Duty, Dragons and Dabo.
Disclaimer: Paramount owns 'em; The Blue Goo, Dr Megalomania and Elvis own the Dragons. We're just seeing what happens when you mix Star Trek: Deep Space Nine and our sick twisted minds.
We'd also like to include various TV series and feature films for inspiration.
Author Note's: We'd also like it noted that we own the various red shirted ensigns and would like to assure the reader that *no ensigns were killed in the writing of this story, horribly maimed or transported to another time and place maybe but killed? No!*
//the dragon's thinking/speaking//
Part 5: When One Has Many Lives, One has Many Friends . . .
Ensconced with her husband back at their quarters, Dax smiled winningly at the picture book before her.
Beside her, Worf glowered his perpetual glower like a miniature thundercloud: the point of going through ancient texts as obsolete as the combustion engine was beyond him - although he had to admit, the illustrations were convincingly lifelike. Just like the Dragon, in appearance and abilities considering how, according to Odo, she had recently set fire to the whole of sickbay - including its occupant. He had to admire that capacity.
"Ah, I knew it had to be in here somewhere. . . look at this."
More information about Dragons, in incredibly archaic language. Only Jadzia would find pleasure in such a task. Of course, she thought, the old earth volumes hadn't mentioned anything about Dragons from another universe. . .
Worf, on the other hand, she knew suspected some sort of convoluted threat. Not just to the carpeting. But unless their enemies had managed to get their hands on a time-travel device, which brought up the question of: if so, why did they still exist? - then they couldn't refute the Dragon's story. She shrugged and set the myth aside. Intriguing, but it was total fiction, and-
The combadge blipped.
"Kira to Dax. We have company."
"On my way."
And then to Worf, waiting impatiently at the door:
"Looks like we're in for another interesting day."
"Interesting is not the proper word."
Later he was to be proved right.
They exited the turbolift to find the rest of the senior staff already assembled, and to find the crystalline maw of the wormhole gaping into space once more.
Aboard the founders stolen starfleet ship, the male changling considered shooting the chatty vorta.
"Are we almost there? Do you want to play a game? Can we sing?" The male changling entered the communication code for Deep Space nine.
"Yes, no, no,"
"Oh Goody!" Again the moron jumped up and down and clapped.
"Stop that!" It was getting really very annoying. He turned and checked his face against the picture of the person he was impersonating. Beria Jodvosky, a scientist and former friend of Curzon Dax. Not a flaw, good.
Beep-Beep. The comm chanel called his attention.
"You remember what I told you?"
"Oh, yes, oh goody, I love hide and seeek. I'll go and hide. . .Don't peek." Off ran the vorta.
"Don't worry, I won't." Muttered the changling as he turned to greet the federation crew.
"Do you want me to give you clues?" The happy vorta bounded off.
"No!"
After this morning's excitement, you could almost hear the anticlimax as it disgorged a tiny vessel, which managed to look nervous and unmenacing even from thousands of metres away. Looked like the Dragon wasn't their only unexpected visitor for today. The markings placed the craft as some sort of scientific Federation design, which was unusual, out here in the war-torn alpha quadrant, but innocuous enough.
Sisko was also here - Dax turned to take her cue from him.
He gestured: "Hail them, old man."
The channel blipped open much like her comlink had earlier.
"H-hello? this is 'the Explorer,' is this, um, Deep Space nine . . . ? I- I think, I mean, I'd like to request permission to dock? Please?"
Interference hissed over the screen, they thought they heard a 'No!' from the background, that was odd considering their readings had only registered one lifesign.
However, at this communication, Dax stared. She recognised this person - not from the present, but from one of her symbiont's memories, and held up her hand to forestall a reply as she sorted through the past with the skill of long practise. The memory was quite vague, but she could put a name and face to the nervous-looking man hailing them.
"To 'the Explorer': this is science officer Jadzia Daz of Deep Space nine. Please stand by."
