Beka's fingers danced over her console on the *Andromeda's* command deck. Everyone else was at their stations as the Nietzshean ships wheeled out of view.

"Looks likes Tyr's ships got the memo," Beka said. "They still have weapons lock, but we're free and clear to navigate."

Dylan let himself smile. "In that case, Captain Valentine, take us to slipstream."

Beka returned the smile. "Actually, you know what? I have a hankering to take us through the wormhole. Just for kicks."

Dylan turned to Rommie. "Rommie?"

"I've gone over the *Maru's* data from its trip through," Rommie said. "My structural integrity field is more than adequate to getting us through."

Dylan nodded. "Very well. Beka, at your discretion."

Beka programmed the flight controls. "All right, then. Hang on, Kiddies."

The starfield filled all three monitors; nothing happened for a moment. Then the wormhole blazed into existence and the *Andromeda* plunged in. The deck rocked back and forth, but no one lost their footing as the raced through the tunnel light. Then they were on the other side.

Rommie smiled. "Ooh, tingly! If I were human, I'd have goose bumps."

"Yeah," Beka said. "More fun the second time around, eh? Getting a lock on our position; plotting course to where Tyr stashed Drago's bones. If we don't hurry, we can be there by tomorrow morning."

Dylan said, "I don't think there's any rush, Beka. Drago isn't going anywhere…I hope…and we could all use a break."

"Good!" Beka said. "In that case, I think I'll spend the evening in my quarters with The Good Book."

Harper chuckled. "You read the Bible, Beka? What next? Tyr helping widows and orphans?" He laughed.

Beka's smile didn't waiver. "'In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. Now the earth was formless and empty…'"

Harper nodded. "Ok, Beka."

"'…darkness was over the surface of the deep…'"

Harper's smile faded. "I get it, Beka. You can stop now."

"'…and the spirit of God was hovering over the waters…'"

"BEKA!"

"'…and God said, "Let there be light…"'"

"Oh for-!"

Dylan looked away and chuckled. 'Mad as hatters,' he thought, 'and I wouldn't have them any other way.'

8

8

Sisko said, "Kaimon Muon, the charges against you are very serious. Fortunately for you, you have many friends in both the Federation and Ferengi governments." He was seated behind his desk, addressing Muon, who was still under guard. Pi Meson and two of officers, Quark, Odo, and Admiral Paris stood to one side.

Muon was unbowed. "I am sure my friends see the value of our pilot program, as you prepare a defense against the Dominion."

"So I have been reminded," Sisko intoned. "And it has also been pointed out to me that with Quark and Doctor Bashir being the only ones who remember everything that happened, there isn't enough evidence that could stand up in court."

Pi Meson stepped forward. "I'm sure my uncle was caught up in the excitement of the situation. He made a grievous error in judgment, but nothing like it will ever happen again. Isn't that right, uncle?"

"Mmmyes," Muon mused. "And perhaps I've made another error."

Quark stepped forward. "What do you mean, Uncle?"

"My counting house is going to need bold, decisive leadership," Muon said, "but all you two know how to do is play it safe. Fine. You can stay safe. I'll name your cousin Boson to be my successor, and you two can stay in your nice safe jobs."

Pi made a show of swallowing. "I'm sorry you feel that way, Uncle." He turned to his officers. "Escort the kaimon back to our ship."

Quark and Pi Meson watched their uncle leave Sisko's office. Then both Ferengi let out long breaths.

Odo smiled sardonically. "What's this? Two Ferengi relieved they won't be rich? My hearing must be failing me."

Pi Meson smiled. "'All I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,'" he quoted. He turned to Sisko. "You understand, don't you?"

Sisko nodded. "Indeed I do."

Pi left the office.

Quark smiled slightly. "Not all profits are in latinum…but I never said that. C'mon, Odo. You look like you're about to faint."

"I'm fine," Odo growled as he and his enemy… his friend…. left.

"Well," Admiral Paris said, "I wonder if someone else is going to turn down new opportunities."

"Admiral," Sisko said, "if I receive orders transferring me to Earth, I will, of course, obey them. But in my opinion, I can best serve the Federation here, on the tip of the spear."

"Fair enough. Just don't lose your balance, Ben."

