Note: A bit on the late side, but better late then never. I thought an action chapter would be nice since we're going to start getting into a lot more craziness going down and in later chapters just a little hint to whet your whistle; think Empok Nor ;) There are also going to be way more crazy revelations, plot twists and surprises, so stay tuned. As always thanks for reading and commenting, C&C is always welcome. Also if you want to use any of this world for fun, I'm totally cool with that too.


"Worf and I haven't spoken in over twenty years," Jadzia says with unusual reserve as she drinks a warm cup of tea through a wide straw. The four of them sit around the fireplace, the only light in the darkened room. The main room looks haunting between the faint moonlight streaming in the window and the glow from the crackling flames. Garak, on principle decided not to question the venting system or even the wisdom of such a novelty, but Julian had assured him that it only fed into the main engines powering the speed of the ship. Garak listened as he explained the engineering in greater detail, and took his tea with a patient smile, finding it too thin a beverage for his tastes. "Let it cool down, Garak, I promise you'll like it." He finds now as he drinks the cooling drink that it's acquired a thick gel consistency. Gelatin, Julian cheerfully informed him, though he did warn to finish it before it cooled completely lest he have to uncap it and fish the rest out with a spoon. Garak had sat down initially and then with a wince he barely managed to hide, decided that he would best be served standing up after all. Jadzia shot him a knowing look as he took a position behind the back of Julian's tall wingbacked chair primly drinking his tea as if nothing was amiss. He pointedly ignored Julian's disgustingly smug countenance in that moment, the light glinting brilliantly illuminating that green eyeshine.

As it stands now, Jadzia sits next to Keiko O'Brien on the large sofa. Garak has noticed since joining the three of them that Keiko appears unusually quiet from what he remembers. Politeness perhaps? Or something more? Garak does not study her too blatantly as he leans on the chair without fear of any undue motion. With the furniture secured, he finds it a pleasantly solid foundation. If he were to pretend, he could almost imagine the large airship being akin to an ancient Cardassian Freighter full of character, the slight vibration, the unsteadiness accompanying the whirr of engine, but he's never been one to let his imagination get the better of him. And right now it is far better to live in the moment as Jadzia narrates- solely for his benefit he's sure- the tale of exactly how she came to be an "ex" Starfleet science officer.

"He did not seem particularly interested in conversing when I last saw him," Garak adds, seeing her mouth curl in a small amusement. Yes, that suits her far better than that maudlin look.

"No, he wasn't," she agrees seeming to find some humor in the situation after all. "The first thing he said was..." She sits up straight clearing her throat rather dramatically before dropping the volume to a comical imitation of a stern baritone. "Jadzia. This has gone on long enough. You will accompany me back home as my wife." Jadzia laughs perhaps louder than any of them but there is a fair gale of laughter that comes together in a rather pleasant chorus that even Garak cannot help but join in on. He sees Keiko, curiously delay, stare at him for what definitely does not seem to be the first time before relaxing her posture.

"He can't possibly think that after all this time he's just going to show up like nothing happened. He can't just ride into town on a horse and expect you to go off into the sunset with him because he tells you too."

"Klingons are such romantics at heart," Garak notes, seeing Jadzia's dancing eyes catch his. He doesn't know if it's the lingering euphoria from his earlier... encounter with Julian, but he finds that expression to be strangely kismet, an odd flutter of pleasure passes through him as he holds that look.

"You could've heard him out," Julian counters mildly. "At the very least you didn't have to make him chase you all the way to the ship."

"Make him?"

"Point taken."

"You don't make Worf do anything," Keiko agrees.

"Nor would it seem to be the case with our dear Jadzia as well." Jadzia shakes her head at that looking serious again, a glance down with a sigh.

"He told me back then if I came to Westworld that we were no longer husband and wife. That... that wasn't an easy decision... but it wasn't his place to..." She trails off seeming trapped in that nostalgia, frustrated, sitting back on the couch, looking up at the ceiling as she hits the back hard with a fist and an almost Klingon-esque growl accompanied by what Garak suspects is a long string of Klingon epithet.

Keiko puts a hand on her shoulder and squeezes.

