Title: Small Change 
Author: Charlene (charlene.vickers@gmail.com) 
Series: ST:DS9 
Codes: AU S/m, various others 
Summary: A Dominion victory 28 years in the future forces the Q and the 
Prophets to change the course of history to prevent the destruction of 
the Federation. Benjamin Sisko finds himself back on Deep Space Nine in 
a very different timeline. 
Disclaimer: If I could turn back time, if I could find a way...I'd own 
Star Trek. I don't: Paramount/CBS does. And Cher owns those lyrics. I 
don't own anything.
Notes: Thanks to my neighbour (who wants to remain anonymous) for 
betaing without giggling. At least in front of me. I think. Also thanks 
to the people (and you know who you are) who endured and answered my 
interminable and annoying questions about DS9 - not owning a working TV 
is fun! 

******

Chapter 1

******

--The Temple has been desecrated.

--Equilibrium has been destroyed. There is suffering.

--It is not as it should be. The mortals.... 

--We cannot save them. 

They mourned. 

****** 

--There are those who wish to make corrections. They are attempting to 
contact us.

--They are more powerful than us but our knowledge is greater. They are 
confined to linearity to a greater extent. Their power is limited with 
respect to us. 

--They wish to restore equilibrium. They are also aware of the False 
Ones. They share our concerns.

--It is agreed then. We will meet with them. How will we communicate?

A delegate was selected from the group. 

--You were once linear. You will become so again. The cause is 
sufficient. Hear their story. Link with them and find an answer. We 
will support and assist you. Once communication is ended you will 
rejoin us.

He felt himself apart for the first time since time itself had become 
irrelevant. He developed shape and cohesion and symmetry. As the being 
of other type materialized in front of him, he realized that its 
general shape, although smaller, matched his own. 

"They've sent me to find a way to prevent the disaster," the being 
said. "You know more than we do about how to prevent it. We can't do 
this without your help." 

"I have been appointed the Emissary to the Q Continuum," he replied, 
his voice rough. "I am the Sisko." 

******

"Absolutely not," she said. "We can't prevent Voyager from destroying 
the Borg. They were as much of a threat to the Federation as the 
Dominion." 

Sisko frowned at the ambassador of the Continuum. She had taken the 
shape of a Human, the species he had once been. His people had also 
taken the shapes of mortals and surrounded the two of them, bathing 
them in an amber glow. 

Memories were returning. The Dominion was the enemy that had returned 
to desecrate the Celestial Temple and destroy the Federation. The 
Federation was the group of mortals the Q wished to protect and to 
which he had once belonged. Voyager was an object, a ship, belonging to 
the Federation and operated by a group of mortals. The Borg was an 
enemy that had been destroyed earlier. 

He recognized three of the mortal shapes his people had assumed -- they 
were essential, he knew, but for what reason... 

He returned to Q. "But you said that the only reason this Dominion 
attacked the Federation a second time was because it was able to free 
up the resources it had reserved for a Borg attack. If the Borg was so 
weak that one ship could destroy it, then surely it makes sense to 
leave the Borg whole and let the Dominion sit over-prepared for an 
attack that will never come." 

"Voyager had a number of advantages the Dominion could never enjoy," 
she replied. "The Borg was also planning to attack Earth, not the 
Dominion. The information the Federation found in the Borg databanks 
was clear. We won't sacrifice Earth for anything; the Borg had to be 
destroyed." 

--Then destroy the Dominion. 

She turned to the dark-haired prophet who had spoken. "The Continuum 
won't commit genocide. It would put things unnaturally out of balance. 
To be honest, Q was willing, but Q said it would be immoral, and Q 
pointed out that if we destroyed the Dominion, what would stop another 
force from doing the same thing to the Humans or the Bajorans?" She 
paused. "And if we were prepared to commit genocide, we'd have gone 
back in time and destroyed the wormhole before this began." 

"By the 'wormhole' she means the Celestial Temple," a shocked Sisko 
explained, turning to his people. "Us." 

"Obviously we're not going to do that," Q quickly continued, "and 
blocking the wormhole before the invasion won't be enough. They've 
learned how to create new ones, and as the Founders, like you, are 
largely beyond our control, we can't take the memory of how to create 
the artificial wormholes from them. The problem is that the Dominion 
sees the Federation both as a threat and as a wealthy prize. They won't 
stop until they've won." She thought for a moment. "Unlike you and us, 
the Founders are completely linear. If we could block the wormhole 
before the Dominion discovered the Alpha Quadrant..." 

--We will not allow it. The Sisko must be allowed to join with us 
again. 

--The Sisko must not be kept away. He is essential.

"All right," Q said tersely. "So that idea's out." 

Sisko raised his hand. "Wait. What if the Temple were closed, at least 
for a time, to everyone but me?" 

--That would be acceptable.

--The mortal Sisko will be fragile now that he has joined with us. He 
must be given a companion. The Companion will attend him. 

"When should the wormhole be closed?" the Q asked.

--The Sisko comprehends linearity. He will decide. 

He pursed his lips and tried to remember. The Bajorans that Q had 
mentioned were the race of linear mortals his people needed to protect. 
The Temple couldn't be closed until after the last ancient Tear of the 
Prophet had been ejected from the Temple by his people. There were also 
mentions of the Temple in the sacred writings... 

"The Prophecies," he finally said. "When were the last ones written?" 

"Horran's final prophecies were written 730 years before you first 
visited the wormhole." 

"And the last Tear left the Temple when?" 

"Two thousand years before that date." 

"Then close the Temple just after Horran's death. Will that prevent the 
Dominion from discovering the Federation and Bajor?" 

Q thought for a moment. "The Dominion has historically avoided distant 
and powerful opponents. Without the wormhole it's very unlikely the 
Federation would pose a tempting target even if it were discovered. 
I'll have to meet with the Continuum." She disappeared in a flash of 
light. 

He regarded his people. "History will have changed. I may not be dead 
yet. They might send me back." 

--We do not understand. You ascended here when you departed linearity.

He tried a new explanation. "I may not depart linearity at the same 
point if changes have been made." 

--Whenever it concludes, you will be brought here. This is your home. 

--You are the Sisko. You are of us. 

He looked at the three Prophets who had spoken. Why were those three so 
important...he couldn't remember but he knew they were vital. 

Q returned. "The Continuum agrees that this is an acceptable solution 
to the problem," she said. "However, a complication will arise: the 
pah-wraiths." 

"The False Ones," Sisko explained to the prophets. 

"When you sealed the Fire Caves, you sealed in the majority of the pah-
wraiths, but some remained on the surface of Bajor. The Continuum 
believes that had the Dominion not invaded a second time, the pah-
wraiths on the surface would have multiplied and become a threat to 
Bajor in no more than 150 years." 

--The Second Age of the Emissary. We are prepared. 

"In the new timeline, however," Q said, "the Continuum's fear is that 
the majority of the wraiths will escape the Caves before they can be 
sealed. We project that they will spread throughout the quadrant, 
perhaps even to Earth. It's a complication we don't want to deal with, 
Emissary or no Emissary. Earth has to be protected." 

--Then destroy them. They are false prophets. 

Q glowered at the prophet who had spoken. "We've been through this. 
They're sentient. We won't. And we can't just seal off the caves 
either. Sealing off the caves only means that the pah-wraiths on the 
surface will become active within 150 years. We'd rather not have to 
clean up the same mess twice." 

"There's a simple solution, if it's workable," Sisko said. "The pah-
wraiths are most dangerous when they possess other living beings. 
Couldn't you just modify their powers by preventing them from being 
able to do so?" 

"It'll work," Q said after a moment. "Do the Prophets agree?" 

--The False Ones must not win. 

--This action is acceptable but must be monitored. They are a danger as 
long as they exist, possession or not.

Q paused. "We'll do it. There is a third problem. Cardassia-" 

Sisko interrupted, not fully understanding what he was doing. "There's 
something else. It's absolutely necessary. I don't know why but--" He 
gestured towards the three prophets he had recognized. "There are three 
mortals. Humans. They look like that. They must survive." 

"By survive," Q asked, "do you mean a full life?" 

"I must," he murmured. "I just know that their survival is essential." 

--The Sisko has knowledge of matters we are unable to comprehend due to 
our natures.

--If he believes this is a vital matter, it must be so.

"That actually resolves the issue I was about to bring up," she said 
with another quick nod. "Very well. Sisko, these changes to the 
timeline also mean that you didn't die in the Fire Caves. Although it 
would perhaps be easier for you to have memories of your life as it 
unfolded with the changes in this timeline-" 

--We will not allow it.

--The Sisko will remember his time in the Temple. 

