Star Trek Aegis: The Valley of PeacePart II

by DarKush

In Part 2 of Valley of Peace Cardassian militants succeed in kidnapping the Founder guilty of nearly destroying Cardassia Prime, capturing Aegis Captain Glover in the process. Now both changeling and Glover will be put on trial for their crimes against th

II

JUDGMENTS

CHAPTER SEVEN

The arctic vacuum of space quickly devoured the bright, red-orange flames spouting from the Rakal. Lt. Commander Aquiel Uhnari leaped out of the captain's chair, eyes riveted to the screen. "What the hell just happened now?" The Haliian was still miffed that Molok had been able to disarm Lt. Weathers, giving her a nasty concussion, and then beamed off of Aegis onto the Cardassian ship, throwing Captain Glover's plan completely awry. She, along with the rest of the bridge crew had been waiting innumerable anxious minutes, bathed in the garish red light of red alert mode, for the result of the Klingon's foolhardy action. And now they had it. Wreckage, twisted metal and broken bodies spat onto the pristine canvas of stars, an affront to its glacial, eternal beauty.

"Apparently there was some explosion in the starboard docking area of the Cardassian warship." Cadet Nsin responded, the translator's tinny computerized voice barely audible over the loud clacking of the excitable Jarada's mandibles and pincers. "There was a hull breach."

"Survivors?" Uhnari glanced at both the Ops and Science stations, knowing their sensors were more sensitive in detecting bio-signatures. Lomar responded first:

"Sensors detecting several Cardassians, an Angosian, and one human life sign. There is too much interference." He mumbled with a mild strain of annoyance, his placid features wrinkling with distaste. Aquiel's heart both soared and sank as she realized that only one human-Ivan or the captain-had possibly survived whatever had happened on the Rakal. And she felt like a traitor for praying to the gods that it be her lover, hungry to be in his arms, to touch his mind and share his soul again. She blinked away the evil, terrible, but true thought as she looked at the listing Keldon-class vessel. "What about the bodies in the debris field?"

"Scanning," Zene responded. Seconds later, he looked up at the expectant commander, shaking his elongated head, his shoulders sagging with disappointment.

"Damn." She cursed, her skin growing hot with fear as her anxiety took hold. "Are the Rakal's shields down now?" She snapped, her nerves fraying.

"Aye." Nsin responded.

"Beam out our people," she turned to look at the screen, unwilling to give in to the impulse to flee to the dark, almost gothic comforts of Main Engineering. "Now!"

"Beam out successful." Uhnari rubbed imaginary beads of sweat off of her crested brow.

"Good job Mr. Nsin." She smiled at the insectoid. It observed with the two large, compound pairs of eyes set on the sides of its head for a couple of seconds before nodding. "Now, scan that ship again for any other human life signs." Aquiel fought against the urge of running down to Sickbay to see which human had made it off of the Rakal. Not until she had exhausted all of her options for saving the remaining crewmember, and until the Aegis was safely out of harm's way.

"Rakal is firing!" The cadet said, its multifaceted vision watching both its tactical display panel while also maintaining 'eye contact' with the lieutenant commander. Amber beams of energy erupted from the destroyer's port flank.

"Evasive maneuvers!" Uhnari sat back down in the captain's chair, grabbing the armrests, flinching in anticipation of the destruction about to rain upon the starship, her prayers already going out to those caught in the wake of the volley. She closed her eyes momentarily, as the bridge rocked and the dim lighting grew even dimmer, winking out for several seconds, before being restored. She opened her eyes, and quickly took in her surroundings. There were no sparking, smoking consoles, leaking plasma conduits or flames. For that she was grateful, but even more so because she was not greeted with the sight of more seared, shattered, and bloodied comrades. She had seen too many over the last few months. "Damage report?" Uhnari glanced at the crew.

"Minimal damage. No casualties. Shields holding at 72" Nsin reported.

"It's the Lissepian ship commander." The oddly quiet Lt. Rojas remarked, lines of worry crawling across her round face. "Look!" Aquiel took the helm officer's advice.

"Core breach is imminent," Lt. Mercer at the auxiliary Engineering console, called out.

"More power to forward shields," Uhnari commanded, gripping both armrests tightly again. "This won't be pretty." Though the Aegis could warp away to a safe distance before the Lissepian ship's parabolic core exploded, ripping across subspace, she decided to gamble that the rest of the crew also shared her desire to retrieve both the missing crewman and the Founder; whatever the risks.

Seconds later the freighter exploded, the viewer's sensors filtering the blinding intensity of the blast as the ship flared into oblivion. Aquiel wished that the ship's shields could similarly adjust to the shockwave produced by the explosion. Caught full force in the shock wave, the ship pitched to the starboard side, trying to ride through the gale. Overstressed systems sparked around her, filling the bridge with thick smoke and flames. Uhnari dug into the leather armrests, and she planted her feet. She blinked through the stinging mists of foam that rained down on the bridge courtesy of the fire suppression system spread through the ceiling bulkheads.

She heard Lt. Mercer curse in pain behind her before going silent, but she didn't want to swivel around, and see what her heart already knew. The blast had thrown Lt. Rojas from her station as well. On unsteady legs, she retook her seat, a sliver of white bone poking out of the shredded arm of her uniform. With her good hand, she began tapping commands into the flight control console to keep the bucking starship on a steady course. "Medical team to the bridge!" Uhnari screamed after flipping a toggle on the command chair. Seconds later, the maelstrom ended as quickly as it had begun. Within minutes, Dr. Pham and two nurses were on the bridge, attending to the casualties.

"Ship's status?" Aquiel looked at Nsin. The arachnoid, firmly rooted at its post, in no small measure due to having six legs, responded. "Shields are down to 34. Twelve casualties and two fatalities reported in on Decks 7, 9, and 12, but no permanent damage to warp engines and no hull breaches."

"May the spirits bless their journeys," Uhnari prayed, looking at the screen. The viewer filled with the smoldering remnants of the freighter, sliced apart with ease by the Keldon-class destroyer. "What about the Rakal?" She asked. "Did they survive?"

"The Cardassians are attempting to activate their cloaking device." Lomar informed her. "But they appear to be having difficulty successfully engaging it."

"What?" She swung her head from Nsin back to the main viewer.

"A distraction." The Kelvan Science Officer answered. The Rakal flickered like a dying candle as the dark waves of the cloaking field struggled to take hold. "Disable that thing now Mr. Nsin!" She snapped. "I'm not letting those murderers get away!" The plating beneath her feet shuddered as the Jarada released several phaser blasts at the Rakal from the starship's dorsal phaser bank. They passed cleanly through space as the warship shrouded beyond their ability to detect.

"Full spread, photon and quantum torpedoes; all phaser banks!" Uhnari whirled around, a snarl in her voice. "We'll light this patch of space up. Cloak or not, their minimal shielding won't be able to withstand such a volley." But neither will the last remaining crewmen, the thought knifed through her mind before she dismissed it. "On my mark…" Before she gave the order to fire, Lomar interrupted her.

"I detected a warp signature right before the cloaking device was engaged. They've gone to warp sir."

"How is that possible?" Aquiel looked over at the absent Engineering console, manned only minutes before by the deceased Lt. Mercer. She winced with regret and her own shame at being unable to look death in the face, failing to give the departed junior engineer at least that much respect.

"Ships shouldn't be able to warp with hull breaches, but apparently the Rakal has," Lomar picked up the slack.

"Track their ion trail," groused the Haliian as she turned away from the screen, struggling not to choke on her anger and frustration.

Seeming to understand the meaning behind her action, the Science Officer's voice was even tighter and devoid of emotion when he replied. "The destruction of the Lissepian freighter and its warp core engines has irradiated this sector of space, erasing their ion trail. The massive discharge of disruptive energy into the already volatile subspace field would surely engulf the Aegis as well as the Rakal. Our weakened shields might not hold."

" 'Shields might not hold?'" Uhnari challenged, though she already knew what she had to do. Her shoulders' slumping almost as if in imitation of Lt. Zene, Aquiel turned next to the Elloran. "Mr. Zene, send an Alpha-One channel message to Starfleet Command. Tell them we've got a situation…."

"Impressive," a ragged Gul Keshet remarked as he gazed at the scorched, but seamless portside wall of the Rakal's shuttle bay, unable to tell where the wall ended and the Founder began. Only mere minutes ago, there had been a jagged hole in the wall, the result of an explosion he had caused to prevent Captain Glover from completing his escape. The crafty move had punctured the ship, sucking men, equipment, and material out into the unforgiving stars. The death of any loyal Cardassian was a tragedy, but he promised the sacrifices made today would not be forgotten.

"Indeed," Glinn Sulle managed between intakes of breath, her lungs still greedily sucking in air. Both a medical team, headed by Gil Rumal and an engineering team, led by Chief Tech Lajal had already arrived, clearing the deck of debris, both metal and organic. "It's a mystery as to why the Founder has covered the breach. I thought Changelings didn't need oxygen," she whispered. "She could've easily slipped through the hole and left us all to asphyxiate."

"Don't give it any ideas," Darcis chided, his words slurring as he massaged his bandaged thighs. He lazily swatted away another nattering medic and limped to stand beside Keshet, opposite Sulle. The reek of the medicines coursing through his system, dulling his pain and keeping the behemoth semi-conscious was almost overwhelming. "Despite your intervention, I sufficiently weakened the thing. Her fate is tied to our own, and the shape shifter knows it."

The gul could feel the hatred radiating off of the intelligence agent, even in his drugged state. If he didn't act to close the rift between Levara and Darcis soon, he feared that Sulle would soon end up dead. He didn't want to lose Levara, the closet thing he had to a friend, to family since the death, the noble sacrifice of his wife Nebel. He would never dishonor her memory by taking Sulle into his bed or his house, but he had taken her into his confidence.

A twinge of frustration pinched Keshet's heart. As much as he cared for Sulle, he couldn't rid himself of Darcis…just yet. In the wake of Danclus's assassination, Legate Tarkon had completely capitulated, joining his tripartite masters in actively shutting down True Way cells throughout the Union.

The ranks had been severely gutted. Crushed by Nebel's death, hounded by his oppressors, with dwindling funds and armaments, Keshet had almost pondered, for a few seconds at least, turning himself into the authorities, if only for the well being of the soldiers under his command. He had even considered cobbling his forces with those gathering under the Crimson Shadow banner in the Crolsa system. Keshet had decided against it. The Shadow's leader, a charismatic young gul named En'Roel was too rash for his taste. His was style too unpredictable, motivated by romanticism and exhortation rather than careful planning and ruthless execution. Keshet hadn't begrudged any of his soldiers who had decided to cast their lots with the dashing En'Roel. If he had been a younger man he might've joined them too. Alas, not only had many of his fighters flocked to Crolsa but so had most of the sinecure from the movement's network of financiers. The True Way had been on the verge of total extinction.

But Darcis had arrived at his hideout on Celtris III, a dark angel bearing leks and gifts of armor and ordnance. The most important of which had turned out to be the Rakal itself, equipped with a Klingon Class IV cloaking device, that according to Darcis had been plundered from a captured Maquis raider, one of a many tactics the foreheads had used to stifle the ambitions of the Union since losing Raknal V during the long Betreka Nebula standoff several decades past.

The Rakal had used the cloaking device to great effect, raiding allied shipping, restocking their forces, and today to escape the Federation's clutches despite the occasional glitches caused by the barbarian machinery's incapability with Cardassian technology.

