of refreshments back to Bashir. "All right. Wine, kanar, whatever you want…" he paused in assuming his seat to eye Garak in an unspoken inference that perhaps he was not only as bold as he seemed, but equally as observant as some tailor.

"Enough for everyone," Anon tossed Garak the parsley while Bashir screamed "Quark!" out over the rail.

"Well, I'll be…" O'Brien whistled low as Garak's focus shifted from Anon to the parsley he held in his hand.

"And that's an olive branch," Bashir approved.

"What?" Anon said.

"Not important," Bashir approached Kira with a grinning whisper. "Did you see that?"

"Yes." Kira was no more impressed than Benjamin, O'Brien or Odo. Dax's attention was riveted on Worf and his equally uncompromising rigid posture.

"Oh?" Bashir's spirit of togetherness and intra-galactic peace wasn't necessarily deflated by a staunch critic or two. "Well, I thought it was an interesting gesture, at least."

"Interesting?" Kira seethed, far more than her sense of the agreed rules of protocol incensed. "Interesting? Her name is Doctor Lange! Not Janice!"

"What?" Bashir said.

"Dukat," Dax leaned over to confide. "Apparently you're not the only one who feels comfortable addressing Lange on a first name basis."

"Oh," Bashir smiled. "Well, no, I'm sorry, I didn't really notice. I was more preoccupied by you and Worf and the offer of gagh."

"It is an attempt at seduction," Worf assured, able to see the forest for his stomach, apparently.

"Of course it's an attempt of seduction," Bashir settled down, not really concerned about it or anything at all. "It's an attempted seduction of you, me -- and, well, obviously Janice."

"And that is reason for concern," Worf insisted.

"Oh?" Bashir chuckled. "Why? Are you about to crawl into bed with him? I know I'm certainly not."

"Neither is she," O'Brien scoffed. "Have some faith in the damn woman, is right, never mind him."

"Quite," Bashir pointed his finger. "What the Chief said. Have some faith in the damn woman, damn him."

"I'd have to agree with that," Dax smiled at Worf as well.

He sighed. "Jadzia -- "

"You know as well as he does Cardassian mating practices are as specific as Klingon," Bashir interrupted. "Meaning flagrant even if your father didn't write the book."

Worf ignored him. "Doctor Lange's qualifications as an officer of the Bajoran government do not mandate she be familiar with every aspect of Cardassian culture."

"If they don't mandate she be completely familiar with Bajoran," O'Brien snorted, "I don't see how they could."

"Precisely," Worf maintained to Dax. "Chief O'Brien is right. She is Human. And he is, yes," he acknowledged somewhat begrudgingly, "the son of Gul Dukat. That is significant only that it is obvious in its extreme."

"In every way," O'Brien said. "He perches on a chair like some damn King."

"Yes," Worf agreed.

"And that means?" Kira said.

"It means," O'Brien insisted, "that if she's not in tears an hour from now, I'll eat gagh. He's trying to confuse her. His behavior has to seem to her to be somewhat bizarre -- it's bizarre to me, for pity's sake. From Damar on down to Garak."

"Yes, well, actually…" Odo drawled.

"I know!" O'Brien sputtered. "It's intentional. Classic. He's his father incarnate. And that gives him an upper hand, or he thinks it does. Not to where she's going to wake up and find herself next to him with no idea how she got there, no. But, yes, in every other way, yes. The Consult!" the back of his hand clapped against Worf's chest. "He's working every angle he can think of to come out on top; he is!"

"Yes," Worf apprised Dax.

"I know she's twenty-four years old," Dax maintained calmly. "And if she doesn't know by twenty-four when someone is making an overture -- "

"I would be remarkably concerned for her mental health," Bashir supported.

Dax's eyes closed with a sigh. "Julian…"

"Well, I would," he protested to her pained look. "As a doctor, of course I would."

"I'm afraid I might also have to agree with that," Dax finally surrendered with apologies to Kira.

"Good," Bashir approved. "Because it's certainly quite obvious to me whose eye Janice is attempting to catch."

"Excuse me?" O'Brien gagged, no minor overreaction there. "Whose eye she is attempting to catch? Whose? Or should I bother to ask?"

"Mine," Bashir looked around for the wine and a glass, finding both surprisingly enough intact on the corner of the table.

"Yours," O'Brien preempted Kira standing there with an artery or two about ready to explode.

"Mine," Bashir wandered back. "As I said, fairly obvious to me."

"That's not what's obvious to me," O'Brien's hand connecting with Dax's reaching to collect a chair with a mind to park it and Bashir down in it for safekeeping. "You believe him?"

"Actually yes," Dax was sorry to have to say.

"Uh, huh. What happened to rule about no fraternization, or is that different if your first name is Julian?"

"For a week," Bashir reminded. "Not a millennium. Certainly no harm after the conference with inviting Janice out for a harmless cup of tea. I seriously doubt if she's all that anxious to get back to unearthing some Bajoran belt buckle lost ten lifetimes ago. Even if she is, there's still nothing wrong with a day or two holiday?" he offered Dax the glass of wine with a smile for the chair.

"He has a point," she declined pleasantly with a nod for O'Brien.

"On the top of his head," O'Brien assured. "The woman will be out of here at warp speed before he's finished asking her to tea or anywhere else."

"Possibly," Dax agreed. "Still, it could be worse."

"They could both be screaming," O'Brien understood.

"They were both screaming," Worf contributed, deadpan.

"Actually, all three of them were," Dax laughed.

"Quark," Odo offered Worf's furrowed crest.

"Oh, please," O'Brien scoffed. "I stand a better chance…"

"Excuse me?" Kira strangled out.

"Well, I do," he insisted. "Excuse me, but you did notice that while the three of them were trying to out crow one another, I was the one just sitting quietly by?"

"Yes, and?" Kira insisted.

O'Brien thought about that. "Yes, and some women like the quiet type," he concluded.

"If not the strong and silent type," Dax offered, a personal expert on the subject.

"You mean like Keiko?" Bashir grinned.

"Who?" O'Brien said.

"Your wife!" Kira snapped.

"Mrs. O'Brien," Odo clarified.

"What is this with bringing up Keiko every five minutes?" O'Brien demanded. "Because I'm married, I can't look?"

"He can look," Worf agreed.

"Excuse me a moment," Dax nodded to Kira.

"Jadzia," Worf groaned, "I simply meant…"

"The Chief has two eyes."

"Yes…" Worf hesitated. "He has two eyes…"

"Easily remedied," she promised.

"So it is," Bashir laughed. "In a fair number of creative of ways."

"Go ahead and laugh," O'Brien waved. "Like I said, have faith in the woman. In my opinion even being married I stand a better chance than you, or Quark, or that one."

"Well, Quark and Dukat are rather a given." Bashir discounted them the same as he discounted Garak or Odo, though not out loud. Sisko never even crossed his mind.

"And?" O'Brien said.

"And so are you," Bashir sat down. "So I guess that just leaves me."

"We'll see," O'Brien threatened. "What you think you have sown up in style, I know I have in experience."

"I beg your pardon?" Bashir paused.

"I said, we'll see," O'Brien assured, undaunted by the glances passing between the lot of them. "I'm forty-two years old, I'm not dead."

"You're forty-two years old and married, is what you are," Bashir corrected. "With two children, I might add."

"So?" O'Brien scoffed.

"So, you can't be serious," Bashir insisted.

"Oh, I can't?" O'Brien's head cocked.

"No, and he isn't serious," Bashir assured Dax. "He isn't," he maintained to Kira.

"I don't care!" she said. "That's enough, the two of you!"

"It certainly is enough," he agreed. "The woman is hardly some sort of prize to be won, or vied for…You're not serious, are you?" he frowned at O'Brien, really not sure if the Chief wasn't serious to an extent.

"May the best man win," O'Brien borrowed his wine glass to toast him with it before he downed better than a quarter of it in one swallow.

"I didn't think so," Bashir relaxed into a smile. "Quite all right. You can still be best man -- Godfather, also, if you insist. Garak, of course," he acknowledged as Kira snatched up his wine, but since she never did get her coffee, he could imagine she was thirsty for anything by this point, "might be a little put out…"

"What do you have?" Anon looked over Pfrann's shoulder to read the data padd while Garak thoughtfully studied the parsley in his hand, Bashir's conversation with the Chief inaudible except for an occasional laugh.

"Bareil," Pfrann answered quietly, evidently lacking that same appreciation Captain Sisko and Damar lacked for his brother's behavior.

"Me, too," Anon sat back down with a new and a potentially leading question for Doctor Lange. "Kira tell you about Bareil, how she knew him?"

"Adon did, actually, yes," Janice smiled.

"Yes, of course, Adon," Anon poured wine from another convenient bottle while waiting for something more agreeable to him. "First Minister Shakaar Adon of Bajor. He would be a sheep farmer, or something like that, if it wasn't for us. You know that? About the Bajoran caste system?"

"Yes," she nodded.

"Of course you do," he reached to take the data log from his brother and toss it back in the duffel. "Something you find in agreement with the Federation Articles? This denial of personal freedom to be something other than what your family name denotes you to be?"

"Well, actually," Janice said, as Sisko and Damar glanced up, "what you're calling a caste system -- "

"No, of course, you don't," Anon stopped her. "I forget. You're a Neutral. You don't know anything about the Federation."

If she thought he was challenging her she was right. Not because he felt betrayed to find her sitting there in representation of Bajor, but because he continued to feel awkward and constricted by his inability to just talk to her without concern of arousing someone's suspicions. Their relationship and exchange had always been open and honest. Right now they weren't being honest with each other at all.

"Chapter One," Janice struck an amusing pose. "Purpose and Principles, Article One, paragraph three: 'To achieve interplanetary cooperation in solving intra-Galatic problems of economic, social, cultural, or humanitarian character; in promoting and encouraging respect for intelligent life-form rights; and for fundamental freedoms for all without distinction as to culture, sex, life-form, or religious belief'."

"Paragraph two," Anon applauded. "'To develop friendly relations among planets based on respect for the principles of equal rights and self-determination of intelligent life-forms.' Very good. What is self-determination to you? I am self to me. Defined as self, not you."

"The Bajoran society -- " Sisko interrupted quietly.

"Well, good," Janice interrupted him to extend her approval to Anon. "Because I am self to me. Defined as self, not you."

"And?" Anon said, as Sisko eyed Lange.

"And," Janice nodded, "if the Bajoran social system denies the fundamental freedoms by distinction on the basis of culture, sex, lifeform or religious belief…Or," she preempted him, "if it violates the equal rights or self-determination of an intelligent life-form, it would be in violation of the Articles of Federation Chapters One through and including Eighteen. Yes, it would be. Absolutely."

"So it would be," Sisko bit his smile at the oblique answer. "However, I think Doctor…"

"What does that mean?" Anon scoffed with a point of his finger in her face. "Bajor clearly employs the principles of a caste system in its treatment of the Bajoran-Cardassian population. Admit it. They are in violation of the Articles of Federation."

"Yes, Bajor does, and so does Cardassia," Janice smacked his finger out from in front of her face to point hers in his. "And, yes, that has to change. You know it, I know it, and so does the Federation."

He laughed. No one else did, but he did. "You're good. Very good. I look forward to the conference. It should be interesting."

"Well, I should hope so," Janice smiled. "I wouldn't like to think I've bored you already."

"No, I'm not bored. How could I be?" Anon rested back in his seat with a taste of the wine he did not like and a glance over his father's Nerys arguing with the Federation puppets O'Brien and Bashir. "Kira tell you how she was guardian for my sister Ziyal?"

"Your sister…" Janice repeated.

"Dukat!" Sisko and Damar both immediately barked. Kira jumping to her feet, aborting her dressing down of the Chief and Bashir to attack him.

"What?" Anon was amused.

"You know very well what!" Damar's fist struck the glass tabletop rattling the plates and flat ware. "I will not have our position compromised simply because you feel like being clever!"

"You believe him?" Anon snickered to Sisko.

"Regardless," Sisko returned coldly. "Your question is inappropriate. The agreed protocol is emphatically clear on the issue of neutrality. The entire point behind Doctor Lange's assignment -- whose position," he advised, "I will not have compromised. Is that understood?"

"Neutrality," Anon scoffed. "Who's neutral? You? Or perhaps you?" he turned around to Kira. "The Klingon? The Changeling? Or maybe you two," he nodded at O'Brien and Bashir, "in your Starfleet uniforms? You just put them on tonight, or something? For the occasion?"

"Twenty-four years," O'Brien assured.

"Chief!" Sisko warned.

"He's trying to sabotage the damn thing before it's even off the ground!" O'Brien insisted.

"Let him!" Sisko said. "Lift a finger to help him -- any of you," he circled the table with his stare, "and so help me, you will find the UFP inquiry a picnic. Is that clear?"

"Well, no, actually," Janice spoke up. "I'm afraid it isn't. Not at all."

"A simple matter of genetics, my dear," Garak offered quickly with a smile for her as well as Captain Sisko momentarily taken aback by. "I'm sorry, Captain, but again, your request, really doesn't apply to me."

"Wanna bet?" Quark staggered up to drop a platter the size of someone's moon down on the table. "Not that I mean to interrupt."

"Not at all," Garak said. "As I was saying -- "

"On the contrary, Garak," Damar inclined forward with a deadly warning, "if you think your life is miserable now -- "

"Would be half-Bajoran, Doctor Lange," Garak offered Janice. "The sister Gul Dukat refers to. On her mother's side, of course."

"That's far enough, Legate," Sisko's hand clamped over Damar's wrist.

"Cardassia will not be held responsible for your little toad, Captain!"

"Then that's far enough," Sisko nodded. "Since he's my toad, and my responsibility."

"And?" Janice prompted Garak.

"And?" Garak paused. "And what, my dear?"

Janice sighed, turning back to Anon with a smile. "No, I wasn't aware of your sister. Is that why you are interested in the conference?"

"No, that is not why," Anon sat up straight with a snort. "That is why I was asked to preside, yes, of course. That, and the status of my father -- "

"I really don't know that much about your father either," Janice shook her head. "Well, I don't," she insisted with a gesture of her duffels when he slumped back in his seat to scoff. "I know who he is, of course; I've heard of him. But I certainly don't know anything about his personal life -- "

Anon stopped her. "I'm not going to argue with you, Janice."

"Well, good, because I'm not arguing with you."

"I asked you if Shakaar told you about Ziyal because I wanted to know the answer."

"And I told you no, Shakaar did not tell me about Ziyal, anymore than Kira did."

"No one believes that!" he loomed forward suddenly in her face, irritably excited. "Only they would rather sit and wonder about it between themselves. Try and figure out ways to gather the information without you being aware. From Cardassia, to Bajor, to the Federation; believe me!"

"What?" Janice said.

"Janice!" he groaned.

"Anon, listen to me," she requested. "Even if I say I believe you, I know I still don't understand."

"What?" he demanded. "What don't you understand? Your own neutrality?"

"No, of course I understand my neutrality; I am neutral."

"Of course," Anon nodded along. "And your ignorance of my father's notoriety further guarantees your unbiased participation in the conference."

"It does?" she blinked.

"It doesn't?" he challenged back.

"Well, I don't see why it would," Janice shrugged from him to Sisko; Damar to Kira. "How?"

"Ha!" Anon snatched up his wine. "You're right. It doesn't…." he eyed the glass he was drinking. "What is this stuff?"

"Root beer," Quark disclosed. "It's a preferred favorite among Humans. Ours is not to reason why."

"Why?" Anon insisted anyway. "It's disgusting. Where's the kanar?"

"Excuse me if I only have two hands like the rest of the bipeds I know."

"Who?"

"Let's try it this way," Quark said. "Think of the color yellow and tell me if you noticed the army at the foot of the stairs? Did you notice the army on the stairs? What about the forty-three guys behind you?" he wondered as Anon turned around to have a look.

"Of course I notice them. What does that have to do with the kanar?"

"Twenty minutes," Quark swore, "three checkpoints, four blood screenings, I'll be right back."

"Along with a partridge in a pear tree." Julian chanced Captain Sisko hanging him from the nearest Cardassian archway, boldly stepping to join Doctor Lange. Edging a chair between her and Dukat -- or at least as close as he could get to in between them without knocking Dukat off his seat since the Gul failed to oblige in making room.

Fascinating, Garak reiterated to himself. How utterly fascinating the evening had become. What could it possible, ultimately, all mean? What could it possibly?

CHAPTER TEN

"Captain…" Damar turned to Sisko with a melodramatic sigh.

"No, it's quite all right," Bashir petitioned the Captain for mercy. "Because, actually, yes, Dukat does have a point. Oh, yes." he brought the point of Anon's point to Janice's attention. "He's quite right. Who really is neutral? Certainly not I. And certainly not him."

"No," Anon thrust a glass of the brown wine forward; Bashir presumed as an offer. "I said that."

"Yes," Bashir accepted the glass with a smile. "I'm agreeing with you -- except as far as the wine." he passed the glass to Janice along with his smile. "It is root beer. Not wine."

"It's disgusting," Anon maintained to Janice.

"Apparently that means he believes you'll like it, since it's been decided you won't like kanar."

"No, she won't like kanar," Anon insisted. "That she might like, yes. It's sweet."

"Mildly tart, actually by our description," Bashir winked at Janice procrastinating in taking a drink. "I trust you have had root beer at some point in your life?"

"No," she admitted.

"Ha," Anon's knuckles cracked painfully against Bashir's arm. "So much for Human preferences."

"Favorites," Bashir rubbed his arm with a wince. "And it is. At least among Humans I know."

"Bipeds," Anon nodded.

"Yes, well, actually, biped means someone or something with two feet rather than two hands. Not that it matters really, because, yes, Humans are bipeds. The same as Ferengi. Cardassians," he offered Anon looking at him. "Bajorans. Klingons. So see? Just when you thought you had nothing in common, come to find out you do."

"Talk to me about my point," Anon suggested, "the one you agree with. Did I ask you to?"

"No. I simply do, that's all. Rather the same as I agree with Janice. You must feel some sort of personal tie to the conference with regards to Ziyal."

"Oh?" Anon sneered. "Why? Because she was my sister?"

"Yes," Janice nodded. "Of course because she -- was your sister?" she frowned.

"Unfortunately Ziyal was killed during the recent Federation-Dominion war," Bashir quietly explained when Anon did not answer her.

"Murdered, those more discriminating might say," Garak added with almost ghoulish delight.

"No, Ziyal wasn't murdered," Anon corrected in aggravation. "Executed, yes, for treason against the Cardassian Union…Which, no," he allowed, "was not entirely accurate because Ziyal's home world was Bajor. Not Cardassia."

"Another vicious lie, my dear," Garak promised Janice. "Ziyal was ardently loyal to Cardassia despite her mixed heritage. She simply disagreed with her father's actions as many others did. Myself included."

"Who cares about you!" Anon's angry swipe of his hand sent something flying; it turned out to be a bottle of kanar.

"Did you ever have one of those days?" Quark sighed to Sisko far too busy snapping his fingers at Odo to care.

"Yes," Odo supposed he should intervene before all hell did more than threaten to break loose again.

"An idea, Constable," Sisko nodded sharply with a caustic reminder to Damar of the rules of no-interference. "Don't even think about it; don't even think about it!"

"No, it's all right," Janice reassured Pfrann; Odo she didn't even notice. "I have him."

Which she did have Dukat. By the shoulders as a matter of fact as he jumped up and she jumped up. The same as Julian, Pfrann, and, yes, Damar's assistant Mister Paq, Garak believed was also there.

"Anon, listen to me," Janice coaxed him back down into his chair, not that she really could be expected to control him unless he allowed her to; and she couldn't control him. Not to the point of getting him to sit down. "I'm sorry. It's all my fault. I had no idea about Ziyal, none at all. And, yes, perhaps Shakaar should have told me -- "

"That's not the point," he said. "He cries for a woman who would be alive if she listened to my father instead of choosing him!"

"Also very true, my dear," Garak assured Janice smoothly. "I did have the distinct pleasure of knowing Ziyal for far too short a period of time."

"I said who cares about you!" Anon barked.

"Well, obviously your sister must have," Janice said.

"What?" his eyes flickered suspiciously over her.

She smiled, risking aggravating him further with the truth. "If she chose listening to Garak over listening to your father? Who was apparently her father too?"

"True," Garak purred. "As well as quite alive, quite unlike Ziyal, though currently serving a life sentence in a Federation institution for the criminally insane; not that miracles can't happen, because, of course, they can."

"My father is not insane," Anon assured Janice. "They might like him to be, but he isn't."

"Well, it's probably a matter of opinion if he's a criminal also." Doctor Lange held her smile, Garak noted, though it softened slightly, almost sadly.

"On the contrary, Doctor," Sisko stiffened at the outrageousness of her idea.

"On the contrary, Captain," Garak beamed, not meaning to suggest he agreed with Doctor Lange's rather flagrant and misguided generosity. "It is an opinion. Right, or wrong, it is. One of those notoriously accepted -- "

"Rules of protocol," Quark offered.

"Precisely," Garak nodded. "And the opinion of the winning side does have a tendency to prevail over those who lost -- at least in their opinion," he smiled at Janice, impressed by her courage regardless of how controversial, or inaccurate, her comment might be. Which it was. Controversial as well as inaccurate. Just ask Major Kira.

"Is that what you think?" Janice was asking Anon.

"Actually…" Anar sighed to his sergeant Dak'jar safely in the background of the little group gathered in the Ferengi's gilded brothel to break bread; ground. "It's far more likely Anon is thinking of how to erase her name from the death warrant she just signed for herself by publicly upholding his father as some victim of unfortunate circumstances." The same as Sisko was thinking; the Bajoran woman who had to be Adon's Major Kira; the Changeling posing as some Constable Odo. All of them, including Mister Damar, confident Anon was confident to have won the first round even before the conference started. Janice's claim of ignorance concerning his father either a lie, or she was just somebody's fool. She was neither. Blessed, perhaps. Gifted with uncommon wisdom and foresight. Giving, caring, kind and gentle, if she was nothing else. "I owe you one," Anar cursed his nephew Shakaar for involving the child in any of this. "Oh, do I."

"Anon?" Janice said.

"I have already explained my position to you," Anon reiterated tightly, removing her hands from his tunic. "I am a dreamed political coup by Damar to glean sympathy for his ideas in Legate Dukat's absence."

"That'll be the day," Kira sneer retorted behind him.

"You think not?" Anon turned on her. "Even you and my father were united in one cause in your lives; Ziyal. You, a Bajoran militant. Him, the former Cardassian Prefect."

"Ziyal was your daughter?" Janice blinked at Kira.

A fair and reasonable presumption under the circumstances, Garak felt. No doubt causing Major Kira a fair and reasonable amount of momentary nausea at the very idea. "No, Ziyal wasn't my daughter. My charge, yes. Charge," she retorted, her anger hardly directed at Doctor Lange. Directed naturally instead at Anon and his idea that anyone could glean Bajoran sympathies under a banner scarred with the name Dukat. "Are you out of your mind? Tell her the truth! Your father was personally responsible for millions of Bajoran lives!"

"Meaning deaths," Bashir nodded to Janice.

"I don't care how many children he fathered! Or how many women he loved!"

"You counted them apparently?" Anon agreed coolly.

"Counted them?" Kira choked. "I didn't have to count them!" she grabbed him by his tunic with no intentions of ever letting go. "I stepped over them in the streets! Around them as he paraded them along the Promenade!"

"Odo!" Sisko insisted.

"Back to that united in one cause only," Odo suggested to Anon as he pried Kira loose with a nod for Doctor Lange and the return of her pensive expression. "As apparently you still seem to be confused by something. Or am I wrong?"

"No, you're not wrong."

"And neither is she attempting to seduce you!" Kira managed to give Anon one last slap before Odo remanded her for safekeeping to Dax and O'Brien.

"Give me a break!" Kira stood there spitting fury, unnecessarily straightening her uniform and smoothing back her hair. "Did you see the expression on his face? Did you?"

"I did," O'Brien assured.

"Yes, well," Dax just said.

"He thinks he's going to blame her! He does! You can see he does!"

"For?" Dax asked.

"For?" Kira sputtered.

"For," Dax nodded.

"For looking to beat him at his own damn game," O'Brien assured.

"Exactly!" Kira's hand caught him sharply in the diaphragm but he didn't care.

"She's good," he promised. "Mark my words. The kid can hold her own. I don't care what Worf, or anyone else says."

"Did you say Lange couldn't hold her own?" Dax smiled up at Worf.

He sighed. "Jadzia, the entire issue of seduction has become distorted."

"If not gotten a bit out of hand," she agreed. "The evening," she clarified.

"Yes," Worf said.

They were silent for a few moments waiting out the last of the roars slowly dying back down to a tolerable buzz.

"Hungry?" Dax wondered, gazing longingly at the extensive platter of food.

"Yes," Worf assured.

"Doctor?" Sisko attempted to keep patience in his question and a few choice words to himself as far as the blatant generosity she extended Dukat, barely shy of accusing the Federation of wrongful imprisonment of a man's whose record spoke for itself in any language.

"No, it's just…" Lange continued shaking her head at him, Damar, Odo, all of them, "I'm not sure why we're even discussing any of this. It has nothing do with why any of us are here."

"Come again?" O'Brien leaned into the conversation, not intentionally usurping Sisko's similar question.

Janice sighed. "We're not here to discuss anyone's roll in anything. We're not here to discuss the Federation-Dominion war, or the Klingon-Cardassian conflict, or the Cardassian wars…Or the Cardassian Occupation of Bajor," she apologized to Kira. "We're here to discuss the installation of a Cardassian Consulate on Bajor Prime to assist in ensuring equal rights and fundamental freedoms for the Bajoran-Cardassian people living on Bajor Prime and throughout her colonies. Regardless of how a population came into being, it exists. By approximation, represents almost thirteen percent of your combined worlds."

"And what about our combined worlds?" Kira charged. "The Cardassian Union has ignored their responsibility in every way. Now they're going to start telling us what to do? It's taken fifty years for them to acknowledge their existence! Never mind accept or provide anything!"

"A debate possibly for another day, Major," Sisko raised his hand. "Doctor Lange is correct. The issue we are here to discuss is the installation of a Cardassian Consulate. Nothing more. Nothing less."

"Yes," Janice's plea returned to Anon. "Yes. So, no, I can't see how my knowledge of…?"

"Tora Ziyal," he turned away with a disgusted wave. "Yes. Tora Ziyal. Her face wasn't enough. He had to give her a Cardassian name, too."

"Prejudices my position in any way," Janice smiled after him. "And I don't see where my knowledge of Tora Ziyal prejudices my position, in any way. What her story does is underscore a need. A need we are all already aware exists, or we wouldn't be here, would we?"

"How profoundly naïve of you, my dear," Garak was the only one who dared to touch that one. "Delightful, even. Charming."

"Oh, please," Damar sat down heavily, snatching up Sisko's security itinerary he had been attempting to review before all this nonsense about food, neutrality, Dukat… "Young woman," he slammed the padd down, "when we need you to fight our battles for us, we will employ you to do so. Until that time your duty and responsibility is to Shakaar. An adversary of the Cardassian Union, not an ally."

"No, you're wrong," Janice shook her head. "First Minister Shakaar wants this conference to succeed as much as you do."

"Does he?" Damar snorted. "Well, we shall see, won't we?"

"Yes, we will," Janice promised with her smile, looking to move onto a new and different subject herself with an attempted tuck of her mangled mane of hair behind her ear. "Well, now what should we all talk about?"

"The audacity of innocence, perhaps, my dear?" Garak proposed when even Julian appeared to be at a momentary loss of something to say.

"Naïveté," Janice laughed delightfully. "And, I don't know. Was it that same naïve quality in you that had you believing you could succeed as a tailor on a Bajoran station under command of the Federation?"

"Arrogance, of course, my dear," Garak sat down, inviting her to do the same. "You'll find the Cardassian race to be extraordinarily arrogant, if you find us to be nothing else…"

"Does that satisfy you, Legate?" Sisko turned to Damar.

"Me?" Damar sneered. "You're the one threatening your staff with court martial. My interest is not to have my proposal jeopardized by some -- "

"Toad?" Odo drawled. "Yes, well, I believe you'll recall in retrospect the one responsible for letting the proverbial cat out of the bag was your Gul Dukat, not Garak."

"Not that that should come as some great shock to anyone," he mentioned aside to Kira when he retired from the crowded spotlight to join her at a convenient side rail where they could watch the whole of the arena to their heart's content. "What was that you said earlier about just getting rid of one of them?"

"Only to end up with two," Kira muttered.

"Yes, well, I'm not so sure about two," Odo gave a nod towards Anon's rather silent partner, otherwise known as his younger brother, "but we definitely have one."

"He looks like him," Kira agreed.

"Who?" Odo said.

"Pfrann." Kira sipped her raktajino finally.

"Yes, well," Odo grunted, "I believe Humans have a saying…"

"Appearances can be deceiving," Kira nodded. "So they can be." Because the one who looked like his father, put aside the one who did not?

"He's nervous about something," Odo observed.

"Who?" Kira said.

"Pfrann," Odo assured. "The other one's just angry."

"Damar maybe?" Kira watched Pfrann indecisive in approaching his brother so obviously decisive about avoiding him.

"Probably," Odo surmised as whatever was driving the younger one won out over his apprehension and he took the necessary steps to secure Anon's somewhat divided attention divided between…Odo wasn't quite sure. Reasonable to say though Anon's attention was divided between not wanting to pay attention to his brother he was paying attention to in spite of himself and whatever it was he was thinking.

"Are you sure Dukat's the one who's angry?" Kira frowned, finding Pfrann's subdued mannerisms the ones remarkably similar to his father's flamboyant gesticulations when he was feeling particularly annoyed about something; impatient or frustrated.

"What would you say?" Odo grunted.

"Defensive?" Kira mused. "Defiant?"

"Defiant, maybe," Odo allowed. "Not defensive. Watch him when he walks."

"What?"

"It's a sight to see," Odo guaranteed.

"All right," Kira shrugged, "I'll watch him when he walks."

They were silent for a few minutes.

"Sort of saunter, I suppose," Odo considered.

"His father saunters," Kira nodded.

"You saunter," Odo assured. "That one struts." Fast and determined.

"Meaning?" Kira said.

"I wouldn't hold my breath, or waste it for that matter, hoping to persuade him from whatever it is he does have on his mind."

"So much for compromise," Kira proposed.

"At the very least," Odo agreed.

"What about the younger one?" Kira eyed Pfrann.

Odo thought about that. "I didn't notice." Only that he was young. Markedly concerned or worried about something. Probably Damar. Likely in regard to his elder brother who he was in love with. "He'll be a target," he promised, "Dukat. Guaranteed. Probably the first one. In whatever direction it comes from."

"I was just thinking that," Kira agreed.

"Before or after you were thinking about Lange?"

"After," Kira admitted.

"I'm sure you were," Odo nodded. "Part of Damar's plan, or not part of it, one thing is for certain, not too many people appreciate a rebel."

"You really think she's a rebel?" Kira frowned.

"What do you think?" Odo grunted.

"Well, maybe not a rebel exactly. If you listen to the Chief -- "

"She's a heroine," so Odo overheard.

"Right. Where if you listen to Dax -- "

"Who's hungry," Odo noticed. "Explains why she's back in the thick of things."

"Lange didn't accuse of the Federation of anything," Kira assured. "Benjamin's just a little sensitive when it comes to certain subjects, and Dax is just a little sensitive when it comes to him."

"And you're not," Odo supposed.

"No, I'm sensitive. That's how I know she didn't accuse the Federation -- "

"Of wrongful imprisonment of an innocent man," Odo nodded.

It was like someone scrapping their fingernails across a pane of glass but Kira toughened it out. "She made a point," she maintained, firmly even. "A valid point. In Cardassia's opinion -- many of them, Dukat is not a criminal. In the Federation's, he is."

"What about Bajor's?" Odo asked.

"Could we change the subject? I mean," she scoffed with a supporting wave, "if we want to stand here and talk about rebellious -- "

"Dukat," Odo assured.

"Watch the way he walks," Kira reminded. "He's everything his father ever dreamed he was."

"Frightening thought," Odo had to admit.

"So it is," Kira agreed.

"I'm not so sure it's worth the risk." Odo studied the Legate who hadn't balked at killing one of them, and so it wasn't likely he would balk at killing two more.

"Also true," Kira believed.

"To Lange or Dukat?" Odo asked. "Or is it likewise unfair to your Doctor Lange to suggest that if Mister Damar and his entourage expected anything they probably didn't expect her? Meaning the woman just might be a little too intelligent and…" he cleared his throat. "Too much of a free thinker for her own good. If she's not afraid to speak her mind about Dukat, she's not likely to be afraid to speak her mind about anything."

"I'll talk to Benjamin and get approval for Bashir to implant a proximity detector," Kira decided. "Rather than just the standard security bracelet."

"Which Dukat will either refuse or figure out a way to deactivate," Odo nodded.

"Then we'll just implant another one," Kira shrugged. "It's for his own protection."

"Which I doubt if he thinks he needs."

Kira looked at him, which was fine because he just looked at her.

"Watch the way he walks," Kira nodded.

"That's about the size of it," Odo grunted.

"Legate?" Sisko waited for Damar's decision to call, play or declare it a draw.

"Yes, it satisfies me, Captain," Damar sighed heavily one more time to ensure his resignation was heard. "If the woman wants to insist she is neutral, she is right in her claim she is at least as neutral as any of the rest of us; Dukat has a point."

"Of course." The ever malleable characteristic of Cardassian diplomacy seldom succeeded in amazing Sisko anymore. "Nevertheless, Legate," Sisko advised as he sat, "I would like that point to be included in the official minutes of the conference."

"Include it anywhere you like. You should know Dukat by now. He will agree, disagree, deny or acclaim, do either or all on a whim. If you think that one is any different, think again."

"His value, no doubt," Sisko was equally capable of deadpan sarcasm if he so chose to be.

"Value," Damar scoffed. "Dukat's value is exactly as he has defined it. The name. The identity associated with it. Again," the smile playing Damar's lips was thin, "no different than his father. A prostitute, is a prostitute, and that is a prostitute I have hired to do a task for me, regardless of how he views himself. You and I both know exactly who, and what he is."

Sisko studied the vulgar, angry face of the Cardassian Emperor. "Honesty becomes most people, Legate, I would have to agree."

"I had an idea you would appreciate it," Damar pushed aside the security log to secure his fair portion of the food that hardly appeared to be worth all the fuss or the wait. "Where's the kanar?" he demanded of Quark relaxing in a chair himself for some reason.

"What have you been?" Quark cracked. "Revolving through a different universe than everyone else? His regal Eminence threw it across the floor twenty minutes ago."

"That's the only bottle you have?" Damar retorted.

"No, it's not the only bottle I have," Quark mimicked, "these are the only two feet I have. Those stairs are a killer. You go up and down them twenty-six times with gagh, without gagh…Which, just for the record," his finger jammed down on the table in front of Sisko. "It'll be a cold day on Cardassia when you get me in one of those monkey suits. You listening? I don't care how many security checks, searches, checkpoints, stairs, I have to go through, up or down, to turn a decent profit for the next week I am not wearing one of those suits. Trust me. If they don't know by now who I am, masquerading as a florescent sunflower isn't going to help them out…

"Which, speaking of stairs," he returned to Damar, "if you wouldn't mind including in your official minutes of record, I like my stairs. I love them. I love every step. Every platform on all three levels. Every cup, knife, fork, plate, and spoon in the place…" he picked up the parsley from off the platter. "Every twig of parsley -- which, by the way, is there for decoration. You're eating the decorations. But, hey. When on Mars, do as the Martians do. In the meantime, are you listening? I love my bar exactly the way it is, the way you see it right now. And I expect to find my bar, have my bar, looking exactly the way it is, the way you see it right now, on the day you warp out of here. Is that clear? Or is there something you need me to repeat?"

"Kanar," Damar's serpentine neck coiled forward.

"It's also a breath mint," Quark handed him the parsley. "Knock yourself out. I'll be right back with the kanar…

"Or in a reasonable facsimile thereof," Quark halted on the stairs with sigh, stopped by a Bajoran security officer much larger than any Bajoran or security officer really needed to be, and definitely not a yellow person.

"You know, I've been up and down here thirty odd times," Quark mentioned as he was scanned and scanned and rescanned, "and I've just one question to ask you. Do you really think you could find a Cardassian, Klingon, Changeling, or even too many Bajorans short enough to surgically alter to appear as Ferengi? Even if you could, do you really think they would leap at the chance?"

"Oh, I don't know," the Bajoran drawled, "do you really think there aren't any Ferengi in the Maquis?"

"Do I know you from somewhere?" Quark frowned. "Because if I do, I'll remember it. I never forget a face."

"That's good to know," Anar answered from behind his sergeant Dak'jar. Personally, also not one particularly fond of yellow however there was credence to that old adage when on Mars, do as the Martians do. If he wished to gain admission to the ranks of the elite Bajoran troops, and he did wish, the distinctive yellow jumpsuit, specific to the occasion, was the ticket in.

"Let him pass," he granted Quark passage, "he has been up and down enough for us to know by this point who he is."

"Smart man," Quark nodded to the big guy, "you should pay attention to your elders."

"Figure of speech," Anar stopped Dak'jar before he overreacted and all hell really did break loose. "He lives by his wits, it shows in his tongue -- is Janice's inhibitor working?"

"Yes."

"Good," Anar was relived. "Keep a sharp eye on her, anyway. The three of them. Anon. Pfrann. The others can take care of themselves. Never mind the Klingons or the Maquis, I trust Damar and that assistant of his about as far as I can throw them."

"About as far as Hawk," Dak'jar agreed.

"If he's here, I'll find him. Brothers are extremely difficult to hide from. Trust me on that one," Anar winked with a confidence he didn't necessarily feel, pausing briefly in his retreat to eye the Federation officers and Cardassian civilian talking with Janice. "Who are those four sitting with Janice? Assistants?"

"Federation representative Chief Engineer O'Brien." Dak'jar identified the older of the two Humans who looked as if he was as strong and solid in his convictions as he was in his frame. Years of experience supporting the suspicious scowl on his face. "The one with the Trill Dax is Doctor Bashir."

"Explains the mood," Anar smiled at Anon's sullen expression. "Bashir is a handsome man. Even by Bajoran standards."

"He's Human," Dak'jar shrugged. "It's to be expected."

"So's Anon; humane, at least. Probably in more ways than he would care to admit. Who did you say the Trill was? Dax? Curzon Dax? Shakaar must be screaming contamination as we speak."

"Jadzia Dax," Dak'jar agreed. "Appointed Head of Security for the Bajoran Representatives. The Klingon is assigned to preside over the Federation."

"Make that Damar steaming," Anar whistled in the direction of Sisko. "Clever, Captain Sisko. Extremely clever." Independent, even. The Klingons were there regardless. Well, they were just going to have to keep a different sort of attentive eye on Sisko as well, weren't they?

"The Cardassian is Garak," Dak'jar was continuing to nod.

That was a name Anar knew. Obsidian Order. Luckless son to its butchering master Enabran Tain. Oh, what a tangled web of intrigue sat woven around that table, Janice unwittingly in its heart. If Anar was angry with his nephew, he was also somewhat agog with trying to understand Shakaar's thinking; by the Federation, half facetious, and half strongly impressed. "This Captain Sisko really isn't one for taking any chances, is he?"

"Old habits die hard," Dak'jar reminded.

"So they do. As do old soldiers seldom die…As it is better the devil you know, then the one you don't…." Anar shook his head. "I've been with the Federation too long. It was time to come back to the Prophets."

"Most of its common sense," Dak'jar agreed.

"So it is. Keep a close watch over our Mister Garak also. I doubt if he'll give Anon any particular trouble, but neither can we have him waylaying Damar in an ore bay…" he peered at Garak. "As much as we might like to…What's that he's eating?"

"Parsley. The Humans use it for a breath mint -- if you believe the Ferengi."

Anar chuckled. "He should give it to the Klingon. I'll be -- "

"Around?" Dak'jar suggested.

"Lying in wait for General Martok," Anar promised, that time with complete confidence. "Date, time and place are not a secrets you can keep for very long even when your name isn't Legate Damar!" His eyebrows raised in facetious exaggeration. "They've been here an hour, I give Martok another two."

He was close.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Anon found himself pushed farther and farther into the background. First usurped from center stage by Garak elaborating on his choice of career change, and then by the Federation moving in. Closing in. Surrounding Janice. Surrounding their own.

"Quite simply, it was inconceivable to me that I would not succeed," Garak confided to Janice.

"Sounds like a few Humans I know," Dax's head popped up over Bashir's shoulder.

"Oh, yes," Garak agreed. "Also an extraordinarily arrogant race, I would have to say."

"Not mentioning any names," O'Brien's chair grated across the floor to come to a rest at Janice's side.

"Under any particular set of circumstances," Dax nodded to Bashir.

"All right, all right," he threw up his hands in contrived surrender with an equally contrived grin for Doctor Lange. Really, in some ways Julian put the most ambitious efforts to shame. A reason perhaps why Garak found himself upon occasion just absolutely adoring him, there were no other words to describe it. "Who they're referring to is me."

"You?" Doctor Lange had no idea why, naturally, how could she?

"And what we're referring to, of course," Garak, as naturally, took it upon himself to be the one to tell, "is Julian's most intriguing tale of a former acquaintance with you, to put it delicately."

"Love affair," Dax informed, "to put it bluntly."

"Love affair?" Pfrann was this close to securing his brother's divided attention only to have it whisked away in an instant. He sighed. Anon stared at the table, not that far in the background not to be able to overhear.

"Love affair?" his disbelief turned on Pfrann.

"Yes, and?" Pfrann sounded like that impatient O'Brien. The one with the irritable disposition, talk about surly Cardassians.

