Reviews

STNGDS9Fan

I'm glad your enjoying the story.

I don't know what Starfleet would think about Augment Gothic, Bajor is a long way from Earth and its not even part of the Federation so I doubt many people in Starfleet Command would care. Even with the wormhole DS9 wasn't given much attention from the rest of Starfleet, at least not at the start.

Also don't forget to give Joe Lawyer some thanks, he works very hard on improving my chapters.

frankieu

Thanks for the support.

BSG

I'm glad you like the story.

That's a good idea about helping Data. I'll have to think of something.

Blackholelord

Remember that the Collectors haven't gone away, so the Defiant could still be built. Sadly Augment Gothic doesn't have the resources to build a proper warship. Well not yet anyway.

The Hur'q world ship is a mobile planet it exists in a Star Trek game involving flying fighters I forget the name.

sandmanwake

A nice idea, but Iconian tech is dangerous, there's on old TNG ep were some Iconian tech actually destroys a galaxy glass starship and nearly destroys the Enterprise. Plus finding that one world in the whole Gamma Quadrant would be like looking for a needle in haystack.

kossboss

Thank you.

Maben00

Glad your enjoying the story.

bigfan22

Hopefully updates will be often. Its hard to plan out my life at the moment.

Augment Gothic

Office of General Gothic, Head of Off-World Operations, Bajoran Militia. Deep Space Nine.

One of my primary duties as the leader of all off-world Bajoran Militia forces and installations was to coordinate Bajor's overall defense with the Federation. The day-to-day stuff was either handled by Major Kira, who was the Bajoran liaison officer and regularly interacted with Sisko, or by Major Ro, my extremely competent adjutant and second in command.

Kira really only handled the joint efforts with Starfleet to administer Deep Space Nine and its operations, which involved managing the significant traffic through the wormhole and all their resupply, recreation, storage, and repair needs, however there was more to the off-world Militia than this station. Granted, not much more, which made my job a lot easier, but I still had regular meetings with Sisko.

This week's meeting was coming to an end. There wasn't really much for us to discuss given that Bajor only had a handful of ships, including several stolen Cardassian military freighters which still needed to be upgraded for their new roles as a planetary defense fleet, and a few squadrons of sublight raiders that I still kept on the old Resistance moon bases for quick deployment. Individually they weren't all that powerful, but working like a wolf pack together they could take on much more powerful prey and deal out decent damage.

Currently the converted Cardassian military freighters were being used to patrol Bajoran space and keep an eye out for smugglers and pirates. While these freighters had once carried some extremely valuable cargos and the onboard weapons were decently powerful, they had mostly relied on the Cardassian military either to provide escort or to patrol the space these ships worked in. It wasn't super important work at the moment, but it did need to be managed. Hence these meetings.

"You know, I'm surprised that you ended up here," Sisko remarked as we finished our work. "I would have thought that you'd end up somewhere like the Daystrom Institute."

That might have happened, if I didn't have my knowledge of the future and the mission assigned by Section 31 to destabilize and end the Cardassian Occupation.

"As an object of historical study," I said. "No thanks, there's a lot to be done out here, important big picture things. Besides, I'd be bored senseless on that hippie paradise you call Earth."

While it might have been interesting to find out all the many differences between the history of humanity in this universe and my own, I figured that the novelty would have worn off before long and that I'd have been left with nothing to do.

"If the Institute's really that interested in what I know they can schedule an interview and come here," I went on to say. "For a fair fee, of course."

The Commander seemed a little confused, though he did take my request for payment in stride. Being stationed on a non-Federation facility must have opened his mind a little on the value and desire for money.

"Big picture?" Sisko inquired, either not understanding the idiom from my time or the meaning behind my statement.

I turned and gestured to the viewport from where the wormhole would be visible. The wormhole didn't open at that exact moment, of course, which would have been pretty badass and quite the coincidence, but Sisko understood what my gesture meant.

"That stable wormhole leads into the Gamma Quadrant, a whole new part of the galaxy ready for exploration," I explained. "It will be full of wonders and opportunities beyond the imagination."

I then turned my voice grave and dark.

"But it's also likely full of dangers and horrors that would freeze your blood," I warned the Commander. "What if a hostile alien fleet of ships was to come through that wormhole, what defenses does this station have left, a station that is no longer even in orbit of Bajor? The Cardassians tore this place apart and took everything of value, including all its weapons and defenses. What else is left? Four Yellowstone-Class Runabouts limited to a max speed of warp five. A few phasers and photon torpedoes. What will Bajor do to defend itself from the unknowns on the other side of that wormhole much less the more mundane dangers on this side like smugglers, pirates, and slavers? Bajor is still recovering from the horrors of the Occupation, barely able to feed its people right now, much less defend against threats from off-world. That is the big picture I am thinking about."