Gifts such as the cloaking device, their new base Razad Kor, and the flight schedule of the Aegis, supplied by Darcis through some shadowy benefactors, kept him alive for now; Or at least until he could pierce the crafty spy's veil of secrecy to deal personally with their patron.

If for no other reason to but thank them for the bold stroke that Darcis told him the gifts were for: the capture, trial, and execution of the Founder. Not only would it reaffirm Cardassian strength throughout the quadrant, he could think of no better way to ensure that his wife's sacrifice would not be in vain. Eliminating Darcis to work directly with his benefactors was merely topping on the larish pie.

The gul should've felt exultant. His soldiers had once again performed well despite the obstacles thrown in their path. He had taken on a Prometheus-class starship, the largest and most powerful of Starfleet's vessels, helmed by one of the Federation's best captains, and he had won. Not only was the Founder Leader, the butcher of millions of Cardassians in his custody, he also had netted Captain Terrence Glover and the cursed Captain Molok, both notorious war criminals against the Cardassian people. He should've been joyous, but he wasn't. He was tired. Empty. Lonely.

He missed Nebel, wished she were here, and would forgo vengeance against the heinous Founder to have her by his side again. With a sigh he turned away from the buzzing activity in the shuttle hold, and away from the brewing hatreds of his First Officer and Intelligence Observer.

"Good work," he said aloud, to the various crewmen milling about the bay, in front of and now behind him, injecting a strength he didn't feel into his voice, "your actions today bring us one step closer to the liberation of our people." The hold erupted into cheers. A practiced smile crept over his marred face. Pointing at a stack of unscathed wooden crates tucked into the far right corner of the shuttle bay, Keshet crowed, "Today we were as indomitable as our kanar. After your duties, drink your fill. That's an order!" More lusty cheers rang throughout the room.

Sulle lightly touched his arm. "Do you think that is wise Gul Keshet?" she dared asked. "We are several days away from Razad Kor, and if our cloak doesn't hold, we need each soldier sober and alert."

Keshet paused to look at the offending hand on his arm. Levara, realizing her mistake, ripped her hand away from his arm as if it were a serpent coiling to strike. He smiled again, this time it was more intimate, and glacial, for her and the ever observant Darcis.

"Great victories must be celebrated. Today was such a day. Tomorrow may be different, so let them cling to today for a little while longer."

"Gul Keshet is correct," Darcis shook his fleshy head. "Tomorrow might be a different story indeed." He hunched his large shoulders as he rose to tower over Glinn Sulle.

Meeting his dark eyes, her rasp deadly quiet. "Indeed."

"Glinn Sulle, make sure that once Lajal is certain that hull forcefields are fully operational again, and atmospheric integrity is assured, that you scrape that," he paused to flick a deceptively casual thumb in the direction of the Founder. The engineer's technicians were scouring the false wall with scanning devices, "is removed and secured in a holding cell."

"Yes milord." Levara stood at full attention, her blue eyes flashing with competent obedience.

Rubbing his own reddened, aching eyes, Keshet dreaded returning to his cramped stateroom, stacks of musty legal books and padds strewn over his desk and floor. But he knew it was necessary, if he was to honor Nebel satisfactorily. He would bear any burden to do so, pay any price.

Reaching the bay doors, he glanced back into the hold at Darcis, a bottle of the sweet brown liquid already at his plump lips. I've already ransomed my soul, my love, he gazed up into the bulkheads, past them, into the heavens, I pray that it is worth it.

The fog of kanar evaporated instantly when Darcis placed the hypospray against the fat of his neck. With a pleasing hiss, the antioxidant coursed through him, chilling the numbing effects of the alcohol.

He didn't answer the insistent chime of the incoming message on his desktop computer, until he felt he was of sufficient mental capacity. Even if the Obsidian Order was no more, it had drilled into him the importance of maintaining an image of control Straightening his black robe, he ran a large hand over his face, and smoothed his hair.

Darcis then glanced over at the young man, one of Lajal's technicians, tangled comfortably in his bed sheets. "Pretar," he cooed. He waited several seconds for a response; the console's beeping building in his ears. Unwilling to take a chance on being overheard, he quickly rifled through his small desk, producing another hypospray. With a grace belying his girth, he glided over to the bed and quickly poked the lovely Pretar with a sedative. His thin lips parted with a sigh.

Sighing himself, he plopped down before his monitor, now satisfied to activate his encryption protocol. Within seconds, the viewer flared to life. An annoyed Romulan glared at him.

"What kept you?" The Romulan demanded, his avian features pinched with impatience. Darcis had never seen his counterpart so ruffled before. His small, careful smile hid his titanic pleasure at finding a pressure point to be exploited at a future date.

"Colonel Viredis," he nodded in false deference.

"What kept you?" Viredis repeated.

"That is no concern of yours," Darcis allowed a hint of venom to pepper his response. "You have my attention now. What do you want?"

"The Founder is secured?"

"Of course. Not only that but we also have Capt. Glover of the Starfleet ship Aegis, and a Klingon captain. They both should be able to provide a wealth of tactical and strategic information."

"The Founder is our only concern," the Romulan lied, before adding. "And of course Keshet. He will pay for his crimes against the Romulan people."

"I believe that his wife was the one who blew your Sub-Admiral to bits," Darcis replied, seeking to find additional emotional fissures.

Viredis exhaled before smiling. "You never cease in your games Shau Darcis. Not during our time together at Internment Camp 275, or now. In that way you are very Romulan and that is why the Tal Shiar tolerates you."

"I'm glad someone does," he quipped.

"Does Keshet suspect anything is amiss?"

"Of course not," Darcis scoffed. "I am not an amateur in the ways of deception."

"Of that I am well aware," Viredis smiled, the gesture more chilling than the medicines that had crystallized the kanar in his system. "When will your ship arrive at Razad Kor?"

"Four days."

"I look forward to seeing you soon then." Without waiting for a response, the Romulan severed the communication link. The blackness on the screen mirrored Darcis's thought.

Why did he have to bring up Camp 275? He thought, stretching his arms around to stroke at the cable-like scars running along his back. Both he and Viredis had served as part of Enabran Tain's joint Obsidian Order-Tal Shiar strike force, determined to wipe out the changeling threat in a bold preemptive strike.

But the Founders had beaten both organizations at their own game. A shape shifter posing as a Tal Shiar colonel led them into an ambush. Jem'Hadar warships had wiped out most of their combined fleet. The few survivors had been scattered to internment camps across the Dominion.

At Camp 275, Darcis, who had considered himself a master in the arts of torture and interrogation, had discovered that he was merely a novice. But he had remembered each infliction, his eidetic memory storing them all for future reference. Some he even planned to use on his new prisoners.

He sat at the desk for a few more minutes, cursing with regret that Pretar would not be lucid until morning. With nothing to do, and the steady march of the chronometer beginning to hammer his eardrums, Darcis decided to visit his prisoners. Slipping out of his robe, leaving it on the floor, he pulled a charcoal gray tunic and pants from his closet. Fully clothed within minutes, he stretched, wiggling his toes inside his thick boots.

Pulling a knife and a small, oval Klingon agonizer from his desk, Darcis hobbled out of his quarters, favoring his still tender thigh wounds. If I can't sleep tonight, they won't either, he thought, smiling as his large frame flushed with anticipatory pleasure.

"Can I count on your endorsement Samuel?" Retired Admiral Norah Satie, currently leading Jaresh-Inyo in the polls in the 2376 contest for the Federation presidency, asked. The burning in her eyes was less than severe than usual.

"Now why would you want to ruin our lunch," Admiral Sam Glover playfully asked, his bushy, black mustache scratching the tip of his nose as his smile widened. The lanky man leaned back in his seat, running a hand over his hairless, walnut brown head. "I thought this was supposed to be a platonic lunch date."

"It is," Norah smiled, coquettishly batting her eyes. "I didn't lie when I said I wanted to see you." She cooed, revealing a softness he hadn't witnessed in her since their days at Starfleet Academy.

Glover finished his Altair water before speaking again. "I'm still wearing the uniform. You know it's improper for me to endorse any candidate for political office."

"Henry Thomas did." Satie said proudly. Sam knew that had to be a coup of sorts for her because Admiral Thomas had shut down her rabid investigation into suspected Romulan sabotage on the Enterprise-D several years ago. Norah, who had been instrumental in uncovering the neural parasite conspiracy that almost engulfed the whole of Starfleet over a decade ago, had un-retired to root out a similar conspiracy. But the customary zeal that he admired in the woman had consumed her, turning the inquiry into a witch hunt. Receding in disgrace back into retirement, Satie had returned to the public stage with a vengeance, challenging the incumbent president Jaresh for the top spot, hitting the amiable Grazerite hard on his handling of the Cardassian relief mission as well as his post-war Federation security policy.

With the news detailing new insurgent violence in the Cardassian territories, the haphazard responses to recovery efforts elsewhere throughout the Federation, the refusal of the Romulans to extricate themselves from the Benzar system, and continuing fears of Changeling infiltration had ignited Satie's steady rise in the polls.

"Admiral Ranor, your predecessor has also endorsed me." Satie replied. "I could really use your help Samuel. You know you agree with me."

"To tell you the truth, I do agree with you…not on all the issues, but most. However, I think would be unseemly for the head of Starfleet Security to openly endorse President Jaresh's opponent. Especially so soon after the Leyton incident."

"I used to wear that uniform too," Satie replied, a slightly hurt tone in her voice. "Even though I've left the Fleet, I've never abandoned the Federation, or what it stands for, and right now I fear that a vast majority of our citizens, with Jaresh-Inyo being chief among them, don't know what the Federation stands for."

Not wanting to get entangled into a political discussion, but bowing to its inevitability, Sam, hating himself for doing so, asked. "How so?"

Norah's eyes brightened at his question. She had always been a bit of a pedant. "Jaresh is pushing to annul the currently standard blood-screenings for all high ranking Starfleet and Federation officials. He has already presented legislation to the Federation Council on this matter. To propose something, so soon after the war, when the Founder who started it has yet to face justice is preposterous."

Glover nodded without replying. His department had created the guidelines and procedures for the blood screenings, put in place to block further Changeling infestation into Starfleet Command. Though Changeling's could mimic humanoid blood, the fake gore would revert to its natural gelatinous state if separated from the shape shifter for a few seconds. Though the war was over, Glover had spoken himself on numerous occasions, facing some stiff opposition in some quarters, to maintaining the blood screenings and several other crucial security measures to make the Federation's leadership and information centers less vulnerable to parasitic, Changeling, or terrorist assault.

"And don't get me started on Jaresh's timid handling of those Cardassian militants."

"Then don't," Glover had said a little more sharply than he intended.

Ignoring the barbed comment, Satie continued. "Ceding the Crolsa system to the Klingons displays weakness and a tolerance of lawlessness that is unacceptable. I can't fault his prosecution of the war, but he is losing the peace."

Sam looked around the small, dimly lit bistro, his practiced eye searching for any Federation News Service reporters hidden among the diners. Joseph Sisko was generally pretty good at securing an atmosphere of privacy for some of the more notable personages to grace his Creole restaurant. Norah Satie, surging presidential candidate, surely ranked among one of his most famous. It was credit to the man's tenacity that Glover hadn't spotted any furtive media hounds, slinking around the eatery, recorders at the ready. Glover made a note to commend Joseph the next time he saw him.