She once again glared at the prophets. "-the Continuum also believes it 
would be best if you retained the memories of your previous life and of 
the twenty-eight years you've spent here." 

A shudder went through him. Twenty-eight years... 

"You'll adjust. You can visit the wormhole-" 

--The Temple. 

"-the Temple," Q continued, rolling her eyes, "any time you wish. But I 
have to warn you. You're intelligent and I know you're not going to 
deliberately interfere in any major changes between the two timelines, 
but you might be surprised by some of the details of your personal 
life. Things may seem unpleasant or confusing to you at first and you 
might be tempted to make changes. But humans have a saying: for want of 
a nail the kingdom was lost. Remember that. One small change could 
cause more damage in the long run than you could ever expect. You must 
also keep all of this," and she gestured to their surroundings, "to 
yourself. There are details that -- well, if you told them to the wrong 
person, you could also change the future in the wrong way, and there's 
no saying who the wrong person might be. You might be surprised." 

He could understand that part. Mortals' thinking was limited, as he 
well knew from his own experience; he would have to guard against their 
learning what had happened. He especially doubted if anybody in that 
organization he had belonged to -- Starfleet, she had called it -- 
would believe that he had spent almost three decades in a completely 
different timeline, or that there had been a war with a Dominion they 
had no knowledge of. Since his people wouldn't be able to communicate 
in the new timeline with anyone but him, there'd be no way for them or 
anyone else to corroborate his story. He would probably be sent away. 
How could he commune with his people? Unacceptable. 

But what was this about a personal life? 

Q smiled. "You'll return to mortal existence at the same moment of time 
that you left it. Well, you won't be in the Fire Caves since that 
didn't happen in this timeline, but you'll be the same age. Are you 
ready?" 

"So quickly." 

"I'm afraid so." 

He looked at his people one last time. "I'll visit when I can." 

--We will call the Sisko. 

He turned to her and nodded. She held out her hand: they were 
surrounded by light. 

******

He found himself laying on his right side in his bed on Deep Space 
Nine, shivering faintly in the pitch-black night under a thin cotton 
blanket. My name is Benjamin Sisko and I am a human, he thought. The 
link is gone and I am a human. I am 45 years old. I am a man. He gulped 
a breath of recycled air. I'm here. I'm back. 

He focused on a bright patch near his face: a chrono. The numbers said 
0205. Gamma shift, he remembered. 26 hours to a day, 7 days to a week. 
He could see little else in the dimness of the room. He looked out the 
viewport at a paper-thin brilliant blue crescent hanging among the 
stars. Deep Space Nine was closer to Bajor and further from home in 
this timeline. He would be able to see home from the office. 

No, he told himself. This is home now. I have to re-adjust to being a 
human. 

A chill ran down his back as the memories of his life washed over him. 
Q had told him not to change anything, but he already had without 
knowing it. He had begged Q to allow Jennifer, Jake and Kasidy, the 
humans whose shapes the three Prophets had taken and he had recognized, 
to live full lives, not remembering that he had considered them 
"essential" simply because he had loved them. But Jennifer had died as 
a young woman in his original timeline. Was it wrong to give a woman 70 
years or more of life that she shouldn't have had? Or did her survival 
solve a problem, as Q had implied? 

He wondered: had Jennifer accepted his status as the Emissary in this 
timeline? Had she remained with him in a universe where he was the only 
individual able to enter the Temple, other than some companion? Was 
Jennifer this companion his people had mentioned? He frowned. Shouldn't 
he have known about this? He had learned so much more than could be 
verbalized, but in this he had been blindsided. Why would he be so 
fragile in the Temple? He hadn't been able to link with his people 
while Q had been there. 

They weren't his people any more, he reminded himself: at least not 
until he died again. 

Slowly he became aware of the sounds of the station: the heating duct 
popping under the floor, air rushing from a vent, the creaks and groans 
of the outer walls. For a few seconds the noises, faint as they were 
individually, threatened to overwhelm him. He took a deep breath and 
tried to relax. 

Once he could control the sudden inrush of sound, he took a moment to 
check himself. Everything seemed to be in order. He flexed every muscle 
without moving and discovered no artificial limbs, serious injuries, or 
obvious implants. He was in shape, strong and healthy. He was wearing 
something below the waist but wasn't sure what. He felt for his face, 
his hand moving slowly. No beard or moustache, but hair at his temples. 
He could feel something tugging uncomfortably on a few of the hairs at 
the back of his neck and near his waist at the back, and the skin on 
the back of his shoulders was slightly itchy. 

He looked at his fingers, smelled them. They didn't smell quite right. 
He didn't smell quite right, and neither did the room, but he couldn't 
place it. Musky, heady, dark, slightly artificial, it reminded him of 
nothing at all. He stared at his hand as he tried to remember what the 
fragrance could mean. 

Yellow on the third finger. A wedding ring. Another sound -- somebody 
breathing, somebody other than him. He became keenly aware that the 
other person wasn't Jennifer. Apprehension, fear if he were to be 
honest with himself, stopped him from turning over and looking at the 
sleeping figure beside him. He brought his hand closer to his face. His 
ring with Kasidy had been plain. This ring was etched. A diamond or 
square pattern, something geometric, difficult to see in the dark. 
Perhaps there was a different jeweler on the station... 

A knee brushed against his calf as a breath tickled the back of his 
neck. She was tall, possibly even taller than him. So he hadn't married 
Kasidy, hadn't given her a child. He was surprised that the grief he 
should have felt for the loss of his marriage and of his unborn child 
was nothing but a faint echo. Perhaps it was the 28 years he had spent 
away from them, or perhaps something in his own pagh, or soul, 
recognized that what had never existed couldn't be mourned. Perhaps 
there were children in this timeline who hadn't existed in the original 
one. 

He hadn't been involved with that many people, and he didn't know -- 
but of course: Jadzia Dax was a tall woman. A lovely, brilliant, 
glorious woman who wouldn't be dead if Dukat hadn't been possessed by 
the pah-wraiths. If he and Jennifer had divorced he likely would have 
moved on much faster than in his original timeline. If Jennifer had 
left him, if he had never met Kasidy, he could accept this. Oh yes. 

He had sometimes regretted the fact that he and Jadzia hadn't been 
closer in his original timeline, but had accepted it as one of those 
things that was never meant to be. When he had first met her he was far 
too consumed with grief for his wife and for Curzon to notice her as 
anything more than Dax; by the time he found himself coming alive again 
and seeing her as a woman she had found someone else. He put it out of 
his mind as any decent man would and had gone on, but once or twice he 
had wondered about what could have been. Now he would know. The idea 
brought a smile to his face. 

By then his eyes had adjusted to the low light. In the corner he could 
see his grandmother's antique bentwood chair, the one Father had sent 
him after Tyree, after they had learned about the Sarah prophet. In it 
lay a crumpled blue Starfleet science uniform. Two black shapes rested 
on the floor under the chair -- boots, probably. He didn't remember her 
being so untidy, but then again he hadn't spent a lot of time in her 
quarters either. Curzon had been an unholy mess at times. Strange to 
think about the old man in this way, but -- he wondered, did Jadzia's 
spots go all the way down? He should remember from that time in the 
mirror universe, but what a joy to think he would get to learn all over 
again. He could feel himself stirring at the thought of her. 

He brought his fingers to his nose again. Was that the scent of a Trill 
woman? He smiled again, considering that this new life might not be as 
bleak as he had feared, and turned in his bed to look at his beautiful 
new wife -- 

-- and found himself staring into the face of a sleeping Julian Bashir.

*****

Chapter 2

*****

//Oh my God oh my God oh my God I couldn't have tell me I couldn't have 
Prophets Saint-Expedite Mother Mary no// 

He found himself panicking, running into the bathroom, running into the 
shower still in his shorts, his hand accidentally hitting the controls. 
Hot water poured over him and he suddenly howled in pain as a thousand 
daggers plunged into his back. He reached up and smacked the water off. 

"Ben, what's wrong?" a voice came from behind him. "I heard you get up 
and -- what the hell is wrong with your back!? Stay right there, I'll 
get my kit!" He heard Bashir run into the next room, muttering, "That 
damned Nalas! He said the oil was perfectly safe. Did I trust him? Oh 
of course. 'Nerys puts it on her stretch marks.' Did I check it? Oh 
no." 

