Ajeya tossed once again in her bed, uncomfortable. She had been awake for an hour already and she could not wait any more time. And, of course, she was not opening the communicator and asking for help, no matter what.

With the lights already lit, she stared at the ceiling once again and finally came to the only decision she could actually agree. She sat at the bed. That was not difficult. However, she contemplated the nearby floor with much more doubt and suspicion. Lifting the bed covers, she gripped the mattress with one hand as her legs moved and the bared feet touched the floor. The next instant, she tried to stand up. She had not really expected her knees to support her weight; she had not held any hope. They faltered, as they had always done since the Tal Shiar operatives who captured her took care of them. Again, she was unable to walk.

And pain came, both as a warning and as a punishment for her attempt to get away, as her former captors surely viewed it. She did not care much about the physical hurt; she could handle that quite well. But the feeling of defenselessness, of uselessness, was a completely different matter. Ajeya's pride could not accept that. Almost kneeling at the floor, her hand still firmly grapping the bed, Ajeya once again refused to call the Jem'Hadar warriors. She was going to the toilet next door, and she was going by herself.

Ajeya crawled and, as she neared the door, it thankfully opened to let her pass. Once she reached the toilet, she struggled to lift herself and sat on it. She tried several times before success came. Finally releasing her strain, she contemplated her grim situation again. And once more she realized she was getting old. It was an undeniable reality every time she faced a mirror, and every time a physical effort was required, as now. She was no longer that formidable, strong, quick woman. And now even her legs refused to work.

At least she still had her wit, for what was worth. Still under the Jem'Hadars' custody, still heading towards Dominion territory, she had yet to plan a way to escape and succeed.

The cabin's door opening got her out of her reverie at the toilet. "Admiral Ajeya," First was calling her. He moved with long strides around the small room and after not finding her, First went directly to the toilet.

The Jem'Hadar looked up and down to the Romulan woman with the same dispassionate gaze he directed to everything. Ajeya immediately resented the creature's lack of privacy sense.

"Good morning," he said, trying to be polite, unaware of her discomfort. "Why did you get up without waiting for us? Why did you not ask for our help? You know you cannot walk."

"I did arrive here, didn't I?" the Romulan scornfully bit back.

The impressive Dominion warrior just shook his head, unable to understand her senseless stubbornness. "You still refuse to accept reality. A warrior must accept his own limitations to prevail."

Ajeya snorted, but First went on, "Let me carry you back, at least."

"I'm not finished," it was a lie. "Leave me alone, and I'll call."

The Jem'Hadar did as he was told, and Ajeya once more brewed her situation. She was not accepting reality, she was challenging it and forcing it to change at her will. Or so she had always tried to do. This time, however, she might be losing her wrestle with adversity. Ajeya sighed and loathly called out for First to carry her, and as she was taken away, she swore to herself that this was a degradation she would never resign to.

First had ordered a breakfast to be prepared for her; it was not the first time. He set the table in the commander's quarters and clumsy sat with her. It was too obvious that the soldier was not used to such ceremonies.

Ajeya drank her soup, and enjoyed her meat, that was of the same standards as that of her own ships. First, however, never touched any of it. The Jem'Hadar had taken a new dose of Ketracel-white instead, a new variant developed by Relnak. It contained the same nutritive components as their original meal, except for its essential enzyme, yridium bicanticine, and it was not addictive. The Dominion warriors' digestive system, unused since their adolescence, was too malformed to accept food anymore, and even getting their organisms to adapt to the new white had been a quest.

The rebel Cardassian scientist had masked his experiments to free the prisoners very well. He was supposed to fully understand the use of the slaving drug when he researched in isolating it and creating an innocuous white. Many Jem'Hadar, though, had died in his attempt to make it a viable way of life. Finally, once the key changes in their RNA sequences were done, their bodies were able to produce the vital enzyme by themselves and the proteins that made them addict and triggered their self-destructing processes were neutralized, and this way, they finally could be freed from their masters and their monopoly of Ketracel-white.

But they still needed the new white. And their blind devotion to the Founders was still too strong.

Ajeya stopped eating and took a long glance at her silent companion.

"So one must accept reality," she mulled aloud, "and why don't you accept it?"

First look up, puzzled, "I do."

"Ha!" Her fork noisily snapping the table startled him, but First hardly reacted. "I do," he repeated with conviction.