First they had to verify the man's story . . . it seemed they would doing a lot of that these days. It was so inconvenient having shapeshifters as opponents.
Frowning in concentrating, and biting her lip, she swiftly sifted through the database. . . yes, a ship named 'the Explorer' had departed about a year back, and never returned. A quick survey answered this - the tiny vessel looked as geriatric as she would in kindergarten, and its engines damaged to boot. No wonder the lone passenger was nervous. Worf shifted by her side and she was glad of his standing beside her.
The man blinked a little.
"Dax? Curzon?"
"No. This is Jadzia Dax"- she could tell him later about the change of hosts, if they could draw in his drunkenly reeling runabout. "Who are you and why are you requesting permission to dock?"
Standard procedure to ask, although the staggering craft was a reason in and of itself.
"I- uh, I'm Beria Jodvosky. I'm a scientist. . . I was on a mission o-of scientific, um, exploration. I was stranded - on an isolated outpost. I had an accident. With, some sort of. . . uh, space debris. Meteor. My ship-. . ." no need to state the obvious, or worry the over-excitable stammerer, gesticulating needlessly to his rather singed-looking vessel. Almost as singed as sickbay, so it must have been badly damaged. "- it was only repaired a few months ago. I came back here. . . but w-what's been going on? There's. . . there's ships. . . what's going on?"
Ah.
He'd probably missed most of the war.
Ah.
This was going to take a while to explain - and meant letting him aboard, obviously.
Dax glanced to one side and, as expected, Sisko nodded to her - yes, he had accepted the pilot's gratuitously mutilated speech of explanation. For now. Anyway, they could hardly keep him hanging around waiting for his ship to slowly disintergrate around him, there didn't seem to be a cloaked armada hiding among the stars, and they could take the necessary precautions to keep information safe on this station. Although from what she remembered, there would be no need of that with Beria.
"Welcome aboard, 'Explorer'."
Worf rolled his eyes at there being another of Dax's endless acquaintances over the years. His sense of humour was improving.
Disclaimer: Paramount owns 'em; The Blue Goo, Dr Megalomania and Elvis own the Dragons. We're just seeing what happens when you mix Star Trek: Deep Space Nine and our sick twisted minds.
We'd also like to include various TV series and feature films for inspiration.
Author Note's: We'd also like it noted that we own the various red shirted ensigns and would like to assure the reader that *no ensigns were killed in the writing of this story, horribly maimed or transported to another time and place maybe but killed? No!*
//the dragon's thinking/speaking//
Part 5: When One Has Many Lives, One has Many Friends . . .
Ensconced with her husband back at their quarters, Dax smiled winningly at the picture book before her.
Beside her, Worf glowered his perpetual glower like a miniature thundercloud: the point of going through ancient texts as obsolete as the combustion engine was beyond him - although he had to admit, the illustrations were convincingly lifelike. Just like the Dragon, in appearance and abilities considering how, according to Odo, she had recently set fire to the whole of sickbay - including its occupant. He had to admire that capacity.
"Ah, I knew it had to be in here somewhere. . . look at this."
More information about Dragons, in incredibly archaic language. Only Jadzia would find pleasure in such a task. Of course, she thought, the old earth volumes hadn't mentioned anything about Dragons from another universe. . .
Worf, on the other hand, she knew suspected some sort of convoluted threat. Not just to the carpeting. But unless their enemies had managed to get their hands on a time-travel device, which brought up the question of: if so, why did they still exist? - then they couldn't refute the Dragon's story. She shrugged and set the myth aside. Intriguing, but it was total fiction, and-
The combadge blipped.
"Kira to Dax. We have company."
"On my way."
And then to Worf, waiting impatiently at the door:
"Looks like we're in for another interesting day."
"Interesting is not the proper word."
Later he was to be proved right.
They exited the turbolift to find the rest of the senior staff already assembled, and to find the crystalline maw of the wormhole gaping into space once more.