"What do you mean, yes, and?" Anon's fist struck Pfrann's banner. "That's my question of you. Yes, and? Yes, and, what Pfrann?"

"What do you expect me to say to you?" Pfrann snapped.

"Nothing!" Anon assured. "Don't say anything to me. Don't talk to me."

He stalked away. As far into the background he could get without following the Ferengi down the stairs, to watch the glittering panes of the mirror balls turning slowly overhead the stepped display of Quark's private dining booths, reasonably secluded from one another by their intermittent towering walls of glass.

"Anon…" Pfrann had this irresistible desire to drive him as insane as their father.

"Would you have a love affair with that Human?" Anon insisted. "Would you?"

"What?" Pfrann looked across their dining area to Bashir.

"I didn't think so," Anon pronounced satisfied when Pfrann looked back at him. "Neither would Janice. He looks like you; a child! He looks like one of these!" his fingers clamped over the rail with enough strength to rip it apart if he felt so inclined. "A pole! What are you going to do with something like that? Nothing! That's what you're going to do with it."

"I can't talk to you," Pfrann decided with a disgusted wave.

"Don't turn away from me!" Anon grabbed him. "What do you want to know? I love her? Yes! I told you so. Is that what concerns you?"

"Of course that's what concerns me!"

"Why? I thought you liked her?"

"Like her," Pfrann groaned. "Anon, it's not a question of me or anyone else liking her!"

"No. It's a question of me loving her, which I do. Don't worry about it," he let Pfrann go. "Janice, or anyone…Including Dukat. He'll like her, too. If only because she is attractive if he can't think of another reason."

"How can you say that?" Pfrann choked on his anger.

"Because it's true," Anon shrugged. "I didn't say I agreed with it, I don't -- And I'll tell him that, too," he assured. "Make an advance toward her and I'll kill him. What do you think?"

"About what?" Pfrann requested coldly.

"Janice!" Anon snapped. "You know what! Is she attractive? Not to you, to them; the Humans. I already know she is attractive to me."

Pfrann didn't know. He gazed sullenly back to Bashir and O'Brien. "I guess so. That's what they said. You heard them."

"Heard them," Anon scoffed. "I don't care what I heard. They could say anything. That's just all part of their mating rituals."

Pfrann's head snapped around to stare at him like he had lost his mind. Anon sighed. "Mating rituals. Yes, they have mating rituals, Pfrann, like Klingons. Specific rituals. I looked it up. Watch them. You'll see what I am talking about."

"I don't want to watch them," Pfrann hissed. "You want to, go ahead!"

Anon laughed. "What's the matter with you?"

"Nothing! I am not the one researching Klingons and Humans…"

"I wasn't researching anything," Anon assured. "The data simply said 'Humans have specific mating rituals similar to Klingons.'"

"So what!"

"So I had a few questions," Anon shrugged, "that's all. Why?"

"Why?" Pfrann spit.

"Yes, why!" Anon's fist caught him sharply in the chest again. "Why are you asking me such personal questions? What's the matter with you?"

"I'm not asking you," Pfrann insisted. "You're telling me; and I don't want to know!"

"Good! Because I'm not telling you."

"Good," Pfrann clutched his head because if he had his father's affected mannerisms, right now he also had one of his father's headaches.

"So what do you think?" Anon grinned.

"Think?" Pfrann gaped at him.

"About Janice," Anon nodded. "I think she's beautiful."

Dukat ducked his brother's playful swing. That was Odo's interpretation from where he stood across the private dining area, but only because Anon was laughing.

"Love affair?" Janice blinked at Bashir hiding his smirk behind his hand and two pink cheeks.

"Oh, yes," Garak purred. "So tell us, my dear, confess…"

"Where were you on the night of…?" O'Brien sought assistance from Dax.

"Pick a year," Dax was open. "Any year."

"2364," O'Brien nodded.

"23…64?" Janice echoed.

"Age eleven or twelve," Dax offered. "Or thereabouts."

"Actually, I can explain," Bashir assured Janice's wide eyes turning on him.

"I'm not so sure I want you to," she started to laugh.

"It's perfectly harmless, really. You weren't eleven. You were twenty-one. It was our third year of medical school together. A wonderful six months. And then you broke my heart."

"You turned twelve," O'Brien nodded.

"Actually what you did," Dax smiled, "is accept your doctorates in paleoanthropology and forensic sciences and leave Starfleet medical academy to pursue a career in archeology."

"That is what I did," Janice agreed.

"Oh, I know," Bashir said. "The only irony is, apart from I always thought you would make a wonderful doctor, you aren't you."

"Oh, no, my dear," Garak supported, "quite obviously you are not. Who you are, of course, is Doctor Lange."

"Doctor Janice Lange," Bashir nodded.

"A different Doctor Janice Lange," O'Brien clarified.

"Oh, yes, absolutely," Garak gushed. "Julian just naturally assumed what with your name and your doctorates you were his Doctor Janice Lange. A thoroughly reasonable presumption. I would have likely made the same error myself."

"Even though what we all truthfully believe," Dax confided, "is that Julian has been spending too much time in the holosuites and needs to be desensitized."

"Well, it's hysterical either way," Janice endorsed the humor of the story, taking it all at face value.

Dax's concerns resurfaced; she wasn't quite sure why. Lange's trust and acceptance of Julian and his tall tale was a far cry from upholding someone like Dukat. There was no point to Lange instead having been offended by Julian. No reason for her to think of a potentially malicious reason behind the story. Was there?

You're becoming jaded. Dax scolded herself, unfairly, harshly. Her instincts gnawed at her, insisting danger was imminent. Lange was much more than simply too good to be true. She was a professed pacifist, ardently liberal in her viewpoints.

"But is it true?" O'Brien pointed.

"Is it?" Janice asked Bashir.

"Cross my heart," Bashir swore. "Is your story true? About the hair?"

"Definitely," Janice's head bobbed up and down like a wild and glowing bush, enticing her audience.

"I'm not so sure if that's good news or bad," Bashir grinned at Dax lost in thought. Included in those thoughts probably things like he didn't take Lange seriously anymore than the Chief really did. An adorable kid, a beautiful and charming young woman. The fact that Lange had entered Starfleet medical academy on an accelerated program at only age sixteen probably scored few points, if any, with either of them.

Dax was right. It didn't; at least as far as him. Bashir wasn't there to compare intelligence quotients, he was there to have fun, and he was having fun.

So was the Chief. Garak quite obviously as well. Regardless of whether or not anyone else was. Janice Lange would at least have a few memorable moments of just plain fun to take home with her rather than simply an exhausting week of overstuffed shirts barking accepted rules of protocol at her every other sentence even when she did agree with them.

"Kira…" Dax ignored Bashir's waiting grin to head back in the direction of Kira, her thoughts racing.

"Quite," Bashir shrugged, turning to look up into Anon's growl, growling down on him. "Yes?"

Only the growl turned out to be the grating of another set of chair legs being drawn across the floor as the chair was yanked up and dropped down, Anon in its seat.

"Oh," Bashir smiled across to, rather than up into the glittering red eyes of Anon busy hitting himself in his head with the heel of his hand for some reason. Bashir's smile dipped to a curious frown.

"Your medical screening," Anon insisted impatiently. "Can you understand me, or can't you?"

"Perfectly," Bashir nodded as Quark took advantage of Anon's flailing hand, flailing in his direction to clap a fresh bottle of kanar into it. "There's definitely a distortion in your translator's pattern output -- but that could just very well be your own voice coming through. I'm afraid I don't normally hear most people's actual voices. Similar to yours, my universal translator is more concerned about interpreting what's being said…

"Still," he speculated while Anon eyed the bottle of kanar he found in his hand, "if your translator isn't working to your liking I'm sure there's a far better way to improve the quality, other than by hitting yourself in the head."

"I enjoy it," Anon assured.

"The quality of your translator?" Bashir hazarded. "Or hitting yourself in the head? I'll take it to mean you mean your translator," he nodded to Anon's tired look. "I believe you mentioned something along those lines before."

"I did," Anon yanked the stopper out of the bottle to pour himself a glass. "Now talk to me about what you mentioned before."

"The medical screening?" Janice contributed when Bashir drew a blank.

"Oh, yes," Bashir believed he had it. "It's really quite simple. As I was explaining to Janice earlier…"

"I know all about it," Anon interrupted. "I'm not asking what, I'm asking when."

"Oh. Well…" Bashir imagined, "any time really…"

"Now?" Anon handed Janice the glass of kanar.

"Now?" Bashir paused. "Well, yes, I suppose that's also possible…Why? Do you have a particular reason for asking?"

"No, I don't have a reason." Anon encouraged Janice to taste the kanar. "Try it. I tried your root beer, you try my kanar."

She grimaced. "Do I have to? I'm not so sure something that looks and smells so awful is going to taste anything but awful."

"Like your root beer," Anon laughed, taking the glass back. "No, you don't have to drink it."

"Oh, good," she appreciated it.

So did Garak; Anon's laugh. It must have been the third or fourth time the Gul had laughed that evening. Each time bright and cheerfully. Open. Honest. Garak thought of a Klingon proverb cautioning never to trust someone who smiled too much. That was interesting because to a Cardassian, a smile meant the same as it did to a Human. Contentment. Satisfaction. Internal pleasure often derived from or by external factors.

"What?" Anon's pleasure did not necessarily extend to Julian.

"Oh, nothing, really. Just that medical screening."

"We have our records," Anon assured.

"Oh, yes," Bashir had no doubts they did. "As required by the Federation."

"You have our records," Anon watched Janice struggling with the root beer. He laughed again. "What's the matter with you? You really don't like root beer either? What kind of Human are you?"

"Yes," Bashir nodded. "I mean no," he shook his head, "we don't have your records. But then we didn't even know who you were until a few hours ago. Even still," he picked up his wine with a smile, "I doubt if we'll discover anything too dramatic…"

"Rigelian fever," Anon tossed off like it was a common cold.

"Rigelian…" O'Brien echoed as Bashir choked on his wine.

"Fever," Quark snatched Anon's glass of kanar away. "Now you tell me."

"Did I look dead to you?" Anon retorted.

"No," Bashir swallowed painfully. "But that's hardly the point…"

"Really," Garak regarded Anon like he had the plague, which, of course, was what he had. Doctor Lange, however, appeared to be in agreement with Anon.

"You too?," she said amused. "So did I. Last year."

"I beg -- " Bashir's tearing eyes blinked at her. "I beg your pardon?"

"From the Klingons?" Anon nodded knowingly to Lange.

"Well, I don't know if it epidemic was due to the Klingons. I hadn't heard that. But, yes…Didn't you hear about it here?" she questioned Bashir.

"Well, yes, actually. I'm sorry. I just never connected…Of course," he dropped back in his seat with a groan. "The outer colonies. What was I thinking? I wasn't, quite obviously."

"Yes, that was it," Anon agreed with Janice. "The colonies. My brother, too. My crew. Eight months ago. Two months your friend Shakaar held my transport hostage with his stupid quarantine, and then he asks what we are doing there."

"Well, it wasn't so stupid now was it, if you contracted Rigelian fever?" O'Brien returned harshly.

"And what were you doing there, Gul Dukat?" Garak spoke up. "I mean, surely you aren't suggesting First Minister Shakaar did hold you actual hostages?"

"Have you ever had Rigelian fever?" Anon sneered.

"No." Garak likewise expressed little regret for never having had the experience. "Though it is my understanding without the antidote it's fatal."

"Occasionally with," Bashir stood up. "So much for my thinking I'd have you all out of my hair within an hour. Between Rigelian fever and DNA inhibitors -- "

"Proximity detectors," Kira appeared at his side with a request for Sisko's attention. Something Bashir already had secured, along with Legate Damar's.

"DNA inhibitors?" Damar glared at Sisko. "What is he talking about?"

"Relax," Kira said, "it's the least of your concerns."

She took a breath while Sisko tried not to notice Dax putting a bug in O'Brien's ear about something. "Major?" he waited.

"Yes," Kira nodded. "Security's been fielding a lot of questions as we anticipated -- It's not a problem," she moved quickly to put down any immediate cause for alarm.

That was reasonable, Sisko concurred because he had an idea Kira was lying, exaggerating at the very least. Why? Risky, if Damar asked for the missing details Kira was taking pains to avoid. Sisko felt his attention wanting to stray back to Dax with the Chief.

"But Odo would like to order proximity detector implants for the Committee staff…" Kira explained.

"Really," Damar smirked. Suspicious? He was almost amused.

Kira stayed a step ahead of him. "We don't feel it's necessary for you, or your assistant. The standard security bracelet should be fine. If there's going to be a threat, it's probably going to be against the conference committee."

"There's just one problem with that, Major," Sisko fell neatly into step as devil's advocate.

"One problem, Captain?" Damar demanded; his amusement short lived.

"Beyond having to obtain an individual's permission."

"Lange," Kira was aware.

"We risk offending her neutral status, Major," Sisko nodded. "I simply can't allow it."

"You may not have to. She has a DNA inhibitor implant."

Sisko was startled. Immediately apprehensive and concerned. His annoyance with Shakaar renewed. A DNA inhibitor would raise questions and doubts with him -- it did raise questions and doubts with him. He ogled Lange and the beguiled group of men surrounding her. If there was a snake in the garden, it was supposed to be Dukat; Damar. Not Shakaar.

"Of course," the palm of Damar's hand struck the table in disgust. "Well, while that might explain who we're talking about, Captain, it certainly doesn't explain why."

"Bajor signed a no resistance agreement with the Dominion," Kira reminded him coldly. "The Federation did not."

"She's neutral, Major," Damar sneered back. "As neutral as you or I."

"She's Human," Kira insisted. "Living a light year from here on the border of Cardassian and Bajoran Space. I'm not suggesting we grant her immunity, I'm saying the implant isn't necessary -- with the disruption of her DNA sequencing it's questionable as to whether or not it would even work!"

"Which we will not even attempt. My decision stands, Major," Sisko settled the matter. "The standard security bracelet will be used for Doctor Lange…As far as the other members of the committee staff…" he looked across the table to Dax nudging the Chief in his ribs. "Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention for a moment, please…"

"Proximity detectors?" O'Brien echoed, no obvious prompting there. Odo rolled his eyes as Dax bit her smile. "Well, heck," the Chief scoffed, "what do I care? Do you care?" he asked Bashir.

"Care?" Bashir's brown eyes blinked wide. "About implanting proximity detectors?"

"You don't care," Dax shook her head.

"Yes, of course I care," Bashir protested. "And I'd like to understand a little bit more of the reason why."

"Security," Anon snorted. "Why do you think?"

"And I would think you would also," Bashir replied, a distinct, cool edge to his tone. "I'm sorry, have I confused which one of us is Cardassian?"

"Oh?" Anon said. "Why?" he closed his eyes, promptly proceeding to describe the color, size, and position of every article of food on Quark's tray even if he didn't know what half of it was. As well as the precise location of everyone in the dining area, their distance from one another. The dimensions and decor of the section. The number and exact angle of the stairs leading down and around; the stations of the security teams.

"Cardassians have a photographic memory," Garak apprised Janice, per chance she was not aware. "Myself included, naturally. Beyond our immediate surroundings, Gul Dukat can quite accurately describe for you the structural layout of the Promenade and everything he has seen since boarding the station. And while that might seem an entertaining parlor trick, my dear, I propose you consider the value, or danger of him aboard the bridge of a battle cruiser -- someone's other than his own…Or for that matter on Ops." he smiled at Sisko.

"Something which in turn explains why we'll be meeting in a converted cargo bay," O'Brien cracked to Janice.

"He's joking, of course," Bashir reassured her. "Who isn't is Garak. Yes, Cardassians do have a photographic memory. Far beyond being able to recall a stroll along the Promenade. I'm sure if you ask Dukat, his encounter with the Klingons and subsequent bout with Rigelian fever is -- "

"Like yesterday." Anon's eyes sank deeply into Janice's, ignoring Pfrann's uncomfortable shift at his side. "I remember it all; everything."

"Really," Garak cooed. "That's most interesting. Oh, yes, most interesting, definitely, Gul Dukat."

"He remembers it mentally, anyway," Bashir nodded to Janice. "And possibly to a degree emotionally," he winked in spirited jest. "But then the Cardassians have this passion for exacting revenge; Klingons themselves among us mere men."

"I wish I was still there." Anon assured Janice.

"There, you see?" Bashir smiled. "Straight from the horse's mouth. Though, still, I wouldn't consider his penchant for violence any cause for immediate alarm; you're not Klingon. Not even Bajoran…Or for that matter," he teased, "Federation. If I was at a loss to understand Shakaar's frame of mind when he employed you, and I admit I was at a loss, I think I'm beginning to understand now…"

"Oh, yes…" Garak said. "And, of course, oh, no, Julian's quite right, Doctor Lange, we are a thinking species; violent, though thinking. Capable of reasoning, not mere instinct; obsessed with reasoning, I would have to say," he smiled, upholding Julian's notions of the similarities and dissimilarities between the Klingon and the Cardassian races. Not to say Doctor Lange appeared alarmed, or concerned in anyway to find herself in the company of cannibals and psychotics. In fact it was remarkably generous of her to smile so brightly in return at the professed driven and violent Gul when she was such an ardent pacifist.

"I can understand that," she answered Anon's voiced desire of wanting to turn Time back to a past and different day.

He almost forgot himself. Who he was, who she was, and where they were. Only this time instead of his brother tripping him in the mud along their trek through Janice's grotto, Pfrann just stepped up, reaching between them for his share of the platter of food. "You say that now, then you were glad to leave," Pfrann's voice was soft as it was usually soft. His molding in the image of his father generally restricted to his features and mannerisms. As was his idol worship reserved for his brother, so unlike his father in every way.

Anar slowly released the breath he was holding. Brought back to their section on the run much sooner than he anticipated by the increase in simmering tension, his departure had been delayed the second time by Anon's mention of the Rigelian plague.

It was delayed a third time by…

"As a matter of fact, I have a photographic memory myself," Bashir nodded to Janice.

A disclosure, Garak highly doubted, Julian felt necessary out of any feeling of inadequacy put alongside the power of the Cardassians surrounding him. There was certainly no reason why Julian would ever think he might actually be in competition with Dukat, of all people, and of, course, Julian was not. No, Julian simply had by nature -- or the equivalent -- a highly competitive streak to his personality. Really, it did seem how after more than six years, Julian still couldn't decide if he had more fun being obnoxious, or playing the role of the kindly and caring station physician. Another one of those reasons Garak just so absolutely adored him.

"He has a what?" Anar paused on the stairs.

"Photographic memory," Dak'jar scoffed.

"Oh?" Anar gave this young Doctor Julian Bashir a second, curious look, wondering if there was something he had missed the first time. "Is there a reason we should care?"

"Apparently he does."

"Yes," Anar gathered that. As apparently Bashir was confusing Janice with one of the Ferengi's hostesses; which Anar wouldn't. For reasons other than who he called daughter, he embraced as a daughter. He eyed Anon, his uncharacteristic honesty as much his Achilles heel now as it had first shone itself to be. It was to Anon's benefit, Janice's as well, Bashir's talents did not include emphatic ability.

"You should care as much for yourself," Dak'jar practiced reading his thoughts.

"Yes," Anar supposed he should. A reason perhaps to why he was leaving. But then no one needed a photographic memory or emphatic ability to notice the striking resemblance between some Bajoran Special Forces officer and Shakaar Adon of Bajor, given the opportunity; which they wouldn't be.

CHAPTER TWELVE

"Oh, look at you!" Convulsed in laughter Janice hung onto the knotted and gnarled arm of an ancient river tree. Anon rose from his unexpected bath to kneel in the brick red mud staring at himself.

"I'm sorry," Pfrann winced.

"Sorry?" Anon echoed. "Look at me!"

She was. Janice. Laughing almost uncontrollably and contagiously as she hung onto the crooked and cruel tree whose exposed heavy roots Pfrann claimed to have tripped over. Not so much in an effort to stay abreast of his brother, but a step ahead of the banked glint in Anon's eyes watching the bouncing mass of hair in front of them.

"What do you mean look at me?" Anon started to laugh, scrapping a handful of the thick dripping mud from his tunic and flinging it at her. "Look at you!"

"Hey!" Janice blinked at the primeval splatter hitting her in the shoulder.

"No, hey," Anon assured. "How do you like it? What about you?" His next handful caught Pfrann in the chest.

"Don't ask," Janice advised Anar halting in pacing the town center, attempting to convince himself he was not concerned over Janice's agreeable accord with Anon's demand to see the grotto where she found her mummy. The first words out of Anon's mouth once back on his feet from his bout with Rigelian fever.

In place of a thank you, Anar imagined. Still, he wasn't concerned. Or at least not as concerned as he would have been two weeks ago if Janice decided to take off on an all day hike with Anon and his brother.

"All day?" Anon's training in field maneuvers apparently had not included the Infantry. "Are you crazy? I'm not walking anywhere all day."

"We're not using the transporter," Janice refused. "I don't care if it works."

"It does work," Anon insisted stubbornly. "Yes, it does. Communications, weapons, everything. I didn't crash, I landed to repair the engines."

"Explains why the ceiling's sitting on our heads," Janice nodded around the engineering compartment with its winking, blinking lights and angry static rolling through three quarters of the displays.

"No, it isn't," Anon disappeared under a collapsed support beam in search of his transporter console.

"Anon!" Janice followed him. "It's radiation. I don't care what you call it, it's radiation!"

"Radiation," Anon scoffed. "There's no more radiation than you standing here, or sitting on the bridge -- "

"Dolores wasn't sitting on a bridge!" Janice gasped. "She was buried in a primeval swamp for four thousand years! You don't have any idea what all your isotopes, anions, cations -- "

"And I suppose there's no radiation in that sterile field she lives in now?" Anon reappeared behind a ruptured air conduit dangling from the ceiling like a giant, steel snake.

"That's completely different," Janice shoved the swaying conduit out of her way.

"Janice!" Anar reacted too late to do anything other than grab her and dive for cover as the heavy conduit swung freely, disrupting the precarious balance of the mountain of debris stacked like a house of steel cards.

"Anon, you don't know what you're going to do to the area, you really don't!" Janice pleaded when the noise and the dust finally settled and the sparks stopped flying and Anon stared from his ceiling to…

What had once been his transporter console, Anar nodded. Now buried under an avalanche of electronic trash.

"Well, you don't," Janice shrugged when Anon didn't say anything. "I don't."

"No," Anar cleared his throat as Anon looked at him. "Janice admits her limited understanding of quantum physics…"

"Dolores?" Anon interrupted, puzzled, and Anar paused.

"I named her after my aunt," Janice nodded proudly.

"Yes," Anar cleared his throat again when Dukat's quizzical look returned to him. "Out of fondness, I would also assume." Despite the mummy's withered appearance.

"Extreme fondness," Janice gave the console a final boot in the isolinear rods with her foot. "So if you think you're going to jeopardize her grotto because you're too lazy to walk, think again."

"All right, fine, we'll walk," Anon surrendered like he still had a choice, and in his mind he probably did. "We'll walk," he assured his brother standing there silently throughout the debate.

"Good." Janice reflected on the new and different arrangement of their surroundings. "Can we get back out that way?"

"No!" Anon's face loomed in hers, and so he wasn't not his father entirely.

Janice laughed. "All right. Can we get out that way?"

They could, and they looked fine when they left. Upon their return however they were a sight to see.

"I'm afraid I might have to ask…" Anar disagreed with Janice's suggestion, staring at the three of them stained and caked with dried river mud.

"It's Pfrann's fault," Anon claimed, taking no responsibility at all.

"Pfrann…" Anar's question held as much disbelief as the look on his face moving to stare at the accused child.

Anon groaned heavily in complaint. "Yes Pfrann. Why does it have to be my fault? If the sun refuses to rise in the morning are you going to come looking for me?"

"Probably," Anar admitted.

"Smart man." Anon laughed, leaving Anar with a souvenir hand print clapped on his arm as he walked away, his brother following him.

"You would?" Janice remained behind to pout.

"Probably," Anar admitted again. But then for all the dissimilarities that separated the young Gul from his father, he was still his father's heart. Simply unaffected and unencumbered by living the last thirty or so years wallowing in greed and every other conceivable physical pleasure and vanity.

"Janice…" Anar hesitated, feeling inclined for the first time to offer a few cautious words of advice. But then that was the first time the thought had occurred to him that Janice might have been so eager and willing to show Anon the grotto because she really wanted to.

A thought probably drawn from nothing more than the simply wretched condition of the child's hair; one to be expected. She was wearing it lose, as she had been wearing it the last week or so since Anon's delusions of Klingons passed away with his fever.

"No, you wouldn't," Janice decided with a laugh and took off on a run to catch up with Anon and his brother, leaving Anar free to continue or end his silent debate.

"She's of age," Anar finally turned to the wisdom of the Prophets. There was no denying the child was of age, as there was no denying the aura -- he stopped short of calling it charisma -- surrounding Anon Dukat.

Impatience surrounded Anon at the moment. Disdain. He woke up from his daydream to sneer at Bashir. "You have a photographic memory?"

"Well, yes, actually," Bashir smiled. "Among many other heightened senses and capabilities. I'm genetically enhanced."

Anar almost fell down the stairs.

"Genetically enhanced," Dak'jar offered dryly to Anar's neck snapping back around in shock.

"Oh, please," Anar collected himself to groan. What was it about young men and bars and young women… "Call me only if they draw blood; a lot of blood…Enough to make a Klingon squirm," he smiled to his son, Sian moving up to claim his father and get him out of there. "Any luck?"

"No. If we're here, I don't recognize any of us."

"Them," Anar corrected. "A choice made when they left the camp to the mercy of the Klingons."

"I have the same mercy for them," Sian swore bitterly. "Hawk struts like a whore across the graves of his own."

"He always did. Had I the foresight of a Prophet I would have strangled him in his crib."

He turned to melt down the stairs, on through that blinding faceless sea of yellow Shakaar had so unconsciously, thoughtfully provided for him. His passing figure, the subject of only a glance or two for his tipped white head, much to his son's relief.

"Your arrogance can be alarming."

"My arrogance is earned." Safely outside on the Promenade Anar reactivated his field unit, determined to locate his wayward brother before Sisko and his station fell victim to some nightmare. "Unlike your uncle's. If the Cardassians had to miss one of us, is there a particular reason why it had to be him?"

"Destiny," Sian shrugged.

"Sheer luck," Anar opted to concentrate on the ore bays. "Destiny is your beginning and your end, nothing more…Unless you walk with the Prophets. Hawk walks with no Prophet you or I have ever met."

His son looked at him.

"Recently," Anar admitted. "Yes, recently. We knew them once ourselves; now we are smarter. As today Hawk is ours, though only to stop. His fate belongs to the Prophets," his hand hit the field unit, encouraging it to work harder, faster. Grateful his son knew his father well enough not to question should fate find Janice a victim of Hawk like the hundreds of them before her? What then?

"Genetically enhanced?" Anon's retort to Bashir's announcement was snide.

"Yes, actually," Bashir was undaunted. "Though, no, it's not something I normally talk about…But since," he smiled at Janice and everyone else, "we are talking about things like proximity detectors and DNA inhibitors, I thought it was best to be honest myself before we all start accusing each other again…"

"Uh, huh, uh, huh," Quark's face bobbed into view. "Blah, blah, blah…Top this," he challenged Anon with a flick of his mighty lobes. "Three levels down, six stations away, there's a brunette about to made an offer she will find difficult to refuse."

"The check," O'Brien butted in. "Excuse me, but what the hell does any of this have to do with -- "

"DNA inhibitors," Anon picked up his fork to help himself to dinner with a wave at Janice. "He's talking about you. Tell him. You live in the outer colonies and he looks about as friendly as a Klingon. He'd have one too."

"Proximity detectors," O'Brien finished tightly. "Do you mind?"

"No, I don't mind," Anon shrugged. "You want to have one. Have one. You, too," he assured Bashir. "So when someone tries to steal your positronic brain Sisko knows where to find it."

"Genetically enhanced," Bashir corrected. "I'm not an android. And, no, I also beg to disagree. I am not inclined to recommend a proximity detector for anyone, including myself. There is a marked difference between security and martial law. As there is a marked difference between paranoia and precautions. We are at peace -- for the moment anyway. Not at war."

"Odo's recommendation is restricted to the committee staff, Doctor," Sisko advised quietly, moving onto Janice. "Excluding you, Doctor Lange. To suggest a proximity detector implant would be in direct violation of your neutrality. I have already denied Odo's request on your behalf."

"Oh," Chief O'Brien said. "Well, do you care on your own behalf?" he asked in marked emphasis for the benefit of the dueling duo over here trying to out flex each other. One of whom should have enough brains to figure out the why and who behind the request for proximity detectors without someone having to draw him a map.

Namely one Gul Anon Dukat. Garak had no difficulty in all appreciating the why and the who behind the request. Of course, it would never occur to Chief O'Brien the reason why he might be sitting on the sidelines scowling and intermittently snorting his opinions into the conversation, beyond that innate mistrust of the name Dukat and anyone associated with it, was because he was sitting on the sidelines where he would remain. By virtue of his age, his marital status, his fatherly status, and, yes, that did appear to annoy the Chief. Garak believed he might notice this.

The same as he noticed this Gul Dukat was not a lecherous middle-aged man leering over some pretty young child who happened to catch his eye. To the contrary, this Gul Dukat was a young man. A few insignificant months younger than Doctor Janice Lange. And he wasn't leering, he was talking. Somewhat clipped. Short. Occasionally impatiently, always emphatically. But did anyone else see that? No. Garak highly doubted if they did. They saw Gul Dukat. A man they all knew. One they were all far too keenly familiar with to see anything or anyone else, at his leering, lecherous best as always. Astounding. Garak was amazed. He was simply amazed to find the color canary yellow was not the only thing blinding to the eye.

"Not in the least," Sisko assured O'Brien he was not opposed to accepting a proximity detector.

"Nor I," Kira asserted.

"Neither am I," O'Brien shrugged again.

"Gul Dukat?" Sisko requested.

"Whatever you think is necessary. My brother agrees," Anon wasn't interested enough to look up from his dinner. A thoroughly wise precaution Garak felt because should the assembled group of enemies stop paying attention to themselves long enough to pay attention to him a valid question or two might be raised rather than the stock and tiring clichés.

DNA inhibitor? Garak maintained his study of Anon because unless his own training was faulty, he really did not recall Cardassian abilities to include psychic ability. The conversations surrounding Doctor Lange and her DNA inhibitor took place perhaps fifteen minutes before Damar arrived with his entourage, not after.

Even though, yes, it was also entirely accurate to say Julian had mentioned DNA implants less mentioning any names, and therefore it was reasonable Anon might have just assumed Julian meant Doctor Lange.

Especially since Major Kira had mentioned Doctor Lange specifically in her disclosure and following brief debate with Legate Damar over the value and need for ordering proximity detector implants for everyone but him. And, so perhaps then the answer to the appearing mystery was simply that Anon was paying far closer attention to Damar than he alluded to be paying. He was certainly paying extraordinarily close attention to Doctor Lange in a manner so remarkably civilized and unCardassian that the full significance of it was likely to continue escaping everyone far more simply annoyed that he even dared to speak to her at all.

But why speak, if he wasn't his father? Why speak if he wasn't Cardassian, which he was. A people synonymous with deception. Gul Anon Dukat did have to be up to something, even Garak respected that given. So much so that he believed he might have an idea of what. Why. And, of course, who.

Oh, yes, if wasn't for that innocent gesture of Anon's indicating Doctor Lange's right lower arm, rather than her left, rather than her upper, rather than her brain, to be the location of her DNA inhibitor safely hidden beneath her long sleeved tunic, Garak just might go right on believing in assumptions and presumptions…

And coincidences, my dear. Garak's focus shifted briefly from the glittering red eyes of Anon to the downcast green ones of Doctor Lange. From the Bajoran outer colonies to the Rigelian plague. DNA implants to parsley to kanar and the suggestion of knowing each other's food preferences, to that earliest notice of how they had an occasional tendency to call each other by name. These two people knew each other. And they didn't just know each other, they were involved somehow with each other. Not necessarily as lovers, though Garak wouldn't rule out that possibility entirely. There was a distinct note of protection in Anon's offered explanation behind Lange's implant. A thoroughly unnecessary gesture on his part, potentially unwise.

Unless, of course, there was someone other than him also paying far closer attention than they pretended to be doing. Someone such as Legate Damar. Or that remarkably silent assistant Mister Paq that even Garak had forgotten about until now. Then Anon's gesture of protection could take on a whole new meaning, such as a warning.

"Really," Garak eyed the still figure of Paq sitting attentively as his master's side. Ten years older, ten years wiser than the youthful Legate Damar, he was also ten years more experienced in dealing with any Dukat.

"So much for that part of theory," Odo muttered to Kira while the respective groups collected themselves to begin the parade to the station Infirmary.

"If he attempts to deactivate it we'll know," Kira shrugged. "That's all I care about. That, and no one gets hurt."

Dax left O'Brien with an appreciative pat on his shoulder to join Worf collecting Lange's duffels. "It sounded good," she smiled in support of Kira and Odo's belief Dukat would refuse a proximity implant unless trapped into agreeing. "Who knew Julian would be the difficult one -- don't answer that."

"It is tempting," Worf was ready with another sigh. "As I maintain the entire issue of seduction has been distorted by Doctor Bashir and Chief O'Brien. I did not mean to imply an attempted personal seduction of Doctor Lange by anyone. My concerns are with ensuring the integrity of the conference. In any other matter I am confident Doctor Lange can take care of herself. To suggest otherwise is to suggest because she is female she is weak, and that is not correct."

"Explains the duffels," Dax nodded.

Worf thought about that. The two duffels slung over his shoulders.

"I'm in charge of security for the Bajoran side," Dax hinted sweetly with a coy wrinkling of her nose. "You're in charge of security for the Federation. Those are Bajoran."

Worf continued to think about that. The two duffels slung over his shoulders. "If you insist."

"I insist," Dax said.

"As you wish," Worf surrendered the responsibility of the duffels to her, slinging them off of his shoulders and up onto hers.

"Need a hand?" Bashir grinned as she stood there, rooted in place, feeling her spine slowly being crushed under the oppressive weight of the canvas bags.

"No," Dax shook her head. Somehow the Chief interpreted that no to be a yes.

"Genetically enhanced? That's quite a risk to take, isn't it?" Janice rose from her study of the table to look past Anon's scrutiny to Chief O'Brien rather than Bashir. Garak could understand why. The poor child probably didn't know where to look. Reasonably, painfully torn between trying not to pay attention, when what she wanted to do was pay as ardent attention to Anon.

"Don't look at me," O'Brien joshed with a shove of his chair into the table. "I'm just an ordinary mortal the same as you. I leave the Kahns to the Kahns. The automatons to the automatons…And the fellows with the big heads and bigger ears lobes to the fellows with the big heads and bigger ear lobes," he finished his analogy with Quark.

"Uh, huh," Quark sneered. "Sounds like jealousy to me."

"Yeah, right," O'Brien scoffed. "I'm jealous."

Of the Kahns. The automatons…

"Automaton?" Janice repeated uncertainly.

"Machine," O'Brien assured, meaning Anon. But then he was hot. He would probably remain hot for the week until the guy left. "Anyone who can see 300 meters across a room, around corners and through walls is a machine. The only thing that separates him -- you," he pointed at Anon, "from the Borg are the implants. And you know, the same as I know, if we take you apart you've got more than one of them in there. So give her a break about some damn DNA inhibitor that no one cares anything about."

"Wait a minute," Janice shook her head.

"Yes." Sisko walked up quietly behind O'Brien. "That's enough, Chief. No one has accused Doctor Lange of any impropriety."

"Out loud, you mean. In the meantime, he's the one who's been in quote, 'rigorous training' since he was three years old."

"Four, actually," Garak politely corrected. "Even a Cardassian, Chief O'Brien, has a childhood, however briefly."

"Whatever. Photographic memory, my left foot. It's induced."

"Induced?" Garak gasped. "Oh, no, hardly…"

"And that's a machine," O'Brien assured, reaching to take one of the duffels from Dax. "From his photographic memory, and not ending with his infra-red magnifiers… Give me that. Give it to me."

"What is he doing?" Kira sputtered to Odo. "What is he doing now?"

"Yes, well…" Odo said.

"Oh, for!" Kira threw up her hands.

"Will you just give it to me?" O'Brien insisted to Dax. "You can't carry both of them. There's no reason for you to even try."

"Chief," Kira said at his elbow. "Chief!" she snapped.

"What?" O'Brien snapped back. "The hell with the damn protocol of who's who and who's not who. They know what's in there, everyone does. Data logs," he yanked the duffel off Dax's shoulder, feeling his back jerk under the unexpected weight. "About a half a kilo of them," he straightened up with a grin. "Wow. Like I said. I leave the Kahns to the Kahns and now I know why."

"Yes, well, that's probably punishment enough," Odo headed down the stairs; a subtle hint there might be a few other people who might like to join him?

"Chief?" Dax suggested before he ended up in the Infirmary all right, in traction.

"I've got it," O'Brien assured. "I've got it. Just give me a minute."

"One minute," Sisko gave Dax one his subtle Benjamin nods. The kind that suggested whatever it was, it had all better be resolved within a minute. Quietly, to boot.

"Got it," Dax promised.

"Thank you," Sisko said with a gesture to Damar of how the stairs were there for the taking. "Legate?"

"Yes, yes." Damar collected his data, his assistant, with a short and emphatic word for Anon and his brother as he stalked by. "Dukat."

"I'm pretty sure that means he'd like you to join him," Dax smiled at Pfrann. He ignored her. She wasn't surprised.

"Infra-red…" Doctor Lange was blinking rather innocently at Anon.

"Oh, no reason to be alarmed, my dear," Garak quickly, and quite nicely intercepted that pass thrown by the Chief. But then he was somewhat of a romanticist at heart he did believe. Intrigued, not offended by what could very well be a young and budding romance needing to be nurtured, not torn apart -- out of spite. Yes…Garak's eyes slithered over Janice. It was highly likely some of the Chief's annoyance was drawn from pure spite. But then this elder brother of Ziyal's so unlike his father could turn out to be identical to his father after all.

"Alarmed?" Janice said to Anon. "Well, no, I'm not alarmed…"

"Well, good," Garak cooed, "because, yes, as Chief O'Brien suggests, the Cardassian eye is extraordinarily light sensitive. In turn, the term magnifier does suggest an expansion of the eyes' range of sight and focus, yes, it does. As together those two concepts would prove contradictory to each other in our case. Necessitating a form of shielding, and well as preservation of the expanded capabilities of the eye which would include, yes, the ability to see not only in light, but in the dark…Why, my dear," he wondered, surprised, "what color did you think his eyes were?"

"Red," she said, almost sadly.

"Well, they could be…" Garak mused, narrowing his own expanded focus to scrutinize Anon's pupils. "Yes, they could be. Either that or green. Yellow -- as with his brother. They are rather brilliant, aren't they? And so, no, the magnifiers aren't necessarily masking the natural color, they could very well be enhancing it."

"They're red," Anon assured Janice, pointed to make a point, not with intentions of being rude toward her. To the contrary, his accompanying motion appeared to be a polite reach for her duffels that he had apparently not noticed Chief O'Brien to be holding out of pure stubbornness rather than super-human strength. He noticed now, ogling the Chief. "They're living about twenty years in the past."

"Eight months." Chief O'Brien bit that same bait of winless banter he accused Julian of foolishly falling trap to. "So excuse me if I don't invite you to dinner."

"Well," Bashir offered with a flash of his grin and a healthy deep breath, "that certainly is a relief to know. Not the part about dinner, his eyes," he clarified for Janice for no reason other than he was determined to remain the focal point of her attention beyond the conference, throughout the week. "Really, I maintain what shouldn't have taken more than an hour or two at most is now liable to go on all night. Though it's probably more of an insult to suggest the sons of Gul Dukat," he threw in with a little accompanying animation, yes, he certainly did, "aren't automatons. I'm sure it's not only expected, but mandatory. Certainly nothing, to take offense over. You're not offended, are you?" he paused suddenly, sensing some sort of discomfort about her.

"Offended?" Janice repeated, even though no, she wasn't offended, or at least she didn't think she was. Confused, yes, Garak perceived she seemed to be extraordinarily confused for some reason.

"What's the matter?" Anon answered her look with a coy suggestion. "You think I bleed like you?"

"Bleed?" she glanced at his chest -- or perhaps his shoulder. Garak was uncertain. Whichever, she focused her attention on his tunic for a moment or two before she smiled, offering one more time that familiar claim of knowledge. "Yes. I know you bleed."

"That's true," Anon said simply and turned for the stairs, his brother accompanying him. Kira caught up with Bashir, Garak and Lange at the bottom.

"What do you think you're doing?" her brusque question was for Garak.

"Why, whatever do you mean?" Garak blinked in surprise. "The plight of the Bajoran-Cardassian orphans is one thing, Major. A woman's dress size is quite another. Surely you can't expect me to pressure Doctor Lange with such personal questions in the middle of a public bar, can you?"

"I'll get her dress size for you!"

"Yes…" Garak eyed Julian's diligent efforts to do the same as he and Doctor Lange walked on, along the path carved through Quark's second level by Captain Sisko's army of yellow statues; all at attention, and of course in place. "I've no doubt you will at least try…However, no offense to either your or Julian's abilities but I'm afraid the answer is no."

"Excuse me?" Kira said, predictably argumentative when no argument was warranted.

"Though you're welcome to bear witness," Garak promised smoothly. "Both you and Commander Dax to insure no impropriety."

"Better idea." Kira turned for Chief O'Brien uncomfortably stalled on the stairs and just about to say something like: "Do you mind?"

Whether Kira did or didn't mind was not the question, and therefore not the answer. "Give me that!" she yanked the duffel from O'Brien's bowed shoulders. It hit the floor at Garak's feet with a crash. "Pick it up!" she encouraged him. "You can commiserate to his heart's content with Bashir's medical console."

