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Chapter 1: Red Shift, Red EyeTop

Location: Space Station Deep Space Nine, Bajor Sector, Alpha Quadrant

The chirp of the alarm came too soon, again, for Captain Kira's liking. Even after all these years of being the official commander of Deep Space Nine, Nerys had issues with getting up early. That's not to say that she didn't get up, she did. If nothing else, Kira Nerys was disciplined; she just didn't particularly ENJOY getting up at what some Starfleet officers called “Oh-Dark-Thirty.”

A few minutes after stepping out of the refresher, and donning her red duty shirt, Nerys took a moment to slide her traditional Bajoran ear clip in place. As she pulled on her Starfleet Officer's tunic, the comm. alert chirped.

“Ops to Captain Kira.”

Kira rolled her eyes and huffed as she stood, exasperated, with hands on hips. “Matthew!” she called out to the duty officer's disembodied voice, “I'm not even set to be on duty for an hour yet. What could possibly be so important?”

“Sorry ma'am. It's just…”

“Is our orbit decaying?”

“No Ma'am, but…”

“Is the station under attack?”

“Not that I know of, Captain. However…”

“Is there a problem on Bajor?”

“No, Ma'am. Most of the population's still asleep.”

“EXACTLY! So, what is it that can't wait 'til I've at LEAST had my raktajino?”

“He's here, ma'am.”

Kira's head dropped in a universal sign of despair. Then she picked her head back up to look quizzically at the speaker. “Already?”

“Affirmative, Ma'am.”

“So…he's…early?” More than just a question, her voice held genuine surprise.

“Aye, Ma'am.”

“He's NEVER early.”

“He's never late either, Ma'am.”

Kira sighed, shaking her head. “Give me ten minutes.” She ordered, heading for the door. “And keep him out of Ops!” Not waiting for the acknowledgment, Kira made for the turbo lift, keeping a brisk pace.


Location: Main bridge, deck 1, USS Republic
Shiptime: 0643 hours

It had taken a few days, but as he shifted his weight in the center seat (which still felt more than a little odd), Leon Cromwell noted that he was starting to enjoy the relative quiet of the Gamma Shift. Truth to tell, there were times when it reminded Leon of his residency at Cook Medical Center in New Chicago.

When most people thought of medical school, particularly the residency phase, wherein a studying physician was in charge of all admissions or additions in a given department, they thought of Emergency Rooms. Stuffed to the gills with crying children, frustrated adults, and occasionally someone who was just desperate for a little human attention. Leon however remembered the silences, few and far between though they were.

Just as there were few places more frantic than a busy hospital, not just on Earth, Leon knew, but anywhere in the galaxy, when they were quiet, hospitals seemed deathly still. It was times like those, when the silence was nearly perfect, when the weight of what he was doing…what he had committed himself to really sank in. Back then, he was a doctor, sworn to heal the sick, help the afflicted, ease another's suffering, and above all, do no harm.

Leon knew that he'd fallen short of that last promise more than once in his life, but he also knew with absolute certainty, that he'd made everywhere he'd been a better place. In the silence of Republic's bridge, in the middle of the night, he was confident that was still true. He knew that because the silences felt the same, and he was grateful.

As if on cue, there was an alert on the tactical station. Above and behind Leon, Sobek of Vulcan called out his findings. “Long-Range sensor contact, Lieutenant Commander.” His tone was calm and measured. The model of Vulcan efficiency.

Leon leaned forward, his eyes squinting just slightly. “Put it up, please?”

A second later, the view changed to show a small, gray cylinder; six meters long, three meters wide, capped at either end with an impressive array of antennae and receivers.

Sobek continued to relate the information from his sensor readings. “It is a standard Federation…”

“…Navigational Beacon.” Leon finished as he sat back in the chair again.

“Indeed.” The Vulcan added calmly. “Transponders, sensors, and navigational charts are about to synchronize to Federation standard. Am I to allow the up link, Lieutenant Commander?”

Leon let out a heavy breath “Hoo boy,” he sighed. “I guess we'd better. Looks like it's finally time to go home.” Leon nodded. “Begin the transfer, Sobek,” he confirmed. “Note the time in the ship's log please.”

“Acknowledged.”


Location: Operations level, Deep Space Nine
Station Time: 0702 hours

Kira Nerys tugged sharply on the hem of her officer's tunic as she keyed the control to open the door between Ops and the Promenade. She smiled, putting on her best 'shut up and be nice face'. “Good morning, Doctor Virtus,” she offered. “Did I miss an appointment?”

Victor Xavier Virtus took two quick, evenly spaced steps into the nerve center of Deep Space Nine. “I certainly hope not, Captain. It's terribly early.”

Kira looked dumbfounded as the visiting officer strode past her to look over the shoulder of the attending tactical lieutenant, who's job it was to actually do what Virtus was doing now; peering into the long-range sensor display.

“Doctor!” Kira called out, her voice a little more harsh than she was expecting, but not inappropriately so. “I've told you before,” she continued as she moved to stand in front of the console Virtus was checking over. “I don't know WHERE Republic is. No one's seen or heard from them for over six months.”

Virtus reflexively stroked his mustache. “Six months, twenty-eight days, 14 hours and six minutes…Mark.” He said simply. “ I'm well aware of Republic's situation, Captain. That's why I'm here.”

“Doctor, please,” Kira continued, “I've told you that we would do everything we could to help you, and I know that this is the last place Republic was seen, but I think it's time that you accept Republic is gone. Which, by the way is the same thing I was going to tell you a few hours from now.”

Virtus nodded, giving the captain a nearly dismissive wave. “The ship is not gone, captain.”

Nyres tilted her head, deciding to try a different tack. “Doctor Virtus, I'm certainly not a counselor, but I do know what it's like to want something to be true very badly.” She held up a hand, nearly placing it on the former engineer's shoulder. Then, thought better of it. “Holding on to these things too tightly just isn't good for you.”

Virtus turned on a heel, looking at Kira directly. “Irrational behavior isn't good for me.” He commented. “Poly-saturated fats aren't good for me.” His tone was sharpening slightly as he spoke louder. “Getting less than five hours of sleep a night isn't good for me. However, I'm not here because I BELIEVE Republic is out there. I'm here because they're coming back. Today.”

Kira set her jaw. Clearly, the soft approach didn't work. She looked past Virtus to address her Operations Officer. “Matthew, please call security to Ops,” she ordered firmly. “Doctor Virtus is no longer authorized to be here.”

At the long range sensor station, a familiar alarm asserted itself. “Contact from the Gamma Quadrant, captain.”

Seconds later, on the main Ops viewer, the miracle of the Bajoran wormhole repeated itself. For a few moments, a faster than light, faster than warp, connection from one end of the galaxy to another flared into existence. Under her breath, Kira Nyres said a short prayer to the Prophets.

“My sentiments exactly, captain,” Virtus commented as he watched the familiar shape of a Galaxy Class starship emerge from the Gamma Quadrant. “Welcome home.”

The level of “rightness” in the universe snapped back into place. Victor had theorized a quantitative scale of Rightness as a cadet and was still mildly offended that its use had not become more widespread throughout the Federation. The scale was logarithmic from -10 to 10, with zero being ideal. While Republic was goofing off in the Gamma Quadrant the universe was hovering around a six, or roughly a million Virtii units of disharmony with Rightness Equilibrium.

Vic blinked and chided his previous evening's libations. He was still a little foggy and was allowing inaccuracies to creep into his thoughts.

“5.95 or exactly 891,250.938 Virtii of disharmony”, the hungover officer stated firmly as he moved to depart Ops.

Captain Kira paused with disbelief for less than a second before remembering her station and her dignity, and with the tone of authority bred from of generations of leaders squared her shoulders with the receding researcher, “Doctor, how did you know?”

Without turning Vic answered primly, “I apologize captain, but that information is classified.”

“I am the senior officer on this watch Doctor!”

A quiet voice drifted back as the door started to cycle closed, “I am not in your chain of command, sir.” Victor respected and honored the officer corps of the 'Fleet, but something about space station brass always managed to raise his hackles.

Victor hustled anti-clockwise down the Promenade making a mildly painful mental list. Travel, 105s. Shower, 120s. Shave, 44s. Dress, 32s. Republic would be given a priority birth adjacent to Ops on Pylon 2, Travel 166s.

Too long. Adjust schedule to include multi-comm message, 13s.

Victor walked into his humble quarters and addressed the station computer.

“Begin recording priority personal message.”

beep-ep

“Hello old friend. Please disregard the previous messages. I was worried. Victor.”

“Computer, please deliver to John Carter, Leon Cromwell, Shannon Harris, and Maria Pakita aboard the USS Republic as Priority Two, Silver Channel, Epsilon encryption, authorization Victor Xavier Virtus Sampi Digamma Vau one one two three five eight.”

Be-de-beep

“Acknowledged. Routing message to main bridge, USS Republic, as of 0707 hours.”

“Routing message to main bridge, USS Republic, as of 0707 hours.”

“Routing message to Chief Medical Officer's Quarters, USS Republic, as of 0707 hours.”

“Routing message to main sickbay, USS Republic, as of 0707 hours.”

“Routing message to main engineering, USS Republic, as of 0707 hours.”

---

Location: Main engineering, deck 36, USS Republic
Shiptime: 0707 hours

Incoming Priority Message from Starfleet.

Maria sidled down the LCARS and checked the routing information.

“Put it through to this display.”

The message is heavily encrypted and flagged “Eyes Only”.

“Route it through to my office.”

Pakita loved getting mail but loathed the sense of anticipation that accompanied official correspondence, because it always meant paperwork, new regulations, and a disruption of the carefully controlled chaos that was her (and her boss') engineering department. (And soon to be hers exclusively if scuttlebutt were correct.)

“On Screen.”

A very shaggy and bloodshot Lieutenant Commander (detached) greeted her, “Hello old friend. Please disregard the previous messages. I was worried. Victor.

Maria smiled and noted a large collection of dust motes in both eyes. She made a note to check the environmental filters in the ACE office.

“Computer, (beep) save in personal log and re-encrypt.”

The cheered engineer paused as she rose from her seat and cocked her head to one side, a quizzical expression on her face.

“Computer, how many personal message in queue from Victor Virtus.”

You have one hundred thirty-six personal messages from Victor Virtus.

“WHAT?!”

---

Chapter 2: Today's SpecialTop

Location: Brig, deck 38, USS Republic, Gamma Quadrant
Timeframe: Six months prior, one week out from Deep Space Nine

Reia Merrick walked over next to the security desk, looking at Ensign Kuga through the security field. She then turned to the duty officer, “Depach, why don't you take a break for a few minutes. I'll cover for you.”

The gold-clad officer gave Reia a wary look, not sure what to make of what is going on. “Ma'am… I need authorization from Lieutenant Beauvais first.”

Reia returned an easy smile. “Come on, Depach,” she said smoothly. “Where's she gonna go? I mean, it's not like she's hiding a disruptor somewhere, right?”

