Author's Note: To all my readers in the United States, a very Happy 4th of July weekend to you and your family! If you're anything like me, getting an anticipated update on a story you like is like the icing on the proverbial cake. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I own nothing related to or part of Star Trek.

"I'm a Mandalorian. Weapons are part of my religion." - Din Djarin "Hokey religions and ancient weapons are no match for a good blaster at your side, kid." - Han Solo

The Adventures of Augment Gothic

Chapter 26

Main Cargo Bay. The Flighty Temptress. On route to Klingon Space.

Ignoring the ladder leading down to the main cargo bay, I stepped into open air and fell roughly 20 feet to the hard deck plates below. Because I was feeling particularly happy at the moment, I allowed the silliness of a 3-point hero landing, even though there was no one to see my badassery.

It's the little things in life.

My main cargo bay, which was normally only filled with a handful of shipping containers lashed to the walls, mostly containing emergency supplies and parts, was dominated by what looked like a huge glass cube in the direct center of the large space. The 'glass' looked almost crystalline, though of course it wasn't anything quite so mundane. It was transparent aluminum, a variant that had the ability to go opaque on command when an electrical current was introduced. The glass, which could look crystal clear and transparent, was a smoky opaque at the moment so the inside of the cube was entirely obscured from my view. The material was thick enough to be used for window equivalents in exterior starship quarters to prevent the vacuum of space from killing people, so it was plenty strong for even this situation.

It was pretty cool looking actually! I had found the replicator pattern for the material in the replicator database and it was perfect for my needs. My industrial replicator had gotten quite a workout and the power costs had not been small, but it had been worth it considering the payday that was coming my way.

The bounty the Klingon Empire offered on the Duras sisters was the 'dead or alive' type, but returning them alive meant the bonus reward of a military-grade cloaking device. That was a rich prize. And I really wanted that cloaking device! That meant I needed a place to imprison the very bad sisters prior to their handoff to the Empire.

Therein laid the problem. My ship, though larger and more powerful than a Federation Runabout, didn't have a dedicated brig. I had considered retrofitting one of the ancillary storage rooms into a makeshift brig, but that seemed like a supremely bad idea all around. I could shut them down and reroute, but I couldn't easily remove the power conduits in those rooms, or the ODN lines that connected the room to the rest of the ship. No, there were just too many potential ways to escape if they were somewhat clever about it and I just wasn't willing to take the risk, even though they didn't seem like the master escape artist types.

Those storage rooms had external doors for loading too, which opened up to space. Getting those doors open was a decidedly easier thing to accomplish. Suicide was probably out of character for the two scheming sisters, but threatening it was a possibility that I just wasn't willing to entertain considering what was at stake. While I really didn't think the Duras sisters had it in them, there was a strong Klingon cultural aversion to imprisonment, which could make even rational people do crazy out of character shit in a desperate situation. Nope, best not to risk it.

My solution, the 'Brig Cube!'

The name definitely needed work, but I felt like it was a good solution for the problem I had. The cube was entirely disconnected from my ship's systems as it just sat, securely attached to the deck plates of the main cargo bay. Like a boxed pet, I had to take into account air flow, so a small life support system was attached to the cube, providing fresh air and recycling the carbon dioxide. It also helped keep the temperature and humidity inside comfortable. The walls and the single door and its elaborate lock could only be opened with a remote that I kept on my person at all times. The door couldn't even be opened from the cube itself without some elaborate tools.

The bottom of the cube, along one wall, had the equivalent of a cat flap, so that I could slide trays of food and water inside to keep my prisoners fed and alive. Taking inspiration from that one episode in DS9 where O'Brien was (mentally) imprisoned, the entire brig space was randomly and frequently swept with a coherent energy beam that disintegrated anything but the people, the two cots for sleeping, and the bucket toilet, which were all made of a material specifically resistant to the beam. The food, food trays, dishes, and utensils were disintegrated after 10 minutes to prevent them from being used as tools of escape or weapons against me. If they didn't finish their food and water quickly, well, they were shit out of luck.

Everything else spared from the beam was affixed to the bottom of the cube in a way that made it impossible to remove. The energy sweep also had the benefit of keeping the space immaculately clean. They'd thrown their food at the walls in rage the first time they'd been fed through the cat flap, considering it a great insult, but the energy beam had returned their new prison home back to pristinely clean once again. Not even microbes were spared, which meant the smell from the toilet was not an issue. While I'm sure the Duras sisters probably didn't appreciate the sheer utility of it, the contents of their 'bucket toilet' were similarly disintegrated.

I walked up to the glass and hit one of the four buttons on the remote that was keyed to me in several ways. It would only work for me, though they didn't know that. I'd made the thing tough, so it'd take a phaser bolt to even damage it. It kind of reminded me of the key fob remote for the car I had had in my old world.

With a button press the previously smoky opaque walls went crystal clear. The sight of what I saw inside made me laugh out loud, not that they could hear it.

Lursa and B'Etor of the House of Duras were pacing their prison like caged great cats, as soon as the walls went transparent they spotted me and tried to rush at me. Comically, they bounced head first off the walls. The walls didn't even vibrate, nor did I flinch. I just gave them a cheeky wave as they screamed in impotent fury and bared their teeth at me, not that I heard anything though, the brig cube was soundproofed too.

Did I mention that they were totally nude? Ha!

The first energy sweep after they had been captured had to have been a shock as it disintegrated all their clothes and the myriad bits and pieces of technology on their person, as well as the half dozen or so hidden blades and weapons that they'd had secreted in their armor/uniform, their hair, the lining of their underwear and corsets, inside their vaginas, etc. That last one was a sign of dedication; I had to give them respect for that one considering they couldn't have known that they were being hunted. Maybe that was their standard procedure when doing hand offs in risky deals? If so, respect.

The computer had performed several deep sensor scans on the prisoners prior to the sweep and had cataloged most of these hidden items, even catching a poison filled tooth in each of their mouths, but their carefully hidden subdermal emergency locator beacons hadn't been detected or touched by the beam or the sensor sweeps. The cube was essentially a modern-day faraday cage, so no signal was getting in or out. When they'd realized they'd been taken, they immediately activated their emergency beacons, presumably so that their ship could beam them away. Unluckily for them, the signal had been blocked by the cube, detected by my computers, and their beacons had been beamed out of their bodies. It was an interesting design and cleverly hid from most sensors.

I hit the button to stop the sound dampening technology from working, plastering a shit eating grin on my face. How I loved it when a plan came together like this!

"Hello ladies. Hope you're enjoying your stay at my humble inn so far!" I snarked with a huge smile on my face. My voice was being picked up by my ship's computer and shot at the walls of the cube itself, the walls acting like reverberating speakers. It must sound like my booming voice was coming from everywhere. I had installed that function with the possibility of using it to blast heavy metal music to keep a prisoner awake, as a way to soften them up for future interrogation, not that it was needed in this case as I had no need for information from them. My payday was assured as long as I kept them confined and alive for handoff. "My B&B might be lacking in amenities, but I hope you give me a great review on Yelp. Tell all your friends!"

"How dare you, human!" Lursa shouted furiously, her large, perky breasts shaking. I couldn't help but smirk and watch as they jiggled. The Duras sister had some great tits.

"Release us now and perhaps we will spare you a horrible death!" B'Etor spat in rage, her large, perky breasts also shaking.

I just smiled at them while watching those amazing titties bounce, "No, no I don't think I will. You see, you two were very, very bad, working with the Romulans. For shame! The Klingon Empire put a very rich bounty on your heads and oh, I intend to collect!"

"We can pay you handsomely, if you release us, human. Better than even the Empire," B'Etor offered, this time more calmly. She had always seemed the smarter, more clever sister in the shows.

"Yeah, right," I scoffed. "You guys are so cash strapped at the moment that you were working with a Bajoran terrorist, one you intended to immediately turn on in order to collect twice. Somehow I don't think you're good for it."

They tried to hide it, but my eyes couldn't miss the tiniest of winces, which suggested that my words were more accurate than they wished to admit.

"Perhaps we can offer you other…compensation," Lursa offered, running her hands up her chest to cup her very full and perky breasts, lifting them, then dropping them, letting them bounce.

Well, now. This was unexpected. But I imagine that in the rather antiquated patriarchal culture of the Klingon Empire that they'd been forced to use their bodies as bargaining chips or as a method of persuasion many times before. This had likely worked for them before if they jumped to this option so quickly.

"Yes, come inside and we will show you pleasure the likes you have never experienced before!" B'Etor followed, coming up behind her sister, cupping her sister's breasts and pinching her nipples extremely hard, causing Lursa to let out a loud deep (fake) moan of pleasure/pain. Now that wasn't something that we ever got to see in the show!

My eyes were drawn like magnets to the lewd display I was being given. The Duras sisters were known for their rocking tits, many fans of the show having long enjoyed the sight that that boob window in their armors had offered, but seeing it in person was something else entirely. Those tits were huge and positively gravity defying.

I had never actually seen a Klingon woman naked in real life before, but somehow it worked for me. Their skin was a light milk chocolate in color, but all the familiar parts were there for my viewing pleasure. I knew that Klingons had an armored spinal column, like their cranial ridges, but I had not realized that their genitals were armored too to some extent too. It made sense, it was a very vulnerable place on the humanoid form. It must not be too huge an obstacle, though, considering B'Elanna Torres' father was a human and she in turn had had a fruitful relationship with Tom Paris in Voyager.

B'Etor was now nibbling on her sister's neck, one hand cupping a full breast, while the other was playing with her sister's folds, opening them up for my viewing pleasure. B'Etor must be very familiar with her sister's body because Lursa was already visibly wet.

"She is ready for you, human, so wet and warm and tight," B'Etor moaned seductively. "Have you ever been with a Klingon woman before? Our cunts are as tight and muscled as our bodies. We will milk you dry! It is so much better than you can possibly imagine! Our appetites are voracious, our bodies made to bring incredible pleasure. Come inside and you can have us both!"

"Back up, I'm coming in," I said after perhaps 20 seconds of viewing and thought, their smiles turning devious.

This was quite obviously a trap, but I really didn't give a fuck, so with a smile, I hit the button to unlock the door, stepped inside and pulled it closed behind me. The door automatically locked behind me with a loud sound.