Despite the fact that his son Terrence counted Joseph's son Benjamin as one of his best friends, the admiral had dined at Sisko' s Creole Kitchen for the first time shortly after his appointment as Security Chief two months ago.

Since then he had been hooked. Dapping absently at his mustache with a napkin, Glover used his other hand to summon one of the wait staff. "I'm sorry Norah, but I've got to go. You know how it is."

"Yes, I do," she smiled back, her eyes blazing like a furnace. "Thank you for your time."

The admiral quickly keyed in a code into the pad the Tarkelean waiter handed him. "I'll take care of the bill."

"Why thank you sir," Satie's voice dripped with faux Southern American charm.

"When you're back on Earth let's try this again. Absent the politics."

"As attractive as I find your offer, I don't think that will be possible," Norah said with profound sincerity. "Because the next time I return to Earth, I will be coming as the president-elect."

"I don't know whether to laugh or cry at that assertion."

"Me neither."

"Come," Admiral Glover said, tugging the wrinkles out of his tunic as the doors to his office slid open to reveal Captain Tryla Scott.

Why are you here? He thought as he rose in greeting, stretching out a hand that she quickly grasped and pumped as soon as she reached his desk. "Hello Captain Scott, this is quite a surprise. How may I be of assistance?"

The old admiral couldn't help but admire the poise of the famous captain, the youngest person ever to be promoted to the rank. Her smooth walnut brown skin and the lithe curves of her body only enhanced the impression of grace and vigor. He could see why his son had fallen for her all those years ago. Of course Terrence had never told him about their affair, but he had his sources. He would be damned if he allowed his son to go out into the cosmos without finding a way to keep an eye on him someway.

Releasing the captain's hand, Sam peered at her for several awkward seconds, scanning her dossier in his mind. Despite her confident appearance, Tryla Scott was still a troubled woman. Her stellar career had taken a damaging blow when she had become possessed by the neural parasites intent on conquering the Federation almost a decade ago that Satie had uncovered. Sam was certain that that event had played a major role in the dissolution of her relationship with his son.

She had left Starfleet a year after the conspiracy had been thwarted by Capt. Picard of the Enterprise, joining the Nyberrite Alliance on the fringes of charted space. She had worked for the Alliance for several years, doing what, neither he nor Starfleet Intelligence, weren't exactly certain, before returning to active duty after the second Borg invasion of the Federation in 2373. The Borg attack followed by the outbreak of the Dominion War left Starfleet in need of good personnel, especially captains.

Despite her mishaps, Tryla still had a claque of admirals singing her praises and she was reinstated to the captain's chair without much investigation. Of course, the captain had done nothing, during or after the war, to warrant a full investigation. However, the thought lay coiled, along with many others, like serpents in the nether reaches of the admiral's mind. "Please sit down," he gestured to one of the two black leather chairs facing his ebonite desk.

Scott quickly made her decision to sit in the one closet to the large window that took up an entire wall of his office. The busy night sky blazed with the lights of buzzing hover cars. It almost simulated the streaking stars. Just like Terrence, she seemed more comfortable in space, he noted. Despite being a possible security risk, he found himself liking the woman on a gut level instantly. But he still liked Jasmine more. Sam couldn't help but smile at the thought of his daughter-in-law, before repeating his offer, "How might I help you Captain?"

"I came to ask you that question sir." She replied, her voice strong, her eyes clear and focused on him. Taken aback by the captain's bold manner, Sam did his best to hide his surprise. He retook his seat, and propped his elbows on the hard, polished surface of his desk.

"And how might you help me Captain Scott?"

"It's about Terrence," she said with an almost stony detachment. Glover's stomach clenched. The admiral quickly locked his hands together to keep them from shaking.

He forced himself not to scream. "What about my son?" He asked as calmly as he could, his voice tight with restraint.

"He's been kidnapped by Cardassian militants."

"What?" The admiral gasped, a jabbing pain in his chest. "How?"

"The Aegis was attacked." Captain Scott answered, breaking both protocol and decorum when she slid close to the admiral's desk and placed her hands over his own. Her hands were trembling too. "About 6 hours ago."

"Six hours ago?" His wail inverted into a harsh whisper. "Why wasn't I informed?" His eyes narrowed. "And why are you informing me of this?"

"Because both Starfleet Command and Starfleet Intelligence are still scrambling to hash out the details and sequence of events as to what happened today and why."

"So how did you find out?" Scott removed her hands and placed them back on her lap, sliding backwards in her chair to a comfortable, and Jasper noted, safe, distance.

"Other sources informed me."

"And those sources are?"

"I'm not at liberty to say Admiral."

"What if I order you to Captain?" He barked.

"You can try, but I wouldn't recommend it. It won't get you too far."

"So, why are you here and what does this have to do with Terrence?"

"My…associates…felt I would be the best person to deliver this news, and our offer, since Terrence and I were close once." She paused, her large brown eyes softening her hardened face. "You knew that didn't you?"

"Yes," Sam gasped, a flame in his chest stole the oxygen from his lungs. "Jasmine?" He managed to wheeze out. A shadow flittered across Scott's face at the mention of his daughter-in-law.

"She's alive, but several of the captain's crew didn't survive. The Cardassians absconded with Terrence, a Klingon captain accompanying the mission, and the Founder. Aegis, sans Terrence, is currently on its way back to Deep Space Nine."

"What?" A slick, wet pain opened inside him. Unable to bear the agony, Sam clutched his chest. "How?"

"Are you okay Admiral?" Captain Scott started from her seat, her detachment evaporating into the tense concern expected of a Starfleet officer. He nodded, waving away her offer of help. He yanked a desk drawer open, and pulled out a hypo. The admiral, hands quaking, applied the small canister to his neck.

"What…do you want?" He said after a few anxious minutes.

"We believe that the insurgents' strike on the Aegis was made possible with the help of intelligence and weapons provided by either Klingon or Romulan operatives."

"Klingons? Romulans? But they're our allies!" He leaned back in his seat, the fire in his chest abating.

"What they are," Scott replied, her eyes now becoming as unyielding as her face, "is preparing for the next war. And we must do the same."

"Go on."

"One of our 'allies' is working in concert with insurgents to disrupt the reconstruction effort, to fracture the tripartite alliance by poisoning public opinion on allied homeworlds. As the attacks grow more fantastic, the casualty rates sky rocket, the Federation will be forced to abandon the Cardassians before the situation has been sufficiently stabilized. We believe that one of our coalition partners is waiting in the wings for our disengagement, so that they can absorb the Union into their sphere of influence."

"If what you say is true, surely it must be the Romulans supplying the militants."

"That would seem the most logical theory," Scott replied, her fingers now steepled. "Both the Romulans and Cardassians have a history of working together, albeit with disastrous results in the Omarion Nebula. And Klingon-Cardassian relations have never been more strained, even more so than during the Betreka affair and the Klingon invasion of Cardassia Prime. However, we have learned that what is most logical or obvious usually isn't. The well-documented enmity between the Klingons and the Cardassians would provide a perfect cover dispelling any notion of those two peoples ever working together. Also, the Klingons could be trying to reclaim their sovereignty over Cardassian territory outright, using the insurgents to remove the Federation and Romulans leaving them a free hand in administering the war-ravaged territories."

"And how did your 'sources' come by this information?" Flecks of steel resurfaced in the admiral's frayed voice.

"Does that really matter?" challenged the captain. "All that does matter is that Terrence's life, and the lives of billions, hang on what we do next. With your help we can save Terrence, the Founder, and expose the clandestine connection, turning intergalactic opinion against the conspirator government, destroying whatever designs they have for the Cardassian people, or against Federation interests."

"What do you want me to do?" Sam's voice filled with skepticism.

"Simple," Scott awarded him a curt smile. "The Aegis crew took two Cardassian soldiers into custody. We need to glean as much information from these prisoners as quickly as possible. Of course, my associates can't simply walk onto Deep Space Nine and interrogate the prisoners without the proper clearance. We need you to authorize security clearance for them."

"I can't do that. It's against the law."

"It's amazing what you can do when someone you love is at stake."

"How could you do that? How could you use my son's life as a bargaining chip? I thought you were his friend?"

"I am his friend, that's why I'm here now. My associates are the only ones who can help him. They are not bound by red tape or bureaucratic oversight. They will do what ever it takes to defend the Federation. So will I. The question is: Will you?"

"I…can't."

Scott looked at the chronometer on his desk. "Time is passing Admiral. What's more important, your career or your son's life? Don't you think he and Jasmine have seen too much tragedy in their lives all ready?"

"Who are your associates? What organization do you represent? Do you think I'm going to just give two strangers, from some shadowy group with opaque motives, security clearance to two important prisoners? With possible war with an ally or even the Dominion in the balance?"

The captain nodded. "Very well." She leaned closer to the desk, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. "I'm not supposed to reveal this…but I see your point. There is a bureau, extremely top secret, authorized in the Starfleet Charter predating even the birth of the Federation. The bureau was charged with defending Earth, and now the entire Federation, against all threats to our way of life."

"You mean Section 31?" Sam lost his breath again. The captain's eyes widened with shock. "I thought they were a rumor."

"It's not a rumor."

"How did you, a decorated, celebrated Starfleet Officer, get mixed up with such an extralegal outlaw group?"

"I thought the same thing about them when they approached me," Scott began, whispering again as her eyes took on a misty, far away look. "Right after the Academy. I had blown them off as pranksters at best, as deluded militarists at worse. But I had been wrong. The parasite invasion, followed by the Borg, and then the Dominion had proven that there is a place, a necessary place, for Section 31 in the Federation." She paused to catch her breath, her eyes now clear and boring into the admiral. "I assist them from time to time, and they assist me. They also granted me the permission to offer assistance to you."

"I don't want their assistance," Admiral Glover huffed. "If anything, I should have you detained for even offering it." He moved to activate the comchannel on his desk.

Scott quickly reached across the desk and grabbed his hand. "What you want is your son back. Section 31 is the only real option you have. By the time Starfleet Command, and God forbid, the Federation Council review every little particle of information and evidence of the abduction, it will be too late." The captain released his hand. "The choice is yours."

The admiral's hand hovered over the activation switch for several seconds before he removed it. "My God," he breathed, his head hanging with shame, his body felt every septuagenarian ache and strain, the embers of fire in his chest stirring. "What are you asking me to do?"

"I'm asking you to do everything you can to save not only your son's life but the fragile peace."

"Okay," he whispered, voice barely audible. "You've got it."

CHAPTER EIGHT

Even through subspace, Admiral Shanthi's gaze burned holes through him. Ivan Cherenkov melted in his seat, unable to maintain eye contact with the steely Fleet Admiral. He ran a nervous hand over the fresh scars lacerating his face.

"Let me summarize what you've just reported Commander," the admiral's voice was sharp, accusing. Her stern, darksome face filled the large, rectangular view screen in the Aegis's observation lounge. The Executive Officer noticed several of his fellow officers squirming under Shanthi's frigid scrutiny as well. "The Aegis diverted its course to Nimbus III to respond to a distress call from a Lissepian freighter. Captain Glover ordered two away teams to lend assistance. But it was a trap, sprung by a renegade Cardassian gul named Keshet. Both away teams were captured, and Captain Glover then agreed to trade your lives for that of the Founder Leader?"