Aboard the founders stolen starfleet ship, the male changling considered shooting the chatty vorta.
"Are we almost there? Do you want to play a game? Can we sing?" The male changling entered the communication code for Deep Space nine.
"Yes, no, no,"
"Oh Goody!" Again the moron jumped up and down and clapped.
"Stop that!" It was getting really very annoying. He turned and checked his face against the picture of the person he was impersonating. Beria Jodvosky, a scientist and former friend of Curzon Dax. Not a flaw, good.
Beep-Beep. The comm chanel called his attention.
"You remember what I told you?"
"Oh, yes, oh goody, I love hide and seeek. I'll go and hide. . .Don't peek." Off ran the vorta.
"Don't worry, I won't." Muttered the changling as he turned to greet the federation crew.
"Do you want me to give you clues?" The happy vorta bounded off.
"No!"
After this morning's excitement, you could almost hear the anticlimax as it disgorged a tiny vessel, which managed to look nervous and unmenacing even from thousands of metres away. Looked like the Dragon wasn't their only unexpected visitor for today. The markings placed the craft as some sort of scientific Federation design, which was unusual, out here in the war-torn alpha quadrant, but innocuous enough.
Sisko was also here - Dax turned to take her cue from him.
He gestured: "Hail them, old man."
The channel blipped open much like her comlink had earlier.
"H-hello? this is 'the Explorer,' is this, um, Deep Space nine . . . ? I- I think, I mean, I'd like to request permission to dock? Please?"
Interference hissed over the screen, they thought they heard a 'No!' from the background, that was odd considering their readings had only registered one lifesign.
However, at this communication, Dax stared. She recognised this person - not from the present, but from one of her symbiont's memories, and held up her hand to forestall a reply as she sorted through the past with the skill of long practise. The memory was quite vague, but she could put a name and face to the nervous-looking man hailing them.
"To 'the Explorer': this is science officer Jadzia Daz of Deep Space nine. Please stand by."
First they had to verify the man's story . . . it seemed they would doing a lot of that these days. It was so inconvenient having shapeshifters as opponents.
Frowning in concentrating, and biting her lip, she swiftly sifted through the database. . . yes, a ship named 'the Explorer' had departed about a year back, and never returned. A quick survey answered this - the tiny vessel looked as geriatric as she would in kindergarten, and its engines damaged to boot. No wonder the lone passenger was nervous. Worf shifted by her side and she was glad of his standing beside her.
The man blinked a little.
"Dax? Curzon?"
"No. This is Jadzia Dax"- she could tell him later about the change of hosts, if they could draw in his drunkenly reeling runabout. "Who are you and why are you requesting permission to dock?"
Standard procedure to ask, although the staggering craft was a reason in and of itself.
"I- uh, I'm Beria Jodvosky. I'm a scientist. . . I was on a mission o-of scientific, um, exploration. I was stranded - on an isolated outpost. I had an accident. With, some sort of. . . uh, space debris. Meteor. My ship-. . ." no need to state the obvious, or worry the over-excitable stammerer, gesticulating needlessly to his rather singed-looking vessel. Almost as singed as sickbay, so it must have been badly damaged. "- it was only repaired a few months ago. I came back here. . . but w-what's been going on? There's. . . there's ships. . . what's going on?"
Ah.
He'd probably missed most of the war.
Ah.
This was going to take a while to explain - and meant letting him aboard, obviously.
Dax glanced to one side and, as expected, Sisko nodded to her - yes, he had accepted the pilot's gratuitously mutilated speech of explanation. For now. Anyway, they could hardly keep him hanging around waiting for his ship to slowly disintergrate around him, there didn't seem to be a cloaked armada hiding among the stars, and they could take the necessary precautions to keep information safe on this station. Although from what she remembered, there would be no need of that with Beria.
"Welcome aboard, 'Explorer'."
Worf rolled his eyes at there being another of Dax's endless acquaintances over the years. His sense of humour was improving.