I sipped my lukewarm cup of coffee, giving the Commander a moment to think on the matter. Maybe this would be enough to prompt the stark realization that Bajor was in a very precarious position right now.

"Stationing a Federation starship here on a permanent basis is something I inquired about," Sisko told me with a sigh, obviously frustrated. "But it was decided by Starfleet Command that it would be seen as too provocative a gesture, in light of the recent treaty with the Cardassians."

I had to resist the urge to grit my teeth.

"The Federation spends far too much time concerning itself with the opinion of minor powers, especially the opinion of such recent enemies," I said to the Commander. "You really need to focus more on the defense of your citizens and allies."

Which now included Bajor.

"Unfortunately, even with the threat of the Hur'q," Sisko mentioned as he stood up and gathered his datapads. "I don't see any shift in Federation policy as likely anytime soon."

Since there were no Borg left in this version of Trek there had been no Battle of Wolf 359, and therefore no motivation for Starfleet to become more militarized. That was going to be a huge problem when the Dominion invaded, and it was a matter of when they invaded, not if. Even the Collector threat wasn't likely enough considering only a single Federation ship had been destroyed. Something more would be required to get them off their hippie asses and realize that the galaxy was a harsh place. The old axiom of "If you want peace, prepare for war" was never more true.

"Good day, General," Sisko offered as he left my office.

With this meeting over I tried to decide what else I could do with my day.

(Line Break)

Promenade. Deep Space Nine.

The walk through the bustling din of the Promenade of DS9 was still time spent experiencing a significant degree of surrealism, although this was becoming less so as time went by. I had seen glimpses of this place on the small screen, but seeing the reality was completely different.

Looking around I saw the Bajoran Temple, which I had visited a few times. I didn't pray to the Prophets, but I did go in to say hello from time to time. I also saw the station's Replimat, Quark's Bar, and the various Bajoran shops, which sold a wide variety of goods to the Station's many off-world visitors these days. There was Constable Odo's security office, and of course, my destination, Garak's Tailoring and Clothing shop.

I was barely a few feet through the door when Garak intercepted me, wearing his perpetually bright smile on his Cardassian features. His eyes told the truth though, given what I knew about him. I could see the cunning and ruthlessness in his soul in them, as well as the recognition and wariness. This man knew who I was and what I had done during the Occupation. He recognized a fellow ruthless predator and killer in me, the man who had slaughtered entire squadrons of Cardassian soldiers, including many Obsidian Order operatives, and who had left messages written in blood and severed limbs and heads. I was quite proud about the boogeyman reputation I had earned amongst the Cardassian forces.

This was a man I would never, ever trust. Not that I would trust any Cardassian, the race wasn't intrinsically evil, but their way of life and culture certainly was. They were the unrepentant fascists of the galaxy, and like all Nazis, they needed a good shooting. Maybe once most of their military and Cardassian Prime was wiped out in the war there would be a chance for real change.

My opinion on them was more due to what I'd personally seen during the Occupation, than what I'd seen on the show, and that only increased my loathing for them. A network television show was never going to be able to show the true evils the Cardassians had worked upon the Bajorans. The Federation and their holier than thou attitude might be wrong in my view, but at least they didn't terrorize or subjugate other races, for the most part they welcomed them in and elevated them.

"Welcome to my humble shop, dear customer. I can see you are in dire need of my expert services," greeted the alien.

I looked down at my militia uniform. Which was a slightly modified version of what other militia officers wore. Admittedly, it was somewhat lacking in style.

"Ah, yes, I need a whole new wardrobe," I told the spy. "Might be a bit of a challenge given that the fashions of my time are centuries out of date."

Actually, they'd never existed at all. The 21st century Earth of this universe was a whole lot more messed up than my version.

"Splendid," Garak said as he clapped his hands together eagerly and pulled out what I could only think of as a scanner wand and started waving it all about me. "Good build, not too tall."

The wardrobe didn't interest me too much, especially since my armor could mimic the appearance of most clothes and that's what I wore pretty much all the time now; you could never be too careful after all. Mostly, I was here to meet Garak. As an augment with enhanced senses I could tell a lot about a person from just how they moved. Garak was doing an excellent job of appearing to be harmless, but I wasn't buying his act. Even if I didn't already know many of his deepest secrets from the show, I would have been able to tell that he was far more dangerous than he appeared.

"I prefer dark colors, nothing pastel or too bright. I want shirts and trousers separate, none of those awful skintight full bodysuit things that the Federation people seem so fond of, and the trousers must have useful pockets. Dear lord I want pockets."

Human fashion in this century left much to be desired.