Cherenkov briefly looked around the table. Commander Ojana, Lt. Glover, Lt. Donar, Dr. Amoros, Lt. Rojas, and Aquiel, each in various stages of distress nodded their agreement with the sequence of events. Only Ensign Lomar maintained an air of emotional detachment. Cherenkov doubted if the Kelvan even had emotions. Right now, he wished he could've been so fortunate.

"Yes sir," he answered, after completing his silent survey.

"Unacceptable," Shanthi concluded. "What kind of commanding officer would pull such a reckless, foolhardy stunt, with the stakes being so high? And what kind of senior staff would go along with such a scheme?"

"It wasn't a scheme," Aquiel replied, her cheeks blushing dark with anger. "The captain did what he had to do to save lives."

"And I guess you did too when you ordered a retreat instead of pursuing the enemy?"

"Cloaks are next to impossible to penetrate sir. You know that," Cherenkov interceded.

"Correct Commander," Shanthi relented an inch. "But the decision-making evidenced by Captain Glover was of poor quality. I can only assume that his personal," she paused, brown eyes flashing towards Jasmine Glover, "affected his ability to be impartial." The captain's wife's face slicked with fresh tears. Turning away from the screen, Commander Pell rushed to wrap her arms around the woman's trembling shoulders. "A concern of Command that in retrospect has proven apt."

"With all due respect," Commander Pell begun, arms still around the shattered lieutenant, her gaze on the screen, but the admiral cut her off.

"And Captain Glover's mistake was compounded by a crucial lapse in critical thinking by his support staff. The fact that no one raised any formal protest gives me great concern. Once Aegis reaches Deep Space Nine you will remain docked until further instructions." Shanthi swiped at the screen to silence the audible grumbling. "Furthermore, I want the insurgents you captured placed in the custody of Colonel Kira and station Security Chief Daneeka."

"I see no reason for that!" Cherenkov forced himself not to yell, his face reddening with pent up frustration. "You're going to let that Maquis turncoat interrogate prisoners that we captured?"

"You don't have to see anything. All you have to do is follow orders Commander," Shanthi fixed her dolorous gaze solely on him; her next words no less chilling despite their carefully measured delivery. "And if that is a problem for you Commander, I can have the prisoners beamed aboard the Defiant immediately." The reference caused Cherenkov to break eye contact again to look out of the lounge's window at the compact; weapons studded Defiant streaking gracefully alongside the Aegis. "As a courtesy, your Security Chief can assist in the interrogation of the prisoners. Shanthi out."

As soon as the screen blinked off, Cherenkov mumbled an archaic Russian curse before he slid the mask of command back over his face. "You heard the Admiral people," he replied, surprised by how calm his voice sounded. "Thoughts?"

"We're screwed," Lt. Rojas replied.

"My thoughts exactly," agreed Cherenkov.

The fire kissed him like a lover, its warm intensity flared quickly into an unbearable, searing heat that devoured him, running up the pants legs of his uniform; The smell of burning cloth and flesh overwhelming him. He leaned back in his seat, ignoring the pain, his eyes focused on the screen. Several escape pods, mere slivers of silver among the cluttered wreckage of similarly burning and shattered starships, chugged toward the protective shields of Destroyer Unit Five.

Only a few more seconds…Punctuating the thought, the Cuffe shuddered again, the entire aft bank of consoles erupting in sparks. Shards flew past his head, one grazing his ear. He added the pain to the growing list of injuries. The roar of rending metal and frightened screams almost muffled the weakened voice of his stalwart Tactical Officer, Lt. Marizn: "Sir… shields… are… gone. The next good hit…." The Benzite gasped as his console exploded in his face. He fell with a muffled thud to the deck.

Glover couldn't look at him, afraid that seeing a shaft of metal piercing either the young man's blackened chest or face would force him to acknowledge his own pain and impending death. The ship rattled again.

"Juanita," his voice sounded oddly far away, as if it were coming from someone else's lips. "How many more seconds?" He refused to leave the bridge until all of the escape pods from the Roanoke, the Tuskegee, and his own ship had made it to safety. He was proud that his senior officers had all chosen to stay behind with him, knowing it meant certain death as the Cuffe sought to shield the pods from the orbital weapons platforms ringing Cardassia Prime. The platforms had already destroyed both the Roanoke and Tuskegee and were seconds away from shredding the Cuffe

"They've made it!" Ensign Rojas cried, looking back at him, her radiant smile breaking through her soot covered face.

"All of you get out of here!" He yelled, as he tapped several commands into the inset displays on his command chair, a ravenous curl of flames running up his thigh. "Transferring helm and tactical control to the conn now."

Rojas frowned, stiffening in her seat. "I'm not leaving you sir."

"That's an order!" He screamed, more from the now undeniable pain than from anger at her insubordination. Rojas merely turned back around in her seat. She looked back at him.

"Could I have helm control back sir?" Glover couldn't help but smile as he granted her request. He looked around the rest of his ruined, smoky bridge. The remaining officers kept at their posts.

"A damn fine crew," he croaked. "A damn fine crew. I can't think of a bettergroup of people I would rather die with." A deep voice chuckled in his ear, followed by a hollow click, and a cool soothing foam spread over his lower body.

"Feeling's mutual," a blood drenched Cherenkov smiled, a small extinguisher in his hand. The captain smiled back.

"Incoming!" Rojas screamed. The screen had shifted to its port sensors. A tide of crackling, deadly energy was ripping through space directly toward the unprotected ship. He closed his eyes, thinking of his mother, his father, his wife….

And then she was there, in his arms, the splendid meteor shower over the sweeping Cliffs of Bole lighting the sky above them. He ran his fingers through her soft, sable hair, rubbing his nose in it, sucking in its clean, sweet smell. Jasmine playfully jabbed him in his ribs.

"Hey!" He yelped. "What was that for?"

"You're missing the meteor shower Terrence," she flashed a smile at him, pointing at the ambient falling rocks. "You have a life time to put your hands on me," she laughed, shyly batting her long eyelashes. "Enjoy the show."

"Seen one meteor shower, seen them all," he replied, wrapping his arms around her. She pulled his arms tighter. Her mocha skin was soft, warm, and inviting. But he forced himself to wait. Jasmine's Starfleet career had consisted of one stationary engineering assignment after another. The admittedly breath taking sky showers over the Cliffs of Bole were one of the few times she got to see dazzling spatial phenomena.

Born on a space ship and growing up on space stations, he had spent more time above planets than on them, and after seeing some of the countless wonders and terrors the galaxy had to offer, Terrence found that his most treasured discovery had been when he had met Jasmine in the docking bay of Deep Space Five three years ago. Once again, his father had known something he didn't and he had pushed for Terrence to meet her. After he had, he knew that his father had been right, and he displayed his own brand of doggedness to forge the bonds between them despite the demands of duty.

He had taken every opportunity he could to visit the station, to court the serious, reserved Jasmine, eventually winning her heart. When she had said yes to his marriage proposal, he feared he might actually spontaneously combust with joy. It had been a feeling he had only thought would come over him when admiral pips were placed on his collar. But he had been wrong.

Though they hadn't spent much time with each other since their marriage on Casperia Prime, they made the most of the scant time they did. Terrence had called in a lot of chits and he relied on his father's pull to get some time off to spend their first wedding anniversary at the celebrated Cliffs of Bole.

Leaving the Cuffe, his prized first command, in the hands of Commander Simus, his incredulously efficient Vulcan XO hadn't even bothered him when he met his wife at Casperia's spaceport. Tall, striking, a flower patterned sundress molding perfectly over her shapely curves; the sight of her had even wiped away his concerns about the growing threat of war with the Dominion.

But the desire to be back on his bridge, to be at the forefront if the tightrope navigated by his friend Ben Sisko finally snapped, had begun to tug at him. Ambition was his oldest lover, outlasting the redoubtable Tryla Scott, his first serious relationship, and now struggling to wrest his heart from Jasmine. But ambition was a cold, empty mistress, taking much and given little in return. Terrence had already giving away too much time to it already, taking on assignment after assignment instead of spending more time with his wife. He resolved that he wouldn't let ambition destroy his happiness with Jasmine; the only real and true happiness he had ever known.

The last week had been incredible, filled with passion, love, and a lot of catching up. On their last night together, before duty called them both back to their respective stations, he figured he could grant her this small thing, without the interruptions demanded by both his heart and his loins. He was certain that his patience would be rewarded later on.

"I love you," he whispered into her ear, nibbling it afterwards. She sighed in response.

"I love you." Jasmine replied, rubbing his arms, and reaching up to place her hands over his. "You're going to be a great father someday." She craned her neck to kiss his cheek, and then lick the bottom lobe of his ear. "Let's get started," she breathed, pushing his arms away from her, before she grabbed one of his hands and led him back into their apartment from the balcony.

Not protesting, Terrence followed his wife, his eyes focused on the soft sway of her hips. Not wanting to spoil the mood, but unable to keep his mouth shut, he asked. "But what about the meteor shower?"

Jasmine said nothing as she quickly unzipped her sheer hunter green dress, carelessly flinging it into the corner of the room after she had stepped out of it. She did the same with her undergarments. Standing before him naked, she ran her bright hazel eyes over her toned form before looking back at her husband. With a surprisingly impish smile, Jasmine replied, "Seen one meteor shower, seen them all…."

The Orion's thick, verdigris blood oozed slowly over his fingers, its sticky warmth drowning the cold steel of the blade in his hand. Shocked, horrified, a sick thrill coursed through him as he looked into the dimming eyes of the alien, the first being he had ever killed.

Oblivious to the sounds of fighting and dying around him, all he heard was the Orion's faltering heartbeat; all he saw were the alien's indigo eyes fluttering against the gathering darkness.

It had all happened so fast. Only minutes ago, he had been standing on the Kitty Hawk's cargo transporter pad with Captain Gorik, Commander Awokou, Security Chief Lee and a team of Marines. And then in a flash he was here, in the middle of the humid, teeming Orion slave market, peering into dozens of numb eyes looking out at him from their cages. So conditioned to despair, so broken to the possibility of freedom, none of them had reached out to the Away Team, none of them had even realized or dared dream that their liberation was at hand.

Before he had had time to ponder the profound depths of their wretchedness, the slavers from the Orion Syndicate had fallen upon them like a pack of wolves. An ensign, a year out of the Academy, he had only fought in battle simulations under regulated conditions. The zing of real energy weapons, the clanging and bite of metal, the screaming, the blood, the cursing, the chaos, seized him with such fear at first that he had frozen, a perfect target for any Orion that saw him. So overwhelmed, he hadn't even seen the large Orion prop the arbalest across one of his broad forearms.

Lt. Lee had grabbed him, pushing him behind a cage, taking the metal shaft meant for him. She fell beside him, the argent bow quivering in her pierced, bloodied chest. He pulled her out of the line of fire, tugging at the bow but stopping after she grimaced with pain. Already, the pallor of death was upon her. Convulsing for several seconds, she gasped suddenly before closing her eyes. Crouching behind the cage, dozens of hands reaching through their bars to tear at him, some pleading, some spitting, some crying, he had pulled away from them all, stunned that the lieutenant had given her life for him.

From the moment he had asked the captain to be switched from flight control to security, she had been one of his harshest critics, finding him wanting in almost every category. He had spent countless hours talking to his friends aboard ship about what a taskmaster she was. He had been convinced that her criticism sprang from a personal animus, perhaps some deep-seated jealousy perhaps because he was the son of an admiral. It hadn't been the first time he had encountered such misperceived people, and he had known it wouldn't be the last as he continued very vocally to climb the ladder to the Admiralty.