Ben pressed his face against the cool tile of the shower trying not to 
faint. This could not be happening. He had nothing against Bashir, he 
was a perfectly competent doctor if he remembered correctly, but -- 

"Med kit found," he heard behind him as a tricorder whirred. "Good god 
hun, you're still in your...what the-" A finger tugged at his 
waistband; he willed himself to stand still. "The damned oil's turned 
into wax and glued the back of your shorts to your ass. No wonder you 
couldn't take them off. I'll replicate some solvent. But first things 
first." He heard Bashir request medications from the replicator; a few 
seconds later, he felt the cool rush of a hypospray against his neck 
and the pain and itching started to subside. "Steroidal anti-
inflammatory and an antidote. I'd give Nalas an earful if it weren't 
more my fault than his for not checking. Damned stuff has urushiol oil 
in it." Bashir laughed as Ben turned around to glare at him. Lord, the 
man was naked. "Thank God you fell asleep when you did." 

Thank God his blush didn't show. He tried to change the topic as he 
kept his eyes above the doctor's waist, noticing in passing that the 
man's wedding ring matched his own. At least he wasn't an adulterer. 
"Urushiol oil?" 

"The active ingredient in poison ivy. Can you imagine if we had -- I'm 
sorry, I shouldn't laugh--" 

"You're right," he said, trying to look ominous, which at that point 
was quite easy but unfortunately didn't seem to have any effect. 

"--but can you imagine having to explain to Colonel Kira that his 
massage oil had--" Bashir suddenly stopped laughing and glared at his 
blistered red palms. "Blast!" He stomped back to the replicator. 

Sisko turned back towards the other side of the shower and covered his 
face with his hands. What was he going to do? 

He took a deep breath and put his hands down. What he was going to do 
was handle this like a Starfleet officer, not like a blushing 
blithering baby. All right, then: what did he know? He was still 
station commander, or at least he still lived in the station 
commander's quarters. He was married to Julian Bashir, who called him 
'hun'. He was currently standing in the shower -- still the same tiny 
shower he had in the old timeline, too -- with a nasty rash on his back 
and pieces of wax sticking to his butt. If memory served him right, 
this 'Nalas' was probably Li Nalas, a "Hero of the Resistance" who had 
been killed in his timeline. Here, though, he and Kira Nerys were alive 
and apparently both living on the station. Strange that Bashir had 
called the Colonel a "he". He should review the station personnel 
roster before he awoke the dead or said or did something foolish. For 
all he knew -- 

He gasped and jumped as something wet hit his shoulders. "Sorry, Ben, 
it's the solvent," Bashir said behind him. "I've added some 
polyhydrocortisone as well; that should help the itch. Feel better?" 
The doctor rubbed the warm gel into his shoulders. 

"It does, thanks," he replied as he reminded himself to act normally, 
or as normally as possible under the circumstances. Think up something 
good. "It's just - I had a horrible nightmare as well." 

The fingers moved down his back and under his waistband. "What was it?" 

"Um, I was, uh, being eaten alive by voles." Sounded good. 

"Mm. With this and after what Miles found night before last, I'm not 
surprised. In fact, I'm surprised Miles hasn't been in for dream 
suppressants. Amazing what voles can do to a corpse." His fingers were 
-- well, not clinical. Affectionate, but not overtly sexual. Husbandly. 
Just then Ben felt a kiss on his cheek. He steeled himself not to pull 
away. "You'll have to let that sit for two minutes. Use the sonics to 
remove as much as possible - that'll dislodge the peeled skin and the 
shorts too - then drop 'em and have a good hot water shower. I'll pull 
out a new pair for you." 

He hesitated for a second. He needed to get out of there, go someplace 
where he could think. Someplace neutral. His office would be a good 
place. "I'm not going to get any more sleep after that dream," he said 
as he turned around. "Could you pull out a uniform as well?" 

"You're going in?" Bashir gave him a playful look. "We're both up, 
Ben." 

Act casual, he told himself. Don't scream. "And I have a rash on my 
back, wax on my butt, and images of voles eating my kidneys running 
through my mind," he improvised. "The only thing I'm 'up' for is 
reading reports." 

Bashir rolled his eyes. "All right. Computer, private and confidential 
memo to Colonel Kira from Dr. Julian Sisko." 

He took my surname? Ben asked himself. Why the hell would he do that? 

"In response to your massage oil of the 23rd ult, I respectfully reply, 
GO TO HELL. Sincerely yours." 

Sisko laughed as was apparently expected and got a shake of the head 
from Bash - from Julian. "One minute more, then the sonics." He 
disappeared from the doorway. 

As he stared up at the shower controls, he shivered. What next? 

******

He realized when he arrived in Ops that he had no idea of his current 
access code. "Lieutenant - Harven, I was having problems signing on 
earlier. I don't know if it's the software or if I've forgotten my 
code." 

"Certainly, sir." The young Bolian switched terminals and entered data 
for a moment, swore under his breath once, then smiled faintly. 
"Computer, replace access code for Captain Benjamin Sisko. Confirm via 
voiceprint, retinal scan, and fingerprint." He moved aside. "Sir, if 
you'll just sit here, say your name, look at the blue dot, and put your 
right index finger on the red circle." 

He complied and a new code eventually flashed on the screen. "Thank 
you, Lieutenant. I'll be sure to change it as soon as I reach my own 
terminal." He returned to his office, logged in, and changed his code 
again. The lieutenant probably thought he was an idiot now, but that 
was hardly his biggest problem. 

The first thing he checked on was his family. "Computer, provide 
locations and occupations of Joseph Sisko, Jennifer Sisko, and Jake 
Sisko, relatives of Captain Benjamin Sisko." He was ashamed to realize 
that he had barely thought about his father until now. 

"Joseph Sisko resides in New Orleans, Louisiana, Earth, and is the 
proprietor of Sisko's Restaurant. Jennifer Bertram resides in 
Montpellier, France, Earth, and teaches Federation Standard at the 
University of Montpellier. Cadet Jake Sisko resides in San Francisco, 
California, Earth, and is a student at Starfleet Academy." 

Jake a Starfleet cadet and not a writer? No Anslem? His heart sank. 
"Provide location and occupation of a human female named Kasidy Yates." 

"There are 834 individuals with that designation in the Federation 
database. Please specify the individual." 

He spelled her full name and gave the computer her birthdate. 

"That individual is registered as the captain of the civilian freight 
transport Xhosa." 

Of course she was. "Specify the last five ports the Xhosa has docked 
at." 

"Andoria. Andoria. Andoria-" 

"Enough." Hm. Andoria was close to the Romulan Neutral Zone. Apparently 
Kasidy had found a lucrative market elsewhere. "Is Captain Yates 
married?" 

"Federation databases contain no personal information for this 
individual." 

He thought for a minute. "Locate parents of Dr. Julian Bash- of Dr. 
Julian Sisko." He wondered again why the doctor had changed his name. 

"Richard and Amsha Bashir are deceased. Cause of death: groundcar 
accident. Date and place of death: Stardate 46978.14, London, Britain, 
Earth." 

Oh God, Christmas Eve. He wondered if he was supposed to even know 
about the enhancements now. "Was Dr. Sisko ever considered as a model 
for the Emergency Medical Holographic program?" 

"Dr. Sisko was originally considered by Dr. Zimmerman for the EMH 
program. He was eliminated from contention on the advice of his 
commanding officer." 

Interesting. The advice itself must have been verbal because after 
looking for 15 minutes he couldn't find any letters to Dr. Zimmerman in 
his records. Unfortunately the nature of the advice would remain 
unknown since from what he could find he hadn't exactly been an epic 
diarist in this timeline either. He grabbed his baseball (at least he 
still had that) and-- 

He looked around his office again. No Buck Bokai card. 

He sighed and brought up the personnel roster on his monitor. 

* Station Commander, Captain Benjamin Sisko. 
* Bajoran Liaison Officer, Colonel Navarch Kira Nalas.
* Assistant Bajoran Liaison Officer, Major Kira Nerys, currently on 
pregnancy leave. 

Of course, he thought as he tossed the ball. He had forgotten that 
Bajoran men traditionally took their wives' family names. He wondered 
how Li and Kira persuaded the Bajoran government to go for two liaison 
officers. 

"Computer, who is the current Kai of Bajor?" 

"The current Kai of Bajor is Opaka Sulan." 

That might be the reason. Sisko smiled in anticipation of seeing Opaka 
again. 

* Chief of Station Security, Lt. Commander Michael Eddington. 

Damn. His face fell. 

* Head Science Officer, Lt. Commander Jadzia Dax.

Thank the Prophets she was alive! 

* Chief Medical Officer, Dr. Julian Sisko. 
* Chief of Station Operations, Master CPO Miles O'Brien. 
* Head of Station Intelligence, Lt. Commander Thras.