"I took the liberty of downloading a few ideas of my own," I informed the spy while handing him a datapad. "Feel free to play around with them. Update the materials and such to whatever you consider the best available, cost isn't an issue."

My understanding of tailoring and modern fashion was limited so I was going to let Garak handle the work. If I didn't like what he made I could always have him make adjustments.

"Interesting," Garak said as he looked over my crude designs. "Rather anachronistic, but certainly doable."

He then turned to look at me.

"Well, I think it's going to be interesting having you as a customer Mr..."

I sighed internally; he knew exactly who I was. I wouldn't even be minutely surprised if he didn't already have a file on me from his time in the Obsidian Order, likely detailing every action I was involved with during the Occupation, the names of every Cardassian I'd killed, whatever psychological profile they'd managed to work up, and whatever information they might have stolen from Federation databases. Section 31 had been closely monitoring things on their end and were quite pleased that they had been able to discover and capture several traitors and Cardassian operatives who had tried to gain access to my confidential file. I even got a little bonus for each one they discovered.

"General Gothic," I said.

Then came the important matter

"How will you be paying?" the spy/tailor asked. "Federation credits?"

I'd rather use actual money, especially since I suspected the question was meant to subtly tease out how connected I was to the Federation. When confronted with such a powerful human fighting with the Bajoran resistance they had frequently wondered if I was working as a Federation operative. It wasn't far from the truth!

"Latinum," I told him. "Don't worry about the price, I can afford it."

Compared to funding a good portion of the Bajoran off-world militia a new wardrobe wouldn't even make a dent in my accounts. Besides I was hoping to inspire a change in fashion here on the station. I really hated those skintight bodysuits the humans of this era wore so often. I liked to check out women in tight clothes as much as the next guy, but it was getting ridiculous.

(Line Break)

Replimat. Deep Space Nine.

I sat in the Replimat carefully eating my chicken curry and savoring each bite to test for any hint that it was different from the 'real' thing. So far even my enhanced senses couldn't tell the difference; it was a perfect replica.

It had been an interesting experience, just ordering my curry. The chicken part had been easy, the troublesome part was the rice and a salad side dish. The damn computer had kept prompting me to be more specific and as I made my choices it kept listing more and more options and variations. Thankfully you could save previously ordered selections and meals by name and number to save time.

No wonder Sisko cooked his meals, it was less of a pain in the ass than ordering off the infinite feeling menu that the replicator could reproduce.

I was barely halfway through my meal when a rather vocal conversation at the table behind me drew my attention.

"You're making a terrible mistake," a somewhat familiar voice was saying.

I shifted my attention and focused my senses so that I could more clearly make out what was being spoken about.

"Why? The replicators haven't malfunctioned again, have they?" Asked an even more familiar voice.

It was Doctor Bashir. I turned around to see him speaking to a Bajoran waiter, a Bajoran waiter who looked like John de Lancie. Which meant that Q was here, which meant Vash must also be here, and that meant the station was going to crash into the wormhole unless the senior officers figured out what was going on. Thankfully, they didn't really need to as I would prevent the station getting destroyed. But I wouldn't act yet, best not to get in Q's way or do anything to further attract his attention.

"I'm talking about Vash. Stay away from her," the super powerful alien/god was now saying.

Bashir was not amused.

"My God, you're an impertinent waiter," he said. Given a Q's ridiculous powers he wasn't that far off with the God comment.

"I'm a friend," declared Q. "I'm giving you some friendly advice. She's nothing but trouble."

Doctor Bashir stood and confronted the 'waiter' with bravado.

"Really? Well I don't think it's any of your business who I see," he said. "In fact, I'm having dinner with her right now."

Q frowned at that.

"Are you sure you're feeling up to it?" he asked. "You look tired."

At first it was subtle, but already I could see the doctor was starting to look sleepy.

"I feel fine," Bashir stated, somewhat doubtfully.

"No, no, no, you looked tired. Very, very tired," corrected the super powerful alien/god.

Q yawned visibly in a dramatic fashion and Bashir soon yawned involuntarily with him. The Doctor's eyes then went very droopy.

"Funny, I do suddenly feel a bit spent," the doctor said. "Maybe I should go and lie down for a while."

With that he walked off.

"Hopefully by yourself for a change," I heard Q mutter. Did Q just essentially call Bashir a man whore? Because that was pretty hilarious, have to admit.

I snorted in laughter, and to be fair, Bashir was the one person on this station who attempted to seduce women more than even I did. He was actually pretty successful at it too.

"Oh, it's you," the super powerful alien/god said as he noticed me.

Q's smile was extremely mischievous as he came over and sat at my table.