"Aghh!" someone roared, moments before they both predictably rushed at me and tried to cut my throat open with their sharpened nails and teeth, or alternately tried to get a hold of the remote that I had put in my pocket to open the door. Of course, it was keyed to me alone, so that wouldn't work.

I carelessly ducked out of the way with all the speed and grace an Augment of my caliber was capable of. They continued their attacks as I ducked and weaved around the small space, doing my best to taunt them, to toy with them, showing them how inept they were against me, like kittens hissing at a lion. Smartly, they didn't try to use the cots as weapons, probably having already tried and failed to rip them from the floor to use to escape or as a potential weapon once they'd been stripped of all their clothes.

After 30 seconds of screams and anger and impotent frustration I decided enough was enough and backhanded Lursa in the face, then ducked under a blow and with an open palm strike, struck B'Etor fully in the face. Both women were bleeding now on the ground, breathing heavily, as their skin flushed visibly and their nostrils flared, their tongues darting out to taste their own blood. I could smell their arousal in the air, like copper mixed with cinnamon. Despite the situation, they still found my display of dominance arousing.

There was a scene in the movie Star Trek: Generations where the mad scientist Soren struck Lursa and caused her to bleed. Stopping her men from retaliating, B'Etor asked if he had been initiating a Klingon mating ritual. I had looked it up in the Klingon cultural database; that was actually the start of several of them, by either the man or the woman.

My research on the topic, during a moment of whimsy when I was on the Enterprise, had actually borne that out. The Klingons had as varied and as rich a sexual life as any other race, though on average perhaps more vigorous and violent than most. A dominance/submission component was extremely common in most of their sexual acts, perhaps because of the rise in importance and influence of the warrior caste in the past millennium. Interestingly, the women of that race were just as likely to be the dominant in that sexual encounter as the male, oftentimes more so, as their libido tended to be quite a bit higher on average than the males of that race. The stuff you learn, huh?! Now that also had never appeared in the shows.

They jumped to their feet and darted towards me. I reached out with each hand to seize them by the throat and lifted them into the air with contemptuous ease. Shows of strength were a vital part of Klingon sexuality. The disbelief in their eyes at my casual display of unexpected strength was delicious, their hands clawing at my hand around their throat now. They scratched at me, but couldn't otherwise break my skin.

The seconds ticked by and their struggles slowly diminished. I waited till moments before they were rendered unconscious before I unceremoniously dropped them to their knees on the hard deck plate, their gasps for air loud in the silence of their prison.

"What are you?!" B'Etor demanded in enraged confusion. "You are no human!"

"I am," I answered solemnly, before clarifying. "A human Augment."

"An Augment!" Lursa gasped, backpedaling in fear as she shuffled back awkwardly from her position on the floor, pressing herself to the far wall, while B'Etor froze in terror.

"Ah, you know of my kind, don't you?" I asked with humor, looking into each of their eyes and seeing recognition. "The House of Duras is old and was told many secrets, it seems."

"We know of your kind," B'Etor spat in a whisper. "How only two of you monsters killed the crew of an entire Bird of Prey, and captured the ship. How your DNA almost destroyed our race; how it stole our ridges for a time. We thought there were no more of you left!"

"There are none like me anymore," I answered. "I'm a bit of an anomaly, a relic of another time."

"You knew we could not defeat you," Lursa spat in accusation.

My smile grew.

"No, but I find myself willing to give you a chance anyways, in the ancient ways, the ways of sexual combat. If you defeat me by rendering me unconscious through sex, I give you my word that I will release you and you can return to your ship."

"Sexual combat?!" B'Etor spat in disbelief. "That tradition has not been observed in a thousand years! From the time when we still took slaves from the houses of defeated foes!"

"Like me, it's a relic of another time, but it's your only option if you want out of here," I responded. "Of course, you can always take your chances with Gowron; maybe there will even be someone along the way who will take your bribes, assuming you can pay them anymore."

They grimaced at my answer, likely not seeing that as a better option given how low on money they were and just how united the Empire was at the moment when faced with their ancient enemy. I had no doubt that they'd sunk everything they had into the war effort and even more to keep it going as a last-ditch effort to win it quickly and solidify their control over the Empire, once the Romulans had withdrawn their support. They glanced at each other and appeared to be communicating in a way that only close siblings can.

I guess they reached a decision because they licked their lips and slowly knelt at my feet, before their hands gently pulled down my pants releasing my cock into the air. Their gasps of surprise were music to my ears and a stroke to my ego. I took only a moment to fully disrobe.

"By the hand of Kahless!" B'Etor whispered in awe before visibly steeling herself and plunging her mouth down on my big cock, her tongue frantically lashing and swirling around the head, but still leaving several inches cold. Lursa started licking the part of my cock left unattended from the side. Their movements were coordinated and confirmed my suspicion that this was not the first time that they had done this together. It was very pleasurable.

I let B'Etor suck my cock for a while before I grew tired of it, pulled out of her mouth and plunged my cock deeply into Lursa's mouth. Her tongue writhed underneath my head trying to bring me to a quick completion.

"You Klingon sluts are acting like we are lovers; we are not!" I spat, showing my teeth, pretending that I was angry, all the while I was chuckling inside at living out this fantasy. A good amount of showmanship was a vital part of this kind of thing, I had learned. "This is a sex battle and I intend to win!"

With that declaration I grabbed Lursa under her chin with one hand and threaded my fingers through her thick braided hair, locking her head and face in place before I proceeded to face fuck her vigorously, forcing my cock all the way down her throat. She choked on my length. Tears rolling down her face.

"Gahk, gahk, gahk!" Lursa groaned with each thrust, choking on my dick.

B'Etor looked shocked at this turn of events, but she still ducked down and began tonguing my balls while I brutalized her sister's throat. The look of offense in her eyes was feigned, I could tell; she was very aroused.

After a couple of minutes or so of Lursa gagging on me, her saliva falling out of her mouth liberally, I shoved my cock as deep as it could go, cutting off her air supply. She struggled to breathe for several long moments, looking into my eyes to convey her desire to be let go. I calmly watched as she suffocated, with pitiless eyes, and only let her go when I saw the glimpse of willing submission enter her eyes for a moment. I knew it was going to take a lot more than a little breath play to win this battle, but I had a very strong suspicion that the power and influence of their House had meant that they had had few sexual partners willing to go this far with them. That was an advantage I hoped to ruthlessly exploit.

Releasing Lursa, I switched over to B'Etor and started to face fuck her. Her sister, no longer kept up by my hands around her throat and head, fell to the deck plates gasping for air. I couldn't help but to notice that her arousal was practically dripping down her leg, her pussy engorged and ready for me to fuck.

"Get ready for it, slut, I'm about to come down your throat. You better swallow it all!" I practically roared before I came down her throat.

She struggled to swallow it all, some coming out of her mouth and landing on her big tits, a shiver running through her. That made me cringe a little on the inside in a way that had nothing to do with this enjoyable sexual encounter. By now, I had confirmed that my semen had restorative and healing properties, just like in the movies. I had never directly admitted to it to anyone, but my girls had noticed injuries healing noticeably faster and just a sense of general wellness and euphoria for hours after having swallowed my cum. The effects were more muted when I came inside them, but it had only been a matter of time before they noticed.

Hopefully the Duras sisters wouldn't experience enough today to realize something unusual was going on.

"Share with your sister, whore," I ordered.

Lursa practically jumped up and attacked her sister's tits voraciously, licking up every drop on her tits, before then attacking her sister's mouth. They ended up making out like they had forgotten I was there and that wouldn't do, so I stepped up and gave them a hard slap on their tight little asses, pulling them close to my sides. After their simultaneous yelps/moans of pain, they turned to me and I attacked their mouths with my own, kissing them deeply while I shoved my tongue down their throats, my hands mauling their asses and spreading their cheeks to finger them. I made sure to nip at them hard enough to cause them to bleed and for their blood to coat my lips and teeth like the rituals demanded. They tried the same, but couldn't penetrate my skin.

Once they were done with cleaning up, I picked up Lursa like she was a child and lifted her entire body up to my mouth, her legs dangling over my shoulder as I began to eat her out.

"Ah, ah!" she screamed in pleasure and fear. "What are you doing to me?!"

While my tongue couldn't match the vibrational frequencies of a commercial vibrator from my time, it could do some seriously inhuman things and I had a feeling that the Duras sisters were unused to this.

After a few moments of world class cunnilingus, I easily rotated her in mid-air and put her head directly at the level of my cock. Displays of great strength were another vital part of Klingon sexuality. When she didn't realize what I wanted after a few seconds of inactivity, I nipped at her clit with my teeth.

"Suck it, whore!" I bellowed before returning to fuck her cunt with my tongue.

With renewed vigor, Lursa took me nearly entirely down her throat as she submissively face fucked herself. I'd seen this position many times before in pornos from the more ambitious male porn stars of my time, but it was extremely taxing for baseline humans to hold up another person in midair like this while simultaneously performing sex acts, even harder to do it well. Viewers knew that it would probably only last for probably 10-30 seconds at most and was usually more of a flex on the male star's part than a practical sex act that could be maintained. I was an Augment, though, and 5x stronger than a baseline human with the endurance to match, so I had no issue holding her up like this.

Holding someone in midair like this, helpless to do anything, one drop away from falling on their heads and doing serious injury to them had a potent way of encouraging submissive feelings. Lursa quickly fell into that submissive state, especially as I continued to hold her up and then starting thrusting down her throat. When she came twice over like this, I allowed myself to cum again. Unlike her sister, she swallowed it all.

Decided to get to the main event, I tossed them both towards the cot on the left side of the room.

"Bend over, B'Etor, I'm going to fuck you now," I ordered.

She dutifully bent over and waited, arching her back in a way that was enticing, while she reached between her legs and spread her pussy for me.

"Get me ready to fuck your sister's slutty pussy, Lursa," I instructed.

She bent over and took my cock in her mouth, coating it liberally with her saliva, before releasing it and pulling her sister's cheeks apart to expose her pink little slit, visibly wet. The armored portion at the top of her mons might have presented a challenge to a softer human, requiring a bit more care to prevent hurting themselves if thrusting too hard, but I was made of tougher stuff.