"On the subject of small versus medium versus very, very, heavy and large," Dax nodded to O'Brien.

"I was just trying to be polite," he insisted. "The damn things weigh a ton."

"Half a ton," Dax imagined to be closer between the two of them. One duffel, however, while not a breeze, was manageable. "Ready?" she smiled at Kira.

"Yes, well, that very well may be, Major," Garak still protested. "I've no doubt I can obtain the information I need from Julian's screening to ensure a proper fitting, but that still doesn't tell me what the young woman needs."

"Everything."

"Everything?" Garak repeated. "That's rather a large order to fill this time of evening, isn't it? She's not going to be with us overnight, she's going to be here a week."

"I'll take care of whatever she might need for the night. You worry about tomorrow, and tomorrow you can worry about the rest of the week."

"Well…" Garak reached for the duffel with a sigh.

"I insist!" Kira snapped.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Damar parked himself firmly beside Garak at Bashir's main console in the station's Infirmary with a pasty smile for the display readout that wasn't reading anything; he had a reasonable idea as to why. "Now all we have to do is find her."

"What do you mean find her?" Kira sputtered. "She's right -- right -- " she peered at the screen.

"Over there," Garak agreed. Sitting as comfortably as one could expect anyone to sit on one of Julian's examining beds. "I wouldn't be alarmed. The Occupation has only been over eight months and Chief O'Brien has done remarkably well in working to reintegrate your Federation matrix with the station's Cardassian systems. The medical banks are no exception."

"It's not the matrix," Kira slapped him out of the way with a call for assistance from Dax. "Dukat wouldn't have known what to do with a medical bank if it was sitting on his lap."

"That's one way of putting it," Dax's smile joined her along with Benjamin's frown.

"Anon…" Pfrann took immediate advantage of the opportunity to worry his brother about the issues of Rigelian fever, Bajoran outer colonies, and transport crashes on remote home worlds.

"I told you what to do, Pfrann," he said. "Avoid their questions until I have had the chance to instruct Tan to purge the files."

"The logs are a matter of record. Not only aboard the Tir. But here. With the Federation. Bajor. Home!"

"My life is a matter of record, so is yours. As my wife, Janice is your sister. Do it. That's an order."

"What?" his brother's voice fell softer than a whisper.

Anon shrugged. "You keep insisting I am our father, I keep trying to tell you I am not." He left his brother standing there in a daze, moving to join Sisko and his puzzled group of self-appointed engineers at the medical console.

"Yes, I realize that," Bashir walked up to Kira with a laugh and a wave of his equally useless tricorder. "I'd say it has something to do with the seating of her implant, but I don't think that's it."

"Well, what it is?" Kira insisted. "We never had the technology…"

"To make yourself principally invisible?" Garak agreed. "Oh, yes, Major, I would have to concur. Otherwise chances are our Occupation of your world would have taken a somewhat different turn, fairly early on…You disagree apparently," he acknowledged Anon's snorting contribution behind him.

"Yes, I disagree."

"Yeah, well, given your father's penchant for fighting windmills, I'm not surprised," O'Brien pardoned his way through the crowd to have a look. "Do you mind? I mean, I am the Chief Engineer."

"And I'm the Chief Medical Officer," Bashir revised a few of his configurations to compensate for the computer banks' momentary inability to coherently assimilate the data. "Notwithstanding everyone's interest, I still have a job to do beyond embarrassing my patient…There you go," he smiled as Janice slowly took shape on the screen. "Intruder alert, you might say. I simply say unknown entity or mass. Sixty-seven percent water. Twenty-six percent additional fluids. A liberal sprinkling of common salt, a dash of hydrogen, nitrogen, carbon…"

"And a rather interesting version of a DNA inhibitor…" Garak eyed the minute device visible as well.

"Oh, yes, that is interesting, isn't it?" Bashir agreed after a look. "Never seen one quite like that before…"

"Cardassian," Anon scoffed again. "It's Cardassian. Holographic transmitter, not a DNA inhibitor."

"I believe he may be right," Garak apologized to O'Brien. "The same as I am confident you'll find Doctor Lange's program to be contained within the root directories of her device, rather than amplified by an outside source…"

"Major?" Captain Sisko interjected.

"It's there," Kira said. "She's projecting a holographic field…"

"Again, if I may, Major…" Garak begged interrupting.

"It isn't projecting anything," Anon assured. "It's emitting a signal for your sensors to lock onto. They are interpreting the data of the program."

"Precisely," Garak smiled at Sisko. "How else would you explain Doctor Lange's ability to confuse not only Klingon or Cardassian scans, but also Federation? You may recall Gul Dukat employed a similar tactic…"

"Twenty years ago," Anon reminded O'Brien.

"On the contrary," Garak corrected, "three years ago when he defied the Civilian Council's order of no engagement and left with Mister Damar to do battle against the Klingon Empire…"

"And the Dominion," Kira sneered, remembering it all right.

"Also quite true, Major," Garak said. "Who knew where that liaison would lead at the time, you're right."

"As it is accurate," Worf said, "to say the holographic technology Dukat employed to deceive the Empire into believing he was Klingon, was Klingon."

"Only because the holographic transmitter available to him was Klingon," Garak maintained. "The technological concept, I insist is Cardassian."

"It's Cardassian," Dax nodded to Sisko.

"Regardless of its 'conceptual' origins," O'Brien assured.

"Of course," Damar's heavy hand waved its way to capturing Sisko's attention. "So now you are thinking what, Captain? The woman is our spy rather than Shakaar's?"

"On the contrary, Legate, I am thinking nothing of the sort," Sisko answered quietly, his hand out toward Odo in a request to review Doctor Lange's medical screening from Bajor.

"Yes, it's documented," Odo grunted in compliance. "A holographic transmitter of Cardassian design used in the manner of a DNA inhibitor. The Council of Ministers collectively agreed it would be a gross violation of Lange's neutral status to order the implant removed or deactivated…supported by the fact that she does reside in the outer colonies on the Cardassian border," he added for Kira's satisfaction and benefit.

"A matter of opinion, Constable," Sisko scanned the data.

"I beg your pardon?" Bashir startled. "I mean, I refuse -- Well, perhaps not refuse, exactly," he cleared his throat under Sisko's stare. "But, yes, it would be a gross violation of anyone's neutrality. The woman isn't hiding anything. It's not only documented, it's right there for the galaxy to see…Rather the same as she did have Rigelian fever," he nodded at his console. "A fairly classic and particularly deadly case. The levels of ryetalyn antibodies in her immune system are still extremely high, and there's evidence of minor lesions along her esophagus and upper intestine -- that, and she wears a size one average," he winked at Garak.

"What does that mean?" Anon insisted as Bashir walked away.

"It's a generic form of measurement," Dax offered. "You're probably a four tall."

"Commander," Sisko suggested as Anon's head whipped around to her.

"Or did you mean Julian's medical assessment?" Dax smiled at Anon.

"Yes, of course he means your doctor's medical assessment!" Pfrann erupted with a surprising and extremely angry snarl. "I had Rigelian fever; my brother. Sixteen members of our crew! Anon wants to know what Bashir means by antibodies and lesions a year after the fact. Is Janice still ill, or isn't she -- Contagious, Garak! Contagious!" his neck coiled in Garak's direction. The tailor's continual study not having escaped him, regardless of what may or may not have escaped Garak's observations.

"Oh, no, I hardly think…" Garak blinked.

"Julian would be so calm," Dax said.

Pfrann eyed her. The head snaked forward, his amber yellow eyes bright. Kira caught him sharply by the arm. "That's enough!"

Pfrann's stare shifted to her. His father's nemesis. Emotional, if not physical. His brother's words ringing in his ears. If as his brother's wife Janice was his sister, as his sister Ziyal's guardian, what was Major Kira Nerys to him? His mother? At least there? Free to reprimand? Command?

"I said, that's enough," Kira repeated. "The lesions are all part of the infection -- you should know that!" she silenced any retort. "And maybe, just maybe the doctor, or medic, didn't have the equipment available to him to effect tissue regeneration."

"Actually," Dax said, "the high levels of antibodies suggests he didn't. He may have increased the dosage in an effort to abort the infection before permanent damage occurred. That can cause minor hemorrhaging of the affected internal organs -- commonly in a Human, the intestines and the lungs."

"If he was even a doctor or medic at all," O'Brien added. "The fact the woman resides in the outer colonies suggests he probably wasn't."

"A distinct possibility, Chief," Sisko agreed. "The Federation facilitators dispensed the ryetalyn antidote throughout the region, they did not necessarily administer it."

"Either that, or there was something wrong with the supply," O'Brien assured. "I seem to recall there were Maquis raiders swarming all over the sectors. Jem'Hadar. Klingons. Cardassians."

"Also true," Sisko inclined his head.

"So there you have it," O'Brien waved at the display. "Take your pick."

Damar did. His thin smile floated over the screen with its detailed graphic of the unknown mass Janice Lange and her sophisticated holographic transmitter. "Maquis…"

"Oh, please!" Kira's hands flew up in flailing anger. "Why don't we just accuse her of being Romulan and get it over with?"

"Or Klingon," Worf said firmly.

Dax looked at him. He sighed. "Jadzia, Major Kira is correct. It has been insinuated Doctor Lange is a Bajoran or Federation Intelligence agent, and now Maquis."

"Or at least insinuated that it's been insinuated," Dax nodded. "And I really think if Gowron was going to order surgical alteration for one of his agents, he would have included her hair, don't you?"

"What is your obsession with this woman's hair?" Worf insisted.

"I'm not obsessed. You are."

"Dominion!" Kira sputtered at Damar's taunting smirk. "The same as the rest of you!"

"In the meantime, it's you who must admit, Major, it's interesting your inept colonists could know so little about the appropriate administration of some serum and know so much about holographic implants…"

"I know!" Kira took a step closer to him, "that we used whatever we could get our hands on. From phasers, to rocks. And if you think that much has changed -- "

"Think again," O'Brien proposed. "While you're at it, underscore Cardassian on that list."

Damar scoffed. "Are you seriously suggesting we have employed one of our agents to argue our own point with ourselves?"

"You would," O'Brien nodded. "If anyone would, you would -- no, I'm not saying that. Of course I'm not saying that; the kid's no spy. You can tell she's not a spy. I'm just saying that if anyone would, you would."

"The technology is Cardassian," Dax smiled at Sisko turning from the Chief with a shake of his head.

"Or at least the technological concept," Garak beamed.

"Sixteen steps and they are all still standing in the same circle," Anon nodded to his brother. Pfrann just looked at him, aggravation scarring his face. Anon shrugged. Truth was truth, as fair was fair. They just spent two hours taking their turns with attempting to humiliate him. It seemed like a good time to reclaim a little of what they tried to take away from him, and secure some much wanted information from them at the same time. His eyes clicked over the group like a phaser relay setting its sights, settling on the Trill Dax; the one who employed humor as a mask for her intelligence. "What makes you think we had a doctor aboard my transport when we were beset by the Rigelian plague?"

"Did anyone ask?" O'Brien retorted. "Or better still, care?"

Anon ignored him, waiting for Dax.

"Did you?" she just asked him, no suspicion in her question or voice at all. He turned away satisfied the Federation had limited knowledge if any concerning his transport without accessing their files, and therefore no cause to suspect Janice of any involvement with him, regardless of everything else they suspected about her .

"Your point, Gul Dukat?" Sisko stopped him, keenly aware of the Cardassians' penchant for dancing, if he was aware of nothing else.

"We obtained the antidote," Anon granted, "from a squad of four Klingon raiders who attacked my transport following their attack of the Federation medical envoy whom they destroyed. The supply of serum was intended for a Bajoran outpost. It seems unlikely your Federation facilitators would distribute tainted serum potent enough to kill Bajorans rather than Cardassians."

"It does," Odo grunted. "The same as it seems unlikely the Klingons would be the attackers, being as they were the ones with the serum."

"Touché," O'Brien gloated. "Add to that, did you give it back?"

"Well, did you?" Kira asked when Anon turned from a silent Captain Sisko to eye her much in the same way as his brother had with thoughts similar to that of his brother. A head shorter than him, one quarter his heavy weight, at any time in ten years his father could have snapped her stubborn spine in half if he wanted to.

IF he wanted to. "I destroyed the Klingon squad of raiders," he assured. "The last face they saw before they died was mine. Not some holographic projection of their own." He held his breath waiting for her denial of her allegiance with his father throughout his Klingon campaign.

"What?" Kira's face contorted.

"Oh, big man!" the cantankerous and blustering O'Brien extolled, his hand twirling circles in the air above his head.

"Chief!" Sisko thundered, an angry flush spreading up from his neck, quickly filling his cheeks.

"Excuse me!" O'Brien said. "But while he's out waltzing along his own damn border -- "

"Your father was in the heart of Klingon Space," Dax replied without apology for her potentially controversial remark. "You really cannot compare the two."

"No, you cannot!" Sisko assured, enraged more by the cool and calculating effort of Anon to rekindle hostilities than by any affront directed to his father.

"And by being put in the position of having to defend Dukat," Dax suggested to Worf.

"Yes," Worf understood.

Except Sisko had no intentions of defending Dukat. Damn the insolent, arrogant, inflammatory child standing in front of him to hell right along with his father.

"And damn Federation protocol," Dax winced.

"Yes," Worf agreed.

"No one has accused your father of cowardice, treachery, or any form of deceit!" Sisko seethed.

"Your point?" Anon interjected.

"Point?" Sisko choked in fury.

"Yes, well," Odo drawled, "chances are Captain Sisko's point is the same as that of First Minister Shakaar…Not to step on anyone's toes," he digressed for a moment to acknowledge Sisko firing him a look. "Or anyone's words. But being as much of this ongoing quarrel stems from and concerns a matter of security, any questions should be directed to me…

"As Chief of Security," he reminded Anon. "For the station, as well as this conference of yours. That's not my rule, or even my choice. You may recall my appointment to be a mutual agreement between your respective governments. Federation, Cardassian, as well as Bajoran. Reasonable, supposedly. I am Dominion. Previously and presently employed by the Bajoran Government to assist the Federation. Previously employed by your father during both his occupations to assist him."

"For the simple reason my father finds you weak," Anon said.

"Likewise," Odo assured. "Back to that theory of chances are if you can't find anyone less neutral than I am, you can't find anyone more impartial; you can't. You're all in violation of the agreed and mandated protocol. That all includes you and yours. Second only to Chief O'Brien…"

"Excuse me?" O'Brien reared.

"Second only to Doctor Lange," Odo ignored him. "Bashir, Major Kira, Commanders Dax and Worf, and so forth," he finished with his eyes on Sisko. "With all due respect, regardless of when this tête-à-tête was supposed to begin, it began the moment Lange walked through that airlock. Therefore so did the rules. Permission requested to assign everyone to their respective neutral corners as of now."

"Permission granted, Constable," Sisko agreed.

"Thank you. In the meantime, unless someone attacks the station between now and the end of the week, at which point I'll not only trust you to take care of it, I'll leave it to you to take care of it, consider yourself assigned. Corner of your choosing…A luxury," he returned to Anon, "not extended to you or any other guest of this station. Neutrals included. Back to that point of Captain Sisko's and First Minister Shakaar's you refuse to get. A simple one really. If the benefit of the doubt can be extended to your father that his situation, otherwise known as the heart of Klingon Space, warranted and explained his holographic transmitter as a necessary means of survival, rather than treachery or deceit, so can, and will, that same benefit of the doubt be extended to Doctor Lange, with her holographic transmitter and situation defined as a necessary means of survival in the outer colonies of Bajoran Space."

"Agreed," Anon accepted as easily as he accepted the earlier idea of a proximity detector implant and walked away.

"Yes, well," Odo supposed finally, "I said it was a simple point to understand… Mister Garak?" he invited Garak's opinion above and beyond the assortment of frowns and eyes round with confused amazement.

"Oh, yes," Garak breathed, a hint of a frown creasing his own brow, he suspected. His own eyes rounded with a degree of puzzled amazement. "Yes, you did say that, didn't you? Though, no, one would not anticipate it to be a point as simple to understand as all of that. You're so right."

"About what?" Odo grunted.

"In presuming young Gul Dukat to be an instigator, of course," Garak nodded. "A very good one. But then the art of instigation is an art. No less then knowing when to instigate, then when not to. Who, to instigate," he purred. "And who not to."

"What did you say was your point?" Odo verified.

"Precisely that, Constable," Garak promised. "Precisely that. I would keep a very close watch over young Gul Dukat. Yes, that I would."

"The point of the proximity detector," Commander Dax leaned over to whisper in his ear on her way to say her good-byes to Benjamin before retiring to her respective neutral corner.

"Oh, I know," Garak agreed. "Oh, yes, I certainly understand that. A proximity detector will tell you precisely where Gul Dukat is every minute of every hour of every day. The same as it will for everyone else…" he smiled down on Julian's medical console with its graphic display of the unknown entity or mass otherwise known as Doctor Janice Lange. "Or would, if one were required. That's elementary. As elementary to say that while such a situation might be difficult to circumvent, it's not impossible. Merely requiring a little ingenuity."

"Talking to someone in particular?" Chief O'Brien paused to say on his way to his respective neutral corner that just so happened to include the Captain.

"Myself," Garak assured. "Only myself."

"It's probably safer that way."

"She's a dangerous woman," Dax submitted for Sisko's consideration.

"Yes," Sisko answered before he realized what she had said.

"Or isn't that what you were thinking?" Dax smiled to his searching quizzical expression.

"No," Sisko acknowledged. "No, that isn't what I was thinking."

"Understandable," Dax accepted, thinking herself of the irony of a universe imperiled by the offering of peace. "One doesn't usually find the words radical or extremist…"

"Equated with pacifist," Sisko finished her thought. "You're right, of course."

"Maybe not," Dax patted his arm in attempted consolation. "She could just be the new Surak."

"And damn it all, Commander," Sisko swore a determined oath if that would help, "if I have anything to say about it, she will at least be given the opportunity!"

"Damn the Dukats, Shakaars and anyone else," Dax understood.

"Yes!" Sisko insisted. "Yes! With all due respect to First Minister's concerns over the Cardassian agenda he has systematically attempted to sabotage the conference, never mind anyone else. Giving Damar every conceivable reason to walk."

"Unless Damar wants it bad enough not to," Dax said. "Which obviously he does. I'm not so sure that's not an added reason for marked concern -- in the long run," she softened her dismal prognosis with another reassuring smile. "For the time being, I think it's probably safe to say it can't get any worse."

She spoke too soon. So did Benjamin when he agreed with her. No sooner than the words were out of his mouth, as if on cue, a loud and familiar growl rang out across the Infirmary, insistently demanding Sisko's immediate attention.

"Oh, Jeez…" O'Brien halted in his tracks with a groan. "Just what we need."

"Martok," Sisko covered his face with his hand.

"Perhaps I should try that again," Dax grimaced in sympathy.

"I doubt if it would make any difference," Sisko turned around to face the powerful Klingon bearing down on him across the floor.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

"Sisko!" General Martok's aging and prominent features twisted in rage, his one eye narrow and piercing like a beam of black light. His other eye a flat, empty socket, closed and sutured shut. He had lost that eye to a Jem'Hadar blade during the two years he had spent as a prisoner of the Dominion on a remote asteroid in the Gamma Quadrant while his Changeling impersonator reigned supreme throughout the Klingon-Cardassian war. He came away from that asteroid with a strong taste for revenge and earnest respect for one Cardassian only. Enabran Tain. A powerful and determined old man who also spent what turned out to be his last years as a prisoner of the Dominion on that asteroid before dying an honorable death on a stone plinth.

He was an unlikely candidate for anyone's respect, Tain. Cardassia's hated and feared exiled ruler of her former Obsidian Order. Singularly the most powerful Intelligence network in the galaxy until the Cardassian Civilian Revolt and subsequent fall of the Union. It was an insidious organization. One as intrigued by internal affairs as it was by those outside the State. Infamous for its heinous crimes of torture perpetrated against her occupied territories as well as her own people. Dukat's father reputedly died at the hands of an accomplished Obsidian interrogator. Elam Garak. Sisko's resident Cardassian tailor and Tain's son who also spent a short time as a prisoner on that asteroid where he found enough of his father's courage to attempt to continue his father's struggle to escape until the union between Cardassia and the Dominion was announced and escape proved unnecessary. Had Tain been alive he would have killed the messenger as Martok had killed him. He would have killed Dukat as Martok still wanted to though the Federation-Dominion war was over, and Cardassia's former Emperor Dukat faced, not freedom, but internment for life in a Federation prison for the criminally insane.

He would ignore Garak; Martok didn't even notice him. The steel spikes of his boots clattered across the floor of the Infirmary towards Sisko, his long black hair flying behind him, his arm outstretched. He stopped abruptly a step or two from the Captain, rage momentarily replaced by a frown of confusion as he turned on his heel to stare at something he caught a glimpse of in passing. The head of a Klingon woman bent in pain as she sat on an examining bed, Sisko's Bashir beside her.

"What is this?" Martok growled, immediately abandoning Sisko to investigate the situation for himself.

"He thinks she's Klingon," Dax interpreted Martok's abrupt about face with a smile for Benjamin who could only stare back at her.

"Klingon…" Sisko repeated carefully, his stare slowly turning away from Dax to follow Martok's flight.

"Klingon," Worf assured.

"Worf should know," Dax agreed as Benjamin's head snapped up to stare at Worf.

Kira gaped at Martok. "I give up. I give up!" she gripped Odo's tunic in both her fists, shaking him. "I do! I!" she assured, "GIVE! UP!"

"Yes, well, not really," Odo grunted.

"No," Kira sighed, "but it's a thought."

"Oh," Janice looked up startled from straightening the sleeve of her tunic to blink at the giant Klingon looming over her. Martok halted again, flustered by the face that was distinctly Human. No evidence of any family crest hidden under her streaked mass of hair. His penetrating glare dropped briefly to the thin hands and legs protruding from her knee-length tunic before he gripped her chin in his hand, his steel-gloved fingers squeezing her cheeks tightly. "Forgive me," he apologized, "I thought you were Klingon."

"No," Janice managed a slight smile and shake of her head.

Martok grunted, not entirely convinced even though he could feel the twigs she called bones.

"But would you believe she has heard that before?" Bashir offered, his hand on Martok's wrist because feel the twigs was one thing. Listen to them splinter and shatter was quite another.

Martok grunted again, eyeing Janice's striped mane one last time before he let her go.

"Are you all right?" Bashir exhaled in relief.

"Oh, yes, I'm fine," Janice cracked her jaw once or twice just to be sure. "He wasn't trying to hurt me. I think I just startled him as much as he startled me. Actually, he seemed like a pleasant enough man."

"As well as just by chance a member of one of the strongest species known in the galaxy," Bashir ran his tricorder over her jaw and throat to insure she hadn't suffered a hairline fracture of her cervical vertebrae. "It's a sheer miracle he didn't walk away and leave you paralyzed."

"The Klingons are?" Janice smiled. "I don't believe I was aware of that."

"Second only to the Jem'Hadar and the Cardassians in the matter of pure brute strength," Bashir winked. "I say pure because its difficult to measure things like actual strength when one species has a tendency to whine, while the other has a tendency to enjoy."

"You left someone out of your rather rude analogy," Janice laughed.

"The Jem'Hadar," Bashir nodded. "The classification of humanoid has become rather broad over the years. You do know they are genetically engineered?"

"Well, I'm not so sure everyone isn't genetically engineered," Janice shrugged. "The classification of Nature is also rather broad. Varying from culture to culture. And who's to say which culture is absolutely right? Except for themselves?"

"You know, you really are a very fascinating woman," Bashir decided. "Beyond your Klingon hair and two doctorates. Potentially dangerous, I'm sure some might think. With all those radical thoughts rattling around in that brilliant head of yours."

"Because I say what I mean, or I mean what I say?" Janice's eyes twinkled delightfully. "I've also heard that before."

"I'm sure you have," Bashir agreed. "Personally I'd settle for half the honesty…particularly since, one could always refer to the other half as mystery," he proposed with a slow and suggestive blink of his tortoise-colored eyes Janice would say. Certainly not completely brown, but flecked with sparkles of yellow, green and blue, at least under this light.

"Well, personally," Janice straightened up with her smile and a professional nod of her head, "I'm not so sure you're not potentially dangerous yourself, Doctor. Therefore I'd settle for knowing why you believe Cardassians are stronger than Klingons."

"Coward," Bashir laughed.

"Cardassians?" Janice countered wickedly. "With all that brute strength? That doesn't make very good sense."

"Can be cowardice," Bashir promised. "Redundancy and the ability to regenerate vitals organs aside, Cardassians have one thing Klingons do not have, and that is a hide. Not flesh or tissue like you and I," he picked up her hand. "But a thick, leathery hide. Virtually impenetrable."

"No, it isn't impenetrable," Janice frowned at her hand that she could for a moment see covered with Cardassian blood.

"Virtually, I insist," Bashir released her to rest on his elbow, talking into her eyes and over Martok's shouts of Klingon fairy princesses beset by Cardassian beasts. "Do you know I once shot Garak in the back of his throat during a holographic reenactment? Quite accidentally, I can assure you. And not with a phaser, but with a small steel projectile called a bullet, fired from an ancient Earth weapon called a gun. Do you know what happened?"

"It bounced harmless off?" Janice guessed.

"Well, no, not exactly," Bashir admitted. "It did penetrate, though barely with this resulting little trickle of blood hardly worth noting."

"But he cried anyway?"

"Cried? Garak? Oh, no," Bashir shook his head. "He was surprised, of course. Touched his neck and said something in utter amazement like, 'Julian, you shot me.'"

"I see," Janice said.

"Good," Bashir grinned. "Back to that air of mystery I think you should cultivate …Not that you don't have an air of mystery, because you do."

"Back to that theory of yours," Janice suggested instead, "that's all wet."

"I beg your pardon?" Bashir started.

"You're all wet," Janice laughed. "The bullet did penetrate. Garak did bleed and he didn't whine."

"Yes, but I explained…" Bashir said.

"No," Janice shook her head. "No, you told me a story about shooting Garak in the neck with a steel projectile. And while I might only be an archeologist, Doctor, I do know if you shot me, or I shot you, however accidentally, we would have blown each other's head clear off our shoulders."

"What a graphic image," Bashir agreed. "Quite colorfully red."

"Yes, it is," Janice said. "The only assessment I can make from your account is that the degree of pain or injury required to make a Cardassian whine must be astounding. Far beyond what you and I would call sheer agony. All the way to the point that we would both far more likely be dead before we had a chance to utter the tiniest little cry."

"Actually you're the one who's all wet," Bashir laughed. "All things taken into consideration, my shooting Garak in the neck is about equivalent to a bee sting on me. But that's quite all right. Did I mention how you were fascinating anyway?"

"Yes, you did," Janice assured. "The same as you mentioned you were genetically enhanced."

"I am," Bashir grinned. "As illegal as it is, and it is, I am."

"How thoroughly unnatural of you, Doctor," she teased. "Really, the classification Human is apparently quite broad also, not only humanoid."

"As well as quite fresh," Bashir promised.

"Fresh? No, I'm not fresh," Janice denied. "I simply say what I mean, and mean what I say." she stared across the room at Anon, wondering if she'd have a chance to say it, and if so how. It was a moment before she realized he had a knife in his hand. "Anon!" she gasped.

"Quite!" Bashir dropped his tricorder in agreement with a protective jump in front of her; he wasn't quite sure why, other than it seemed to be the thing to do. "I believe you mean Klingon dagger. Kut'luch, specifically. Martok's, if you want to be even more specific." Not that it was necessary since that was quite obviously Martok staring down the point of his own blade, an amused smile on his face.

"But, why?" Janice insisted behind him, clutching his shoulders and trying to see around him.

"Well, I don't know why," Bashir assured. "Probably something to do with the fact that they've been at war with one another for three years. Something to do with the conference. Something to do with he's Klingon and he's Cardassian. He's General Martok and he's the son of Gul Dukat. The Gul Dukat, let us not forget that. No Changeling impersonators or reasonable facsimiles thereof."

"Oh, for goodness sake!" Janice huffed, Bashir wouldn't go as far as saying angrily. The same as he was certain she pulled his hair quite accidentally in an effort to maintain her balance while she hopped up and down on one foot, busily yanking her cloth slipper off her other.

"What are you doing?" Bashir stared at her in shock.

"Throwing my shoe at them," Janice assured. "Why?"

"Why?" Bashir stared at the cloth slipper she called a shoe clenched in her hand. "Well…" he said. Considering her slipper was cloth not steel, he seriously doubted if it would do any worthwhile damage. The same as he seriously doubted that considering its light weight it would even make it halfway there. "You can't very well fling your shoe at Klingons or Cardassians for that matter," he insisted.

"I can't?" Janice corrected him, challenged actually. "Why not?"

"Why not?" Bashir echoed. "Well, I don't know why not. Why would you?" he wondered, the psychology behind her reasoning beginning to intrigue him. "Or for that matter, do you really think you should?"

"Definitely!" Janice gave her slipper a heave over his shoulder in the general direction of the crowd of people that by that point included many more than simply Dukat and General Martok.

"Did it work?" Bashir asked, his eyes closed, his back turned against the masses.

"I don't know," Janice sat back down on the examining bed with a sigh. "It at least got everyone's attention."

"Yes, I'm quite sure it did that," Bashir agreed, "even if they're not quite sure why. Excuse me," he pardoned himself to go and collect her slipper for her, confident that whatever had triggered the latest conflict of wills was all over with. Which it was. For the next five minutes or so. Bashir also found himself in marked agreement with that prognosis.

"What is he doing?" Anon stiffened in concern when Martok grasped Janice.

"Anon…" his brother's arm halted him in warning as Damar's attention vacillated between concentrating on Martok to flashing the two of them a quick glance.

"He's hurting her," Anon angrily shoved the arm aside. "He could kill her holding her like that. Snap her neck. If I could kill her, he could kill her!"

"He's talking to her," Pfrann claimed.

"Talking to her?" Anon's fingers clenched Pfrann's throat in a painful grip. "If I talked to you like this you'd soon have something to say about it, wouldn't you?"

"Anon!" Pfrann pulled his brother's hand loose.

"I should have known," Damar chuckled to his assistant Paq, silent not because he didn't have anything to say.

"What?" Anon snapped at him. "Known what?"

"Anon!" his brother insisted as Damar's cold eyes flickered back over the two of them.

"You don't know anything," Anon assured, settling into glaring at Martok releasing Janice to clatter his way back to Sisko.

"General," Sisko put up his hand in a calm and reassuring gesture to slow Martok's pounding advance.

Martok slammed the hand aside, his voice an outraged roar. "You have a plausible explanation for the state of the young Klingon queen, I suppose?"

"The who?" Kira mouthed to Odo.

"Young Klingon queen," Odo grunted. "But don't give up. Personally I wouldn't miss this part for the world."

"Nor I," Garak assured in utter fascination.

"Human," Dax stood up on the tip of her toes to offer Martok in a whisper just in case Benjamin really did find himself at a momentary loss for words. "Doctor Janice Lange. Bajoran representative to the Bajoran-Cardassian Conference."

Martok ogled her, this Trill Jadzia Dax, wife of his friend Worf. He liked her. Even her determination to make her mark in what was truly a man's world. She had grace, intelligence and strength. "Debatable," he decided, his sneer a friendly one.

"Debate all you want to," Dax shrugged.

"She is Human, General, yes," Sisko upheld quietly.

"And I asked you a question," Martok screamed. "Who is responsible for the child's injuries regardless of whose species she claims as her heritage? You? Or perhaps you?" he challenged Worf and O'Brien. Kira and Odo. "Or you," he turned around to fasten his piercing black eye on Damar. "Legate Damar," he taunted. "Done with licking his master's boots he has apparently decided to try them on for a while and see how they feel. Eh, Dukat?" he ignored Anon to solicit Pfrann. "Which one of you is Dukat? You are obviously. You look just like him. No question of who your father is…A question, yes," he turned back around to Sisko with a chuckle, "perhaps of who is the mother. Eh, Sisko?"

"She really is Human," Dax promoted again in his ear.

"Who is?" Martok snarled. "The mother of that Cardassian reptile? Dukat spends as much time trying to outdo himself as he does everyone else."

"The young woman with Doctor Bashir," Sisko reminded quietly.

"What of it?" Martok scoffed.

"You really are wasting your breath?" Dax nodded, a friendly blow to his ego, but then she also liked him. He was a good man. A strong man. Honest in his love of his world even if he insisted on upholding the prehistoric notion that women did not belong on the Council floor.

Martok thought about her point of wasting of his breath. Gnashed it around in his teeth for a while before he threw back his head with a loud laugh. "You can't fault an old man for trying," his hand clapped Sisko's shoulder in merriment.

"No," Sisko agreed as quietly as before.

"So tell me who is responsible for the disservice done to the child," Martok insisted, his hand dropping from Sisko shoulder to grip the hilt of his kut'luch fastened at his waist. "Human, Klingon or Trill, it would be my honor to avenge her."

"No disservice, General," Sisko assured. "A mandatory blood screening, that's all. As required by the joint committee of the conference."

"Ah, the conference," Martok nodded to Dax. "You mentioned that. A Bajoran representative to the Cardassians. So the child isn't entirely Human as you claim."

"She is Human," Sisko maintained. "As she is a Neutral acting as representative for the Bajoran Council of Ministers."

"Shakaar?" Martok laughed uproariously. "The only difference between him and Dukat is his politics!"

"Excuse me?" Kira's blood pressure shot to the top of her head.

"When it comes to women, Major," Martok reassured her, "not his soul. Have no fear, I have no quarrel with the heart of your savior anymore than I'm sure his Prophets do."

"Funny, but you know," Dax remarked to O'Brien's shoulders shaking in laughter beside her, "I'm not so sure Kira fully appreciates the sentiment behind the words."

O'Brien couldn't even bring himself to answer her.

"I had word of it," Martok released the hilt of his dagger to point at Sisko. "This conference."

"Yes," Sisko suspected that might be the reason behind the General's visit.

"Visit," Martok waved. "I am always here. Like Dukat, I find it difficult to stay away. Why?" he peered in Sisko's face. "Do you think I should leave?"

"I think," Sisko choose his patient words carefully, "we would both do each other a greater service if we continued this discussion in my office."

"Why?" Martok smirked. "Is there something about my presence someone might find offensive? The Human child perhaps? Recoiling in terror from the one-eyed Klingon warrior?"

"I haven't noticed Doctor Lange to recoil, General," Sisko granted.

"Nor I," Martok agreed. "So it must be the Cardassians who concern you as they concern me. You claim a station free of carnage…"

"If I have anything to say about it," Sisko's voice tightened.

"You don't," Martok interrupted and Sisko's flush spread through his cheeks. "You can't. Nor will you."

"My office, General," Sisko directed, "before I forget myself."

"You?" Martok chuckled. "My friend? A threat?"

"A promise. For the last time under your own accord or escorted like a child. The choice is yours. It makes no difference to me."

"I believe you," Martok's hand clapped Sisko's shoulder again with a smile. "That's why I like you. Ask Worf. On the day you forget yourself, will be a day the galaxy will live to regret."

"I have liked to believe that myself, General," Sisko had to admit, "upon occasion."

"Who hasn't?" Martok's sharp nod was for Dax. "Save your energies for your husband. I'll be in Sisko's office."

But not before he was unable to resist halting in front of who he believed to be young Gul Dukat. Whatever he was planning to say as he lunged forward into Pfrann's face was lost in the instant between the time Anon reacted to rip the dagger from its harness at Martok's waist. Martok was staring at the tip of his own blade, amusement playing his face over the brazen audacity of such a foolish young man.

"Distinctly foolish," Martok promised the boiling red eyes glittering like fire. "Someone take this toy away from this child before he hurts himself."

"Worf!" Sisko had already barked with an instinctive grab for Anon's wrist that he hung onto with every ounce of Human strength he had. "Drop it!" he demanded. "I said, drop it, Dukat, or so help me!"

"Oh, yes, Dukat," Garak assumed the responsibility of enlightening Martok as to his earlier understandable error in confusing the two young Cardassians. "Gul Dukat, as a matter of fact. Not to say the other isn't Dukat, because of course he is; merely younger…And if I may say so, Captain," he likewise took advantage of the moments between Anon's ability to hold out against Captain Sisko's manacled grip around his arm, as well as Commander Worf's manacled grip around his throat in what Garak believed Humans referred to as hammer lock, "you certainly can't fault Gul Dukat for defending himself or his younger brother from what he believed quite likely was about to be General Martok's assault."

"Your tailor has a point, Captain," Damar voiced his thoroughly unwanted and unnecessary opinion. "General Martok did attack first. I'm sure your impartial Chief Constable of Security will uphold that claim as fact."

"He will," Odo grunted. "He'll also make a point to say regardless of everything that's been said to the contrary, upon occasion it is of benefit to be a shape-shifter. Or at least a close friend of one. See what I mean?" his liquid fingers slid neatly in between Anon's vise grip to pull the dagger free.

"Oh, we do," Garak drooled. "We certainly do."

"I had a feeling you might," Odo nodded to Anon. "Following in your father's footsteps shouldn't include his follies."

"I agree," Anon assured. A not too subtle hint that he just might have a different opinion over what constituted a folly and what did not. Hatred and attempted annihilation of the Klingon Empire at any and all costs probably did not.

"Hm," Odo grunted. "We'll keep it in mind." Even still he had a feeling what the group of them would not be able to agree upon, aside from with each other, was the rhyme, reason or purpose behind a cloth slipper finding its way onto the scene just about then. Initially airborne, it landed with intensity of a feather about a foot and a half away from the almost injured party General Martok. Commander Dax's curiosity got the better of her even if no one else's got the better of them, stooping to retrieve the visiting shoe and pass it after a brief moment or two of scrutiny onto Bashir babbling something about the heat of the excitement of the moment and the subsequent understanding thereof.

"Yes, well, no," Odo declined understanding anything. The same as he was sure everyone else did and would. Confident they all had enough on their mind not to waste time pondering why an intelligent woman such as Doctor Janice Lange would take to throwing her shoe at dagger-wielding Klingons, or Cardassians as the case actually was, beyond the hopes of capturing everyone's attention, which it did. Simply after the fact.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

"She threw her shoe at them," Kira paced around in a circle while waiting for her turn at proving she wasn't a Changeling even if she insisted upon consorting with them after all that had been said and done. "What am I going to do with her? What am I going to do?"

"Yes, well, I wasn't aware you were supposed to do anything with her," Odo replied.

"Well, I'm not," Kira agreed. "I'm not. I'm supposed to counsel her, yes."

"Yes," Odo said.

"If she has any questions about the Prophets' teachings, or Bareil's writings," Kira nodded.

"Yes," Odo said.

"She threw her shoe at them?" Kira grimaced. "Sounds like something Quark would do."

"Or Commander Dax," Odo deferred to the acclaimed practical joker of the group, there to keep a close eye over the last member of her troupe to make sure Kira didn't get it into her head to start throwing her shoes at anyone.

"Sounds like a girl thing," Dax shrugged.

"Girl, yes," Odo grunted. "She certainly is a girl, isn't she? A young woman more accurately by Federation standards."

"Oh, don't you start," Kira socked him, though she was laughing when she did. Continuing to laugh as she hung her head in proclaimed frustration. "Between Bashir and O'Brien…I can't take it, Odo, I can't. Not if you start, too." By that time she was laughing to the point she was almost crying, her fists hammering down into the examining bed.

"Yes, I can see that," Odo agreed.

"She threw her shoe at them," Kira collected herself to some extent. "Odo, she threw her shoe at them. Do you have any idea how many times I have wanted to do something like that?"

"No. Though correct me if I'm wrong, you will tell me."

"A lot," Kira promised. "Yes, I'll tell you, and it's a lot. And she did it. She did it!"

"So I understand," Odo grunted, really the only thing he could say.

"Sounds like a mother thing." Dax took care of saying anything else.

"A what?" Kira looked at her.

"A mother thing," Dax smiled. "You have a mother thing."

"I have a mother thing?" Kira repeated.

"Uh, hm," Dax nodded. "For Janice Lange."

"How could I have a mother thing?" Kira insisted. "I don't even know her."

"Well, not knowing someone doesn't stop anyone from having instincts… such as feeling a need to offer assistance or protection?" Dax suggested. "Sound familiar?"

"Or stop the impression you get from the person, such as someone in need or want of protection," Bashir wandered into the discussion with the announcement that Kira was precisely who she claimed to be, and that was not a Changeling. "Lange does rather have an air of virginal innocence around her," his smile turned to Dax, the last of the last apart from Captain Sisko to prove her DNA was her DNA, but certainly not the least.

"On the contrary," Bashir said, apparently of the same impression as the Chief that marriage and flirting in front of witnesses really didn't count, "there's something to be said for keeping the best for last."

"Oh?" Odo drawled. "What's to be said?"

"That I'm last." Dax declined adding fuel to Bashir's fire, pleasantly assuming her seat on the examining bed.

"Yes," Bashir supported with a rakish grin. "The same as it's late. You're tired, the same as I'm tired. You want to get home to Worf, the same as Worf wants you to…Or is that allowed?" he hinted how there was consortion and then there was consortion.

Odo turned his bland expression on Kira about ready to agree with her that he wasn't going to be able to take too much more of this himself.

"The Chief was worse," she said.

Odo's expression didn't change but that didn't detour her.

"O'Brien was worse," Kira insisted. "He's married for one thing."

So was Commander Dax. But Odo still got Kira's point. Apparently flirting was more significant when the offender was married rather than the offended. Even if Lange wasn't offended, which Commander Dax was. Odo eyed Dax's spots still dark violet as they had been throughout most of the evening.

