"I... I am not!" Rom stammered, his green Ferangi head-sheet quivering.

            "I want to be a doctor!" Six year old Tianna Mariel Schwartz announced brazenly a few nights later at the dinner table.

            I looked up from my own food to gaze at my young daughter, "You want to be a doctor, honey?"  I asked. "When did this desire come about?"

            I caught Jamie's grin that showed she had been through this many times before, but said nothing as I waited for Tia's answer.

            "'Cause doctors get to work with sick people, an help them an stuff," I opened my mouth to comment on this statement, to say that being a doctor was also a lot of hard work, but Tia wasn't through yet. "An they get to fix broken bones, and deliver babies, and work with lots of neat doctor things like neural scanners, and bio... biore...."

            "Bioregenerative fields," Jamie supplied the hard to pronounce word.

            "Yeah, them," Tianna concluded happily.  "But the most important reason is that Mommy's one too."

            "My, she certainly is the little crowd pleaser, isn't she," I whispered softly in Jamie's ear. "How many times has she pulled that speech off?"

            Jamie sighed, "At least five times today," then her smile returned. "But I still think it's sweet."

            "Yeah?" I raised an eyebrow and continued whispering. "Just yesterday, I caught her parading around the house in my boots saying she wanted to be a starship captain."

             Jamie looked over at her daughter with new eyes, "You're kidding me."

            I shook my head, and both of us grinned.

            A few seconds later, the door chime sounded.

            "I'll get it," I announced, my previous mood replaced with Starfleet stoicness, "it's probably Paul."

            Sure enough, when I opened the door, there stood Commander Plack, still in his duty uniform.  Usually, he would take a great deal of time in greeting both my wife and my daughter, but tonight, he obviously had other matters on his mind, "Pete," he said in greeting, "you ready?"

            "Yeah. Just let me get my combadge and I'll be set," and with that reply, I went to retrieve my communicator. "J'naii, you two can finish dinner without me," I called over my shoulder. "It'll probably be a late night."

            This was the night that Paul and I were to ask Command for use of a sensor boat.  It had been a month since our first meeting over breakfast, but Paul's words still burned in my mind: "Yep.  A baby worm hole--and if it ever decides to grow up, it would have enough power to send you to another galaxy; maybe even beyond."

            I hastily kissed my wife good-bye, and hurried out the door.

            "So again, that is the reason why we require the use of a Starfleet s-boat," I watched as Admiral Watson clicked off the Rushmore's bridge log just as I had done exactly one month ago. "We wish to further study the phenomenon discovered in the footage you have just witnessed.  We believe there is potential here."

            "Hmph.  Potential for what?" Admiral Watson was known for an open mind, but  seemed unimpressed with our request.

            "Sir," Paul stood from his seat off to the side, "if you'll direct your attention to screen two over here," then Commander Plack paused as the Admiral turned, "I'll show you something that will make this all worth-while."

            As he spoke, screen two came to life and displayed a electromagnetic spectrum of the Badlands anomaly.

            "As you can see, the anomaly is literally a mass T- and N-particles--highly concentrated: 45% temporal, and 40% neutrino.  Now," Paul continued, "based on this, we believe that--"

            "You believe that it could possibly be the beginnings of worm hole," Dr. Tarrmud, Admiral Watson's science advisor said in awe.

            We both nodded curtly at the denseness of Starfleet politicians--they had just now grasped the point we had been trying to convey to them for the last hour.

            "A worm hole..." Watson murmured, almost to himself.

            Not being able to help myself, I prodded the head admiral, "Sir?"

            Watson looked up and into my eyes, "It looks like you gentlemen have gotten yourselves a starship."

            "Yes, sir," I said finally, though Paul overlapped the brunt of my words with a:  "Thank you sir."

            "Dismissed," the Admiral waved his hand in our direction.

            But as the doors closed behind us, the conversation continued, "Do you think they bought it, Admiral?  We didn't give in too easily?"

            "No, Doctor.  I think if anything, we held out too long," Watson took a deep breath. "But whatever their impression, they're still going, and that's all that matters."

            The Admiral touched a button on his desk, opening the com line between himself and his top operative, Lieutenant Commander Raseen Plin, "Raseen?" He called into the network.

            "Raseen here, Admiral," A light, airy female voice replied.