8

8

Sisko walked the admiral to the Ops Center's turbolift. As the car rose out of the deck, Sisko and the rest of his officers saw a smiling Mr. Garack holding a cardboard box riding in the car. He exchanged pleasantries with the departing admiral as he stepped onto the deck.

Sisko said, "Well, Mr. Garack, what brings you to Ops?"

Although his smile had always seemed to be a permanent fixture on his face, at the moment, Garack seemed to be straining to hold it. "I just wanted to see if everything is ok," he said. "No residual contact with the other universe?"

Sisko turned. "Dax?"

Dax looked up from her console. "There's no contact with the other universe at all," she said. "Brother Traejen reports the Orb of Ages is still radiation dead in both normal space and subspace. There's no unusual activity in the wormhole, and traffic has gone through for two hours without incident. I'm sorry to say there's absolutely no contact with the other universe at all."

"I see," Garack said as he put down his box. He rummaged around in it, pulled out two leather tubes, and as he stood, his pleasant mask finally cracked: "In that case, will one of you geniuses please tell me WHAT IN THE SEVEN HELLS I AM SUPPOSED TO DO WITH THESE THING!?"

Kira crossed to him. "What are they?" she asked.

"Nietzschean bone blade gauntlets," Garack said, calming a little…very little. "Whatever god or prophet combined two universes and then dismantled them again is either a slob or has a sick sense of humor. I have been blessed with twelve crates of these gauntlets, along with as many halter tops and sarongs. I can move those things without any difficulty once Spring Season starts. But these gauntlets are another story. I checked, and in the human vernacular, the number of humanoid races with spikes sticking out of their arms in the right places is somewhere between zilch and bupkis. And though my supplier has no memory of my buying them, he's keeping my money and refusing to allow me to return them. So as you humans like to say, I'm bolted."

O'Brien said, "Screwed."

"Screwed, yes, thank you, Chief."

Kira studied a gauntlet thoughtfully. "You could always sew a metal stud or a low value gem into the holes. It'd be time consuming, but it would work."

"Yes," Garack mused, "I suppose."

"What about those other things you mentioned? Anything in my size?"

"I'll have to check, Major, but if I don't have anything, I could always make some. The patterns are simple enough. Stop by my shop later."

"I will." She dropped the gauntlet back in the box.

Dax smiled. "You? In low cut leather?"

"Beka's not a bad person just because she follows her universe's fashion," Kira said. "And it'll go well with my biker program."

"What next, Major? Dye your hair blonde?"

"I was just thinking of doing that, Dax." Kira grinned. "I hate admitting this because it sounds like I wasn't dedicated to the cause, but back in the resistance, I loved going under cover because I got to play dress-up. And knowing that it's impossible to dye Cardascian hair was all the excuse I needed to dye my hair every so often, but I'd have found another excuse if that one didn't work. You understand. As humanoid females, we must dye our hair. And if we don't have a reason we'll invent one. Right?"

Dax nodded and smiled, then turned back to her console.

"Dax?" Kira prompted. "You have dyed your hair, right?"

Dax frowned at a readout. "I think I'll just double-check the sunspot activity on Bajor's star."

"Ok," Kira said, "maybe you, Jadzia haven't dyed your hair for some bizarre reason. But what about Dax's other female hosts? Sure one of them…you…must have done it."

"Sunspots ok, but that solar prominence looks borderline."

Kira was flummoxed. "You've never dyed your hair? Not in any of your lives? Oh, we have to do something about that! Stop by my quarters when your shift is over, Dax. I'll get you started."

"I'd love to, Major, but according to my calendar, I have-" Dax consulted a monitor and her face fell. "…absolutely nothing to do when my shift is over."

Kira crossed to Dax's console, looked over the Trill's shoulder, and began typing: "'Go…to…Kira's…quarters…to…get…started…on…hair…dye,'" she said as she typed. Then she clapped Dax on the shoulders. "There, you see? You have something to do now."

Dax made a small whimper and allowed her head to thump onto her desk.

"Oh, stop being a baby," Kira admonished. "You'll love it."

Sisko turned away from Kira and Dax and chuckled. 'Mad as hatters,' he thought, 'and I wouldn't have them any other way.' Then he turned to Garack. "Well, Mr. Garack. Does that conclude your business in Ops?"

