Author's Thanks: to Frost Deejn & Inyri!

• F D - I'm not beyond hope! Yay:) Yeah, I know it's hard… and I know that in-depth mystery is a weak point of mine. Thank you. :)

• I - Hm… yes, in a few more chapters. I think my pacing's off, so I'll be working on that, too. :) This a soon enough update for you:p (Next chapter isn't written yet, though.)

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Author's Reminder: don't blaspheme or swear, but do tell me your thoughts & do put a smiley after jokes!

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10: Surprises :10

- - - Deep Space Nine - - -

So this is DS9. The strange Bajoran's dark eyes examined the corridor around her as she stepped off the shuttle. The designs matched.

A joined Trill approached her. "Wel—"

"The Protector has gone to his quarters." She automatically responded to the Trill's thought before she spoke her mind. "This station is Cardassian."

When the young woman didn't answer at first, Naleet looked at her. She realized she'd answered an unspoken question, again; it had bothered the Trill.

"What?" Automatically she spoke with the threatening annoyance she'd perfected over the last… too long. Naleet knew that modifying her statement wouldn't help anything, so she didn't bother.

The Trill calmly accepted her statement in her own strength, though the symboiant did help her from outwardly revealing her scrutiny of Naleet's personality. "What were you doing with the Protector?"

Naleet merely turned and gave the young woman the steady gaze that followers of her master had learned to avoid receiving long ago. Not that she would maim or kill this Trill—she knew when it was unnecessary. But she wasn't about to change the personality she'd developed over the past decades for survival's sake.

After a moment, the girl put out a hand and donned a bright smile. "Lieutenant Ezri Dax." Naleet didn't reply. Ezri dropped her hand but still sounded cheery. "Would you like to have lunch? There are a few native Bajoran restaurants on the Promenade."

Naleet gave a gracious nod and followed. The woman didn't have any duplicitous motives. The Bajoran had learned the hard way that "gifts" could easily be concealed bribes or worse.

She hadn't asked to be a Puayth's concubine.

- - - Memory - - -

"Puayth!"

The scream jerked her attention from the Narkot she faced—it finished him off, anyway. Her fellows jabbered and yelled in probably as many languages as there were companies.

A photon grenade went off. She would've inverted if not for it. Pain pounded her temples as she fought to keep it under control. It wasn't easy. She was too young to be carrying a sixty-year-old Quirni.

Another Narkot. It—and therefore she—"saw" his knife. Laipor level, she analyzed, and they struck.

His neck snapped, the warrior fell beside her. She was already scanning for new enemies. Most were ignoring her, a small female Kahl, too young to be joined or a threat. She was twelve.

She'd been joined at three.

They waded through the mud towards the previous scream. Jeyer was terrified. What was she doing, wandering towards a Puayth

We can do this, Heer insisted. We've done it, before.

You and Momma did! Jeyer didn't trust Heer to keep her safe. She wasn't supposed to trust the Quirni for that. She was supposed to keep it safe.

How could she do that when she couldn't yet manage herself?

- - - Deep Space Nine - - -

She shot upon her feet, nearly flinging herself into the wall before realizing she was not in the midst of a battle. …But where was she?

A dim memory floated to her mind of coming here as a painter. A painter… like Momma, but not like Momma.

What did that mean?

She tried to get up, but her limbs wouldn't work on their own. In their wild shaking she barely got herself to a sitting position. Her teeth chattered.

She struggled to figure out her memory. Who was she, then? Heer or Jeyer?

- - - Deep Space Nine - - -

This isn't possible…

"…Odo?" Nerys asked weakly.

The changeling nodded gruffly. "Nerys."

"…You're back."

Another nod. "Yes."

Colonel Kira Nerys managed to professionally guide him down the hallway. "Welcome."

"Thank you." Odo avoided looking at her. "I presume I can offer you congratulations with Shakaar or some other new involvement?"

Her chest cramped. "No. I… I'm not seeing anyone."

"So… lunch would be fine?"

"I promised Plié I'd take her to the Replimat." Nerys' automatic response made her wince. The unbelievable had happened, and this was her response to it?

Her friend looked intrigued. "Plié?"

Nerys wasn't sure that she wanted Odo knowing about the girl, just yet. "She's a Bajoran girl we found. I'm sure she won't mind you coming."

Odo shook his head. "I don't want to intrude—"

"Don't say that. You're always welcome."

A regretful smile appeared on Odo's face. "Always?"

"Of course."

- - - Deep Space Nine - - -

Bashir stared at the corpse before him.

Not a corpse. It lived yet.

"Fascinating, isn't it?" Garak smiled in his private Cardassian way.

The computer beeped. "I've never seen anything like it," the doctor admitted as he went to examine the bioreadings. Wait a… Doctor Bashir called up the records unidentified sample from before and of the unidentified live mass he had in hibernation. He superimposed the readings and compared the result to what lay on his biobed.

Similar. Frighteningly similar.

He took a higher resolution scanner and approached the patient. Full gouges were missing from the alien, a red-and-black mass writhing and slowly rebuilding each part.

"You can cut them in half, and they'll restructure themselves," Garak lightly commented. "Assuming they've had a few seconds to prepare for it."

Bashir's head shot up. "You know this species!"

That unnerving spy smile never wavered. "I've had the pleasure of meeting one or two."

"Can you contact one?"

Garak's smile dropped. "Absolutely not."

"Garak—"

"I understand your problem, Doctor. Unfortunately, I cannot help you in his situation."

Doctor Bashir glared.

"I can tell you that this man came out of an ancient Pah-Wraith artifact."

Came out of? "How do you know this is a man?"

Garak waved at the higher energy readings at the base of the patient's neck. "Females carry lower. About where the Terran sternum is." He shrugged. "At least, that's how the female I know carries hers."

"Carries her what? Young?"

"Oh, no. They carry their young like we do—at least, they can. I don't know how else they might be able to do it."

Bashir scowled. "Then what do they carry?"

Garak smiled yet again. "That is the question, isn't it?"