            "Raseen, I need you to contact Lieutenant Commander Edward Reagan--you know Edward--he's the base leader of our little 'establishment' on Risa.  Tell him that we need him to finish his project and get it over to the Gamma Quadrant Badlands as soon as possible."

            "Shall I notify Mr. Doyle, Mr. Worf, and Mr. La Forge as well, sir?"

            Watson rubbed his temples in thought for a few seconds, then responded confidently, "Yes, Raseen: notify them all--but remember: time is of the essence."

            "Yes, sir."

            "Oh, and one more thing."

            "Sir?"

            "You remember those two officers I told you about earlier--the ones who wanted to make use of that sensor boat?"

            "You mean Paul Plack and Peter Schwartz?  Yes, I remember them."

            "I want you to stick to them like glue--I believe that's how the old saying goes--I want you to be there when they make their 'discovery.'  On second thought, I'll just give you command of their s-boat--then you'll be able to witness everything first-hand.  Understood?"

            "Yes, Admiral," there was a beep as Plin signed off, and then silence.

            "Do you really think this is it, Admiral?" Dr. Tarrmud questioned. "Command's not just jumping at shadows?  I mean, we've observed them for the last two months--there is no evidence that they are indeed hostile.  All they've shown interest in up till now was technology."

            "Command is sure they've found a pattern--an offensive net of some kind."

            "All I'm saying, Admiral, is that even though they're a new species, we should give them the benefit of a doubt."

            "And all I'm saying, Doctor, is that being a Starfleet officer means following through with your orders--even when they involve war..."

            "Shuttle 06 requesting permission to dock in port three," our pilot, Ensign George Decario radioed McKinley Station's central command--then he paused, waiting for clearance.

            I took those spare seconds to take in the supremacy of a view I'd taken for granted: Earth was indeed a blue jewel against the dark fabric of space.  Wispy clouds spiraled and soared in Earth's clear skies--proof of a life-supporting atmosphere--while green and brown land masses--continents--floated tranquilly in constant harmony with the white-capped seas swirling around them.

            Now my eyes found Earth Station McKinley; Earth's main spaceport.  It was quite a stunning example of the human race's technological achievements--nearly seven kilometers tall, and approximately four kilometers across.  When one gazed at it for a long while, one might begin to think that it was nothing more then a giant floating mushroom.

            On it's top-most, and widest section--the "cap" of the mushroom--were four starship docking bays, each seven hundred meters across.  It's second section on the "stem" of the mushroom was roughly two or three kilometers in diameter and contained the many shuttle docking bays--this section was to where we were now headed.

            "Permission granted, shuttle 06," a tech responded seemingly an eternity later. "You may proceed at your convenience."

            "Roger, command," Decario replied, then turned to his passengers: Paul, Jamie, and myself. "OK, sirs, it'll only be a few minutes more now."

            We acknowledged his words with silent nods of our heads, then waited--still not speaking--until the shuttle was safely nestled within shuttle bay three.  Then we all rose in unison and piled out of the small, cramped shuttlepod.

            "Oh," I grunted, as soon as my feet touched the bay floor. "It sure feels good to be able to stretch out again."

            "I'm with you there," Paul said, flexing this way and that. "We should have listened when that tech back on Earth told us this size pod could only seat two."

            "I don't know what you guys are complaining about; I feel fine," Jamie commented. "A little tired," she added, "but fine."

            "That's because you're the one who got the second seat," I reminded her. "Paul and I had to sit on the floor in the rear."

            "Hey," Jamie indignantly crossed her arms in front of her, "I let you sit on my lap for a whole thirty minutes... so I wouldn't complain if I were you."

            Paul allowed himself a small snigger, "She has a point, Pete."

            "Yeah, yeah, I suppose.  I'm just not used to such cramped quarters, that's all."

            "A touch of claustrophobia, perhaps?" A new voice spoke up behind us, one which we immediately turned to face. "Hi.  You are the three who requested use of the sensor boat Anna May?" When I nodded, the woman who now stood in front of us extended her hand, shook each of ours strongly, then went on to introduce herself, "I'm Commander Raseen Plin... the current commanding officer of your sensor boat.  Are you ready to board yet?"