Narundi straightened up, leaning back to stretch out his stiff spine. “I… suppose you have a point, Reia. Thanks.” Narundi turned and exited the brig.

As the doors closed, Reia tapped her comm badge and looked back over her shoulder at Kuga. “Computer, disable audio and video recording, authorization Merrick theta six omega nine.” The computer beeped to confirm the order.

“So you work for them too?” Naruko asked warily, now wondering how big the organization that 'built' her really was.

“Work for who?” Reia questioned. “Ensign… if you are indeed Ensign Kuga.”

Naruko was surprised. Lieutenant Merrick didn't come across like the others. Most officers she interacted with looked on her with scorn, pity, or contempt; usually a combination of the three. She straightened her posture and pulled her feet up underneath herself, sitting in a classic lotus position on the sleeping ledge of the cell. 'Perhaps she doesn't work for them after all,' she thought. “I… never mind.” She began, but then thought better of it. It would be best that no one on Republic knew why she was here.

“Ensign… I only want to help, so please give me something to work with.” She asked, walking towards the force field.

“Why did you disable the recorder?” Naruko wondered outloud.

“I thought it would be best to have some private time.” Reia offered, hoping that her action would ease tensions between them.

“How do you know that I won't try and escape now, since you disabled the recorder?”

“Because you gave your word to the Captain, and if you are indeed the real Ensign Naruko Kuga, then your word means everything.” Reia said simply. “Now let me give you MY word. If you say anything or nothing at all, I will do my best to protect you.” Naruko sat in silence for a minute before she began to talk.

Reia and Naruko sat face to face, separated by the brig's security screen. Naruko was crying a bit unsure of herself and what to do next. “Don't worry Naruko I'll protect you, but you must have faith in the captain to do the right thing.” Merrick stepped back from the cell entrance, checking over her shoulder to make sure no one would bear witness to her next admission. “I have a few connections in Starfleet.” She admitted. “Old, unofficial connections. I'll put in a call to Admiral Ross and see if he can look into your case a little more… unofficially.”

“Maybe…” Naruko starts wiping the tears away. “I want to give you a gift, it will help you and I down the road.” Naruko glanced at the security controls for the cell, indicating that Merrick should release her.

Though she wasn't sure why, Reia Merrick felt a bond of trust between herself and the imprisoned Ensign. It may have been something as simple as being in the same department, or it may have been more primal. Whatever the case, Merrick reached out and used her department head code to override the security screen. Though the watch officer's desk objected, it was a simple matter for Merrick to walk behind the desk and allow the change in prisoner status.

Stepping out from the newly opened cell, Naruko came to within a few paces of Reia Merrick. The younger officer placed her hand on Reia's cheek. Reia could feel a tingling sensation, which quickly faded as Naruko removed her hand. “Not sure how long it will take effect” she explained. ” In normal humans it takes about a week, since you're half trill could be longer or it may not work at all.“

“What did you… ?” Reia questioned.

“It will help us communicate… The guard will be coming back soon, I think it's time you go now.” Without another word, Kuga stepped back into the cell.

It was a simple matter for Merrick to re-engage the security field and run a simple diagnostic to erase all record of the last few minutes. Then, seconds before Depach Narundi returned to the watch desk, Merrick re-established the normal audio and video recording systems, before bidding the returning officer a good evening.


Location: Reia Merrick's Cabin, deck 8, USS Republic
Timeframe: Months later

Reia awoke in a cold sweat, though her body felt hot as if she had been sitting in a sauna for days. She slowly rose from bed heading over to the sonic shower. It had been three days since last had a good night's sleep. The same dream keeps plaguing her each night. 'Why am I remembering the conversation I had months ago? '

---

Location: Main sickbay, deck 12, USS Republic
Timeframe: One day prior to present day

Reia sat on the bed as Saal Yezbeck finished his scan. “You're body temperature is still higher than normal; must be a bug you picked up.” Yezbeck walked over to a tray, picking out a hypo spray. “This should ease the discomfort”, he said, in his typical easy manner, pressing the hypo to Merrick's neck. “You're about due for a physical.” He commented. “Are you sure you don't want to get that out of the way? There's a chance this could be the start of something bigger. Maybe you should let Doctor Cromwell take a look.”

“No it's ok, besides the good doctor and I don't get along.” Reia explained.

“Oh? I wasn't aware of any problem between you two. Anything you want to talk about?”

Reia shook her head. “No. I'd just as soon forget about it.”

“Suit yourself,” Yezbeck offered, “but you won't be able to hide from him forever.”

“Aye aye” Reia answered. She hopped off of the diagnostic bed and headed down the corridor, back to her cabin for a short while, before her shift.

As Reia entered her cabin she could feel the room begin to spin around her. She rushed for the head, making it just in time to feel her breakfast come back up. The room continued to spin, and Reia could slowly feel that she was starting to lose consciousness as everything went white.

---

Location: Main sickbay, deck 12, USS Republic, Alpha Quadrant
Timeframe: Present day

“How is she doing Doctor?” inquired Captain Roth as she looked over Reia Merrick's unconscious body. The Ops Officer had been found unconscious in her quarters just before the start of Alpha Shift and Republic's official return to Deep Space Nine.

“Well, I'm far from an expert in Trill physiology, but I don't THINK the tumor is life threatening.” Saal Yezbeck walked around the diagnostic bed, and then hit a few buttons to put the information on one of Sickbay's many displays. “Miss Merrick's been in fine health for a non-joined trill. According to her last physical, everything was within species norms.” Yezbeck shook his head as he looked at the graphic again. “I definitely would have seen this during her next physical, but she wasn't due for a few weeks yet. I was surprised about one thing though. A few, come to think of it.”

Roth looked at Republic's senior doctor. “How so?”

Like a senior lecturer, Yezbeck stepped closer to point out some details of the body scan on Merrick. “As you can see here Captain, there's a sizable mass just inside Reia's symbiont cavity. I've never encountered anything like that, and after a quick conference with…”

Showing his usual impeccable timing, Julian Bashir entered Sickbay. He took up a position next to Captain Roth, giving Republic's commander a quick nod.

Saal chuckled, and continued his explanation. “After a quick chat with Doctor Bashir, I decided to dig a little deeper.”

Roth nodded. “What made you so suspicious… Doctors?”

Bashir stepped up slightly. “If I may Captain,” he said smoothly. “I've had a great deal of experience with Trill biology in my years on DS9, and, to put it bluntly, Trill can't get cancer; certainly not in the joining cavity. Their natural defenses make the joining components, including the cavity's cell walls, particularly hearty.”

“Exactly!” Yezbeck added. “So then the question was, if it's not cancerous, then just what is it?” Yezbeck reached up, to enhance the resolution on the area in question. “Recognize those little buggers?” Saal questioned.

Roth felt a vein begin to throb at her temple. “You have GOT to be kidding.”

Under thousands of times of magnification, what looked like an organic mass of malignant cells was in fact a colony of thriving, writhing, and most importantly, multiplying nano-machines that looked all too familiar. “Those are Kuga's nano-machines, aren't they?”

“The very same.” Bashir confirmed. “Nowhere near the levels of Kuga; though they're centered in this abdominal mass rather than spread throughout her body. Don't ask me HOW that happened.” Yezbeck added.

“How could Kuga's nano-machines have gotten inside the lieutenant's body after Kuga has been dead for so long?” inquired Roth. Then a realization hit her. “Good God… they're not all over the ship are they? Is anyone else on board infected?”

Now, Yezbeck's voice was mellow and assuring. “It doesn't work that way. These aren't like Borg nano-probes. These little critters were particular to Kuga. They quite literally can't exist anywhere else, or at least they couldn't, until now.”

Again, Bashir chimed in. ” The most likely cause is that a small…colony if you will, were re-purposed to do SOMETHING for Lieutenant Merrick here, but just what it is…don't ask me.“

“Why don't we ask the lieutenant when she wakes up,” replied Yezbeck.

---

Reia's eyes slowly opened as she returned to the waking world. “Ow… My gut feels like it's on fire.”

Doctor Yezbeck looked down at his newly conscious patient. “That's to be expected. Your body's fighting off a particularly nasty infection. Now that you're awake, I can give you something for the pain.”

“Can you explain how it is you have Ensign Kuga's nanites in your blood, lieutenant?” Roth asked pointedly.

“Nanites…” Confused and disorientated, “What are you talking about… captain?” replied Merrick.

“Kuga's nano-machines have been found in your blood stream.” Roth explained, her frustration coming through her voice. “It was my understanding that the sample you possessed was taken from you by Ensign Jenkins during Kuga's escape. That WAS the case, was it not?”

The accusation was clear. The escape of Naruko Kuga and the revelation of her being part of an enormous conspiracy, bent on starting a new war with the Dominion was still a sore spot for Kim Roth. Even the tragedy of the Thundercrest didn't sting her the way that Kuga's betrayal had. Roth could justify that her destruction of the Thundercrest was a military necessity.

By contrast, her inability to spot and stop Kuga's manipulation of Republic and its crew made Roth feel like a first-year cadet. Now she was faced with the possibility that there was yet another sleeper agent on her ship, willing or not, and Kim Roth didn't like that one bit.

“Of course it was… Captain.” Merrick explained. “I promise you ma'am, I have no idea what's going on. Naru…” Merrick felt her cheeks flush slightly “Ensign Kuga's been dead for months, since before we left the Alpha Quadrant. In fact I haven't even THOUGHT of her since then…” Silence filled the sickbay for a moment as Merrick recalled the rapid onset of her illness.

“I know this is going to sound strange, but ever since, I've started to feel sick. I have been having flashbacks to a conversation I had with Naruko while she was in the brig.” In truth, Reia had reported every aspect of that encounter to the captain after the escape and death of Ensigns Kuga and Jenkins, classified as it was.

As soon as Roth heard Reia's rebuttal, she remembered the report. “The gift that she 'gave' you… But , you also said that particular contact seemed to have no effect at all.” Roth's temper cooled as she crossed her arms over her chest. “What was the point of establishing a connection with you in the first place? And why would the nano-bots assert themselves now?”

“I guess it took some time for the nano-machines to map my brain out” added Reia.

Next to Captain Roth, Julian Bashir nodded. “And it is possible that because of the neural connections that exist in case of joining, the nano-machines simply, well, gathered in the wrong place.” Bashir turned to Yezbeck. “What do you think Saal?”

The elder physician stroked his beard. “With Kuga dead, which means that there's no one to get instructions from, or give them to… I suppose that could be the case, and if the nanites weren't intended for the lieutenant in the first place…” Yezbeck smiled brightly. “I think you're on to something Julian my boy!”

The two doctors exchanged mutually admiring glances and nods before the scowl on Kim Roth's face brought them back to the moment. “If you two could stop congratulating yourselves for a few minutes?”

For a brief moment, Saal Yezbeck hung his head like a chided schoolboy, but the self-satisfied smile didn't quite go away. “Of course captain. Sorry.”

