T'Svara looked down the arched docking pylon to the three circular rings of Deep Space Nine. It was certainly an imposing-looking structure, and she could attribute that to the Cardassian architecture and their predilection for curves and sharp edges. The space station was almost serpentine in its look, organic, sinister, and yet it maintained a curious beauty. Elliptical portholes glittered like strings of bright pearls wound around the cold metal of the habitat ring and the central core. She frowned. Now she could begin to understand Captain Sisko's strange attachment to this place. She maintained something of an irrational connection to her own ship, the Sarekar, but that was a Starfleet vessel that upheld the principles she had sworn to upon graduating from the Academy.

It had been three hours, and the Defiant had not yet returned.

That was irrational.

She turned and spoke into the silence of Pylon One's control gondola. "Computer, confirm the location of the starship Defiant."

"Unable to comply. The Defiant is currently out of sensor range."

No surprises there. Sisko was supposed to have returned after one hour. For him to be overdue like this was highly irregular. That, and the sole survivor of the alternate DS-Nine had escaped into the corridors and maintenance tunnels of the Sarekar, whereabouts unknown. The woman (Connie Laraque, as she recalled) was smart enough to cover her tracks. T'Svara guessed that this kind of guile was a product of fighting the Borg from day one. She could not blame the poor girl, but she was probably consumed with paranoia and confusion. She had to be isolated and brought in. The station was a huge place compared to the smaller Sarekar. If Laraque managed to slip through the airlock unnoticed…no. T'Svara forced herself to be calm. She had ordered two guards to be present at every exit point, and had requested that the computer inform her whenever Laraque was identified with internal sensors. The only other thing she could think of was the environmental umbilical connections to DS-Nine, but they would be almost impossible to access, and even if she did to the connection ports, they were too small to climb into. Then again, Laraque was probably not living an opulent lifestyle in her reality. And she was most likely desperate and prepared to take measures to escape. T'Svara walked briskly to one of the Cardassian-designed control panels and brought up information on the docking protocols. Each airlock had four transfer conduits that ferried atmospheric gases to and from the docked vessel. They would be too small for a human to crawl through, and with that knowledge, T'Svara relaxed somewhat. But there were still ways to escape.

"Captain T'Svara."

The pleasant feminine voice of the Sarekar's computer spoke out of her comm badge, accompanied by a polite chirping noise. The Vulcan pressed the badge once and replied, "Go ahead."

"Ensign Laraque has been located on deck nine, section four, currently heading towards airlock zero-two."

Airlock zero-two was the hatch connecting DS-Nine and the starship. It was guarded, so Laraque would not escape that easily, but T'Svara had no doubt that the girl could somehow slip by. After all, she had walked straight out of the sickbay while the doctor was still there. "Deny her access to the airlock hatch," she ordered in precise, clipped tones. "If possible, lock onto her signal and beam her straight to a holding cell."

"Unable to comply. Transporter lock integrity is insufficient for safe transport."

"Then isolate her with antipersonnel force-fields and do a blanket transport into the brig, assuming it is safe."

"Attempting containment procedures."

T'Svara waited patiently, trying to suppress the feelings of anxiety. It was vital that they talk to her, try to reason with her, get her to tell them what it was like. If the Federation was really as interested as they were trying not to be, then it would give them a big advantage if they knew what the Borg on that side of the transdimensional passage were like. T'Svara admitted that, as a race, the Borg had achieved medical and technological marvels, but at the same time was secretly afraid of them. She had battled them only a little while ago. They were relentless and unemotional, but most importantly, they were apathetic. They had precious few weak points to be exploited. It would be only a matter of time before they would have to overhaul all weapons technology, and repeat the same process again and again to try and stay one step ahead of…

"Containment procedures successful. Ensign Laraque has been transported to the brig."

The Vulcan let out a small sigh in the privacy of the control gondola. "Then lock onto my comm badge and beam me directly to the brig. I want to speak with her in person. T'Svara out." She closed the channel and waited for one-point-eight-eight seconds, upon which time the tingling feeling of the transporter took hold and Pylon One dematerialised around her. The pristine, well-lit replaced the darker walls of DS-Nine. She could see a figure standing in one of the cells. "Ensign Laraque."