            Before I answered, I gave the woman a quick once over: She was slender--probably in her late twenties, with long auburn hair that fell to her waist.  For a moment, I thought she was human--then I noticed the tell-tale spot type markings down both sides of her face and neck.  She was a Trill--or a "Carrier of the Worm" as some races liked to call them.

            "Yes, Commander," I answered. "We will board now."

            "Yeah," Paul broke in, his eyes fixed on Plin, "Everything is satisfactory."

            Plin smiled in an amused fashion before continuing, "Then follow me.  We're docked in port four--and the crew is already assembled and at their posts.  We're due to make a stop-over at DS9 before we enter the Gamma Quadrant, but other then that, we're a 'straight express.'"

            "Thank you, Ms. Plin," I responded diplomatically. "I'm sure--thanks to you--this will be a pleasant voyage."

            "Oh, and by the way, Ms. Plin," Paul spoke up a second time, "are you... free this evening?"

            "Hey, Jamie, what's wrong?" I had come into our guest quarters and found her--not unpacking--but staring silently out the window at the streaks of glowing paint that were indeed stars.  I came up behind her, put my arms around her waist and felt the soft bulge that would eventually be two fine young twins. "What's wrong?" I asked again.

            She turned her head, and her body to face me, and her hair--roughly the same shade as my own--fell from glory, and down around her shoulders.

            "I don't know," she answered dutifully. "Maybe it's Tianna.  I mean, we've never left her alone like this before--we've never gone off planet without her: and now we're going all the way to the Gamma Quadrant.  Maybe even beyond.  I sure hope SarahBeth can handle her," she added, referring to our mutual old friend, and single workaholic SarahBeth Boylan.  Then she sighed. "I guess I'm also worried about the twins."

            "Oh, Jamie, what's to worry about?  The doctor says they're not due for five more months."

            "Well, you have to remember, Pete, I'm a doctor too--a CMO--and I know things happen; especially to people under stress."

            "Don't worry, J'naii.  It's not your fault you chose to come back to active duty, and then found you were pregnant," I held her tighter. "But you're here now, and I know you'll do your job to the best of your ability--besides; on this trip we're here as observers," I stopped as I myself took in the same view Jamie had been engrossed in only moments earlier.  Then I came back to reality, and found Jamie still wrapped in my arms. "It'll be good practice.  It'll let you kind of ease back into things.  And trust me: the twins will be fine."

            She smiled at this, and I drew away a bit, kissed her, and then settled back into our embrace.

            I saw the stars outside grow shorter, shorter, and then become the small points of light they really were.

            We had arrived at Deep Space Nine.

            "Dabo!"

            The word cut like a knife through the stuffy atmosphere of Quark's Bar--screamed by yet another winner of the cosmic wheel game aptly named, Dabo.

            "Don't they ever shut up?" I heard Jamie murmur.

            The clinking of the wheel again, and then:

            "Dabo!"

            "Doesn't sound like it," Paul offered helpfully from his seat next to Plin.

            Jamie lowered her head to table level with a little groan.

            To hide my grin, I lifted my glass to my lips and sipped my cold Samarian Sunset.  I looked at my chronometer: 0100.  The ship should be ready to leave in about an hour.  I turned to Raseen Plin who sat on my right, "So what do you think of Quark's little establishment, Ms. Plin?"

            "Please," Plin held out her hands, "call me Raseen.  And I personally think it leaves much to be desired.  The synthehol even tastes fake," she made a face.

            "Relax," A dark haired middle-eastern man came up to our table.  He had a remarkably thin face, and was wearing a blue collared Starfleet uniform--a doctor--or, at very least, a science officer, "it's just part of the atmosphere.  If this place didn't appear seedy, Quark would loose half his customers," a smirk touched his lips. "May I join you?"

            When we all nodded, he sat, and fully introduced himself, "I'm Doctor Julian Bashier, head of medical here on the station... you may have heard of my research on Changeling DNA about five years ago?"

            Recognition hit me.  So this was the doctor who had invented the phaser sweep.

            I extended my hand," It's a pleasure to meet you Doctor," and as he shook my hand, I continued. "I suppose you are already aware of our identities?"

            "Yes," Bashier concurred, "I saw your names on the incoming roster, and I figured I'd like to meet the Doctor who perfected the Bio-regeneration theory," at this he looked over in Jamie's direction, then he looked over at Paul and myself, "not to mention the Captain of the Stiletto and his first officer."