“Doctor Bashir?” Roth turned her attention to the long-visiting physician. “You're the expert in Trill physiology,” she said simply. “Is the lieutenant in any danger?”

Julian looked at Merrick again, striking a contemplative pose. “I'm not entirely sure, captain. Perhaps it would be best to keep the lieutenant under observation.”

Roth turned on a heel, heading toward the door. “Then prepare to transfer your patient to Deep Space Nine, Doctor Bashir.” Kim said coolly. “I'll make the arrangements with Captain Kira.”

With that, the word was given, and Roth was gone, leaving two surprised doctors and one very confused patient in her wake.

Bashir looked at Yezbeck, then at Merrick, who had managed to sit up on the diagnostic bed. “What in the world brought that on?” Bashir looked on quizzically.

Saal Yezbeck held up both hands in front of him in the traditional 'don't shoot' manner. “No idea, but I'm not going to argue with her.”

“Me neither,” Reia Merrick offered, looking at Bashir. “How's the food at Quark's?”

Bashir smiled at the Lieutenant's good nature despite the uncertain news. “When you're able, lieutenant,” he said, his voice now oozing with practiced charm, “I'll treat you to lunch. Quark's plomeek broth is quite good.”

“Excellent Doctor,” she smiled. “Something to look forward to.”

---

Chapter 3: Mixed MessagesTop

Location: Acting Chief Medical Officer's Quarters, deck nine, USS Republic
Shiptime: 0812 hours

Saal spent longer than he had anticipated on his shift in sickbay, but the case with Reia Merrick was much too interesting to simply hand off to Doctor Fernmoore for the next duty shift. While the anomalous colony of advanced nanoprobes growing in Merrick's symbiont cavity was the most intriguing case he had laid eyes on since the Ash'aarian plague patient, it was no longer in his hands. The captain's order was clear, and Merrick was now Bashir's patient, not his.

“Damn shame,” Doctor Yezbeck muttered, entering his quarters, looking forward to some rest after finishing another late-night session on gamma shift. It wouldn't have been so bad except that he had been constantly changing from one shift to another over the past few weeks, trying to coordinate people on all three duty shifts since his recent, albeit temporary, job switch to the CMO position. It left him tired and grouchy, almost as much as the person he was covering for in sickbay.

No sooner did Saal have time to remove his uniform jacket than did the computer voice interrupt him.

“Incoming Priority Message from Starfleet.”

Taking pause, Saal noted that it was the first time in seven months that he had heard the words “Starfleet” and “message” spoken by the computer in the same sentence. Realizing that the ship had finally re-established communications with the Federation communications network after returning to the alpha quadrant, he suddenly found himself eager to learn what he'd been missing since Republic was ordered into radio silence since they left port.

“Put it through to my display,” ordered Saal, diverting his attention to his workdesk.

“The message is heavily encrypted and flagged 'Eyes Only' for Leon Cromwell.”

Saal froze with an aggravated expression. It was both annoying and disappointing that the very first personal message he received from outside the ship in over half a year was a wrong address.

“If it's not for me, why did you send it here?” he questioned the computer, making no effort to hide his sour displeasure.

“Routing instructions for this message indicated delivery to the Chief Medical Officer's Quarters”

“Well then,” Saal exclaimed incredulously. “*RE* route it to the *acting* chief science officer's quarters!”

The computer beeped in compliance, returning silence to the doctor's quarters. As he readied himself for bed, Saal took one last view out the window overlooking the metallic spires of Deep Space Nine. He felt comfort in being back home, and determined to take a long, leisurely stroll on the Promenade after a good eight-hour rest. Settling into his bed, Saal pulled up the covers and began drifting off to sleep when the computer shattered the silence once again.

“Incoming Priority Message from Starfleet.”

“Is it for ME this time??” he growled, flipping back the covers he had pulled over his head just moments ago.

“Affirmative. The audio message is heavily encrypted, and routing instructions indicate delivery to Special Agent Shadow, USS Republic.”

Saal's face went deadpan.

“Let's hear it…”

An instant later, the familiar voice of Doug Forrest reverberated from the computer speakers, bringing back distant memories from a dubious time in Saal's life.

“Hello old friend. I'm not sure if you're receiving any of my messages, but this one is the most urgent that I've ever sent you. You see, Sean and I are in a bit of a jam here on Farius Prime, and I need to ask a favor of you…”

---

Location: Acting chief science officer's quarters, deck eight, USS Republic
Shiptime: 0826 hours

Since their docking at Deep Space Nine a few hours prior, the buzz of excitement aboard Republic spread quickly. Alpha shift had just come on duty and busied themselves with basic port servicing, as Republic had not seen a Federation outpost in over half a year. Those lucky enough to be on beta shift were now waking up to see that they were in the Alpha Quadrant, and had most of the morning and afternoon to themselves before reporting to duty at 1600, allowing a full nights rest to enjoy some off-duty time aboard the station. Then, there were those on gamma shift, who were just getting off the night shift, and needed to sleep before they could disembark and take in some new scenery.

As was Leon Cromwell's disposition.

After being relieved by Nat Hawk, who was about twenty-minutes late to take over bridge watch from him, the doctor was tired and needed to sleep before rediscovering civilization outside Republic. Unlike Hawk, who was so excited about being back at their homeport that he tried to get Lieutenant Snyder to take over his shift on the bridge (thus his tardiness to his work shift), Leon was less than enthusiastic about partaking in the exodus out the main gangway. Taking his leave of the helmsman, who reluctantly took command of the bridge while Carter and Roth disembarked to report in to Captain Kira, Leon was content to head off to bed. But first, the ship's computer had something to say about it.

“Incoming Priority Message from Starfleet.”

No sooner did the door to his quarters slide shut than did the first message of one hundred and twelve reach the top of Leon's personal communications queue. Resigned to listen to the high-precedence communiques before retiring, the doctor sighed and took a seat at his workdesk.

“On screen,” he replied to the computer, and an instant later, a very shaggy and bloodshot Lieutenant Commander greeted Leon.

“Hello old friend. Please disregard the previous messages. I was worried. Victor.”

Leon blinked with confusion. “That's it?” he thought. “There must be something more to what he sent me…”

“Computer, play previous message from Victor Virtus.”

“Hello Leon. I forgot to fill you in on what happened aboard the Freedom Star. John knows about all of what I'm about to tell you, so I won't bother copying him on this message. Anyway, as I mentioned before, I spent three months overhauling the matter/antimatter inducers before we docked at Hellsgate Station, and I…”

“Computer, play the message before this one, please.”

“Hello again, Leon. I know that you haven't been receiving these priority messages, and I can only hope that the Federation comm network will hold them in the buffer long enough until Republic eventually re-establishes contact with a navigational buoy. Kira thinks I'm crazy for spending all my shore leave waiting for you guys to come home, but I don't dare…”

Leon audibly sighed. “Computer, previous priority message, if you please.”

Vic's voice went from calm and rational, to inordinately irate.

“I've had it! Whoever messed with my programming at the Luna Base mainframe did so with such ill intent that…”

“Computer, go back five messages before this one.” Leon was confused as to why Vic would have left so many priority messages while they were gone. Admittedly, the Republic was months overdue from their nebula mapping mission, but usually, the quixotic engineer was a man of few words when getting to the point, usually resulting in a one sentence summary alongside an absurdly accurate time index. However, these particular messages seemed to be a long string of erratic log entries rather than a important set of information requiring Leon's utmost attention. As the computer complied with Leon's last command, Vic's voice became heavily inebriated, causing a surprised look to wash across the doctor's face.

“Sooo, when he wusn't lookin', I drunk down th'last bottle…”

“Forward to mid-message…”

”…and THAT'S when I saw something nasty in the woodshed…“

“Computer, halt playback!”

Leon covered his eyes in frustration. He wasn't keen on listening to every single one of Vic's priority messages, especially since he was low on sleep. But the relative conundrum was that if these messages indeed came from the Republic's former chief engineer, then there HAD to be something 'priority' about them. Otherwise, he would have sent simple routine correspondence. While it occurred to the doctor that he might listen to Vic's most recent message suggesting he ignore all previous, the CMO turned acting science chief was curious to the point of a fault, and simply HAD to get to the bottom of Vic's anxiety.

“Computer,” Leon called out again to the omnipresent computer. “Cross-reference all subject matter from all priority messages to me in the last six months from Victor Virtus and determine the most common subject discussed.”

The computer sounded a series of processor chirps and warbles as it analyzed in mere seconds the meaning of every sentence Vic spoke in his messages to Leon over the past thirty weeks.

“Current events.”

“Specify?”

“Political news.”

Leon seemed to accept this revelation, though not entirely sure why a scientist of Vic's caliber would be concerned with trivial politics. “Computer, access Federation news networks, and playback the most recent news program regarding the primary subject of Victor Virtus's encoded priority messages.”

“Accessing… Replaying episode number thirty-four of 'INN Insights with Jack Warner', recorded on stardate 58734.9”.

As the show commenced, Leon moved to his recliner situated next to the glass coffee table. On his way there, he picked up the coronet-shaped bottle of scotch whiskey that Shannon had gifted him two weeks ago and poured himself a drink.

“Welcome to INN Insights. I'm Jack Warner. The presidential race is down to its final few months, and as President Wolack D'lara prepares to step down after the completion of his final term, he has officially endorsed Councilman Tharn of Andoria who currently leads the race over the other candidates. Many have condemned the president for choosing another fellow Andorian as a hand-picked successor, insisting that such behavior is tantamount to a Federation oligarchy by Andoria. Mister D'lara has, of course, denied the suggestion, citing the councilman's positive track record of legislation in the upper house over the past twenty three years. But how positive is that record? INN Insight's newest investigative reporter, Jacqueline Morton-Taylor, tells us…”

Leon listened with detachment to the young lady's edited and pre-recorded piece of political jargon. The fact that the show's anchorman, Jack Warner, was the father of Republic's Director of Public Relations, Leah Warner, was perhaps the only reason the doctor hadn't yet turned off the recording. As his mind wandered, he thought back to Ash'aaria, and the role that Leah played in helping Leon and Nat cure the plague victims. It was Leon's conclusion that if her tenacity and indomitable spirit were inherited from her father, then Jack Warner was a man to be trusted. As he listened to the senior Warner's editorial piece on the flagrant ethics violations that Councilman Tharn was accused of, the doctor could feel a twinge of anger swelling in him, wondering how such a politician could have been voted into the Federation Council in the first place. While Leon wasn't much of a voter, he actually found himself thinking of hitting the polls on election day, just to make sure Tharn could be blocked from obtaining the highest office in the Federation. After all, if Jack Warner questioned the man's integrity, there HAD to be something to it…

“Here's to you, Jack!” Leon raised his glass of scotch in a toast. Allowing the smooth, smokey taste of distilled alcohol to slide slowly down his throat, the doctor laid back in his recliner and continued to listen to the IIN Insights program.