"We know, Jadzia. I'm sure Mr. Garak will understand if you stop there. I'm sure that there are plenty of things that he has not shared with us that you don't need to push yourself." She doesn't turn her head, but his sharp sight can see even in that dim lighting a quick flicker of her attention to him, the emphasis surely obvious. So she knows. Of course she's an intelligent woman but have you given her any cause on the trip to question what's been going on? You haven't had any further contact with the happy Startfleet cadre and she was not present for any of it. Of course there is that saying about a mother's instinct and it wasn't an ideal tale but that leaves the question of what she suspects and who she suspects of being part of the fabrication. She cannot know that Jadzia knows. Her attention has been relegated to you and to Julian. But where to proceed from here? It might be better were she to know, but for a civilian the risk could be too great. Or is she a civilian? Jadzia had said she was a botanist but could there be more to it? Garak takes another drink, nothing showing on his face as Jadzia puts a frustrated hand over her eyes.

"Me?" he asks with complete innocence, or as Jadzia would say charmingly "like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth". He's yet to make use of that saying, much to his chagrin, he hasn't met anyone outside of himself to whom that particular idiom would be applicable. Ah, give it time, Elim, you've met so many delightfully deceptive individuals thus far, it's only a matter of time. "It's no "Mister", just Garak. And my life is an open book," he protests with all the earnest he can muster even as Julian snorts and Jadzia makes a pleasant rumble of laughter as she sits back up. Keiko does not seem to share that amusement, but though she narrows her eyes suspiciously between all of them she doesn't take that bait.

"I'm fine, I really am. It's not exactly a secret but..." Jadzia trails off, looking to Julian questioning. Garak imagines it's to see if he hears any unexpected visitors. He shakes his head before she continues. "Of course. Wouldn't do to have my credentials being called into question now, would it?" She scoots forward, dressed in a thin white slip that he can just barely make out beneath a rather plush looking white robe, daringly low cut. Garak wonders if that's part of the carefully sealed array on her belt or some borrowed piece. Either way it seems to fit her well, the short length of both garments suggesting they may have been borrowed from Keiko, but seeing the conservative long pajamas of said Mrs. O'Brien, he's not so sure.

"A hundred and two years ago my godson was murdered by the Albino," Jadzia states, and Garak can feel the immediate tension even now as she speaks those words. He calculates quickly, triangulating that with his recall of her previous hosts.

"When you were Curzon?" He asks. She nods at that, mouth tight and she looks to them all as if telling the story to everyone for the first time.

"The four of us, Koloth, Kor, Kang, and I, swore a blood oath to hunt down and kill him no matter what. He was a dangerous pirate, a criminal, and when he evaded capture, he vowed that he would seek revenge on the three of them. And he did." Garak watches her fists clench around that cup. "He infected their first borns with a genetic virus... And they died... slowly... painfully... Kang's son was my godson. He was named after me... in my honor... I swore there was no way that I would let him get away with that... and I didn't." Her tone is dark, her eyes distant and Garak cannot help but be somewhat rapt in his attention as she continues.

"Twenty one years ago, they found his base. It was here on Westworld. I was a member of Starfleet then. I was a science officer... Lieutenant Commander. And I had also just gotten married... to Worf- Worf, son of Mogh. That night," she says with an almost bitter laugh. "That night that they found me. That night we were celebrating..." She looks at Julian with a wistful smile. "Julian was there, so was Miles. We had battled then as man and wife, Julian, had just swung the Ma'Stakas. It was brilliant. It was damn beautiful. Worf fought so..." She sighs. "He was unmatched as a warrior. But that's when I saw them. Three of my oldest and dearest friends. I'd never hoped to see them at my wedding when I invited them, still searching, still looking, but there they were. They found him!" He eyes light up as she leans forward with a quick shift to that bloodlust that makes Garak understand completely just how a Klingon could have fallen so hard for her. "Right there, they bellowed, three brave warriors, that they found the albino! Here on Westworld! They had the location of his hideout and it was time! It was time to fulfill the oath. Kang said it was a formality... that I didn't have to come, but Kor, Kor knew the feeling in my heart when I heard. He knew how honor demanded no matter how many lifetimes passed that I could never rest until the oath was fulfilled."

