Strange to think that having your molecules taken apart, thrown hundreds of kilometres and then reassembled again would become part of one's daily routine by the 24th Century but it was true nonetheless. Doctor Bashir and three security personnel; McCarthy, Priest and Lafontaine, shimmered back into their corporeal form aboard the runabout with a familiar hum. All four had phasers immediately drawn, expecting a particular nasty showdown in the confined space the runabout interior provided.

They'd materialized in the shuttle's main compartment just behind the helm and conn controls. Bashir's attention immediately turned to Ezri, who laid bound and gagged on the floor on her side; as if she'd been dumped there. Charles was nowhere to be seen.

With the places to hide narrowed down to the runabout's aft compartment the three wearing yellow moved cautiously towards the entryway that bridged front with aft.

Bashir had bobbed down to Ezri, a more fitting medical tricorder now in hand. Scanning her with his left he grabbed the gag out of her mouth with his right. Her eyes were closed, and rolling her flat onto her back didn't wake her. His medical scans showed she was alive, and in fact other than some superficial bruising she was completely unhurt... they'd obviously caught up with the runabout before Charles could do whatever he was planning to do.

As McCarthy, Priest and Lafontaine drew lots over who was to breach Bashir administered a hypo. His efforts were rewarded by Ezri's blue eyes fluttering open. In another place, in another time, those eyes would make Julian fall in love with the Trill all over again. In this place and time, however, he was merely thankful that she was alive.

Suddenly the decision of who to breach was taken away from the trio when Charles emerged in the doorway. Priest was the first to raise his phaser and commanded Charles to surrender. Charles laughed at this and showed his hands, palms empty. "I'm not armed," he clarified taking a step through the threshold and out into the front compartment.

Bashir was standing now, "You sir are being taken directly to our brig. Where you will sit and await trial..."

Charles was smiling now, a nightmarish, lunatic's smile. One that sent chills down the spines of even the war veterans amongst them.

"You can't imprison the dead Doctor," he said, his version of an explanation for the haunting smile.

Bashir was at him with his tricorder now, waving away the protests of Priest to stay back and be careful. "You've taken a large amount of Sadeide." Then frowning and looking, for the first time into Charles' eyes. "But that drug isn't harmful to Humans. Sure that large a dose will give you a splitting headache in a few hours - But it's not lethal."

Then Bashir saw, Charles' eyes were pupil-less and black. "But you're not Human..." he said outloud for his own benefit as well as the crowd assembled, two of whom had now helped Ezri to an upright sitting position.

"Very astute Doctor," Charles said; "I am in fact..."

"A Vorta," Bashir finished for him, a thousand questions running through his mind. 999 he wouldn't get to ask so his genetically modified brain was trying to compute which was the most relevant to ask in what must be the last few moments of this individual's life. He looked back over to Ezri and his heart and soul swooned for her again, he couldn't help it.

Of all the questions to have asked a Vorta, one posing to be Human after the end of the war, he settled on; "Why did you take Ezri?"

The Vorta smiled their typical Weyoun-esque smile. "Why does a Vorta do anything? In service of our gods the Founders."

Bashir opened his mouth to ask a further question, one he hoped wouldn't get such a useless and cryptic answer, but was unable to get it off before the Vorta's eyes rolled back in his head and his body collapsed to the floor.

Priest was there in a flash, realizing only when he'd arrived that he had no clue where to check for a Vorta's pulse. Bashir, tricorder having never left his hand, crouched down for a scan. Already knowing the result he barely looked at his data screen. He spoke to the group whole but he only made eye contact with Dax, "He's dead."

Julian, holding on contempt for the deceased Vorta, turned back to where Ezri sat upon against the bulkhead. There was no time for comforting words, nor questions about what had happened, as Bashir's combadge chirped and Vaughn's voice squalled down the line.

"Doctor, you'd better get back here ASAP. The Jem'Hadar battle cruiser is back."

Monitoring an away mission with a hostage extraction element was always nail biting, and it didn't help with emotions running and high and being so far from home. For Vaughn it was made all the worse as everything was happening on his watch and for that he felt doubly responsible. He might be over one hundred years old but, if it were possible, looked even older because of the burden he carried on his shoulders.