“And so it goes. With allegations such as these against Councilman Tharn, it's no wonder that his poll numbers have been steadily decreasing over the past five weeks, despite his lead over the other candidates. Which begs the question: Just where will his numbers be on election day? And does he truly deserve the honor to serve in the highest office of the president? Of course, the other candidates have their own opinions on the subject, and here with us in the studio today is the next runner up in the polls, Neocractic Federalist Party candidate and former Starfleet Admiral, Valdamir Kosyta. Admiral! Welcome to the program…”

With the utterance of those last words, Leon's eyes bulged out towards the ceiling as he just finished off the glass of whiskey.

---

Location: Corridor, deck 8, USS Republic

Coughing spasmodically from a disturbed balance of 100 year-old alcohol balanced precipitously on his epiglottis, Doctor Cromwell stormed down the hallway while hastily working himself into his uniform jacket. With a flushed red face and wild expression in his eyes, his voice was almost otherworldly as he entered the turbolift.

“Bridge!” he managed to utter through a hoarse cough.

---

Chapter 4: Ups and DownsTop

Location: Main bridge, deck 1, USS Republic
Shiptime: 0832 hours

Seated in the center command chair upon the bridge of the Starship Republic, chief helmsman and second officer Lieutenant Nathan Hawk was well and truly bored out of his mind. When one was so bored, the mind tended to wander and didn't want it to wander into personal issues that had vexed him since their third week on Ash'aaria. In the same breath that he cursed the lack of anything to occupy his time or wandering mind, he was also thankful for the respite from crisis. Those weeks on Ash'aaria, he hadn't had a moment to think; let alone the energy to do so had such a moment come upon him.

It had been a brutal, exhaustive, all-consuming time that he hoped never to repeat. Yet he also held no regrets about. As hard as it had been for him, he knew it had been even more harrowing an experience on his friend Leon Cromwell. He had been naïve to ever believe he himself alone could have done even a tenth of what they had jointly accomplished. The entire heart of the mission had revolved around medicine, and his grand design had involved the utilization of an Emergency Medical Hologram.

The very idea was absurd now in hindsight, and had been rendered so almost immediately upon arrival. As he stroked the neatly trimmed hair of the goatee that presently adorned his chin – a combination souvenir and would-be badge of honor from his excursion to the Ash'aarian wilds – he considered just how foolish the entire escapade would have been had he embarked upon it independently. Thankfully, that had not been the case. Leon's own plan had made far more sense and worked out a hell of a lot better.

As he looked over the status reports from the various departments linked through the command consoles on either arm of the chair, he wondered what the potential fall-out with Starfleet would be over the matter. Even with the steps taken to re-write history by the Captain, with just over a thousand people aboard, the truth was bound to trickle out in rumor. Without facts to back it up, there would never be anything formal out of Starfleet to challenge the official account of things. Hopefully the added protection of people like Admiral Janeway – who herself had run afoul of the letter of the law over the years – would take care of any un-official blow-back.

As he sat strumming his fingers on the right hand arm of the center seat, desperate for something to occupy him, he wondered if anyone would notice if he took the ship out to the nearby Denorios belt for a joy-ride…

Before the idea could progress further, Nat's attention was captured by the arrival – or rather return – of Doctor Leon Cromwell to the bridge. Having been relieved less than a half-hour ago, Nat hadn't expected to see his friend for the next few hours. Still, he was grateful for any distraction at this point.

“Ya miss me already?” Hawk quipped as the acting Science Officer strode purposefully towards him from the port forward turbolift. The remark fell on deaf ears though, as Cromwell came to a halt a few steps before Hawk and looked at him with a shaken expression on his face before moving to sit down in the chair to his immediate left. When he said nothing, instead simply stared off into space for a moment, Nat prompted him. “Leon? Ya'll right?”

“Have you watched the news lately?” Cromwell asked after a beat without even looking at him, almost as if the proverbial wheels spinning in his mind required all of his energy and focus.

“Uhh, nope. Sorta depressin' an all, the news I mean. Why?” Hawk replied, a bit concerned. He knew Leon had issues with post-traumatic stress and the like; so much so that Counselor Tolkath had actually thought a week of total down-time in the brig was beneficial for him. Was he relapsing?

As if trying to wrap his mind around the concept, Leon responded in a quiet, astonished voice. “Vladimir Kostya… is running for President.”

Hawk didn't quite follow. “President uh what?” he questioned.

“Of the-!” Leon began to shout in response, ”-of the Federation!“ he finished in an urgent yet hushed, even conspiratorial tone as he finally turned to look at Hawk. “Kostya is running for President of the United Federation of Planets!” he repeated, as if he needed to state it as much as possible before his brain could believe it.

Immediately, Leon's stressed out condition made a great deal of sense. “That's bad.” Hawk stated simply.

“That's very bad!” Leon replied, still acting a bit deranged. “Do you have any idea what kind of damage that man could do as the President?” he asked, making sure to keep the volume of his voice low without losing any of the force of severity.

“He ain't winnin' though, is he?” Hawk questioned, sharing in Leon's concern. He hadn't been matching wits and wills with Kostya nearly as long as John and Leon had been, but he knew the kind of damage the man could do.

“No, thankfully,” Leon replied, seeming to calm a bit at that fact. “But he's not losing, either. He's in third or so place I think, and most people still haven't made up their minds.” Leon informed him, as the shock of learning all of this began to wear away and the reality of things set in. “He's a manipulative, arrogant, self-righteous ideologue. Supported by a great many likewise manipulative, arrogant, self-righteous ideologues – most of whom will stop at nothing to give their side an edge.”

As much as Hawk shared Leon's profound concerns over this development, he was more concerned over Leon's ability to deal with this added stress. Ash'aaria had pushed him to the edge of tolerances. Since they had returned to Republic, the level of anxiety and stress Cromwell was under had dropped dramatically. This was only going to amp things back up for him.

“Ya told John-boy 'bout this?” Hawk asked, anxious for Carter's opinion – both on Kostya's political ambitions as well as Leon's psyche's ability to handle this.

“He's off-ship with the Captain, I think a meeting with Captain Kira on the station.” Cromwell replied. Belatedly, Hawk realized he should have known this as officer of the watch, but he'd been too busy being bored to check the status displays. It occurred to him then how cruel and fickle a bitch karma or fate or whatever else could be; here he had been lamenting his boredom and the lack of anything going on, only to have something new to stress and worry about pop right up.

“Maybe ya should talk ta Tolkath,” Hawk suggested, about as subtly as a bull in a china shop.

“I think I can manage.” Leon replied dismissively, apparently not eager to give the counselor any more reason to fret over him. After a moment, another thought occurred to him. “Has Leah mentioned anything about this?”

Before Hawk could reply and explain how little he'd spoken to the significant other in his life, a feminine voice chimed in from above and behind them. “About what?”

As Leon turned in his seat, Nat craned his neck to find Lean Warner standing off to the side of the Security and Tactical console that surrounded the command chairs, an inquisitive look on her face. Though such was fairly standard fare for a reporter. Nat once again cursed fate or karma or whatever else, as he recalled the age old phrase 'when it rains, it pours'.

Caught off-guard, and wondering who else might be listening to their conversation, Leon glanced around the bridge once more before answering her. “About Vladimir Kostya running for President.”

Taken aback by the statement, Leah looked downright stunned by the news. “Are you serious?” she asked, crouching down and leaning her head under the port-side of the tactical console to get closer to the conversation.

“I just saw your father conducting in interview with him on the news nets.” Leon affirmed.

Shaking her head from side to side in disbelief, Leah couldn't believe what Cromwell was telling her. “My father hates politics, he hasn't done a story on them since… as long as I can remember.”

As the conversation spontaneously died (as they occasionally do) the awkward silence and tension between Hawk and Warner became almost palpable as Nat realized her presence on the bridge was likely due to a desire to talk with him. Why she would pick this particular time and place made a bit of sense. It was the only time and place she knew for certain he would be, considering how much he had been avoiding her of late. Though in his mind, he preferred to think that he was helping her to avoid him.

“Hey, Leon, ya mind holdin' down tha fort fer a coupla minutes?” he asked his friend.

Having been witness to the obvious tension between the two since it's beginnings on Ash'aaria, and not likely to get any sleep for the immediate future despite how tired he was, Leon nodded in agreement. “Sure thing.”

Standing from the command chair, he looked to Warner and uncertainly motioned towards the observation lounge doors at the back of the bridge as he asked, “Ya wanna talk fer a minute?”

Nodding in reply, equally uncertain of things, Leah agreed. “Yeah, we uhm, we should,” was all she could manage as she moved in that direction.

After another minute of dancing around one another as he first lead the way, then stopped and motioned for her to go first, upon which she suggested he go first, before he insisted she did, the once happy couple finally managed to head off the bridge, the sound of frustrated sigh catching Hawk's ear from the direction of the command chair as the doors closed behind him.

Not eager to say anything first, Hawk paused just inside the threshold of the room and considered the floor. Or more precisely, considered the spot on the floor that had once been stained a deep red, almost black, with well over two liters of his own blood. Nothing marred the carpet in the slightest, but something about being mortally wounded tended to burn specific details into your mind, so much so that Hawk thought he could almost trace the exact outline of the one-time stain if he had to.

Either because of the connection they shared, or due to her latent empathic abilities for her quarter betazoid DNA, Leah seemed to know exactly what thoughts were going through his mind at that moment. It was enough to get her to speak first. “I've already lost you once,” she said softly, “I don't want to lose you again.”

Looking into her dark brown eyes, the love Nat felt for her was enough to overwhelm him. He wanted to hold her close and reassure her that they would always be together, that everything would be alright, and nothing could ever come between them.

But he knew that such simply wasn't the case anymore. It hadn't been for quite a while.

“Nothin's changed fer me, darlin',” he told her, regretfully. Moving closer to her, he brushed a few loose strands of hair away from her face and continued. “Ya want somethin' from life 'at I can't give ya.”

Her emotions surging to the surface, she put her hand to his face as she argued passionately, “What I want isn't something I want right now. It might not even be ten years from now!”

Pulling away, Hawk shook his head gently, “It ain't 'bout when. It ain't somethin' I want, ever. That ain't fair ta ya.”

Growing upset, even angry, Leah shot back. “What isn't fair is that you won't even consider the idea. That you can't ever see what you want changing. How can you be so stubborn? How can you insist you know what you'll want and not want for the rest of your life?” she demanded.

Finding it difficult to look at her and the pain he was causing her, Nat turned away towards the large view ports at the back of the room, and the starry void beyond. “I made up ma mind 'bout this stuff a long time ago. Ya know tha reasons why. That ain't gonna change. Not now, not t'marra… just ain't.”

“You don't know that. You can't know that!” she exclaimed, frustrated and so much more. When Nat didn't reply, she stepped closer and grabbed him, forcing him to turn and face her. “You told me you never thought you could love anyone. That before you met me, the very idea caused you pain. But look at you now. That's changed. The fact that you don't even want to look at me right now proves that. So why can't this change to? Why won't you even let the idea of change exist?”

