Author's Thanks: to Inyri!

• I - Thank you. :) Don't worry—I'll keep writing this. It may just be some time between updates, especially because I write so much other stuff, too.

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Author's Note:

I now have a writing critique forum that's my homepage in my bio. Feel free to check it out.

Please critique!

Enjoy:)

7: Introductions :7

Deep Space Nine

"Bullseye," he disinterestedly observed. Quark had been right about one thing; it did get lonely playing darts by himself.

Doctor Bashir went up to the dart board and took out the game pieces. He sauntered back to the spot Miles had always had him stand…

He turned around to find a dart left in the board. He sighed and went to get it—

"Is that a good shot?"

Julian Bashir jumped. "Excuse me?" Now he noticed the petite woman. Her mildly pale skin and narrow frame bespoke probable chronic illness, if she was Human. Her wide plaid skirt went down to midleg, her hairless foreleg bare to her alien ankle-high boot-like shoes. The large green blouse was an odd cut; it billowed about her body, the sleeves connected at the underarm to leave the shoulders bare.

She timidly fingered two orange darts in her hands. He looked again at the dart board and realized the remaining one was the wrong color. "You threw that?"

The young woman bobbed her head once. "From here." She stood at the line.

"That's where you're supposed to reach." He didn't want to do this, but he didn't want to be rude, either. "…Want to play?"

"If you don't mind. I like learning of other species."

Bashir nonchalantly threw his dart. "What are you?"

"Kahl."

He frowned. "Never heard of it."

She made another bullseye. "We're—"

A Jem'hadar soldier approached her and saluted. "Merchandise is moved, Mistress."

He started. What…?

"Jer," she patiently corrected. "Thank you."

"I have been ordered to guard you, Mistre—Jer."

Jer sighed. "As I have informed the Dominion, as touching as I find their concern, it is entirely unnecessary. There is no need—"

"Numerous members of the Artisan's Guild have vanished, lately." Something like a smile tugged the Jem'hadar's lips. "The Kahl may detest us, but you are different."

"You differ from most Jem'hadar, yourself, palian." Jer ran a hand through her golden-brown hair, cropped at her ears. "Now scat before I call security for harassment." Her mild tone could've been a veiled threat or a joke.

"What more excuse do I need to leave?" The warrior's humor was evident, now. He bowed and departed.

Jer shot him a wry look. "Some people don't know when to leave well enough alone."

"You... work for the Dominion?" Bashir guessed, uneasy. He had never seen a Jem'hadar with such a temperament.

"No. I'm actually a bit of a nuisance to them. But I give them fair deals when they want something I have…"

The doctor casually landed another bullseye. "Such as…?

"Stingers' current nesting grounds."

He cast her a quizzical look.

She easily made her third and final perfect throw. "I say 'Stingers' because that's what their name means in my tongue; your kind is not familiar with them."

He matched her. "Why would the Dominion want such information?"

"They're lethal for changelings."

Somehow, her reason didn't surprise him. The Founders often acted in self-interest. "What do they have that you could want?"

Jer smiled slightly. "Various things... Sometimes I'll take something from them, like Ketracel White, to trade with scientists who want to study it. And there are... other ways."

"Oh?"

Her gaze glazed over. "Yes."

Bashir examined the dart board, then looked back at her. "Do all Kahl have such coordination?"

Jer shrugged. "I'm no doctor." She went forward and took the darts from the wall. She returned his to his hand and took a spot beside him. "Perhaps we should throw from an equal distance."

He shook his head. "I stand back here because I'm genetically enhanced."

Black streaks suddenly snaked through the woman's hazel eyes, and her tone abruptly changed into something reminiscent of Garak. "…Are you?"

Deep Space Nine

"Does the Colonel know?"

"I'm sure she's figured it out by now, Jake."

"But what if she hasn't?" The tall young man spoke in quiet earnest with the woman.

She sighed. "Jake—"

"Shouldn't we at least take her to sickbay to check what's causing it? Maybe it's fixable!"

Plié wished she could understand the conversation going on above her. Her eyes darted from one speaker to the other, fighting to recreate the sounds in her mind, to figure out the language. Tears formed. Why did she have to be caught? Had she listened to Shadran the first time, she might've escaped Post Thirty-Eight with her hearing!

"Jake, she's terrified of everyone. The last thing she needs right now is a physical—"

"But if we wait—"

"But if we don't wait, she might end up permanently terrified of us. I'm not going to take that risk, Jake." She took a step towards the room in which her young son slept. "And neither are you."

From the way the younger man looked after the woman, Plié guessed the infant was wailing. A tear escaped her eyes and trickled down her cheek. Stiffening, she immediately wiped it off, looking away.

She felt a hand on her shoulder. "You all right, Plié?"

She watched him, frustrated, fatigued, and frightened.

Unable to help herself, she started to cry.

Cardassian Shuttle

"Protector Garak to Deep Space Nine, requesting permission to dock."

"Garak? Aren't you a good week early for the negotiations?"

"Now, Colonel," he replied mildly, amused. "Surely one can pay a visit to old friends without arousing suspicion."

"Garak."

"You needn't worry, Colonel. My business with being here early is strictly personal."

"We're reading three lifesigns. Who's with you?"

"One of your own people we're returning, and—

"You're only now returning—"

"We found her a few days ago. The third one is a puzzle for Doctor Bashir."

"No guards?"

"None. It is personal, as I said." How personal, he wasn't going to tell anyone.

He heard the Bajoran woman's frustrated sigh. She must be under a lot of pressure for their usual banter to irritate her, so. "…You can dock at ring forty-two."

"Thank you, Colonel." He cut the line.

"Shakaar."

He turned towards his guest. "Pardon?"

"Shakaar is pressuring her." At his look she didn't move. "You thought she must currently be under a lot of pressure."

Garak hid his surprise. A telepathic Bajoran?

Her dark eyes' odd glaze flared brightly before dimming. "As I said, my condition is unrelated to your people."

…Interesting. "So I see."