Why the hell had they stuck him with a head of station intelligence? He 
pulled up the relevant records. She was Andorian, forty-eight years of 
age. Numerous commendations. Now that was interesting: he had been the 
one to request an intelligence officer after the Admiralty had advised 
him that Elim Garak was the son of the head of the Obsidian Order. He 
hadn't given it much thought in his original timeline, given that Garak 
was both illegitimate and an exile and therefore virtually powerless. 
Thras's record mentioned that Garak had left Deep Space Nine about six 
months after she had arrived. He snorted; how nice of her to solve a 
problem he had never had. He wondered if Thras had done anything to 
curb Eddington or if DS9 was still the central delivery port for the 
Maquis. 

"Describe the current state of the Maquis." 

"The Maquis was disbanded after the return of the Demilitarized Zone to 
the Federation on Stardate 49124.0." 

Hmph. Eddington hadn't joined the Maquis in the original timeline until 
just after that date. If he had never been involved with them...no, he 
still didn't trust the bastard. "Display service record of Lieutenant-
Commander Eddington." Nothing out of the normal...a commendation for 
bravery for apprehending a Vulcan murderer...up for promotion in a few 
months...hm, unmarried. No mention of Rebecca Sullivan. Maybe they had 
never met in this timeline. 

That didn't explain how the Federation had got the DMZ back. "Computer, 
describe the circumstances behind the return of the DMZ to the 
Federation." 

"The Demilitarized Zone was returned unilaterally to the Federation by 
the Cardassian Empire on the direct order of Emperor Elim Garak Tain." 

EMPEROR GARAK?!? 

The baseball rolled to the corner of his office. 

******

Seventy minutes later he looked away from the Cardassian history text 
file he had been reading and gazed out the viewport towards the 
Celestial Temple. Funny how he could tell where home was even though it 
was invisib -- it wasn't home any more, he told himself again. Deep 
Space Nine is home. How the hell he had gotten himself into- 

He sighed and returned to the text. The idea of a Cardassian emperor 
made sense in theory; after all, it had always been referred to as the 
Empire. Society had just reverted to what had been the norm before the 
military had overthrown the old dynasty. 

The identity of the man sitting on the imperial throne amazed him, 
though. He would have thought that Garak's status as the illegitimate 
son of a torturer might have meant something. And it did, apparently. 
Elim Garak had learned one salient fact about Shakespeare from his 
lunches with the doctor: the Bard's brilliance had first blossomed 
under the benevolent rule of a despot who was for most of her early 
life herself considered the illegitimate daughter of a torturer. 

Brilliant, dissimulating, unpredictable Elizabeth I had grasped and 
held on to the English throne for 45 years despite the fact that her 
only claim to it was a single disputed clause in the last will and 
testament of her syphilitic and possibly insane father. Her reign 
changed England from a poverty-stricken, culturally backwards 
hinterland into a major world power and a cultural behemoth. 

Garak had followed her example as closely as he could. He first somehow 
talked his father into staging a coup and re-establishing the monarchy, 
an easier task than expected given the average Cardassian's 
exasperation with the series of coups and counter-coups that had torn 
the Empire apart. The nearly-bloodless overthrow of the Detapa Council 
and the Central Command was over in a matter of hours. As the entire 
former Imperial family had been slaughtered centuries earlier, and as 
Tain was himself of very high social standing, it was simplicity itself 
to suggest that he don the gold. Given Tain's health, the prejudices 
among Cardassians against illegitimate children, and the necessity of 
an heir, it became essential for the new Emperor to recognize his son. 
He did so immediately, marrying Garak's mother Mila and retroactively 
legitimizing him. A short period of empire-building followed; the 
cultural and many of the political exiles were recalled. Monies 
earmarked for military offensives were redirected towards defense and 
exploration. 

When the inevitable happened six Cardassian months later and Tain's 
already weak heart gave out under the pressures of Empire (or so the 
story went), Garak inherited the throne with the Empress Mother at his 
side and continued his father's benevolent rule and good works. One of 
the first of these under his own name was the return of the DMZ to the 
Federation. In the new Emperor's gracious words it was nothing more 
than a simple show of good faith to his well-beloved and trusty 
Federation neighbours, but the Federation regarded it in a somewhat 
different light; Sisko had been shocked to read that the common 
Starfleet term for the DMZ handover (as popularized by an Admiral 
Barron) was "Julian Bashir's Wedding Present." 

"Computer, where and when did the wedding of Benjamin Sisko and Julian 
Bashir take place?" 

"The wedding ceremony of Captain Benjamin Sisko and Dr. Julian Bashir 
was held on Deep Space Nine on Stardate 49125.2." 

No wonder Barron had called it that. The author of the text had 
mentioned in a footnote that Elizabeth I was thought to have done a 
similar thing for the Prince of Cleves with respect to an island in the 
North Sea. Sisko snorted; she probably called him well-beloved and 
trusty too. 

He wondered if the Cardassian people realized they were being ruled by 
a man consciously patterning himself after an ancient Human autocrat, 
or if they did know whether they would care. If the text he had read 
was accurate, Cardassian culture seemed to be flourishing as wildly as 
had Elizabethan England's, and its economy was responding in kind. 
Cardassia's inflation rate had decreased to less than 2% per annum and 
the Empire's gross domestic product was increasing at a rate of over 
1.5% per quarter. Trade had skyrocketed and the birth rate had finally 
begun to increase for the first time in over 100 years. 

He hadn't seen mention of any poems comparing Garak to the sun or the 
faerie queene yet; he suspected that'd come soon enough. Gloriana 
indeed. 

The Cardassian history text had also included details of what his 
barebones staff roster had only hinted at: the Federation was at war, 
but not in this area of space. The attack by the Romulan Star Empire on 
the Andorian settlements two years earlier had taken Starfleet's 
attention away from Cardassia and its unusual but increasingly stable 
and friendly government. Sisko remained at DS9 due to his position as 
Emissary and likely would for the balance of his career, but the real 
excitement in the quadrant had shifted to another sector. He didn't 
know if he minded. Then again, he didn't know if he would trust Garak 
as far as he could throw the station in truegrav, either. 

"Computer, time." 

"The time is 0438." 

He decided he'd better bone up on station business before the beginning 
of Alpha shift in an hour and a half. From what Bashir - Julian - had 
said, there had been a suspicious death on the station a few days 
earlier. Of course there would always be the usual civilian problems, 
and Prophets knew whether Dukat was still alive and hanging around 
being his normal Dukat ex machina. He wondered if he had ever found 
Ziyal. If not and if Dukat were dead, he could -- but no. Recovering 
Ziyal would be a deliberate change and could be one of the events Q had 
warned him against. "Computer, what is the last known location of Gul 
S.G. Dukat?" 

"Legate Senn Dukat is the captain of the Mila-class expedition ship 
Dakor." 

That man falls on his feet every time. "Has the Dakor ever docked at 
Deep Space Nine and is it scheduled to dock in the future?" 

"The Dakor departed Deep Space Nine eleven days, fourteen hours, eleven 
minutes ago. No estimated date of return has been filed." 

"What is the last known residence of -- child of Legate Dukat, given 
name Ziyal?" 

"The Lady-in-Waiting Ziyal resides at The Imperial Mansion, Dakura 
City, Cardassia Prime." 

Lady-in-Waiting? It started as a snicker. What the hell did the man 
think he was playing at? He was wiping the tears from his face a moment 
later, imagining Garak in a big ruffled collar and a hoop skirt, when 
his door chimed. 

"Come. Dax! Old man! I-" He tried to calm down. She was really alive! 

"I couldn't stop thinking about those keralium samples. I came in to 
check the results and saw your light on. So what are you cackling 
about?" 

He shook his head and willed himself not to grab her and spin her 
around the room. "Had a bad nightmare about those voles, so I came in 
early but I couldn't work. For some reason I decided to read up on the 
Emperor." 

Dax gave him a sympathetic look. "From one nightmare to another? God, 
what's he done now? Wasn't Minok Nor enough?" 

"I, um..." 

"Remember Barron?" She imitated the man. "Your Imperial Majesty, 
although I'm sure Dr. Sisko very much appreciates your most kind 
gesture, I'm unsure as to what a Starfleet physician would do with his 
own personal space station." She resumed her own voice. "Ben, I don't 
know what the hell you've got, but I hope you realize how lucky you 
are." 

"I do realize it, old man," he lied. Space station? "It's just that - 
when I was reading the history text I kept imagining Garak - have you 
ever seen that picture of Elizabeth I in the British National Portrait 
Gallery on Earth?" 

She reached over and squeezed his hand. ""He's getting to you, isn't 
he? Ben, forget about it. He doesn't even like to hear about him, you 
know that." 