“B'cause I will not put-!” Nat started to reply, but stopped short, turning away from her again.

“Because you won't what?” Leah asked, knowing she'd struck pay-dirt. “What won't you do?” Again, Hawk refused to answer. “Damnit, you owe me at least that much! At least the truth!”

Angry now - both at himself and at her - Hawk spun on his heel and answered her. “I won't put a kid through what I went through, damnit!”

This revelation changed the game a bit. For a few long moments, neither one of them said anything. Everything simply hung in the air between them. His past. Their relationship. Her hopes for the future. Their future together. It all existed in a state of flux for a few moments.

Finally, Leah spoke. Her anger tempered, her frustration reigned in. “What your parents did… it was the most arrogant and selfish thing I've ever known. I hate them for it. I hate them for the pain and the grief that they've caused you. I hate them for everything they took from you because of their self-righteousness, and their ignorance, and their bravado, and their short-sightedness. And you… you should probably hate them too. I don't know, maybe you do and just can't say it aloud. But you are not your parents, and neither am I.”

Turning to face her, Nat too had tempered his feelings even as others surged within him. Emotions so strong that if ever unleashed, he feared they could easily destroy him. Feelings and thoughts he kept buried so deep down, he himself didn't know what he might find if he were ever forced to face them. “What ma parents did… yer right, twas arrogant n' selfish n' all that. Yer right, you n' me wouldn't prolly ever make them same mistakes. But we could make others. I'm Starfleet, yer a reporter. This universe ain't the safe lil utopia most folks like ta pretend it is. I know that better 'n anybody. Bringin' a child inta this world, knowin' that at any moment, either uh us could make a decision that'd put that kid through even a lil bit uh what I went through… well that's pretty damn selfish too, don't ya think?”

Taking his hands in hers, and pulling him closely, Leah looked deeply into his eyes as she answered him. “Then we walk away from it all. We take desk jobs, on earth – when we're both ready for that part of our life together to begin.”

“And what 'bout tha enemies we made 'n tha mean time, huh? Even if we get Faro, even if he goes away fer good, even if we can take down tha Syndicate, ya think they'll just lemme walk away? Ya don't think somebody out there's gonna want me head fer that?” Nat countered.

Refusing to concede the point, Leah argued further, “Then we run away, we leave it all behind. We go to the ass-end of the Beta Quadrant, or through the wormhole, or anywhere else where no one will ever find us. We make a life for ourselves, together, somewhere.”

“Ya mean that? Ya could give up everthin' n' everyone?” Nat asked, the shields around his argument losing cohesion.

Smiling at him as weeks of doubt and fear over their future together washed away, Leah couldn't help but chuckle a bit, “Sweetie, we both kind of already did. That planet back there, the one we could have spent the rest of our lives on, begins with the letter A and ends with the sound 'aaria'? We both felt so strongly that not helping those people was wrong, that we did give up everything for the hope of changing that. Why wouldn't we be willing to give just as much for a life and a family together?” she asked rhetorically.

Feeling as dumb as a box of rocks, Nat shook his head in the affirmative. “Well ain't I stupid.”

Laughing, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him towards her. “Lucky for you, I love you for your looks and not your mind.” she joked before planting her lips upon his.

“Ya ain't mad at me? I mean, if I'd uh just told ya what we buggin' me weeks ago…” Nat began apologetically, trailing off as Leah put a finger over his lips, telling him to stop.

“If you'd have just told me what was bugging you weeks ago, you wouldn't be the man I feel in love with.” she told him.

“I just feel so… stupid.” he said again, at a loss for a better word to describe it.

“You've lead a very solitary life, for a very long time. Every decision you've ever made for yourself had been the right decision for you in that moment, even if it wasn't. Part of being a couple, part of being more than just an individual, is learning how to think and how to decide things together.” she enlightened him.

“Well I'll be damned,” Nat replied, “an all this time, I thought ya were just 'nother pretty face.” he teased her, sweeping her into another kiss before she could get out a come back.

---

Chapter 5: Tune In TomorrowTop

Location: Main gangway, deck 25, USS Republic

Smoke shifted his weight on Kim Roth's shoulder as she walked briskly down the corridor. Next to Republic's CO, John Carter stutter-stepped to keep pace. “And that's where we stand, Captain.”

Roth shook her head. “We can't make better than warp five?”

Carter double-checked the PADD in his hand that now seemed to be ever-present. He looked gravely at the data. “Pakita would actually prefer that we keep it under four-point five, but she also tends to hedge on the conservative side. The math adds up to warp five, but I wouldn't go much beyond that.”

Roth's face curled into a frown. “I suppose a crawl home is better than the alternative.”

“Aye, Captain.”

The two officers stopped short, taking shorter careful steps between the area governed by the grav-plates of Republic and Deep Space Nine's docking pylon. The gravity was synched and was NEARLY identical. However, despite being extensively re-fitted by Miles O'Brien and his staff, the station was still Cardassian at it's heart, and the bottom line was it was better to be safe than sorry.

As the large, geared door opened to the docking pylon's turbolift shaft, Smoke bleaked with a start as the Republic officers greeted a third man, clad in operations gold.

Victor Virtus beamed, striking a low bow (complete with an unnecessary theatrical flourish. “Greetings and felicitations, Captain Roth.”

“Mister…Virtus I presume?”

“Vic? What the Hell?”

Virtus turned, chiding his friend and fellow officer. “Language, John.” He turned again to address Kim Roth. “Guilty as charged, captain.” Victor cocked his head, regarding the small animal on the captain's shoulder. “Is that an Argelian kitsune?”

Roth turned her head, reaching up to scratch the animal's chin. “Indeed it is, Doctor. This is Smoke.” She tilted her head, back toward Virtus. “Stinker, this is the engineer I keep yelling to you about.”

Virtus seemed to take the remark in stride, stepping forward to give John Carter a handshake that quickly turned into an impromptu hug. “Welcome back to civilization, John,” he offered simply.

John stood back awkwardly. The gesture of kindness, to say nothing of Virtus' presence on the station had taken him by surprise. “It's… good to BE back, Vic,” Republic's First Officer took a step back. “But what are you even DOING here?” he asked, adding, “grozit, Vic, you look terrible. When was the last time you slept?”

“Thirty-six hours, fourteen minutes ago, thank you very much. As for why I'm here, that can wait, though I have been asked by Captain Kira to escort you to Ops.”

Roth took the opportunity to step further into the lift car. Smoke bleeked in expectation. “We'd best not keep the good captain waiting then, gentlemen. Lead the way.”


Location: Station commander's office, ops level, space station Deep Space Nine

The normal beehive of activity that was the nerve center of Deep Space Nine had stabilized to a dull but constant buzz. However, it did give Kira Nerys a moment to sit back in her office and enjoy a well-earned cup of Bajoran herbal tea. She leaned back in her chair a moment, letting out a heavy sigh as she looked at the various mementoes that now decorated an office that she never thought would feel like “hers”.

On the corner of her desk, supported by a simple wooden cradle, there was horsehide orb. Yellowed from use and age, the baseball had been a gift to Nerys from Jake Sisko, after her promotion to station commander. Jake's father, Benjamin, was the commander of Deep Space Nine during some of the most important events in the history of Bajor. He was also a baseball fan, and a fan of that ball in particular, having once vowed to retrieve it, and indeed the station from allied Dominion and Cardassian forces during the Dominion War.

It was an incident that Kira often looked back to, and the fact that Sisko's son gave the ball to her following his father's disappearance felt like a passing of the torch; as if she'd been given permission, not just from Starfleet, but more importantly from Ben Sisko himself to watch over the station that had become home to all of them.

Kira smiled warmly as she picked up the baseball, engaging in the human custom of tossing the ball back and forth in her hands, which no species seemed able to resist.

Then there was a chime at her door.

Spotting the form of Victor Virtus through the door's trans-metal panel, she sighed again. “Finally,” she commented aloud. “I wonder if he'll actually leave now.” She set the ball down and leaned forward. “Come.”

With a soft mechanical grind, the doors to Kira's office split and the three Republic comrades walked in. Nerys stood, awaiting a time-honored tradition.

“Captain Kira Nerys,” said Victor Virtus in the most official tone the Bajoran had ever heard him use, “may I present Captain Kimberly Roth and Commander John Thelonius Carter. Commanding and First Officers of USS Republic respectively.”

Roth stepped forward extending her hand. “Permission to come aboard, Captain Kira?” she asked, as Smoke bleaked.

“Granted, Captain Roth.” Nerys shook the other woman's hand, “And welcome home… officially. Please,” she gestured to the two seats in front of the visiting officers, “have a seat. I'm sure we have a few things to talk about.”

“A few.” Roth added as she sat. Carter did the same.

“First and foremost, you should know, we have a Vorta onboard who's officially requested asylum.”

“You have a what?” Virtus interrupted.

“You have a WHAT?!” Kira commented, somewhat more forcefully.

Roth grimaced slightly. “I know, and I'm sorry I couldn't give any advance notice. I've already spoken with Starfleet Command, and more than a few analysts in intelligence.” Roth took a moment to run her finger along the collar of her uniform. “They've recommended that we turn Eris over to you, given your extensive experience with the Founders and the Dominion.”

Kira nodded. “That makes a lot of sense,” Kira agreed. “I'll make arrangements for the transfer when we're done here.”

“I'd appreciate that, captain,” Roth said. “Thank You.”

After a moment, Kira's face took on a brighter cast. “I hope that Julian didn't cause any trouble for you?”

At that remark, John Carter spoke up. “On the contrary, captain. He came in handy more than once.” Carter and his CO exchanged a knowing glance. “I'm sure that he's as happy to be back as we are though.”

Again, Nerys nodded. “I'm sure,” she said simply. “Thank you for looking after all our other lost sheep as well. I trust your hasty departure was worth it?”

“It worked out as well as could be expected, I'm happy to say.” Roth confirmed.

Kira smiled. “Julian does have a knack for being in the right place at the right time.” DS9's commander took a sip of her tea. “How long will you be staying? My Ops Chief tells me your warp drive has seen better days?”

On the other side of the desk, Virtus leaned forward, looking past Captain Roth to Republic's XO. “What did you DO, John?”

“Nothing, thank you, DOCTOR Virtus. For once, it wasn't me.”

Next to her First Officer, Roth smiled. “Unfortunately, we're only cleared to stay here for a few days. Officially, DS9 is still our home port, but we've been ordered to Earth for debriefing and a crew shuffle.” Roth's head dropped slightly as she pinched her eyes closed for a moment. “I have the feeling new orders are being cut, but if there's one thing I've learned in the last year,” Roth paused for effect. “It's to quit trying to predict PERSCOMM's next move.”

John Carter's combadge chirped.

“Carter, go.”

“Commander Carter, this is Saal Yezbeck. I need to speak with you, sir. Urgently.”

Carter looked quickly to his captain, and then tapped his badge. “Is it a medical emergency, Doctor?”

“No sir, it's personal.”