"Of course it's more significant," Kira scoffed. "Why? Don't you think it is?"

"No," Odo said.

"No?" Kira gawked. "The Chief made a fool out of himself."

"Yes," Odo supposed by her standards he did. The same as Martok probably did.

In the meantime Bashir was extremely close to having Commander Dax make sem'hal stew out of him.

"Benjamin decided to make an exception in our case," Dax nodded to Bashir.

"When hasn't Benjamin decided that?" Bashir wondered. "In the meantime, failure to sequester you and Worf could very well be interpreted by Legate Damar as preferential treatment between the Federation and Bajor -- if not ganging up on Cardassia."

"Perish the thought." Odo's grunting reminder that witnesses were witnesses, as in present to witness didn't go entirely unnoticed.

"Julian…" Dax proposed a similar suggestion that he stop.

"I know," he grinned, "how dare I mention virginal and Janice in the same sentence."

"Actually, I was going to say…" Dax's head tipped in thought.

"That I'm almost as obnoxious as when I first arrived six years ago? Can't seem to decide if being obnoxious or playing the good doctor twenty-four hours a day is more me?"

"That's probably closer," Dax nodded.

"Damn it all!" Anon's fist struck the console in frustration, pitting his knowledge against their knowledge the Federation was winning. He couldn't find Janice anywhere.

"Anon," his brother sighed at his side in their assigned quarters with its impressive view of the station's docking ring and Martok's Klingon Bird-of-Prey lying in wait outside.

"Tan!" Anon's fist attacked his com badge. "Janice doesn't have a proximity detector, she has a security tag like some criminal. The frequency should be simple to find. Cardassian-Dominion technology surpasses Federation, everyone knows that."

The interference from Sisko's shields was noticeable in the quality of his Engineer's answer but tolerable. "Someone forgot to tell Sisko. You have a level 5 security field at both ends of the corridor."

"So?" Anon retorted. "Look for a level 5 security field at both ends of some other corridor. Martok is here. Damar. I am not the only trouble-maker. The field just doesn't keep us in, it keeps everyone else out. Janice would have one also."

"The security field is Cardassian," Tan reminded him integrated Cardassian-Federation technology was an older, far more tested and exact science than their experiments with Dominion. "One of Dukat's. I'm having difficulty maintaining a lock."

"Don't say it," Pfrann warned Anon.

"I'm not going to say anything," Anon returned to the console. "If Legate Dukat wanted to live like a prisoner in his own command that was up to him."

"Janice has a DNA inhibitor," Pfrann insisted. "You don't even know if they activated the security tag."

"Holographic transmitter," Anon corrected. "And they activated the security tag. I don't think the Changeling is that smart, but I also don't think he's that trusting."

Pfrann was silent.

"Janice isn't a spy," Anon looked up, his voice holding an edge. "The idea is nonsense. I don't care what Sisko or Damar think."

"Sisko?" Pfrann snapped, but only because he probably cared less than his brother what Sisko thought.

"Yes, Sisko. I saw his face the same as I saw Damar's. DNA inhibitors. Holographic transmitters. What else can Janice be? Bajoran Intelligence. Bullshit. She's Janice. And she knows as little about Shakaar as she knows about Legate Dukat," he glowered at the uncooperative sensors. "Our father is not an engineer, Pfrann, I am. Why can't I find one woman in a sea of thousands? I didn't even see any other Humans, did you? If I can penetrate the Federation systems, deflect their security lock, I should be able to bypass his stupid field."

"No," his brother's hand sliced through the air impatiently. "I saw your face when you saw her. I see it when you look at her. That is the face I am concerned about."

"Because you know I'm serious?" Anon focused on scanning the station deck by deck.

"Yes," Pfrann insisted. "Because I know you're serious."

"A reason to rejoice, Pfrann," he suggested, "not panic."

"I am not the one panicking," Pfrann groaned. "You are; or you can," he said when Anon abruptly aborting his efforts to stand there in the somber, pensive stance of the Klingon Worf. As believable and trustworthy as some Klingon. "You have. I've seen you!"

His breath was wasted. Anon renewed his attack on the console with a punch of his com badge. "Tan!"

"The field…" Tan sighed.

"Forget about the field," Anon instructed, excitedly. "You're looking for an unknown entity. Sixty-five percent water. Internal temperature…Yes!" he cheered, grasping Pfrann's arm in triumph when the scanners suddenly halted their sweep.

"You found her?" his brother stammered at the display.

"Yes, of course, I found her. Simple. Just like Bashir. The sensors can read her, they just don't know what she is. I like that, and I don't like that," he activated his com badge one more time. "Tan!"

"But the force field…" Pfrann snapped out of his daze, having an idea of what Anon was planning to do.

He was right. "If Tan can penetrate Sisko's shields he can circumvent the security field…True or false, Tan?" Anon verified, the expected answer evident in Tan's voice.

"I can try," Tan straddled the fence between the two.

"No," Anon corrected. "Do, Tan, do."

"No, is right!" Pfrann desperately supported. "Tan can circumvent the shields to communicate with you, Anon. Not to transport you." he could barely finish the thought.

"Me?" Anon said. "No, I'm not transporting. Janice is."

Pfrann stared at him. Somehow his brother's willingness to take such a risk with Janice's life did not seem compatible with his ardent claim of love. Pfrann wasn't quite sure why he thought that, he just knew he did.

"I have a proximity detector implant, Pfrann," Anon patiently reminded him. "Janice has that stupid tag. They are suspicious of her, but frightened of me. Suspicion comes with my presence…with my name," he smiled slightly at his father's paranoia activated along Janice's corridor as he fed her coordinates to Tan for comparison to what he could see. "Why do you think I agreed? Let them monitor me. I never left this room."

"You could kill her," Pfrann answered hoarsely. "The field could disrupt the matter stream and scatter her molecules."

"No, I am not going to kill her," Anon shook his head, "and neither is Tan."

"I said could! Our father had to be thinking of site to site transports and take precautions against them."

"Klingon," Anon nodded. "Federation, Bajoran, yes."

"The Dominion phasing technique is as unstable as the Romulan, you know that," Pfrann's hand slapped down on the console severing the data link to the Tir.

"And neither is Damar going to kill her!" Anon shoved him away with a bark. "You heard what he said in the Infirmary the same as I did!"

"No, he said, I know. That is all he said. He was talking about Martok!"

"He was talking about Janice! He was talking about me! Rigelian fever. Transports and Klingons eight months ago. He knows our location. He doesn't have to look at any data to verify our coordinates. If he examines the Bajoran and Federation records -- which he will do; is doing, he'll know Janice's world is our world. I am our father. Janice is Naprem. And she is a spy!"

"Spy," Pfrann groaned. "If Damar is thinking that, he is as insane as you. I was there. Tan. Everyone. You were not indiscreet. Janice is Janice, not Naprem. And Anar!" he hissed in Anon's face, "is Maquis! Something else to be concerned about. They cannot agree with this conference; they cannot!"

"Maquis," Anon scoffed, calmer for a moment. "We destroyed the Maquis, Pfrann, don't you know that? Remember? We annihilated them. Killed those we felt like killing and when we grew bored condemned their shattered dreams to our mines. There are no more Maquis."

"No," Pfrann shook his head, invoking Anon's earlier words. "Maquis is an idea, Anon. A dream. A sixty year old grandfather," he clutched him, "with a grandson of six months!"

"Uncles with First Ministers for their nephews." Anon said, well aware of Anar's lineage he couldn't hide anymore than his brother could hide his face unless he wore a mask. "Like Dukat, Shakaar wouldn't hesitate to sacrifice Janice to cover his own indiscretion; Anar will never allow it. He'll kill him long before I or you."

"I am talking about you!" Pfrann hissed. "Shakaar is looking to destroy the conference and his weapon is you! The Maquis have sympathies throughout the Federation, more than it cares to admit. Anar is a martyr; Janice less. Who they will condemn is you. From the Bajorans to the UFP, to Cardassia Prime!"

"And in Damar's mind," Anon understood, "I will kill Janice to silence her. Saving his precious consulate and sparing him the trouble of having to do it himself. Well, I have a better idea. I am not going to kill Janice and blame it on the Bajorans, or the Breen. I'm going to marry her and blame it on love. Tan!" he hammered his com badge.

"I have the data," Tan agreed.

"Good," Anon ignored his brother pacing around the living area of their quarters, reactivating his link to his battle cruiser. "Use a pattern enhancer for a test article -- a small one. One Janice can pick up in her hand. She will pick it up, Tan. I know her. She is intrigued and fascinated by everything around her even if she doesn't have any idea what it is; which she doesn't. You could send her a phaser on overload and she would pick it up."

There was a momentary silence from his Chief Engineer.

"Don't even think about it, Tan," he warned. "You know I hate to repeat myself and the speech is quickly becoming old. The enemy is Damar, not Janice."

"Preparing test article," Tan agreed.

"You didn't answer me!" Anon snapped. "Janice did not save my life and my brother's and forget to save yours. Cardassian filth was the dirt on your uniform to her, not you. Move in her direction to harm her and I will no more hesitate to kill you then I would Damar or anyone."

"Your concern is unwarranted," Tan reassured above the static interference. "Our loyalty is sworn to you and the Lieutenant and your families as it was to your father and his."

"Lieutenant," Anon grinned at his brother's sullen scowl. "That's you. You hear the respect in his voice? He doesn't have to say it, all you have to do is listen."

Pfrann couldn't listen to Tan. He was still listening to what Anon said about their father's murder of Tora Naprem that he subsequently blamed on the Breen.

"Yes, Breen, Pfrann," Anon sighed. "I don't think our father sent a woman and their child to their new life to return six years later to kill only the daughter who did not see to die. Perhaps in his mind he did this, yes. To console, cajole Nerys. Incur her favor and sympathy. But in truth, the liabilities were two, not one. Tora Naprem and Tora Ziyal were prisoners, not passengers, and the deaths would have been two not one."

"You would like to believe," Pfrann answered quietly.

"What I would like to believe and do believe is irrelevant," Anon interrupted. "Tora Naprem and Tora Ziyal alive or dead does not change the fact that Nerys is his conscience if she is nothing else to him. Picking, prodding and chipping away at him for ten years. A power he has allowed her when he could snap her in half. A myriad of threats and tantrums, he has never done it. Why do you think that is? I know what I think, you're right, I do."

"You would like to think the threat is only Damar!" his brother completed his thought. What he was talking about. The details and truth of a twenty year old love affair long dead and forever buried with his half-sister Ziyal irrelevant other than as a glaring example that it was. It existed. Its universal dangers as alive and compelling as they always were, regardless of the players' names.

"Yes, of course, I would like to believe that," Anon shrugged with a disinterest he could not begin to feel. "First in line, not third behind the Bajorans and the Maquis -- and the True Way," his grin for his brother was sly that time. "Two years ago you were fighting the Civilian Counsel on our father's behalf so you claim."

"Truth not claim!" Pfrann snapped.

"Truth, not claim," Anon shrugged again. "Truth is Central Command is not as impotent as you once thought. Anymore than our father is as he believes he is -- emotionally, Pfrann," he clarified before his brother finished counting down the names of his siblings. "Emotionally and physically in his strength. Who is, is Damar. You should be happy, not frightened. You like to fight, now you are fighting Damar on our father's behalf. Protecting Legate Dukat's daughter and yet-born grandson, my son, and your nephew from him. Martok's Klingons. The Bajorans and the Maquis. In that order for tonight. By tomorrow, yes, you are right, the order will have changed with the Bajorans at the top of the list!" his fist on his com badge. "Tan!"

"Pattern enhancer is ready."

"Well, do it," Anon ordered. "An hour to find her, an hour to explain the reasons why. She's not asleep, she's waiting for me…Is she?" his question of Pfrann glancing over the display was anxious.

"She's moving around," Pfrann agreed.

"Tan?" Anon asked.

"Initiating transport."

"And?" Anon said.

"Complete," Tan assured.

"She has the pattern enhancer," Pfrann nodded as Anon stared at the console. "You were right. She picked it up."

"Yes!" Anon's hand cracked against his arm, his voice elated. His face settled into disdain a moment later.

"What?" Pfrann said tiredly. "I didn't say anything. I'm tired of arguing with you. You're right. I like to fight. And so we fight," he shrugged. "Your fight. My fight. Legate Dukat's. It's all the same. And we will win."

"What? What?" Anon's face pressed close to his. "Go to bed. That's what. I need assistance, I'll call you. I don't think I will."

"To bed," Pfrann repeated.

"To bed." Anon returned to his com badge and patient engineer. "Now, Tan. Don't worry about the security bracelet. I will take care of it…" his smile teased his brother dallying. "Continue transmitting Janice's signal for the Changeling's files until you find her a new bracelet…Not too difficult to do. They're Cardassian. The same as everything else here is."

"Oh," Janice blinked once as she flopped down on her bed to curl up on her side, Damar's proposal dangling from her hand, the room suddenly tickling with the streams of a transport matter beam. She blinked again when she immediately rose to pick up the small curious looking instrument with its distinctive Cardassian markings.

"Anon?" she stood up to look around the quiet and dimly lit darkness. She was gone a moment later when the transporter beam abruptly returned. Her head swimming as she clutched the instrument. Her startled "Oh!" tinged slightly with fear.

"No, I have you!" Anon's voice penetrated her dizziness as the room faded in and momentarily out of focus. Janice felt his arm around her waist and his hand taking the instrument away.

"Where am I?" she really didn't have to ask that as her vision cleared. Obviously she was in his quarters, not hers. The tell-tale signs were pretty clear beyond the Klingon Bird-Of-Prey hovering just outside the porthole and Pfrann lingering in a doorway.

"Where do you think you are?" Anon grinned, feeling as giddy and breathless as when he had felt leaning over the railing in Quark's.

"Your quarters," Janice nodded.

"My quarters," Anon pulled her by the wrist towards the computer console, a new and different interesting looking instrument in his hand as he activated his com badge. "Tan, do you have her signal?"

"I have it," Tan assured.

"Good. Deactivating now. Try to maintain stability in the frequency. It doesn't have to be perfect…Just almost," he ginned at Janice peering curiously at her security bracelet. "What?"

"What are you doing?" she nodded.

"Deactivating you. Two hours it took me to find you, you know that? This thing was worthless. Everything was worthless until I started thinking like Bashir about what a DNA inhibitor could not hide."

"Holographic transmitter," Janice teased. "I am a rock. Doctor Bashir told me. I'm not quite sure why Anar just didn't."

"Would you have understood him if he did?" Anon snapped the security bracelet free to throw it across the room, trying not to run his hands up her bare arms as he stared at the sunset in her hair.

"I'm not sure I understood him when he called it a DNA inhibitor," Janice laughed. "Nadya."

"What?" Anon said absently.

"My hair." her finger poked him in his chest.

"Oh," Anon said. "Yes, I know that. I like it. But, no, I wasn't thinking that. I was thinking about my father…" he floated back to the apricot sun she called hair. "I cannot imagine his pain. He thinks you're a Klingon."

"Ziyal?" Janice agreed sympathetically.

"No, Martok," Anon shook his head. "That's his ship out there. His battle cruiser, he likes to think…" he frowned. "Why would Ziyal think you are Klingon?"

Janice would go along with that. "Why would your father be upset if she did?"

"What?" Anon said.

"I'll also go along with that," Janice nodded. "You said something about your father's pain. I said Ziyal. Then you said something about General Martok and the Klingons."

"He's here," Anon agreed. "That was him in the Infirmary screaming at Pfrann… Did he hurt you?" his hand dared to stray to her chin, touching it gently.

"Pfrann?" Janice wanted to laugh even though she knew who he meant. She couldn't laugh though. All she could do was gaze back into his eyes where she could almost see her reflection in his lens. Desperation made her think of the portholes and the ship docked outside. "Can he see us?"

"Pfrann?" Anon repeated. "No, he's in bed."

He was in the doorway a moment ago, though he wasn't there now. Janice pointed towards the portholes. "No, Martok."

"He can see Terok Nor, the same as she can see him. Why are you asking?"

"Because I'm not exactly dressed for company?" she hinted. The floor warm under her bare feet. The rough, woven fibers of his tunic tickling her bare arms starting to sweat. Anon woke up from his trance to notice the sleeveless green shift loosely covering her from her neck to her knees.

"I like your dress," he agreed. "It's soft."

"It's not a dress, it's a nightgown. Commander Dax's. I left mine on the shuttle."

"Why would you do that?"

"Because I'm not too bright?" she shrugged.

"Not too bright," Anon repeated, remembering she accused him of that for removing the spike of shrapnel from his chest. She must have been thinking of herself. Her chest and arms were half the size of Pfrann's half the size of his. The collarbone of her neck no thicker than one of his fingers. The force of the shrapnel would have killed her. Pierced her through one side and out the other. The impact of the crash would have crushed her, crumbling her dangling limbs into pieces.

"Did you mean to do that?" Janice was laughing after her broken security bracelet. "And even if you did, will it still work?"

"Never again," Anon assured, feeling himself fade back into his trance he attempted to snap out of it with a smile. "But that's all right. They're Cardassian. Tan has thousands of them…One or two, at least. He can borrow one from the Security office out from under the Changeling's nose if he can't find them."

"Next to the shelf marked knives," Janice folded her arms with a nod.

"Kut'luch!" Anon threw back his head with a laugh. "What did you expect me to do? Throw my shoe at him like you? Eh?" the tip of his steel-toed boot tapped lightly down on her toes. "My foot doesn't look like that; not anything at all."

"I know what your feet look like. Anar and I dodged them for three days. Stop trying to change the subject. You overreacted. Admit it. You should have just ignored General Martok."

"He's Klingon, Janice," he said. "Can you understand that?"

"I understand he's Klingon, yes. Anyone can see that."

"Yes, see it," Anon nodded. "A difference in the skin. A difference in the body. The hair, the shape of the head. That's it, that's all. Just like me -- Janice, I want you to quit the conference. Resign. Tell Shakaar no, you won't do it. For those two reasons. Klingon. Cardassian."

His request startled her. "Quit the conference? What did you mean? I can't just quit."

"Yes, you can," he insisted. "I want you to. Not for political reasons, for personal. I don't want you to get hurt!"

"Hurt?" she said. "Why would you say I'm going to get hurt?"

"Because that's why, Janice," he groaned. "That is exactly why. You don't understand -- you don't!" his hands gripped tightly around her shoulders. "Fight for your replicators, or give them away; nothing is going to save you, Janice, they're going to kill you anyway. We're going to kill you," he said. "Yes, we. We, Cardassian. They, the Klingon. Bajoran. A week isn't going to change fifty years or even three. You can't disagree with us, you can't agree. We're not here to listen, we're here to tell you. You try to open your mouth, and Martok, Damar, Shakaar are going to shut it for you unless you shut theirs first. Can you do that? Can you?"

"Anon, please," she begged him. "I'm trying to understand, I really am; at least what you're saying to me. I just not sure what you expect me to say to you."

"Say thank you!" he surrendered and kissed her, his hands lost somewhere in the snarls of her hair. Her lips were as warm and soft as he remembered them, the flesh of her arm comfortably hot around his neck. He untangled his hands eventually; his smile light; his fingers toying with the tips of hers; their arms relaxed at their sides.

"Do you remember when I said Cardassians kiss for a reason?" he asked.

"Yes," she nodded.

"Humans, too?" he verified hopefully.

"Yes," her smile tickled her mouth.

"Good," he sighed a deep breath of approval. "So if I tell you my reasons, you will tell me yours?"

"Sounds fair," she agreed.

"I love you," he said, watching her lips part slightly again in surprise.

"Love?" Janice whispered.

"Here, let me show you," he picked up her hand, pressing his palm firmly against hers. "This is love on Cardassia. Binding. Union. And I love you," he assured her. "Eight months. I think I should tell you that especially when I haven't seen you for six. What do you think?"

"Oh, Anon!" she threw her arms around his neck.

"Time!" Anon pulled himself free of her kiss to gasp in her ear.

"The time is zero two hundred, zero five," the station's disinterested computer complied in its unemotional monotone.

"Tell me again when it's 0600," his hand gripped the back of her head carefully, the muscles of his arm tight with restraint. "If that's acceptable to you?"

"Probably," she giggled shyly.

"Yes, probably me, too," he swept her up off of her feet with a laugh and little effort. His uniform and boots were heavier than her, and their weight was nothing. He was unprepared for the extent of her Human weakness. At almost his height, six inches taller than his father's Nerys, he wasn't the only one who could crush her like a bag of air, so could the petite Major Kira. The realization startled and immediately frightened him. Not entirely confident in his ability to protect her against a galaxy of more powerful beings never mind the ruling notorious few. The smell of her hair was dizzying though, encouraging him to ignore his concerns. "Just whatever you do -- "

"Don't tell Anar," Janice laughed in agreement.

"He threatened to kill me," Anon grinned. "Move, Dukat, in her direction, any of you, Pfrann, too."

"He said the same thing to me," she nodded.

"You?" he blinked. The threat made no sense. Anar adored and honored her. That was clearly obvious to him. Calling her daughter when he didn't call her child.

"Move, Federation," she teased him with suggestions of powerful friends and connections, "in Anon's direction, Pfrann's either. So I guess he must like you, too."

"Are you Federation?" he just wondered, no malice intended if she was Sisko's spy, Bajoran Intelligence or survived Maquis.

"Neutral," Janice crossed her heart. "Born, raised, to my grave. I think I'm probably too impatient to be anything else."

"Central Command," Anon understood the sentiment. "I am too impatient for Pfrann's True Way. They scheme for the Union to rule, I know we do rule. It doesn't matter though. Legate Dukat's Union will be restored either way. Guaranteed."

"Should I be frightened?" Janice asked, even though she wasn't.

"Of Legate Dukat or the Cardassian Maquis?" Anon laughed again. "Yes, definitely. But, no, you won't be. I also know that."

"Oh, well…" Janice touched his collar length straight black hair. It was coarse and oily either naturally or coated with a heavy pomade. Quite unlike hers as well as quite unlike the female of his race whose elaborate hairdos of twists and braids were often worn to their ankles. She wasn't sure if that was just the way it was on Cardassia. A preferred choice of hair dressing between the male and the female, or an attempt by the military to emulate the Romulan Star Empire and at least try to make themselves all look alike even though they didn't. "Perhaps I'll wait to quit the conference Tuesday."

"No, you don't have to quit," Anon shook his head. Her inspection of his hair while intriguing was mildly unnerving.

"But you said," Janice reminded him.

He knew what he said and the reasons why. They were all still valid. Unfortunately so were his feelings. "I don't want to leave in a week. You think I want to leave tomorrow? You quit, I couldn't convince Sisko with a phaser of a reason for me to stay. My father's right. What you Humans lack in strength you make up for in your thick heads, never mind us."

She looked at him; he changed to a safer subject, curious about the sweet smell and salty taste in his mouth. "You're sweating."

"Maybe because it's hot enough in here to make a Vulcan faint?"

"No, a Vulcan wouldn't faint. They like it hotter than we do. What's the matter with you? I thought you were an anthropologist?"

"Bajorans are as complicated as I get," she assured. "You, on the other hand, are a little too simple for your own good with your kut'luchs in one hand and your phaser rifles in another. It's 2375, Anon, catch up. Ram horns and brass brassieres were in fashion two thousand years ago on Earth."

"Simple," he scoffed. "Talk to my father five minutes, I have a headache. We are not a simple race, and he is a thoroughly confusing man."

"I'll remember that when I meet him. Now, turn the heat down. Don't tell me it's not a hundred and twenty in here, because it is."

"Good," he continued to ignore her complaint about the temperature. "So when I tell you not to listen to him, you will listen to me."

"Sounds controlling," Janice grinned. "How typical."

"Yes, that we are. Controlling. Not ourselves. You."

"I meant typical of a man," Janice laughed. "Any man. My mother warned me and after twenty-four years, I would have to say I agree with her."

"That's not very neutral of you," he slyly countered, alluding complaints of gender inequality were not entirely foreign to him.

"My dark side," Janice confessed. "Tell me yours. Are you going to make love to me and leave? I say no. There's an old Earth saying 'Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned' that suggests you better not even try."

"Terok Nor," he swore, "yes. Janice Lange, no."

"Good," she smiled. "Now tell me what you think of the name George."

He had no idea what she meant. Her question as mysterious as her reference to horns, making love and ancient human proverbs; subjects he didn't even attempt to approach. This time was different. "George?" he frowned.

"Your son." his half-sister Ziyal's voice whispered in his ear. He didn't recognize it anymore than he could see her standing in the realm between his universe and her Prophets' world.

"My son?" Anon stared at Janice in his arms.

"There's another Earth saying if you play with fire you shouldn't be surprised if your daughter Ziyal wakes you up in the middle of the night -- or your son," Janice bit her lip, staring into his eyes. "That is if Humans and Cardassians can mate. I don't know. Do you?"

Anon had no idea for all his sanctimonious ravings to his brother about separating and elevating himself above his father's rakish behavior.

"Probably not without genetic intervention," Janice decided. "Which would make it more of a choice rather than an accident."

"I disapprove of my father's actions," Anon interrupted her, "not his choices."

"There's a difference?" Janice always assumed one was the same as the other.

"Between myself and my father?" Anon misunderstood. "Yes. Huge." Though whatever the difference was it didn't stop him from joining with her anymore than the potential threat of parenthood did, so he must have meant something else.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

There's just something about Monday mornings that defy all. And it was Monday morning in the O'Brien household beyond a shadow of doubt. "Three months?" The Chief's disheveled, in-need-of-a-shave face, gaped at his wife Keiko on the viewer screen finally after spending all of yesterday and half the night trying to find her, never mind who else might be trying to find whom.

"Miles…" Keiko's patient tone had lost much of its patience, in fact it had a distinct edge.

"I know!" O'Brien assured before she said it again. "She's in school! Molly's in school! I heard you the first six times!"

Three times, actually. And, no, for the fourth time Keiko was not taking Molly out of school to pack her off home especially when school would be over in three short months.

To her it was three short months. To the Chief it was a lifetime. Twelve months already two lifetimes, or four lifetimes if Keiko wanted to get mathematical about everything.

Keiko wasn't. She was simply firm. As firm the fourth time as she had been the first three. She was not removing seven year old Molly three quarters of the way through her school year to take her home to daddy, even if it meant the end of her eight year marriage to DS9's Chief Engineer.

"Oh, for!" O'Brien yanked the top of his worn blue bathrobe closed, gave up, tightened the sash and sat back down, his hair dripping wet from the shower, his chest streaked with soap residue. "Divorce? Who's talking about getting a divorce?"

Keiko shrugged. The way he was acting, you'd think that's what he was saying.

"No, it's not what I'm saying!" O'Brien insisted. "If you just let me finish what I'm saying! Once! Just once!"

"Miles, I have to go," Keiko reminded, not to be rude, but she had already heard what he had to say more than once.

"School?" the Chief's face contorted, his voice high-pitched and shrill. "What do you mean school? The war's been over eight months!" And eight months ago, Molly was not in school. She hadn't even started school.

"Miles," Keiko sighed.

"If you had seen to coming home then," O'Brien insisted, "we wouldn't even be having this conversation, now, would we? True or false? True, or false!"

"True," Keiko nodded. Of course, the point that eight months ago following Sisko's retaking of the station ending Dukat's three month long occupation, found the station in no more livable condition except for the most ardent pioneer, than Dukat had found the station following Sisko's retreat three months earlier, was apparently not a point at all. Which it was a point. Underscored by while Gul Dukat may not have cared, opposed to Captain Sisko's little choice other than to grin and bear until they could get the systems up and working one more time, under no circumstances was Keiko returning to the station until her children could at least be afforded a stable roof over their heads even if they couldn't be afforded too much of anything else.

"Stable?" O'Brien sputtered. "I'll give you stable!" Beyond the fact by the time his family did come home his eight year old marriage would be nine. His seven year old daughter would be eight. And his son would be two. Walking and talking for God's sake.

"He's walking and talking," Keiko nodded.

"That's what I'm talking about!" O'Brien shrieked. "I'm missing the best years of his life!"

"That's not my fault, Miles."

"No!" O'Brien's arm flailed in agreement. "It's the Klingons! The Cardassians! The Jem'Hadar! What do you think? Sisko's likes the fact that what he has is a swinging door? It's not a station. Those aren't airlocks. Or a worm hole. They're swinging doors. One month they swing this way. Next month they swing that way."

"Miles…" Keiko said.

"What I'm trying to tell you," O'Brien insisted. "What I'm trying to explain is what makes the stability in a family is the family unit. We're not a unit! We're apart! Constantly apart. If it's not Earth, it's Bajor. Three months here. Six months there! So, no. It's not a stable environment, you're right, it's not. It has to change, yes, it does. And I'm right when I say it doesn't stand a cat's chance in hell of anything changing with me here and you there."

Keiko was angry. Furious. Her words tumbling over each other. "Miles, I had to tell Molly Ziyal was dead. I had to explain it to her. Not you. Or Kira. Or Captain Sisko. And, no, I don't want her in that environment, you're absolutely right about that!"

"Why did you even have to tell her anything at all?" O'Brien snapped.

Keiko stared at him. He surrendered -- against his will, but he surrendered. "Okay, I guess you had to tell her something."

"Miles, she's old enough to relate to people," Keiko fumed. "You think she's not going to notice? Or ask where Ziyal is?"

"I said all right!" O'Brien barked. "Telling her is one thing! Giving her every last little detail isn't necessary!"

Keiko reached to sever the transmission, he preempted her. "I'm not saying you did, I'm just saying it isn't necessary. And, yes," he granted, begrudgingly, "I guess what I'm asking is how did she take it? What did she say? Did she saying anything?"

"Miles!" Keiko's voice was shrill, never mind his. "She's seven years old. How much do you think she really understands?"

"I think that's my point," O'Brien nodded.

"She's upset," Keiko assured. "She's confused. Concerned about Kira --"

"Kira?" O'Brien's face twisted.

"Miles," Keiko groaned.

"Okay, okay," O'Brien waved, "put her on. Let me talk to her."

"Miles, in Molly's mind Kira and Ziyal are connected."

"They are connected!" O'Brien agreed. Of course, why they were connected he had yet to figure out. But that was something else that was apparently beside the point.

"And Molly was concerned," Keiko insisted, "that Kira was all right. That she wasn't injured or dead," her voice rose again heated and disgusted with the last two years if he wanted to know the truth. "That's perfectly normal. For God's sake, Miles, Kira lived with us for months!"

"I said I understand! Put her on! Tell her daddy wants to talk to her."

"She's in school!" Keiko wailed.

"School?" O'Brien frowned at the console. It was five o'clock in morning.

"There, Miles," Keiko agreed. "Maybe there." There, of course. Where she was. On Earth. It was not five o'clock in the morning. More like early afternoon. On some other day. Some other week. Some other year. "I have to go, Miles," she nodded. "I really have to go."

"Go?" O'Brien snorted. "I haven't even been to bed yet and you have to go."

Now, that statement unto itself made little if any sense. However, being that Miles was her husband, and she was his wife, Keiko was unable to resist at least asking in her tired and mildly chastising tone, "Why haven't you been to bed yet, Miles?"

"Because the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor," O'Brien inclined forward in his seat. "Why not get in on the act, you know what I mean?

"I mean," he said as Keiko looked at her through her almond-shaped eyes set in her oval face framed by her straight black hair.

"That's pathetic, Miles," she said, really unable to think of another or better word.

"No, it's not pathetic. What's pathetic is nothing has changed much in four hundred years anymore than anything's really changed four hundred years before that. What's wrong," he continued, "with the whole picture is did it ever occur to you that Sisko just might consent to reopening the school, Bajor just might consent to enrollment if we had a teacher here to teach?"

"I'm not going to lie, Miles," Keiko refused, still burned by Kai Winn's scalding assault of a few years ago for Keiko's audacity to suggest the birth of the Bajoran worm hole had to do with someone's warp engine rather than be the Celestial Temple of the Bajoran Prophets. "It's both, Miles," she nodded.

"Okay, so it's both," O'Brien agreed even though he didn't. "That's my point. I'm not telling you to lie. Not about the worm hole or anything. I'm telling you if you come upon a conflict between the scientific community and someone's religious beliefs present it as an open forum. Take questions and provide answers from both viewpoints. This is not the first time this has happened in the history of the universe, and you're not the first instructor it's happened to. If I can do it, trust me, you can do it also."

"I'll think about it," Keiko shrugged.

"Good! Because I didn't call you to talk about Kira. Or the worm hole. I haven't been trying to get a hold of you for the last ten hours!" Long before it was five o'clock in the morning. More like three o'clock in the morning her time. "To argue! All right? I don't want to argue."

"Neither do I," she agreed.

"Good!" O'Brien said. "Because if you really want to know what I've been doing -- if you really want to know why I've been up all night it's because I've been trying to make heads or tails out of this." He had Damar's proposal in his hand. The forty-third version that made even less sense than the original forty-two.

"And if you want progress," O'Brien clutched the data padd, a desperate man he'd be the first to admit it. "I've got progress. You know what this is? It's Damar's proposal to install a Cardassian Consulate on Bajor.

"That's right, Damar," he assured as Keiko glanced at the padd. "He's here. Aboard the station. Along with Dukat Junior, the biggest pain in the left ventricle you'd ever want to meet. Except Sisko's got news for him and so do I. That's right, me," he waggled the padd. "I just happen to be the Federation Consular Representative to the conference. And what we're going to do is end up with is a Consulate. A real Consulate. Sisko's damn bang on with wanting to make sure of that; I agree with him a hundred percent. And if that's not progress, what is? All right? Can you tell me what is?"

"Goodbye, Miles," Keiko severed the transmission. O'Brien couldn't say as he blamed her. It's what the UFP should have done to Damar only they didn't, and now Sisko was stuck with it. As always. As usual.

The Chief walked into a wall of Shakaar's super-sized canaries and one short, round, fat budgie in front of Quark's twenty minutes later when he showed up planning to get himself a decent (and expensive) breakfast. It wasn't the wall though of yellow jumpsuits blocking his entrance that necessarily caught and held his undivided attention. It was the budgie in his own tailored-to-fit little suit and Mickey Mouse ears carrying a red rose.

"What, are you blind?" Quark sneered as O'Brien brought himself up short, just shy of walking into the wall of the respectable establishment with the twenty foot sign that clearly read CLOSED…Because I feel like it in parentheses underneath. "I can see me coming a light year away."

"You can say that again," O'Brien nodded dumbly at the rose. "A rose?"

"Yes, a rose," Quark sneered. "A rose. What's the matter, haven't you ever seen a rose before? Times are rough, okay? You settle for what you can afford. A rose, I can afford especially when you're footing the bill."

"What?" O'Brien said.

"Look," Quark offered him a piece of cosmic reality. "Barring what I said last night of it'll be a cold day on Cardassia -- of which I meant every word -- at a hundred strips a head, I'd probably wear a pink tutu."

"A hundred strips…" O'Brien echoed.

"We're still in negotiations. The Captain's up to ten, I'm down to a hundred. He's got a long way to go, but so do I," Quark's nod turned from the Chief's growling and empty stomach to this one over here with the pulsating pulse throbbing like a base drum in his left lobe. "It's okay. He's just here for breakfast. His wife's on Earth. He hasn't had a decent meal in a year."

He was a suspicious sort though, this particular Bajoran. Not one to take anything at face value especially when it had soap in its ears.

"Okay," Quark granted as the Chief was looked over from head to toe and back up against just to be certain. "So that's not all he hasn't had. It's six o'clock in the morning. The fact that I'm even awake deserves a round of applause."

"Excuse me?" O'Brien blurted out. Indignantly, Quark might add.

"A decent night's sleep," Quark agreed. "Bacon, eggs, a short stack of pancakes and a double order of hash browns. Toast and raspberry jam on the side. Coffee and orange juice go without saying, but only because I'm already sick enough. Follow me."

"Follow…" O'Brien echoed as Quark waddled away to waddle back with a wail through the assortment of linked armpits for the lead taking its sweet time inside to hurry up and get a move on.

"Anytime soon follow me!" he crooned to the tune of docking their pay.

"Coming, Brother!" Rom tripped his way over the cuffed trousers of his canary suit three sizes too large and six inches too long to pardon his way through the blockade, carrying a tray of data padds, each one promising an individualized mouth-watering culinary experience recently stolen from the Replimat's data banks. The security suits, on the other hand, were the leftover extras donated by Odo just glad to get them out of his office. Not really caring who wore them as long as he didn't have to.

"Which you do." Sisko assured Odo earlier, not to pull rank on his Chief Constable of Security. But it was a matter of security, not only an agreement. Apart from the uniforms could not be replicated -- until someone figured out how -- their color was specifically chosen to set those affiliated with the conference apart from those who were not.

"Hm," Odo grunted at the Captain comfortable in purple. "Explains the regulation Federation dress."

"So it does," Sisko grinned, but then rank had it privileges.

"Apparently so," Odo looked at Kira attractive in red.

"In your dreams," Kira plunked down the stack of gaudy jumpsuits waiting to be distributed to those not-so-fortunate subordinates that included Quark in his official role as Director of Food and Beverage Services. An appointment which made sense. Better the devil in front of your face where you can watch him especially when he'd be in your hair anyway.

"Yes, well, wait a minute," Odo forestalled Quark's escape with an armload of those 'official' yellow suits rather than his assigned one.

"What? Do you expect me to do this alone?" Quark huffed. Counting everyone actually in the conference, he came up with eight hoarse and dry throats to lubricate and feed at least two times a day while they were sequestered in their meeting. As well as those same eight hoarse and dry throats once their meeting was adjourned for the day and they all retired to Quark's for dinner and a few more hours of mutual camaraderie until 2300 or so when Sisko ardently hoped they'd all be sick enough of each other to want to do little more than go to bed to wake up and start all over again the next day.

"Better the devil," Dax grinned at Benjamin with his proposal of keeping their tight, close-knit little group as tight and closely knit together as possible, less showering and sleeping with each other.

"Yes, well," the Human euphemism that sprang to Odo's mind went more like sitting ducks.

"Yes." Sisko agreed and respected both arguments of the potential danger with keeping the group together or keeping them apart. He flipped a coin and decided he was more comfortable with keeping the devil, or devils in the case of Damar and his gang, in front of his face where he could see them, rather than having them strewn around the station, each left to their own amusement and devices.

"Yes, well, now that you put it that way," Odo grunted.

"We agree," Dax nodded.

"Yes," Worf supported.

"That goes double for me," Kira assured, annoyed only that she personally would not be allowed to carry a phaser rifle, or a weapon of any sort.

"Not that we mean to suggest you're as hotheaded as Dukat, or as untrustworthy as Quark or Garak," Dax smiled.

"More like old habits die hard," Odo offered. Which they did. Quark was no exception.

"I'll make a deal with you," Quark proposed. "How many extras do you have?"

"Yes, well," Odo calculated, counting the eight persons actually involved in the conference who did not have to wear them, "eight."

"I'll take four," Quark handed him back two. One for himself that fit remarkably and mysteriously well. Either something to do with that aforementioned ability of someone to work their way around the uniforms inability to be replicated, or the tailor who resided down the hall. Odo suspected the replicator was the answer. Not only based on Quark's history and hence lengthy security file, but also the point that he and Garak were in as much competition with each other for the attention of Doctor Lange as Bashir and the Chief. So far Bashir was winning by a mile, and probably would win if Odo knew his young and spirited Humans; which he did.

The same as he knew his Ferengi.

"Four," Odo repeated.

"One for myself," Quark reiterated his complaint of only having two hands and therefore the value of family togetherness. "One for Rom." Whose suit didn't fit at all, not surprisingly.

"And as far as the other two?" Odo waited.

"We're coming!" Quark's luscious Bajoran Dabo hostess Leeta tripped her way out behind her husband Rom, stumbling in her six-inch yellow heels and trying to zipper herself up inside her jumpsuit, which on her looked more like a yellow wet suit. Six inches too short and three sizes too small. "Rom!" she wailed despite the army of volunteers rushing to give her a hand, and the fact she was not the only one with a fitting problem.

"Morn?" O'Brien's jaw dropped with the lumbering sight of Morn who came with place like the rest of fixtures, and couldn't even begin to zipper his official suit up past his waist whether or not he ran the risk of being arrested for indecent exposure or just ugly, spotted and gold.

"And you think you've got problems," Quark turned to Leeta with a sympathetic snarl. "What?"

"What, what?" she leaned over to hiss in his face and shoot him a birds-eye view of what may have inspired his brother Rom to marry her if he couldn't think of another reason.

"It's Major Kira's," Quark nodded for her enlightenment. "What did you expect?"

"Major Kira's?" Leeta shrieked. "I'm twice the size of Major Kira!"

"My point exactly," Quark uncovered his ears once the danger was past and walked away.

"Oh," Leeta stayed bent over while she tried to figure that out.

"Oh!" she straightened up once she figured it out, much to the marked disappointment of everyone. "Quark!" she let out a scream loud enough to rattle those famed Cardassian archways like no Quantum torpedo ever could.

"Look," Quark slapped the door of the turbolift in disgust when it failed to show up in time to get him to safety before the galaxy's odd couple caught up with him; O'Brien just sort of following along, mesmerized. "Captain Sisko is a smart man. He isn't commander of the most important outpost in the Alpha Quadrant for no good reason. He got them to agree to proximity detectors, he figured let's not push it with the yellow suits."

"Spare me the algebra!" Leeta silenced him.

"The what?" Quark looked at Rom for a reasonable translation.

"Um…I think she means adjectives," Rom nodded. "You know, some stupid explanation that no one believes."

"That is exactly what I mean," Leeta insisted. "Quark, I know you!"

"Oh, yeah?" Quark sneered. "Well, try this on for size. If you don't want to do it, there are plenty who do. And I mean plenty," he clued her in to a bit of cosmic news. "But then it isn't every day that he's here, now is it? No, it isn't."