Lursa rubbed the head of my cock up and down her sister's slit before I thrust hard into her, going balls deep in a second. My thrust had been so hard B'Etor's head had bounced off the wall. For a human woman that might have caused an injury, a Klingon's cranial ridges made that a bit of casual foreplay.

The inside of her pussy felt wonderful. Klingon women or maybe it was just B'Etor has exceptional muscle control and she was practically milking me. I also didn't have to hold back my strength anywhere near as much as I usually did with my normal sexual partners. T'Maz being the only exception so far. It was invigorating and freeing to really let loose and not really care much. Luckily, Klingons loved rough sex; the rougher the better. Injuries were not only common, they were expected and a badge of honor, proof that you had good sex. If you didn't seriously injure your partner during sex than they considered it a failure, a lackluster effort. Most humans liked the idea of a very sexual woman with a large appetite, right until they were confronted with the reality and couldn't keep up. That was not something I struggled with…at least not anymore.

Paying careful attention to catalog every reaction, I put all my recent sexual experience to the test and began to fuck her with a brutal power and speed. B'Etor practically screamed in ecstasy as I reached down and brutally toyed with her nipples and clit at various times, being much rougher than I normally would be, but Klingons could take it. They expected/demanded it!

"What are you doing to me, you fucking human abomination!" B'Etor screamed in pleasure, while her sister looked on enviously, eventually bending over to suck her sister's nipples.

"I'm fucking you like a whore, like my little Klingon slut, just like you deserve," I roared, punctuating my words with hard spanks. "And if you can speak, then I must not be fucking you hard enough."

With that, I pushed down on the small of her back, causing her back to arch up. With my left hand I took hold of her throat and squeezed so that she couldn't breathe well. My thrusts were hard as she gasped for breath, the hypoxia from this erotic asphyxiation bring her pleasure to heights she likely had never experienced before. Just as I felt her orgasm coming I let her breathe normally and she screamed, I pressed myself hard into her and came hard, grinding us together.

Her screams cut off abruptly as she passed out and fell to the bed.

"Ha, ha, ha! Not so tough now, bitch!" I laughed, before spanking her back to awakening. Technically I had already defeated her in this battle, but I was sure as fuck not done with either one of them.

"B'Etor get up on the bed. I'm going to fuck your slutty sister now," I ordered, Lursa practically knocking her sister to the bed in her haste. "Lursa, eat your sister's cunt. Get her nice and wet for when I'm done with you."

Unsurprisingly, given the read I had on them, neither sister hesitated to follow my orders. B'Etor practically ground her sister's face roughly in her cunt, looking embarrassed at her loss. I watched carefully to see what they did to each other. They knew each other well and every bit of information would help me win this battle decisively.

Of course, the outcome had always been inevitable.

XXXXX

Three hours later I opened the door to the brig cube and walked out with a bit of a swagger.

Behind me, on one of the cots, laid the intertwined Duras sisters, cuddled together, unconscious to the world, practically scissoring each other. Their visible pussies and asses were both red and abused with copious amounts of my cum dribbling out of all their abused holes.

They had lost this battle, but hopefully they had good memories of our fight.

A sexual battle with two hot Klingon sisters, a bunch of latinum, and a cloaking device?!

Best bounty hunter ever.

XXXXX

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

One of my duties as the leader of all off-world Bajoran Militia forces and installations was to coordinate Bajor's overall defense with the Federation. At the moment, that could be accomplished via once-a-week meetings with Commander Sisko, Major Kira, though sometimes Dax, Dr. Bashir or Chief O'Brien were invited to brief me on various topics. Dax was in attendance at this meeting for some reason.

'Coordination' involved receiving weekly updates on the station's operations and future traffic, of course, which the Federation administered, but also the mutual sharing of select intelligence information for the sector that the Federation routinely gathered, including any movements of the Cardassian fleet along or near the border.

Bajor obviously did not have any long-range sensor assets capable of scanning the sector, like the Federation did, nor the dozens of warp capable starships around and about with their own sensor capabilities, but our new fighter wing did gather quite a bit of data locally and Bajor's intelligence services were actually pretty decent. The Obsidian Order had honed them to a very professional, skilled, and ruthless organization during the years of the Occupation. You didn't survive long in that job unless you learned quickly and got good at it. The Cardassians were quite good at weeding out the ones that couldn't handle that job, leaving only those with the right mindset and talent for the work alive.

The day-to-day coordination of our respective spheres of responsibility 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, whose Federation training was a Godsend for this. Having good help made my job infinitely easier.

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. My new fighter wing had recently even helped stop a smuggler ship that had fled from the planet after they'd been caught in the act, even firing on our ships. That smuggler ship had been impounded and seized by the Bajoran Provisional Government and would make a nice addition to our assets.

This week's coordination meeting was coming to an end, with Sisko, Kira, and Dax packing up their respective datapadds. There wasn't really much for us to discuss at the moment. The Cardassians were being unusually quiet as of late and with the exception of the recent virus that had nearly killed everyone on the station, nothing much of note had happened. The station's through traffic was definitely picking up as more and more ships went through the wormhole to travel to the gamma quadrant which meant more money for the Bajoran provisional government to rebuild. The station's permanent residents had also been steadily ticking up as a result. That was a big win, in my opinion.

Dax, whose purview was that of Chief Science Officer on the station, had a few curiosities she needed to report this meeting. She was looking curiously at my side, like she was trying to solve a puzzle. I had a feeling I knew what she was curious about.

"I couldn't help but notice your new sidearm," Dax began, looking very curious. "It's like nothing I've ever seen before. It's reminiscent of some designs from a few centuries past."

Color me surprised. When I had decided to proudly wear my newly designed and created sidearm I thought it would be Kira who would immediately notice it and ask about it. She was always interested in the weaponry that allowed the Bajorans to take the fight to the Cardassians, even more so after I began to supply more and more weapons of different types to the Resistance. I had already finalized the design for my rifle, but it still had a few bugs to work out before I completed its fabrication. Even after it was done it might be a bad idea to keep it on my person while doing my normal duties on the station. Should I store it away in my office when not needed?

Kira looked surprised and a little annoyed that I hadn't told her about my new weapon personally, but that didn't stop her from taking a long, hard look at it.

"I don't recognize the organization or species who designed it," Kira said thoughtfully. "Though it's obviously meant for humanoid usage."

I nodded. Sisko just looked on silently, though I could tell that he was curious too.

"I designed and manufactured it myself," I explained proudly with a smug smile, before pulling it off my leg, from where it was securely attached to my lower right thigh.

That was where I used to keep my sidearm in my old world. It took advantage of the length of my arm as it rested against my side for quick drawing and firing. Standard Starfleet procedure had their phaser holster rest on the opposite hip of the dominant hand with the curve of the grip pointing towards the dominant hand. It was not a bad practice, per se, just not one that I saw as ideal for the chaos of actual combat.

Noticing how it had somehow been freely attached without any visible holster or means of attachment, Dax the scientist came out.

"A quickdraw magnetic holster, I'm guessing? Nice. I haven't seen one of those in a long, long time."

"Hand it over, Gothic," Kira whined, impatient at all the talk.

My mocking grin was not much appreciated it seems.

Bringing it close to my face, I spoke, before handing it over to Kira, "Disable user security and operation for 30 minutes."

"Impressive! Biometric security and selective operation?" Dax asked.

"Amongst other things," I answered proudly. "If an unauthorized user picked it up, they'd experience a rather nasty shock and the weapon wouldn't fire anyways. Don't worry, for the next 30 minutes its safe for you guys to touch and isn't capable of firing."

"Non-lethal, I hope," Sisko spoke up for the first time, an admonishing tone in his voice that I really didn't like.

"For now," I answered, trying not to get offended by his attitude. "It can be toggled up to lethal levels during wartime, or if the situation calls for it."

"By the Prophets, why is this thing so damn heavy?!" Kira asked in complaint, awkwardly holding my sidearm.

"I suppose 20 pounds is rather heavy for you normals," I answered with a wink to convey that I was just kidding, though I was serious to a degree. To an Augment of my strength, it didn't feel heavy at all. "It has a lot going on internally, but most of the weight is because the casing is made of armor-grade duranium. With my physical strength, during the high emotions of combat, my control has slipped before and I've damaged other weapons, so I wanted a weapon that I didn't have to worry about. I also really wanted it to be pretty rugged. You could use it as a club or drop it from a great height and it'd still fire normally. You could even submerge it in water and cake it in dust, sand, or mud, and it'd still work."

Kira looked impressed at this, her experience told her how valuable that could be in prolonged combat, especially when you were in a ragtag group of freedom fighters with limited resources and extremely limited time to do required maintenance or even just clean your weapon in the field.

"Wish we'd had such a hardy and reliable weapon during the Occupation," she grumbled.

While Kira and I were talking, Dax had whipped out her handy tricorder and started scanning it.

"I'm getting nothing from it!" Dax reported, tapping away on her tricorder, probably trying different scan modes, before turning to me. "It's shielded?"

"A girl has to keep some of her secrets," I joked. Kira was still awkwardly trying to find a way to grip it that made sense for her. "Kira, it was designed and molded specifically to fit my hand perfectly so it's probably a bit big for you. Anyways, since Dax's superpowers of science have been thwarted by the shielding, what can you tell Dax and the Commander about my new weapon just by looking at it and handling it?"

Dax stuck her tongue out at me playfully in response to my teasing, while Kira just looked thoughtful, turning the weapon over and over in her hand and examining various parts intensely.

"Matte black finish, non-reflective, with no lights or visible displays, so it won't give away your position. Roughly seven-inch barrel to assist in unaided targeting and longer-range shots. Iron and holographic sights?" she asked, looking at me questioningly. I nodded in confirmation. "Under barrel rail system for the attachment of accessories. A manual wheeled power selector and a button on the side for a variable fire mode, most likely. Enclosed trigger with guard. Too big and heavy for prolonged use by most users, but the grip surface feels very comfortable even in my hand. Comfortable palm swell on the back of the grip, with a soft rubberized non-slip coating. The inside of the grip has separated finger pads, with a gel underlayer for better molding to the user, which would probably help in resisting impacts and vibration from firing. Fancy. A removable clip? This isn't a projectile weapon, is it?"

"No, it's an energy weapon. The magazine contains the power cell and it's swappable if needed with the rifle I've custom designed," I answered.