"I take it, Mr. Worf was less than thrilled," Garak interjects shrewdly. Jadzia's look grows pained then for a moment, pained, betrayed, but it settles back to anger in a chameleon quick blink.

"He agreed with Kang. He said that I had no business in such an affair. Can you believe that? A Klingon warrior telling me about my honor?! General Martok understood. Sirella didn't..." She looks on with a wry bitter twist to her mouth at that. "It divided the entire hall... I've heard it's still a debate amongst generations even now. Should the Trill have fulfilled the blood oath made by her former host?" She looks at Julian now, a quick glance up and back down to the center table again. "Benjamin, Julian, Miles... they all told me I'd be crazy to even consider going. Murder? A Starfleet officer committing cold blooded killing? What does Starfleet care about honor though? Diversity, acceptance, they're nothing but political words to Starfleet. What does the Federation care about my godson?! Nothing! That's what. Did I go? Of course I went." She looks at Julian, setting the cup down, taking his hands just at that moment, a lean in, a clasp from them both even as he turns away.

"We never could've done it without Julian. Without everything he knew about Westworld, about Dehas where the Albino was hiding, without his mind, without everything you've done for me, Julian. You know I'll never be able to repay you." Julian, Garak notes shakes his head, discomfort obvious as he sighs.

"Thank me for what, ruining your life?"

"Julian-"

"I know," he agrees, squeezing her hands tightly. "I know we've been over it a million times, you'd be dead, I'd feel even worse but..."

"No buts. No regrets." She looks up at Garak defiantly, daring him to say anything. "Worf told me if I left that night I was no wife of his. Almost twenty one years to the day I upheld my oath. I killed him. Me. It was my blow that dealt him death and I'd do it again in a heartbeat." She lets go of Julian's hands looking only at Garak. He isn't sure why, but as all her playful demeanor drops, the light casts shadows that make him feel vaguely threatened.

"I can't go back now. I'll be court martialed. Guilty, damned, you name it. I chose to stay in the darkness." She drops that focus back to the table again. "Kang, Koloth, Kor stayed with me. They stayed when Worf didn't." That statement almost niggles at him, calling back to mind the three old Klingons, having seen them plenty of times since his first arrival, and in that memory what returns are the whispers as well. The Klingon's whore. Ah but never to her face to theirs, where any could hear, but whispered in those hushed tones you've longed grown accustomed to. Just like the occupation, right Elim? The spoonhead's whore, the Cardie's bitch, any number of venomous digs. Mmm... primitive misogyny at its finest. He choses to remain silent on that front. Whatever truth of that it's one of those rare truths that he really believes to be none of his business. In spite of what some might say, he does still possess a rare few of those. "They stayed with me when he didn't. That's all anyone needs to know." Garak nods in agreement taking that in, finding himself wondering then why a man would decide after such a long period of time to suddenly recall the wife he cast out. It seems however that bit of dark mood passes quickly, a shake of her head and another sip of tea, Jadzia urging him to tell his tale.

"C'mon, Garak. We're all lost souls here, no secrets amongst friends, right?" She winks at him and he cannot help but grin back wondering if the entire intent had been to lure himself into sharing his own sad fall from grace. He decides that it couldn't hurt to play along, already flipping through innumerable covers that he's given over the years, piecing together something exciting, daring, with just a lick of truth but Guls, not too much. He catches Julian grumbling that whatever words leave his mouth the truth will be the least of them. He cannot help but preen a bit at that as he lets Julian know that every one of his compliments a few hours ago were utterly heartfelt. Julian chokes in his Tarkalean tea, a coughing expulsion of liquid over the large white shirt that Garak truly does hope won't stain. Ah, but stain or no, that's such a delectable view down the font of that long low neck. Really, Julian, I think if you hold it out just a bit more to shake the fabric I might be able to see more of that tanned chest. He's about to offer to help him clean it up back in their quarters, deciding that a little more "protection plan payment" might be in order when fate decides to take a mighty stomp on his rekindled loins.