"He?" Leeta's lovely and sculptured Bajoran features furrowed in a frown.

"Yes, him," Quark assured, explaining why she was the Dabo hostess and he was the boss.

"He?" Leeta straightened up with an excited stage whisper for Rom. "He, who?"

"Mister Damar," Rom nodded, explaining why he was married to a Dabo hostess. "Quark's right. He's not here every day."

"Damar?" Leeta repeated with a confused shake of her head. Probably less surprised if he had said Gul Dukat.

"Yup, and Gul Dukat," Rom nodded. "The two of them."

"His sons," Quark assured Leeta staring at him. "Time off for good behavior, daddy's still looking at a few hundred years."

"Who cares!" Leeta hissed.

"No one I know," Quark agreed with a shrug.

"Oh, for!" Leeta turned on Rom. "Mister Damar?"

"Yup. Legate Damar. Emperor of Cardassia. You know, since Gul Dukat kind of went crazy and ended up where crazy former Emperor's go…" he finished with a wince, blistered by her shriek.

"MISTER DAMAR?!"

"Hey, whoa! Whoa!" O'Brien snapped to attention, rescuing the tray of data padds before Leeta tore it from Rom's hands and smacked him in the head with it. "That's my breakfast in there somewhere!"

"If you spent more time working rather than at home with your husband, you'd know what was going on," Quark added to that.

"Oh, yeah?" Leeta delicately ground the spike of her heel down on top of his foot. "Well, I am not waiting on Mister Damar!"

"The job is yours," Quark nodded to Morn after he finished screaming in pain.

It was also Monday morning in the Chief Constable's office. "Where!" Kira's hands slammed down on Odo's desk, her cheeks as red as her uniform and almost as dark as her dark red hair. "Is he?"

"Well…" Odo closed the top of the incriminating stack of evidence decorated in silver foil and crimson bows. "Here, obviously."

"I know he's here," Kira assured. "I want to know what he was doing there, or even knew where there was!"

"Why, Major Kira," Garak cooed, beaming her a cheery and pleasant good Monday morning, "my assigned duty, naturally."

"Clothes," Odo nodded to Kira's poisoned stare over the assortment of boxes. "Toiletries. That sort of thing."

"Not enough for a week, of course," Garak hurried to defend his reputation of a clothier above reproach. "Oh, no, certainly not. Let's not be absurd. But, yes, something for Doctor Lange to wear today for her conference…And, of course," he indicated rather proudly the largest of the four large boxes, "something a little more formal for her to wear for tonight's dinner gathering. A charming, modest little number -- I do pride myself on ensuring the personalities of my clientele are reflected as well as their positive physical characteristics."

"I'll take care of it!" Kira snatched up the boxes, crushing them under her arm.

"Ah, yes, thank you!" Garak lunged forward to stagger backwards, his hand fluttering to his brow. "I trust that you will…Elsewise, to address that mention of yours as to how I knew where to bring Doctor Lange her packages…I assure you I did not. I was quite innocently on my way to deliver them to you, Major…"

"Me?" Kira accused. "You weren't on your way to see me. You were apprehended on Lange's corridor, and I not only want to know why, I want to know how."

"You're quartered on the same deck." Odo muttered out of the side of his face.

"What?" Kira turned on him.

"It was your idea," Odo nodded. "Remember? Added security? That sort of thing?"

"As I assure you, Major," Garak promised, "I had no idea whatsoever I would violate some sort of security force field…"

"I suppose you didn't notice the security either," she sneered.

"Oh, no," Garak assured. "No, I noticed them. Yes, I most certainly did. Certainly difficult to miss, as has been mentioned."

"That's the whole point!"

"Yes," Garak also understood that. "As quite obviously, Major, I just naturally assumed, however foolishly, that their particular responsibility was to ensure your security and safety. I never dreamed you and Doctor Lange would be quartered on the same wing together…or for that matter sharing quarters…" his eyes narrowed slightly. "Are you and Doctor Lange sharing quarters, Major? Certainly, I can understand if you are…As possibly find myself in agreement. After all, Captain Sisko's ability to match shout for shout with General Martok, while it might earn the General's respect, it's not the General's respect he needs; he already has that. He needs his cooperation in not further seeking to inflame either Legate Damar or young Gul Dukat and his younger Lieutenant Pfrann. Surely, Major you do realize this entire situation is highly volatile in every regard."

"Don't worry about Martok," Kira shifted the cumbersome load of boxes from one arm to cram them under her other before she gave up altogether and threw them back down Odo's desk, looking to see what she could do about consolidating the contents into one container, rather than four.

"You call this a modest little number?" she yanked out a light pink drape of fine silk with more straps than back waiting to mold itself to a body.

"No," Garak smiled, "I call that a nightgown. Remarkably comfortable, I might add."

"She doesn't need a nightgown." Kira flung it back in the box, slamming the lid closed and promptly proceeding on to rip off the decorative bows and paper. Apparently under the impression that the stiff ribbon and foil played a role in her inability to flatten the boxes as flat as she might like to -- which was pretty flat.

"Yes…" Garak's attention might be on the boxes, but his thoughts were elsewhere. "I was present for Commander Dax's generous offer of the use of one her nightgowns…A green one, I believe. As well as Chief O'Brien's generous offer of the use of one of Mrs. O'Brien's…any one of Doctor Lange's choosing, but then he's quite right. Mrs. O'Brien isn't here, is she? So how could she complain? Why would she complain, is probably even more accurate. I, for one, seriously doubt if she would mind at all."

"He was making a joke," Kira nodded.

"Oh, yes," Garak was also aware of that claim. "The same, Major, as I am confident Commander Dax's nightgown is as comfortable as anything I might produce…merely a minor difference in size as the Chief also thoughtfully pointed out."

"He's an engineer." Kira offered in O'Brien's defense. An utterly absurd thing to say. Apparently she wasn't as comfortable with the Chief's rather insistent approach as she might like someone, herself possibly included, to think she was.

"With an eye for detail as well as accuracy," Garak smiled. "Physically, Doctor Lange is much closer in size to Mrs. O'Brien than she is to either you or Commander Dax. That's not only obvious, it's true."

"It's not a fashion show," Kira picked up the boxes, "it's a conference."

"Yes," Odo grunted, "so it is. On that note…"

"I'm free to go," Garak anticipated, what with no crime having been committed; merely a misunderstanding.

"Yes, well, wait a minute," Odo delayed Garak's flight to freedom. "You're forgetting something."

"Forgetting something?" Garak glanced down on the mutilated streamers of ribbon and crumbled pieces of torn foil. "Oh, yes, of course."

"You can take that also," Odo agreed, picking up one of those remaining four yellow jumpsuits still neatly folded.

"Oh," Garak said. "Well, yes, all right. If you insist. To whom shall I make the delivery?"

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

"Worf!" Dax woke up with the first blaring strains of Aktuh and Melota one of her favorite Klingon operas, just not at five-thirty in the morning after two hours sleep. Worf huffed, turning the volume down twenty or thirty decibels and retreated back into the bathroom. Fifteen minutes later he was out and hammering on the replicator in a signal the shower was free for her use.

"You don't even like my green nightgown," Dax snitched his coffee with a smile and light kiss for his cheek. He ignored her. She shrugged and headed for the shower for a short-lived few minutes of the water's relaxing massage before Worf was turning the volume back up louder than before. "Worf!"

"That is not the point," Worf's growl answered Dax's shout.

"Well, what is the point?" Dax leaned her head against the wall of the shower with a sigh.

"Oh," she reemerged into the bedroom to find Worf tightly zippered into his own canary wet suit, three sizes too tight and dozen or so inches too short.

"Well, look at it this way," she offered while he stood there stiffly at attention, truly unable to stand any other way even if he wanted to, "right now someone else is just as puzzled as you are."

Worf groaned, the jumpsuit splitting from his neck to his knees from the strain.

"I know," Dax laughed as Worf stared at the tatters of his uniform, "that's not the point."

"No," Worf insisted. "As you are incorrect. It is your blue nightgown I do not like."

"My blue one?" Dax frowned.

"Yes," Worf assured.

"Oh," Dax shrugged. "All right. I'll take back my green one and give Lange my blue one. That's all you had to say."

No, it wasn't. "Then what is the point of involving Garak if he is not going to follow through with his responsibilities?" Worf demanded.

"He is," Dax promised. From his distinction as official clothier to his appointment as Julian's assistant.

"Donut?" Bashir offered Garak an hour or so early for the opening festivities.

"No thank you," Garak grimaced, already finding Dukat's suit a little too snug for his preference. "How you can manage to be so alive as this hour of the morning will never cease to amaze me."

"Oh?" Bashir's nefarious grin flashed. "That's not what I heard."

"Really," Garak looked at him. "Yes, well, Julian, I can assure you as I have attempted to assure both Major Kira and Constable Odo, my intent was to supply Doctor Lange with her basic needs as requested. Hardly malevolent."

"Quite," Bashir cracked. "Rather have the same idea myself."

"A point that substantiates Captain Sisko's support of these ridiculous outfits," Garak agreed. "Flagrantly noticeable -- that is until one takes it off."

"Which one can, and one will at 1900 sharp," Bashir assured. "In the meantime I suppose it could be worse."

"Yes." Garak had noticed the motley looking trio busy at the replicator as well as the rose tucked behind the ear of the fourth.

"Kira and the Chief." Julian quite likely correctly identified Leeta and Rom's suppliers. He wasn't as positive when it came to Quark or Morn, though suspected Morn had to be wearing Captain Sisko's discarded nightmare.

"Wrong," Quark walked up to snatch the donut from Bashir hands with a gentle reminder. "Nothing in life is free. You want to eat, I want to see your signature signed on the dotted line."

"Oh, yes." Garak was just about to agree with that, too. Not with Quark's suggestion that Captain Sisko very well might demand supporting evidence to Quark's sure-to-be padded bill of expenses, because of course the Captain would. "But, I believe Quark might be right, Julian," he extended. "As well as telling the truth about Morn's uniform." A disconcerting thought, he realized. However, it did stand to reason, based solely on size alone, Morn couldn't possibly be wearing Captain Sisko's uniform, anymore than Quark could be wearing the one he was wearing, which he was wearing.

"It's called a replicator," Quark assured. "I've got to tell you the rules of the game?"

"Not in the least," Garak was well aware of how for every point there was a counterpoint.

How for every new and improved cloaked ship out there, there was a new and improved graviton net capable of exposing them.

"Uh, huh," Quark said. "And so forth and so on. It's called ingenuity."

"So it is," Garak smiled. "What you might have to explain however…" he ogled the rose waiting behind Quark's lobe, though seriously doubting if young Gul Dukat even knew or comprehended the meaning of the gesture. Really, Legate Dukat's eldest son did in some ways appear to be a remarkably uninformed young man when it came to all things social and light, quite unlike his father. Another one of those interesting observations Garak had made last evening; there had been so many of them. "To Commander Worf, of course," Garak nodded out loud, "is the whereabouts of his uniform."

"Uh, huh," Quark said. "Spoken by a man caught red-handed by you know who, you know where."

"On the contrary," Garak maintained, "I repeat, Major Kira not only overreacts, she exaggerates."

"This is news?" Quark sneered.

"No," Garak's smile greeted Odo joining them. "Neither is it interesting. What would be interesting is if Major Kira's protective nature extended to Gul Dukat's progeny, which quite obviously it does not. Ziyal was apparently unique."

"Yes," Odo drawled. "I can't imagine why."

"What about how?" Garak suggested, not to give himself an unfair advantage over Quark's romantic efforts, commendable that they were, by causing his immediate competition to be expelled to a security holding cell for succeeding in the impossible where he should have failed in replicating those irreplicable uniforms.

"Yes, well, chances are how," Odo promised Quark, "will find you explaining more than to simply Commander Worf he whereabouts of his uniform."

"Impossible is not a word in my vocabulary," Quark reminded. "Most people would be grateful for the information, but, hey. You want to arrest me? Be my guest."

"A tempting offer," Garak said.

"Which?" Bashir grinned. "To arrest him, or the secret behind replicating our uniforms?"

"Either or," Odo was open.

"It shrank in the dry cleaning," Quark assured.

"I beg your pardon?" Bashir blinked.

Quark shrugged. "Read the cleaning instructions. Irreplicable isn't necessarily irreducible. So unless there's a terrorist group of Ferengi out there waiting their chance, I think we're probably still all safe."

It took the three of them, Odo, Bashir and Garak, a moment to digest that.

"The reference is to height," Quark gave them a hand. "I'm short."

"Oh, yes." Garak not only understood, he could see that.

"Uh, huh," Quark said. "Yeah, well, from where I stand, I wouldn't say the three of you are exactly Klingons among men."

"Oh, no," Garak smiled. "However Mister Worf is."

"Chief," Sisko looked up from his intensive review of Damar's latest revision when O'Brien entered the conference room. "I'm glad you're here."

"Eh, heh," O'Brien missed the joke. "Like I would be anywhere else -- Like I wouldn't be, if I could be," he assured. "What's that?" he indicated the padd in Sisko's hand.

"Damar's made a few changes," Sisko agreed.

"What?" O'Brien sat down with a wearied thunk of his coffee cup on the table. "Oh, come on. How many times can you change a comma? That's all he has left."

"That may be." But Sisko was still counting on him. Shakaar's highly questionable choice of Lange as representative had not escaped him, anymore than the potential danger her naïve outlook presented for herself and others, including the issue at large. And the issue at large…

"I know," O'Brien stopped him. The issue at large was the success of the preliminary talks as from their success just might come others.

"Precisely," Sisko nodded.

"In the meantime if that's not the best example of Cardassian fiction," O'Brien violently stirred his coffee, "my name isn't Miles Edward O'Brien."

"Maybe not the best," Sisko smiled.

"You can say that again. All right, let me see it." O'Brien took the padd, making an effort to wade through the ponderous script one more time before the curtain went up and all eyes turned to the trio seated at the round table rather than on Worf standing in the doorway with Dax.

"I think we may have found your uniform," Dax agreed with Worf eyeing Morn with reasonable suspicion.

"That is my uniform," Worf insisted to Morn busy taste-testing the breakfast buffet.

"What of it?" Quark countered. "If Captain Sisko's didn't fit you, do you really think it was going to fit him?"

"That also probably isn't the point," Dax nodded as Worf turned on his heel to apprise Benjamin of the whys behind his unanticipated costume change.

"In your opinion," Quark cracked Morn sharply on the wrist. "Trust me, if it's been poisoned, we'll know soon enough. And as far as you…" he alerted the canary with the salivating jaws otherwise known as Leeta entertaining her frustrations by spitting on everything that might remotely appeal to those of a Cardassian persuasion. "Stop spitting on everything. I said you didn't have to wait on him, didn't I?"

"Spitting?" Bashir regurgitated, not one for the dramatics, now was he? Even though chances were jelly donuts were a safe bet not to be on Damar's list of ten top favorites.

"Disgusting," Quark picked up the carafe of hot fish juice, but not before Leeta hacked out a particularly good one into that very same carafe. "What did I just tell you?" he sighed as Garak stared and Bashir swooned, groping blindly for a chair.

"I'm not waiting on Damar!" she insisted.

"Okay, so you're not waiting on him," Quark had memorized that part. "Anyone mind if I do? I didn't think so," he nodded down on Bashir stuffing a napkin in his mouth, and made his way forward toward Damar and his assistant appearing with that arguably perfect Cardassian timing. "Coffee, tea, or hot fish juice?"

"What do you think he wants?" Kira reared up from behind Damar. Not an easy thing to do considering the top of her head just about cleared his shoulders, but she managed.

"Anyway I could interest you?" Quark wondered in the spirit of spreading Leeta's good will.

"What do you think?" Kira snapped again and he shrugged.

"Some of us dream, others of us do."

"Yes, we do!" Leeta hacked out another one over his shoulder to the surprise of no one except for maybe the lady in red and the two guys dressed in black as the spittle hit the carafe dead center with a splash.

"You spit in the fish juice," Kira stared from the steaming steel container of foul smelling nectar in Quark's hands to Leeta.

"Apparently you don't have the same je ne sais quoi as your predecessor," Quark advised Damar. "But I wouldn't take it personally. Loosely translated, whatever it is, Dukat's got it, and I'm not so sure you want what he's got. Am I right or wrong?" he solicited Kira's input.

"She spit in the fish juice!" Kira sputtered, not meaning to suggest she was annoyed not to have thought of it first.

"Okay, so she spit in the fish juice," Quark said. "It's not the first time. So, what'll it be?" he returned to Damar and his silent partner.

"What are you? A eunuch?" Leeta snapped.

"Oh, dear God," Bashir's head hit the table with a bang.

"Um…" Rom defended his wife even if he couldn't necessarily control her. "Well, she's right. He doesn't talk much."

"I haven't heard him talk at all," Bashir agreed. "But that wouldn't be a eunuch. That would be a man without a tongue. A eunuch is a man who has been castrated."

"Oh," Rom blushed.

"Quite all right," Bashir said. "Both are archaic and time-honored practices; ancient Earth no exception."

"And here you thought Cardassians were cruel," Garak put in with a smile.

"Raktajino," Damar assured Quark, drawing the line at loyalty to the Cardassian Union and drinking someone's bodily functions.

"I had a feeling you were going to say that," Quark nodded. "It's all right. There's still two of you who aren't here yet; it won't go to waste."

"Oh!" Kira snatched for the carafe in fury. "Give me that!"

"It's only Dukat, Major," Damar laughed in reminder.

"Well, if that's the case," Kira gripped the carafe, her knuckles white, and Damar glanced.

"Do it!" Leeta encouraged. "Do it! Kira!" she stamped her foot.

Kira couldn't. She wanted to but the pressures of her position won out over her emotions.

"Well, I can," Leeta reached for the carafe, the pressures of her position at the Dabo wheel occasionally requiring she knock a fellow or two into his next lifetime.

"Leeta!" Rom grabbed her from behind, to drag her away.

"What are you looking at?" Kira slammed the contaminated carafe into the replicator with a snarl for a bemused Garak.

"You, Major," he assured. "I must say I am impressed you even considered it for a moment."

"It was more than a moment," Kira sat down with a reach for the raktajino. She hesitated. "Is it safe?"

"What?" Bashir startled. "Oh, yes. Yes."

"We believe so, anyway," Dax nodded.

"Quite," Bashir grinned. "For the moment. No guarantee once Leeta finds out Martok is also here."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that, Julian," Garak disagreed. "No, I would be far more inclined to believe Leeta would gladly offer her assistance to General Martok in anyway. Something I confess I'm tempted to do myself. I'm sure you understand."

"Don't push it," Kira suggested. "I said I thought about it."

"For longer than a moment," Garak recalled. "Yes. But still you didn't succumb. As neither would I dream of pushing it, Major. I gave Captain Sisko my word, and I stand by my word."

"Especially when neither stops you from applauding someone else's effort," Dax cleverly implied.

"Yes." Garak quite happily accepted the dig. "How very astute of you, Commander. A point dear Leeta made herself. Some of us dream, other us do. You and I, Major," he apologized to Kira, "apparently dream."

He was wrong, of course. Kira spent her life doing. If she lived to be a hundred and forty, of all the sights, she would never forget the sight of the packed dirt marking her father's grave. Nor the sight of the Vedek hanging from the upper level of the Promenade in protest of Dukat's latest attempt to rule the worlds. The monk's harsh words accusing Kira of becoming complacent, worse yet immune somewhere between there and here.

"Immune?" Kira said to Garak. Maybe to their scorn, but never to them, and that included Damar. Another sight she would never forget was Ziyal. Her twenty-one year old life charred by Damar's phaser set to kill, which it did. But then that was the trouble with either dreaming or doing. The fortunate moved onto to their next life with the Prophets. Those less fortunate often found themselves condemned to stand by helpless and watching.

"Immune?" Garak repeated perplexed as to what Kira might be talking about.

"Never mind," Kira shook her head. "Where is he anyway?"

"He?" Garak frowned, also not quite sure which he she meant.

"Who do you think?" Kira snapped.

"Those odds are probably more in Dukat's favor than General Martok's," Dax suggested.

"Oh, yes…" Garak looked around the conference room where young Gul Dukat was not yet in attendance, that was very true. "Yes, I would think so…As I would agree, Major, one would think Gul Dukat would be here, wouldn't one?"

"Even though he still has thirty-five minutes until he's officially late," Dax teased no one in particular, even though she was looking at Kira.

"There's that word again," Bashir refilled his cup of coffee and Kira's with a smile. "Officially. Official. Relax. Dax is right. Dukat isn't required to be here until 0700, none of us are."

"It isn't a question of relaxing," Kira insisted. "Nor a mother thing," she assured Dax.

"A mother thing?" Bashir paused. A pause which Garak supported though Commander Dax was claiming Kira's mothering instincts were relative to Doctor Lange rather than young Gul Dukat.

"Something about last night's conversation you missed?" Dax smiled at Bashir.

"Probably. In all honesty. More than likely much of it intentionally, I confess." The same as he had been paying very little attention to the conversation going on behind him right now with Worf going on about why he was not attired in the 'official uniform' of the conference to Captain Sisko who had other things on his mind. Bigger things.

"Captain," Worf stood stiffly at attention.

"Yes, Mister Worf?" he looked up from his conversation with the Chief. Pausing when he looked up because Worf was not attired in official yellow but instead regulation red.

"There is, of course, an explanation," Worf assured.

"I trust that there is," Sisko agreed. His glance as he waited to hear it brought him beyond Worf to Leeta, Rom and Morn. "It's quite all right, Mister Worf, " he nodded. "I believe I may understand."

"Understanding does not void the purpose of the mandated dress code," Worf insisted.

"I am well aware of the purpose of the dress code, Mister Worf." Much like Major Kira could feel her frustrations rise, Sisko could feel his temper. As much like Major Kira it did not take much. Not today. Not likely for the remainder of the week until the week was over. History. Past. An entry in his Captain's log as well as his personal that with a little luck at its very worst it would be a week of wasted time, forgotten. With a great deal of luck, at its very best? A channel of communication opened.

"My point precisely." Worf was firmly attempting to keep a channel of communication open right now.

"On the other hand," O'Brien's chuckle spoke for Sisko, "his point is the bottom line spells Quark so you're off the hook."

"The Ferengi has stolen Federation property." Worf reprimanded the Chief's disinterest. "He is guilty of theft, as he has clearly managed to successfully replicate the uniform which could pose a danger to us all."

"As can the man, gentlemen!" Sisko interrupted, "speak for himself!"

"What?" O'Brien said. Worf just frowned. But at least Sisko got their attention

"And that man would be me, Chief," he assured.

"Oh. Sorry," O'Brien apologized.

"No," Sisko shook his head. "Not this time. Today is not last evening, and neither will it be."

"Not a party in other words," O'Brien nodded.

"Chief!" Sisko's fist hit the table hard. If anyone else heard it was probably Dax sitting with Bashir and Garak, none of who felt inclined to suggest they did hear. The rest of them, Kira, Quark, Damar were occupied with the squalling, squabbling Leeta.

"Sorry," O'Brien apologized again.

"A four letter word, as of right now," Sisko said. "Do not confuse undue camaraderie with the simple fact I have no intentions of watching you, my back, whoever stands on either side on me, commingled with a station of six thousand civilians. When I say smile, gentlemen, you will smile. Is that understood?"

"Yes," O'Brien said.

"It is," Worf agreed.

"Good!" Sisko's fist struck the table again, that time satisfied.

"As it is the point of the mandated dress code," Worf reminded.

"Damn the mandated dress code, Mister Worf," Sisko clenched his teeth, "we will make do."

"Also understood," Worf agreed.

"Thank you," Sisko said. "Now would either of you mind telling me just what it is that woman thinks she is doing?"

"Leeta?" O'Brien turned around.

"She appears to be spitting in the fish juice," Worf reported, at a better vantage point than the Chief.

"Spitting in the fish juice," Sisko closed his eyes.

"Girl after my own heart," O'Brien chuckled. Sisko's eyes snapped open. "Sorry!" he said a little too quick, a little awkward trying to back out. "I mean…you know what I mean. Nothing to get worked up about, you're right. Spend twenty minutes talking about. Even though you have to admit…" the Chief attempted to stifle his chuckle, succeeding to an extent. "It's funny. Damn funny. Which reminds me," he pointed out to Worf. "Quark didn't replicate the uniform, he reduced it. You know, shrank it. His. Leeta's…" O'Brien's gaze strayed to Leeta scuffling at the buffet table with Rom. "I'm not too sure about Leeta's…well, actually I am. It's Kira's…" he glanced up at Damar smirking down on them. "What?"

"Practice, Sisko?" Damar's chuckle taunted Sisko's fist resting on the table. "Good. It should be an interesting week."

He walked away with his assistant. There was silence for a moment until Sisko spoke, quietly, the fist pounding over. "That brand of sarcasm, gentlemen, is expected of him. There will not be any further tolerance of it from any of you."

"Got it," O'Brien swore.

"Mister Worf?" Sisko picked up the padd.

"Your point is well made and understood."

"We'll see," Sisko said, not to be pessimistic, more realistic. It was a boiling pot, there was no denying that.

"Independent souls." Was Odo's assessment ten minutes later when Sisko refilled his coffee. The Captain looked at him.

"We're independent souls," Odo clarified. It wasn't an assessment. Not his, personally. Merely a report of Bashir's philosophy of the morning. Dress them all in yellow or pink tutu's it didn't negate the fact they were out in the middle of deep space, a long way from home, whose bottom line of survival and make-do required men and women of strong wills and strong minds, i.e., independent souls.

"What?" Sisko shook his head.

"In other words," Odo offered, "taking everything into consideration, it really hasn't been too bad so far."

"Just get me through the week, Odo," Sisko requested, "and I'll agree with you."

"Consider it done," Odo ogled Worf. "I also doubt if anyone will mistake our Mister Worf for anyone other than who he is."

"So they will not." Sisko took his coffee and returned to the Chief at the table. A sudden sense of foreboding as he moved past the nameless, faceless wall of yellow guarding the conference room both inside and out.

"Something wrong?" O'Brien asked.

"No," Sisko denied. "Merely a flip of a coin which one of us is the Red Coat."

"Red Coat?" O'Brien said uncertainly.

"Red Coat." Sisko stared into the whites of the eyes of the Bajoran directly across from them that in the heat of a moment he would be hard put to tell from the Bajoran standing next to him and so on down the line of those nameless, faceless Special Forces officers thirty strong. The coin turning up HEADS would find them under the protection of those blinding yellow suits. In the event someone could replicate those irreplicable jumpsuits, TAILS could very well find them quite unknowingly under siege from an army of look-a-likes. "That would be the Battle of Bunker Hill, Mister Worf."

"As in Earth's American Revolution," O'Brien chuckled to Worf's concentration.

"I believe I remember the account from the Academy."

"So do I," O'Brien assured Sisko. "The Red Coats lost. I know what you're thinking. I've thought it myself. And like you just said, it's a good idea, or it's a bad one."

"It's a bad one," Odo supported what he said all along. A belief which the Captain had apparently decided he shared even if it meant casting another one of Shakaar's protocols under an unfavorable and questionable light.

"Do you have a better idea?" Sisko asked.

"Apart from Damar's suggestion that on Cardassia this charade would be unnecessary? And General Martok's suggestion that on the Klingon Home World, it would equally unnecessary? No," Odo acknowledged. "Why? Do you?"

"A thought," Sisko nodded slowly. Ten minutes later Odo and Dax weren't the only stripping off those jumpsuits down to their regulation everyday wear.

"Make up your mind," Quark sighed.

"I believe the Captain just did," Odo clapped a phaser rifle into Garak's surprised hand and pinning a communicator on his chest. "Officially, of course, your orders are to shoot first and ask questions later."

"Really…" Garak stared at the rifle in his hand. "And unofficially?"

"No one would be too upset if you took the order to heart," Dax nodded.

"Or made an understandable mistake," Garak agreed, his eyes glistening in Damar's direction; the Emperor of Cardassia up on his feet and bellowing in complaint.

"No, chances are they wouldn't be." Odo slapped a rifle into Paq's flailing arms flailing in support of his Majesty's roar with a nod to Damar. "If I were you, I'd keep that in mind."

"What?" Damar aborted his howl to stare at his armed Second in Command.

"Heavily armed, I might add," Garak smiled, not to add fears of mutiny to Damar's long list of concerns.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Odo grunted with a nod for Rom hovering at his elbow. "What?"

"Leeta," Rom reminded with an unnecessary indication of her particular jumpsuit stretched as tight as a second layer of skin under which would probably only be found skin rather than a change of clothing.

"Yes, well, chances are it is a little too early at that." Odo supposed spitting was a far better choice of breakfast entertainment than an impromptu striptease even though the Ferengi preferred their females naked. The woman wasn't Ferengi, anymore than her partner in crime. "Definitely too early." Odo included Morn's equally snug and plunging neckline in that determination.

"I'll second that." Kira held out her hand in anticipation of? "What do you think?" she said. "Give me the rifle."

"Yes, well," what Odo thought and what Captain Sisko ordered probably found him arming Garak and Damar before handing her a phaser rifle. No slight intended toward those dreamers as opposed to doers.

"You armed Garak and Damar," Kira stared at him.

"Or at least Damar's assistant," Odo granted since Mister Damar had already proven himself more a doer, rather than a dreamer, at least to an extent.

"What are you saying?" Kira insisted. "You don't trust me?"

"No," Odo wasn't saying that at all. Apart from the station's weapons array had been restored to perfect working order since she destroyed it, the only two choices Kira had during Dukat's most recent occupation was to defy the ordered Bajoran agreement of No Resistance and sabotage the array, or to complacently stand by and accept Dukat's latest occupation.

"That was a year ago," Kira argued, still annoyed with herself that she had even attempted to complacently stand by before deciding once in the Resistance, always in the Resistance.

"Seems like only yesterday," Odo agreed with the woman who had spent almost as much time in his office and/or Dukat's as Quark had over the last ten years.

"Sisko's office," Kira corrected coldly. "Captain Sisko's office."

"If you believe in fairy tales," Odo grunted. "And imposed life sentences."

"What are you saying?" Kira demanded.

Nothing that hadn't been said before. But for a quirk of genetics Dukat was Cardassian, not Vulcan. Average life expectancy barring wars, occupations, assassination attempts and general annoyance, was approximately half that of a Vulcan's four hundred years. Against those staggering odds the nefarious Gul had managed to make it past the first fifty or so, suggesting the universe would far more likely not be free of him until his shield was planted down next to his own packed mound of dirt, and probably not even then. Something to do with what Dukat lacked in personal immortality, he made up for in siring his own baseball team.

"Actually, I believe a baseball team has nine players," Bashir offered like he was the expert rather than Captain Sisko.

"Close enough," Odo assured, confident there was a probably another Dukat or two out there as yet unacknowledged or accounted for, and even if there wasn't, the point stood. Damar could kill one. He could kill the two of them there. There were still five more behind them.

"Something else to keep in mind," Odo mentioned to Damar should he decide he was comfortable with sitting, standing and sleeping with his back to his loyal servant, otherwise known as his now heavily armed assistant Mister Paq as Dukat had obviously been comfortable with trusting his Mister Damar.

"Oh, please," Damar rolled his eyes, at least as outwardly confident as his former master, however foolishly they would have to see. "My point to you and Sisko stands. Protection is one thing, Constable. Nonsense is quite another. And all of this nonsense, none of it, would be necessary on Cardassia Prime."

"Nor on the Klingon Home World," Odo nodded, having just reiterated those two points of view to Captain Sisko.

"What!" Damar hissed, "does the plight of the Cardassian-Bajoran population have to do Gowron?"

"Who knows," Odo shrugged, if you asked him. If one asked General Martok?

"Who knows," Odo shrugged. Martok's answer wasn't nearly as clear and concise as his statement.

"I am asking you," Damar barked. "And, yes, Sisko!"

"And I'm answering you," Odo assured. "As has Captain Sisko. Who knows. I suspect you have to be a Klingon to understand."

"We do not trust you," Worf volunteered when Damar turned on him. "Where you are, we want to be."

"Sounds pretty clear and concise to me," Dax nodded to Kira sitting down with a huff and a jealous eye for Dax's rifle. "You're a member of the conference, remember? Not the security staff?"

"Sounds more like the pot calling the kettle black to me," Kira snapped back at her. "Yes, I know I'm a member of the conference."

"And therefore you probably stand a better chance of learning the Vulcan death pinch by 0900 than you do with talking Sisko into giving you a rifle," Bashir joked, sitting back down with his smile and a touch of curiosity. "What do you mean the pot calling the kettle black?"

"Yes, Major," Garak would also like to know, his intrigue peaked as well. "Whatever do you mean? Surely not if one were to follow the last thirty months back, it would be the Klingons who were at fault, after all? Gul Dukat's ultimate response, not only understandable, but justifiable?"

"Justifiable?" Kira scoffed. "Justifiable? To whom? Himself? What else is new!"

"Eliminating the Bajoran factor of his desires, of course," Garak calmly bowed his head. "There I'm sure you'll find he simply cannot help himself. Never has. And likely never will. But, yes, as far as the Klingons, Major. Justifiable. In all honesty, self-defense."

"We're not in negotiations with the Klingons!"

"No," Garak smiled. "We are as always, as usual, far more preoccupied with your world. I wonder why that is?"

"You're asking me?" Kira snatched up her coffee. "Ask Dukat!"

Garak's smile broadened. "For that matter Mister Damar, Major. Or for that matter myself, yes. An answer, much like Mister Worf's…I'm certain you would have to be Cardassian to understand."

"Power," Dax shrugged. "Greed. What's so difficult to understand?"

"Very little as far as Gowron and his Empire. You're right, Commander," Garak agreed. "As far as we Cardassians? The artistic temperament apparently. To which the answer no will always be a personal rejection."

"In other words," Quark tossed in along with tossing his yellow suit down on the table, "what the Klingons want, Dukat needs. Kind of like a Ferengi and latinum."

"In other words," Bashir corrected, "he's as spoiled as you are who's as spoiled as Martok and Gowron."

"Talk about the pot calling the kettle black," Quark sneered. "There but for genetic enhancement you could be Morn and he could be you."

"Hardly generous or self-effacing, you're right," Bashir laughed, raising his raktajino in toast and good cheer. "To the spoiled, and the spoils of the spoiled. Quite frankly, I wouldn't have it any other way. Would you? Or you?" he asked Garak. "Or for that matter," he turned to Kira, "would you?"

"Maybe I can learn the Vulcan death pinch by 0900," Kira eyed her coffee cup.

"Maybe you can," Bashir supported with a check on the time.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

"Where is he?" Damar's silent partner spoke as the time ticked closer to 0700 and neither Dukat nor his brother had yet seen to gracing the conference room with their presence.

"Preparing to make an entrance," Damar scoffed undisturbed and disinterested as he scrolled through his proposal for one last final review. "What do you think?"

"What or where?" Paq's voice was coarse, dry, knowing and assuming. Their eyes met; something clicking in the back of Damar's photographic memory. A downed transport. A story of the remnants of a Bajoran Township all but destroyed by Klingons and Rigelian fever. It was two months before First Minister Shakaar saw to allowing the Cardassian Union across the border into Bajoran Space to reclaim their own.

"You should have known," Paq criticized, speaking the words Damar spoke only last evening, his hand positioned on Damar's wrist to stay his Emperor's outrage and keep it from exploding.

"I was talking about Martok," Damar choked, now sputtering about someone else. "That stupid idiot! Dukat! Of course, Dukat!"

"You could kill him," Paq nodded.

"Kill him?" Damar scoffed, the heavy cords of his throat throbbing. "The fool knows!"

Paq frowned. "Sisko? He seems more preoccupied with you."

"With good reason," Damar said. "Shakaar, you fool. Shakaar, not Sisko. Read the writing on the wall. The child is no one. She comes from no where. And, yes, now," he cursed bitterly, "now, it all makes sense. She makes sense," his blistering stare met Dukat's expressionless face coming through the door. He ignored his Emperor, but then he always did. It was two minutes past the agreed hour of seven. Ten minutes earlier he had been reluctantly kissing his lover goodbye. Like father, like son.

"If you're right," Damar cursed Paq.

"If?" Paq was annoyed by the question.

Damar sneered. "Anon may just like the attention. Tora Naprem was a Bajoran prisoner of war on a Cardassian transport. Dukat went in search of the Ravinok with intentions of killing her and the child. Everyone seems to forget that…Everyone but me." He settled back remembering something else; that phaser rifle in his assistant's hand. "Don't even think about it."

Paq was shocked by the suggestion, of course he was. "My loyalty is sworn."

"Of course it is," Damar agreed sarcastically. "So is mine. We're all just artists as the tailor proposes. Our temperaments occasionally getting in our way…" he eyed Kira suddenly jumping to her feet and disappearing from the room on a run.

"I believe she may have just remembered Lange is waiting for her clothes," Dax explained Kira's sudden and hurried departure to Bashir and Garak.

"Well, I attempted to explain that to her, Commander," Garak sighed. "I certainly did. But you know Major Kira as well as I."

"I know Kira knows you."

"Really," Garak said. "And what could my interest actually be in Doctor Lange?"

"Personally or professionally?"

"Professionally, naturally," Garak smiled. "I believe you'll find any personal interest to be that of someone else other than myself…"

"Here, here," Bashir raised his hand.

"Not withstanding Julian's interest," Garak agreed.

"Yes, well, the Chief…" Dax attempted to say.

"Is hardly joking, Commander," Garak cautioned. "Oh, no, I doubt very much if Chief O'Brien is. While he may not be serious, he is far from joking. Oh, yes, I seriously doubt that. But then I hazard to suggest Doctor Lange is quite likely an extraordinarily attractive young woman. I mention this because even being Cardassian, the artistic eye, Commander, while it may not fully comprehend or understand a subject of its attention, can appreciate its existence and contribution to the otherwise dull scenery."

"A rose is a rose is a rose," Bashir summed up quite nicely.

"Yes," Garak said. "A rose is a rose." And no, young Gul Dukat did not know what a rose was, or why the Ferengi Quark might be wearing one stuffed behind his left ear.

"We meet again," Quark practiced on Anon studying the breakfast buffet.

"What's that thing?" Anon ignored him for the thorned green stem with its shrunken red bulb bobbing in time with Quark's coyly arching eyebrows.

"Ever hear of an ice breaker?"

"An ice breaker?" Anon thought of the emaciated green stem pitted against a glacier. "That doesn't make any sense."

"Stick around," Quark invited. "Maybe you'll learn something."

"From you? I doubt it," Anon picked up the coffee with a snort. "No, I don't want this. Where's the fish juice?"

"Oh, Leeta!" Quark sweetly bellowed.

"I said I'm not!" Leeta hammered up to them on her titanium stilts, dragging Rom behind her trying to help her zipper into new and equally attractive jumpsuit. "Oh, it's you." She stopped when she saw it was Anon; Rom banging off her shoulder blade.

"OW!" Rom grabbed his nose.

"Sorry, Romiekins," she tweaked his lobe, took the coffee away from Anon and began clearing random plates from off the table. "No, you don't want any of this; I know exactly what you want. "

"Romiekins?" Quark scowled as Leeta tripped away to the replicator.

"It's a Human term of endearment," Rom giggled.

"Human?" That was information Quark could use. "I'll make a note. Where were we?" he returned to Anon. "Never mind, I know. Apparently you do have the same je ne sais quoi as your father."

He was met by silence and a penetrating stare.

"Pheromones," Quark inclined forward with a confidential offer of assistance. "Hormones. Sex appeal. Call it what you like. You ooze. You drip. They drop."

"I have sex appeal?" Anon repeated slowly to his brother, uncertain if his universal translator had shorted out entirely or what was going on.

"Hard to believe, isn't it?" Quark agreed. "I'm standing here talking to a guy who looks like a constipated bullfrog -- trust me, it's hard to believe."

"What is he talking about?" Anon insisted to Pfrann.

"Explain it to him," Quark said with a flick of his head. "He'll understand it better coming from you…if not, I've got a Library of holo-programs, we'll work it out."

"No," Anon dismissed wasting time on nonsense. "We're here for a purpose -- "

"What are you adopted?" Quark insisted.

For all the constant and irritating comparisons to his father, the suggestion that he was not his father's son stung Anon like a slap in the face.

"Anon…" Pfrann muttered a warning reminder that Sisko was a table away and watching closely.

"Something I said?" Quark straightened up with a wary step backwards.

"Hungry," Anon inclined forward over the buffet. "I am hungry. I want food and I want fish juice now -- and I wouldn't spit in it, if I were you." His hand struck a plate in demonstration before he walked away.

"Should I make that for two?" Quark turned to Pfrann with a shrug.

Pfrann looked at him. The neck coiled forward, his hand plucking the rose from behind the Ferengi's ear, a coy, sardonic smile staining his thin lips as he held the rose out. "We meet again."

"That's more like it," Quark approved.

"What's the matter with you?" Anon's fist caught Pfrann in the chest when he sat down.

"I felt like it," Pfrann shrugged.

"No, you didn't just feel like it. That's what everyone expects of you."

"So what," Pfrann slouched in his seat.

"Sit up!" Anon snapped and Pfrann looked at him.

"It's a notice of appreciation," he sat up straight. "The rose. It's for Janice."

"No, I thought it was for me," Anon agreed sarcastically. "I know what a notice of appreciation is."

"It's a Human tradition," Pfrann jaw tightened. "That's all I meant."

"Then why are you talking about Janice?" Anon insisted.

"I just told you," Pfrann sputtered. "It's a Human tradition. She's Human!"

"I also know that," Anon assured.

Pfrann groaned. "Never mind. Just don't hit the Ferengi when he gives it to her." Because that he highly doubted if any of Sisko's staff expected from either of them regardless of any other speculations.