Garack had picked up the box and his usual smile had returned. "Quite, Captain, unless someone knows who Isolde is. Otherwise, that is one enigma that will remain unsolved."

Worf looked up from his console and grinned. "Who is that, Garack? Someone who owes you money?"

"No, Commander Worf, it's someone Freya and Olma mentioned. I chanced upon them in the replimat and Freya was asking about someone named Isolde. Olma wanted Freya not to discuss it."

Worf's grin vanished.

Sisko noticed. "Mr. Worf?" he prompted.

"It is…irrelevant, Captain, as we no longer have contact with the other universe."

Sisko arched his eyebrows. "But?" he prompted.

"But," Worf intoned. "Captain Hunt and his officers were concerned Olma had an ulterior motive for taking on her mission – that she was using this opportunity to…evaluate Mr. Harper's worthiness as a mate for a Nietzschean family. But Olma said unlike Klingons, Nietzschean females always have the last word on whom they marry, even in political situations. So she would have to find a volunteer, maybe someone who already knew Harper. But neither Dylan nor any of his compatriots believed such a person existed."

Dax had lifted her head. She chimed in, "And you think it could be this Isolde?"

"Yes," Worf said.

O'brien leaned on his console. "Oh boy."

"Chief?" Sisko prompted.

"Assuming I know Seamus as well as I think I do," O'Brien said, "if he's been keeping this 'Isolde' a secret for some reason, things will get very interesting if she catches up to him."

"Yes…" Worf mused, "and if Nietzscheans females are half as determined as Klingons, things could get very dangerous…"

8

8

Pish and Tyr sat in leather chairs, facing each other on opposite sides of a roaring fireplace, Olma standing by Tyr's side. Through French windows across from the fireplace, they could see night had fallen, but all present knew guards patrolled around Tyr's mansion on Miden.

Pish said, "Extraordinary, Tyr. Not only to contact another universe, but to have them combined. The implications are staggering."

"And you didn't experience anything here, Pish?"

"No, Tyr, or at least we don't recall it: Our memories could have been changed when the universe was restored to its normal condition. But I guess at the 'eye of the storm,' you could observe the effects. It must have been quite exciting."

"You will forgive me if I lacked a scientist's…enthusiasm at the time."

"Oh, of course."

A door in the wall behind Pish opened a crack. The twenty-three year old Nietzschean girl who walked in was a hair smaller than most Nietzschean females her age, and her bust not as large. But humans would have said the girl with red hair and green eyes was attractive. She wore a camouflage halter top and matching sarong and bone blade gauntlets, her hair drawn into a pony tail. Two humans in leather armor entered a pace behind her.

The girl spoke with just the barest hint of an Irish accent: "Excuse me, Tyr? I've brought the local representatives of the mercenary guilds."

Pish frowned. "Mercenary?"

"Yes," Tyr said, "so you can revoke your bounty on Captain Hunt."

"Now, wait just a minute-" Pish started.

Olma broke in: "You know, Tyr, I was quite impressed with how Captain Hunt and his crew acquitted themselves, even if ultimately, they did not resolve the situation."

"Dylan does have a talent for making the most of what he has," Tyr said, "and finding solutions to what others might consider impossible situations."

"Perhaps we should ally with him against the Abyss," Olma went on. "Under the circumstances, he might be receptive to an overture."

"Tyr-" Pish started.

"Pish," Tyr said, "I broke faith with Dylan – which, believe it or not, was not an easy thing for me to do—and allied with you because you convinced me your Collectors had a better chance of stopping the Abyss than Dylan did. Look around, Pish! Does it look we are in a position to do more than annoy it? Now, I am sorry about what happened to Hohne, and I am sorry for your loss. But like it or not, the one and only person in the Known Universe who has – as Harper would say – a snowball's chance in hell of stopping the Abyss is Dylan Hunt, and it would probably be in all our best interests' if a ham-handed numbskull of a bounty hunter didn't take Dylan out first, not matter how improbable that sound."

Pish seemed to collapse into his chair. "It'll take a while for the word to spread."

The red-haired Nietzschean girl crossed to the French windows, opened them, and slipped out into the night.