The ship rocks violently, and Garak tumbles almost into the fire as Julian dives and rolls him out of the way. He expects to see similar falls from the rest, but instead oddly finds them still seated, up and alert. Julian as well is already back to his feet as Garak gets to his knees. He doesn't even have a chance to open his mouth when Julian tersely grits out, "pirates." Pirates? In the sky? For what purpose? Slaves? Latinum? Certainly not dilithium or anything else of real value. Ore? He holds the chair rising to his feet, the gondola of the airship far less stable in the aftermath of an attack than the ships he's been accustomed to traveling on. It's at that moment that he rights himself that Molly and Nog both rush from either ends of the hall. Yes, Julian said Nog would pilot day because it was safer but by the State you hardly imagined Elim, that this was the reason. He can see it must have been close to the shift switch; Molly is already dressed, and he sees two pistols holstered on either side of her hips. Gone is that playful girlish demeanor from earlier, and instead he sees the serious battle ready face of the ship's captain.

"Number?" She asks Nog quickly.

"Three," he answered looking anxious. Garak watches her suck in a breath. He doesn't catch what she breathes out, but he sees Julian already running, far more tense than he would expect.

"Molly-"

"Guns," she interrupts him. "You still gun better than anyone at night. Nog." She looks at him quickly. "Port. Julian, starboard." Nog is already off back down the hall he'd come from as Julian hugs her tightly.

"I won't let a damn one of them get away," he swears kissing the top of her head before running off without a care for who sees his speed. Again, Garak finds that curious but already Molly is looking at Keiko uncertainly.

"Mom... the shields are slaggin' up."

"We've got it." Keiko looks at him with a mother's face that just dares him to argue with her. "I'm certain Garak will be happy to help."

"Delighted," he agrees having no idea what he's even agreeing to.

"I'll keep an eye on the other passengers," Jadzia says, just as Watters staggers into the main room sleep rumpled in his Starfleet uniform. Garak turns away before he laughs out loud just as Molly barks for Jadzia to "mind the dirtkissers." Keiko wastes no time, briskly instructing him to follow her as they scramble. She takes him down the right hall and to a door on the left.

"We need to get the shields up." There's nothing but a small room, and he's about to ask how they plan on accomplishing that when he sees her open a floor hatch to a small aether lit shaft down a ladder. "I hope you're not claustrophobic," she says, and he cannot decide if that's a poor attempt at a joke or not as he debates his odds of surviving a fall from however high up they are rather than going down there.

"Not at all," he says amicably as he swallows down the tea sourly pooling at the back of his throat at the thought of that damn tiny space.

"After you, Garak," is said almost far too sweetly, but he ignores those warning bells screaming, the thought of the entire ship falling out of the sky enough to prompt that motion. He obeys dutifully, wasting no time as that ladder drops ten feet to a room that's mercifully larger than a closet but not by much. The lights are only enough to illuminate the activators, and he can see it's nothing but a series of large metal wheels marked presumably for different parts of the shields. He doesn't touch anything, unsure if there's supposed to be a certain order, as she joins him, a click into place as the hatch closes, followed oddly by another. That would be the lock, Elim, his mind helpfully supplies and he feels almost dumb wondering why she would be locking it when Keiko is at his side indicating the number two shield.

"We'll both need to turn clockwise until it stops. The number two shield is the carbon nano fiber chain over the port of the balloon. Pirates usually won't target that during a raid but accidents happen and we can't afford to take too many hits to the gas bags." She's already beginning the turn and he can see why exactly this is a two person operation as the wheel barely begins to turn with the both of them gripping the spokes. It begins moving faster as they do, and he thinks he can hear a rattle or some other gears turning to bring it to bear.

He isn't sure how many turns he counts before giving up, his muscles will be aching in the morning with five more to go, however Keiko is already on to the number three as he finishes the job and locks the wheel back down. She doesn't look at him as she moves the latch holding it, braced to begin the first hard turn. This one seems harder than the last, barely moving with a groan as he throws all his strength to it.

"Now we need to get this one into place for starboard," Keiko grits out, a far stronger woman than he would have thought, "and then Garak, you can tell me why we're really going to the West Continent. That won't open again unless I use the right combination and I've got all the time in the world." As Garak considers the question he also realizes, that like everyone else in Westworld, she's also far more dangerous as well.