Looking at her still form, he realized that perhaps he had been wrong. Lee had been willing to sacrifice herself without a moment's hesitation. It had never been about him, it had always been about the team. In his quest to make admiral, it had always been about him, want he wanted and when he wanted it. The epiphany rattled him to his core, lighting a cleansing fire in him. Determined not to let Lee's sacrifice go unanswered, he had bounded from behind the safety of the cage, into the midst of the battle; his phaser slicing into every green body that he saw carrying a weapon. Cutting a path through the mob, he had almost made it to the circle of Marines surrounding the captain, when a large staff smacked his gun hand, shattering his bones.

Instinctively clutching his hand, he whipped around to face a massive Orion leering down at him, a sparking electric prod in one hand, and a long, curved blade in the other. "This raid has cost the Syndicate a lot of money!" He roared, spittle flying from his mouth. "You and your crewmates will barely be worth the amount to start up ouroperation elsewhere," he rumbled, before smiling maliciously, "but it will be a start."

Biting back the pain throbbing from his broken hand down the length of his arm, he called on the rigorous training Lee had imposed upon her Security team, to dodge and evade the fierce Orion as he sliced the air with the blade before trying to poke him with the prod.

Looking madly for his phaser while he continued to avoid being stabbed or shocked, he had decided on doing the unthinkable, something that he was sure Lt. Lee was already despairing of from the afterlife. The Orion had grown sloppy with each missed stroke. His anger fueling his movements, they become longer, looping, throwing the big man off balance.

He had quickly realized that the slaver was using the dagger to push him into the direction of the electric prod. The Orion didn't want to kill him, only incapacitate him for processing. The thought of one of their agonizing neurolytic restraints being attached onto his neck, of his soul being slowly crushed by pain and the loss of hope, fueled him with the resolve to rush the Orion. Grabbing the bigger man's knife hand with his good one, he pulled with all his strength; the surprised Orion stumbled right into his on rushing head. His head exploding as it connected with the green alien's jutting jaw, he struggled to remain conscious, blinking away his swimming vision.

The Orion had fallen back, more stunned than hurt. Pressing his advantage, he grabbed the Orion's knife hand, and bit hard into the man's large thumb, nearly ripping it off, dark green blood spraying into his lips and down his throat, coating his face. The slaver howled as the knife dropped from his hand. He quickly picked up the knife, looking up just in time to see the Orion charging at him, the prod glowing an angry crimson shade, enough power coursing through it to kill him.

He sidestepped the Orion's wild jab, plunging the dagger into the rampaging alien's throat. A verdant geyser erupted from the alien's neck, drowning his face and hands in even more blood. He ripped the knife from the wound as the large man slumped to his knees before hitting the floor, the sound lost in the cacophony of the firefight raging around them.

He stood watch as the shroud of the next life covered the Orion, figuring he owed the slaver that much for taking his life. A meaty hand clamped down on his shoulder, shattering the solemn mood. Expecting another attack, he whipped around, the knife flashing in his hand before he embedded it into the shoulder that the hand belonged to.

Captain Gorik howled, his porcine features twisting in agony. "Stabbing thecaptain is one sure sign of how not to make admiral Mr. Glover," the Tellarite grumbled….

He had seen death, and he had inflicted it, but he had never learned how to cope with it. Sitting alone in the Launching Pad, at the old table that he, Ben, and Cal had held forth at on so many memorable occasions, Terrence peered out the window into the darkened street. Just beyond the famous San Francisco Gate Bridge, rose the spires of Starfleet Headquarters. The streets were bustling, air cars zipping across the sky, as people continued on with their lives, a simple thing that felt impossible for him to do.

The Launching Pad was quiet tonight and he was glad for it. He had heard from one of his planet bound friends that the raucous bar of his college days had recently been on a decline, facing stiff competition from the Quantum Café that had opened up across town. It was the spot that all of the new recruits, the up and comers were going to, people like he used to be.

"Buy you another drink?" The voice was rich, filled with sorrow. Calvin.

"Nothing too strong for him though. You remember that time on Pelios Stationwhen that Arcturian fizz put him under the table." Another voice, deeper, but with a hint of needed mischief. Benjamin.

He forced himself to turn away from the busyness on the other side of the window to gaze at his two closest friends. Both of them smiled, though he read the pain behind the forced expressions. Neither one had been good at hiding their feelings. Ben ran a nervous hand through his hair after Terrence had remained silent for almost a minute, staring at his friends, but looking into the past.

"It's going to be all right." Calvin said, sliding into the booth beside him. Ben sat on the other side. An attractive Andorian waitress materialized at the table, taking their orders. Within seconds, she had returned with a sweating mug of Guinness Stout for Calvin and a shot of Saurian brandy for Ben. The prescient Andorian also placed another cognac in front of Terrence, swooping up his empty glass with nimble grace.

"Cal's right," Ben added. "It's just going to take some time. That's all."

Ignoring them both, Terrence spoke. First to Calvin: "How's Gretchen?" Cal couldn't help but smile at the mention of his wife.

"She's doing fine. She sends her condolences."

"So do Jennifer and Jake." Ben added again. "And my father. We're staying inNew Orleans for a couple of days. We want you to come by."

"I'm staying with Gretchen's family in Berlin. I'm sure they wouldn't mind extracompany.They're always asking why we don't bring more people over when we visit Earth. Now's not a time to be alone."

"I'm not alone!" He said, a bit too loudly. Several patrons looked over at the booth. "My father was at the memorial service."

"We know, we were there," Ben replied.

"Thank you both for being there," Terrence smiled wanly. "I know it must'vetaken a lot for both of you to get time off from the Okinawa and the Gallant."

Both friends waved away his admission of gratitude. "Captain Leyton practically shoved us out of an air lock to attend the service," Ben said.

"And Captain English wanted me to tell you that she was sorry that she couldn't attend the service herself. She had once served with your mother on the Independence."

"Wow, that must've been some time ago," he remarked, his eyes misting over as he was overcome by memories of his mother. She had kept a scrapbook of sorts, filled with actual photographs of the various ships she had served on and the many things she had seen.

Each month, she would send him something, and he would rush from school to the mail center of whatever starbase his father was stationed on, to see what his mother would send him next. He was probably eight or nine when his mother had served as Tactical Officer aboard the Independence. "A long time," he whispered, unable to stop the tears from flowing down his face. Calvin locked a strong arm around him and Ben reached across the table to squeeze his shoulder. "I barely even knew her," he said between sobs, "and now she's gone."

Only a week ago, his lover and Commanding Officer Tryla Scott had called him to her ready room, her face wet with tears. Looking up from the small screen on her desk, she had told him that the Tombaugh, with all hands, had been lost in deep space.

Unable to process his feelings, he had just stood there, saying nothing, refusing to feel anything. He had declined her offer to attend the service, fearful that it might draw attention to their clandestine romance, and he also wouldn't entertain her entreaty to divert the Renegade from its mission of mapping gaseous anomalies in the Aries Sector, to return to Earth to attend the memorial service already being planned to commemorate the sacrifice of Captain Blackwood and his brave crew.

Instead he had requested, and eventually whittled down her reservations, to pilot a shuttle on the long, lonely trip back to Earth. After the ship's Counselor cleared him, Captain Scott had agreed.

The memorial service for the crew of the Tombaugh had been very solemn, tasteful, officiated over by the Fleet Commander-in-Chief and broadcast across the Federation. His mother had always striven to be a hero, to have her name placed before the pantheon of Starfleet legends, such as Archer, Garth, Kirk, Sulu, and Garrett.

But as it often is with life, the dream doesn't match the reality. Her role in the Ghorusda disaster, in which 46 crewmembers of the Adelphi had perished, including its captain, as a result of a mishandled first contact, had tarnished his mother's reputation, and destroyed decades of careful planning. He remembered how excited she had been when she had told him that the Adelphi had been chosen to represent the Federation in first contact proceedings with the reclusive Ghorusdans.

Denise had revealed that the success of the mission might earn her the captain's pips she had been yearning for every since her Academy days.

Ambition had probably tied his parents together far longer than any feelings of love that they might've one time had shared. There was an almost unspoken rivalry between the two that only intensified after his father had been promoted to captain after coordinating a strong Federation response to the Romulan attack at Khitomer, while serving as commander of Starbase 24 along the Klingon border. Jasper Glover's star continued to rise, with choice postings at Starbase 23 and Starfleet Headquarters, his logistical skills factoring into Federation success against the Talarians, Cardassians, and Tzenkethi.

His mother's career was the opposite. A strong woman, with fierce opinions and razor ambition, she had not made many friends among her colleagues, resulting in myriad postings and very little upward mobility.

Captain Darson of the Adelphi had decided to promote his mother to XO, "twenty years late", she had once written to him. But Darson had mistaken her obstinacy for strength of will. Not the most perceptive or empathetic man himself from what Terrence had heard, the two of them, along with an unstable Betazoid first contact specialist, had plowed through sensitive cultural protocols, offending the Ghorusdans and leading to the captain's death.

He didn't like admitting such truths about his mother, and he figured that no one would. But as he thought about her and all the times he had spent with her, all the letters she had written, all the arguments he had overheard, Terrence realized that his mother was not an immortal, not a saint, but he loved her anyway, and he would miss her deeply.

Chastened by the "Ghorusda Disaster", she had intimated to him that she might leave the Fleet, but Captain Blackwood had stepped in and given her another chance at redemption by serving as his Executive Officer on the Tombaugh

He had never seen her happier than when she had revealed a tidbit about her last mission, investigating a transmission from the ghost ship Raven, similarly lost in deep space a few years earlier. The Tombaugh had perhaps suffered whatever fate had befallen the doomed crew of the Raven. Terrence was certain he would never know and perhaps it was best that he didn't. At least his mother would be remembered as a hero, as a symbol of courage and idealism. He could think of no better epitaph for her.

Terrence wished he could say those things to his friends, wished that he could express such feelings to his father, but he couldn't. So, he said nothing. Instead he put back on the mask that had grown so comfortable for him since childhood. He knew his friends saw through it, but he also knew his friends cared enough about him to let him continue with the masquerade. Making a show of looking around the sparsely populated bar, he remarked. "Solok couldn't make it huh? I was looking forward to another debateabout logic." He winked at Ben, who scowled in response.

"I've learned a few more things than I knew then." He replied, his defensiveness only half playful. Once, during the Launching Pad's heyday, a somewhat toasted Benjamin Sisko had challenged the anal Vulcan Solok to a debate about, of all things to choose, logic. Terrence still remembered the smug superiority draping the Vulcan's neutral features. He was certain Solok enjoyed tearing Benjamin apart in front of the entire bar. But of course, a Vulcan would never admit to enjoying anything.

"Like what?" Calvin moved in. "Challenging Klingons to head butting contests?"

Rubbing his forehead, Ben replied. "Hey, Dax put me up to it." He laughed at the memory. "The honor of the Federation was at stake."

"So was a week of reconstructive surgery," Cal chuckled. "By the way, where is that crazy Trill?"

"Who knows," Ben rolled his eyes. "All he told Captain Leyton was that he'd be back. He did have a big smile on his face though."

"I can only imagine," Terrence smiled, his heart frigid. "Wish it were me…."