He did now. "I know." He looked up at her, wildly improvising. "I 
haven't heard anything from Prime; no planets or DMZs or warships, not 
even a runabout. I was just wallowing, I suppose." 

"Well, there's three days left, so don't let your guard down." 

"What?" 

"Don't tell me you've forgotten!" 

"Well, no, I, uh-" Oh God, he knew he'd slip eventually. 

"Tell me you remembered his birthday!" 

Now this he had experience handling. "Of course I did! I thought it was 
four days from now, not three. I didn't sleep last night and got messed 
up." He looked up; she was staring at him with her arms crossed and one 
eyebrow raised. "Not buying that one, huh." 

"I've been a man for about 150 years longer than you have. And need I 
remind you that he's a man too?" 

"Damn." He'd better check if he'd bought anything. 

"You've got 72 hours, Ben. Wow him." She stood up, winked and left for 
Ops. 

He watched her leave, wondering for a moment what had happened to Ezri 
Tigan. 

He engaged the office security lock and went to use his private 
washroom. Had she been checking up on him? For all he knew, he could be 
a rebel in this timeline and Thras and Dax were investigating him. On 
the other hand, after last night maybe Kira Nalas had asked her to 
check that he wasn't planning on throwing the Bajoran out an airlock. 
It had already become crystal clear that he shouldn't make assumptions 
about his relationships with his staff based on what they were in the 
original timeline. 

He had been in the timeline for less than four hours and already he had 
a throbbing headache. 

As he washed, dried, and sanitized his hands he studied his reflection 
in the mirror. He was normally somewhat shy when it came to dating. He 
had been in a few short-term relationships before he had met Jennifer 
and he had gone out on dates once or twice on the station before Jake 
had introduced him to Kasidy, but he'd never looked at any subordinate 
officer (well, other than Jadzia) as anything other than a colleague. 
Specifically, he'd never looked at Julian Bashir as anything other than 
a colleague, and a mildly exasperating one at that. But here he was 
married to Julian, and from what little he had seen the marriage seemed 
normal. 

The Q's voice came back to him: 'One small change could cause more 
damage in the long run than you could ever expect.' It wasn't one small 
change for him -- it was more like a tectonic upheaval, to put it 
mildly -- but he would have to go along with it if he wanted to avoid 
the kind of situation Q had suggested was possible. It was just...it 
made no sense to him whatsoever. Marriage to one of the upper pylons 
seemed just as likely. For all he knew, Julian could be the one spying 
on him as a Section 31 plant. 

Nothing made a goddamn bit of sense. 

Hell. He had a space station to command and there was a war going on. 
There were more important things to worry about at the moment. He 
exited the restroom and returned to his desk to review the day's 
business.

******

Chapter 3 

****** 

"Murder, Commander?" 

Eddington's face was grim. "Although the autopsy was inconclusive as to 
the cause of death due to the amount of vole damage, Mr. Salo and I 
found evidence in level 4, section 14 of the Habitat Ring suggesting 
that a large amount of the victim's blood had been shed in that 
location approximately sixteen days ago. In addition, station services 
reports that a 15 centimetre long kitchen knife was recycled in a 
public replicator on level 4 on stardate 52872.2." 

Sisko frowned as he considered the evidence in front of him. A Human 
sex worker had also been attacked in the Habitat Ring only six weeks 
earlier; was this the beginning of a serial killer? "Was there any 
pathological evidence that this was a knife murder, Doctor?" He 
wondered what he was supposed to call the man. 

"None, but there wasn't much soft tissue remaining. The voles had 
destroyed virtually everything but the skeletal structure and the skin 
of the back, and there were no identifiable knife marks on either." 

Sisko shuddered. "Continue, Mr. Eddington." 

"Taking the information gained during the autopsy into consideration 
and based on the progress of the...nesting...in the remains, the doctor 
and I have estimated that the victim had been dead for approximately 
eleven days by the time she was found. Fifteen days prior to the 
discovery, a sex worker named Toreth Adain left Bajor for parts 
unknown. She was reported missing two days ago on Bajor by friends." He 
brought up a picture of a smiling young woman on the conference room 
viewscreen. Sisko pressed his fist to his mouth: a greater contrast to 
the crime scene holos he'd reviewed this morning couldn't have been 
imagined. "She does fit the general description of the remains, but she 
doesn't have DNA on file with the Bajoran authorities or any known 
relatives so we haven't been able to make a definite match yet." 

"She hadn't been arrested before?" O'Brien asked. 

"Prostitution isn't illegal on Bajor, Chief. She had a clean criminal 
record." Eddington darkened the screen. "The authorities in Hathon are 
in the process of collecting DNA from her personal effects. It'll be 
five or so days before they can process it; they're backlogged due to a 
labour dispute. Pursuant to your instructions, Captain, I've sent 
copies of our previous daily updates to the Deputy Superintendent of 
the Hathon Police Service. I'll include her in any future updates once 
there's a positive match." 

"Thank you. In the meantime: Colonel, go through our traffic with Bajor 
and find out if and or when Toreth Adain arrived on the station. I 
suspect that if she is our victim, she probably arrived under an 
assumed name." 

"Aye, Sir," Kira Nalas said, looking somewhat uncomfortable. He must 
have gotten that earful from Bashir. 

No, think of him as Julian, Sisko told himself. He hasn't used the name 
Bashir for almost four years. 

He turned to Jadzia. "Dax, we've had murders on the station before. If 
I recall correctly, we've even had bodies at large on the station for 
more than a few days, but I've never heard of the voles using remains 
to nest in. I'd like you and Julian to take a closer look at the body 
and see if the remains have been subjected to anything that would make 
them more attractive to voles." He returned to Eddington. "I assume 
your other inquiries are proceeding?" 

"There are 843 individuals who are known to have been on Deep Space 
Nine both when Mia Kendricks was attacked and at some point during the 
time frame in which this victim was murdered," Eddington said. "Of 
those, 236 are known to have criminal records--" 

"That many?" O'Brien interjected. 

"A remote space station is a good place to hide," Julian said quietly. 

Sisko suddenly felt a burning behind his temples. What was that buzzing 
sound? He glanced out the viewport towards the Celestial Temple. 

"--and 85 more might have criminal records, but we're not sure because 
we don't have a clue as to who they really are. I have my deputies 
conducting inquiries on station residents and the Bajoran authorities 
are handling matters planetside, but there are a lot of potential 
suspects that have just disappeared." 

"The Cardassian authorities are interrogating the crews of the Dakor 
and the Great Tain," Thras, the Andorian intelligence chief, said. 
"They've also identified two private freighters which may have been in 
the vicinity of Deep Space Nine and are attempting to locate them. 
Glinn Mardoc has promised us full co-operation." 

Dax turned to Thras. "If they can give us a general idea of where the 
ships might have been, I'll go through the sensor logs for those days 
and see whether they came within transporter range." 

"What a mess," Kira Nalas said. "I feel like sending Nerys down to 
Dakhur until we find the guy who did this." 

His eyes narrowed as the buzz turned into a hum of undecipherable 
voices. What were they trying to tell him? 

"It might not be a man," Julian pointed out. "One of the most vicious 
sex killers on 22nd century Earth was a woman." He turned to Kira 
Nalas. "Do you think she could fight someone off in her condition?" 

"Not in the least. She can't even see her feet right now, let alone 
kick somebody." 

Why wasn't anybody else paying attention to them? He had to do 
something, to get them to notice, to reach out -- 

"Colonel, I don't think the Major is the least bit in peril," Julian 
said as he gave Sisko a sidelong look. "However, we all defer to your 
judgment and hers. If you're that concerned, please, take a runabout 
and --" 

"They're calling me," Sisko interrupted. His voice was barely a 
whisper. "They have a message." 

The table went silent. 

Nalas spoke first. "I'll notify the Kai's office." 

"I'll get Dr. Riis to take over this afternoon," Julian said. "Miles, 
can you have a runabout ready for us in about thirty minutes?" 

"Consider it done." 

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Kira Nalas move to the terminal in 
the corner of the conference room and request a direct line to the 
office of the head of state as O'Brien left the room. 

But why were the Prophets calling him like this? 

******

"This had better be important. I'm missing Morn's monthly toenail 
fungus appointment." 

He looked over to see Julian grinning at him from the pilot's chair. 
"Forgive the unfortunate timing." He shut his eyes again as the murmurs 
became louder. 

"They're insistent today, aren't they?" 

Sisko had been surprised to see most of the station's residents 
plastered against the viewports on the Temple side -- until he 
remembered that he and his companion were the only ones allowed into 
the Celestial Temple, so its opening must be rare and special indeed. 