Connie Laraque was a young woman, only about twenty-five, and would have been considered to be classically beautiful by her human culture. She was moderately short, but slim, her uniform hugging her waist to accentuate this. Deep burgundy hair cascaded to her shoulders; T'Svara did not recognise the rich, earthy red colour as being natural to humans, but surgical alterations could make anything possible in these modern times. Her eyes were the colour of warm, tropical sea water, but their depths were anything but warm. Connie Laraque was frightened and trapped. And she could not escape from her holding cell. The displacement from her own reality may be more unsettling than anyone had anticipated. Perhaps they should have spoken to her first. She stood silently behind the invisible barrier of the force-field.

"Ensign Laraque, you are indeed a worthy adversary. I shall have to consult my tactical officer and improve our security network. Admittedly, the Sarekar has never had to deal with escaping refugees, but we shall endeavour to redesign our containment protocols to address such issues in the future."

Laraque watched her, silently. Then she paced. Her fingers occasionally hovered just above the vertical plane of the force-field, as though probing it for some invisible weakness, feeling for holes in a completely solid wall. T'Svara pursued regardless. "Ensign, I am sure you are experiencing feelings of guilt, sadness, and confusion. I am only partially acquainted with these emotions, but I am aware that they are keenly unpleasant. We can help you. But you must tell us about the situation of DS-Nine before we beamed you out."

"No-one else made it, did they?"

T'Svara had realised that she was going to have to break the news to her. She regarded the elfin woman for a long moment, then inclined her head, once, jerkily. "I apologise, but our scans registered no other unassimilated life forms. There is another starship that may have rescued your colleagues, but they are currently overdue to return."

Connie sighed. "Perhaps they closed the wormhole in time."

Humans did have a custom of using falsehoods as pleasantries, especially during times of mourning or grief; T'Svara decided to make use of that custom. "There was no evidence that the wormhole was either open or closed when we were inside your reality."

"My reality?" The turquoise eyes flicked to meet the Vulcan's in one sharp movement. "So I was right! That wormhole out there is some kind of passage between different realities, isn't it? I mean, one minute DS-Nine is crawling with Borg, and then I'm whisked into the cleanest ship in the fleet and taken into another universe. Yes, it makes sense! It all makes perfect sense!" All the tension seemed to flow right out of her body, and she resumed pacing, this time with more energy and purpose. "Okay, so I'm in a universe where there are no Borg, right?"

"There are Borg," T'Svara said simply, "but they have not appeared within three years. All indications have led us to believe that they are within the boundaries of the Delta Quadrant. Forgive me, ensign, but you do not seem overly concerned by your status as solitary survivor of Deep Space Nine. Perhaps you require counselling."

Laraque shrugged. "I've lost too many friends in the war to get all blubbery when Death rears its ugly head. And as for counselling, I think everyone in my reality needs it. But it can wait. I can help! I'm an engineer, I can — I need to get out of this cell. Now that I'm safe, I'm not going to harm anyone unless they've got an eyepiece and a prosthetic arm." She stopped pacing again. "Please, captain, I need to be able to do something. The Borg took DS-Nine away from me. Without a home, what else am I supposed to do?

T'Svara found it difficult to argue with the other woman's logic. She appeared to be physically fit, and she seemed to be in full possession of her mental faculties. And she had evaded capture from both the Borg and Starfleet. Ensign Connie Laraque was good. Good enough to thwart two of the most technologically-advanced conglomerates in the known galaxy. She had knowledge about this other reality that no-one else had. The Vulcan captain made an executive decision and walked to the brig's one and only control panel, disabling the force-field barrier that prevented Laraque from leaving her cell. It flickered out with a brief haze of white light. "Thank-you, captain," the other said. She stepped through the elliptical doorway and brushed her hair back. "I assume that we've docked at DS-Nine?"

"That is correct, ensign. But watch your assumptions."

"Yes, ma'am," Laraque said, bowing her head slightly, suitable chastised.

"I believe that there are guest quarters on deck eight. I will accompany you there. The ordeal over the last few hours must have been a physical and mental strain: it is only logical that you recuperate for twelve to twenty-four hours before consulting the station authorities. If you require anything, the Sarekar's staff will be able to help with any foreseeable issues." She turned and marched towards the door. Laraque followed suit.

*                      *                      *