"Captain? Captain? Are you alright?" Leathery hands touched his face, followed by a wet cloth. He winced, his raw skin enflamed by contact. Eyes snapped open. There was a Cardassian squatting in front of him, a nervous smile inching across her face. There had been another Cardassian another time, smiling at him. Insolent. He had placed his phaser against the spoon shaped crest in the middle of his forehead, pressed the trigger…

"Captain?" The voice seemed far away, the words muffled. "Captain?" The voice was inside his head, tearing through the scrambled dreams, the tortured nightmares. "Captain?" She asked again, her voice fraught with hysterical concern.

"It's the cortical implant." Another voice issued from above, slithering into his consciousness. The Cardassian in front of him froze, her dark eyes filling with fear. "Give him a few moments. The side effects are only momentary. A Breen device," the voice added casually, "but our Cardassian minds are too strong for it. Humans, Klingons, on the other hand…"

"Monster!" She spat. The woman was Keta, from the Security Forces. It was coming back to him now. There had been the melee aboard the Rakal, the near escape, the fireball, and then nothing. Followed by oceans of torment.

More memories flashed through his mind, recent ones: Soothing balm over his wounds, kind words from a man called Rumal… Rough, scaly gray and brown hands holding him, their vise-like grip enflaming his blistered skin, Darcis holding a gleaming blade that cut through his uniform as if it were paper. Naked, exposed, vulnerable…Clothed in a poncho-like shift, his burned, blistered arms and legs bare…Hunger, fear, anger, shame…barren, humid walls of his prison…licking the salty rock for moisture…Darcis's chamber, the sting of the implant being thrust into the back of his head… His muscles palsied uncontrollably as the hellish rush of memories took hold.. How long had he been here? Had they seen the shivering?

"Sometimes," the other voice, haughty, controlling…Darcis…replied. "When I have to be. We in the Obsidian Order wear many masks."

"You haven't been in the Order since the Dominion released you after the Order's ill advised strike in the Omarion Nebula. You were one of its chief proponents and architects I recall." Another voice. Raspy. Goading. Glinn Sulle.

The captain tried to look around without moving or drawing the Cardassians' attention. He could only hope that both Cherenkov and Donar had both survived the explosion. There didn't appear to be anyone else in the darkened cell except him, Keta, and their jailers.

Ignoring the dig, Darcis instead said. "You can stop the subterfuge human. I know how long it takes for a Terran to recover from a cortical implant session."

"Where are we? My crew? The others?" He croaked, his voice dry. Keta immediately raised the wet rag to his mouth, and squeezed a few merciful drops of water over his cracked lips. For the first time, he noticed that one side of the lieutenant's face was bandaged. Whatever they had done to him, and he had yet to take a self-inventory, it had appeared that Keta had received even worse treatment. Despite his own feelings about Cardassians, his instinctive need to protect the people under his umbrella-even temporarily, flared within him. "What did you do to her?" He demanded, trying to stand up, but regretting it as a thousand blades of agony knifed through his body. Keta eased him back down, propping his head against the warm rock wall behind him.

"The Changeling is currently in our interrogation chamber," Darcis beamed. "And we are arranging something special for the Klingon. Your First Officer and the Angosian got away, but they were insignificant. A starship captain is a more worthy prize."

"Razad Kor, an abandoned listening post in the Badlands," Sulle answered, with enough forthrightness for Terrence to believe her.

"And what I did to her," Darcis interrupted, "is none of your concern." He smiled, cracking his large knuckles. "The information you both provided will help serve our cause immeasurably."

"And what cause is that?" Glover asked, his cloudy mind hungry for any information he might be able to use to escape, or at least get out a message to Starfleet.

"Restoring Cardassian sovereignty of course," Gul Keshet stepped into the mouth of the cavern. "We had hoped to net the Founder and try her for her crimes, but fate has been fortunate. In addition to the changeling, we also can try a human, a Klingon, and a race traitor. It's pitiable that we couldn't also capture a Romulan or Breen. However, your trial and execution, broadcast across subspace, will send the message that the True Way is the real power on Cardassia, and that the Cardassian Union is still a force to be reckoned with."

"Execution?" Glover quipped. "I guess the trial's outcome is already decided huh?"

Keshet looked down, scouring him with his black gaze, his thin lips draw into a hard line. "It appears that you know very little about the Cardassian legal system, by far the most efficient in the quadrant. Only the guilty are tried and punished. Gil Rumal shall serve as your nestor. Glinn Sulle your conservator. You will be executed in five days."

"Then what's the point of going through a show trial?" The captain's anger briefly muzzled his pain.

The gul pursed his lips; his eyes alight, obviously enjoying giving a primer on Cardassian jurisprudence. "The trial will only serve to reaffirm what is already self-evident. We were betrayed by the Dominion and now are occupied by the Federation Alliance. The True Way continues the work of Legate Damar and the Cardassian Liberation Front. Your admission of your crimes will fire the Cardassian soul to throw off all of its shackles and reclaim our heritage, absent your perversions."

"Perversions?" Terrence scoffed, unable to control himself. "I guess providing food, medicine, and shelter are too subversive for you?"

"It weakens the Cardassian will to do for ourselves." Sulle chimed in, but her eyes were locked on the gul. "We have survived famines, plagues, wars. We can survive this."

"No one…is disputing that," the captain replied, his voice catching as a needle of pain raked across his chest. Calm down, he told himself, don't get too worked up. "We're just trying to help you. We want to avert the mistakes of the past. We want to live in peace with the Cardassian people."

"Mistakes?" Darcis crowed. "What 'mistakes'? Everything the Union has done was for the survival of the Cardassian people." Both Keshet and Sulle nodded their heads in agreement.

"That's not true!" Keta's voice was thick, as if her tongue was swollen. Chris was certain that was probably the case due to her injuries. "We raped Bajor, we joined the Dominion, and we started this gods forsaken war." Six pair of eyes impaled Keta. Fighting his pain and prejudices, Glover sidled next to her, placing a blistered arm around her quivering shoulders.

"She's right." He replied.

"She's misguided." Keshet retorted.

"The product of a dissident, disloyal household," Darcis sniffed. "The Order knew all about Jobal Keta and his Federation ties."

"You lie!" Keta broke from Glover's grasp. Too weak to stop her, she stood angrily before the larger, insolent Cardassian. "He was loyal to Cardassia. Cardassia wasn't loyal to him."

"And he thought the Federation would be for his children?" Darcis laughed, his dark eyes flashing in the gleam of the dull orange lights ringing the walls of the cell. "He was a fool, a traitor, and you're presence here," he poked a thick finger into Keta's right breast, "proves me right." Keta's slap didn't even turn Darcis's head. With languorous ease, he pushed the petite Cardassian back against the wall of the cell. Cracking her head against the solid rock, she slid down to the floor, wrapping her arms around her bare knees, struggling not to cry.

"My father was no traitor. My father was no traitor…." She repeated over and over.

Keshet shook his head sadly at the sight, before replying. "Captain Terrence Glover, Sial Keta. Make your peace with whatever gods you believe in. Your trial will begin tomorrow." He exited the cell, followed by Sulle and lastly by Darcis, who looked back to rain spittle on both Glover and Keta. Before the captain could respond, the hulking Cardassian had crossed the threshold of the cell, a forcefield activating in his wake.

Terrence slid over to Keta again, and wrapped the trembling woman in his arms, after only the barest hesitation. He stayed by her side until her trial began.

CHAPTER NINE

Jasmine Glover stood in the archway of the Bajoran temple, oblivious of the life passing behind her on Deep Space Nine's Promenade, enticed by the soothing scent of incense wafting from the darkened, sepulchral environs, but hesitant to step inside.

Though she had always felt that there was a spiritual component to life that made it more than just a series of random events, Jasmine had never sought to define what that spiritual component was. The prospect had often tempted her while she had been convalescing in her biobed at the massive Spacedock orbiting Earth in the wake of the holocaust in the Tyra system.

And after that nadir, faced with long, grueling months of rehabilitation ahead for her, Jasmine had sought to find the spiritual balance she had always believed in but never explored. Until that time she had viewed life as one complex machine or equation that could be worked out with time, patience, ingenuity, and effort. The senseless slaughter unleashed by the Dominion War had disabused her of such naïve notions, leaving nothing but pain, doubt, and fear in its place.

Shutting herself off from almost everyone, including her family, but especially her husband, only accepting the occasional visit from her father-in-law Admiral Glover, the man impervious to her attempts at evasion, Jasmine had sought to mend her spirit as well as her body. While on Earth, she had used almost every hour not spent in physical therapy or psychological evaluation, studying theology, first the myriad Terran religions, and then expanding her search to extraterrestrial religions, particularly Vulcan, Deltan, Andorian, Bajoran, and Klingon.

Though she was sure her Vulcan associates would be off put at her description of IDIC as a religion, with its emotion, faith based connotations; Jasmine couldn't help but see it as such. She had gained much insight into herself by reading the revered Vulcan Kir'Shara.

Being a human, she could see the "logic" in adapting and combining tenets in the Kir'Shara with those of the Terran Bible, among many other works to deepen her understanding of life, the universe, but most importantly answer the eternal question of why "bad" things happen to "good" people.

The long climb out of the pit all seemed for naught as she stood at the Temple's door, the soft darkness within the chamber, whispering to the voracious abyss flowing out from her own heart, threatening now to engulf her.

Jasmine closed her eyes, trying to shut off the spigot of memories of Terrence rushing through her mind. She loved him so much. He was the kindest, strongest man she had ever met, and all she had done was turn him away, shut him off, but she had to. She couldn't risk losing him by letting him in, by telling him the truth. Though her readings had reinforced the oft-spoken comment that the truth made one free, the phrase didn't apply to her. It had been turned on its head, and if she gave in to the impulse she risked losing what little remained of her life before it had been ripped asunder, both figuratively and literally.

"Lt. Glover…Jasmine? Are you all right?" There was a light touch on her shoulder. The Ops Officer involuntarily jerked, twisting her head, her muscles tensing for an attack. Instantly recognizing the identity of her "attacker", Jasmine straightened rapidly to stand at attention.

Pell Ojana stepped back, her face creasing with concern. "It's okay Jasmine. At ease." Placid control quickly retook the Bajoran's features and voice. "I'm worried about him too."

"I know." Jasmine whispered, failing to completely smother the edge in her voice, as a twinge of unexpected jealousy pinched her heart.

"Were you going into the Temple?" Pell asked, pursed lips finally breaking her neutral expression. "Stupid question right?" The Bajoran gestured at the Ops Officer, noting Jasmine's location at the Temple's entrance.

"Not as stupid a question as you might think." Jasmine admitted. Though she had only gotten to know Pell Ojana in the short time she had been aboard the Aegis, Jasmine knew that her husband and the composed Bajoran shared an enigmatic relationship dating back to his teenage years. Ojana knew more about Terrence than she probably ever would.

"Let's go in," Pell urged, gently grasping Jasmine's hand and leading her into the sanctum before the lieutenant could protest. Inside, scented candles cast a soothing, meditative glow. The sanctuary was empty, and Jasmine was grateful for that. Already feeling out of place in the shrine, she definitely wasn't in the mood for pep talks or condolences from a member of the Bajoran faithful. Pell let go of her hand, walking over to an altar with unlit candelabra on it. While the Bajoran lit the candles, Jasmine's attention was drawn to a box-shaped vessel nestled in an alcove adjacent to the altar.