"I'm a bit foggy." That was an understatement. This hadn't happened in 
the old timeline, not like this. Never like this. They had never 
actually called him... 

"That's okay, hun; you always are when this happens." A medical 
tricorder whirred faintly over the cries and susurrations. "I think 
that's why the Prophets chose a physician. It just seems that you're a 
bit more upset than usual today." 

He tried to finish his thought. "How did you know? That you were..." 

"The Companion?" Julian finished his sentence. 

So he was. "How did you know? For yourself, I mean." 

"Well, one of the Prophets telling me was a clue. Another was when the 
Kai made that trip up from Bajor to order me to marry you. But more 
than that, I just knew." He sighed. "It must be almost impossible at 
times for the Bajorans to keep their faith knowing that their gods 
chose an alien to represent them. Imagine how humans would feel if a 
Cardassian were elected Pope or president of the Natio-" 

The Celestial Temple and Sisko's mind both suddenly blazed open. 

******

The voices were gone; he was abandoned, alone. He felt a hypospray at 
his neck. 

"Hey there, take it easy. Just something to stabilize your heartrate. 
How do you feel?" 

"Bett-" He took a sip from a glass of water that was suddenly pressed 
to his lips. "Better than before," he got out. "How long was I with 
them?" 

"Quite a long time. About three hours," Julian said, his voice 
sympathetic. "We'll dock in about thirty minutes -- I'm taking us in 
slowly. Every Bajoran on the station is going to know what the Prophets 
wanted, so try to rest before we get there." 

"Every Bajoran on the station is going to have to wait." 

"What is it?" 

He blinked his eyes open. "They've provided me with the location of an 
Orb." 

The navigation console beeped out a warning; Julian quickly returned to 
the pilot's seat to enter in a course correction. "Do the Cardassians 
have this one too?" 

So this isn't the first, Sisko thought. "Apparently so. It was removed 
from Bajor as a spoil of war at the beginning of the Occupation by some 
glinn who from what I saw apparently thought his wife would appreciate 
a new crystal centerpiece. Nobody in the government has a clue it's 
even on the planet." 

"Sounds like the kind of thing they'd be happy to give back. A public 
relations coup at no cost to them." 

"I'll speak with the Kai," Sisko said. "It's probably best that the 
negotiations go through her anyway." He couldn't tell Julian that the 
real reason the Prophets had revealed the location of the Orb of Time 
was to help him with the gaps in his knowledge of the current timeline. 
He also couldn't describe the utter joy that the meeting had brought 
them. 

From his perspective, he had been separated from them for only a few 
hours, but from their perspective it had been an interminably painful 
wait. The Prophets had been calling him to the Celestial Temple like 
this for seven years, vainly attempting to re-establish the mental 
connection he had shared with them for so long. They couldn't 
comprehend that the Benjamin Sisko who had arrived at Deep Space Nine 
with his wife and son wouldn't remember what would happen to him 35 
years later in another time stream. But today they had found him again. 
Today he was able to explain to them what had happened and why he 
hadn't been able to fully join with them previously. 

The station loomed in the distance; Julian suddenly laughed. "It really 
does look like a big grey spider, doesn't it? Can you imagine she turns 
three next month?" He shook his head. "Sometimes Ben, I just wish." 

He had no idea what the man was talking about. God, keeping up when he 
was 100% was bad enough. 

"It's just - I suppose I miss her. I miss playing with her and watching 
her run around and sometimes I just wish -- well, if wishes were 
horses, hm, hun?" 

"I suppose," Ben said, completely mystified. After a moment, he asked, 
"Did the Prophets say anything to you?" 

"One of them - the one that takes my shape - spoke with me. He said you 
were undergoing a great trial and that I 'was required to support the 
Sisko as he faced this challenge'. Is it about the Orb?" 

"Partly. I - we're going to have to go down to the planet surface for a 
while once the Orb arrives on Bajor and we can get some time off." He 
looked down at his hands. He couldn't tell him the truth, but he was 
worried the man would hear an outright lie. "But there's also something 
else, something I can't tell you about. I don't really know much about 
it myself-" but he stopped when a pair of large, long-fingered hands 
covered his. He looked up into Julian's face. 

"Ben, we're Starfleet officers. I wouldn't have become involved with 
you if I hadn't realized there'd be times you couldn't share everything 
with me. You're going to be involved in situations that I don't have 
security clearance for. It's part of the job there, and it's part of 
the job here. Don't worry about it." 

He nodded. "Thanks." For some reason he felt like a first-class heel. 

The docking alarm sounded. "Ready?" He nodded, and with a series of 
clicks and clangs the airlocks connected and opened and they were back 
on the station. He found himself being herded to his office amid the 
murmurs of an enormous number of station residents who apparently 
wanted to greet, touch, or be blessed by the Emissary. Behind him, he 
heard Julian saying something about the Emissary being fatigued and 
having to consult with the Navarch and the Kai and please make way for 
him and some such. Before he knew it he was in his office in front of 
his terminal staring at the face of a woman he had last seen years 
before, accepting her fate as one of thousands trapped by disease on a 
desolate planet in the Gamma Quadrant. 

"Emissary, do the Prophets give us joy or challenge on this day?" 

"Your Eminence," he replied, "They may have given us the directions to 
both." 

******

2503, the chrono said. 

How his father hated that word. 'It's a clock, Benjamin,' he could hear 
him say. 'Clock. It's a simpler word, more precise, easier to 
understand. Chrono is nothing but bullshit militaristic Starfleet 
jargon.' He smiled. No chronos or fresher rooms or cyclers for his dad. 
They were clocks, bathrooms, recycling stations. He had a point, 
especially in New Orleans with all the analog clocks still standing. 
There was that one right by the restaurant with a big brass bell that 
would ring out the hours day and night. Every time he visited home he'd 
spend the first night trying to get used to it. Father said it had 
survived the flooding in 2005, but Ben suspected somebody had built it 
a century or so later and painted in the 'water damage' to make it look 
more touristy. God knew how common that was. Humans preferred tales of 
mystery and of victory over adversity to boring reality. If the dull 
truth wasn't attractive, make up a good lie and nobody would question 
it. 

Perhaps that was why nobody had questioned him yet. He must have 
slipped up once or twice -- it'd have been impossible not to have -- 
but nobody, not even the man sleeping beside him, had mentioned a 
thing. Granted it had been a bizarre 23 hours, and granted that unlike 
his travels to the mirror universe he was the same person as the 
Benjamin Sisko who had existed before 0200 that morning, but still he 
would have thought it'd be obvious. Before the afternoon briefing he 
had come within seconds of asking Chief O'Brien about his wife and 
children. Only Li Nalas -- Kira Nalas, he corrected himself -- 
interrupting them had saved him from an enormous mistake. In this 
timeline, Miles O'Brien was divorced and only had one daughter, Molly, 
whom he hadn't seen in almost two years. 

Ben had been exhausted after his conference with the Kai, but after she 
finally had dismissed him he spent time reading his station logs and 
the senior officers' personnel records hoping to learn something more 
about his family and the people he worked with. One thing he had 
learned was that Kirayoshi O'Brien had never been born. The shuttle 
accident which in his timeline had forced Dr. Bashir to transplant the 
fetus from Professor O'Brien to Major Kira had somehow turned out 
differently. The loss had driven a wedge between the O'Briens; 
Professor O'Brien had left Deep Space Nine for Earth two years ago, 
taking Molly with her. 

Strangely, that crash was one of the few similarities between his 
original timeline and this one. The station logs had only confirmed 
what he had suspected: virtually all of the events of the last ten 
years differed from those in his original timeline. He hadn't been 
thrown back to the 21st century and been forced to impersonate Gabriel 
Bell, hadn't been drawn into the mirror universe to match wits with a 
mad Intendant, had never fought for the future of Bajor with (or even 
met, as far as he could tell from his quick scan of the logs) Winn 
Adami. His own service record showed that after he and his family had 
escaped the Saratoga he had taught tactics at Starfleet Academy for two 
years before being posted to Deep Space Nine as commander. He and 
Jennifer had separated about ten months after they had arrived on the 
station, but given the newsy letter that had arrived from her that 
evening it seemed as if their relationship was still very friendly. The 
logs also showed that Jake had stayed with him almost every summer 
since he and Jennifer had left the station, so apparently they were 
still close. He himself had been promoted to captain a full two years 
earlier than in his original timeline; perhaps the years teaching at 
the Academy had made the difference. 