Part of me wanted to run as far and fast as I could, and keep running, but that would be utterly pointless when faced with the power of a veritable god, so I put on a brave face and tried to power through it. There was nothing that could make you feel as insignificant and tiny and worthless as sitting in the presence of a god. Feeling so utterly outclassed and helpless lit a fire deep in the pits of my immortal soul, a place that hopefully even a god couldn't see into.

"So, should I be thanking you, in particular, for my relocation? Or was it some other cosmic-level god-entity looking for some entertainment?" I asked him. "I mean someone had to have brought me to this dimension, turned me into an augment, and left me in the past where the Enterprise would eventually find me centuries in the future. I imagine that sort of thing doesn't just happen naturally, no matter how wonderful and terrible the multi-verse is at times. My sincere thanks, though; I've had many an adventure, done things I'd only imagined before, and bedded many beautiful women of multiple species." And that was the truth. Some might have been angry at being the plaything of the gods, but I was actually extremely grateful. This new life was a gift, and I cherished it every single day.

Q looked momentarily surprised, before giving me what appeared to be a genuine smile and chuckle at my words and did that Q white flash thing. In the moment my vision returned he was wearing a Starfleet Captain's uniform and he looked human again.

"Well, it wasn't just me. I only had a small hand in the events that brought you to this dimension and this silly little galaxy, to this silly little space station," he told me, "but nevertheless you're quite welcome, good sir. Quite sporting of you to say so, have to admit, having rarely encountered a mortal with such a clarity of thought and purpose. Such an ordinary life you had before an old friend of mine found you, and now you're such a boundless source of amusement to the 'cosmic level god-entities' of this dimension, as you put it. You're really shaking things up around here quite nicely."

An old friend? Hmmm.

"Why me?" I asked, mostly out of curiosity, not that it would change anything.

Q helped himself to some of my food.

"Let's just say, I saw an opportunity to add a little spice," he told me with a grin. "Like this lovely dish, whatever it is your eating, the spice is not too extreme, but just enough to make things interesting and delicious. Not that I can really claim credit for the idea. My friend is a bit of a maverick visionary."

I thought about that for a moment, there was a lot there to digest.

"No chance of going home?" I asked.

Not that I wanted to go back, I simply wanted to know if this was a time-limited opportunity or something permanent.

"Do you really want to?" Q asked with his trademark smirk, the one that said he knew far more than he let on.

I actually gave it some thought before answering vehemently.

"Fuck no. I miss my family at times, but this opportunity…" I trailed off. "Well, I really am just having too much fun to ever want to go back to my old life. Even if my fate is to die in the war to come with the Dominion or with the Collectors, I'll have lived a life worth living, and I'm just fine with that." And I really, really was. The chances I'd survive the wars to come were always low, so I lived each day like it was my last.

"You really are such an interesting mortal, Gothic. He really lucked out with you, didn't he," Q responded with a smile that I would almost call fondness.

I then thought of the embryonic lifeform in the crystal Vash had brought back from the Gamma Quadrant.

"So, is there a chance that this station will actually..."

He didn't let me finish.

"This little dilemma resolves itself well enough, there's no need to worry," he assured me. "Besides, The Prophets wouldn't let their errand boy die."

Well, they controlled the wormhole, and were 'of Bajor,' whatever the hell that meant, so that made some sense. But was the errand boy he was referring to Sisko or me? A question for another time.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have matters to take care of," Q said as he disappeared in a flash of white light.

It took me a moment to realize that Q, of all people, had just sat down with me and had a short, but still very civil conversation. My life was just a crazy roller coaster, wasn't it?

And I wouldn't trade it for the world.

(Line Break)

Ops. Deep Space Nine.

The turbolift rose up from the floor of Ops just like in the show and I shoved my hands into my pockets and walked through Ops towards Sisko's raised office. I saw Major Kira Nerys' station in the central control area and diverted my course over to her.

"Gothic," she warmly greeted with a smile on her face, visibly resisting the urge to hug me it looked like. "I've never seen you here in Ops before. Do you need help with something?"

There were valid reasons for that. For starters, I wasn't involved in the day-to-day running of the station. I had my attention focused in other areas. Also, this was the heart of Sisko's domain; I might be able to visit, but I didn't belong here and didn't want to send the message that I was visibly interfering with his running of the station. Any issues I had could be discussed at our weekly meetings.

"I need to have a quick word with the Commander," I told Kira.

As I walked past her I surreptitiously pinched that fine ass I'd spent many an hour pounding, which made her jump and squeak a little, causing everyone to turn and look at her, her face reddening. Thankfully for her, and for me, they hadn't seen what had made her react like that. We weren't exactly hiding our relationship, but we also weren't advertising it either. Intimate relationships arising from being in the same cell were ridiculously common in the Resistance, so most militia members, who were also former Resistance, probably already suspected I was involved with the women of my cell.