An orb, she gasped as recognition dawned on her. Inside the box resided one of the Bajoran Orbs, hour glass-shaped energy vortices created by the wormhole aliens to communicate with the people of Bajor. Or so the Bajorans believed.

"The Orb of the Emissary," Pell Ojana whispered, her voice reverent. "The Emissary used it to bring the Prophets back to us." She explained, a beatific smile stretching across her face.

The Emissary, Jasmine nodded. Captain Ben Sisko. She had never met Benjamin Sisko, though her husband had spoken of him often. Plus, the exploits and travails of Deep Space Nine were quite well known to the Deep Space Five station crew. Many of her compatriots were envious of the notoriety received by the frontier starbase; she hadn't been among that number. Facing down Cardassians and Jem'Hadar were not her idea of career advancement.

She walked up to the container, mindful that an invisible forcefield protected the orb. "Have you ever had an 'Orb Experience'?" She glanced at Pell. Behind the Bajoran blazed a row of newly lit candles.

"No," the counselor shook her head, her voice wistful. "I've never been so fortunate. The Prophets have never spoken to me in that way."

"Hmmm," Jasmine replied, returning to gaze at the orb vessel. "So, you believe that the Prophets speak to you? That you've been 'Touched' by them?"

"Of course. I couldn't have survived Gallitep without them."

Unable to stop herself, Jasmine, her mind swirling with familiar images of death and fire, asked. "What about all the others who died at Gallitep? Why did the Prophets save you and not them?"

Pell's green eyes darkened; her gentle, open face closed around the question as it seized her mind. After several interminable minutes, she spoke, her voice riveted with pain. "I don't know. I've asked the Prophets, many others, and myself the same question. I have yet to receive an adequate answer."

"Because maybe there isn't an answer." Jasmine offered, not wanting to say hurtful things to the Bajoran, but unable to escape the destination of her inquiry. "Maybe cruel, evil things happen for no reason. Maybe there is no higher authority guiding our actions, at least a caring one anyway. Are you familiar with deism Lt. Pell?"

Taken aback, Pell stammered. "It is an Earth belief," she replied. "Positing that God or some universal force created the universe and then abandoned it. That God doesn't intervene. That such divine intervention is not necessary, being that the universe can't be improved upon, that it is self-regulating. Yes, I've heard of deism." She finished, her voice filled with disbelief.

"And you don't believe in it, or see the reason in such a belief?"

"No, my life has taught me, shown me, that the Prophets, God if you will, have a plan for all of us." Pell held up a quick hand to silence the question forming on Jasmine's lips. "I don't know what that plan is. Only the fortunate, like the Emissary, have had that plan revealed. I think for most of us, life, living, is about discovering the path laid out to us, and deciding if we are strong enough to travel that road."

"So, you never once questioned the Prophets?" The Ops Officer asked, again unable to stop herself, wincing even as the words escaped from her lips. "Even, during the darkest days of the Cardassian occupation? Even when you watched whole families perish at Gallitep?"

Pell's eyes filled with tears. She did nothing to stop them from flowing down her face as she wrapped her arms around her waist, a quiver coursing through her body. "I questioned the Prophets then. I question them now. Every day. I've never been afraid of questioning the Prophets. I've been more afraid that one day they might answer and that I can't live up to what they might ask of me."

"I'm sorry," Jasmine caressed the woman's wet cheek, wiping away her tears. "I shouldn't have said that. It's just…."

The commander grabbed Jasmine's hand and squeezed. "I know. This isn't about me. It's about Terrence. I care for him too. He really helped me get back on my feet, rediscover my purpose. The Prophets speak through Terrence. He will persevere. He loves you, and he will return to you. Of that I have no doubt."

"Thank you so much for saying that," Unbidden tears blurred Jasmine's vision. "You've been such a good friend to him. He loves you for it. He's told me so. I just wished that I had your faith."

"You don't need my faith," Pell remarked. "I have enough for both of us."

Jasmine smiled, and gave the Bajoran a strong hug, pulling back when Pell groaned. The Ops Officer's face darkened with embarrassment. "Sorry," she said, before spoiling the moment with a lie, "Sometimes I forget about my cybernetic arm."

Pell nodded, saying nothing. "Come with me. I'll show you some ancient Bajoran meditation techniques."

"The Iponu Stances?" Eyes alight, Jasmine recalled. "I've had little practice with them. Part of my therapy."

Nodding again, this time with approval, Pell quipped. "Glovers' never cease to amaze me."

"Me either," she smiled, feeling better than she had in days. "Let's get started," she began when her communicator chirped. She tapped it lightly with her inorganic hand. "Lt. Glover here."

"Priority message from Admiral Samuel Esau Glover, Starfleet Security."

Looking askance at Pell, a shadow of despair flickering over her face, Jasmine mouthed "Sorry", but said aloud. "I'll take it in my quarters onboard Aegis."

"Acknowledged."

"Glover out." She deactivated the link. "Got to go," she offered.

"Tell Admiral Glover I said hello and that I will pray for his son." The Bajoran smiled.

"I will." Jasmine said, stepped out of the quiet, dim temple into the blaring light and sound of the Promenade. Her mind focused on returning to the Aegis to take the Admiral's message, she barreled into a corded sliver of black and gray. "Sorry," she gasped, looking up for the first time. Her breath hitched as her lungs froze. "Do I know you?"

The lithe Trill looked at her, an appraising twinkle in his eyes. "No." His voice was guttural, menacing. A dark presence, swarthy skin, with even darker splotches running down the sides of his face; Only a white streak running through his hair punctured his penumbral aura.

Jasmine backed away from him, without appearing to do so quickly. "Probably cases of mistaken identity on my part." The lieutenant forced a smile. "I apologize. If you'll excuse me," she moved around the wiry Trill on her way to her quarters.

Jasmine felt the man staring at her retreating back for several seconds. Moving more quickly, losing herself in the throng, afraid, not but sure quite why, to look back.

Aquiel Uhnari gagged as a pulpy seed went down her windpipe. Her throat sore from coughing up the trespassing seed, her voice strained, she nonetheless smiled. "Quark, this is real Muskan seed punch. Much better than Federation replicators." She held up the sweating mug of thick, orange liquid. "My compliments."

"Nothing but the best," Quark leered as he propped his elbows on the table. "A man in my profession learns very quickly that the best merchandise attracts the best customers."

"I'm one of your best customers?" Aquiel smirked, batting her eyelashes. "This is my first time at your establishment. What have I done to deserve such praise?"

"I have lobes for that sort of thing," Quark offered. "Trust me."

"Trust a Ferengi?" Commander Cherenkov grumbled, plopping down in a seat beside Uhnari. "Now that's an oxymoron if I've ever heard of one." Pale scars, the fading traces of the dermaplast treatments to repair multiple lacerations, still covered his face. The Russian glared at the barkeep. "We would like to be alone."

"That's uncalled for." Uhnari chided the human. Turning back to Quark. "Sorry about that Quark."

His diminutive form rigidly straight, his face a neutral mask, the Ferengi replied, with just a hint of distaste. "No problem. I'm sure you have much to discuss," he glimpsed at the latticework of scars. "If you need anything, and I mean anything, Commander Uhnari, I am at your service." With a curt bow, the Ferengi sauntered away.

Cherenkov sighed. "Glad he's gone."

"What's with you?" The engineer tried to keep the edge out of her voice, but failed.

"How can you even ask that question?" The Executive Officer snapped, the volume of his voice attracting the attention of several onlookers. Recognizing what he had done, he lowered his voice. "Captain Glover and the Founder have been captured by the Cardassians. They could be dead by now. And it's my fault."

Aquiel had dreaded this moment, but knew it had to happen. She had only hoped it had come in a much more private setting. Cherenkov had been mercurial since the tongue-lashing he had received from Admiral Shanthi.

"It's not your fault. None of us could've anticipated that the Cardassians had set an almost perfect trap for us."

"But I should have. That's my job." He shook his head, refusing to see the logic of her reply. "I should've been faster. I should've blasted that fat Cardie Darcis clean through his spoon head at first sight!"

Aghast at the virulent prejudice spewing from her paramour, Aquiel stammered. "You…you really don't mean that. Do you?" Ivan Cherenkov merely looked at her, his eyes icy, blue flints.

"I've never seen this side of you. Never heard you make those kinds of comments," Uhnari shook her head in disgust, before rising from her seat. "I don't like what I'm seeing right now."

"Wait," Cherenkov ordered, his hand shooting out to clutch her. "Let's talk about this."

"Not right now," Aquiel replied, wrenching her hand free from his grasp. "I thought more time together might help you get through this. But I'm not sure about that now. I'll talk to you later." Cherenkov raised mid-way out of his seat, before sitting back down, his hands retreating under the table, his face as glacial as the cold fire that had blazed from his tongue.

Unwilling to let Cherenkov, much less the denizens of Quark's see her cry, she turned away from Ivan and tore out of the bar, in such distress that she didn't see the slender, dark Trill nimbly take the seat beside the Russian that she had vacated. Nor did she hear the man say to her lover, "Bravo performance. Now, let's get down to business."

"Who said it was a performance?"

Tai Donar saw much of himself in Glinn-sed Beroz: seething anger, bristling defiance, and unyielding pride. Roughly grabbing her shredded face, with its one empty socket staring into his soul, he recognized that they were both very scarred people.

"You will tell us what we need to know," he warned, his thick fingers squeezing the Cardassian girl's chin. A rain of spittle erupted from her lips. Donar pulled the lieutenant's face close to his. Bearing the full menace of his glare down upon her, his jaws clenching with barely restrained rage, he whispered. "Don't do that again."

"Leave her alone!" Oko Mesec pounded against the duranium wall separating his cell from his compatriots. "Don't you touch her!" The young Cardassian's fierce pounding rumbled like thunder. The Angosian ignored him, his focus returning to Beroz. The female snarled at him.

"Or what?" she jeered. "Starfleet is weak. Your rules, your procedures won't allow you to injure us. Only scare us, and you're not doing a good job of that."

"Is that right?" The Security Officer asked, thick fingers digging into Beroz's tan, leathery chin.

"That is right," Daneeka interrupted. "And you know it is." Donar grumbled as he looked over at the woman. The station's Security Chief had heretofore been blessedly quiet, assuming the role of observer as he had proceeded to interrogate the prisoners. Though he had preferred to question the suspects alone, Admiral Shanthi had given Daneeka control of the proceedings, a snub at the actions or inactions of the Aegis crew in handling the Rakal incident.

But so far that decision, or any of his actions, hadn't merited many results. After hours of questioning, threats, bluffing, and mild physical contact, he was nowhere closer to knowing the destination of the Rakal or the structure or scope of Keshet's operation. The intense mental and physical conditioning of the Cardassians had even made them impervious to Vulcan mind melds or Betazoid telepathy.

Each stymied second meant lost time on recovering the captain or the Founder, and to averting a second war with the Dominion. Though the Founders' hadn't responded to the kidnapping yet, he was certain that they still had their tentacles in the Alpha Quadrant, and would learn about it shortly if not already mulling over their responses. Donar also knew with grim certainty that if any other authority than the Nimbus III Tribunal executed the Founder Leader, the Dominion would consider it an act of war.

He didn't fear war like many of his colleagues. He had been honed to fight, trained to kill since his youth. Death meant nothing to him. There was existence and then there wasn't, it was as simple as that. However, honor and duty did mean something to him. Donar was a member of an organization pledged to defend life and promote peace. And in this capacity he would do all that he could to fulfill his commitment even if it meant, ironically, that he had to kill to do so.