            Then Bashier finally turned to Plin and cocked his head, "But your name I didn't recognize."

            Raseen grinned, "Let's just say, I'm their chauffeur--I take them where they want to go."

            "Ah, of course," Julian sat back in his chair. "So what brings you all to Deep Space Nine?"

            "Survey mission in the Badlands," I supplied quickly, before Paul or Jamie could say anything--the worm hole theory was to stay safely between us and Command. "We've stopped here for supplies, and'll be on our way again in about forty-five minutes."

            "Oh," Bashier was clearly disappointed. "I guess Starfleet must be really scrounging for personal to send you three.  Hmph.  The next thing you know, they'll be sending Jean Luc Picard to help with waste management," he smiled a crooked smile at his small joke, then continued. "But I suppose times have been tight ever since that second Borg War--after all, we did lose a total of fifty starships, let alone all of the smaller ships that lent a hand.  And I--"

            "Julian!"  A distinctly Irish voice beckoned our new friend.

            "Oh, I forgot," Julian stopped, and put down his half-empty glass, "today I was supposed to go kiaking with Miles--you know Miles O'Brien--Chief of Operations?"

            Paul nodded, "Yeah.  I met him about a month ago--good guy.  Likes to play darts."

            Julian smiled, "That's him," then he stood. "Anyway, it was nice meeting all of you, and I hope... you enjoy the rest of your time here--gritty though it is."

            "Thank you, Doctor," I said in farewell, as Bashier walked over to where O'Brien stood.  I continued to watch as once he reached him, they both turned--rather resolutely--and entered the nearest Holo suite.

            After they disappeared from view, I swiveled my head back towards the bar, just in time for a particularly loud:

            "Dabo!" Screeched by a huge lumbering humanoid dressed in what looked like padded garbage bags.

            My head joined Jamie's on the table.

            As the large Cardassian double doors hissed open in front of me, I quietly stepped through them, and into Captain Sisko's office.

            It was a vast office, with two circular view ports at the precise angle necessary to catch the splendor of the Bajoran worm hole when it opened.  A long curving desk occupied the center of the room, with tall book cases on either side of it against the walls.  The only thing that struck me as odd was the fact that the entire room was devoid of Starfleet colors--then, in that same instant, I remembered that the entire station had originally been built by Cardassian architects; not Federation workers.

            "Captain," Sisko grinned, "come in, have a seat," after I had done so, the captain went on. "So.  You're about ready to check out?"

            "Yes.  We're getting ready to," I replied slowly, not sure of how much to reveal.

            "Come on, Captain, ease up a little bit," Sisko reached for his mounted baseball. "I know about the worm hole possibilities.  I'm supposed to act as your contact between the Badlands and Starfleet Command."

            I sighed, "Leave it to Watson to think of something like this.  I'll bet you two bars of latinum he doesn't want you as my contact, but as my accountability man--just to make sure I don't do anything he wouldn't do."

            Sisko smiled again, "I'll have you know I'm not allowed to divulge my orders--but that's a pretty accurate guess."

            I smiled as well, "Well, then, I guess I'm about ready to pull out.  We'll keep in touch."

            "Hm.  If a certain admiral has anything to do with it, I'm sure we will..."

            "We're coming up on the Badlands, Commander," Lieutenant Neal Reagan--brother of my old tactical officer Edward--announced from ops.

            "Thank you for the update, Lieutenant," Raseen replied. "Prepare to drop out of warp on my mark."

            "Aye, sir."

            "Mark," Plin concluded as the ship slowed to impulse power.

            "On screen," I said from the command chair next to Raseen's--and the Badlands appeared instantly.  "Now," I went on, "Lieutenant Ormerod, would you please hand over control of conn to Commander Plack?"

            "Sir," Parker Ormerod said not quite passively, and stepped away from his control board, letting Paul take his place.

            "Scanning for any trace of N- and T-particles, Captain; trying to find a match," Paul said, the moment he sat down.  Then, after a short while of fruitless searching, he looked up. "I can't seem to find it again."

            "Well, with all due respect, sir," Parker began cockily, "are you sure you know what you're looking for?"

            "I was there, Lieutenant," Paul said firmly. "I know what to look for--just give me a second."