I nodded with a smile to everyone looking at Kira and I and walked up the brief flight of steps and the doors of Sisko's office parted to open in response. It was all here, just like in the show, including the overall design of the room, the curved dark glassy desk with integrated touchscreens, the infamous baseball on its little stand. Sisko was staring into a datapadd and looked up at my approach.

"Welcome to my office, General," he greeted. "Now what can you tell me about Q and his presence on the station?"

I raised my eyebrows in surprise.

"Odd, one would think that an omnipotent god-like entity could hide his presence if he wanted to," I said, though I was almost certain Q hadn't allowed anyone to hear the contents of our conversation since it gave away my future knowledge and his role in bringing me to this dimension. That would ruin their fun, after all. "Who saw us talking?"

"Mr. O'Brien was on his way past the Replimat and recognized Q from his many visits to the USS Enterprise, where he was stationed before this," Sisko informed me.

I nodded in understanding.

"Well, I can tell you a bit about Q," I said. "But I imagine that the many reports off the Enterprise could tell you far more."

Sisko shifted in his seat, the only visible sign of how concerned he really was, but my hearing had detected an elevated heart rate.

"The reason I ask is that there is a massive graviton buildup and the station's power has fluctuated wildly on two occasions," he told me.

I sighed.

"It's not Q. That's just not his style. When he jokes around he wants you to know that it's him. He gloats. He wouldn't be subtle about it," I replied. "You need to ignore him as best you can and focus on what else might be going on here on the station."

Sisko nodded, my assessment probably in line with what Piccard had written over the years.

"I'll take that under consideration," he said.

Hopefully he would, or I might be looking for a new home soon, though I'd beam my girls onto my ship beforehand to save them.

"Can't your sensors find the cause of this?" I asked.

I remembered that they couldn't in the show, but this was another timeline.

"No, especially since our sensors are of Cardassian design," he said. "They're not really known for versatility or precision, especially in unusual situations or when dealing with unknown phenomenon."

The spoon heads were decades behind the Federation, especially in non-military oriented technology which was much closer, go figure. In an all-out war with the Federation really trying, and without help from some other power, they'd get their asses handed to them. Alas, the Federation wouldn't go in and stomp that fascist government into the dirt.

"Like I said already, you need to focus on what else might be going on," I advised. "Q will actually, in his own way, try to help us. He might deny it, but he likes humanity and the Federation. Keep an eye on him and try to notice what has his attention, not what he does."

Sisko nodded and I saw myself out of the office. Hopefully things would work out, but if not, I'd better place myself at the auction just in case.

(Line Break)

Capital City. Bajor.

While things were going well on the station, and that whole space egg thing had worked out for the best, down on Bajor the recovery efforts were not going as smoothly. The devastation the Cardassians had left in their wake was still getting cleared up.

As I was escorted by Major Kira through the streets of the capital city, the scale of the devastation became quite clear. There was still a lot of work to be done here.

Sure, the streets were cleared of visible rubble and debris, but there were still areas of scorched earth from weapons' fire, the burned-out shells of buildings, blood stained ground, and so on. Only a few of the buildings here and there had been spared any damage.

Most Bajoran buildings were rounded, spherical, soft, and graceful, much more in harmony with the natural surroundings than the harsher, outrageous angles of the Cardassian-designed structures that had been built here during the Occupation.

"These buildings will need to be demolished and any useful materials salvaged for later use," I said to the Major as we headed into the center of the city. "They're too damaged to repair."

Kira nodded in agreement.

"It's scheduled to be done in the next few weeks," she informed me. "It's taking a lot of careful planning since we don't want to damage the surviving buildings." Even the Cardassian designed monstrosities were useful and had to be preserved. Regardless of their origins, this was no time to turn your nose up at them when people were suffering. Maybe in a few decades, when Bajor was somewhat restored, a decision could be made on this Occupation-era Cardassian buildings.

Seeing all this made me incredibly sad. The Bajorans had been building beautiful cities while humans had still been trying to figure out fire. Yet while Earth was the center of a powerful interstellar alliance the only reason anyone even knew about Bajor was because of the wormhole. The universe was a very harsh place at times.

"Those Industrial Replicators from the Federation can't come soon enough," I said with a sigh.

You couldn't just install an Industrial Replicator, as I'd found out on my island, not when some of them were the size of a factory. The one heading for Bajor was a planetary-class industrial replicator and was even bigger than that. Once it arrived, and was set up, it would supply vast amount of building materials and technology allowing the Bajorans to rebuild their cities and would likely be producing materials 26 hours a day for years to come. Most notably, it could produce other smaller replicators, which was why it was so valuable.

"The Federation should be sending a dozen," Kira commented grumpily.