Flexing his large arms and shoulders, Donar exhaled away his gathering anger. "Do you have a better idea?" He challenged his Bajoran counterpart.

"Look, I've been fighting Tzenkethi and Cardassian thugs for almost twenty years," Daneeka shrugged, her lips upturning slightly. "I've interrogated more than my share." Her smile slowly turned into a frown as she approached the control pad by the cell's door and deactivated the forcefield. Stepping into the steel gray cell, her face now a grimace, the Bajoran said. "And I know all their pressure points." She cracked her knuckles. "Mental and physical."

"Voles!" Beroz croaked, though pinned in Donar's grip, the young woman remained defiant. "You Feds are the true criminals."

Daneeka came to stand over her. "And what would you call that attack on the Aegis?"

"A blow for freedom." Beroz wrenched her face free from the Angosian, pulling away from him and to her full height. He made a move to subdue her, but Ro placed a restraining hand on his knotted shoulder.

"Freedom?" Daneeka crowed. "What do Cardassians know about freedom? All your people know how to do is conquer and enslave."

"That's not true!" Mesec squealed. "The Cardassian Union helps other races maximize their resources, improve their cultures!"

Facing the wall, Beroz remarked. "Silence Oko!" Mesec's voice cut off immediately. Turning back to glare at Donar and Daneeka, Beroz gloated. "Only inferior species are conquered."

"Is that why the Cardassians lost the war?" Donar quipped, picking up on Daneeka's strategy.

"We were betrayed!" Beroz screamed.

"Oh yeah?" Daneeka scoffed. "How can superior species ever allow themselves to be deceived?"

"It was the leadership; they were weak, infected by alien influences, making peace with the Bajorans and Federation, demobilizing our forces, leaving us vulnerable to the Klingons!" Beroz spat.

"And so what do you hope to accomplish by kidnapping a Founder?" Donar asked.

"Don't you see," Beroz peered at them with her remaining eye, before blinking and turning away. "Of course you wouldn't. We are exercising our power, showing the Cardassian people that there is a way back to strength that doesn't subsist on handouts from the Federation, Romulans, or worst of all the Klingons."

"We?" Daneeka laughed, her voice mocking. "Doesn't look anymore like a run down ship with a deranged crew that got lucky. The Bajoran resistance took down the Cardassian military, forcing them to retreat from Bajor. And then they managed their affairs in the aftermath so successfully that they are now giving the Cardassian Republic aid."

Beroz spat on the floor, before rounding on the Security Chief. She took a wild swing, which Daneeka easily sidestepped, grabbing the unbalanced younger woman's arm and driving her into the floor. Daneeka slid her arm around the recalcitrant Cardassian's neck, applying pressure to her carotid artery.

"What is this organization?" She snapped.

"You'll know soon enough." Beroz croaked through a hail of tears. Daneeka tightened her grip. Mesec was back at the wall, throwing his whole body against it with no effect. Tai found himself in the unusual position of suggesting restraint.

Hands palm out in placation, the Angosian uncharacteristically pleaded, "Lt. Daneeka, restrain yourself!"

"You don't outrank me," she retorted, her knee like a dagger in the Cardassian's spine. "I don't take orders from you." Donar grabbed the slender human and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her off the inert Cardassian.

Donar grunted when the thrashing woman head butted him, but he didn't release her until they were outside of the cell. Quickly activating the forcefield, Tai turned to face Daneeka. "What was that?"

"Getting results," she replied, her voice steeped with frustration. "I found out more than you did."

"Like what?" He challenged.

"Well?" Daneeka began, shrugging. "I don't really know." She admitted.

"A start." A voice said from the entrance to the station's holding cells. Both Donar and Daneeka whipped around to glare at a sultry Orion female, her mane of raven hair and deep green skin alluring even in Starfleet black, gray, and red. Leaning, almost languorously against the doorframe, the Orion tapped lazily on a silvery padd. Donar chided himself for not hearing the door hiss open.

"How long have you been standing there?" He growled.

"Long enough," her beautiful features creased with disapproval. "I thought Angosian auditory senses were as sharp as Vulcans." She remarked.

Bright with embarrassment, Donar grumbled, "Who are you?"

"Commander Cyia Bast, Starfleet Security. As of this moment, these prisoners are remanded into my custody."

"On whose authority?" Daneeka's heated retort beat the Angosian to the punch.

"Admiral Samuel Glover, Director Starfleet Security," the Orion replied, holding up the padd she had been holding. Donar's eyes widened at the mention of Captain Glover's father. He yanked the padd out of her hands, skimming over its contents. Abruptly nodding, Donar stood at attention.

"Sorry sir."

"No harm done," Bast smiled warmly, but her eyes were frosty. "I will now question the prisoners alone."

"Hold on just a minute," Daneeka began. "Fleet Admiral Shanthi has requested that I take part in any interrogation of the prisoners."

"Admiral Shanthi's office will be informed of any findings," Bast offered. Trying to buy time, Donar glanced over at the huddled Beroz.

"The Cardassian female needs medical attention."

"And she'll get it…after I am finished. Dismissed Lieutenants Donar and Daneeka."

The instant the Detention Center's doors swooshed closed behind them, Daneeka rounded on the Angosian. "I can't believe the nerve of that woman! How dare she kick us out of my office?" Tai didn't respond, his mind far away from his own boiling sense of frustration. He was instead thinking about Admiral Glover. "Adm. Shanthi and Colonel Kira both will hear about this!"

Though he knew that Admiral Glover had personally overseen security arrangements on Nimbus III, even he was surprised with the speed in which the admiral had gotten his people to Deep Space Nine to question the terrorists. It underlined the seriousness that this threat posed to the fledging peace.

Without saying a word, Donar left the simmering human to stew, while he stalked the station's corridors, stonily ignoring station personnel as he boarded the Aegis via an airlock, intent on regrouping in his quarters. He wasn't surprised that Commander Cherenkov and a specter from both their pasts were waiting for him. The ghost was almost a head shorter than Donar, and his wiry frame was not as chiseled, but he was still a formidable and dangerous opponent. Running a dark hand through closed cropped inky hair, he tried to smile at Donar. "Tai." He nodded.

"Naim Elfar," Donar remarked with distaste, turning from the Trill, gazing instead at a determined Cherenkov. "What's really going on here?"

"The future of the Federation," Ivan remarked, his flair for dramatic foreboding still intact despite Admiral Shanthi's recent drubbing, grinding his fist into his open palm.

"Of course, what else could it be?" Donar mirthlessly quipped.

Of all the emotions roiling through the Great Link, the one Odo found most disgusting was smugness. The capture and impending execution of one of their own by renegade Cardassians, under the noses of Starfleet confirmed their suspicions that the Federation, even if it was being honest about its peaceful intentions, was not strong enough to hold back its more vengeful neighbors. If a ragtag band of Cardassians could successfully attack a Federation starship, abscond its most notorious prisoner, and escape into the ether of the cosmos, what hope did Starfleet have to prevent the Klingons or Romulans from invading the Gamma Quadrant en masse?

Odo found the views of the others most distressing because deep down he knew they were right. Though he had objected to the continued placement of Changeling spies among the Alpha Quadrant powers, this instance had proven the action prescient. All that remained now was to craft a response to the Cardassians' terrorism. The ongoing debate raging within the golden sea spread out before him was going as he had expected, which depressed him even more. Unable to continue arguing on behalf of the Federation, he had sought to remove himself from the debate, to "recharge his batteries"; one of Chief O'Brien's more frequently used idioms.

Odo sat upon the solitary rock jutting out of the sea formed by the merging of Changeling bodies and souls. For an innumerable stretch, he had sat upon the rock, his back turned away from the others, his eyes searching the stars, his "heart" swelling with thoughts of Kira. He had sent Nitala'Rax to her to mollify any suspicions left by the Federation Alliance regarding the intentions of the Dominion. He had sent his word that the Founders would honor the treaty signed by the Founder Leader of the Dominion's Alpha Quadrant forces. Though he knew most would be skeptical, he knew the colonel would believe him, and defend him with her last breath. Even more than the deaths that were to come once the Founders had finished their debate, he was saddened that he had failed to keep his word to her.

"No matter the naivety of your views, you were never one to run from an argument," the voice behind him said. Laas, recently joining the Link, with several more Changelings he had found on his journey to retrieve the hundred Changelings sent out by the Dominion decades ago to serve as living probes, had been chosen by the others to talk "sense" into Odo. The Link made too much of their previous association, and they gave Laas too much credit to actually think that he could ever do such a thing. "The mono-forms have abrogated their own treaty. We must protect our own."

Glancing back at the tall, imposing Laas, Odo grumbled. "The Federation did no such thing. Our own sources," he deigned not to call them spies, "have informed us that it was renegade Cardassians, terrorists belonging to a group called the True Way." The former constable of Deep Space Nine paused as he remembered the reactionary group, formed in opposition to the Cardassians making peace with the Bajorans. The True Way had made an attempt on the life of the Bajoran First Minister Shakaar in addition to killing two Bajoran officials and blowing up the Starfleet runabout Orinoco. After the Klingons invaded Cardassia, he had heard very little about them. But it was apparent that they were looking to return to the galactic stage in a major way.

"Solids are solids, their groupings or self-imposed boundaries will never hide that fact," Laas stated with a world-weary sagaciousness. "If it weren't the Cardassians, it would've been the Klingons, the Romulans, the Breen, the Son'a, or factions within the Federation itself. This is a test of our resolve, and we must meet it."

Looking at Laas for the first time, Odo replied, "You are correct. It is a test, and the way that we pass it is by giving the Federation enough time to deal with the situation. The Founder agreed to stand trial, and the Federation promised it would be fair in its judgment. Starfleet will address this."

"In five of their days?" Laas's voice drowned with incredulity. "Even if they genuinely wished to save her, they are pressed for time. The Cardassians were nothing if not punctual creatures."

Though Laas had spent most of life in the Varala system, far away from the Cardassians, his disdain for all humanoid life forms had made him receptive to the prejudicial views many of the Founders held for the Cardassians. Already, it had become a truism among his people that Cardassian incompetence and egotism had lost the war, and not the bravery, and dogged desire for freedom among their opponents. The myopia of his people never ceased to amaze Odo. How could they fight to remain free from oppression by solids by becoming enslavers themselves? It was a prescription ripe for failure, but the Founders, deities to the Vorta and Jem'Hadar they had created, believed themselves blameless for the hatred reaped upon them, and incapable of making the bungling mistakes that lost the war, which was the most fatal form of self-deception.

"What has the Link decided?" Odo asked, his voice gruff as his impatience took hold. He was in no mood to restart the debate.

Laas began to speak, a rejoinder ready to leave his lipless mouth, stopping when Odo's question registered. A look of surprised annoyance crinkled his smooth, unformed face. "The Link has decided to send a contingent of Jem'Hadar warships to Deep Space Nine to secure the wormhole. If Starfleet fails to rescue the Founder, we will not stand by and allow one of our members to be murdered. We will find her if they cannot. If we both fail, then she will not die alone."

Odo shook his head, a cold smirk twisting his own unformed features. "That's just what I expected you to say." But unlike the others in the Great Link, he derived no smugness from being right. For not the first time in his life, he wished he were wrong.

78