"Quark?" Anon blinked at Quark, started to chuckle and broke out into a laugh. "No, it's not from Quark, it's from me."

"You?" Pfrann said tiredly.

"Yes, me," Anon assured. "It's for Janice, it's from me. I look at her, she'll know that. I don't have to hit anyone."

"I don't think that's the way it works."

"I don't care how it works." Anon picked up Damar's proposal to scan through it. "That's the way it is. I can't read this stupid thing." He threw the proposal down with an anticipatory look around. The woman approaching though was the Bajoran Leeta, a fresh carafe of hot fish juice on her tray. She hesitated with Anon's accepting nod.

"I said thank you," Anon reiterated.

"Rom's my husband," Leeta almost pleaded.

Her request for his discretion in mentioning his father's and hers questionable past association puzzled him even though he knew what she meant. If he meant to be reassuring it didn't come across that way. "Yes, and?"

Leeta flushed angrily. "Okay, fine, be that way!" she slammed the tray down and stalked off. Anon shrugged with a reach for the carafe.

"It must be something with their race."

Pfrann rolled his eyes. "Anon…"

"I know who she is," Anon silenced him. "The length of the list, whose name is at the top of it and why. Control. He lives for it. That's all. What?" he looked up at the Changeling meandering over to nod down.

"Everything all right?" Odo just wondered.

"It's fine," Anon assured. "You?"

"Never better," Odo agreed. Particularly since having taken a second refresher look through those old Cardassian security logs available. The ones that included more than the occasional mention of all those impressionable young associations throughout his Eminence's ten year reign.

Anon's sigh was impatient. "I was a child at the time of Legate Dukat's appointment as Prefect. I scarcely remember it. Him. Or Bajor. Pfrann wasn't even born."

"Before my time also," Odo acknowledged. "An auspicious occasion nevertheless. By tradition, one that would include the family's participation -- as would its anniversary."

"Don't tell me about my world, or my life. I told you I don't remember."

"Yes, well, remember the station is probably guaranteed," Odo reminded him of that enduring Cardassian memory. "Recognize it is another thing." Despite that enduring Cardassian tradition of studied elegance, equilibrium and harmony in architecture. Producing such unforgettable triumphs as those famed Cardassian archways and ore bays. Whose perfect placement to one another ensured the harmonious and perfectly balanced flow of energy, by any other name the blood and sweat of the Bajoran labor force, throughout the occupation.

"I can't recognize something I've never seen," Anon insisted. "I don't care whose logs contradict me. I am telling you I have never been aboard this station before in my life."

"No." So Odo understood, his gaze moving to include Quark. "By all available accounts you weren't. By those same accounts who was, was Pfrann…That probably had something to do with despite what the younger one might remember from his days as a toddler, the elder one could understand as well as report."

"It slips my mind," Quark shrugged.

"Probably a good idea all around," Odo nodded.

"There has to be a better way." Janice sunk down on the floor of her quarters, the room spinning cartwheels as the transporter beam faded away leaving her and her molecules intact except for a dizzy head and upset stomach.

"Janice?" Anon's distorted voice crackled through the air.

"I'm fine," Janice she smiled at her security bracelet lying waiting for her three feet away.

"I love you." he said before the transmission failed.

"I love you," her fingers closed over the bracelet, closing her eyes for a minute or so as well…it couldn't have been any more than five minutes before the sound of the door buzzer had her eyes snapping open. The buzzer sounded again and Janice sat up with a start, grabbing up the security bracelet to put it on; it was engaged. Locked and secured.

"Anon!" she jumped up with a groan, trying to force the bracelet down over her hand.

"Janice?" Kira rang the buzzer a third time. "Janice, it's Kira."

"I'll be right there!" Janice dashed for the shower and a sanitizing spray for her hair, yanking off her nightgown to yank on her tunic and tights. She was dressed, all but for her shoes when she answered the door with breathless and hopeful apologies. "It came off in the middle of the night?"

"What?" Kira looked from the water dripping off the ends of Janice's hair to the arm she extended with the security bracelet crammed tightly around her hand.

Janice sighed. "You're right. It's my fault. I didn't realize if I closed it, I wouldn't be able to get it back on…"

"No, it's my fault," Kira interrupted. "I remembered I forgot your clothes and I came up here to get them…and forgot them again…" she frowned at the bracelet. "It came off?"

"Oh," Janice said. "Well, yes. Apart, actually. I'm really not sure how…" she pulled the bracelet off her hand that was reddened and starting to swell from trying to force the bracelet back on. "I clipped it back together to see if it was broken, never thinking I wouldn't be able to open it again…But I guess that really wouldn't make too much sense if I could, would it?" she stopped again, her eyes staring innocently back at Kira shaking her head.

"Hopeless. You're hopeless."

"I'm hopeless?"

"Yes!" Kira laughed. "Look at you!" From her wet hair dripping down the front of her tunic, to her stocking feet, to the stack of data logs piled on the couch and floor. "It's seven o'clock."

"Oh," Janice grimaced. "Well, I guess I also sort of lost track of the time…"

"It's all right," Kira took the bracelet away from her with a nod toward the bathroom. "Go -- well, dry your hair. I'll get your clothes…stop by the security office…" she frowned again at the bracelet that looked perfectly fine to her. "The magnetic sequencing probably just needs to be adjusted…"

Kira remembered the bracelet, but walked right by her own quarters for the second time forgetting Lange's clothes.

"Are you sure it isn't deliberate?" Dax teased when Kira showed up with Lange a half an hour late for breakfast, but in time to take her place in line for Julian's blood screening. "Not that I don't agree with you. She doesn't have to be a fashion plate to get her point across…"

"We meet again." Quark sauntered up with a frosted mug from which protruded the now wilting rose.

"Or to quicken anyone's pulse," Dax said.

"Iced raktajino," Quark identified the cool refreshing potion for Janice. "All the right people drink it. In occasionally the wrong places, but they still drink it."

"Really…" Along those lines of right and wrong Garak was horrified to see the young woman wearing the exact ensemble she had worn the evening before regardless of Julian's rather generous proposal that they look upon the dismal beige tunic as Doctor Lange's official uniform. "After all, Major, I am confident even you change your uniform from time to time. The occupation is over; has been for years."

"No, I sleep, eat, and drink iced raktajino in them -- What's this?" Kira snatched the rose out of the mug, a frozen thorn puncturing the fleshy mound of her thumb deeply enough to draw blood.

"Sharp," Quark nodded.

If Odo was of the mind to record a personal observation of the opening session of the latest round of historical Federation-Bajoran-Cardassian talks it probably would not have included however reserved on the outside Gul Dukat might appear to be, he was clearly still feeling giddy on the in. The plight of the Bajoran-Cardassian war population about the farthest thing from his mind. In retrospect, Odo's failure to take such notice probably came under the same category as everyone else's failure to take such notice. Garak was right. Canary yellow wasn't the only thing blinding to the eye. So was that woven black and silver armor of the Cardassian tunic. If there was anything extraordinary to report it might be a begrudging mention of how the first day went better than anyone anticipated.

A great deal better considering the first few opening minutes. At 0900 sharp, having all once again successfully proven their status as solids, the small entourage of diplomats left the conference room to move along the corridor for the station's main auditorium. A round table symbolically set up for the three main players of the drama in the center of the amphitheater before her ring of bleachers, ended up seating four as Dukat decided his brother's place was at his side, rather than observing from the sidelines. Likewise being that the proposal on the table was Cardassian in origin, the nature and length of any opening speech was at Dukat's discretion. A sentence in length, it was remarkably short and to the point, presented with a predictable insufferable grin for Doctor Lange and Chief O'Brien. "Any questions?"

"Oh, here we go." The Chief's muttered response was also predictable, along with his he's-starting-already look for Sisko sitting in the bleachers. The Captain's only response was a slow, shake of his head in silent reminder to the Chief of those two golden rules of not biting the baited hook, or charging the red flag like a maddened bull, whichever was more applicable to the Chief's particular personality.

"Got it," O'Brien shuffled in his seat, settling for countering with a diplomatic retort. "Of course we've got questions."

A position ardently embraced by Doctor Lange. "Who's going to pay for all of this?"

A reasonable question that had Kira up out of her seat like a shot and down into the arena before the Chief finished stammering in shock. "Pay for…" As apparently even he knew one never broached the subject of cold, hard latinum during diplomatic arbitration. That came at some point afterwards when business took over where signed, sealed mutual agreement left off. Figuring out how, where, and from whom they were going to get the funding needed to fund the agreed upon fund. Risky, as more often than not the bottom line proved too steep for even the deep pockets of the Federation leaving the agreement dead at conception. Still, the order of things made sense. It was illogical to hold budget hearings before one even knew what one was being asked to fund.

Kira's unspoken point as she intervened with a friendly offer of advice for Lange. "I think it's better if we just all begin at the beginning."

"Oh, yes," Lange merely had a different opinion on what constituted the beginning. "Well?" she turned back to the equally startled Gul Dukat.

"Well?" Anon repeated. "You expect me to answer that?"

"No, she doesn't expect you to answer," Kira said.

"Yes, I do," Janice nodded and Kira's head snapped back around to stare at her.

"No, it's all right," Anon snapped to attention with hurried reassurance for Kira. Odo wasn't quite sure why, but he was sure he would find out. '"It's a good question. A very good question…" he reached for Damar's proposal being stuffed in his hand by his brother Pfrann. "Why? Doesn't it say in the proposal?"

"No," Janice said.

"Are you sure?" he frowned through the scrolling pages.

"Of course I'm sure," she laughed with a teasing waggle of her copy of Damar's effort to date. "Did you even read this?"

"Some of it," he handed his padd back to Pfrann with a shrug. "It's all right. I'll find out the answer for you -- what?" he said to Kira's annoyed snatch of the padd out of Lange's hand to shake it at him.

"You didn't even read your own proposal?"

"It's not my proposal," Anon was set to retort when a sudden wicked thought entered his mind. The spiraling downward fall of Legate Damar. The verifying question for Lange was calculated and obvious. "Why? You think it's expensive? Too expensive?"

"Well, I think it's probably expensive," Janice agreed.

"And we should pay for it," Anon encouraged her deeper into his web.

"It's your idea," Janice reminded him.

"Damar's idea," Anon smiled under the rapt attention of the occupants of the bleachers and the round table. "All right. I will find out exactly how much money Damar has to spend on Bajor that the Union doesn't have for its own people."

The Chief slammed his padd down, Sisko countering with another slow, discreet shake of his head. Lange's failure to identify Dukat's intent was not the Federation's problem. Odo was set to rest back on his laurels. A decision that proved to be premature.

"Don't try to be clever." Janice suggested, some might say desperately, they would have been wrong. "They are your people."

"All right, our people," he waved, bored with Damar and eager to move onto talking about anything while secretly thinking about other things. Such as her hair dragging across the table as she stretched towards him. "Our people, you're right." Whose people wasn't his point. His point was the expense Damar was prepared to incur. It paled by comparison to what he just said. In fact, you could hear that proverbial pin drop in the room.

"What?" Anon asked absently of Kira staring at him.

Her statement was slow to the point of almost holding her breath. "Are you saying you recognize Cardassia's responsibility for the Bajoran-Cardassian population?"

"What?" Anon's gaze shifted to Janice straightening up with what some might say a coy smile, they would be right.

"Well, do you?" Janice asked. "It makes no sense to propose a consulate for a people you don't recognize."

Anon hesitated, but then he shrugged. Comfortable that if anyone could rest on his father's highly publicized indiscretion, he could. A luxury that did not necessarily apply to Damar. "Yes, I recognize them. I just said I did. Why? You want that, too? Mark that down," he instructed Pfrann. "Shakaar wants recognition of the Bajoran-Cardassian population. Legate Damar agrees. He recognizes them."

"Dukat!" Damar jumped to his feet.

Anon ignored him for Kira and Janice. "You're right. It makes no sense to propose a consulate for a people we don't recognize. Therefore we must. Damar must."

"A point, Legate," Sisko could feel a grin creasing his cheeks as his head turned slowly towards Damar. It was a monumental moment in history, for the moment, anyway. Sure to be remembered differently by each of the conference Advisors and Assistant Advisors and presiding security staff that included Odo, Dax, Worf and Legate Damar's personal assistant Paq.

As it was certain to lose much of its impact and/or significance by 1300, the scheduled hour for lunch. Four hours certainly ample enough time for any Cardassian worth his membership in the Union to figure his way around, weasel his way out of most anything.

"That may be, Constable," Sisko nodded to Odo's skepticism. "That may be."

"Then there are Dukat's own reasons to take under consideration," Odo ogled his Eminence the Emperor Damar who also looked remarkably like a bull frog in pain, or whatever it was Quark had said. Reasons that were fairly evident. If Damar was as lucky a man as his unlucky predecessor Dukat, he just might live to be exiled once the Civilian Council got wind of that particular concession of his. As well as Central Command. The True Way and the average Cardassian on the street.

"Also true, Constable," Sisko nodded. "Also true."

"Still, I suppose there's nothing wrong with wallowing in the moment," Odo grunted.

"No, there most certainly is not." There was a spring in Sisko's step as he stepped to join Major Kira at the growing round table as she also decided to stay around for a little while. Damar remained in the bleachers, listening to his assistant's chastising critique of the meeting thus far.

"The woman is nothing? She comes from nowhere?"

"Shut up," Damar suggested. A good one. Plotting the demise of one's adversary while in the presence of the Chief Constable of Security was not generally in one's best interest. The exception to that rule was Dukat's apparent plot to depose Damar. As far as either of them Odo would have to make a concerted effort to respond in a timely fashion. Lange was another story.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

"Anything else?" Anon asked Kira as well as Lange.

"Not at the moment," Kira handed Janice back her padd, pulled up a chair, parking herself directly behind her. She joined by Captain Sisko parking himself behind O'Brien.

"Do you want…" the Chief extended his padd.

"No, that's fine," Sisko declined, there only to observe. "What about a census, Major?" he smiled at Kira. "Doctor Lange made an interesting point last evening about the estimated percentage of the Bajoran-Cardassian population."

Lange snapped her fingers in waking agreement, apparently still deliberating Anon's question in her mind. "Oh, yes, we need a census."

"Okay, we need a census," Kira said.

"And I hate to use the word enforce," Janice winced, checking off her list of notes. "So I'm just going to say I think we should also have a Federation arbitrator examine Bajoran criminal and civil laws as they are written to insure they at least come close to the Articles of Federation guidelines…The best example of morality and legality of equality I could find," she explained to Sisko nodding.

"A excellent suggestion, Doctor. The Articles of Federation are a blueprint for social accord. I can foresee no conflict between them and Bajoran law or religious considerations. To the contrary, Bajor has enjoyed a successful bid for admittance into the Federation in the past, one sure to be reinstated hopefully in the not too distant future. In the interim, it is merely a matter reopening the applicable areas of the Bajoran petition for review to ensure any necessary amendments remain firmly in place."

"Someone such as Odo," Janice proposed for the Federation arbitrator. Certain the UFP would not only be able to find such a person, but understand what she meant. Which, admittedly no, neither Sisko, Kira, nor the Chief did.

"Odo?" The three of them turned around to stare quizzically at Odo.

"Yes, a Federation arbitrator," Janice busied herself persuading Anon. "What are you huffing about now?"

"Odo?" Anon scoffed.

"Not because he's a Changeling," she laughed. "Honestly, Anon, what do you think? Bajor's now in secret negotiations with the Dominion to overthrow you and the Federation?"

"Why Odo?" he insisted.

"Because he's one of your father's better ideas," she proudly pointed out her notation with a smile before Kira grabbed the padd back to see what moral deviate dared to write 'good idea' and 'Dukat' in the same sentence.

"Major?" Sisko asked, intrigued himself.

"No, it's just a personal note to herself," Kira waved in disgust. "Where does she get these ideas?"

She was not alone in wondering that.

"What is she talking about now?" Damar muttered to Paq. Considering just five minutes ago Lange succeeding in getting Dukat to acknowledge, orally anyway, the Union's recognition of the Bajoran-Cardassian war orphans, Odo couldn't say as he blamed the Legate for his suspicions.

"I'm one of Dukat's better ideas," Odo complied.

"Dukat?" Damar snorted, finding that concept equally laughable. "Until one examines the reasons."

"Yes, well, apparently one's reasons don't count," Odo reminded. "Not yet anyway. Certain we'll find out when they do, if not what they are…that includes yours." He ogled Commander Dax unable to resist contributing her own special brand of humor into the debate.

"What were Dukat's reasons?"

"Who knows," Odo grunted. Undoubtedly changing with each breath his former Eminence took and boiling down to he felt like it at the time, the same as everything else. A belief apparently upheld by his eldest son in contrast to Lange's viewpoint of Odo being the closest example Dukat could find of a Neutral at his disposal.

"That sounds about right," Odo agreed with Lange there. It was the part about Dukat exhibiting a sense of fairness he had just a little hard time swallowing.

"Why did Dukat employ you?" Commander Dax asked the same question she asked before, simply in a different way and that time with a frown.

"Who knows," Odo gave her the same answer he gave her before, pointing her curiosity towards a young man possibly better informed than he.

"No, no, no," Anon was emphatically shaking his head over his father's far and wide search for a Neutral to insure any accused member of the Bajoran work force had an equal and fair opportunity to die by public execution rather than during interrogation. "I told you before, my father employed Odo because he was weak. Malleable."

Untrue, but Odo could see Dukat believing that.

"Fairness?" Anon outright gagged in disbelief. "My father was Prefect of Bajor. He didn't have time, nor any reason to even think about being fair -- to whom?"

"Well, he had to have some sort of reason," Janice stubbornly insisted. "Odo was neutral, your father did know that, and I don't understand where you get this idea of Odo being weak. He was employed to oversee the civilian work force -- occupied peoples who applauded and recognized him for his efforts. Why would they do this if he was your father's puppet as you seem to think?"

"How do I know?" Anon groaned. "My father spent his life trying to figure out Bajor, why they do this and don't do that. You think I can tell you? I can't."

"Well, I do know," Janice assured, "and they wouldn't. Odo wasn't a puppet. He wasn't weak, he was strong. A talented and gifted man, capable of maintaining his neutrality in a situation where few would be able to. Exactly the type of person Bajor and Cardassia both need to review Bajoran law as it is now written. Ensure any amendments as Captain Sisko states remain in place so that, yes, if the ratified law of this agreement needs to be enforced, it can be enforced without having to spend the next fifty years mired in red tape."

"No, it's not going to take fifty years." Anon was back to shaking his head. "Ask Sisko, I told him. Not years, not a week. Two days. All of this will be resolved. You have questions, address them to me."

"Two days?" Janice blinked. "You're planning to return to Cardassia tomorrow?"

Anon stared at her. "Perhaps a little unrealistic, you're right."

"Hm, just a little," Janice smiled. "I'll be surprised if we get through half of this in a week."

"I'll second that," Kira snorted. A confirmed cynic herself when it came to history-making agreements of intra-galactical proportions reached within the first fifteen or twenty minutes.

"And in the meantime," Janice smiled at Anon from under her glittering halo of hair, "all I'm saying is the Federation is our best avenue to find a person with Odo's credentials. Someone not only with the ability for neutral arbitration, but with the plain and simple ability to understand law and how to have it work for you."

"She has a point," Dax nodded in the stands.

"She is excellent," Worf assured.

"She's all right," Dax agreed. Once getting beyond Lange's general inexperience, evident in her unorthodox and casual approach even Curzon would probably be moderately impressed.

"An approach which is refreshing," Worf felt.

"It can be," Dax said. "Actually, you know who she reminds me of somewhat?"

"Lwaxana Troi." Odo grunted. Betazed's dauntless Ambassador to the Federation. An unorthodox, frank and honest woman who just also happened to be one of the most respected Federation arbitrators this century.

"Arbitrator," Worf stared at Dax.

"Lwaxana Troi," Dax stared back at him.

"We are not a liberty to make suggestions beyond security," Worf sighed.

"Do you think that includes talking loud enough for Benjamin to overhear?" she grimaced.

"Or at least Mister Damar," Odo agreed.

"Which he did overhear." Damar assured from where he sat to Odo's right. "The request is out of the question. The woman is a telepath — and that would be Legate Damar, Constable. Keep it in mind. Along with the fact that I, and I alone have the power to abort the conference at my choosing if I suspect contamination at any time -- which I do suspect."

"Care to share it with me?" Odo invited.

"All in due time," Damar promised. "All in due time."

"Yes, well, probably no reason to create hasty accusations at that," Odo said.

It took his Eminence a moment, but he eventually got it. "Create?" Damar glared.

"If the shoe fits," Odo nodded. Meanwhile Commander Dax got her wish when Sisko interjected Ambassador Troi's name over Lange elaborating on her description of what would constitute the ideal person to oversee a review of Bajor's legal and moral standing in the universe.

"That's my Benjamin," Dax cheered quietly and happily when Sisko hit upon the idea of Ambassador Troi without coercion.

It didn't matter to Damar how Sisko happened to come up with Troi. He was back up on his feet and shouting for the benefit of Dukat. "Out of the question. Ambassador Troi is a telepath."

"Yes, so?" Anon's indifference trained itself on his brother.

"It could be perceived as granting the Federation an unfair advantage," Pfrann explained.

"Over whom?" Anon scoffed. "Us? I don't think so. Try it, you'll see," he tempted Janice. "Have your Federation telepath attempt to read me. What she will hear and what she will see is silence. My thoughts are mine alone."

"Are you so sure about that?" Janice teasingly draped herself across the table.

"Excellent," Worf approved again of Lange's subtle and highly effective way of getting her message across.

"Subtle?" Dax looked at Lange who, at the moment, looked about as subtle as Dukat looked draped across the table from his end. The two of them meeting just about in the middle. Much to Kira's annoyance, Captain Sisko's surprise, and the Chief's utter delight; Dukat's apparent opinion.

"We'll find out, won't we?" he laughed, amused by Lange's spontaneous demonstration of her ability to be as cocky as anyone else. Who rose from the rank and file of Federation diplomats to fill the roll of arbitrator was clearly not important to him. Ambassadors Troi, Sarek or Curzon. The choice or recommendation was Captain Sisko's.

"Ambassadors Sarek and Curzon are both dead," Damar fumed. "Dukat!"

"Ignore him," Anon advised Janice as he sat back and she was pulled back to her seat by Kira.

"What is the matter with you?" Kira insisted. "Sit down!"

"What?" Janice blinked.

"You want to know what a puppet is?" Anon was saying. "That's a puppet; Mister Damar. Not I, or Pfrann."

"Who said you and Pfrann were puppets?" Lange asked, evidently having skipped over that chapter as well. Not only the one on being wary of spiders and their webs despite her natural talent for soothing the savage in one's breast.

"No one," Anon shrugged, not about to admit it if a thousand had. Which ten times ten thousand probably had and were as they sat there. "I am just telling you."

The same as he believed there was no better time than now to inform her the next concession to be made would be hers. Bajor's. Not his or the Cardassian Union. A demand softened by the thoroughly believable smile on his face. Odo grunted. He was priceless, that was for sure. A shining jewel in his father's otherwise corroded crown.

"In his dreams," O'Brien guffawed in confidence to Bashir and Garak regarding that smile four hours later when the committee took a break from working on the details of the proposal to eat lunch.

"Really…" Garak said to Bashir. The conference room not exactly warm with congeniality was not exactly bristling or cold either. "We understand. We do understand -- I believe Julian and I do, anyway," he smiled in encouragement to O'Brien's glowing grin as the Chief sat there proudly listing off Doctor Lange's accomplishments of the morning thus far.

"Well, yes, I believe Garak and I understand somewhat," Bashir drew up a chair, Garak quick and happy to join him.

"Worf," Sisko picked up his coffee without lifting his eyes from the padd.

"I see them," Worf agreed.

"To an extent," Bashir frowned at O'Brien. "Understand, I mean."

"She's not just good, she is damn good." O'Brien promised. "I mean damn good. Wham! She starts out sounding like she's coming from nowhere and the next thing he knows, she's got him exactly where she wants him, and he's no idea of how he even got there -- am I right, or wrong?" he singled Worf out of the crowd.

"You are right." Worf assured, his confidence in Doctor Lange not having waned with no anticipation that it would.

"You can say that again," O'Brien pulled up a chair for Worf to have a seat.

"Dax." Sisko directed with another reach for his coffee and without needing to look up.

"I see them," Dax smiled.

"So do I," Odo assumed his place as next in line.

"Constable?" Sisko's question was quizzical as it warranted a brief glance up.

"Just in case you need someone else to rescue the rescuer and so forth," Odo offered.

"Understood." Sisko resumed calculating an estimated cost of the programs discussed even though it wasn't the natural order of things.

"How much does it cost?" Kira wandered up presently to wonder; a reasonably replicated example of the traditional Bajoran fare hasperat in hand. "Who says reasonable?" she dropped the briny roll of marinated herbs and roots back down on her plate with the first disgusted bite.

"Those who don't know any better," Odo supposed. "And a lot."

"This surprises you?" Kira snorted. A suitable counter to both observations.

"Does it?" Odo looked to Sisko for at least one of the answers.

"No," Sisko shook his head. "A fair question of Doctor Lange's all around."

"Who's going to pay for it," Odo assisted Kira.

"I know what she said," Kira assured. "I didn't say it wasn't a good question. Yes, it was a good question."

"And the answer is?" Odo looked to Sisko.

"The Federation." Sisko stood up with a smile, moving away to verify something against the station's data banks now that he had the chance.

"In a perfect world," Odo grunted before Kira lost her lunch, literally, catching her plate before it dropped to the floor.

"Where everyone forgives and forgets," Kira momentarily satisfied her hostility with a vicious bite of her hasperat. "I wouldn't count on it. There's more than a few Federation worlds that aren't too happy with the Supreme Assembly's decision to press for a new treaty. Dukat's not the only one who has a fan club, so does Gowron."

"True," Odo ogled the Captain who apparently had set his parameters to exclude those particular delegates completely.

"What is Benjamin doing?" Kira was by nature a suspicious woman.

"Yes, well," Odo replied. From the looks of the profiles flashing by on the screen, he had a feeling Sisko was further isolating the Federation delegates into two distinct groups. The ones who were slated for upcoming reappointment by their home worlds, and the ones who had a few years to go, and hence a few years for their home worlds to forget the delegate's support of the Cardassian proposal; if necessary. If by chance Damar's Consulate didn't turn out to be all it was carved out to be.

"Precisely," Sisko returned to his seat and his coffee with the same smile.

"What?" Kira looked from the Captain to the screen and back again. "That's cheating!"

"Not really," Sisko denied.

"Yes, it is," Kira sat down with a huff and a loud clatter of her plate. "You can't seriously be planning to lobby for the Federation's financial assistance already."

"Major?" Sisko suggested. "Relax."

"And are you sure that's legal?" Odo added.

"That, too," Sisko nodded.

"Relax," Kira snatched up her hasperat. "That's what you said the last time and now look where we are — what?" she insisted. "Am I sure what's legal?"

"That," Sisko indicated. Not her hasperat, the fact that she was sitting at the table. "With me." he said.

"All right, fine, I'll stand." Kira stood up. "No, it's all right, I'll stand."

"Thank you," Sisko nodded. After all they didn't want to panic the Umpire. Prompt Damar into screaming something like foul when they were on top at the bottom of the first inning, the bases loaded, not a strike in sight.

"He's already threatened," Odo reassured Kira all was not lost that they wouldn't panic the Umpire.

"Dukat he's not," Kira agreed sourly.

Odo deliberated about her comment.

"Dukat," Kira's teeth clamped down on her hasperat. "Damar's not Dukat. And neither's -- Neither's -- " her arm flailed in the general direction of.

"Dukat," Odo nodded.

"I don't like him," Kira confided to no one's surprise. "I really do not like him. I think I like him even less…"

"Than Dukat," Odo nodded. "It's possible."

"It's definite," Kira assured, even if she wasn't quite sure why. She eyed Pfrann presently engaged in combating his brother's stoic icy stance with an exhaustive and lurid hula in a desperate attempt to win whatever debate he was losing. A mildly interesting note to be filed somewhere. An image rather like one of Dukat straining to exert his will over Sisko. The frustrated snake clearly no match.

"Appearances can be deceiving," Odo also agreed with that.

"In some other universe," Kira muttered. Where she was the Intendant and Dukat was an astrophysicist. An image, part of which, Odo couldn't begin to assimilate.

"Beg your pardon?" he said.

"Don't hold your breath, in other words," Quark waddled up with a nod and unauthorized refill of Kira's coffee that she didn't even have until he plunked a mug down on her tray. "Not that I mean anything personal," he assured Kira. "But would you like some parsley to go with that? Or will an away suit do -- not for you, for me. I can take gagh. I can even take kanar. There's just something about fifty Bajorans eating hasperat at the same time in the same room that makes me want to petition the Federation to change the Prime Directive to exclude an item or two from protection."

"Kimchee," Sisko did not look up from his own troubles.

"Come again?" Quark cocked a lobe. "Do I hear an offer to pay double plus hospital expenses?"

"Korean cabbage," Sisko grinned. "It's traditionally aged in clay pots buried in the ground for a year."

"Uh, huh," Quark said. "If it makes sense to you, it makes sense to me. So what's this I hear about Dukat wanting to erect a memorial to Ziyal in the middle of the capital city of Bajor with Shakaar's and the Federation's blessing? I don't need the details, those I can get anywhere. I just want to know if it's root beer, kanar or blood ale I should lay in a supply of this week, and which way to duck when the Disruptors start firing. Notice I said Disruptors, not phasers. Not that I mean to suggest that Martok's here for any reason other than his health -- just how do you say welcome to Quark's bar in Klingonese?"

"You don't," Sisko promised.

"If I live to see Friday, I hold you to that." Quark refilled his raktajino. "Marry Grilka is one thing, live with her is another. I've nothing against sex, blood, guts or mutilated body parts. No more than the next one. I just know there's more to life than death -- that'll be twenty strips. Not for the coffee. As a down payment for when you know who needs me to help sabotage the weapons array so you can retake the station one more time." he eyed Kira. "Did you ever wonder if what actually happened is Damar missed? Hitting Ziyal instead of you? I have. Call it wishful thinking, but I have."

"Eh, heh," Kira said.

"Suit yourself," Quark shrugged. "Just remember, he who laughs last, laughs last. Whatever it means. Keep it in mind."

The Chief was close to laughing heartily, boasting like a proud parent. "He's the one who hasn't a clue. Every damn time he walks straight into it…In over her head? He's the one in over his head, and paddling like hell to try and keep his head above water -- never happen," he promised Worf. "It'll never happen. True or false?"

"You are right," Worf agreed.

"Yes, I'm right," O'Brien snorted. "Knew it five minutes after I sat down and he knows it, too. Two days, I give it. Not even. Said as much already himself. By this time tomorrow if he hasn't throw the towel in, we do know who will."

"Damar." Bashir understood that much. "Are you quite sure you heard Dukat correctly? I suppose as long as he doesn't mind sleeping with his eyes open and his back to the wall watching the door for the next hundred or so years, yes, you must have."

"Either of which is fine with me," O'Brien pointed. "The sooner this nonsense is over with, the better. Because it is nonsense, yes, it is. All of it."

"Oh, yes," Garak breathed. "I may be forced to agree with you, Chief O'Brien… Especially if…" he regarded the Chief as well as Worf with awe, "you are accurate in your claim Gul Dukat acknowledged Cardassia's responsibility not only for but to the Bajoran-Cardassian war population."

"He did," O'Brien maintained.

"Yes," Worf agreed.

"Really…" Garak said to Commander Dax strolling up to lean down over Worf's shoulder. "How utterly astounding as Julian professes, and certainly quite daring."

"Foolish is what Julian is saying," Bashir corrected. "Utterly absurd is right. The man must be insane -- not completely unrealistic," he grinned for Dax. "Considering his genetic background. Mental illness does run in families. Cardassians are no exceptions."

"Actually what Dukat said was he recognized the Bajoran-Cardassian as a people. Kira is the one who asked if he was acknowledging responsibility. Not to dampen anyone's celebration." Dax smiled at O'Brien.

"You can't dampen anything," O'Brien insisted. "Say it the way you want to. It comes down to the same thing."

"Well, no…" Garak could see where there might be a difference. "Not necessarily. A subtle difference, I'll grant you…"

"Best known as the subtle art of diplomacy," Bashir clapped him on the shoulder. "Garak's right, Chief. Regardless of what you might think Dukat meant, he knows what he said. Rather the same as I find it somewhat difficult to believe he could be 'tricked' into anything he didn't wish to be; impossible to believe, actually. All he'd have to do, if the impossible happened, is say, no, I'm sorry, that's not the way it is; this is."

"Oh, yes," Garak agreed. "Yes, most definitely. Absurd to think otherwise."

"Our people, all right?" O'Brien said. "Those were his exact words. Yes, they're our people. Yes, I recognize them and so does Mister Damar. You tell me how someone can misunderstand that."

"By stretching acknowledgment of someone's existence to include some form of political or financial remuneration," Bashir proposed. "You're talking apples and oranges…also reasonable," his smile flashed again for Dax, "considering your own inexperience…as well as Worf's. Personally, in this instance, I'd be far more inclined to respect Curzon's impression."

"Well…" Dax smiled, considering the way it was put, she wasn't so sure he would.

"Well, what do you call the damn Consulate if it's not remuneration?" O'Brien snapped. "He also said that. Quote! 'It makes no sense to propose a Consulate for a people we don't recognize, therefore we must.' End quote!"

"On the other hand…" Garak ogled Dax.

"Close enough," Dax shrugged.

"If the offer is sincere," Garak agreed. "Yes, quite possibly."

"Which you're insisting it isn't," Bashir reminded O'Brien "So it's not remuneration, merely a strikingly obvious scheme of some sort as suspected."

"You know there's one in every crowd," O'Brien nodded to Worf.

"Make that two," Dax apologized to the both of them. "Not to tell either of you your jobs, but I really don't believe the two of you are supposed to be discussing any of this?"

"With the hired help," Bashir teased. "Explains your 'No, actually what Dukat said was'. But quite all right. I agree. You really shouldn't be. But only because…" he accepted a refill of his root beer from Quark, toasting the Chief with a wink, "it's extraordinarily boring. As I said, predictable. For heaven's sake, it's painfully clear to me Dukat is gambling on Ziyal to glean Janice's sympathies -- and succeeding. Which puts him steps ahead of Janice, as well as you."

"An interesting theory, Julian, yes, I must say." Garak continued to jump sides.

"Make that three," O'Brien nodded to Worf. "Four. You can include Kira in there, too. Did you see her? The way she grabbed her? What did she think they were going to do? Kiss each other?"

"I beg your pardon?" Bashir almost spit up his root beer.

"No!" O'Brien said. "Get a grip."

"How some people exaggerate." Quark shook his head in agreed disgust.

"True." Dax handed Bashir a napkin.

Which it wasn't true. No. Garak knew that. What it was, was a window of opportunity lost. A chance to take their blinders off and see a son talking with a woman he knew, rather than a father ogling, enticing and plotting the conquest of fresh game. A significant difference. A significant point that would cause the immediate halt to the proceedings. The ones that Garak could see little more than Captain Sisko and Doctor Lange taking seriously. Unfortunately as Doctor Lange was clearly as guilty as Gul Dukat of at least the indiscretion of personally knowing someone she wasn't supposed to know. Where Captain Sisko was just so focused on the task of having the meetings come off smoothly regardless of Legate Damar's true intentions. Leaving ample time and sufficient opportunity for all the others to blindly continue along their merry way.

Oh, the games that people play, as the Humans say. Garak's thoughts strayed to watching Anon watching Janice paying extraordinary close attention to a large bowl of fresh fruits on the buffet table. Games that had Julian, the Chief, Major Kira naturally, Commander Worf, and even Commander Dax rallying to pit their wits and their wills against a man they just all knew too well. All while forgetting that the man present was a man they didn't know at all.

Not in the least. Garak's patronizing smile shifted from the delectable variety of foods to the equally blind watchful and silent figure of Constable Odo presiding over his troops presiding over the room to the point of overcrowding. Captain Sisko was taking no chances whatsoever. A veritable army of Federation and Bajoran Special Forces surrounded the conference room both inside and out. The deadly powerful authority of their figures and stern unemotional faces, now relaxed and casual. Confident. But then there was something almost strangely comforting in the common knowledge that of course Gul Dukat was guilty of whatever anyone suspected, thought or anticipated. So why worry about anything other than the obvious of beating him at his own game?

Oh, for goodness sake, Garak, will you stop sitting there observing and say something? Ziyal groaned. Trapped between their world and hers and unable to communicate with any of them, she would grab Garak by his collar and shake him if she could in the hopes that it just might do some good. She gave it a try anyway and her hands passed right through him as if he was the one who wasn't really there.

"Ah! Now, I could have told you that!" Smug, amused and satisfied, Dukat taunted her from the background.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Ziyal turned around to her father and his smirk with its entrenched glint glittering wet in his hard glassy eyes. He looked larger in some ways; smaller in others, attired in the Federation's regulation orange jumpsuit reserved for her prisoners rather than his brilliant black and silver Cardassian uniform.

He looked older. For a man who was still reasonably shy of middle age by Cardassian standards, the Gul Dukat self-appointed and acclaimed scourge of the galaxy, had aged ten years in the last eight months. Ziyal studied the fierce and tightly woven muscles of his bare arms exposed by the short sleeves of the jumpsuit; the long, thick fingers of his large hands planted firmly on his hips. She always thought about those arms and hands as strong before. Now they looked little more than like the rubbery withered limbs of Janice's mummy. The strong fleshy coloration of his chameleon skin faded into an unhealthy and sallow green under the room's light. Ziyal sighed, wondering and hoping her interpretation of the Prophets' task before her was right as Dukat's neck coiled forward with his infamous mocking leer. Loving her father deeply, almost madly, it would be a lie to say she hadn't upon occasion over the last three years entertained the thought of wiping that smile off his face with a blast from a phaser. How or why her father managed to incur that same leniency from her mother and Nerys escaped her even though she knew and understood their own deep and maddened feelings.

"Observation," Dukat jeered, "is what your tailor does best."

Wrong. It was Mister Damar who had killed her. Her father the one helpless to stop him, not Garak. An unfortunate event the Federation's crew of liberal psychiatrists and psychologists preferred to refer to it as. One that brought her father dangerously close to the diagnosis of a beaten man.

You'd never know that though by the fight he continued to fight with her rather than fighting to figure out a way out from under the Federation's noose tightening around his neck. The Supreme Assembly wasn't as inclined as their Council of Physicians to view Cardassia's former Emperor as a bitterly wronged and misunderstood victim of circumstance, thereby letting him off the hook with little more than a slap on the wrist one more time.

"Wrong," Ziyal nodded, as cruelly stubborn and impatient in her utter disregard of her father and his feelings as her brother Anon. "Anon did want to kiss her. He does want to kiss her. He WILL kiss her. Garak knows that. Kira doesn't, but yes, Garak does. Not Dax or Odo or even Quark -- yet, anyway," she acknowledged. "Quark will figure it out, but by that time it could be too late…like Captain Sisko." she regarded the Captain sadly. Sitting by himself, his attention buried in the padd. "He's just so preoccupied with everything. The station, the conference. He and Janice really are the only ones taking any of this seriously. If the rest of them aren't angry like Nerys, plotting like Damar…or in love." A smile flitted briefly across Ziyal's face, thinking of her brother who stopped thinking about anything even remotely connected to establishing an Intelligence Network on her home world the moment he spotted Janice sitting in the middle of Quark's. "They are all just treating it like a joke. It's not their fault. Anon is a victim of his parentage.

"That's you, father," she charged Dukat. "Not them. Your fault, not theirs. They can't see Anon for you. They do just know you too well."

"I've tried!" Dukat beamed, pleased to hear it hadn't all been in vain.

"Be serious!" Ziyal insisted. "Anon's not just being 'Dukat'. He knows her. She knows him. Regardless of how or why, those two people know each other. That's why they're talking to one another. Their relationship doesn't spell scandal, it spells danger. You know that."

"On the contrary!" What Dukat knew and was even happier to report was that he was light years away from Terok Nor, comfortable in his Federation prison cell and merely having another one of his delusional fits.

"Only because you like having delusional fits," Ziyal assured. "You're not crazy, father, I'm half Bajoran. It's more than just the ridges on the bridge of my nose. There are different planes of existence -- Obviously." She tried a leer out on him.

"Kiss her?" Dukat reacted with a jolt as that much suddenly penetrated like a Klingon dagger.

"Father," Ziyal sighed again, "the memoirs of your military exploits read like a plot for Quark's sexual holosuites. Nerys is right. I don't know how you had the time to fight a war. Any war."

"We are not talking about me," Dukat interrupted harshly. "We are discussing your brother. Regardless of whether or not I wrote the book!"

"Of carnal knowledge and delights," Ziyal nodded. "You didn't write the book."

"Merely elaborated on it," Dukat's illuminating leer lit up again, looming its way towards her.

"All right, fine," Ziyal surrendered. "You were talking."

"Thank you. And, regardless of who wrote the book!" The idea her brother might use his mouth other than to spray the room with glib, sarcastic Cardassian charm disturbed and distressed him. "With warrant!" he snapped having once or twice upon a time inadvertently found himself in a similar situation she might recall. "Anon is a victim of sabotage."

"Maybe you are crazy," Ziyal acknowledged what the galaxy already knew.

"Kiss whom?" Dukat roared. An unwilling participant in his own hallucination he could at least expect to be given a straight answer.

"Janice," Ziyal shrugged.

"Janice." Dukat searched the occupants of the conference room in time to spot some Orion snake charmer about to wrap her tentacles around his unsuspecting son.

"She's Human," Ziyal answered his gasp.

"I can see that!" Dukat turned back to her with a snarl.

"Oh," Ziyal said. "Well, most people think she's Klingon."