Cocking her head, Ajeya pursed up her lips, "And how do you plan to produce your meal, once your short supply is over? Because I don't see your dear Cardassian scientist anywhere near to prepare you more."

"I know how it is done, I have it all detailed," First firmly answered her.

"Ah, I'm sure you understand the process very well," Ajeya's irony really tested his patience once more.

"I do," First was piercing her with a chilling stare, "We are warriors and we do not produce white, but there are other people who can, like the Son'a. And we are not just warriors, we are the better ones. Do you understand?"

Ajeya ignored his boast, her fork this time soundlessly placed at the table, and unconsciously widening her eyes, she mouthed out, "Do you plan to conquer the Son'a and force them to produce the new white for you?" The Jem'Hadar leader once more surprised her with his insight.

The scales that covered the Dominion warrior's face hardly moved as he registered her comment. "Yes, we can do that. Or we can offer them our services in exchange of theirs. An agreement that benefits both of us. Isn't that a good idea?"

That idea, said by a fellow Romulan, only meant that they would force the Son'a under the menace of attack. Actually, that sentence, said by any other Jem'Hadar could only mean exactly the same. But First, even if a powerful impressive soldier, was turning out to be a very odd one. His eyes' sincere, even puerile, glint seemed to indicate that First was serious in his cooperative proposal.

Frowning, Ajeya asked sincerely curious, "And where did you learn that?"

"I told you, I learned a lot about you and your different cultures, when I prepared to combat you. I studied more than war."

"And obviously you shouldn't have," Ajeya let go her remark in a low voice. She sipped her wine, looking largely at the Dominion warrior, and sighed before continuing, "You know, I'm beginning to think that you are a dreamer, like my daughter Raghnill, did I ever tell you about her?" she smiled as the memories about her were brought back to her mind. "Yes, you have the same crazy ideas, the same blind idealisms that can only make you fail."

First had still his glance glued at hers, and listened intently. "And agreement that benefits both of us." The Romulan admiral repeated as she laughed. "The only agreement that exists is the one that benefits you." She pointed at her interlocutor with her index finger for reinforcement.

"Why are you telling me this?" Again, the Jem'Hadar bluntness surprised her.

And her equally sincere reply surprised her more, "Because I'm tired of listening to your nonsense every day!"

"So hiring yourselves to the Son'a for food is your idea of freedom?" She asked aggressively.

"It is a step."

A vile word answered it as she went further. "You are just a bunch of renegade soldiers. To conform an independent society you need far more. You need people in all the statements. Your own people have to provide your food, your clothes, your tools and weapons. You can't depend on any other race. But you—you can't do that, and never will. You are only warriors, it's already established in your genes."

"We are going to create another kind of society, a Jem'Hadar one," First stubbornly defended his point.

"Oh, yes, and it's going to be a very successful one, especially once you extinct yourselves after one generation," the admiral mocked First. "Look, for what I know, you are created artificially, all of the same sex, unable to procreate by yourselves. How do you plan to last?"

The Dominion warrior kept quiet this time.

"I don't question your ability to form an independent society, I go further," for a moment Ajeya faltered, wondering if she was pushing the limits too much, but once engaged in the issue, she really wanted to speak up her mind, "I question your existence as living beings. See, a living creature is born, grows up, reproduces and dies. And you simply can't reproduce by yourselves, you can only die." Another pause; the Jem'Hadar was again looking at her with hostility, but restrained himself. "You can only be produced by the Founders. You say you are soldiers, but you are only weapons. Very smart, capable ones, but simple tools anyway."

"Maybe this is my reality," the Romulan officer commented, tapping her injured knees, "but that is yours. Face it."

Surprisingly, First did not immediately counterattack her harsh opinion with anger. His eyes burned in fire, and his voice was louder and fiercer than usually, but his reply reflected once more the even nature of the warrior. "We are alive. You can see it, we are alive. And we are not tools. We are Jem'Hadar, a proud warrior race. We proudly served the Founders, and we proudly will serve ourselves. It is our right."

Ajeya wondered for a moment if the Dominion's tightly controlled genetic engineering could have been wrong when programming this formidable specimen. Still, the soldier was subduing himself, pronouncing softer each word, probably thinking over Ajeya's speak and doubting of its rebellious proposals.

"Is it?" Ajeya enquired once more, arching her eyebrow, this time softer, and after meeting each other's eyes again, they both sobered and kept silent.