"Phaser or disruptor style?" Dax asked.

"Phaser, nadion based, and antiproton," I responded, waiting for the inevitable blow up. I was not disappointed.

"Antiproton?! How?!" Dax demanded. "The Federation has only created mounted, non-portable antiproton weapon systems with dedicated reactors. How would a pistol this size be capable of that?"

"Advanced alien technology I happened to acquire is all that I will say at this time, though I suspect you'll figure it out eventually. And no, I'm not going to let you study it or give it to Starfleet, so don't ask," I warned, unwilling to share any more with Starfleet officers, no matter how much I trusted Dax. If Section 31 wanted to let what they learned about Collector technology out into Starfleet, that was their business and their right after I'd sold it to them. "An antiproton beam doesn't really do non-lethal, I discovered, so the phaser emitter was necessary for stunning targets. I actually designed this weapon to be capable of firing two simultaneous beams, phaser and antiproton, if I wanted to."

I had once again been inspired by the Voyager TV show during the design process. That race in Voyager, the one that had resisted the Borg for centuries, had a weapon that fired two simultaneous energy beams, one at the top and one at the bottom. It was so strange and unique in all the shows that it had stuck in my mind and I had often wondered why they had designed such an unusual weapon.

During my design process for my pistol and rifle I realized the likely reason why. That race had been at war with the Borg for centuries, a race that had personal energy shielding that could be stymied, for a time, if you varied the energy frequency of your shots. It made perfect sense, though, that if your weapon could fire two simultaneous energy beams, from two different emitters, operating at different variable frequencies, it was likely much, much harder to adapt your shielding to, maybe even impossible. Part of me wondered if the television writers were that clever and had realized this fact, or the prop master of Voyager had created this highly appropriate design totally by accident. Of course, the Borg had long ago been defeated in this dimension, so it wasn't strictly a necessity, but it was a solid idea and I had the power to spare, so why not? Two simultaneous energy beams would be stupidly overkill in virtually every situation, but why not build the potential option into the weapon?

"Whatever power source you're using must have an incredible output for its size," Dax speculated. "Power generation like that is beyond current Federation science. Unless you found a more efficient method of generating the antiprotons?"

"Why not both?" I asked, enjoying the look of exasperation she shot me.

"Can I get one?" Kira asked all of a sudden, a hopeful smile on her face.

I laughed quite hard at her question, "Unfortunately, I don't have the necessary spare materials at the moment, Kira, but when I do I'd be happy to fabricate one for you, though I'll have to scale it down for you to use and use a different material for the casing. I'm assuming you don't want it to weigh 20 pounds, right?"

She nodded sheepishly, a little blush on her face.

Though Sisko was trying to hide his feelings I could tell that he was very unimpressed at all of this weapon talk, maybe even a little repulsed by it. He probably thought I was fetishizing my weapon or something silly like that. I probably shouldn't tell him that I was still thinking of possible names for my new weapons.

"Why do you need such a dangerous and advanced weapon, General?" Sisko asked. "Surely, the standard weapons currently available to the Bajoran Militia or Starfleet are sufficient for your purposes?"

"To be honest, I found all the standard designs lacking during my time with the Resistance. None of them truly embraced the rigorous demands of sustained combat, when operating with limited resources, and were otherwise not designed with someone with my physical capabilities in mind," I answered, though obviously leaving out most of my thoughts on the matter. "Now that I had the ability, materials, and funds to custom design something for myself, I did."

Sisko looked decidedly unconvinced.

"Your weapon is your life, Commander. It is your savior. If you take care of it, it will take care of you. It will save you," I earnestly explained a bit of my philosophy. The look on his face said it all. Kira just nodded slowly in understanding, looking thoughtful. She knew what I meant; we had spent many an hour side-by-side, with great care, cleaning and maintaining our weapons together. "I wasn't a United States Marine, thank the good lord above, but they had a rifle creed that anyone who fought in the Resistance or fought in a long war would probably agree with."

"What did it say, Gothic?" Kira asked, looking interested.

"This is my rifle. There are many like it, but this one is mine. My rifle is my best friend. It is my life. I must master it as I must master my life. My rifle, without me, is useless. Without my rifle, I am useless. I must fire my rifle true. I must shoot straighter than my enemy who is trying to kill me. I must shoot him before he shoots me. I will … My rifle and myself know that what counts in this war is not the rounds we fire, the noise of our burst, nor the smoke we make. We know that it is the hits that count. We will hit…. My rifle is human, even as I, because it is my life. Thus, I will learn it as a brother. I will learn its weaknesses, its strength, its parts, its accessories, its sights and its barrel. I will ever guard it against the ravages of weather and damage as I will ever guard my legs, my arms, my eyes and my heart against damage. I will keep my rifle clean and ready. We will become part of each other. We will …. Before God, I swear this creed. My rifle and myself are the defenders of my country. We are the masters of our enemy. We are the saviors of my life. So be it, until victory is America's and there is no enemy, but peace!"

Seeing their reaction to my words I could tell that Kira and Dax understood. A few of Dax's hosts had fought in a few of the Federation's wars, after all. It was clear, though, that Sisko did not understand and was obviously trying to keep a grimace off his face. He viewed his phaser as just a tool, something that he reluctantly wore and used; using it was a failure of diplomacy. I mentally shook my head at this attitude, but couldn't really fault him for it overmuch. He had never fought in a long war like I had. He'd learn. The price of wisdom was pain.

"Anyway, this is my weapon," suddenly feeling tired. "I took all my experience with the Resistance and built my ideal weapon, something that did it better than the weapons commonly available."

Dax looked decidedly intrigued at the advanced technology involved.

Kira just looked envious.

"Want to see something cool, ladies?" I asked, annoyed a little at Sisko for judging him, before I extended my hand and the pistol was ripped right out of Kira's hands and flew into my open palm like I was a fucking Dark Lord of the Sith.

"Seriously, Gothic, what the fuck?!" Kira yelled.

My laughter didn't help her mood, but her surprise made me feel better.

"I find your lack of faith disturbing," I delivered in that raspy voice Darth Vader was famous for, between laughs.

Their open-mouthed looks of confusion and irritation were wonderful to behold.

XXXXX

"You know, I'm surprised that you ended up here," Sisko remarked after Kira and Dax had left and we were packing up our padds and other miscellaneous materials. We'd come to have a pretty decent working relationship, so the man obviously felt comfortable enough to share this thought. "With your extradimensional and temporal background, 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 quickly as possible. Section 31 had certainly been surprised that I had decided to stay on Bajor though, after the mission had ended.

"As an object of historical study?" I chuckled with a smile. "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; I certainly was working in that university library, though there were some fun opportunities that that job unexpectedly presented," I continued, my smile dimming as my thoughts once again turned to Annika and wondering what she was up to these days. We had not spoken in a few years now.

"If the Institute's really that interested in what I know they can always schedule an interview and come here. I'd be happy to speak to them," 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, much better than most Federation officers. Being stationed on and administering a non-Federation facility must have opened his mind a little on the value and desire for money when it came to a culture that hadn't drunk the Federation Kool-Aid and pretended that it didn't matter anymore or were above such mundane consideration. I wonder how hard he was still struggling with the business manager/economic aspects of his new position, like collecting rents and docking fees, charging for repairs and transit through the wormhole, or dealing with financial disputes that inevitably popped up in a posting like this. It made me laugh just thinking about how much he probably struggled with all of these new experiences. I doubt the Federation had prepared him much (or at all) for those aspects of his new job.

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

"I've been in this time for a few years now and still I find the old idioms from my world and time slipping into my speech. You'd think I'd do better by now," I explained with a chuckle at his confusion. "The 'big picture' refers to a broad, overall view or perspective of an issue or problem. It's exactly the kind of perspective shift that's needed as you rise higher and higher in rank, the macro view, rather than the micro. The whole battlefield, rather than an individual unit engagement. Does that make sense?"

Sisko nodded thoughtfully.

I turned and gestured to the viewport from where the wormhole would be visible, if it were open. 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 completely unknown to us, ripe for exploration, a place that would have taken the better part of a century to reach barring some new advancement in propulsion technology," I explained. "It will be full of wonders and opportunities beyond the imagination."

My voice now turned grave and dark.

"But it's also likely full of dangers and horrors that would freeze your blood, potential existential threats," I warned the Commander. "Looking at the big picture requires us to imagine those dangers and then imagine how we'd deal with them. What if a hostile alien fleet of ships from some totalitarian empire over there was to come through that wormhole? I guarantee you that it won't be long before the various powers of that quadrant hear about the wormhole and start to worry, or worse, see an opportunity. What happens if our worst fears and worries are realized? What if they come through right here? What defenses does this station have left, a station that is no longer even in orbit of Bajor?"

Sisko grimaced, but remained silent, not disagreeing with my grim assessment. He read the same status reports as I did. The station was operational, minimally, meaning it could support life, but it was far from what it could be in terms of defenses. The Federation was helping a little, providing supplies and technology at a very slow pace, but not to the extent that it could and they certainly weren't providing weapons to rearm the place, fearing that helping the Bajorans like that would be viewed as provocative and put their new treaty with the Cardassians in jeopardy. It would only be the tensions with the Dominion and the destabilization of the Cardassian government that led the Federation to arming the station back to its full potential.

"The Cardassians tore this place apart and took everything of value, including all its weapons and defenses. What does it have now? Four Runabouts limited to a max speed of warp five provided by the Federation? A few semi-operational phaser banks and photon torpedo launchers that we managed to jury rig together? A shield grid a few shots away from collapsing entirely? Bajor can barely defend itself from the more mundane dangers on this side of the galaxy, like smugglers, pirates, and slavers and only that much because I paid out of my own pocket to buy those 12 attack fighters. Bajor is still recovering from the horrors of the Occupation, just barely able to feed its people right now, much less defend against threats from off-world. The wormhole out that window is simultaneously the best and worst thing that could have ever happened to Bajor, post-Occupation. That is the big picture I am talking about."

I sipped my lukewarm cup of raktajino, 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 and that he needed to adjust his thinking and administration accordingly.

"I know I'm repeating myself, I know I probably sound alarmist or overly paranoid to you, and I know I'm asking a lot, but this is the kind of thing I need you to keep in the back of your mind, Commander. You've got a big job administering this station at the mouth of a unique wormhole, but I need your perspective to be even bigger than that."