            More time passed.  Then, finally, "Captain, Commander, I think I have something; bearing 03 mark 9501.  Can you get that on screen?"

            "Mr. Reagan?" Raseen Plin nodded in Neal's direction.

            "Hmm, I'm getting some interference, but I think I can get you visual... now."

            And then, a blue presence invaded our view screen, practically rivaling the plasmatic Badlands in magnificence.

            "The sensors estimate it must be at least eight kilometers in diameter," Paul said in hushed tones.

            "Just like it should be," I heard Plin mutter under her breath.  I was about to question her on her meaning, but before I could get a chance, she spoke up again. "Hm.  It's a bit larger in real life then in your reports, Commander."

            "I don't understand it," Paul said. "Last time I was here, it had a diameter of only three meters--there's no way it could have gotten this big in only a month."

            "I propose we scan the anamoly before proceeding," Plin suggested.

            "Um, I don't think anomaly is the correct term anymore," Neal put in while he studied his board. "I read here an increase of T-particles--a 150% increase.  Plus, the neutrino levels are off the scale," at this, Neal turned in his seat to face myself and Ms. Plin. "Captain, Commander; what we have here is a genuine, bonified trans-space worm hole."

            I stood from my chair, "Do we know what it's range is, Mr. Reagan?"

            "Roughly two-million light years, sirs," Neal paused, then looked back to his station to check his findings. "Enough power to take you to a nearby galaxy--maybe Andromeda."

            "This is unbelievable!" Paul suddenly broke free from his Starfleet skin.  "What an amazing discovery--a worm hole to another galaxy!"

            I smiled at Paul's enthusiasm, "It is exiting, isn't it?"

            "Well," Paul said as he let Parker retake his seat, "what are we waiting for?  Helm, take us through!"

            "I don't think that would be the most prudent course of action, Commander," Raseen's soft voice neatly neutralized Paul's zeal. "I suggest we run a few tests to make sure it's safe, to make sure it is stable."

            I raised an eyebrow in Plimn's direction, "The Commander is right," I agreed. "We have to make sure that once we're through, we'll be able to get back.  Conn--Mr. Ormerod?"

            After a few moments: "Sir?  It does appear that this end of the worm hole is very unstable," Parker shook his head. "I don't think we could even pass through once without sustaining heavy damage."

            Then came a beeping from Parker's console, "Wait, sirs, I'm getting another reading: Commander, Captain, the hole has become stable!"

            "Captain, we have a ship coming through the worm hole!" Neal cried so his exclamation almost seemed to weld with Parker's.

            "A ship?" I inquired. "Are you sure?"

            "Quite sure, sir."

            "Configuration?"

            "No ready matches can be found in the ship's computer banks, but from what I can tell, it's most likely some kind of bulk freighter.  I'm reading no energy weapons of any kind; massive cargo space."

            "Possibility that this ship could be from the Andromeda galaxy?"

            This time it was Lieutenant Ormerod who answered, "Almost a 90% chance, Captain."

            The Anna May was a tiny grey dot before the awsome swirl of blue, white and ocean greens that was the beckoning worm hole.  The anomaly grew with every tense second that passed.  Ultimately, the eye of the hurricane cleared, and a dark speck shot free of the phenomenon.     

            "Captain, we have visual confirmation of a ship," Neal announced. 

            "Magnify," I instructed, gripping the hands of my command chair.  The tiny dot was replaced by a large, boxy cruiser devoid of markings and weapons. 

            I sat back down and made a decision, "Open a channel, Mr. Ormerod, transmit in all known languages."

            "Sir?" Parker turned.

            "Hail them," Plin seconded my instruction.

            "Yes, sirs," Parker submitted. "Channel open."

            "Attention unidentified alien vessel," I began, "this is Captain Peter Schwartz of the United Federation of Planets," there was no answer. "I repeat: this is the Federation starship--"

            Plin stood up next to me, "Please identify yourselves," she said. "We are a peace loving society, and mean you no harm."

            I sat up a bit straighter at this statement.  I had detected a slight undertone of menace creeping into Raseen's voice.  But it was so trivial that I wasn't even sure that it had really been there at all.

            There was a quirk from Lieutenant Reagan's board, "Incoming message, sirs--audio only."

            "Patch it through," I said slowly.