He was just about to jump on the comm as soon as he saw Charles' lifesigns, which showed Human, vanish from sensors but was distracted when a startled Lieutenant Bowers called out from the Tactical station.

"Sir! Jem'Hadar battle cruiser decloaking," the Tactical Officer said, then anticipating Vaughn's next question; "It's the same one that took Cartwright and Boudica."

Everything from then happened so fast. Within seconds of Vaughn's warning to Bashir the Vorta's body had been beamed aboard by the Jem'Hadar before the ship then promptly raised its shields, charged its phasers and... hailed them.

"On Screen," Vaughn commanded.

Expecting a showdown with a Jem'Hadar first, a Vorta or possibly even a Founder Vaughn was very surprised to have the fair haired Boudica facing him, a smirk of a grin across the right side of her face.

"I hadn't anticipated you rising in the ranks so quickly," Vaughn said, knowing verbal sparring with these augments went a long way in the power games they played and was eager to get the first blow off early.

"The Dominion rewards capability first, length of service second," she said not letting that smirk dip. Her reference was of course to the way the First, Second and Thirds were selected amongst the Jem'Hadar, and how their honoured elders were treated, IF they achieved that maturity.

"Desperately messy situation the Dominion finds itself in?" Vaughn said, trying to sound aloof with his heart beating with more and more ferocity.

"I wouldn't know what you mean," she was very adept at sounding aloof as well it seemed.

"Defections happen all the time. From what I've read granted most defections come your way, usually some disgraced Romulan or Klingons or the like wanting a cushy little place to retire under the protection of the Federation. But it can't be so surprising that not everyone wants to live in your..." and she labelled the next word with air drawn inverted commas, "... paradise."

Bashir entered the bridge now, Ezri safe and stable below deck. Julian was hopping mad, he'd failed to have the confrontation with the man directly responsible for Ezri's kidnapping but wouldn't be denied this.

"Your second defector," Bashir said entering the fray and dodging Vaughn's eye as he did so. "Was a Vorta... one surgical altered to appear in every way Human - What about Cartwright? Were they a Vorta as well? Sent on a mission to extract you?"

Boudica stepped to one side, allowing the featureless flat face of the Cartwright changeling to fill the screen. "No, the individual known as Cartwright was I."

They said it almost triumphantly.

Bashir and Vaughn exchanged a look. Still having not heard back from Kira about who had actually assigned these journalists to the Defiant in the first place they both looked decidedly nervous. It wasn't the simple matter of infiltration, rival powers had been doing this for eons, it was that the Dominion... having been dispatched back to the Gamma Quadrant with its tail between its legs still had the desire to operate such covert tactics against its now peaceful neighbour.

"Captain," interrupted Tenmei, "Another Jem'Hadar battle cruiser decloaking."

Vaughn's heart sank, a Defiant Class vs. ONE battle cruiser, ok it was never going to win but do enough damage to run away.. perhaps. Against TWO? There wasn't a hope in hell for the little ship that started life as the USS Sao Paulo.

"It's hailing us too," she confirmed tapping the controls that made it a three way conversation. Expecting the worst Vaughn braced. When Odo's face appeared Vaughn was unsure how to react. He'd never worked with the Constable, sure he'd read the reports and thought he understand the man's motivations but how accurate could these reports be? A year is a long time in this Galaxy.

"Constable!" Bashir said, once again stealing the limelight.

"Doctor," Odo said with that slight tip of his head. "How very pleasing to see you again," it sounded as if Odo meant that. Whilst the two hadn't be the closest of crewmates they HAD served together for almost seven years and both had a deeply earned respect for one another's professional competence.

Then addressing Boudica and the Cartwright Changeling Odo said; "I do suggest you power down your weapons systems." He said this as his Command Cruiser powered its own far superior arsenal.

"I don't see why we - " Boudica began to object, her grasp of the Dominion's very flat hierarchy suddenly forgotten in the face of potential defeat.

Now the female changeling replaced Odo; "For those Jem'Hadar aboard that ship that woman does not speak for your Gods. Despite what the one of us has told you. So if she resists. Kill her."

The formerly confident Boudica's face turned in on itself, and a Jem'Hadar hand appeared on her shoulder.