"Stationing a Federation starship here on a permanent basis is something I inquired about," Sisko told me with a sigh after several long moments of silence, sounding 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. Even your purchase of those 6 Federation sublight attack fighters was hotly debated for weeks before they reluctantly approved the purchase."

I had to resist the urge to grind 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 know my enemy and how they think, Commander. It makes them look weak in the eyes of the Cardassians, and emboldens them," I said to the Commander. "You really need to focus more on the defense of your citizens and allies and less on the feelings of the Cardassians."

Which now included Bajor.

"You mean you knew your enemy," Sisko corrected me.

"I know what I said, Commander," I replied tersely. "The Cardassians may have left voluntarily, but that was before they knew about the wormhole. If they had known about it, they would have never left. I promise you that they are scheming at this very moment to get Bajor back under their thumb, in order to get control of the wormhole. And Prophets only know what they'd be willing to do to accomplish that goal. That is why they're still my enemy."

Sisko nodded, as if he saw my point, but I could sense his reluctance. I'm not sure I was getting through to him. He seemed to think that the Federation signing a treaty with the Cardassians made everything ok, and that we should all be bigger people and just set aside all those past actions.

"Unfortunately, even with the threat of the Hur'q," Sisko mentioned as he stood up and gathered his datapadds. "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 of a motivator considering only a single Federation ship had been destroyed thus far. A great deal more deaths 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 truer.

"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.

XXXXX

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 more and more time went by. I had seen glimpses of this place on the small screen, but seeing the reality was completely different. Again, I hoped that feeling of wonder never left me.

As I walked towards my destination, many members of the Militia and many of the civilian residents of the station stopped to say hello to me with a smile, or otherwise looked happy to see me. Bajoran women, from young, nubile, giggling teens to sexy, mature, daring milfs sent me flirtatious looks of interest and invitation that I happily returned. Part of me wondered if this was what it felt like to be a celebrity. Being a famous war hero, who now wielded real power and authority, came with some distinct perks. My exploits and victories were well known.

Looking around I spotted the Bajoran Temple, which I had visited a few times. I didn't pray to the Prophets per se, but I did go in to say hello to them from time to time. Sometimes I even felt like they said hello back. 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 temporary off-world visitors these days. Many of the shopkeepers on the promenade and various Bajoran officers, on and off-duty, greeted me as I passed or smiled when they caught my eye.

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 and the various micro expressions he hadn't yet schooled 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 the wariness, his eyes dropping momentarily to my new sidearm sitting prominently on my hip. That he didn't recognize the design of it probably raised its threat potential several degrees higher. The unknown was always the most dangerous. He was right to think that. An antiproton beam did terrible, horrific things to the unshielded humanoid body.

This man knew exactly who I was and exactly what I had done to his fellow Cardassians during the Occupation. He recognized a fellow ruthless predator and cold-blooded killer in me, the man who had slaughtered entire squads of elite Cardassian soldiers, including many Obsidian Order operatives, and who had left haunting messages written in blood, severed limbs, and heads. I was quite proud about the boogeyman reputation I had cultivated amongst the Cardassian forces. Psychological warfare operations were a vital part of asymmetrical warfare.

This was actually the first time we'd spoken since I had taken up my position on the station. I'd seen him around before though. We'd certainly been in Quark's at the same time on several occasions, but we'd never actually spoken directly to each other. Part of me had been very hesitant to speak with the man. As intelligent and powerful as my genetic enhancements made me, I knew where my strengths lied. This was a man who dealt in lies and betrayal and deception as easily as breathing. He was not someone to take lightly. Never to take lightly.

Garak has a vital role to play in the years ahead, but he was a man I would never, ever trust. Not that I would trust any Cardassian. The race wasn't intrinsically evil-there were a few good examples out there, regardless of what my more zealous former comrades in the Resistance might say-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 shot in the head to get them to pay attention. Maybe once most of their military elite and most of the population of Cardassian Prime were wiped out in the war there would be a chance for a real and lasting change in that culture.

My current opinion on them had far more to do with what I'd personally seen during the Occupation, rather than what I'd seen on the show, and that only increased my utter loathing for them. A network television show was never going to be able to show the true evils the Cardassians had wrought 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," greeted the alien. "I can see you are in dire need of my expert services."

I looked down at my militia uniform, slightly modified from the standard to fit over my previous armor design, before I had added the ability for my armor to mimic other clothing. Luckily, modern fashion included a lot of tight fits, so my mimicked clothing wouldn't look out of place. The wardrobe I was commissioning from Garak was meant for those times when I couldn't just use my armor's mimic function, so the measurements had to include the clothes on top of the armor.

The militia uniform was made up of three parts. The boots, which were a leather like material that reached up to mid-calf. Slightly puffy pants that tucked into those same boots. And a tunic like shirt which had two parts, one color on the torso, another for the arms. Male officers had a choice of a two-tone woodsy brown uniform or a pants torso combination of a grayish blue with grayish green sleeves. I chose the latter as the resemblance to Odo was off putting.

The current Bajoran Militia uniform was somewhat lacking in style. The current uniform design was actually based on a design that Bajoran law enforcement wore pre-Occupation (they didn't have a military before) and was the same uniform seen in the show, so there was some historical weight behind it. When I'd been asked by the First Minister to take on this post I had had a lot of genuine battles to fight with the Provisional Government and trying to get them to abandon the old uniform design seemed like a battle with very little in the way of practical reward, so I'd let it go, even though it was kind of ugly, in my opinion.

"Yes, I need a whole new off-duty wardrobe," I told the spy. "Might be a bit of a challenge given that the Earth fashions I'm partial to are centuries out of date."

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

"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, presumably to take my measurements to allow for the custom tailoring. I wonder how many other scans he was illegally taking of me right now. "Good build, extremely well-defined musculature, tall, but not too tall. Perfectly symmetrical, in every way…"

Garak had trailed off after saying that. The humanoid form was never that perfectly symmetrical. Limbs were often slightly longer than the other, some muscles more defined or larger than others, etc. My body's proportions were unnatural in that sense, but my genetic engineering wasn't actually a natural occurrence. In his tailor role, it was probably a bit jarring for him.

The wardrobe wasn't the main purpose of this little visit, 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. While it would be useful to have, I was mostly here to meet Garak. As an Augment with enhanced senses, I could tell a lot about a person from just how they moved, how they spoke, the micro expressions they unconsciously displayed. 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. His eyes were too sharp, too assessing.

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

Human fashion in this century left much to be desired.

"I took the liberty of providing a few ideas of my own," I informed the spy while handing him a datapad that had fashions I'd seen from back in 2016 that I really liked. It may not track with current fashion, but I really liked the throwback to my time and world, and it made me feel unique. "Feel free to play around with them a little. Update the materials and such to whatever you consider the best available, intended for rugged use preferably, 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 designs. "Rather anachronistic, but it has a certain rustic charm to it, and quite 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 at the sheer ridiculousness of the attempt. He knew exactly who I was. There wasn't a person on this station that didn't know who I was. I wouldn't even be minutely surprised if he didn't already have a comprehensive 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 on me, and whatever information they might have stolen from Federation databases and sources.

Section 31 had been very 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 nice little bonus of a thousand bars of latinum for each one they discovered; that was how valuable it was to expose these information leaks that had previously gone undetected. I suspected that only a very small number were actually killed via convenient accident after discovery. The vast majority were probably left in place and given only that information (or misinformation) that Section 31 wanted others to have. Some low-level operatives were probably quietly removed and held to use in some future prisoner exchange. That was often the way things were done between large intelligence outfits.

"It's General Gothic, Garak," I answered coldly, eyeing him intensely. "But you already knew that. Your Obsidian Order dossier on me is probably quite extensive."

"The Obsidian Order, General? I believe you have a very mistaken and overblown perception of me," Garak rebutted, that famous smile of patient, exasperated amusement on his face. "I'm but a simple tailor."

"Oh, you're far more than that, Garak," I said with a cold smile. "During the Occupation I captured and killed a number of your fellow operatives; I'm sure you received the reports of them going missing. The Cardassians are not the only race who know how to break someone to extract information. Everyone breaks eventually, even Order operatives, at least once you figure out how they cheat. Implanted biotechnology which can turn pain into pleasure is quite an advantage, but it's only good if your interrogator doesn't know about it. Unfortunately for them, I'm a very smart and thorough man, Garak. Your name came up many times. They really didn't like you for some reason!" I joked, chuckling darkly.

Garak went still, his smile seemingly fixed in stone for several long moments as I casually dropped my knowledge of secret biotechnology that Obsidian Order operatives had been given to resist torture. That very same technology that was in his body and active at this very moment. I gave him the time to process this information, but spoke again when I noticed his hand subtly twitching.

"Don't bother to pull out that hold out disrupter you have at the small of your back," I warned with a chuckle. "You'd be dead long before you could even bring it on target. I didn't share my knowledge of your former affiliation to goad you into trying to kill me so that I could eliminate you legally. If I wanted you dead and gone, Garak, you'd be dead and gone before you even realized what was happening."

"I do believe that you have me mixed up with someone else, but as it seems futile to try to correct your mistaken assumption, I can only ask what you want from me, General Gothic?" Garak asked quietly. I suppose 'deny till you die' was always going to be the way of things.

"Nothing, I want nothing from you, well, beside a new wardrobe," I answered truthfully, chuckling at his question. "The Prophets have a role for you to play. Do as you would normally. In the future I may ask for assistance or information, but I certainly don't expect anything for free. If you believe you have some information to trade me or would like to ask a favor of me, seek me out, we might be able to help each other."

Garak nodded slowly.

"Let's conclude our immediate transaction," I offered, hoping to bring this interaction back on track.

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

Clever. I suspected the question was meant to subtly tease out how connected I was to the Federation or perhaps as a way to tell/warn me that he knew that I was working with or on the behalf of the Federation. It could even be a possible threat to expose my secret Federation affiliation to the Bajorans. I doubt he actually knew anything of the sort, or had any real proof of such a thing, Section 31 was just too good at what they did and they had spies in the Cardassian government. If the Cardassians had any kind of proof that could expose me, Section 31 would have told me or disappeared it altogether. But as I knew from the show, manufacturing that proof was something he'd be willing to do, if necessary.