I had to smile upon hearing that.

"If they did then Bajor would have no reason to join the Federation," I said to her as we kept walking. "They won't simply hand over everything Bajor needs, no matter how benevolent they can be at times. Still, it's better to have them here than one of the other major powers. The Klingons or the Romulans might offer more in the short-term to entice Bajor, but they'd likely take total control of the wormhole and never let it go, before then taking over this planet before long. At least the Federation shares the job of policing traffic through the wormhole with the militia, and while they want Bajor in the Federation, they'll let it happen when Bajor is ready. They won't force it and would even leave if we told them to, though that would be an utter catastrophe and the Cardassians would be back in the first hour with a full battle fleet."

Every Bajoran I saw on the streets was busy with something related to the rebuilding; it actually reminded me of famous scenes and photos I had seen of people working to rebuild their homes after World War 2, grimly and full of determination picking up the pieces of their ruined cities and lives, starting over. It was somewhat inspiring to see it happen here around me.

The Major led me to one of the surviving buildings, a temple or monastery I suspected, given the elaborate stone carvings at the entryway. The massive stone structure's interior was dim, illuminated only by the sunlight that streamed through the windows. There were Bajoran work crews here too. They were patching holes at the moment, rebuilding interior walls, and there were artisans all over the place lovingly restoring artwork and statues. Yet they did so in absolute silence and only speaking in hushed tones, and even more astonishingly there was not a single power tool in sight, only traditional hand tools. The reason why became obvious when I felt the almost tangible aura of serene contemplation that permeated this place.

"General Gothic. Major Kira," a voice greeted us warmly.

I turned towards the source of the sound and saw a Bajoran female. She stepped into the filtered sunlight and I recognized her instantly. She was Kai Opaka, who was dressed in a bright orange robe with some purple material under it. Her presence in this place, combined with the peace and wisdom I felt here, was not something I could convey properly with words.

"Your Eminence," I greeted, bowing my head to someone I had a great deal of respect for.

Kira greeted the Kai in a similar way.

Kai Opaka smiled faintly and stepped closer, she raised a right hand and grabbed Kira by the earlobe, squeezing. Kira tolerated the spiritual exploration of her pagh with ease.

Opaka let go and suddenly I found my own right ear squeezed by a surprisingly powerful grip and a tingling was felt, though it wasn't of the body, it felt deeper than that. Finally, she let go and stepped back, her serene smile never wavering.

"Amazing," Opaka said. "Your pagh is near overwhelming. Such an ambitious and clever mind, with a compassionate yet ruthless heart. Humility, though, when you know you are wrong and clarity, clarity of purpose granting contentment. It is an odd set of contradictions, yet somehow exists in harmony."

I didn't know which of us she was referring too, though I had my suspicions.

"Is that what you see in my pagh, Eminence?" I enquired.

Opaka didn't answer, instead she gestured out of the window.

"General, what do you think of the recovery efforts?" she asked.

"Bajor has achieved much already. It is doubly impressive considering the limited resources currently available," I said honestly.

Opaka nodded. Seemingly content with my answer.

"Recently I consulted the Orb, seeking to understand why the Prophets would trust a human to protect us, as well as another human to act as their Emissary," the Kai said.

I personally had no idea, at least with regard to me, though I suspected it was because of my future knowledge of this dimension. I, of course, knew that Sisko was part Prophet whose very existence had been engineered by them, but I was definitely not sharing that information.

"What was the result of your consultation?" I asked, quite curious, at least with regard to me. I assumed that the Kai had requested my presence here for some specific reason. She'd even suggested that I walk through the city rather than just transport to this temple directly from my ship.

"That the Emissary has his part to play," the Bajoran 'pope' answered. "So do you as well, a part that extends even beyond Bajor, but yet will always return you here. General Gothic, do what you must, but keep the people first and foremost in your heart and mind."

I promised that I would. Hopefully that was an oath that I could keep knowing the chaos the future would bring.

"Now you must both return to the station," the Kai instructed. "It is your place, I am sure of that, as I am sure that you will both follow the path the Prophets have laid out for you."

And that, was that. A very short, but perhaps very important meeting; possibly a small, but necessary nudge from the Prophets to tell us that we were on the right path and to stay the course.

(Line Break)

Quark's Bar. Deep Space Nine.

"DABO!" shouted the gamblers in utter delight.

Entering the bar I was just in time to see Quark twitch ever so slightly as that word was shouted, signaling that he had just lost some money. I figured that someone was having more than their fair share of luck. Which reminded me to keep an eye out for those luck machines that might turn up sooner or later. I wasn't sure if they could be used to only generate good luck or to direct the corresponding bad luck that was created to worthy people like the Jem'hadar or the Collectors, but it might be worth looking into. My 'luck' with reverse engineering alien tech had been quite good as of late so getting my hands on one was a good idea.