Carter rose from the chair, looking first to Roth, who nodded, then to Kira. “If I might be excused for a moment?”

Neryes waved her visitor on. “Of course, Commander. I'm sure we can manage.”

As the doors to Kira's office opened, Carter looked back. “Thank you Captain Kira, Captain Roth.” He then tilted his head toward Victor Virtus. “See you in Quark's for a drink, Vic?”

Virtus nodded. “Collect the good Doctor Cromwell, and you've got a deal, John.”

“That's up to him, not me,” Carter indicated as he left the office.

There was a beat of uncomfortable silence as Kira Nerys looked at Kim Roth, and then to Victor Virtus, who was by now doing a fantastic impression of a third wheel. The silence continued for a moment, before Kira cleared her throat. “Will there be anything else, Doctor Virtus?”

Vic tilted his head. “No, I'm done here, thank you.” He said flatly.

More silence intervened. “Oh… Oh, right. Of course.” Virtus stood up, brushing the front of his dark uniform tunic, then pivoted toward the door.

“Actually, doctor,” Kim Roth looked at Virtus with a curious eye. “If you wouldn't mind stopping by Republic when you have a moment, I'd like to pick your considerable brain about a few things.”

Victor looked genuinely pleased and also shocked. “Would you?”

“Your reputation precedes you, doctor.”

Victor's countenance brightened noticeably. He smiled stroking his mustache with his thumb and middle finger. “Of course, captain. At your convenience.” He stepped toward the office door and nodded to Kira Nerys. “I appreciate your patience, Captain Kira.” He said simply. “May The Prophets guide you.” Virtus bowed slightly and left the office.

As the door slid shut, Kim Roth let out a heavy sigh. “Captain,” she asked, “do you have any coffee?”

---

Location: Promenade, Deep Space Nine

John Carter walked briskly through the crowded merchant sector of the station's largest common area. He passed a number of vendors, each with a small cart or stand with all manner of goods available for exchange. Some merchants took Federation credit vouchers (the closest thing there was to money in the UFP), but most expected gold pressed latinum in exchange for… whatever.

Carter was looking for Saal Yezbeck who's cryptic summons led to a second, even less illuminating conversation, wherein Yezbeck had asked to meet Republic's resident Martian on an upper observation platform.

“Commander! Commander Carter! Up here, Sir!”

John bounded up the steps, eager to learn the reason for the doctor's communiqué.

“Saal?” He questioned. “What's going on?”

Yezbeck motioned for Carter to join him at a small table with a few chairs, where he'd been looking for the officer. “I'm sorry, Commander. I'm sure this isn't the best time.”

Carter shook his head. “There's never a best time, Saal,” he offered, trying to ease Yezbeck's agitation. “What's wrong?”

Yezbeck leaned forward, propping himself up on his elbows. “I have a family emergency, Sir.” He explained. “I need to take a formal LOA. I know I'm new to the CMO position, but I've got it figured out and the way I see it…”

Carter leaned back and held up his hands. “It's ok, Saal, it's ok. Shannon's more than capable to take over until we get to Earth, Teague's a fine trauma medic, and Leon will still be onboard in case anything really disastrous happens.”

Saal relaxed visibly. “That's pretty close to what I was going to suggest sir. I appreciate your understanding.”

Carter too, relaxed and smiled. “Look, the last few months have been anything but normal, even for us. Go. Take care of your family. Especially now that you've got the chance.”

Saal nodded, genuinely appreciative of the Commander's good nature. “Aye sir.” The senior doctor got up and headed for the stairs that lead back down to the main level of the promenade. Before taking a step down he looked back over his shoulder.

“Be seeing you, Commander.” Saal tipped an invisible hat. Then he descended out of sight.

After a moment, Carter realized that he was actually alone. No meeting, no crisis, no personnel issues. He paused for a moment, scanning the observation deck. Then his eyes settled on a wall-mounted tri-vid monitor, set on the Inter-Stellar News Network.

Jack Warner was commenting on something with fellow a fellow INN reporter; a Bolian John didn't recognize. Carter didn't think much of it until he saw a picture of Valdimir Kostya, displayed in the corner of the monitor. Slowly Carter rose to his feet. “Please tell me he's dead.” He asked the universe quietly. Carter stepped up to the monitor, keying the volume control as he hoped for a miracle.

”…make of it Jack?“

“Well, I'll say this, Morbo,” Warner said to his colleague. “I've covered many political campaigns in my time, and there is something very engaging about Admiral Kostya.”

The Bolian nodded. “He's trailing badly in the polls, Jack.” Morbo commented. “Do you really think he's the next President of the Federation?”

The question hit Carter like a kick to the gut. “No… no, no, no! You have got to be SPROCKING KIDDING ME!” He thundered.

Warner smiled affably. “Oh, that's not up to me, but I think you might be surprised.”

“Well we certainly look forward to the rest of your interview, Jack.”

Warner smiled again. This time there was something more knowing in his expression. “Believe me, Morbo. You haven't seen anything yet.”

Carter felt an unearthly shiver down his back; what his Grandmother used to call 'Someone walking over your grave'.

“I'm sure.” The alien nodded. Morbo turned to address the camera directly. “And that will do it for this special edition of INN's 'In the Moment'. Part two of Jack Warner's profile of UFP presidential candidate Vladimir Kostya, and remember, you can tell us what YOU think, right now on data-stream two…”

Carter didn't hear the rest of the reporter's closing. All he could do was stare blankly at the screen, which continued to stream news and pictures that John could care less about. His mind flashed back to words he'd said to Saal, back when the universe made sense.

“In case anything really disastrous happens.”

---

Chapter 6: Reputations and PrecedenceTop

Location: Main shuttlebay, deck 4, USS Republic

“Sir, I'm sorry,” offered a young petty officer with straw-colored hair, and wearing a command-red enlisted uniform. “This request is highly irregular. Shuttlecraft are for official use only, and I can't let you have one without authorization from the captain or Commander Carter.”

As the youthful shuttlebay dispatcher stood at his control console, Doctor Saal Yezbeck, dressed in civilian attire, stood void of his uniform, and carried a bulky, cylindrical suitcase slung over his shoulder. His face was strewn with frustration at the dwindling hope of obtaining a Republic shuttlecraft for his leave of absence, and he could only silently while the petty officer second class continued to rattle off a list of concerns.

“No destination orders… No encoded flight plan… How am I supposed to explain to the captain where one of her shuttles disappeared to when she asks?”

“Look,” Saal started. “Petty Officer… O'Leary, isn't it? I'm not trying to make your job difficult, I just need a shuttlecraft for a week or two. That's all I'm asking. This is very important to me.”

“Ensign Harding from the navigation department is our assigned deck officer for alpha shift,” explained the dispatcher with nervousness. “She reports directly to the chief helmsman, and I could lose my stripes if I issue an auxiliary craft without an authorized routing dispatch.”

Saal felt the pressure of being put in a difficult spot, and he didn't want to press the flustered enlisted crewman any further. He was about to give up and head to the adjoining space station when the gruff, seasoned frame of a Starfleet Master Chief Petty Officer approached. It was none other than Republic's Chief of the Boat, Bradford Rainier, and after witnessing the impasse between the two individuals, decided it was time to intervene.

“Is there a problem here?” he slipped in between sentences using his calm, to-the-point demeanor.

Turning to face his senior non-commissioned officer, the dispatcher explained the predicament. “The doctor here has been granted a personal leave of absence from Commander Carter, but he wants to take a shuttle with him.”

“What?” Brad turned to Saal with a touch of amusement. “A commercial liner isn't good enough? I'm sure there's one at the station that'll take you where you want to go.” Cracking a smile, he added, “I saw a Delmarian space liner docked at one of the lower pylons, and I can tell you with personal experience that their buffets are *fantastic*.”

Saal sighed with anxiety. He didn't have time for this. “This is a personal emergency, chief,” he pleaded. “Please… I really need a shuttle, and for privacy reasons, I can't provide a flight plan.”

Raising an eyebrow, Brad cast Saal a more serious glance. “Doctor, you ARE aware of ships policy regarding the use of warp-capable auxiliary craft without clearance from the captain?”

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence as Saal digested the COB's reminder of the regulation.

“Yes,” he replied, realizing his prospect of obtaining a shuttle was quickly slipping away.

The two bearded, seasoned Starfleet veterans considered one another stoically, attempting to decipher the motivations of the other. Brad didn't know Saal personally, but as the captain's most senior enlisted man, he was privy to the inner workings of every department on the ship, as well as the recipient of every bit of scuttlebutt, gossip, rumor, and innuendo that the crew could generate. Basically, he knew Saal by reputation in addition to his standing with the captain and executive officer. The chief's 40-year fleet experience knew that reputation was the one true test of an officer's character, and without further dissection of the issue, knew in his gut that there could only be one course of action in the current situation.

“Petty officer,” the Chief-of-the-Boat addressed the dispatcher in a subdued tone. “Why don't you take a break for about five or ten minutes?”

”…Chief?“

“It's okay,” Brad reassured him. “Log out of your workstation and grab a cup of raktajino. If Ensign Harding questions you, have her come talk to me.”

“Um… okay, chief.”

Dialing his sign-off sequence into the control pedestal, the young NCO cast both Saal and Brad a quizzical glance before proceeding to the adjoining break room in the neighboring hull compartment. As soon as the petty officer exited through the door, Chief Rainier turned his attention to the vacated station and entered his own logon sequence before accessing the shuttle requisition manifest.

“Take the Heinz,” the chief offered without looking up at the doctor. “Bay eleven on the flight line. She's only a type 8 shuttle, but she's been uprated to the diplomatic version, so it'll be a comfortable enough ride… to wherever you're going.” Only with those last words did Republic's senior enlisted crewman look towards Saal with a wary expression.

“Thanks, chief,” Saal exhaled to great relief. “I owe you one.”

“You'll bring her back in one piece, right?” the chief beckoned as the doctor began walking across the flight deck to the shuttle stenciled with the numbers 'NCC-76241/11'. Brad knew that he could slip a dispatch authorization past the captain or Commander Carter, having them sign it based solely on his own integrity. However, that trust could end up in jeopardy if something happened to the shuttle while it was in the doctor's hands.

“I'll bring her back,” Saal responded sheepishly, unable to personally commit to more than that.

For his part, Chief Rainier shook his head, hoping that he wouldn't regret sticking his neck out for the acting chief medical officer.

With a soft hiss, the door to the Shuttlecraft Heinz sealed shut while the antigravity platform slid the vessel from its parking bay into launch position. Following the automated maneuver, a two-toned alert siren echoed across the expansive bay at regular intervals, signaling to all personnel on deck of the upcoming hazard of a departing auxiliary craft. Meanwhile, from the control pedestal, Chief Rainier activated the atmospheric containment field, creating a blue luminescent border along the perimeter of the huge segmented shuttlebay doors. With a low-pitched, resonating mechanical grunt, the 100-meter wide door crawled upward, revealing the yawning spectacle of deep space beyond the confines of Republic. With engines coming online, the Heinz rose a few meters above the deck and activated its locator strobe, which flickered once every two seconds with a bright, blinding flash to signal to other vessels in the vicinity that an independent craft was about to depart the Galaxy-class starship. Before long, the type-8 shuttle had slid clear of Republic, and thirty seconds later, the bay doors had once again locked closed, returning the main shuttlebay to normal operations.