It was probably just a fishing expedition, but a threat, even an unsubstantiated one from a disgraced Cardassian, could damage my standing a little with the Bajorans, or perhaps raise a sliver of doubt. Of course, he'd have to expose his own official background with the Cardassians to be more believable, which wasn't very likely. When confronted with such a powerful human fighting with the Bajoran Resistance the Cardassians had frequently wondered if I was working as a Federation operative and had devoted significant resources to finding out.

Dealing with a career spy of Garak's level and pedigree would always be a pain in the ass. I just didn't have the patience to parse through the word games and half a dozen different meanings that they could inject into everything they said and did. I could have put him on the backfoot even further if I admitted to knowing his secret parentage, but that was far too big a risk with a lot of unpredictable outcomes and potential consequences. If Garak's father learned of it, I had little doubt that I'd have to deal with multiple assassination attempts, though he'd probably also try to kill his own son too. No, I had accomplished what I had set out to do. He'd hopefully be open to working with me in the future if I had need of information only he could provide.

"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 noticeable dent in my accounts. Besides I was hoping to inspire a change in fashion here on the station. For better or worse I was a notable and famous figure and was curious if, like the celebrities of my time, my wardrobe choices could spark some new fashion trends on Bajor.

XXXXX

Replimat. Deep Space Nine.

I sat in the Replimat carefully eating my spicy chicken makhani with jasmine rice, savoring each bite to test for any hint that it was noticeably 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 this Indian dish. 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 and more specific and as I made my choices it kept listing more and more options and variations and styles. 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 said.

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 exactly like the actor John de Lancie! My eyes widened in shock.

Q was here! On the station! Which meant Vash must also be here, and that meant that the station was going to crash into the wormhole unless the senior officers figured out what was going on. If it looked like any of the butterflies I had let out would prevent them from reaching the required solution, I'd have to step in to prevent the station from getting destroyed. But I wouldn't act yet, best not to get in Q's way or do anything to further attract his attention. As much as I'd love to speak to a God, there were no end of stories that said it would be a supremely bad idea. Mortals almost always seemed to get boned when dealing with the Gods.

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

Bashir was not amused. If he had any idea who he was speaking to, he'd heed that warning.

"My God, you're an impertinent waiter!" he said, causing me to cringe. 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 all the bravado that the righteously offended could muster.

"Really? Well, I don't think that 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 mischievously. "You look tired."

At first it was subtle, but soon enough I saw all the telltale signs that the doctor was extremely tired and soon on his way to practically falling asleep at the table.

"I feel fine," Bashir stated, with a large yawn, though it sounded like he doubted his own words.

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

Q yawned visibly in an extremely 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 acidly.

Did Q just essentially call Bashir a man-whore? Because that would be pretty hilarious, have to admit. I snorted quietly in laughter. To be fair, Bashir was the one person on this station who attempted to seduce more women than even I did. He was actually pretty successful at it too. Maybe it was a common feature of the genetically enhanced?

"Oh, it's you," the super powerful alien/god said as he noticed me, sounding pleased. Somehow, I wasn't surprised he seemed to know who I was.

Q's smile (or smirk?) was extremely mischievous as he came over to sit at my table, crossing his legs elegantly and leaning back in his chair.

Part of me wanted to run away as far and as fast as I could and never look back, but that would be utterly pointless when faced with the power of a veritable god. Another part of me, though, was nearly frozen catatonic in excitement. I was sitting in front of an omnipotent God of the universe, a God willing to come down to my level and interact with me. What kind of questions should I ask him? What answers could I possibly be given? As a super fan of the shows, this was a dream even bigger than being put in the Star Trek universe and confronted with the reality of this moment, I found myself speechless.

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. What that fire would lead to in the future, I didn't know, but I felt it inside me.

Say something you goddamn idiot!

"I'm truly honored to meet you, Q," I said as earnestly as possible. "This is a fantasy come true and yet another fulfillment of a previously thought impossible dream."

Q may have played the role of antagonistic trickster, but I knew better. Q had gone out of his way to help humanity in his own way. Sure, his actions had led to the deaths of thousands, but in the long-run he had saved many, many more lives. It was pure foolishness, in my opinion, to expect a God to think like us or to have the same concept of morality.

Q looked pleased and pleasantly surprised at my words, if I had to guess from his approximation of human behavioral responses and cues. And wasn't that just wild to think about.

"It's always nice to meet a fan; I have so few these days!" Q gushed with a bright smile, though it transitioned to polite curiosity. "You have a unique perspective, Gothic, one your limited kind isn't yet capable of on its own, so I'm curious why you're honored by meeting me."

"You're right, I do have a unique perspective. Before I was brought to this fictional dimension I watched and was a fan of Star Trek: Enterprise, The Next Generation, Deep Space Nine, and Voyager," I answered honestly. It was so gratifying to just freely speak about these giant secrets that I had been holding onto…so very…liberating. "You didn't appear often, but I saw the help you provided humanity and the Federation. By introducing the Federation to the Borg early you gave them the push to abandon their complacency, somewhat at least, which arguably helped the Federation survive the Dominion War. Or when you helped Picard realize that there was a temporal paradox that was going to prevent the evolution of humanity and then gave him the means to fix it."

"Not a fan of the Original Series?" Q asked amused, for some reason choosing not to comment on the help he gave humanity.

"Not particularly. I'm a child of the 80s, so I've only watched a handful of episodes. TNG was my introduction to the mythology," I answered honestly, feeling a bit embarrassed considering how useful some of that knowledge from the Original Series could have been. I knew there had been some ridiculously advanced races and technology in that series. "Of course, the Borg were already defeated in this universe."

I had a sudden intense realization at that moment.

"No Borg in this universe, but the Collectors showed up out of nowhere. It's quite a coincidence, Q, and might serve the same purpose as the Borg in motivating the Federation to stop being complacent idiots. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?" I asked, looking intently at him.

Q just looked tickled pink, his grin getting even wider before he tapped the side of his nose.

This conversation was just so fucking surreal!

"So, should I be thanking you, in particular, for my dimensional and temporal relocation? Or was it some other multiversal cosmic-level god-entity looking for some entertainment?" I asked him. "I mean someone or something 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 multiverse is at times. My sincere thanks, though, to whoever it was, truly. I've had many exciting adventures, 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 was thankful for it and cherished it every single day.

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

"Well, it wasn't just me. In terms you'd understand, I was doing a favor for a fellow creature of chaos. I only had a small hand in the events that brought you to this dimension, this time, and this silly little galaxy," he answered, "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? A fellow creature of chaos?" I asked hoping to learn whatever Q was happy to share on the nature of reality and the all-powerful beings that were around and seemingly watching me.

"Always trying to learn, to improve, and to evolve, aren't you? That attitude and willingness to learn will serve you well in your exceedingly long life," Q teased. "Even for you, these concepts will be beyond your comprehension. How to explain in a way that you'd actually understand, even just a little, on the most superficial level…"

Q tapped his chin, looking deep in thought.

"That movie trilogy that you liked, the Matrix, remember that scene where the Architect was explaining the nature of the Matrix and the role the Oracle played in keeping it all going? My role, my purpose, and your patron's as well, as you've called him, is to 'unbalance the equation.' The universe and reality itself is, fundamentally, a complex system. A system governed by perfect order is stagnant, unchanging. It's also doomed to failure. We are the forces of chaos and change. Bringing you here, with your somewhat imperfect, but still useful knowledge of past and future events, was like dropping a pebble made of chaos into a very still pond. How far the ripples go, whether that be for good or ill, as your small, mortal viewpoint defines it, is up to you. Us 'Gods', like the Prophets, who see all of time simultaneously, are being entertained by all the ripples you're directly and indirectly causing, stretching out thousands and tens of thousands of years into what you perceive as the future."

"If you perceive time like that, aren't you seeing the entirety of my life and all the actions I'll ever take and thus all the ripples arising from my actions?"

"You are an extra dimensional element, a champion sponsored by a chaos God, of sorts. You are a free agent, separate yet part of the whole. Your every action creates…essentially like an entirely new TV series that plays out across time for us to enjoy. Even this conversation we're having right now, every word spoken, every expression, every chuckle and smile, is rewriting the future of this dimension entirely over and over and over again."

Well, that was trippy.

"Aren't there God-like beings who might not like what I'm doing or the changes I'm bringing about?" I asked, terrified at the possibility that some God-being might just snap their fingers and erase me from existence. There was no protecting yourself from that kind of enemy.

"Chaos is an essential element of a healthy universe. He and I have claimed your-again, I'm going to use terms you might understand, even though they're imperfect-soul or your existence, however you want to put it, and that will be visible to any God-like being and will extend some protection to you. They will not want to attract our attention and ire. That mental protection you've enjoyed with the telepathic races is just a small element of that protection. Well, more of a useful byproduct," Q explained patiently, at times struggling with explaining concepts that were beyond my mortal mind. "The Prophets, for example, who you are most directly affecting, can only ask you to do or not do something. You've already experienced that."

"I'm assuming there are limits to that protection, or else it wouldn't be fun and entertaining?" I guessed.

"Bingo! We will protect you from other Gods snapping you out of existence or time, or throwing you into a black hole, or even arranging things so that a mortal empire kills you for them, directly or indirectly."

"But not if I piss off the wrong Cardassian and they decide to shoot me in the head, I'm assuming."

"Exactly!" Q clapped.

"Why help my…patron? Why allow this element of chaos into this universe?" I asked, mostly out of curiosity, not that it would change anything.

Q helped himself to some of my food.

"As you have already realized, this is not the prime Star Trek universe, as you've taken to call it in your thoughts. Let's just say that things needed to be shaken up a little bit here and that I saw an opportunity to add a little spice to this universe," he told me with a grin. "It's like this lovely dish that you're enjoying, take that spice away and it's not at all as enjoyable, too much also not good, but add just the right amount and you've made it both interesting and delicious. Not that I can really claim credit for this whole idea. My friend is a bit of a maverick visionary when it comes to chaos."

I thought about that for a moment, there was a lot there to digest and I'm sure his ridiculously simplified and dumbed down explanation was losing a lot in the translation. It was probably like trying to explain taxes to your dog. Or maybe taxes to an ant would be more accurate?