I handed over a strip of latinum to the annoyed bartender, which was snatched from my hand as quick as lightning.

"For the holosuite reservations," I told him. "I don't want to get behind on my tab, after all."

I was one of the few people that was allowed a tab here, and the only person with discount given our arrangement, though I think Bashir and O'Brien would have a tab soon enough since they were such frequent customers in the show. It wasn't a custom his race made use of, and he didn't think the Federation would stick around for much longer so he wasn't extending it to all Federation personnel. He was wrong about that. But it hardly mattered.

"Is your cousin still in the arms business?" I asked the bartender.

Quark seemed surprised.

"Gaila?" he asked, probably surprised that I even knew who he was.

Quark suddenly began to look shifty, which was an expression I was already quite used to seeing on his face.

"Why do you want to know?" he asked suspiciously, tossing glances around for Odo probably.

I was planning to equip the off-world militia with disruptor weapons and the group Galia worked as part of were known for delivering on what they promised at fair prices. I'd had dealings with them before, but that whole thing had gone south due to several spies, which he may or may not be aware of by now and connected to me, even if that wasn't entirely accurate.

Unfortunately, I didn't think it was a good idea to take my ship anywhere near his base of operations as he might be tempted to try to kill me. But if I did business through Quark he was much more likely to just accept the money and deliver the goods. Hopefully that would repair our relationship and make him a viable source for armaments in the future. With my island's industrial replicator I could produce my own weapons, but the actual number I needed to arm the off-world militia forces meant that the power needs were extreme, especially to create all the power cells they would require. With the power needs so extreme at the moment, especially since I didn't have a large Collector power cell to power the replicator, coupled with my desire to hide my ability to produce weapons from the Federation and other powers, it just made much more sense to use someone like Gaila.

"There is a message that I want you to pass to him. A business opportunity, a very profitable one," I informed Quark. "If you could arrange to have him contact me at his earliest convenience, I would be most grateful, and I'm sure he would be too, especially to the Ferengi who made it happen."

Quark at this point was looking at me like I had grown a second head.

"Don't worry, Quark, it's official business and I am a General in the Bajoran militia, remember? When a sovereign government's military buys a large quantity of weapons for its forces, it's not illegal," I reminded him. At this point he looked shocked speechless, his jaw literally hanging open.

"Just get him to call me, Quark."

As head of all off-world militia forces, this included the crew of our few ships and the military bases on some of Bajor's moons. It was up to me to decide what weapons they used, how they were supplied, and so on. As such, if I wanted them all to have disruptor based weapons available to them, that was my decision and my business. The provisional government was much too concerned with carving up the recovering Bajor between themselves to care what I got up to. The Federation personnel stationed here would continue to use whatever Starfleet required and provided them with. Sisko has zero say in what I provided to my own forces.

"Do you have a Holosuite free now?" I asked.

I might as well spend some time continuing to work on my Mass Effect holonovel. My other published works had continued to steadily get more well-known and popular and the sales were really ratcheting up as of late and making me a lot of money for me each month. Interest in my next published work was going up each day.

"Sure, Holosuite 2. And it's on the house, General," Quark said smiling toothily, obviously relishing the profit coming his way and the chance to rub it in Odo's face that he was facilitating a huge arms deal and yet it was perfectly legal. "Go right ahead."

I jumped off the barstool and headed up the circular staircase into the narrow corridor above the main floor that held the only four holosuites that DS9 had.

(Line Break)

Quarters. Deep Space Nine.

I stopped in front of a set of doors located on the station's Habitat Ring and composed myself. I was wearing the first of the clothes that Garak had done up for me. Sure, I could have simply replicated clothing from the past, or had my armor reproduce the look of it, but the stuff I was wearing now was made of superior materials. I wore a suit jacket and trousers, along with a nice shirt underneath it. I'd never liked ties so I'd not bothered to ask Garak to make any and I kept the top buttons undone so that my t-shirt was also visible. For a ruthless killer and spy, he actually was a very good tailor as well.

Satisfied that I didn't look a mess I tapped the button on the side to ring the door chime and announce I was at the door.

"Come in" a female voice said.

The doors parted and I was treated to the interior view of Jadzia Dax's personal quarters. She had done some serious redecorating, making the normally terribly ugly and austere Cardassian-built quarters much more inviting. There were a few rather out of place and gaudy items, at least in my view, mixed in with some beautiful artwork, some of which was erotic. I couldn't be totally sure, having not studied her culture much, but I was sure she'd mixed Trill art with tacky souvenirs from many other places. This was confirmed when I saw one of those statues from Risa. I couldn't recall what they were called, but I knew what their purpose was.

