The Defiant slipped back into realspace right on schedule.

A lonely, isolated star system was the setting for the Alliance's rendezvous with the wayward Starfleet ship. It was comprised of seven planets, and the tightly-muscled vessel had emerged in the shadow of the sixth far-flung planet, a tiny ball of rock and ice where the burning star appeared as a flare of light in the far distance. They were not overly far from DS-Nine. If they pursued a direct course, they could return to the passageway within an hour or so. But to Captain Sisko, it felt like so much more. He watched the main viewscreen with a dour expression as the starlines snapped back into delicate pinpoint rhinestones against the black velvet cloth of space. "Helm controls unlocking," Lieutenant Dax reported. "We have control again. The cloaking device is still operating under its altered state, but at reduced levels. All stations report nominal."

Beyond the transparent membrane of the forward screen and the layers of hull material and embedded machinery, the emptiness of space loomed. Sisko stared at it with a razor gaze, but it silently chose to keep its secrets to itself.

"Captain," the Kira-replicant said calmly, "we're going to have to decloak and broadcast a signal to let them know we're here."

"Do it."

Like a sleeping dragon, the rumble of the EPS conduits came up a notch. The bridge felt a little bigger when the lights returned to standard brightness. A series of rapid-fire chirps from the Tactical II console filled the air, a stilted machinated parody of a bird's song, and the Kira-replicant transmitted a long string of what sounded like computer code. In his mind, Sisko could imagine the bursts of energy hurtling across the gap between them and the planet, bright blue sparks that existed for the briefest of moments before vanishing into subspace and ceasing to exist within the usual laws of physics. Somewhere on the planet surface, a receiving device would capture every single one of those tiny sparks and translate it into a code that would serve to identify them as a non-threatening ship.

Another, more insistent noise emanated from the screens that the Kira-replicant attended to. "We've got a hit," she reported with a hint of relief. "The outpost is responding. They're undetected and ready to welcome us in."

"Planet-side?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then what about the Defiant?"

The Bajoran checked a string of text on the monitors in front of her. "For assessment, we'll be docking at a base hidden…hidden further in-system. All senior officers are to transfer down to the sixth planet for debriefing and orders. Worf, Dax, and I will pilot us to the space station while you and your crew disembark."

Sisko clearly didn't like the idea, but nodded tersely. "Dax, you're with me. Computer, page Lieutenant Worf, and Doctor Bashir – they are to meet me in transporter room one immediately. You three…" he swept one arm around the bridge to include the replicants. "You are now in temporary command. I trust you far enough to let you take the ship into dock, but I want to meet you on the planet as soon as you're done. I want to get to the bottom of this." He stood from the chair and smoothed the wrinkles out of his uniform. It was clean and mostly-neat, but he felt like a hot shower and some time with nothing to think about. Time without the replicants, who seemed to alternate between desperate and independent, trusting and mistrustful, honest and deceitful. He was angry that they had used his ship as the catalyst for their plan, but at the same time, could not fault them for it. They were in an alternate universe with few resources and an infinitely-diabolical opponent. In their situation, Ben Sisko would have done the same thing. Although…there was no sense in placing a fully-armed starship in their hands. He made sure that Miles O'Brien was in charge and would intervene if the replicants attempted to take the Defiant off-course.

It was time to find out the truth.