"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 want to?" Q asked with his trademark smirk, the one that said he knew far more than he let on, though I could tell he was seriously asking.

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 or because I put my dick in the wrong pussy, 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.

"Wait a minute, were you the one who sent me my ship?" I asked.

"Ha! Even us God-like beings can get impatient and you were planning to slowly acquire the funds to acquire your own ship. I just wanted to speed things along," Q admitted with a shit eating grin. "Your patron made the decision to be entirely hand's off with your life, except when dealing with other high-level beings that might interfere in our little game. I'm much more flexible."

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 little 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.

"Any advice or guidance you can give me?" I asked, hoping to learn more. If a God offered you advice, you better heed it. "I'll take anything you're willing to offer."

Q looked hesitant for a few moments, before his desire for chaos (maybe?) overwhelmed him. At least that's how I interpreted it.

"The Gods watching the drama of your life are either immortal or exist outside of time. Your lifespan, even enhanced as it is, is but a minute for them. We don't want the fun to end that quickly," Q cryptically answered. "Think on the implications of that. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have, you know, God-like things to do," Q said humorously, 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 very civil conversation where he shared with me several truths on the nature of reality. My life was just a crazy roller coaster, wasn't it?

And I wouldn't trade it for the world.

XXXXX

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 Kira's occupied station in the central control area and diverted my course over to her.

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

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, we might have weekly meetings, 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, even though I really wasn't! Any issues I had could be discussed at our weekly meetings.

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

"He's in his office, feel free to go right up."

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 in embarrassment. Thankfully for her, and for me, they hadn't seen what had made her react like that, though Dax looked like she had a knowing smirk on her face.

I nodded with a smile to everyone looking at Kira and I as I walked up the brief flight of steps, the doors of Sisko's office parting to open when it detected me. 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 guess he wanted people to know," I speculated, though I was relatively certain that 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 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."

"That was not what I asked, General," Sisko responded testily.

I hesitated for several long moments. If Q had allowed himself to be seen talking to me, then he obviously had some purpose for that in mind. I suspect that nothing Q did didn't have many purposes. Hopefully, my next words would give me more options in the future.

"I am not at liberty to say. Q asked me not to and several elements of our conversation fall under the temporal prime directive," I answered. "While I'm not bound by that directive, I doubt you'd want me to share what I learned."

Sisko sighed audibly and looked away from me, obviously annoyed at this source of potentially useful information being denied to him.

"No, if the temporal prime directive is implicated, then no, you should not say anything. No matter how much I may want to know," Sisko responded slowly. He shifted in his seat, the only visible sign of how concerned he really was, but my hearing also 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. We cannot determine the cause, so we believed it had something to do with Q."

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 would not 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. I'd step in if I had to, but shit happened. If that happened I might need to look for a new home soon, though I'd probably 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 phenomena."

The spoon heads were decades behind the Federation in some areas, especially in non-military-oriented technology. Their military technology was much closer, go figure, as the Obsidian Order was very good at what they did and had stolen technology from many other races. 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, though. The Federation was vast and they had an incredible amount of untapped infrastructure to supply their war machine, if they only truly committed to winning. Alas, the Federation wouldn't go in and stomp that fascist government into the dirt. The loss of a peer opponent to struggle mightily against these last hundred years or so had caused something vital to be lost, their edge, that drive to survive at all costs, it was something they'd need to find again if they were going to survive the Collectors and then the Dominion.

"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. You might think me crazy, but in many ways he's actually our greatest supporter. Keep an eye on him and try to notice what has his attention, not what he does."

Sisko nodded doubtfully, but thoughtfully 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.

XXXXX

Ashalla. Capital City of Bajor. 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 in their final days and weeks on the planet 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, bloodstained ground, and so on. Only a few of the buildings here and there had been spared any damage at all.

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

"A lot of these buildings will need to be demolished and any useful materials salvaged for later use," I commented softly 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 nearby surviving buildings."

Even the Cardassian designed monstrosities were useful and had to be carefully preserved. Regardless of their origins, this was no time to turn your nose up at them when people were still suffering and habitable buildings were overcrowded beyond what was safe. Maybe in a few decades, when Bajor was more restored, a decision could be made about these Occupation-era Cardassian designed and built buildings.

Seeing all this made me incredibly sad. The Bajorans had been building beautiful cities while humans on Earth had still been trying to figure out fire. Yet while Earth was the center and capital of a powerful interstellar alliance the only reason most even knew about Bajor was because of the wormhole. And that was a recent discovery! 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 and had truly ridiculous energy demands to function. 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 amounts 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 incredibly valuable and hard to come by.

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

I had to smile at hearing that, glancing to my side to see Kira's sour face. I couldn't resist teasing/warning her a little.

"Working side-by-side with a soft Federation idealist like Sisko has dulled your cynicism, my dear Kira. If they did that then Bajor would have no reason to join the Federation," I said to her with an evil sounding chuckle as we kept walking. She bumped her shoulder into mine in annoyance, but seemingly acknowledged the truth of my words. "They won't simply hand over everything Bajor needs to fully recover on their own, no matter how benevolent they can seem or be at times. They need that leverage over Bajor to ensure that it seeks out membership, especially now that the wormhole has been discovered and every major power in the quadrant wants to offer their supposed help."

"Other powers offered to help us recover?" Kira asked in surprise.

"Of course, they did, they want control over the wormhole," I snarked. "I strongly advised the First Minister that the Federation was the best possible option, but that we had to choose a strong supporter to retain our independence. The wormhole's discovery took that choice away from us. No matter my feelings about them and their inadequacies, it's much better to have them here than one of the other major powers. The Klingons or the Romulans or the Ferengi might offer more in the short-term to entice Bajor, but they'd likely take total control of the wormhole before long and never let it go, eventually annexing the entire system for some manufactured reason. 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 on our timeline, when Bajor is ready and willing. They won't force it and would even leave if we really told them to, but that would be an utter catastrophe and the Cardassians would be back in hours with a full battle fleet to take back control of the planet."

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 in Berlin and throughout Europe after World War 2, grimly, yet full of determination, picking up the pieces of their ruined cities and lives, starting over. It was inspiring to see it happen here around me. Stuff like this was why I had fought in the Resistance. Like on the station, the Cardassians had not been kind in their withdrawal from the planet.

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 by hand, rebuilding interior walls, and there were artisans all over the place lovingly restoring artwork and statues. Yet they did so in absolute silence, only speaking in hushed tones, and even more astonishingly, there was not a single modern 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. It 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, but far more devoutly.

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. I felt a tingling, 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 breathed, looking perplexed. "Your pagh is near overwhelming, but strange and foreign, touched by unknown Gods. Your path is…unset, yours alone to choose, unbound, unseen, and unknown even by the Prophets, with limitless potential. I sense an ambitious and clever mind, with a compassionate yet ruthless heart. You are content…and wish to live every moment as if it was your last. You were not before, but you are of Bajor now."

"I am content with this new life, Eminence. This new life has been a gift to me. I know that even should my life end in this strange time and place, it will have been an amazing adventure and I will regret none of it," I confirmed, feeling strangely light after admitting these inner thoughts that I had only shared with a God. "I will protect your people, my people now, to the best of my ability."

Opaka didn't answer directly, but she nodded, then 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. "I have a city-class industrial replicator of my own on my island, I intend to continue donating food, medicines, and building materials to projects the Government might not consider the highest priority."

"You have done so much for Bajor and its people already, but we will gratefully accept any more you freely offer," Opaka said with a serene smile, seemingly content with my answer and words. Kira looked very pleased too. "Recently I consulted with an 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 and maybe my enhanced abilities. I, of course, knew that Sisko was part-Prophet, or a demi-Prophet, whose very existence had been engineered by them, but I was definitely not sharing that information. Upset the carefully laid plans of Gods at your own peril. Though I had learned that other Gods were protecting me, I had no desire to test the limits of that protection or for them to seek out what loopholes might exist.

"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. As do you," the Bajoran 'pope' answered. "It is 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, as they say, was that. A very short, but perhaps very important meeting with one of the most influential and important figures in Bajoran life and possibly a small, but necessary nudge from the Prophets to tell us that we were on the right path and to stay the course.

For now, I'd comply.

XXXXX

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, at least temporarily. 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 few bars of latinum to the annoyed bartender, which was snatched from my hand as quick as lightning and stowed away in one of the Ferengi's many pockets.

"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 on the station that was allowed a tab here, and the only person with a 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 often, and he didn't think the Federation would stick around for all that long, so he wasn't extending it to all Federation personnel. He was wrong about that. But it hardly mattered.

"Have you spoken to your cousin the arms dealer lately?" I asked the bartender.

Quark seemed surprised.

"Gaila?" he asked softly, 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 searching glances around the entire bar, looking for Odo probably, which seemed silly to me since he could be a glass or a chair or even a potted plant and you'd never know.

I was planning to equip my off-world Militia forces with disruptor weapons, which would be more effective when combating the Collectors and the myriad threats that faced the station in the future, and Gaila had proven himself capable of delivering what he promised at fair prices. I had made several deals with him during the Occupation, even had preferred VIP customer status with him, given the number and size of the deals we'd made successfully with everyone happy in the end. I was curious if he had gotten his wish and had been granted membership in the Orion Syndicate yet.

"I'd like to make a very large purchase of disruptor weapons, rifles and sidearms, from him. If you're willing, you'd act as my business agent and negotiator on the pricing and terms," I answered. His shocked speechless expression was pretty hilarious to behold; the man was rarely quiet. "I'm willing to offer 1% of the total value of the purchase as a commission, and a bonus if you come in under expectations."

Quark still looked shocked and probably hadn't even yet fully understood what the fuck I was asking, yet his Ferengi instincts had him acting seemingly on autopilot.

"5%, it'll be a lot of work," Quark replied.

"2%, I've done business with Gaila before and have VIP status, I really don't need you to make an introduction or negotiate for me, but I'm willing to test you out for a larger future deal I'm putting together," I shot back instantly.

"4%, I'm a Ferengi and he's my cousin, I'll get you a much better deal than you ever could on your own," Quark snarked, excited now that his mind had rebooted and he had done the mental math on just how large a deal this had the potential to be.

"3%, and if you counteroffer me again, the deal is off," I growled. "And I'll do this myself."