There were of course no notes in the official logs as to why he and 
Jennifer had divorced. It would have been easier had he recorded more 
than a handful of personal logs over the years. He wasn't surprised; he 
had never been much of a diarist, and when he did get around to 
recording a log more often than not he ended up deleting it. It was 
just that leaving his personal reflections of the events around him 
seemed to him an invasion of his privacy by future generations. Future 
generations: he didn't trust his own superiors to go rooting through 
them. There was that one time with the Romulans, for instance. If they 
had ever known what had really happened, he'd have been court-
martialled and probably sentenced to life in prison. No matter that the 
Romulan entry into the war -- 

-- he sighed and rolled on his back. In the end it hadn't meant a damn 
thing. 

"Can't sleep?" Julian asked. 

"Just thinking about today," he lied. Q be damned: he wished he'd had 
the guts to sleep on the sofa. 

"What did the Kai have to say?" 

"She wasn't surprised that Cardassia had another orb, of course, but I 
think she was disappointed that they hadn't deliberately been keeping 
it back for some nefarious purpose." He felt a hand caress his chest 
and suppressed a tremor of panic. "But, as she said, the Prophets don't 
lie to the Emissary, so she contacted -- Cardassia-" 

"You mean the Emperor." Julian snuggled closer and rested his head on 
Ben's shoulder. 

"--and he'll be here tomorrow at 1400 hours with the Orb." 

He chuckled. "That was fast." 

"He has a state visit planned to Simar; we're on the way anyway. Garak 
wants good relations with Bajor, and as you said this is a cheap way to 
score a--" 

--and soft lips kissed him under his left ear, just where he loved to 
be kissed, as the hand that had been moving over his chest snuck under 
his waistband. "Let's save the galactic politics for tomorrow, hey?" 
Julian whispered in his ear before his mouth returned to the sensitive 
areas of his throat. 

-- oh Prophets yes, don't panic, just let him--so good--can't--and he 
turned and met the full lips with his own, sucked the tongue into his 
mouth, thrust his hardening erection into Julian's eager hand, ran his 
fingers down the man's long back, cupped his buttocks--ah yes-- 

"Infirmary to Dr. Sisko." 

"DAMN!" Julian sat up and reached for his comm badge. "What is it?" 

"Doctor, there's been an explosion aboard a Simaran civilian transport 
on its way to DS9. They're fifteen minutes away at maximum warp. Their 
duty officer is reporting 35 serious injuries, 23 minor injuries and 8 
deaths." 

"Understood. I'll be there in five minutes. Stand by." He jumped out of 
bed; Ben followed him, trying to catch his breath, handing him the 
uniform which had again found its way into the corner chair. He 
continued to give orders to the infirmary staff while dressing. "Call 
in all station medical personnel. Set up Cargo Bay 4 as a triage 
centre. Make sure Ops knows we'll need them to transport injured 
civilians between the ship, Cargo Bay 4, and the Infirmary on short 
notice. Find out what caused the explosion; issue radiation and/or 
hazmat suits if necessary." He looked at Ben. "Are there any Galaxy-
class starships in dock?" 

"The Excelsior's docked at upper pylon 2," Ben managed to say as he 
handed Julian his boots. 

"Infirmary, stand by. Dr. Sisko to duty physician, USS Excelsior, 
priority one message." 

The reply came thirty seconds later. "Warner, go ahead." 

"Dr. Warner, we have multiple major casualties incoming from a Simaran 
passenger-" The doors of their quarters closed behind him. 

Ben returned to the bedroom still panting. The change between the lover 
and the dedicated medical man couldn't have been more complete but was 
understandable and in fact highly commendable. But what the hell had 
happened to him? 

Was the overwhelming desire he had so unexpectedly felt simply a 
conditioned response learned by his body after years of intimacy, or 
had he actually been attracted to the man in his old timeline and 
repressed it? He supposed it didn't matter much at this point, but the 
fact that he had responded so eagerly to Julian's caresses had confused 
him to the point of senselessness. He had been lucky that the hail had 
been for Julian and not for him, since he wouldn't have been coherent 
enough to answer. 

He checked with Ops and confirmed that everything was under control, 
then crawled under the covers and tried to relax enough to get to 
sleep. His last thought before falling into an uneasy slumber was that 
he was either very fortunate or very unfortunate that he hadn't woken 
up that morning next to Morn. 

******

Chapter 4 

****** 

He was becoming more successful at fighting down the urge to laugh. His 
Imperial Majesty Emperor Elim Garak Tain I might have modelled himself 
after Elizabeth I in many ways, but his wardrobe was strictly Louis 
XIV. Lower heels, though. 

"My dear Captain Sisko, I do thank you for your hospitality in allowing 
us to meet with Kai Opaka on Deep Space Nine at such short notice. Of 
course, 26 hours ago none of us save the Prophets even knew that the 
Orb - of Time, you say?" 

"That's correct, your Imperial Majesty," Sisko replied. Good Lord, was 
that a wig? 

"The Orb of Time, then -- was in Cardassian hands, let alone in a 
plastiform box in a storage unit in Jindal City." He looked over the 
station's senior staff with an air of bored grandeur. "I see Starfleet 
has finally engaged the services of a decent tailor, Captain. The new 
dress uniforms are quite adequate." He smiled at Sisko's intelligence 
officer. "Commander Thras, how pleasant to see you." 

"Your Imperial Majesty." The Andorian's antennae quivered and turned 
slightly towards the Emperor. 

He returned to Sisko's side. "I'm sorry to see that the dear doctor was 
unavoidably detained, but that terrible accident -- a Simaran 
transport, wasn't it?" 

"Yes, a passenger carrier. He's been in surgery all night." 

The Emperor's heavy gold satin brocade robes rustled regally as Sisko 
escorted him and his sixteen attendants towards the reception area. 
"Such dedication to his duties. It's a very large part of what makes 
him who he is, and it's something we Cardassians understand. Since we 
believe the State must come before everything, we naturally respect an 
individual who puts any aspect of the State, including the physical 
well-being of its subjects, above his own petty concerns." Sisko 
detected a tiny hint of rancour in Garak's last few words. "The State 
cannot function without healthy subjects." 

"Naturally. I take it then you approve of Kai Opaka's edicts?" 

"The ones promoting an increase in the birth rate? Considering the 
losses her people suffered during that ridiculous Occupation, I think 
it quite sensible." He moved closer to Sisko as they walked. "And as 
you well know, I don't say that merely in the service of public 
relations either, Captain. Emperor Tain honestly had no idea. I will 
admit that it was the Order's fault in part that the corruption wasn't 
discovered at the time." He shook his head sadly. "The uridium could 
have come from one of any number of uninhabited systems. The State was 
weakened, thousands of its best men were sent to their deaths, and for 
what? So that a handful of legates and guls could enjoy beachfront 
houses, opulent numbers of mistresses, and stables of riding hounds. It 
is truly unfortunate that we didn't have more Senn Dukats back then." 

"Dukats?" Sisko blurted out as they neared the reception room. What 
the- 

"But one man can only do so much, especially in such a situation. Well, 
you know as well as I do what kind of a man he is. My mother has taken 
quite a liking to Ziyal and the little one. You must be - Ah, Captain, 
here we are." 

A totally mystified Sisko stepped aside and allowed Garak to enter the 
antechamber ahead of him. The Emperor took his place in front of the 
Kai, who was flanked by a sextet of vedeks. Kira Nalas stood to the 
vedeks' left in his capacity as Navarch while Sisko took his place at 
their right in his capacity as Emissary. Six legates, Damar among them, 
and six guls were lined up behind Garak; all wore the heavily ornate 
dress uniform whose design dated back to the old Empire. Four glinns in 
matching uniforms were guiding a large familiar-looking case containing 
the Orb through the chamber doors. The station's senior staff, 
including a very pregnant Kira Nerys, had followed the Emperor and 
Sisko through the corridors and were now lined up along the sides of 
the room. 

He took a moment to take a look around. According to the station 
records it had been Commander Thras's idea to turn part of the old 
uridium mining facilities into a reception complex. Her stated reasons 
to Starfleet were logical: the area was a security risk as it was, and 
the numerous meetings between the Federation, the Bajoran government 
and the then Cardassian military government on the subject of the 
Maquis required a larger area than could be otherwise found on Deep 
Space Nine outside of a holosuite. To the Kai, she had also pointed out 
that if there were any paghs of former Bajoran slaves still imprisoned 
in the mining facilities, removing the tools of their slavery and 
deaths and turning the area into a symbol of Bajoran self-determination 
would surely free them and allow them to join the Prophets. The 
facility was made up of a large reception room that could seat 500, two 
smaller rooms including the antechamber they were currently using, and 
a number of conference rooms and offices on the second level. It was an 
excellent use of the space; he wished he had thought of it in his 
previous timeline. 