I was also treated to the wonderful view of Jadzia in a casual outfit of figure hugging slacks, cleavage baring blouse and bare feet. Currently she was busy doing some hasty rearranging of various small things littered about the main room.

This allowed me an excellent view of her tight backside as she had to bend over quite a bit. I also noted that her long brown hair was drawn into a kind of ponytail.

I had seen her naked several times before so I knew that from her temples down she had a trail of small, crescent-shaped spots running along her hairline, down her neck, and all the way to the base of her feet. A feature that was characteristic of the Trill species I had later learned.

"Sorry, I'm still not settled on the layout and décor of my place," she told me after she had put some sort of odd artwork statue figurine on a shelf.

"I can come back later," I offered to be polite.

"Nonsense," was her quick reply, a smile in her voice.

She waved her hands as if dismissing the very notion. Then she sat down on a couch, folding her legs under her and patted the empty spot next to her. I honestly tried to relax, but now of all times, from out of nowhere, shyness and nervousness suddenly swept through me. I coughed and sat down at the place she indicated. Normally I was a lot more confident with women, but today I was a little off for some reason. I was having money problems, at least with regard to my job, which was stressing me out a bit, though my personal finances were decent, though too much of my wealth was already committed to various endeavors including propping up the off-world Militia. Actually, the whole of Bajor was having money troubles and I really needed to do something about that.

"So, what did you want me to take a look at?" she wondered.

I took a deep breath and handed the PADD over, glad to focus my mind on something else entirely."

"I need you to check my thinking with regards to the science behind this," I told her.

Jadzia nodded and after only a minute she gave me her initial thoughts – damn she read fast.

"The design for these omni-tools will require miniaturization that doesn't exist yet. And the smallest holo-emitter I know of is about thirty centimeters in size. The Replicator can be this small though," she told me.

Actually, I knew she was wrong, since I had a working prototype of an omni-tool in hand already. The design I'd given her was for a more basic model, meant for civilian usage, and didn't require a holo-emitter capable of fully tangible holograms.

"This design just needs to project basic three-dimensional shapes and flat screens along the tool and in mid-air for the control interface and displays of the scan output, with just a bit of tactile resistance to allow the user to tap holographic buttons and to manipulate data from the scans," I told her. "The real issue is the power required to make it work."

I used Collector power sources to get around that, which supplied me with a ridiculous amount of power for the size of it, but the Federation didn't have that kind of tech so it was a legitimate hurdle to overcome. When I had originally designed the omni-tool the holo emitter was never meant to produce anything other than a semi-tangible image. With all the power I now had available I had updated my personal omnitool to include a fully tangible holo image that could be expanded to significant size and a much more power hungry sensor suite.

"It's possible," Jadzia said with a nod after examining my design and corresponding power draw analyses the computer had conducted. "This is basically a Tricorder, combined with a holographic display, combined with a com badge; now that is very feasible. The micro replicator seems wasteful and almost certainly beyond the power output of any Federation miniature battery or power supply, as they're very power hungry devices."

She studied the PADD some more.

"But we already have tricorders and comm badges," she went on to say. "So why do we need these omni-tools?" she asked.

I had a pitch ready to persuade.

"Someone can just take your comm badge off, and just like that, the computer won't know where you are and you've lost all ability to communicate with others or be transported to safety. And as for the Tricorder and its sensor module, it's only as big as it is because the humanoid hand isn't as small as it could be. Tricorders are clunky things, that need to be whipped out to use, that can also be knocked out of your hand, or simply taken away. The omni-tool is attached and molded to the wrist and the curvature of the forearm of your non-dominant hand, and is always available to conduct scans with just a small gesture, with a much more useful and versatile holo display and control interface that can be enlarged and manipulated tactilely. And when the holo-output isn't switched on its unnoticeable that it's even running. You can even hide it under your sleeve and have it kept with you at all times. One day, I hope, every member of Starfleet might wear one of my omni-tools at all times. Having a tricorder/miniature computer on your arm at all times sounds mighty useful in a whole slew of situations, doesn't it?"

Jadzia smiled in amusement.

"The man from another universe, captain of his own ship, hero of the Bajoran Resistance, feared warrior and general, masterful lover, and now inventor," she gushed. "Is there any end to your many talents?"

I genuinely couldn't help it, I blushed!

"Well, I can't sing or make any kind of art," I answered honestly, a small smile slowly growing on my lips.

Anything else I might have spoken about never left my lips as Jadzia suddenly lunged at me and was straddling me, kissing me deeply, our tongues fighting for dominance and my hands immediately squeezing her amazing ass and drawing a moan from her. If this was a TV show right now we'd be fading into black….