"Deal!" Quark shouted, reaching his hand out for me to shake human-style to signal a deal had been struck. He knew how much money 3% of a large arms purchase could potentially be. It would probably be the most profit he made at one time all year.

To be honest, I really didn't need Quark. I already had the relationship with Gaila and I had done a few successful deals with him already. There was a potential that Quark might save me some money in the end with his negotiating skill and familial relationship, but that would just be a side benefit. No, my real purpose was to build my relationship with Quark and to see if he could be useful for making a deal related to my omni-tools. As a fan of the show, I knew just how many events Quark and his family were a part of or at the center of and having a good relationship with him would pay off large dividends in the future. It would also probably give me access to his large information network of shady contacts, for a price, of course.

"I'm willing to give this a try, Quark, I wasn't lying when I said I could contact Gaila and make this deal on my own without your help," I offered candidly. "If you save me some money and make a good deal for me, there are going to be several more profitable opportunities in the future for you to be part of. If you try to cheat me or fuck me on this deal, though, maybe by inflating the price or coming to some kind of side agreement with Gaila, I'll be very angry with you and your life on this station will suddenly become very unpleasant, very fast. Do we understand each other?"

I let my presence become far larger and more threatening as I stared into Quark's eyes intently. Virtually every sentient humanoid race had evolved on planets with predators far more physically powerful than themselves. Those ancient instincts were capable of recognizing me as an apex predator, especially when I wanted them to.

"I understand, General," Quark responded quickly, looking very nervous, but trying to hide his fear. "You can count on me to get you the best possible deal, with no tricks."

"I'm sure I can count on you, Quark," I replied pleasantly.

If, for some unknown reason, this deal fell through in such a way that Gaila was no longer a viable provider, I had other, less desirable options to acquire the weapons that I needed. With my island's industrial replicator, I could produce my own weapons, but given the large numbers I needed to arm all the off-world militia forces, the power expenditure would be extreme, especially to create all the dedicated power cells these weapons would require. With the power needs so extreme at the moment, especially since I didn't have a large Collector power cell to power my industrial replicator, coupled with my desire to hide my ability to produce weapons from the Federation and the other powers, it just made much more sense to use someone like Gaila.

Quark looked like he wanted to say something, but appeared hesitant.

"General, what level of…discretion…do you require that I operate with to facilitate this deal?" Quark asked carefully and quietly, while still glancing surreptitiously around.

It was a legitimate question, but I still laughed out loud.

"Minimal, Quark. Don't advertise it unnecessarily, but you do not have to hide what we're doing from the authorities like Odo or Starfleet. It's official business and I am a General in the Bajoran Militia making this purchase on behalf of Bajor. When a sovereign government's military buys a large quantity of weapons for its forces, it's not illegal," I reminded him.

Again, he looked shocked speechless, his jaw literally hanging open.

"I know, you're probably unused to making a deal of this nature and having no need to worry about law enforcement. Have fun with it; feel free to tweak Odo's nose if you want," I joked.

As head of all off-world Militia forces, it was up to me to decide what weapons my forces 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, especially since I was once again loaning the money to the Provisional Government. The Provisional Government had much higher priority items on their plate, like feeding the people and rebuilding, along with the requisite power games all politicians played to care what I got up to. The Federation personnel stationed here would continue to use whatever equipment Starfleet required and provided them with. Sisko had 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 holo-novel. 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 each month. Interest in my next published work was very high and going up each day, especially since I released several little teasers to keep interest high.

'Marketing is life!' I joked in the privacy of my thoughts, a play on the words of a martial philosophy no one in the alpha quadrant had ever heard of.

"Of course, 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 huge arms deal and yet it was all perfectly legal. "Go right ahead."

I jumped off the barstool quickly and headed up the circular staircase into the narrow corridor above the main floor that held the only four holosuites that DS9 had. Quark must be really happy if he offered me a free holosuite session.

Better go before he came back to his senses and realize what did!

XXXXX

Quarters. Deep Space Nine.

I stopped in front of a set of doors located on the station's Habitat Ring and composed myself for a moment. I was wearing the first of the clothes that Garak had custom tailored 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 pants, 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 skilled 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 that I was at the door.

"Come in!" a female voice said, inviting me in.

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, a lot of which was very erotic in nature. I couldn't be totally sure, having not studied her culture much, but I was sure she'd mixed Trill art with souvenirs from the many places that she probably visited while with Starfleet. This was confirmed when I saw one of those horga'hn statues from Risa, which I well knew the purpose of. Good times!

I was also treated to the wonderful view of Jadzia in a casual outfit of figure-hugging slacks, cleavage baring peasant 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 that 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 gently, sending me an inviting smile. Jadzia pulled off casual sensuality and inviting sexuality better than anyone I knew. 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 in the spot she had indicated. Normally, I was a lot more confident with women, especially in this new life, but today I was a little off for some reason.

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

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

"I need you to double 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, well, unless you radically improve the efficiency of the circuitry. And the smallest holo-emitter I know of is about thirty centimeters in size. The replicator can be this small, though it's a power hog and I don't think you'll have enough available with everything else this device is trying to do," she told me.

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, which should reduce the power draw, but she was probably right about the micro-replicator.

"This is a basic, lower tier design. It 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 all work."

I used Collector power sources to get around that in my prototype design, which supplied me with a ridiculous amount of power for the size of the cell, but the Federation didn't have that kind of tech (and I couldn't reproduce it currently) 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 omni-tool 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 the 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. Unless there is a significant advancement in power generation, I recommend dropping the micro-replicator entirely."

She studied the PADD some more.

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

I guess it was time to practice and refine my sales pitch.

"My omni-tool is not meant to be some incredible advancement in its component technologies. It's really not. Fundamentally, it's meant to improve the overall utility by combining them into a better, more useful package. What is a tricorder? It's essentially a computer with attached sensors and displays. What is a comm badge? It's a means of communicating, a sending and receiving apparatus, but for audio only, which is very limiting."

Dax looked intrigued.

"The modern tricorder the Federation uses has gotten smaller and smaller as the technology improved. It's no longer a bulky unit with a shoulder strap and a carrying case, like they had in the time of Kirk and Spock. At some point we decided carrying a unit like that was less than ideal, so we shrunk it to the size of the humanoid hand. It's still clunky and awkward, in my opinion, still needs to be whipped out to use, opened so that it can begin functioning, can be knocked out of your hand, and easily taken away. You've also only got a few small, static readouts and displays to work with. Weren't there many times in your career with Starfleet you wished the tricorder had more processing power, more memory, a better way to display, work with, and manipulate data and sensor information than those tiny fixed size screens?"

"Many times before," Dax admitted with a smile. I had the feeling that she loved being around passionate people, being so passionate herself.

"Why not rethink and reimagine the design of the tricorder then! Give it a different shape that works better with the standard humanoid form, more secure real estate to attach to, which means it won't be taken away as easily and the processing power and power cell can be greater since it's no longer limited to the average size of the humanoid hand. My omni-tool is like a modern day vambrace, attached and molded to the humanoid forearm on the non-dominant hand, beginning at the wrist and going to the elbow, which can rest over a uniform or other clothing. My design is like having a powerful computer and sensor apparatus on your arm, a better tricorder, always available to conduct scans with just a small gesture or verbal command, with a much more useful and versatile holo display and control interface that can be projected in the air and enlarged and manipulated tactilely by the user, or again with verbal commands."

"What about those times when a holo-display like that can't be used openly or needs to be clandestinely looked at?" Dax asked, looking more and more intrigued as I explained what my device could do.

"You don't have to use the holo-display! When the holo-output isn't switched on it's unnoticeable that it's even running, and has no colorful lights and beeping like the tricorder does. You can even hide it under your sleeve and have it kept with you at all times. The omni-tool will have a built-in screen that will be much larger than the current screens and displays on a standard tricorder. Of course, not all humanoid races have the same amount of space on their forearms, so a one-size fits all philosophy like the current tricorder uses just isn't going to work. Most humanoid females tend to be smaller than their male counterparts for instance, so I'm thinking of offering my customers a few different sizes of omni-tool to buy. Larger models equals more screen to work with. But to give you an example, my prototype omni-tool has a 7-inch-long flexible screen that is 3 inches wide. That's a lot more screen real estate to work with if you don't want to use the holo displays."

"It certainly is," Dax admitted thoughtfully. "What about durability? The modern tricorder has been hardened and can withstand significant abuse and electromagnetic interference. Would yours be able to do the same?"

"Yes! The omni-tool's screen is made of a flexible multi-layered transparent aluminum film and the rest of the device uses a mix of proprietary materials that feels like leather so it's comfortable to wear long-term. I actually used a Risian material they invented. My omni-tool actually exceeds Starfleet's durability standard the current tricorder uses and is hardened against electromagnetic interference," I answered quickly.

"And the comm badge features?" she asked.

"The omni-tool will have all the current capabilities of the modern comm badge and more. It has greater range, better data throughput and compression because of the greater processing power and energy available, and you can even…have video communication! That a game changer, alone," I enthusiastically pointed out. "By integrating comm functions into the omni-tool, I also made it much more difficult to take it away."

"What do you mean?" Dax asked, sounding confused.

"That comm badge that you're wearing right now," I said, pointing to her standard issue Starfleet comm badge that she was wearing even now, right above her left breast. "I can just reach out and very easily take that from you. And just like that the station's computer won't know where you are and you've lost all ability to communicate with others or be transported to safety. It's much more difficult to do that with my omni-tool design, isn't it?"

"Yes, that would be more difficult with your design," Dax again admitted, chuckling.

"Starfleet can keep their standard comm badges for all I care. The omni-tool would just offer another option," I clarified. "One day, I hope, every member of Starfleet might wear one of my omni-tools at all times. Having a tricorder/miniature computer/multi-mode communication device on your arm at all times sounds mighty useful in a whole slew of situations, doesn't it?"

Dax looked very impressed and turned on by how passionate I was about this.

"The Augment 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 have a very hard time turning down the advances of a beautiful woman," I purred quietly, a small smile slowly growing on my lips. "Does that count?"

Anything else I might have spoken stayed unsaid 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 as I ground my cock into her core.

If this was a TV show then we'd probably be fading…into…black…

Author's Note:

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Chapter 27: 17,356 words

Chapter 28: 19,248 words