Klingon. Dukat stared at his daughter blind apparently as well as dead.

"Her hair?" Ziyal offered.

"Hair?" Dukat sputtered.

"Nothing," Ziyal shook her head. "It figures you wouldn't notice something everyone else does."

"On the contrary," he said, "I noticed. What is she doing to my son?"

"Doing?" Ziyal frowned across the room to Janice diligently attempting to ignore Anon taking an inordinate amount of time deciding what he wanted to eat. "Nothing," she giggled. "Anon's the one talking to the fruit salad. Quark's right. He really is hopelessly inept at seduction. I think that's one of the reasons why Janice likes him so much because so is she. They don't feel threatened by one another. They really are kind of cute together."

"It's wrong!" Dukat begged interrupting.

"Wrong," Ziyal looked at him. "Since when do you know anything about what's wrong?"

"It's wrong," Dukat promised.

She still just looked at him. Finally he sighed. "Fine. Not right. And those are not my standards, those are the galaxy's. As everyone is always telling me."

The testimony fell on deaf ears. "I didn't bring you here to pass judgment," she reminded coldly. "You're supposed to be learning how to appreciate your value, never mind what anyone else says or thinks. Why do you think you are here? If you were here -- really here instead of languishing in some Federation holding cell, none of this would even be going on. Damar's only using Anon."

"Ziyal…" Dukat rolled his eyes with a groan. "If he's my son, he knows that -- as if he weren't, Damar wouldn't waste his time."

"In the meantime who could get killed this time is your daughter Janice!"

"Oh, well!" Dukat laughed, his chuckle mocking. "My dear, Ziyal, astounding as it might seem, for every one Janice Lange there are a thousand more. I repeat, your brother isn't inept, merely young."

"Married!" Ziyal stepped close, almost on his toes, her face in his face. "Anon is married, father. Janice is his wife. Or she will be. If she and Anon live. Mister Damar isn't the only threat, and Janice isn't the only one who could die. So could Anon!"

"Die?" Dukat's head whipped away from her not to stare at Anon but at Kira standing on the sidelines and doing nothing as usual.

"Nerys doesn't know anything about it, father," Janice shook her head. "You can't blame her every time something goes wrong. That's something else you have to learn."

"On the contrary!" Dukat corrected and Ziyal groaned. "Major Kira prides herself on being derelict in her responsibilities."

"Nerys' responsibilities to me did not include holding my hand and wiping my chin after I ate," Ziyal argued. "I was an adult, father. The decisions I made and opinions I had were my own."

"You were my daughter," Dukat cried back in frustrated agony. "It was Nerys' idea to bring you to Terok Nor. Your grave, Ziyal. Hardly a sanctuary!"

"Well, maybe, yes! If Nerys had a little more assistance from you other than attacking the Federation, and a little more constructive feedback other than an argument or some stupid insulting leer whenever she tried to talk with you, things may have turned out differently, or maybe not. I'm not sad to be dead, father. I've never felt so happy with finally understanding my own value than I ever did when I was alive. Being with the Prophets is like having the most wonderful moment I ever shared with you, Nerys, or Garak. One that in this world never ends. I will take my place beside the Prophets, father. I am going to do that. Do you know why? Because it is my right. Captain Sisko's dream of utopia come true and Kira's also, truly in her heart."

"Anon is my son!" Dukat insisted, his whine ending in whisper just so pained. "I can't, Ziyal! I just can't."

"Listen to me!" Ziyal grabbed him before he did succumb into the sheltering arms of insanity, her greatest fear. "The only thing you can't do is change, father. Everyone understands and accepts that. All I'm asking you is to extend that same understanding and acceptance back…to Nerys…" her attention drifted to Kira standing and talking with Constable Odo. "If you can't give it to anyone else."

"Nerys?" her father's demanding growl brought her back.

Ziyal shrugged. "Well, to yourself also, of course. We've already covered that part. Nerys has earned that much respect from you."

"For killing my daughter?" Dukat stared at her aghast. "And now my son? Who is insane?"

"You are, father," she assured, "if you truly believe Nerys can be everywhere and know everything all at the same time. Here today, now, her duty is to Janice, not Anon. If you were here then maybe yes, again, things might be different. But you're not, are you? And Nerys can't be everywhere and know everything anymore than Captain Sisko can be expected to hold off an army of Maquis all by himself."

"Maquis?" Dukat shook his pounding and aching head. "The Maquis are destroyed, Ziyal. As dead as you."

"Stick around, father," Ziyal invited him. "Those games people play don't always end in tears of laughter. Half of the people you see in this room will be dead by 2110. That child of yours you see clinging to life in Garak's arms isn't me, it's Anon."

Dukat pushed himself free of her, wrenched loose, to head straight for Kira with a resounding roar for her attention.

"She can't hear or see you, father," Ziyal hung her head. "Anymore than she can hear or see me…I think." she looked up suddenly with a concerned blink of her watery eyes. One really never knew with Nerys. Apart from being Bajoran, not a diluted half, in her own way Kira was as ardent and passionate in her relationship with Dukat as he was ardent and passionate in his relationship with her.

"In your own way," Ziyal grimaced. Her father dramatic in his recoiling from the blistering stench of Kira's hasperat with the utterly pertinent notification: "Major, right now I wouldn't kiss you if you were the last woman left alive in the galaxy!"

"What about for all the latinum?" Ziyal joined him to ask, not that her question was anymore relative than his.

Dukat could have ignored her the way Kira was ignoring him but it wouldn't have been nearly as much fun. "A potentially different story," he oozed in an effort to irk her high moral principles.

It worked. "Do you lie awake at night trying to be figure out how to be as disgusting as you can be?" she retorted.

"Yes!" Dukat assured. Not that any of this was relative to saving his son's life to turn it over to the arms of some life-sucking M-113 salt creature posing as a Human doctor of anthropology and forensic science. "Or has that changed?" he batted his eyes. "Not your sister's long list of credentials, but the potential for pain and agony and death Anon is destined to endure before the station's chronometer reads 2110?"

Ziyal shrugged. "In a universe of infinite possibilities…"

"There are always two realities guaranteed," Dukat agreed. "One, no doubt in which my son dies, and the other in which he does not. Clever!"

"You have to admit the dramatic always gets your attention," Ziyal smiled.

"So it does," Dukat eyed Kira not exactly lustfully. "As far as any other reality that would take a rift of infinite proportions in the Space-Time continuum to change — Major!" he barked in Kira's face and went unnoticed. He barked again. The second desperate command for her attention equally unnoticed or ignored.

"Father…" Ziyal caught Dukat's hand insistently swiping at the plate in Kira's hand in a vain effort to knock it away. "She really can't see or hear you. Not because she doesn't want to, but because she can't. You're not here."

"Then what do I have to lose?" Dukat challenged, daring to unleash Kira's immortal wrath with a scream for "NERYS!" at the top of his lungs.

"What?!" Kira's head snapped up from day-dreaming over her lunch with her familiar and becoming snarl Dukat had grown to love and cherish over the last ten years.

"Ah!" he triumphantly inhaled deeply the delightfully sour aroma of her breath searing the flesh of his cheeks, the feeling as pleasurable as a phaser burn. It was one of those special moments however doomed to be remarkably short lived. Kira's aggravated response was not in answer to him. It was for Odo mumbling something about you know who approaching you know where. The Constable's notice likewise expressed for Kira's sole benefit being as he was also unable to see or hear the former Emperor of Cardassia gracing them with his divine presence.

"I see him," Kira assured, meaning the clearly visible figure of Anon slipping across the floor to sidle up to the unsuspecting Doctor Lange trailing the ends of her voluminous cloud of hair through the yamok sauce and assorted other condiments.

"Okay, maybe Nerys does pay a little attention to Anon," Ziyal admitted as Kira's plate of hasperat slammed through her father's chest to come to rest in Constable Odo's obliging outstretched hand.

"Not enough!" Dukat stared down in disbelief on Kira effortlessly following the path of her plate through one side of him to reappear on the other and take off on a fast trot for his son.

"To prevent Anon from being killed, or getting married?" Ziyal laughed at her father's priceless expression.

"Both!" Dukat collected himself with a snap. "We are not Klingons. We do not have to prove our superiority by dying in combat or for conquest. We are superior. Anon is obviously confused."

"Something to do with what anger excites, restraint heightens," Ziyal nodded. "Remind me to remind Kira…unless you're going to stand here and try to tell me you've restrained yourself in any other way with anyone else," she blinked innocently to Dukat's flickering frown. "I really think it's only fair I warn her. Don't you?"

Dukat had no idea. Less even what she might think she was talking about.

"You," Ziyal promised. "After all, remember in a universe of infinite possibilities there are always two distinct and different realities guaranteed. One where you do, the other where you don't."

"Do and don't what?" Dukat insisted.

"We'll have to see," Ziyal tucked her arm through his, the tip of her nose wrinkled in wicked delight. "In the meantime, what was the name of that asteroid where the Dominion held General Martok and Doctor Bashir captive -- I mean, you do understand why Doctor Bashir, don't you?" she verified.

"Who?" Dukat said.

Ziyal nodded satisfied. "He's a doctor, father. He could have identified Dukat as a Changeling, so naturally they had to replace him aboard the station with a Changeling as well…"

"What?" Dukat said.

"The same reason the Changeling had to reject both Kira and I," Ziyal nodded. "Because knowing you as well as we do we would have suspected something to be wrong about Dukat, too."

"What?" Dukat said.

"Think, father," she encouraged. "That's your trouble, you're just not thinking. Don't you remember the asteroid -- don't you remember be captured and brought to the asteroid as a prisoner of the Dominion en route to the station to escort Captain Sisko and his staff to the Klingon home world to expose Chancellor Gowron as a Dominion plant?"

"What?" Dukat said, that time incredulously.

Ziyal smiled. "Well, I don't know who can go before the Federation Supreme Assembly with such an outrageous story, father, if you can't; which, of course you can. You're just too overwrought by the death of your daughter just yet to be thinking clearly -- but then, father," she said, "I'm sure whatever you expected to find when the Dominion finally released you in an effort to cover Mister Damar's betrayal of the Union, and instead have everyone blaming you, was me dead. Silenced by Mister Damar because by that time, I knew, father, of course I knew. However angry I was, however confused, I knew something was terribly wrong about your decision to align Cardassia with the Dominion; the Union is independent, father, as it is supreme. Under the Dominion it would be neither, and you just would never embrace such an idea; you wouldn't. And if Kira thought hard enough, she'd know that as well. You're just frightened, father. Frightened of Mister Damar being in the position to kill your sons as well."

"In his dreams!" Dukat snapped.

"And yours, father," Ziyal laughed, "if you think the UFP will ever believe you; but that's not the point, is it? What they believe, and what they will have to accept are two different things…" she pressed a message cylinder into his hand. "And not because of the discovery of some lost transmission from I to you, or you to me…"

Dukat glanced from the cylinder to her; Ziyal smiled. "I also like that idea of a rift in the Space-Time continuum. I'm not sure Kira would be able to talk you out of aligning with the Dominion even if she did have a chance, but I know she'd want to despite the dangers to the Time line. Other than that…what do you think of the name George? I like it. Even though I do understand Attila is Human for some sort of conquering tyrant like the Klingon Kahless, I agree with Anon. It does sound more like something you would name a girl."

Maybe in some other universe but not in this one if Kira had anything to say about it or any aspirations of one Gul Anon Dukat busy salting his Kaferian apples with fried Ferengi tube grubs.

"Did you get my message?" Anon asked Janice.

"What message is that?" Janice giggled down on the mess he was making on his plate. "Anon, what are you doing? You couldn't pay a Ferengi to eat that."

He didn't care about any Ferengi. "The rose."

"What rose?" Janice moved down the long line of tantalizing delights in a ploy to deflect any potential suspicion. "The one from Quark?"

"No, it's not from Quark." Anon followed her step for step, fending off an inflamed platter of Klingon serpent worms startled to find their faces wet with a sticky rain of Cardassian yamok sauce as Janice swept by. "It's from me. It means…Let me see…" he stopped to recall what Pfrann had said. "'Thinking of you.' Yes, that's it. I am thinking of you."

"You are?" Janice turned around, her eyes misting over at the sentiment, her cheeks flushed slightly pink. "Is that why you're spraying purple-green goop all over everything?"

"Yamok sauce, not goop," Anon laughed. "And I'm not spraying, you are."

"I am?" Janice said. "Oh, I am." She groaned at the long trail of…?

"Yamok sauce," Anon nodded.

Staining the table, her tunic, her hair and just about everything including him.

"Oh, boy," Rom sprang to helpful attention with a snatch for a towel.

"No, it's all right," Anon shrugged away from the Ferengi gnat patting at his arm. "It's all right." He set aside his plate to find something Janice could use to wipe her hair clean before the color was permanently set.

"Um…maybe this?" Rom held out his towel.

"Yes, thank you." Anon took it.

"And, um…" Rom looked around, sloshing some cold water into a glass. "Maybe this?"

"That'll work," Anon agreed.

"Yup, that it should," Rom nodded. "That it should. If not, maybe…um…" he frowned around again coming to rest on Leeta glaring at him. "What would you use to remove yamok sauce from your hair?"

"Yamok sauce," Leeta's hands were on her hips.

"Yup," Rom nodded. "Yamok sauce. She…I mean, he," he said being as Anon was the one with the towel and the water. "He didn't do it. He's just, you know, the one helping her wash her hair."

"Wash her hair," Leeta banefully eyed Anon sponging away at Janice.

"Yup," Rom nodded. "Kind of looks that way, doesn't it?"

Leeta slammed him out of the way.

"I could do something like lick my lips and say it's delicious," Anon proposed slyly as he wet the sticky ends of Janice's hair with the towel. "But maybe I shouldn't. It sounds too much like my father."

"What would you say instead?" Janice bit her lip.

"Oh…let me think…" he tipped his head back for a moment before their eyes met again. Only this time it was the wrong set of pupils. Brown, not green, and burning back at him like two quantum torpedoes fixed on a target.

"What do you want?" Anon's stare hardened suspiciously at the unexpected appearance of the Bajoran siren Leeta. An even better question might be: "Where did you come from?"

Leeta laughed. A deep, vibrant throaty and deadly chuckle before she grabbed him by his collarless tunic. "Yamok sauce? Oh, please! Spill a glass of kanar over her shoulder, why don't you?"

She was crazy. If his father was crazy, this one was equally insane. "Her hair…" Anon started to say.

"I see her hair," Leeta assured. "Touch it and there won't be enough left of you to send home in a matter stream. Rom will make sure of that."

"Rom…" Anon said, his look coming to rest on the little Ferengi with the towel and the water.

"Yup," Rom kind of wave. "That's me."

"I'll remember that," Anon promised, and he would.

"Good!" Leeta said.

"And will likewise mention it to my father when I see him." he notified Kira jumping into action with a barking order for Leeta to turn him loose. "After I remind him who is my mother and who is not. What I have to tolerate, I do not necessarily like — or need." his contemptuous hypnotic stare bore into Kira prying Leeta's hands off of him. "That includes your protection. Now take your hands off of me like you told the other one to before I break them."

"He didn't mean that," Janice anxiously implored when Anon strode away leaving behind a flustered Kira. "I can't believe Anon meant it," she blinked sadly after him, dismayed by the cold, uninhibited threat of violence uttered by her mate against the appointed guardian of his own sister; that really didn't make any sense. "His father must have honored you enormously to entrust the care of his daughter to you. Anon has to know that. Understand it. Realize it…" she whispered, realizing something herself. "He's hurt. Oh, Kira," she reached for Kira's arm in a natural and instinctive effort to help her understand. "He's not angry, he's hurt. Angry because he is hurt. Why, I think he thinks…I think he thinks…" she whispered again, feeling the intensity of Kira's bristling energy. It was powerful and potent. Not thinking she dropped Kira's arm, grasping for her ear to see if she could read her life force like Anar tried to teach her. She couldn't. All she could feel was an ear with the same bristling energy she could feel in Kira's arm and see on her face.

"Sorry," she released Kira with an apologetic wince. "Sometimes I get carried away. It's not intentional…anymore than Anon," she was unable to resist mentioning again despite the danger.

Kira wasn't listening. "Yes, he meant it! Of course, he meant it! What do you mean, he didn't mean it?" she demanded confused by more than what Anon may have meant or didn't mean. She was embarrassed. Why she was embarrassed, or felt embarrassed, she had no idea. "What do I care what he meant or didn't mean? He meant it! Why?"

"Oh," Janice bit her lip that time in thought not breathless excitement. "Well, I'm not sure. Probably because I would prefer to think he didn't mean it?"

That clarified things a lot, not. "What?" Kira said.

"Because I like you?" Janice smiled. "I can't imagine anyone not liking you?"

"Well, I like you, too; I don't understand you." No, Kira couldn't begin to pretend she understood her. She frowned feeling the lingering pressure of the fingers that had squeezed her ear. "But I like you. Yes," she said. "I do."

"Good," Janice tucked her arm through hers. "Everyone likes to be liked."

Cardassians were no exception.

Dukat scowled at Ziyal grimacing at his side. "Everyone likes to be liked?"

"Something like that," she admitted.

"Everyone likes to be liked." Dukat rocked on his heels thinking about the profound philosophy before erupting with a sputter. "What, in the name of your Prophets, is that supposed to mean? The woman has the sense of a Dabo hostess. I don't care how many doctorates or degrees she claims to have hidden under that! That!"

"Hair?" Ziyal replied. "I thought you said you didn't notice it?"

"I didn't." Dukat assured. "The child is half my age, why would I?"

"Because you would," Ziyal nodded. "But that's all right. If you miss Anon's point, I'm sure Nerys will make hers emphatically clear."

"What point?" Dukat snapped.

"Touch her and there won't be enough left of you to send home in a matter stream?" Ziyal gazed back at him misleading innocent and wide-eyed.

"Oh, really." Dukat looked over the so-named helpless waif Janice Lange, innocent in her shapeless beige tunic and flagrant in her spinning web of deception designed to coerce and confuse Nerys above and beyond his son. "Anyone with eyes can see the creature is attractive. The same as anyone with a brain would interpret any attention from me as a compliment to my son. That includes your brother and Major Kira. But, fine. Have it your way."

"Now you sound like Chief O'Brien," Ziyal scoffed.

He heard her wrong. "Chief O'Brien?" Her comparison escaped him; thoroughly. "Ziyal," he groaned. "How do I even remotely sound like Chief O'Brien?"

"You'll see." Ziyal promised and Dukat's eyes rolled one more time to the Heavens above and beyond Terok Nor where he longed to be.

"You know actually it's Pfrann's fault Nerys ended up pregnant with Chief and Mrs. O'Brien's son last year," Ziyal also felt now was as good a time as any to disclose. "It wasn't an asteroid belt, it was the True Way practicing maneuvers in the Gamma Quadrant. And Kira's shuttle…well," she shrugged. "I guess you could say it kind of just got in the way."

Definitely heard her wrong. Dukat picked his gaping jaw back up from the floor. "Do you remember that?" Ziyal smiled.

"An emphatic no!"

"Work on it," she encouraged with a point for that message cylinder he held in his hand. "Honestly, father, where there's a will, there's a way out of every situation. Haven't you ever heard that before? I shouldn't have to do all of your thinking for you. You really are capable of taking on some of the responsibility of beating the Federation's Supreme Assembly at their game. Unless, of course, you really do want to spend the rest of your life in some Federation rehabilitation colony?"

"It isn't some rehabilitation colony!"

"No," Ziyal agreed. "It's the Federation rehabilitation colony on Elba II for the criminally insane. Sixteen consecutive life sentences if the Supreme Assembly gets their way. If you're lucky you'll see Cardassia again in two thousand years. How awful. Especially when even bad attention is better than no attention at all. Something else you know and I really shouldn't have to be telling you, yet for some reason I find I am."

"And if I agree?" Dukat sighed wearily. "Will you go away?"

"Not on your life!" Ziyal laughed. "I come by that very same stubbornness that Anon has. Naturally. And need I say, dear father, whose fault is that?"

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

"Party's getting a little rough." Odo presented Sisko with his official summary of the first minor altercation of the day that saw the tussle between Anon and Leeta quickly put down by Major Kira. Further investigation, if the Captain felt it warranted, would likely reveal Anon was ruffled though unharmed. As it would also likely reveal some equally minor role played by Doctor Lange, Rom, a towel, a glass of water, and a reasonably sized white bowl of yamok sauce.

"Hair," Odo nodded to his attending deputy Morn securing the necessary strand of evidence from the aforementioned bowl. Brown flecked with gold and a meter or so in length, Odo didn't need to order a forensic scan analysis to determine its owner.

Beyond that the confrontation had the usual up on their feet and as quickly urged to sit back down by those who were supposed to take control, taking control of the situation already under control before the last of security present set aside their boredom to pick up their rifles and point them wherever, at whomever, they needed to point them. In general, that would be no one and no where. Unless one wanted to count Damar, arguably the loudest complainer. O'Brien was arguably the second. Major Kira briefly given to stamping her feet probably had her reasons.

"So it would seem, Constable. Time to get back to work." Sisko agreed with the assessment, closing his eyes to Damar's thunderous shout from the Cardassian corner of the conference room. Unfortunately the Captain was stymied from making a clean getaway.

"Party's getting a little rough, isn't it, Sisko?" Damar crossed the room in great strides, the knuckles of both his hands slamming down on the table. "Time to get back to doing a little work."

"Yes, well, that's probably also a first," Odo grunted for Sisko's information. It wasn't every day the Federation and Cardassian government forces found themselves in such mutual agreement, harmony and accord in any matter. Let alone matters of security and battle.

"So it is," Sisko also agreed with that. Damar he just looked at rather tiredly than interrupt.

"And then what?" Damar demanded. "Dinner at Quark's for another round of good times, good cheer -- "

"Good nights," Odo agreed. "2300 sounds about right. Early to bed, early to rise. That sort of thing."

"Makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise." Sisko was familiar with the adage; he ought to be, it was Human. "I'll be well satisfied with healthy, Constable, thank you."

"Don't mention it."

Damar chose to ignore the advice. "I have a better idea. We prefer to take our meals in our quarters from now on."

"Out of the question." Sisko was firm in his decision to keep the group a group, not only the altercations, minor or otherwise where he could see them. "Push me, Legate, and we'll all be bunking together."

"Told you not to mention it," Odo gave Damar a nod.

"On the contrary, Constable," Damar countered, "I was just about to take you up on your invitation."

He had a change of heart apparently as he walked away leaving Odo to explain to Sisko's searching look just what constituted Damar's invitation.

"He's suggested he has information that would require an immediate halt to the proceedings," Odo complied.

"They're his proceedings, Constable," Sisko said. "He may end them any time he so chooses. He hardly needs our approval or blessing."

"I tried that approach," Odo agreed. "It didn't work. So your guess is as good as mine. Bluff or no bluff. If no bluff, I wouldn't necessarily discount it as no threat." It was his turn to give Sisko a searching look.

The Captain wasn't by nature a man of rash decisions even it meant taking a few necessary moments to reconsider his own. "Baring the obvious risks, Constable," Sisko slowly shook his head, "I would prefer not to find Dukat's body in a Jefferies tube, if that is going to be at all possible. Their quarters are two doors away from each other. We can move them to two corridors; we can play musical chairs. The question is a matter of opportunity, and I would prefer to keep chance for such opportunity to the barest minimum."

"Not that it can't happen between the hours of 2300 and zero-seven," Odo said. "And not that the body can't be Damar's. With a line of suspects stretching from the security office to the gates of the worm hole. Through the ranks of Cardassians, Klingons, Bajorans, Federation and civilians alike. Understood. Don't push you or we will find ourselves bunking down together."

"So we will," Sisko promised, truthfully of a mind to issue the order now as he had been last evening. Little did he know what little difference it would have made if he had other than throwing a monkey wrench into the evening plans of Gul Dukat and Doctor Lange.

Elsewhere and concurrently Bashir was taking up his position as first to wave the white flag of surrender, a breath or two ahead of O'Brien's complaints.

"All right! All right!" Bashir was not about to argue the virtues of sitting, standing, or cowering with anyone. "I'm a doctor!" And aside from the Bajoran was three times the size of him, "I know exactly," he gingerly moved the phaser rifle out of sight of his left nostril, "just how much damage that can do."

"Oh, yes," Garak exhaled deeply, "so do I. I can assure you, so do I."

As did the Chief. "Excuse me," O'Brien challenged his particular jolly Bajoran giant with the trigger-happy finger, "but I was out fighting wars when you were at home sucking your thumb. Okay? I was out fighting wars. So unless you're planning to use that thing -- which I don't suggest you even try -- get it out of my face on the count of one."

"Explains why we have a tendency to win," Bashir cleared his throat in offered explanation to anyone who might be remotely interested.

"Oh, yes," Garak was equally not willing to gamble Cardassia's National Treasury the Chief wouldn't up and throw a right-cross into the discussion. "Yes, that it certainly could."

"Or at least go down fighting," Bashir grinned down the line of stony faces to the mildly amusing spectacle of another Bajoran security officer, this one trying Worf's patience. He was a slender man. Not too thin and not extraordinarily tall, though not short. Simply noticeably hardly the size of the defensive line behind him or of Worf with whom he appeared to take great umbrage. Otherwise he was generally unremarkable. Sandy-blond hair roughly around Bashir's age of thirty or so with a narrow face and strong, determined chin interestingly squared to the point it almost appeared to have been sheared off. "I'm sure it's been said before. It can be somewhat difficult to tell an Irishman from a Klingon and vice versa."

"Maybe for you," the Bajoran sneered, personally having no particular difficulty picking Klingons, Cardassians, or for that matter Human Neutrals out of the crowd. She was lucky Shakaar's, Janice Lange. She had no idea how lucky she was. In a universe where every moment and every point counted, now was not the time, the conference room not the place to address the issue waiting to be addressed emphatically loud and unmistakably clear.

"Quite." Bashir cleared his throat again at the officer's expression of ill-temper with a nod to Worf. "You were saying?"

Worf huffed. "I am saying," he reiterated to the officer, "I am Worf. Your Security Chief. As I have explained to Captain Sisko this morning, there is a reason why I am not in uniform. A point as to why you may not recognize me."

"Actually, I'm your Security Chief," Dax returned to the table with a pat of Worf's arm and a promise for all of the Bajorans. "It's all right. Worf initially confuses most people even when he is in uniform."

"Oh, right," O'Brien scoffed, his temper and face still burning red and hot, "like no one notices a Klingon, I don't care if he's wearing a dress. Who the hell do you think he is?"

"Chief," Dax suggested.

"Stick to your own side of the line and I'll stick to mine," O'Brien reminded. "Which, just for the record," he apprised the crowd, the one clustered around the table, the rest of them inside the conference room and out in the corridor, "the name's O'Brien. Miles Edward O'Brien, Chief Engineer. I've been sitting here eating lunch for the last hour along with the rest of them, and that includes you." he zeroed in on Mister Big Mouth. The one Worf could have snapped in half between his thumb and forefinger if he felt in the mood. "Now, if you will excuse me, I'm going to see if the woman's all right --what I was planning to do. And if any of you don't like it, try and stop me."

They didn't try and stop him. Neither acting Heads of Security Commanders Dax nor Worf for reasons other than abiding by the nod of the Head of Security Odo. There was no reason to stop O'Brien. What had happened was over, and it was a matter of opinion if anything really happened at all.

Reason number two, likely more significant than number one, was that nod of approval sent Odo's way to grant the Chief his way. One Odo merely passed on and whose origins could be traced to Captain Sisko the undisputed Head of the whole nine yards not too involved with reminding Legate Damar of that fact not to notice what his senior staff might be doing. Especially since it was plainly clear what Damar's senior staff was doing. Nothing. Who probably settled back the quickest into picking up his lunch where he left off was Gul Dukat. Easy for him to do, he was the one who started the ruckus. Pfrann followed a close second, rejoining his brother at their table.

Who was having a little difficulty resettling other than the Chief was Leeta. Who was clearly upset in a different way was Doctor Lange. Horrified, crossed Odo's mind. Following disbelief, followed by deep, almost profound sadness. The young woman's face expressed a gamut of emotions in just under a minute, ultimately breaking out into a smile around the time Kira stopped stamping her feet. Odo had no idea why. Suspecting it had something to do with being Human, Neutral, female, young. All of the above or just the idea she had yamok sauce in her hair. Something Chief O'Brien did not yet know and would be further outraged to learn by the look on his face as he approached. Odo stood a little taller in his official brown uniform. Not because he planned on meeting the Chief head on, simply because he loved his job.

"I think I might take umbrage to that." Quark crawled out from under a convenient nearby table to say.

"That's your problem," Odo assured.

"Not your latent tendencies for dictatorship. That." Quark scrutinized the gaily splattered rear wall, floor and buffet table. "What is it? Yamok sauce or someone's blood?"

"Yamok sauce," Odo agreed.

"Uh, huh," Quark said. "Okay, I'll bite. Is it over with or what? Did it start? What did I miss? Did I miss anything? Something? Nothing? Hello," he insisted above Leeta's caterwaul for Rom. "Don't pay any attention to her, answer me. She just realized she broke a nail, I'm trying to find out if I'm alive or dead. The two cannot compare…What?" he snarled to Rom toddling over. "A broken fingernail does not qualify for hazardous duty pay or time off for cosmetic repairs. He's Cardassian. She's lucky that's all she broke. Trust me. If it were feasible to rip a Cardassian's head off and hand it to him, his old man would have been dead a long time ago. Where was I?" he returned to Odo. "What's the bottom line? Are we on for nine o'clock or not? Table for forty-six? Sixty-three? That should put enough empty seats between them."

"That's sound about right," Odo agreed.

"I was afraid you were going to say something like that," Quark sighed.

Back to who also didn't attempt to stop the Chief. That would be Commander Dax's little group of hot-headed Bajorans to whom she offered the following golden piece of advice: "Lighten up, fellows."

"It wasn't a question of not recognizing anyone, Commander," the Bajoran Captain made no excuses himself or his group, merely his point for the official record.

"No," Dax understood that. "It's a question of doing your job -- great job," she gave him a congratulatory pat on the arm. Intentionally. She wanted to see just how ill-tempered and far he was willing to take it. Just about that far, though he wasn't happy about it. So he was a controlled extremist. She made a note to herself to have Odo pull the officer's psychiatric profile to run it by Julian and Benjamin to see if Benjamin wanted to order a new one, or dismiss the officer on the grounds of just not willing to take any chances. She had an idea Benjamin would dismiss him and it would help to keep things tidy on the Bajoran front if he had Julian's analysis in hand when the transmission went out to the UFP and Shakaar.

"How's your psychiatry?" Dax twinkled at Bashir when the group of Bajorans went their merry way and before she went hers. "I may want you to take a look at a profile for Benjamin."

"Psychiatry?" Bashir startled. "The Chief's not acting that much out of the ordinary, is he? Not in my opinion. Certainly not to where a psychiatric evaluation is warranted."

Dax didn't know what to say. Half of her wanted to laugh. The other half? "Julian…" she hesitated.

Bashir winked. "There's more to good health than exercising and eating right. I believe I may have mentioned that last night. I'm sure the root of the Chief's troubles lie in that he's had another heart to heart talk with Keiko still refusing to return to the station and he's annoyed. Plain and simply annoyed."

"Actually," Dax smiled, "I think if Lange invokes anything in the Chief, she invokes his fatherly side."

"As opposed to Kira's motherly instincts?" Bashir grinned. "That's not what she invokes in me, but, yes, you're probably right."

"As far as the psychiatric evaluation…" Dax leaned over with a whisper for his ear alone rather than chance causing all out panic that they might be at the mercy of 300 heavily armed terrorists rather than under their protection, "I meant Worf's Bajoran friend."

"Oh," Bashir said. "Well, that's a given, certainly yes. I'm confident the man's profile in general would frighten most of us into a fetal state, as would the vast majority of them. We are talking Federation and Bajoran Special Forces. I'm not quite sure just how 'normal' normal can be…at the very least," he tossed an explanatory aside Garak's way, "they certainly a friendly little group, wouldn't you say?"

"Oh, yes," Garak just nodded. "Oh, yes. Quite congenial, as you say."

"Yes, well, what I say and what I mean are two different things -- rather like Dukat." Bashir pulled up his chair to sit back down and finish his lunch now that the excitement was over. "To be quite frank, I'm not even quite sure what the excitement was. From my perspective -- make that vantage point," he winked at Garak with a flutter of his hand towards the yamok sauce. "Are you through with that?"

"This?" Garak picked up the cruet mildly perplexed.

"Acute desperation coupled with general curiosity," Bashir admitted. "I've been eating lunch with you practically every day for the past six years, and I still don't know exactly what it is -- what is it? Some Cardassian version of ketchup? One hundred different uses, by far the vast majority of them to disguise something you don't like, or rather not know what it is?"

"Oh, well, I'm not quite sure I'm quite sure of that," Garak passed on his world's traditional compliment to one's evening, noon and morning meal for Julian to decide for himself.

"It's as vile as ketchup," Bashir pronounced, tasting the bitter-sweet concoction that looked like watery jam, was sticky like glue and smelled about as appetizing as rubber cement.

"Is that good or bad?" Garak wondered.

"Either way it'll have to do," Bashir liberally spooned the sauce over his salad. "Daresay one's liable to inspire a riot by asking someone else so much as to pass the salt, please."

"Oh, yes," Garak agreed. "Yes, that is entirely possible. You're right…As were you," he encouraged, mildly intrigued himself to know what the fuss was actually all about, "saying something about your vantage point? Or from your vantage point?"

"Quite," Bashir carefully taste-tested his salad to ensure he wouldn't prefer to be eating his socks after all. "Not half bad. Takes a little bit of getting used to. Somewhat of an acquired taste -- an adult taste. Surely you wouldn't consider serving this to a child under the age of five without risk of sending their immature and developing digestive system into some sort of paralytic or fatal spasm?"

"Oh, yes," Garak promised. "And no, of course, to the latter…As is it interesting," he pressed, "always, how one person sees what another person doesn't necessarily…"

"Leeta," Bashir took a bit of his fork-full of greens, washing it down with a half a glass of root beer.

"Leeta," Garak paused.

"I'm quite sure Dukat said something moderately offensive and off-color to her, aren't you? Certainly to be expected. She is a remarkably attractive woman…and, well, to be quite frank…" he treated Garak with a confident and knowing masculine smile, the sleeve of his jumpsuit rested dangerously close to the rim of his plate. "The official uniform of Quark's Dabo hostesses isn't exactly designed to send a man screaming from the room. To the contrary, it is specially designed to capture one's attention, and capture our attention it does."

"How…brazen of you, Julian," Garak could only say. "Yes, how bold your theory."

Bashir straightened up with a shrug. "It's true. Seduction conceived, planned and executed. A matter of routine. Both the response and the reaction to the response…Am I breaking out?" he patted his forehead, feeling these little beads of sweat beginning to form along his brow. Rising to a near and immediate panic when an examination of his napkin revealed faint stains of purple, red and yellow. He dismissed the yellow; clearly the Chief's mustard. "Good heavens, I'm not starting to bleed, am I? Some sort of superficial hemorrhage of the subcapular blood vessels…"

"Julian!" Garak's cool, clammy fingers clamped over his wrist.

"No," Bashir breathed deeply. "No, course I'm not. It's only yamok sauce. The same is that is only mustard…I knew what the yellow was."

"Yes," Garak nodded understandingly. "And it will be our secret."

"Secret?" Bashir repeated. "What secret's that?"

Garak smiled. "You don't have to finish eating your salad, Julian, if you really don't want to."

"Not eat it?" Bashir stared at his plate. "What do you mean? Of course I want to eat it. Takes a little bit of getting used to that's all. As I said. But that's nothing to do with not wanting to eat it. Don't be absurd."

"As you wish," Garak nodded. "Back to this theory of yours…not to be callous or unkind."

"Bold and brazen," Bashir reminded. "I insist I'm neither. I hardly mean any offense to Leeta. She is a thoroughly charming and delightful woman. Interesting conversationalist -- and far more intelligent than one might think. Clever, certainly. Calculating in her own way. Half the charm of being a woman. With a woman. Around a woman," he grinned. "At least a portion of the time."

"As is Doctor Lange an extremely attractive woman," Garak nodded, "encompassing all of the above. Yes, I believe we may have also mentioned this."

"Well, the Chief certainly has, and I know I certainly have. But, no, I don't believe I was aware you also looked at Janice with…well, under a feminine light, shall we say? What do you make of the Chief? His actions. Reactions, is probably a better description. Is he acting somewhat out of character, or is it just me?"

"Out of character," Garak savored that thought, though not in regards to the Chief. "I must confess from my perspective Leeta appeared to be rising to the defense of Doctor Lange, rather than to her own."

"Janice?" Bashir said. "Well, no, I don't believe I noticed that."

"As far as the Chief…" Garak considered, because, yes, he admitted Julian's question had its intriguing qualities, as well as its own potential for trouble. "Boredom, perhaps. Frustration. Annoyance. As you suggest."

"I suggest," Bashir chuckled. A masculine chuckle again. Very masculine. "The Chief could very well find himself in hot water if he doesn't take a few steps back."

"Couldn't we all," Garak nodded. "Couldn't we all. Upon occasion, haven't we?"

"Perhaps you have," Bashir laughed. "If I ever have, I wasn't aware of it. If I ever do, I'm sure I'll come out of it just fine."

"I believe you. I do." Garak studied him, eating his lunch, intermittently patting his perspiring brow. "Julian?" he smiled.

"What?" Bashir said.

"Have you considered not wearing your uniform under your jumpsuit? The thermostat controls of the immediate area have been set higher than what you might normally be accustomed to…No doubt to ensure the comfort of our Cardassian guests," Garak tipped his head in commendation of Captain Sisko's gesture of good will. No doubt with the idea in mind of it being one less complaint he would have to listen to. As were the lights of the conference room, corridor and auditorium, softened to a gentler amber hue. Though Garak likewise wasn't willing to bet Cardassia's shaky financial security that the moderately dimmed light could be found to be a contributing factor to everyone's inability to see the forest for the trees except when it came to the ironic matter of Chief O'Brien.

"No, I hadn't thought of that," Bashir shook his head. "I have considered turning out in formal dress this evening. Chances are quite good I will -- 2100 I believe? Quark's?"

"Quark's?" Dukat stared at his daughter standing there complacently.

Ziyal shrugged. "What are the lives of a few hundred in a universe immune to the cries of millions?"

"I don't care about millions," Dukat insisted. "I'm care about my son -- sons!" he shoved Ziyal into the path of Kira. "Talk to her. She can't refuse to listen, not to you!"

"I can't, father," she apologized. "I wish I could, but it doesn't seem to work that way."

"Then how does it work?" he demanded. "When I can see you perfectly, hear you as well?"

She was there in front of Anar's tricorder and gone a moment later, not even a residual trace of energy registering, and yet he knew he saw her; the striking outline of a young Cardassian woman in civilian dress, her proud beauty startling, a perfume of sweet wine surrounding her.

"What's wrong?" his son sensed what he perceived as his father's foreboding.

"I'm not sure anything is wrong," Anar hesitantly confessed, far less shaken by the vision than he was perplexed.

"You can feel their souls," Sian nodded down the long, darkened narrow corridor of ore rooms.

"Their souls are with the Prophets," Anar replied. "Other than the condemned. The child was Cardassian, not Bajoran."

"What child?"

Anar didn't know, only that her body was dead and he was beset by a sudden and inexplicable thirst for a cooling glass of Bajoran Spring wine. "Not in celebration of your death, child; it is the heat of the ore bays only, " he meditated to ease her soul. "You have less to fear from me today then you may once have had. If my son and I disturb your grave, we apologize. Our quest is one of peace, not slaughter -- "

"To preserve the future of our two worlds and others, not avenge the past." The Prophets answered in their androgynous chorus, dried seeds of grapes raining down like tiny pellets at his feet. The young woman was back in front of his tricorder, her flesh seared with phaser burns, her bones drying brittle and white.

"All is forgiven?" Anar guessed perhaps she waited to hear? She smiled slightly and was gone, leaving him as perplexed as before.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

The afternoon session was quiet. No history making concessions or confrontations. Dax was glad about that. Benjamin's anxiety level was noticeably high when he retired to the stands shortly before the gavel came down at 1637.

"Everything all right?" Odo asked.

"Everything is fine," Sisko promised. "I'll just be glad when the day is over."

"The first one is the usually the hardest," Dax smiled.

"Hm," Sisko rubbed his tired eyes. "Now I know why someone has to be in a mood to play chess."

"Dukat is difficult," Worf agreed.

"Slow, Mister Worf," Sisko assured. "He is slow. Cogitative." He settled back, attempting to relax his nerves feeling frazzled. "Laborious. Pedantic in his thinking. What the man could be mulling over for twenty minutes in between each point, escapes me. And here I thought his father was tiring."

The gavel did come down eventually though, signaling the end of the sessions until tomorrow. The visiting delegates retired to their respective quarters under close guard; accompanying security under strict orders as to the expected time of reassembly for dinner. Benjamin's generosity was limited to allowing a ten minute leeway either side of 2100. No one would be granted entry to the cordoned off area of Quark's prior to 2050, and they better have one damn good, incontrovertible reason if they were not there by 2110.

"Death?" Dax cringed to Odo as they stood at attention along with the rest of Sisko's senior staff and their immediate deputized assistants.

"That's about the size of it," Odo grunted.

"That includes Doctor Lange, Major," Sisko quietly reminded Kira, no accusation in his insistence of fair and equal treatment for all. He understood there was some confusion this morning that had Lange thirty minutes late for Bashir's blooding screening, but he was anticipating no further difficulties this evening, or from now on.

"Understood," Kira said.

"What about the blood screenings?" Bashir asked.