“Chief Rainier!” a high-pitched feminine voice thundered across the shuttlebay with a direct and formal tone, followed by the cadence of a single pair of fleet-issue uniform boots marching along the deck. “How did that shuttlecraft get clearance to leave? It was authorized with YOUR name on the flight dispatch!”

“Ensign Harding I presume?” Brad returned with a raised eyebrow towards the blonde ensign in command red stomping towards him.

“ALL flight dispatches for warp-capable shuttles must be authorized by either the captain or executive officer ONLY, and dispatches MUST be cleared through the deck officer on duty! That happens to be ME!”

“Yes Ma'am, I'm aware of that. You'll have the authorization on your desk in a few hours for your approval.”

“I'm supposed to clear dispatches BEFORE shuttles leave the ship! Not AFTER!”

“My apologies, ma'am,” offered the Chief of the Boat, using his experience-honed professional subterfuge to placate the callow junior officer. “That part of the ship's policy wasn't clear to me.”

In truth, Brad knew the policy to the letter, and there was no expressed requirement that a shuttle flight be cleared by the deck officer before launch, as long as proper authorization was eventually received in an “expedient and timely fashion”. He knew this because he was the one who actually helped Commander Carter draft the policy, intentionally leaving ambiguous the flight authorization precedence for cases such as these. It was obvious that Ensign Harding was attempting to subvert his position, either out of a selfish need to display dominance, or a vain attempt to impress her cohorts in the navigation department.

“Cob,” she addressed him coldly. “You DO realize that I can report you to my superiors for this?”

Like he did with Saal, Brad looked her over, recalling every bit of unofficial information he had heard about this officer through the enlisted grapevine. This was her first rotation on an active duty vessel, and the chief realized that the young ensign had not yet shaken the pretentious attitude of an academy midshipman. It was a career-slowing move for a budding officer to look down upon the lower ranks from a privileged perspective. While the enlisted were, by regulation, required to show professional respect to anyone in uniform of officer rank, they were the workhorses of the fleet; the ones who actually performed the basic tasks and menial duties that kept Starfleet humming along. The moment any crewman or petty officer detected a twinge of arrogance or indifference from a superior officer, that officer instantly lost the respect of the former, short-circuiting their future influence and leadership capabilities aboard the vessel. Officers who found themselves in such a self-defeating position might as well request re-assignment, for there was little room for redemption once the've lost the esteem of the lower ranks.

“You go ahead and do that, ma'am,” Chief Rainier replied, making sure to maintain the required etiquette while making no effort to hide his indifference. “I'm sure that Lieutenant Hawk will suitably reprimand me at his earliest possible convenience.”

Out of respect for the uniform - and the uniform ONLY - he suppressed the urge to add, “if he actually gave a rat's ass about you and your complaint.”

---

Chapter 7: Chance EncountersTop

Location: Turbolift, USS Republic

Leon left the bridge despondent after Nat came back to relieve him. The weight of Kostya's bid for the Federation presidency weighed heavily on his mind, along with the repercussions it could have throughout the Alpha Quadrants and beyond. If someone like Vladamir Kostya were able to swindle both the media and the common populace into believing that he was a responsible leader, then something was very wrong with the collective intelligence of the universe. As he stood in the turbolift, pondering the situation, he found himself becoming more and more riled at the prospect of a megalomanic at the helm of United Federation of Planets, and as tired as he was, sleep was becoming less and less an option.

As the doors parted onto deck eight, Leon exited into the corridor en route to his quarters. As he turned a corner he found himself face to face with a group of the ship's civilian scientists walking from the opposite direction.

Among them was Susan Hayworth, the ship's oceanographer.

Though Leon and Susan were technically dating, his recent two and a half month renegade trek to the Ash'aarian homeworld obviously put a strain on their relationship. While the two-week trip back to Deep Space Nine should have been enough time to renew their bond, the two were on separate work shifts, and had not seen much of one another except during department meetings of the onboard science contingent.

“Leon!” Susan looked surprised to see the doctor, and by Leon's expression, the feeling was reciprocal.

“I thought you were on beta shift?” Leon replied as a return greeting.

Feeling a bit awkward, Susan looked at her colleagues and said, “you all go ahead. I'll catch up to you on the station.”

While the request seemed ordinary to Doctor Cromwell, what happened next was peculiar from his point of view. As they walked past him, each scientist in the group extended their hand for a handshake, and offered what seemed to be a parting salutation.

“It was an honor, Doctor Cromwell,” said one civilian scientist. “Good working with you, Leon,” said another. “Hope to see you again someday, sir,” came another.

One after another, the civilians politely said what seemed to be their goodbyes to the good doctor, and as the last of the group rounded the corner, they entered the turbolift and subsequently disappeared. Leon and Susan then found themselves alone in the corridor.

“What was that all about?” Leon asked, a bit on the confused side.

“We've received new orders,” Susan replied with a touch of disappointment. “All of us non-Starfleet folk have been reassigned. From the rumors I've heard, just about every person not wearing a uniform were ordered off the ship by 1200 hours.”

“What?” Leon exclaimed with a horrified expression. “Almost the entire science department are civilians! What's Republic supposed to do without them?”

From the sound of it, Susan surmised that Leon didn't see the most obvious repercussion.

“Leon,” she started with regret. “That means me too. I've got orders to report to Starbase 213 in one week, and my transport leaves this afternoon.”

The doctor's shocked expression didn't subside.

“Susan…” he whispered, trying to find the right words. He looked with regret into her cobalt blue eyes at the realization that they were about to part ways. “I'm… I'm sorry…”

Deep down inside, Leon was apologizing for more than just sympathy at the sudden change in assignment. He was apologizing for not working hard enough to maintain their relationship. He knew that it was mostly his own fault by focusing more on his work, as well as his half-baked, ill-planned excursion to save the Ash'aarians from an alien plague. All of which served only to sideline Susan from his life.

“It's okay, Leon,” she replied in a softened tone. The two reached out to touch one another. Susan, gently placing her hand on the doctor's chest, and Leon, touching the smooth, glistening, dark brown skin of her face.

“You've become a different man than the one I first met on the Bremerton,” she explained to him. “Back then, you were less worried about the fate of the galaxy, and more worried about what others thought of you. You've matured, and though I don't know for what, you seemed to have found a purpose in life.”

The two stood silently, looking at one another with both longing and regret. With a sigh, Susan looked down away from his eyes, and focused on his chest. Tugging on his waistband to smooth out the wrinkles on his shirt, she added, “the uniform looks good on you…”

“When will I see you again?” he couldn't help but ask.

Susan smiled in response, returning her gaze upon his amber irises. “We found each other after the Bremerton,” she explained with confidence. “We'll find each other again.”

With a hug, the oceanographer kissed him on the cheek before releasing their embrace and headed towards the turbolift. For his part, Leon stared after her as the doors shut, trying to figure out how he yet again allowed a beautiful and intelligent woman to walk out of his life.

---

Though he tried, sleep still eluded the doctor, and after an hour of tossing and turning, knew that this would be one of those days where he would plough through the day with only coffee and excess baggage under his eyes.

“Computer, lights,” he announced, causing the darkness within his cabin to turn into day, followed by a sleepy Leon rousing from his bunk. After a yawn and a snort, he got up and walked into the head, took a brief shower, and donned a fresh uniform before ordering a cup of java from the food replicator. He stood in the center of the room taking quiet sips from the mug before deciding what to do for the rest of the day, during which was supposed to be his normal sleep cycle.

“Computer, location of John Carter.”

“Commander Carter is not aboard the Republic.”

“Extend location request to adjoining space station,” Leon redirected his inquiry before taking another sip of coffee.

“Commander Carter is located on the Promenade, section twelve.”

---

Location: Main gangway airlock, deck 25, USS Republic

The airlock leading to Deep Space Nine was awash with a sea of bodies making their way out of the Galaxy Class vessel in a mass exodus of warp-weary Gamma Quadrant travelers. While a few uniforms could be seen in the crowd, it was composed mostly of non-Starfleet personnel carrying bulky suitcases and baggage, confirming Susan Hayworth's notion that a large portion of Republic's civilian crew had been re-assigned.

As he made his way through the crowd, Leon looked around and recognized most of the faces, as they had been to sickbay at one time or another since they left port seven months prior. Most nodded at him in greeting, and a few friendly, verbal gestures were made, but for the most part, each member of the crowd were lost among their own thoughts. Most were in the mindset of seeing family again, harboring anxiety about their new orders, or jubilant about finally disembarking after a half-year in space.

Crossing through the spoked, circular door, Leon took note of the decor change from the pristine bright walls of Republic's corridors to the darker, more subdued shades of khaki and dark green, reminiscent the station's original Cardassian design. Without warning, Leon nearly fell flat on his face as a blonde, furry blur flew past his feet, followed by two more in quick succession. It so startled the doctor that he audibly yelped, just in time to hear a dog barking behind him.

“Reggie! Mannie! Billie!” a young boy of about ten years old shouted from behind. “Get back here!” The youngster wore a blue and white striped shirt and ball cap, and ran past Leon with an adult Labrador Retriever following in tow. The boy collected the three blonde “blurs”, which happened to be a trio of tiny puppies no more than a month old.

“Sorry, Doctor Cromwell!” the pre-adolescent apologized.

“That's okay, Jimmy,” Leon offered, recognizing the boy as none other than Jimmy Tapscott, son of Ensign Tapscott from engineering. “Don't tell me that you're leaving Republic, too?”

“Yeah,” the boy sounded glum as he held tight the puppies who were eager to explore the bustling crowd around them. “Mom and dad are packing up our quarters while I take Louie here for a walk on the Promenade.” As he explained, the adult dog obediently sat down next to him with its tongue wagging off to one side.

“Do you know where you're going next?”

“Dad said something about Benecia Colony,” Jimmy replied. “But I was hoping for another Starfleet ship.”

“Don't worry,” Leon smiled. “I'm sure that you'll get a chance to be on another ship soon. Besides, I'll bet all the other kids on Benecia will be jealous that you were on a Galaxy Class starship!”

“I never thought of that!” Jimmy's eyes lit up. “Do you think any of them will like puppies?”

“I have no doubt,” Leon concluded.

About that time, one of the puppies wiggled free from the boy's grasp and trotted down the gangway towards the station.

“Reggie!” he exclaimed before turning back towards Leon. “Sorry doc! Gotta go!” Before the doctor could reply, the boy was off running again through the crowd, chasing the rouge puppy, and followed by a barking dog.