            "Greetings," our ship's translator provided, "we--Tregonians from--galaxy of many spirals," the transmission came through haltingly, and with gaps--probably because the translator was having a hard time with this new language. "We know--must," it went on. "Where are we?"

            I stood and looked towards our view screen, wondering if they were even recieving our visual, "You are now--at least--two million from your last position--which I suppose was the Andromeda galaxy," I answered, saying the last part quietly, and for my own confirmation. "Now you have arrived in a spiral arm galaxy which we know as the Milky Way."

            "This--new to us," the Tregonian stated bluntly. "But I am rude.  I--forgotten to introduce myself.  I am Captain--Dukag of the freighter--Aglikad..."

            "We are representatives of the Federation government," Plin supplied. "Are you a species of genetically perfect clones?"

            "What?" I turned to Raseen.

            "If I remember correctly," Plin went on, "'Dukag' was the name of one of your operatives in the Beta Quadrant.  You know," the menace creeping back into her voice, "the one who confirmed our fears about your 'offensive net?'"

            "Captain, Commander," Neal said suddenly, "the connection's been severed--and a sensor shield of some kind is dropping away from the Tregonian's ship!" The lumbering tug on our main viewer was replaced by a sleek dark green vessel.  It had a clearly triangular body with downward swooping wings. "I'm reading a massive weapons payload, not to mention their maneuverability has increased by two-hundred percent!"

            "Sirs," Parker broke in, "they're raising their shields and powering up their weapons systems!"

            "What?" I paused, trying to get my mind to stop it's gyrations.

            I heard Paul say," Raise shields--prepare for evasive maneuvers!" And everything came back into focus.

            "Ms. Plin," I announced, "you have a lot of explaining to do..."

            "No time, Captain," Raseen replied. "It's ten to one the Tregs will punch right through our shields in three shots."

            The stars flew by the view screen in one direction, then the other as the Anna May spun through evasive action.  The deck shook with the impact of the new alien's phase-disrupters, and the stars in the view screen stood still.

            "Damage report!" I cried over the moaning red alert sirens.

            "Port nacelle's been hit!" Neal responded.

            "Shields are at twenty percent!" Parker seconded.

            Paul looked over towards me from science one, "We've lost warp power, Captain--impulse too."

            "We're dead in space," I murmured.

            My attention returned to the viewscreen.  The alien vessel swung into view directly oppisite the Anna May and accelerated for a final run.  It quickly grew larger, and the tips of its wing-like structures sparked as it prepared to attack.

            "Sirs," Neal called, and I waited, fearing more bad news. He spun in his chair to face us, one hand still on his console. "We have at least thirty unidentified fighter-type vessels and a starship heading our way."

            "Coming out of the wormhole?" I tensed.

            "No, sir--they're all coming from the opposite direction."

            "The cavalry!" Raseen let out a whoop.  The Tregonian ship stopped its advance and began scanning the new arrivals.

            "Incoming message from the starship, Captain," Parker offered.

            "Put it through," I allowed, ready for anything.

            But I couldn't help breaking into a grin as I saw Lieutenant Commander Daniel Doyle's face appear on our viewer, "Hello, Captain," he said cheerfully. "In case you haven't noticed, you've got a Tregonian scavenger ship breathing down your neck," I nodded as he went on. "Oh.  You have noticed.  Well, in that case, why don't you pencil-packing scientists move off to the side, and let us big boys handle it?  No offense to you real men over there," he added as an after-thought.

            "None taken," I smiled as well. "Of course, Mr. Doyle--you may have free run of the battle field."

            "Thank you, sir.  Starship Odyssey out," Dan signed off.

            "What was that all about?" Paul turned to me again, question written across his face.

            "I have no idea," I admitted. "Commander Plin?"

            "Like I said: long story--I'll tell it to you sometime.  Right now," she paused to take a breath, "I think the most prudent course of action would be to evacuate the Anna May and transfer all of our personal over to Lt. Doyle's ship.  Get out of harms way," she put her hands behind her back, and silently awaited my approval.

            "All right, let's go," I decided. "Mr. Plack, inform the rest of the crew, then man a shuttle."

            "Aye, sir," Paul straightened his uniform as Plin, myself, and the rest of the bridge crew made our way to the turbo-lift that would take us to shuttle bay three.