"Mornings are sufficient, Doctor. No reason for overkill." Sisko ogled Morn and Leeta. Quark's bid for Rom's assistance was reasonable.

"Bar duty," Quark offered.

Sisko shook his head. "No one has permission to enter the bar or entertainment area except for the purpose of immediate entry or exit. Not to linger, and not to mingle. Chief O'Brien has done an excellent job personalizing the computer banks of each individual's quarters to provide a variety of entertainment programs, if entertainment is desired."

"Uh, huh," Quark said. "One word. Martok."

Sisko put up his hand to stay any further unnecessary elaboration with a nod of permission for Morn and Leeta. "I leave any required distraction of General Martok to your capable hands."

"How is Martok?" Dax smiled.

Sisko returned the grin. "Hog-tied and fighting mad."

"You can spare us the details," Odo grunted.

"Other than to say, order and attention to detail, Constable, is the order of the day. Curfew is sharp at 2300. That includes you, Major, Chief -- as well as you, Mister Garak."

"How flattering," Garak beamed.

"Yes," Bashir grinned, especially since the mandatory curfew apparently did not include him.

"It can," Sisko's eyes crinkled in amusement. His promise was serious though.

"Understood," Bashir added his nod to the roster.

"That's about it then," Sisko dismissed them to their own devices and amusement for the next two hours. "Doctor…" he paused to call in warning after Bashir.

"Just a joke," Bashir waved back over his head, departing the conference room on a swift trot to glean as much as he could from his temporary reprieve.

"Okay, fine," Quark waved Leeta on. "Go get your nail fixed. But it's coming out of your pay, not my profits…Honestly," he fumed out after them. "I know she's a Dabo Hostess. I realize she's a Dabo Hostess…"

"Some other time perhaps," Dax teased Worf. The only one of them Benjamin did not single out for one reason or another. Good, bad or indifferent.

"You are mistaken," Worf assured. "Captain Sisko honors me as always."

"You've had your fair share of scoldings," Dax winked, turning to Odo. "Have a minute?"

"Or two," Odo said. For her and anyone else who might be dallying for a specific reason. "What?" he challenged Garak.

"Merely to ask it there is anything specific you wish for me to do, or if I, too, may take advantage of our momentary freedom to complete Doctor Lange's shopping for her."

"Yes, well," Odo countered, "I can't see why your attendance would be required for dinner, so you probably can take all night."

Garak was injured. "Wounded, Constable," he insisted. "Shocked by your blatant disregard for Captain Sisko's orders. Not only does my presence sufficiently irritate our guests, providing a delightful alternative to Chief O'Brien's entertainment package, I just may not be able to control my subversive tendencies given the opportunity. You really cannot trust me."

"See you at nine," Odo nodded.

"Precisely, Constable," Garak swore. "Precisely."

"You were saying?" Odo prompted Dax. "If it's another death threat, you'll find them categorized under political affiliation, specific, general or unknown. From there by height."

"Height?" Dax said.

Odo shrugged. "I'm told that by noon it was beginning to become boring. To the surprise of no one, while not the tallest, Damar is in the lead. In contrast, Dukat trails in fifth place behind his brother, Shakaar and Captain Sisko."

"Benjamin?" Dax blinked as Worf stiffened.

"He knows," Odo assured. "As has Shakaar been apprised. The main interest seems to be aimed at the 'big three', if you will. We've no control over Bajor, but we do have control over the station -- the Captain's words. I have quarter reassignments for Damar and his group -- they're aware by now. As well as Doctor Lange who isn't aware. Now, is again preferable that she be made aware, but it's not mandatory. It can be after dinner, as long as it is immediately after dinner -- also, the Captain's words. Elsewise, I wouldn't develop a false sense of security if I were Dukat. Sure it's more to do with some lingering confusion over who actually is whom. That'll change. Probably."

"As should the quarter reassignment include the Captain," Worf insisted.

Odo looked at him. Worf sighed. "I will discuss it with him."

"You have all week," Odo agreed.

"I take it that goes for Kira and the Chief also," Dax surmised.

Odo looked at her. She nodded. "I have all week as well -- I'll take care of relocating Doctor Lange now."

"It would be appreciated. Back to your turn."

"Pales by comparison," Dax admitted. "Worf came up against some minor resistance from a Bajoran security Captain today at lunch."

"Sounds more like a death wish," Odo grunted. "It's all right. We've also had a few of those. I'll reassign the officer and pull his record for review. Anything else?"

"Julian's opinion of his psychiatric profile? I'll already forewarned him."

"Then he also shouldn't mind now," Odo nodded. "My office. One hour. You'll have both."

"You're the best."

Not exactly the same high regard with which the militant Bajoran Maquis agent Hawk held his deputy's decision to banter with the Klingon Worf. An unforgiving man cloaked in an unremarkable relaxed demeanor, the youngest brother of Bajor's mysterious Anar wore no immediate discernible resemblance to the family Shakaar. The shadow was there though. Lost in a crowd, capable of fading into his surroundings, up close and in person, Hawk's aura lacking the luster of his elder brother, there was a quality of the eerie surrounding him instead. The eyes hollow holes in his skull. Hypnotic and commanding. His misappropriate serenity suddenly sinister and terrifying.

"Nice of you to show up." Hawk congratulated his deputy Assura upon his arrival to assume his vigilant post on the highly sensitive Cardassian corridor. The astonishment of the lone unsuspecting Bajoran security officer present in the small squad was immediately checked by a shot from Hawk's hand phaser searing through the back of the officer's neck, silencing any agonizing scream. He was dead before he hit the floor. His face and throat blackened, red ashes.

Assura muttered something under his breath about not seeing or liking the need to kill their own. He was not alone in his annoyance. Hawk did not like having to reaccess the station's security banks to change the duty rotation back to his original assignments. The windows in time to complete the various tasks to insure success and smoothness of their operation were small. Made possible by manipulating the data to accommodate for the infiltrators swelling the ranks of Shakaar's Special Forces for moments here, minutes there. It wasn't as if anyone personally knew any of these men. Three hundred faces dressed as one. At all other times their invisible guests -- a staggering fifty in number -- discarded their yellow jumpsuits, blending back into the crowd, six thousand strong. Odo's inadvertent relocation of Hawk's man could have proven to be much more serious than a nuisance. The answer then to both their complaints was clear. "You should have been here."

"If they scan the corridor, readings of residual tachyon will raise more than suspicions," Assura retorted, burying his brethren's body and soul in a vacant cabin for the time being.

"Suspicions," another of the agents laughed. "We certainly can't have that."

"I'm more interested in listening to what Damar might have to say," Hawk silenced the two of them. There were some interesting points to the read-out of the station's communication frequencies.

"He's talking to his ship," Assura replied; for a man who had just arrived he seemed to know a lot.

"Is he." Hawk borrowed a tricorder to take it for a thoughtful stroll, monitoring the subtle changes as he approached the crackling energy of the security force field in effect at the south-end of the corridor.

Assura nodded from behind him. "The interference would also effect security's ability to identify and trace the signal."

"Would it." Hawk glanced up at the field within arm's reach of him. "Are you sure it's Damar?"

"Damar, Dukat," Assura shrugged. The distance separating the two quarters was nominal. "Why?"

"Are you sure it's a communication frequency?" Hawk replied. "Third cabin on the right."

"What?" Assura snatched the tricorder away from him.

"Transporter carrier wave." Another agent reported from down the hall. "Third cabin behind you…on the right."

"Dukat's." Hawk eyed the security force field with its dancing pretty lights. He stepped into it, the harmless bolts of deception slipping off his uniform like rain. He nodded. "What do we have here."

"Damn it all!" Anon's fist struck the computer console with enough force to split a deep crack through the read-out display, Pfrann lingering at his side to criticize.

"How are you going to explain that?"

"I'm not," Anon said. "Don't aggravate me. They moved her, all right? They moved us. They moved Janice. If we are xenophobic, they are paranoid…Tan!" he hollered over his com badge. "I need a security bypass modular now!"

"What?" Pfrann stared at the door and the small army of security officers outside.

"For me, Pfrann," Anon's wrist waved briefly over his head in reminder of the proximity detector implant. "For me. Not for the security field. Me."

"You can't even find her!" Pfrann insisted.

"I found her," Anon turned from the display to snatch up the bypass modular transported by Tan. It was intact. "Excellent!" he squeezed it tightly. "Now me, Tan!"

"What do you mean you?" Pfrann's cheeks were puffing in and out like a fish gasping for water.

He meant him. "I'm used to it. It makes Janice sick."

"Used to it!" Pfrann's boot sent Tan's molten and fused test container crashing across the floor. "The station's shields are engaged. Why do you think you couldn't find her?"

"No," Anon said. "That's why Tan was having difficulty tracking her. Me, I just had to make a few adjustments to the ion particle stream."

"You can't transport!"

"Watch me." Anon's voice tinkled away with his molecules.

"And they're engaged for a reason!" Pfrann shouted after him, into the air. "Anon!"

"Transport complete." Tan's voice answered his wail.

Pfrann gripped the sides of the console, his head hung. He took a breath, activating the security matrix. "Restoring security field…twenty-five percent."

"It's a hologram," Assura quickly swept the area. "The field is being contained above us…Or he's trying to contain it," he winced when a sudden burst of live energy jabbed Hawk like a thousand needles causing him to immediately jump clear. "The Hawk? Your brother?" he clarified.

Hawk shook his cold and tingling shoulders and arms. "May the Prophets have mercy on his soul if it is. Deactivate the thing. Make his life easier for him…And mine for me." he accepted the tricorder back.

"Understood."

The force field came down and Hawk stepped through the holographic projection to monitor the readings from the other side.

"Three hundred meters to the left along the adjoining corridor," a third agent reported. "Field appears to be intact."

"I wouldn't count on it," Hawk shook his head. Ion was a notorious disturbance factor, commonly rendering most systems functionally unreliable and unstable.

"That includes transport capabilities," Assura reminded.

"Not as difficult as shields," Hawk assured. "It would take more than a blast from a quantum torpedo to pierce a hole in this fortress the size of a pin…Something," he hinted, "Captain Sisko would probably notice."

Notice. The six of his men looked around. "He wouldn't notice this?"

Hawk laughed. "No, he'd notice. Good thing we aren't security. Cardassian arrogance, gentlemen. As impeccable and reliable as their punctuality…and timing."

Damar stepped into the corridor with his Assistant Paq and a sullen glare for the group of them gathered at the south end of the corridor. "Is it working?"

"To specifications," Hawk promised. "Something you need, Legate? You have another hour until dinner."

"A conference with my representatives."

Hawk watched Damar's meaty hand swish impatiently towards Dukat's door.

"It's allowed!" Damar snapped.

"Disable the field," Hawk instructed Assura.

"Disabling," Assura randomly accessed his tricorder.

"I could have done that," Hawk stepped through the 'disabled' field with a subtle flick of his tricorder in hand.

"What does he know," Assura shrugged.

That was a good question. What did Legate Damar know? Hawk might not have the tailor Garak's scrutinizing powers of observation…or maybe he did. He had a gambling streak. "You have ten minutes," he activated the security bypass module, releasing Dukat into the hands of his own gods.

"I have an hour," Damar breathed his heavy stench in his face.

"Suit yourself," Hawk shrugged, granting his Legate and assistant entry.

"Always!" Damar said.

"Sometimes it's easier to just agree,." Hawk returned to monitoring those interesting readings of his tricorder.

Assura scoffed. "It was the Klingon who overreacted, not me. You want everything -- "

"I want," Hawk interrupted, "the conference canceled. I don't care who cancels it, or why…So we'll just give Captain Sisko a little nudge." he stopped at the force field again. "He's reactivated it."

"Activated?" His men whirled on the cabin door, phaser rifles ready.

"Relax," Hawk suggested. "We want to be able to get out of here. Dukat's the one playing with the station's systems, not us…I'll admit I'm curious as to why." his instinct telling him being Cardassian was enough. Power. Control. Deception. Deceit; he stared at the field. "Why would you have questioned my brother as being the one responsible rather than Dukat? Adon's interest is saving his precious Janice. What does that have to do with Dukat?"

Assura didn't answer him.

"I suggest you do," Hawk advised. "If you love his immortal soul as I do."

"They're friends," Dak'jar complied from the back row. "Your brother's interest is in saving his precious friends."

"What is this family coming to," Hawk finally sighed.

"Open…closed. That way you can carry it in your pocket."

Dax tried not to notice Kira pressing a personal phaser into Janice's hand but it was difficult.

"I don't have any pockets…" Janice looked down on Kira's strong fingers closed around her hand.

"Under your pillow then." Kira's answer was a second or two delayed. "You can put it under your pillow."

"My pillow?" Janice glanced in the direction of her sleeping area where all of these boxes from Garak were piled high on the bed.

"All right, we'll go over it again…" Kira moved Janice out of sight of Dax waiting patiently in the sitting room. "The setting is for light stun. Damage index is zero. You won't hurt anyone."

"Oh, I know I won't," Janice assured.

"Not even by accident," Kira smiled. "It's all controlled by the station's computers. You don't have to do anything. Just point and press the trigger…you have a steady hand."

"I do?"

"You're an archeologist."

Janice stared at the phaser. "Actually, I can be clumsy…"

"I doubt that," Kira shook her head. "Don't worry about it; anything. I just want you to have it. You don't have to carry it. You can keep it here."

"Under my pillow," Janice understood.

"Wherever," Kira agreed. "Time to get dressed. Fix your makeup -- "

"Makeup?"

Kira paused. "You don't wear makeup?"

"No," Janice said. "Why? Do you?"

"A little," Kira admitted. "Well, maybe a little…"

"Your eyes," Janice smiled at Kira's dark, full lashes almost a deep purple in the light. "It looks nice. They're so expressive."

"So are yours," Kira promised. "So are yours -- Forty-five minutes. I'll be back if I can. If not, it'll be security -- you know the routine."

Kira left with Dax strolling along beside her, hands clasped behind her back.

"You didn't see that," Kira finally broke the silence between them aboard the turbolift.

"That's a lot to ask," Dax admitted.

Kira stopped. "It's a lot to ask of her."

Dax thought about that. Comes with the territory came to her mind, but that wasn't really fair. There were delegates, Federation and otherwise whose careers did not find them so personally close to such an explosive and controversial issue. "The threats have been against Shakaar," Dax tried that approach.

"She's his representative!"

"Well, that's like saying Jake is Benjamin's son."

"No it isn't," Kira insisted. "Jake's not sitting in the auditorium. If he was, then, yes, you could say that. I would listen."

"Kira, Janice hasn't even been mentioned."

"It's the first day!"

"All right," Dax put up her hand, much like Benjamin commonly did. As much like Benjamin, Kira was not immune to first day jitters.

"Thank you," Kira said.

"Oh…" Dax wasn't so sure Kira should thank her rather than she should thank her intuition.

"What intuition?" Kira peered at her.

Dax smiled. "I really don't think Lange will use the phaser?" As a matter of fact she wouldn't be surprised if Lange put the hand phaser it in the replicator the moment the door closed.

"Replicator?" Kira frowned.

"Replicator," Dax nodded.

"It's hazardous," Kira said. "If she's going to put it anywhere, she should put it the hazardous waste disposal."

"I'll leave you to explain that to Benjamin when the system shuts down for an hour to reprocess it," Dax agreed. "Along with the weapons inventory."

"Oh," Kira said. "Oh, well, the inventory is simple. The phaser's mine. As far as the replicator…"

"Yes?" Dax said.

"What's an hour," Kira shrugged. "We're on standby alert. Shields are engaged. No, phasers aren't energized -- "

"But deflector fields are in place throughout the station," Dax nodded. "You're right. It's a wonder we don't experience some sort of temporary, minor overload somewhere."

"All right, I'll tell Benjamin," Kira waved. "I'll tell him."

"That's my little terrorist."

Dax left Kira to drop by Odo's office and pick up the Bajoran officer's record and Julian's report.

"Julian gave it his attention, I see," she was impressed as she scrolled through the analysis.

"Reasonably, yes," Odo grunted.

"Seems pretty detailed to me. I just have one question -- why is it wet?'" she wiped the padd off on the leg of her trousers.

"We were in the shower preparing for our date," Odo admitted. "I tried that."

"The two of you?" Dax laughed.

"Yes, well, not exactly," Odo said. "Make that Bashir was in the shower. I was outside it listening to him talk."

"Worf sings," Dax disclosed and left to find Benjamin.

"Probably something someone needs to know," Odo agreed.

Dax found Benjamin in his office, absently toying with his baseball as he read through Damar's proposal and a few other padds scattered around on his desk. He looked up immediately when she entered.

"Sorry for the intrusion," she apologized. "But I wanted you to know Worf had some minor difficulty with a Bajoran Special Forces Captain this afternoon at lunch."

"No, please. Thank you," Sisko reached immediately to hail Odo.

"Odo's already reviewed the officer's service record," Dax stopped him. "I've had Julian take a look through his psychiatric profile…his report's right here. …"

"Thank you…" Sisko slowly accepted the padd.

"For the time being I've had Odo reassign the office from the Cardassian corridor to general crowd control along the Promenade."

"Also very thoughtful of you, Commander," Sisko replied quietly. "On the other hand, I think I should have been apprised of the situation before any decisions or changes were made." He stood up.

"Did Worf try talking to you about changing your quarters?" she smiled.

Sisko's stare was bright, wide and incensed.

"Sorry," Dax apologized again. "Benjamin, I wasn't trying to eclipse your authority."

"No," Sisko dropped the padd with a bang down on his desk. "You were doing your duty as Head of the Bajoran Security detail by bringing your concerns to the attention of Odo -- who should have, in turn, brought them to my attention." His weight leaned heavily on his hands as he leaned across his desk. "I don't appreciate presumptions being made on my behalf. Anymore than I appreciate being second-guessed, interrupted — or reading some psychiatric report! Where is Bashir?"

"In the mirror?" Dax grimaced. Her attempt at humor escaped him. She had a feeling it would. "Knowing Julian?" she offered. "He was just in the shower fifteen minutes ago."

"Thank you!" Sisko was out of his office and gone.

"Worf tried to talk you into changing your quarters," Dax nodded.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

"If you're looking for something remarkable in the man's profile," Bashir critiqued his wet hair in the mirror, finally just opting to comb it back. "I'd have to say the most remarkable aspect of our aggressive Bajoran is that his profile is so unremarkable -- in fact, I believe I did say that in my report." he turned around to Sisko with a smile.

"I…" Sisko put forth an effort to explain, not exactly having expected to find his Chief Medical Officer attired in his underwear.

"You don't have the report," Bashir nodded. "I can see that."

"Yes," Sisko agreed.

"Quite all right. I have a copy, naturally." Bashir shuffled around his night stand looking for the correct padd. "I've been organizing my old journal files…one of those things everyone is always meaning to do…yes, here it is. Generally unremarkable, is what I actually said. I go on from there to explain in rather ponderous detail what I mean -- Mind?" he extended his report.

"Mind?" Sisko accepted the padd.

"If I dress while you read," Bashir indicated his person.

"Oh, no," Sisko assured. "No, feel free."

"Thank you," Bashir pulled on his trousers. "I wouldn't go as far as calling it an innate sense of personal shyness most Humans share when confronted by a naked man -- or woman, as the case may be. Not that I'm naked, or even obscenely unclothed -- unless one considers one's undergarments to be obscene," he pulled on his T-shirt. "If so, please pardon the T-shirt. It's not meant to offend. Any questions?"

"Perhaps regarding the report," Sisko said.

"Yes," Bashir did anticipate the possibility of that. "The long-winded technical jargon is for the UFP, Bajor, Cardassia, and whoever might be interested. Just so it sounds like both you and I know what we're talking about. I believe that was Jadzia's concern. Second to insuring we did not have a militant extremist in our midst -- we don't. Not in my professional opinion. That's my bottom line. The choice to dismiss the man, naturally is your option. Executive privilege. I really don't see how anyone could argue with that. If you insist upon hearing my actual opinion…"

"I do," Sisko nodded.

"A choice of several options. He may not like Klingons. He may not trust Klingons not to overreact themselves. He may also have interpreted Worf's response to be an overreaction. We were all at the same table. I was there. In fairness to the officer, we all reacted. Myself included."

"He's a highly trained professional, Doctor."

"And he had at least three highly trained professionals along with a fourth, Garak, immediately leaping to their feet in response to some off-color remark Dukat made to either Janice or Leeta -- I thought it was Leeta. Garak seems to think it was Janice. Regardless. The situation had already been stopped cold by Kira before we even got to our feet."

"Mister Worf is well within his authority to respond, investigate, or take control of any situation above and beyond any of the Bajoran or Federation Special Forces."

"With all due respect to you and Mister Worf, who Mister Worf is, is a Klingon. As awful as that sounds, I'm afraid in this instance you will find it to be the basis behind the officer's attitude. If you want to dismiss him under the grounds that he is bigoted, please, by all means do so. Don't misunderstand me, I agree with you utterly. We don't need such a person in our midst. No one does. I said as much to Jadzia when she asked me to review his profile. I'm simply saying after my review, coupled with my own participation and witness to others' participation, it would be unfair to everyone, the Klingon Empire especially, to blacken someone's career record by labeling him a suspected militant when what he is, is a suspected racist. Suspected, because there's also a possibility all the Chief's blustering about I'll show him could have been a contributing factor. The Bajoran Security Captain had one, in other words, he didn't need two of us arguing our points against his."

"I wasn't aware of the Chief's involvement to that extent," Sisko was concerned now that he was aware.

"You were aware to the extent you granted him leave of the table to investigate for himself if Janice or Leeta were harmed in any way," Bashir smiled. "Again, I thought it was Leeta. The Chief, quite emphatically, as well as Garak, as I mentioned, believed it was Janice. It's still all right, in any event. We all have a tendency to overlook traits in our friends that we are quick to condemn in people we don't know. For the simple reason we don't know them. Not the basis of their reaction or belief, nor how far they will go. Any other questions?"

"No, I believe that about covers it," Sisko handed him back his report.

"Damn," Bashir snapped his fingers. "Here I was hoping to share with you my views on vulgar, presumptuous Cardassians -- not in advocacy of specie stereotyping. I'm sure there are thousands of Cardassian males as upright, decent and polite as you or I…or at least the Chief when it comes to conducting ourselves around beautiful women…" he returned to the mirror to check on his hair. "I do have a question of you before you go."

"Fire away," Sisko granted.

"How do I look?" Bashir grinned back at him in the mirror.

"Look?" Sisko hesitated.

"The jacket," Bashir pointed toward the bed. "You're right, of course. What am I thinking…" he scooped up his dress uniform Sisko hadn't even noticed laying on the bed. "I prefer the trousers to the skirt," he explained his trousered legs under the knee-length coat. "I don't know about you, but my legs aren't exactly my best feature."

"A personal preference myself, Doctor," Sisko acknowledged. "No reason to explain."

"Well?" Bashir said.

"Yes, well," Sisko agreed. "And, well…" he nodded. "Heavy date?"

"I'd like it to be," Bashir said. "Not this week, of course. Next. This is just…well, a preview is probably fair to say. To dinner. Dancing. Helping me to organize my old journal files…If you're wondering who. Janice Lange. Since she isn't twelve years old, I can't see why there wouldn't be any reason for me not to pursue her -- within reason, of course. I'll like to think I'm not the Chief. What do you think?"

"I…" Sisko said. "The Chief?"

"Mid-life crisis," Bashir promised. "Nothing to be alarmed over even though he's hardly mid-life. Still, it's a common affliction that affects most men somewhere between their forties and seventies. You could be in the throes of the phenomenon yourself and not even realize it."

"I'll try to keep that in mind," Sisko nodded.

"Is that a yes?"

"Yes?" Sisko's blink was almost innocent.

"To asking Janice for a date. I'm not sure I need your permission, but it probably doesn't hurt to ask. After all, while the conference might be over come the end of this week, I doubt very much if the repercussions will be. If there are any repercussions -- I'm certain there will be one or two."

"Yes…" Sisko said. "No, Doctor, you do not need my permission. More the young woman's I would imagine…I'm sorry," he shook his head. "Perhaps it's me. But I just can't seem to take any of this as lightly apparently as the rest of you."

"Well, barring saying I hardly doubt if anyone is taking anything lightly," Bashir smiled, "I would have thought along with that Captain's pip came immunity to such primal fears."

"Primal fears, Doctor," Sisko assured, "are fears of such things as the dark. The woods at night."

"Quite," Bashir said. "Because in the dark that chair looks like a monster, as in the woods monsters lurk. Just because we know our monsters from our furniture and trees by our age doesn't mean we're any less afraid of them."

"I wouldn't say I was afraid, actually." Sisko's head cocked in consideration of the idea.

"No," Bashir's smile returned. "Not personally. Simply afraid of our monsters for us."

"Interesting," Sisko concluded. "Very interesting. Now, if you will excuse me, I just may owe two friends -- two very good friends," a smile played his lips, "an apology."

"Not at all…Oh, and…" Bashir called down the corridor after him, "if you're interested in my opinion regarding changing your quarters…I agree with Worf and Dax. Better safe than sorry."

"Don't push it, Doctor," Sisko suggested.

"Probably shouldn't at that," Bashir withdrew his head back inside his quarters. "With the Chief thinking he's someone somewhere between Captain Kirk and Hercules, is a bit of a risk factor you are…Otherwise known as Captain Benjamin Sisko…" he gave himself a thorough, honest review in the mirror, picking up his comb. "Where I am Doctor Julian Bashir. Charming. Handsome. Brilliant and debonair. The woman would have to be out her mind to say no, which of course she isn't. She's charming. Attractive…"

Janice tossed the phaser on the bed and set to work opening up Garak's boxes. "Oh, now, this might have potential," she lifted out a long, pale pink dress, simply cut and reasonably modest with a dozen or so equally long pink cords designed to create some sort of pattern across her back.

"Wear that one!" Anon appeared behind her in the mirror to pull the gown out of her hands as she held it up to herself.

"All right," she shrugged.

"Good," Anon wrapped her up in his arms. "It's pretty. Soft…Did you get my message?"

"What message is that?" she laughed.

"This one," he kissed her. "And this one," he kissed her again, pressing her back towards the bed.

"Oh, but what about…" Janice groped for his arm, trying to keep her balance.

"Security bypass modular," Anon explained the contraption fastened around his wrist. "Like you, to them, I'm just another tree."

"Phase emitter," Janice slipped down onto the floor in hysterics when his knee came down on the trigger mechanism of Kira's phaser. The sensation of heat from the discard, suffocated and largely absorbed by the bed, sent him leaping three feet in the air. "I think you just killed my new shoes…But that's all right," she waved the gown. "The dress survived."

"Phaser," Anon sat back down on the bed, the personal phaser in hand. "This is the emitter…see? The window? Emitter. This is a phaser."

"If you say so."

"I say so," he assured, opening it and snapping it shut to its compact size. "Nice one. Federation type II. What's this?" he stuffed the phaser back under her nose.

"Readout display."

"Power level indicator," Anon smiled. "And this?"

"One of them is for beam width and the other is for the settings."

"How many settings?"

"A lot," Janice nodded. "Damage index varying depending on if you're a living thing, or a pair of shoes…Did you kill my shoes?"

"No, I didn't kill your shoes," Anon took the box away from her. "Who gave you this? Kira? What is she trying to do? Kill you?"

"No, of course she isn't trying to kill me," Janice pulled the phaser out of his hand to fling it over her shoulder. "She said it's all controlled by station's computers…which is more than I can say about you." she pushed him down on the bed.

Anon laughed. "That's a lie. You want it to kill, that's what it will do."

"I don't want it to do anything," Janice shook her head.

"Good," Anon kissed her. "I'll take care of it for you."

"Good," she kissed him. "Because, funny, but you know, when someone starts talking about disruption and my central nervous system…" she stopped.

"What?" Anon said.

"I just remembered Kira's coming back?"

"No she isn't."

"Maybe," Janice nodded. "That's what she said. Along with all those security guards outside -- my task leader is Vulcan, she pointed him out to me. So when you see a Vulcan, you'll know I'm not too far behind. Who's yours?"

"Bajoran, of course. Bajoran. I hate that woman!" the back of his head banged back down into the bed in frustration.

"No, you don't hate her," Janice laughed. "Stop that. You don't hate anyone."

He looked at her.

"You don't," she firmly tugged on his arm trying to get him to sit up. "It's simply not allowed…Come on. You have to go. Never mind Kira, you'll be stuck looking at this beige tunic again instead of my pretty pink dress -- this is assuming I can figure out where all the strings go. If not? Oh, well. If you overlook the Vulcan, I'm sure you'll notice the woman wrapped up like a strangled plant. That'll be me."

"Field reactivation is failing at twenty-five percent," Tan notified Pfrann pacing the floor when he wasn't sitting slumped in a chair. "Corridor is unprotected at south end."

"Damn it!" Pfrann flung himself up out of his seat. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure if it's a security test there's enough ion to confuse their readings, not them." Tan countered. "Holographic field is intact."

"Yes, I see that," Pfrann snorted. "Wonderful. I'll meet Anon in the security holding area. You can transport the two of us from there…Severing communication and restoring field 100 percent. If you don't hear from me in ten minutes attempt transport once before returning Anon to the ship -- " he severed the communication abruptly, jumping back away from the console when he heard the prophetic sound of the door hissing open; it was Mister Damar. The Bajoran security team never even put their heads into the room. Pfrann loved their overt self-confidence as much as they professed to love his.

"Why, what do we have here…" Damar's scowl brightened with a sweeping glance over the computer console.

"Prove it," Pfrann's taunting laugh answered and Damar's head snapped up. Pfrann turned his back on him to reestablishing his communication's link with his ship. "Don't worry about it, Tan. It's only Mister Damar -- "

"Better idea!" Damar's heavy hand interrupted, knocking Pfrann back twenty feet; the seventeen year old a fly to him; as irritating as one. "How Dukat of you," he gloated over the display that showed everything from Sisko's security fields to his station's deflector shields. "Engaged," he chuckled. "Fifty percent. How predictable of you, Captain. Whatever group of terrorists aren't here yet, may just attempt to transport aboard from some…seemingly innocent ship." He ogled the security field apparently down for some reason; he couldn't imagine why. "Where is Dukat by the way…Or do I really have to ask…No, of course I don't." His finger left its imprint on the display, re-engaging the corridor's force field. "Now let's see what else interesting we might have here…why, what's this? Paq, do you see this? What could Dukat possibly be looking for in Sisko's security archives?"

Paq looked over the data logs with a nod. "A file's been deleted."

"Not aboard my ship, I trust," Damar smirked, hailing his engineer. "Tan, I'm looking for the record of my transport lost in the Bajoran outer colonies eight months ago…You remember. You were there."

The record Tan transmitted wasn't tainted, it was blatantly false. Placing the transport three systems away from Lange's home world on the Cardassian border, below the fever line. Damar stared at it as if unable to believe the audacity of his Chief Engineer to side with Dukat against him. Pfrann's haunting laugh taunted him again; the child swaying across the floor.

"How predictable of you, Mister Damar. How delightfully Cardassian of you to plant such 'official' documentation linking two coincidences and manipulating them into one fact. In all my years of service to our esteemed Supreme Assembly, I have never seen such an obvious, flagrant attempt to discredit any one delegate as the appalling aspersions now being cast upon the Representative of First Minister Shakaar. Clearly something in your own scheme must have gone awry. Suspect from the beginning, we now have unequivocal proof!" Pfrann caught sight of Anon attempting to transport on his pivot back to Damar. His head jutted forward into Damar's face, a glistening leer wetting his lips. "I can hear the UFP now, can't you? Not a hint of rumor. Not a whisper of any such indiscretion until after Dukat's proclamation of recognition of the Bajoran-Cardassian population."

Anon dropped down to one knee with a bang behind Damar as the transport completed, his molecules shaken from their dizzying dance through Sisko's security field. Pfrann shrank back from his diversionary effort with an exhausted sigh of relief just to see Anon. He snapped back to attention quickly with Damar's enraged lunge for his brother.

"Anon!" Pfrann warned, his feet already coming up off the floor to catch Damar's assistant Paq dead in the small of his back. The Cardassian staggered forward to meet Pfrann's arm slicing through the air like a Klingon's bat'telh. Anon pitched forward into a roll to avoid Damar. Janice's phaser out, he fired, toppling the Emperor looming over him in fury. His second shot dropped Paq reeling backward from a sharp strike to the chin from heel of Pfrann's hand.

Pfrann whirled shocked on Anon with the introduction of phaser fire into the fight. Anon got to his feet with a nod for the Federation toy in his hand. "Nerys. She gave it to Janice for protection. Why? You want it? Here." He tossed the phaser to Pfrann, turning away to reopen the communications frequency to hail Tan. "I have another two test articles for you. Mister Damar and Mister…what's his name?"

"Paq," Pfrann replied, looking over the phaser.

"And Mister Paq," Anon signed off from Tan with a grin for his brother. "All right. You're right. Sometimes he comes in handy. I couldn't do that. I couldn't begin to do that. All this with the head. This with the hands on the hips like I'm keeping my pants in place or something…Dukat," he laughed to Pfrann's uncertain scrutiny of his exaggerated imitation. "Legate Dukat. You were perfect. It gave me just enough time." To collect his molecules and realize his legs were attached to his torso and his head was attached to his neck. It only felt like they were reversed for a moment or two.

"Oh," Pfrann shrugged. "I thought you were talking about Gowron."

"Gowron?" Anon was mystified.

"The bat'telh," Pfrann's dismissed his choreographed attack of Mister Paq, Kira's phaser more on his mind.

"Bat'telh? What bat'telh?" Anon saw a broken lamp and one or two chairs.

"That's my point!" Pfrann thrust the phaser at him. "Sometimes you don't have one, anymore than you have one of these."

"That was Klingon?" Anon ignored the obvious for the vague. "That…this, and this?"

"Yes!" Pfrann correctly interpreted the waving arms as another demonstration of his talents. "When's the last time you tried engaging someone's brain with your mind? You're not Vulcan, you're Cardassian. Crush his skull between your hands. I guarantee you'll get his attention."

"Klingons are voles upright in clothing!" Anon snatched his phaser back. "What talons they don't have they adorn on their gloves and the tips of their boots."

"What?" Pfrann said.

"All right," Anon returned the phaser. "You can teach me. That, I liked. That, I can do…And, that, you can keep; the phaser. Don't worry about it. Carry it. Sleep with it. Whatever you want to do…except kill." he reminded Pfrann of the rule separating terrorist from Sentinel. "That's not a criticism, I kill. For reasons. Understand? Reasons. I don't want to hear Anon, he looked at me like this, what did you expect me to do? Because you can't," he grinned at Pfrann's contorted expression of disgust. "Don't waste your time. It's all controlled by the computers. Settings 1 through 3, that's it. Light to heavy stun."

"Who gave Janice this?" Pfrann verified the supposed programmed level of allowable use.

"Nerys," Anon agreed. "Yes, Nerys. Don't be clever or I'll take it back, and I can't. Janice isn't going to hug you, she hugs me. I don't want her to feel it."

"Shoot me," Pfrann clipped the phaser in place behind his back, under his tunic, "if I'm ever that much in love."

Anon laughed.

"I wouldn't," Pfrann recommended. "Security reports you at the top of the list of the Threat force, ahead of Mister Damar and Sisko…take a look. Apparently Shakaar and his Bajorans aren't as eager to accept your embrace of Ziyal as they are to complain about Cardassian slough. Security has been conducting tests…on the force fields…" he stared horrified at the door.

"What?" Anon said impatiently. "I see the report. I'm reading."

"No!" Pfrann snapped. "Damn the report. The field, Anon! The holographic field. It was intact during the time the deflectors were down."

"So?" Anon said.

"So?" Pfrann hissed. "So security has to know it a hologram."

"Sisko," Anon got the message. "The field is Sisko's, not mine. The ion is Sisko's, not mine. Non-combative security maneuvers. Understand? Diversion. So security can test, yes. To conserve energy. Whatever you want to think of. No one running down the corridor is going to chance impaling himself on the security field -- unless they're Klingon, yes," he waved away Pfrann's ready challenge. "A Klingon will impale himself with his arms outstretched for the glory of the Empire. The warrior is dead, but the Empire lives on. We get enough of them to do it, we won't have to worry about them. They'll take care of the threat themselves -- why do you think I've been having difficulty?" his hand slapped the display with annoyance.

"I don't know why," Pfrann swished away angrily to pace up and down in front of the door guarding it like the sentinel he was. "You're the engineer, not me."

"Yes, I am the engineer. And Sisko's ion is driving the engineer crazy, which it is supposed to do if I were the Threat force."

"Shouldn't they know that?" Pfrann insisted. "Security?"

"I would think they do," Anon agreed. "I would assume they do -- otherwise, Pfrann, I think they would have been in here, and then, yes. I would be concerned as to why they asking me about their own device measures that I am using not creating. Understand? I am using them to my advantage…or trying to." he glowered at the console. "I have to get this to work…stay working. That transport would have killed Janice."

"Oh, better idea!" Pfrann howled on his right about face.

"No, I am not canceling the conference," Anon refused. "I didn't embrace Ziyal, I had to say something. We'll think of another way to strengthen the Intelligence force -- my way. I told you before I don't like this way, anyway. I'm not going to use Janice to do it."

Pfrann's muffled laugh penetrated Hawk's diligent analysis of his scans of the corridor's security system arrangement.

"Pfrann," Dak'jar identified the laugh along with the loudest of the low voices audible behind the cabin's closed door. "He's mastered his father's intonations to perfection."

"As has Sisko mastered his Prefect's security network," Hawk ran his tricorder along the ceiling at the junction with the wall. "Dukat isn't doing any of this -- utilizing it, yes, perhaps. The same as Sisko. The power grid has been in place for some time. The introduction of the holographic projector -- a year? Probably as a placebo to relieve the fears of some overly concerned Ambassador." He focused on his deputy. "Now, aren't you glad you didn't jump to conclusions?"

"Fools rush in," Dak'jar nodded. "A Human euphemism -- we have another transport carrier wave."

One immediately followed by a scuffle loud enough not to require any technological investigation. Hawk sighed. "My nerves can't take this, gentlemen. I don't suppose it's possible they're just having a loud party?"

"If they are, it's about to get louder," Dak'jar advised. "Another carrier wave."

Hawk halted his deputy in his tracks. "Lateral, as the others?"

"Perfectly lateral," Dak'jar turned around to look down the corridor towards Damar's quarters. "I believe a couple of the guests were just sent home. I concur. It's a good thing we aren't security. The Hawk would love this. He would love it…" he glanced at Hawk. "Pardon me. Your brother would love it. Anar."

"That's better," Hawk agreed.

"You're right," Dak'jar shrugged. "Hawk is a soul of principle and honor. I don't know what's happened to him. I can't explain it."

"We'll leave it to the Prophets," Hawk gave Assura a light shove towards the force field and a snap of his fingers for the four of his other crew. "You, remove the corridor control panel -- and you," he instructed Dak'jar, "take a look at this power conduit with me."

"Whatever you say."

Damar was up off the floor of his quarters like a rabid dog charging for the door.

"What do you think you are doing?" his assistant grabbed for him.

"Killing the bastard," Damar shoved Paq aside. "Putting him and his brother out of my misery. From there, the rest of Dukat's tribe."

He was through the door and into the corridor, the six of his assigned security task force playing with their forcefields, power conduits, "And control panels!" Damar's hand slammed the panel closed when the sound of his delicate footsteps thundering along the insulated floor had them turning around from their toys to him.

"Something else you need, Legate?" Hawk inquired with a mildly perplexed frown as to how the Legate managed to be standing there when last he saw him, not fifteen minutes ago, he was over there.

"If you weren't so busy with your tests!" Damar slammed the control panel door closed again. "As opposed to your attention to duty! You just might be able to answer that question for yourself!"

"Anar," Hawk smiled understandingly and calmly for the flustered Emperor. "Captain Anar, Legate. Please be reassured all of our efforts now, through to the end of your conference, are in the best interest of everyone, uppermost in our minds."

"For some reason, Captain," Damar breathed heavily, "your confidence fails to instill any confidence in me whatsoever."

"As do we all have our own opinions and beliefs, Legate," Hawk agreed. "Yours no less valid than mine. In the striving for universality, infinite in its diversity, I know there are Prophets who uphold the principle behind your work."

"And if you wouldn't mind sparing me the rhetorical ideology of your Prophets," Damar requested. "I'd rather listen to Martok drunk on blood wine."

"Was that really necessary?" Dak'jar questioned when the Legate opted to return to his quarters.

"They're not my Prophets nor yours," Hawk shrugged. "They're false. As false as ever a Prophet could be -- or did you mean Anar?" his smile didn't make it quite reach his eyes. "Let my brother find a new name for himself to dishonor."

"His name is Shakaar, as is yours," Dak'jar reminded. "You give Damar your brother, you may as well as hand him First Minister."

"First Minister," Hawk reactivated his tricorder. "You mean my nephew -- "

"I mean!" Dak'jar halted him, "First Minister. Don't flatter yourself, child. My loyalty isn't to you, it is to Shakaar. I will not have him jeopardized by you, no more than by some idiotic ideology of Anar's."

"My nephew," Hawk removed Dak'jar's hand coolly, "is growing as old and comfortably fat on his successes as my brother. My nephew's representative is Doctor Janice Lange. Conclusion. My nephew could use a nudge as much as Captain Sisko. Recommended course of action -- why, isn't this interesting," he nodded at his tricorder. "After careful analysis the only reasonable course of action is to kill Doctor Janice Lange. I believe we can manage that relatively easily? After all, it's not as if you could lose her in a crowd?"

"With that assessment, I agree," Dak'jar assured.

"I had a feeling you would." Hawk made a mental note to kill him along with Assura after their duty was done should Captain Sisko's security force fail to take care of any dangling loose ends for him.

END PART ONE