Watching Jimmy disappear into the sea of bodies, Leon reflected upon the loss of the civilian populace on Republic. The design of the Galaxy Class was to allow Starfleet crew to bring family along on deep space missions so they wouldn't have to be separated for extended periods. As a social experiment, it was a resounding success, but often left captains reconsidering certain mission objectives over safety of the ship's compliment. Having children onboard meant forgoing special risks, some of which may have been acceptable were it a Starfleet-only crew.

Still, from Leon's point of view, less children aboard meant more uniforms, beckoning back to a time when Starfleet was at war, and forbade civilian crew on fleet vessels. In the back of his mind, he worried that a “uniform-only” crew would sterilize the family-oriented feel that had manifested on Republic over the past seven months. In truth, Leon liked the diversity of clothing and age groups as he walked the halls of the ship, as it brought about a feeling of peace and tranquility. As he resumed his walk towards the habitation ring of the station, Leon mused on whether Republic would be able to retain that ambiance in the months to come.

---

Location: Promenade, habitation ring, space station Deep Space 9

Like the gangway on Republic, the station's Promenade was awash in an undulating sea of bobbing heads shuffling every which way to unknown destinations. It was a larger crowd than Leon remembered from seven months ago, but considering the arrival of a starship with a thousand-plus extra personnel aboard itching for shore leave after half a year in the Gamma Quadrant, the size was not without warrant. The inner and outer ring of the Promenade housed alcoves in which various shops, bars, and entertainment venues resided, and while the crowd conglomerated in some, others were either closed or hosted only a small number of patrons.

As Leon walked past each alcove, the sound of either conversation, bartering, or cheers from a winning dabo streak echoed into the Promenade. Perusing the venues, he took note of the lack of variety compared to that of Starbase 39-Sierra when Republic was assigned there over eight months prior. However, due to the fact that Deep Space Nine was magnitudes smaller and more remote, the comparison was as futile as the one between Malus domestica and Citrus ​sinensis.

Finally, the doctor arrived at his destination: Quark's Bar, Grill, Gaming House and Holosuite Arcade. Or, known by the locales as simply “Quarks”. It was rumored to be one of the most lucrative venues on the station, as it was the only piece of real estate onboard that didn't belong to the Federation. As sovereign Ferengi territory, Quarks was the one single establishment within thirty light-years that traded goods and services for gold-pressed latinum rather than the Federation's credit-based system of economics.

It was here where the station's computer located John Carter, but before he could make it all the way through the door, a Starfleet officer in medical blues nearly knocked Leon over on his way out. It was none other that Julian Bashir.

“Cromwell!” the DS9 physician greeted him with surprise. “I wasn't sure if I'd get a chance to see you again before Republic sets off again.”

“I don't think we've got orders to set sail quite yet,” Leon regarded Julian in return. “I trust that you're getting back into the swing of things here on the station?”

“More than you can imagine,” he huffed. “I have three bed cases that my temporary replacement left me, not to mention a transfer patient whose condition I have yet to fully understand. If it weren't for my time on Republic, I would have…”

“Julian!” a pretentious voice interrupted him. The admonishment came from a Ferengi clearing off a nearby empty table. “Don't stand in my doorway unless you're planning to come back inside and order another drink!”

Doctor Bashir looked genuinely hurt. “I've been gone for over half a year, Quark,” he returned, almost with a whine. “I think I deserve some loitering time.”

“Fine. You can loiter upstairs in front of Vic's. Just stop blocking my customers from coming in!” The Ferengi relented as he turned around with a tray-ful of empty glasses and headed back to the bar area.

“Vic's?” asked Leon after the bartender left.

“It's a holographic reproduction of a twentieth-century night club in one of Quarks holo-suites,” explained Julian.

Looking confused, Leon replied. “Let me get this straight. He's got a holographic bar… inside his bar?” The thought caused an eyebrow to raise on the Republic officer's face. “Isn't that a bit redundant?”

“I suppose,” Julian admitted. “But several of the station's crew have become quite attached to Vic's over the years, so there's sentimental value.”

“Now THAT I understand,” Leon acknowledged, recalling John Carter's sentient Jim Kirk holodeck program back on Republic.

“I'm sorry, but I'm in a bit of a hurry,” Doctor Bashir apologized for his perfunctory change of subject. “I have a meeting with Captain Kira in less then five minutes.” He looked as if he was about to run off, but paused to regard Leon as if for the last time. “If I don't see you again… it's been good getting to know you, doctor.” Julian extended his hand in a parting gesture, and Leon accepted the handshake, looking Julian in the eye.

“I still don't like you, Bashir,” Leon admitted, but with a grudgingly respectful tone. “Probably because you're a better doctor than me.”

“Thank you… I think.”

“Don't let it go to your head.”

With a playful tilt of his face, the chief medical officer of Deep Space Nine replied in his casual British accent, “never!” With that, he walked out of the establishment and into the bustling flow of patrons on the Promenade.

“Come in! Come in!” the Ferengi at the bar beckoned to Leon. “Any friend of Julian is a friend of mine. Welcome to Quarks, stranger! The official Ferengi Embassy to Bajor!”

“Um, thank you…” Leon said with uncertainty. “I don't think I've ever been in here before.”

“Well then, let me be the first to welcome you,” the short alien offered in a salesman-like tone. “My name is Quark, the Ferengi ambassador, and here you'll find all the food and entertainment you'll ever need during your stay here on Deep Space Nine.”

“I'm sure…” Leon raised an eyebrow at the Ferengi. He had no doubt that Quark's was the leisure mecca of the Bajor Sector, and since it was buzzing with conversation, gameplay, and drinking, appeared to be the most profitable business on the entire Promenade.

“Perhaps you'd like to start off with a refreshment?” Quark offered. “We have the finest collection of Xarantine Spice Wine this side of the Typhon Expanse.”

As the stout Ferengi addressed Leon, the doctor looked past the ambassador's shoulder and spotted a man standing about ten meters away looking at him with an amused smile. He was a tall, slender man wearing a Starfleet officer's uniform with gold piping, and boasted a lieutenant commander's rank on his collar. Recognizing the black hair and fu-manchu mustache - which bore the unmistakable face of a renowned Malthean from the Starfleet Corps of Engineers - Leon's eyes lit up at the appearance of his old friend, Doctor Victor Xavier Virtus.

“Vic!” Leon exclaimed with an unusual bout of exuberance.

“Upstairs!” Quark piped up with satisfaction, happy that the stranger had chosen to visit the vintage holographic program. “Third holosuite to the left. You're not a regular, but because you know Julian, I'll only charge you half the standard cover charge…”

“Um… excuse me,” Leon hurriedly dismissed the confused Ferengi ambassador, sliding past him in a bee line to Virtus further up the bar.

“How the hell are you?” a smiling Doctor Cromwell grasped Vic's hand, giving him a quick shoulder hug. “I got your messages, but I had no idea you were HERE!”

“Good to see you too, Leon,” the engineer replied warmly. Like Susan back on Republic, Vic's attention was drawn to Doctor Cromwell's attire. “The uniform looks good on you.”

“So I've been told,” came the sheepish response. “How long have you been in town?”

“As of this moment, nine weeks, six days, twenty two hours, and four minutes.”

“What??”

“When I heard about Kostya, I had extra shore leave to spend, so I came straight to Deep Space Nine looking for my favorite Galaxy Class starship.” Vic rolled his eyes every so subtly. “Only you weren't here. Case in point, the Starfleet navigational database had sporadic and conflicting waypoint logs on you. If I had to guess, someone in fleet was working to scramble your actual location.”

“You're avoiding the subject!” Leon looked flabbergasted. “You've been waiting for us for NINE WEEKS??”

“As I said,” Vic continued. “When I discovered that Vlad-the-Impaler was performing feats of mass indoctrination through the media networks, not to mention vying for the most powerful position in the Known Galaxy, the relative rightness of the universe shifted to approximately 8.87, or 741,310,241.30 Virtii of disharmony, which, as you know, is pretty unstable. Fortunately, with Republic's arrival back in the Alpha quadrant, the disharmony factor has subsided by about 2 orders of magnitude, but is still well beyond any other recorded event of my years of record-keeping.”

“Um… okay,” a befuddled Leon replied. “That's bad, isn't it?”

“Does a vox ultra-frequency carrier require a visual signal confirmation?”

“Right,” Leon concluded without any idea of what Vic was talking about. “I'll take that as a yes.” Giving his friend another shoulder hug, he added, “it's still great to see you ,Vic.”

“Likewise, Leon.”

“The computer said John was here,” the doctor finally remarked.

“Yes,” the Malthean responded, pointing to a table in the corner of Quarks.

Indeed, John Carter was present, but Leon could tell right away that there was something terribly wrong. The commander was silent and despondent, sitting back in his chair, and with his hand covering his mouth as if in deep thought. His eyes were glazed over as if he had been handed the news that Mars colony was about to implode in the next thirty seconds, and there was nothing he could do about it. Whatever the real news was, John was not taking it well, and must have been one of the factors adding to Vic's calculation of the universe's disharmony.

“I take it he heard about Kostya?”

“Without question.”

“How many drinks has he had?” Leon asked.

“Just one,” Vic replied. “He's still on duty.”

As if responding to the time-honored obligation to give aid to an ailing comrade, Vic and Leon approached John's table, and took a seat themselves. Over the next hour, the three friends ordered food and drink from a tending waitress, mulling over the events of recent months, and attempting to find both comfort and solace in each other's company despite the chilling political circumstances that brought them together again after months of separation.

---

Chapter 8: Tipping the Scales Top

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Chapter 9: Libra Falling Top

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Chapter 10: Crossroads Top

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Chapter 11: Signs and Portents Top

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Chapter 12: Sleep is for the Weak Top

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Chapter 13: Making the Rounds Top

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Chapter 14: Alpha Ananke Top

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Chapter 15: Scorpio Rising Top

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Chapter 16: First Impressions Top

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Chapter 17: Games of Thought and Word Top

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Chapter 18: Messages From Earth Top

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Chapter 19: Criss-cross Top

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Chapter 20: Saratoga's Final Hour Top

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Chapter 21: Threads of ConsciousnessTop

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Chapter 22: FormalitiesTop

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Chapter 23: Primum non nocereTop

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Chapter 24: The Best Laid PlansTop

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Chapter 25: Burden of CommandTop

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Chapter 26: Blood on the ScalesTop

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Chapter 27: Humpty DumptyTop

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Chapter 28: AftershocksTop

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Chapter 29: DownfallTop

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Chapter 30: The Eighth ContagionTop

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Chapter 31: NumbTop

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Chapter 32: The Die is CastTop

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Chapter 33: Friends in High PlacesTop

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Chapter 34: Back From Outer SpaceTop

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Chapter 35: Friends in Low PlacesTop

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Chapter 36: Dark HorizonTop

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Chapter 37: Hunting High and LowTop

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Chapter 38: TwilightTop

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Chapter 39: The Stroke of MidnightTop

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Chapter 40: New DawnTop

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Chapter 41: EpilogueTop