Tyr said, "Then you had best do it now. Olma will assist you." He rose from his seat. "I have other matters to attend to."

8

8

The red-haired Nietzschean girl stood at the end of a dock that extended out into the river that ran past Tyr's mansion. Moon light glinted in the river, and even a human could see the young human woman with long blonde hair who stood behind the Nietzshean girl. Except for not having bone blade gauntlets, her clothes were identical to the Nietzschean's.

The human held Harper's shriller as if it would break from her slightest touch and said, "Are you sure about this, Mistress? I don't want to hurt you."

The Nietzschean girl spoke with her back turned to the human: "It's all right, Margaret. Turn it on."

"All right. Let me see…where's the-no, I've got it…all right… here we go: three, two, one." She activated the shriller. The Nietzschean girl convulsed, grabbing her ears and doubling over.

Margaret turned the little device off. "All right, that's it! I am not doing that again, even if it means I'll be flogged."

The Nietzschean crossed to the human. "No worries, Margaret," she said as she took the shriller back. "I had to hear it only once; there are more fun ways to get a headache." She turned the shriller over in her hand. By the moonlight, Nietzschean vision allowed her to read the tiny letters etched into the shriller:

'S. Z. H.'

The Nietzschean whispered, "So it was you. You've been messing with my life for longer than I thought…"

8

8

The 9 year old Nietzschean girl with red hair and green eyes sat next to her father, a big burly man with curly red hair. They were seated at the head table in a dining room filled with the elite families of Earth's Drago-Kasov rulers. Wearing a green dress with gold trim and green jewel-studded bone bade gauntlets, she felt pleased that she did not look as disgusted as she felt as the commander of the Boston garrison expounded on his accomplishments, which usually involved torturing and killing Boston's human residents. The girl and her father had applauded when they'd had to, but the she hoped her father didn't approve of how Boston's humans were treated. Their home world, Nua Eireann, had stood for a thousand years as a shining example of peace between humans and Nietzscheans. Even though her family had human slaves, and even though discipline was important, she couldn't abide mistreating a human simply for being genetically inferior. The afternoon's 'entertainment' of watching humans tortured and executed in a stadium had made her feel nauseous, yet she knew many of the dignitaries there had approved. 'Has the Drago-Kasov pride gone insane?' she'd wondered. 'Is Nua Eireann the only place where we don't abuse our genetic cousins?'

One of the commander's sons sat on the other side of from her father, and she sat with her hands clasped on the table in front of her… her bone blades twitched slightly towards full extension. It was a subtle warning to back off. Even though it would be years before she would have to chose a mate, she did not want to become acquainted with any boys who might one day vie for her attention. 'I'll die before I bear child in this place,' she silently promised herself.

The commander became more animated as he talked about putting down human dissidents. "…In the past year," he went on, "there have been no-"

An ear-piercing electronic shriek sounded in the room. The girl covered her ears but the sound seemed to go through her hands to her ears and down to the bone. She noted it was ultrasonic; that was why the human servants were unaffected.

Her eyes found a picture window across the room and she could make out the face of a teenage human boy with blonde hair and blue eyes in the shadows outside. He turned and ran into the night.

8

8

Decades later, the young woman that girl had grown into looked away from the shriller she was holding to Tyr Anasazi as he got to the end of the dock.

"Um…" Maragret said. "I think I'll go back to the house and help Tamerlane get ready for bed." The Nietzscheans ignored her and Margaret darted past Tyr, headed towards the house.

The Nietzschean girl tossed the shriller to Tyr. "You knew all along," she said.

"I suspected," Tyr said, "but to be honest, I didn't believe it. Harper, unfortunately, has a poor track record attracting females. It wasn't until I spoke to Olma today that I believed it. It actually pleases me he has the attention of one as lovely as you."

"You can't expect to keep me away from him forever, Tyr, now that I know where he is."

"And what is your business with him?"

"I have questions only he can answer. I will have my answers."

"And I will help you get your answers…when it serves my purposes. It would be in your interest for your goals to serve mine, don't you think?"

The girl looked away for a moment, then her eyes found Tyr's again. "Yes, Tyr, I do."

"In that case, Isolde Boru out of Esmerelda by Trevor, the time has come for you to tell me exactly how you came to know Seamus Zelazny Harper."