"Your Eminence," Garak said with an elegant bow and a flourish of his 
robes, "thank you for allowing me the privilege of meeting with you on 
this occasion. On behalf of the Cardassian Empire and its people, I 
extend our sincere apologies for having removed this Tear of the 
Prophets from Bajor. I would ask that you accept the return of the Orb 
without conditions or reservations." 

Opaka inclined her head slightly, the force of her personality filling 
the room and making her simple robes appear more royal than Garak's 
ornate fur-edged brocades. "Your Imperial Majesty, since your accession 
and that of your father, the road to peace has been smoothed beyond our 
greatest expectations. This act of redemption has once again shown that 
the Cardassian Empire has the best interests of its own people and of 
the people of Bajor at heart. Bajor accepts the return of the Orb and 
thanks its Cardassian brethren for their understanding in returning it 
to its rightful home with such speed and respect." 

"Damar, Maran: bring the Orb forward." The legates snapped to 
attention, took the case from the glinns, and maneuvered the antigrav 
cart so that the Orb rested to Garak's right. 

The Kai looked apprehensively at the wooden and glass structure as the 
vedeks took charge of it. "It's in a very unusual box, Emperor. Is it 
Cardassian in design?" 

"Actually, Kai, it's an antique from ancient Earth. 19th century 
Japanese, if my state xenohistorian is correct. The Orb itself was 
found in amongst packing material. I didn't think it appropriate to 
return it as it was found, but I knew that whichever monastery it went 
to would either have a structure already prepared or would prefer to 
have one specially built. Perhaps once the Orb is settled in its new 
home, the case could find a new home on Deep Space Nine with the 
Emissary and his charming companion?" 

"Of course, Emperor," the Kai said, heading off what appeared to be 
startled looks from both the Starfleet contingent and the Emperor's own 
staff. "How gracious of you." 

"Not at all," Garak replied. "Although there are treasures which 
perhaps should belong to those who would appreciate them the most, I 
think we both can agree that items of cultural and religious 
significance should wherever possible belong to members of the society 
which created them." 

Sisko noticed Chief O'Brien flushing to the roots of his hair and gave 
him a quick stern look. "I understand you have a state visit planned 
this evening on Simar, your Imperial Majesty," he said politely to 
Garak. 

"Emissary, you are absolutely correct, and if I don't hurry I'm afraid 
the Simarans will be displeased. As you know, they are sticklers for 
punctuality, and after the dreadful disaster that befell their planet 
today I would not dream of causing them any further dismay. Your 
Eminence, my apologies for the extreme brevity of my visit. I do hope 
that one day it will be possible for the two of us to meet in more 
cordial surroundings, either on Cardassia or on Bajor." 

"Perhaps that day will come soon, Your Imperial Majesty. Your actions 
and those of Emperor Tain towards Bajor during the past four years have 
spoken to our peoples' hearts. I trust that one day you will be welcome 
on our home world." 

"I thank you for your kind words and for your optimism, and assure you 
that as long as I live you will always be welcome on ours. I bid you 
peace, Your Eminence." 

Garak bowed and he and Sisko left, followed by their respective staffs. 

******

"Pompous ass." 

"Chief O'Brien," Sisko said wearily, "I remind you that Garak is now a 
head of state." 

The Irishman rolled his eyes as he sat back in his chair in the 
conference room. "Then he's a royally pompous ass. 'Charming companion' 
my foot." 

The captain was about to say something when he caught Commander Thras 
out of the corner of his eye. Her antennae were plastered to the back 
of her head and her cheeks were flushed a dark teal. "Ladies and 
gentlemen," he continued, "although our meeting with the Emperor this 
afternoon was fascinating-" 

"...treasures which should belong to those who would appreciate them 
the most..." 

"That's enough, Chief." 

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir." 

"As I was saying, although our meeting with the Emperor was 
fascinating, there are other events taking place on this station that 
require our attention." He nodded at Kira Nerys. "Major, thank you for 
returning to duty temporarily. We're a bit stretched with the Colonel 
taking charge of the Simaran ship; I appreciate your help. Commander 
Dax, Chief O'Brien, I understand you have updates on the explosion?" 

Dax brought up a graph on the viewscreen. "Simar has asked us to 
investigate the matter. Our preliminary studies show that the plasma 
leak was likely caused by a materials failure. Data from the ship's 
interior sensor logs show that..." 

Sisko kept one ear on the presentation while he contemplated what had 
happened that afternoon with Garak. The Emperor had been polite to a 
fault to everyone -- except him. He had been positively catty when they 
had been discussing Julian's dedication to duty, for instance, and his 
comment about the treasures made no sense at all. 

"...the warp plasma containment field was within normal tolerances. 
However, Lieutenant T'Para detected a crack in the left nacelle 
containment structure which appears to have propagated...." 

Then there had been the comment about Dukat. How could closing the 
wormhole make Garak and Dukat get along? 

"...and we're hoping to get an answer from the supplier within 24 
hours," O'Brien finished. 

"Thank you, Commander, Chief," Sisko replied. "I'll look forward to 
that report." He turned to Kira Nerys. "Major, I understand you have a 
report from the Infirmary?" 

She referred to her padd. "Simar is sending a hospital ship but it 
won't arrive here until 0500 tomorrow morning. The official casualty 
list as of 1500 hours is 51 deaths, 42 serious injuries, and 73 minor 
injuries. Most of the seriously injured are currently either in the 
Infirmary or in the holosickbay on the USS Excelsior." She shifted 
uncomfortably in her chair. "The Simarans are lucky the Excelsior was 
in dock." 

He frowned. "Those numbers are far worse than the original reports we 
received." 

"Apparently the bulk of the dead and injured were in the rear cabin," 
she replied. "The duty officer was himself seriously injured and didn't 
receive any reports of damage from that part of the ship until it was 
docked at Deep Space Nine. Incidentally, I sent Julian, Pauli Riis, and 
Sivok to their quarters about two hours ago to get some rest. Bajor's 
sent-" and she suddenly sneezed. "Excuse me. Bajor's sent up a team of 
nurses to cover until the Simaran hospital ship can evacuate the 
wounded. I've asked one of the doctors from the Excelsior, a Dr. 
Rurslak, to remain on call on Deep Space Nine for the next twelve 
hours." 

"Good idea. Some of our staff have been up for over 26 hours." 

"A little longer than that in some cases, from what I've heard," she 
said archly. "Something about poison ivy?" 

He raised an eyebrow at Nerys before turning his gaze to his security 
officer. "Mr. Eddington, any further developments in the murder 
investigation?" 

"Yes, sir. We've been able to positively identify the victim as Toreth 
Adain." 

"That was fast," Dax said. "I thought the Bajoran Investigation Bureau 
was backlogged." 

Eddington shrugged. "Apparently the authorities learned this morning 
that Ms. Toreth had an infant child." 

"Bloody hell," O'Brien muttered under his breath. "Poor thing." 

"The baby was in the hands of a professional caregiver. Apparently Ms. 
Toreth often left Bajor for seven to ten days at a time. The caregiver 
went to the police this morning because she hadn't heard from the 
mother in seventeen days. Hathon General Hospital was able to perform a 
quick blood match with the infant." 

"How old is the child?" Sisko asked. 

"Only twelve weeks," Eddington replied. "A little girl." 

The staff looked grim. "Find out who did this," Sisko said. "Nerys, if 
her friends don't want to give her a funeral..." 

"The Hathon police have already talked to them. Most of them are drug 
addicts and wireheads; they don't care much one way or the other. Vedek 
Ladam is more than willing to hold a service at the station temple. A 
few of the other sex workers are planning to perform the death chant. 
Leeta and I thought we'd go too." 

He nodded. It would be a fitting tribute to a young woman who had done 
her best to survive in a very difficult situation. Too many young 
orphaned Bajorans were illiterate, uneducated, and unemployable. Often 
sex work was the only thing they could do to earn a living wage. He was 
surprised to find Nerys so sympathetic towards the young men and women 
engaged in what Humans had once called 'the dismal trade' -- but of 
course in this timeline she likely didn't realize that her own mother 
had once been a comfort woman and one of Dukat's mistresses. 

He turned to the next point on the agenda. "We've just received word 
from Starfleet that the troop carrier Maharashtra..." 

****** 

God, what a long day. Cardassians, Simarans (he had barely heard of 
them before -- they had kept their distance in the old timeline), 
Ktarians, two troop transports on their way to the Romulan frontier, a 
number of personnel problems with the Bajoran (and, in some cases, 
Cardassian) staff who more or less ran the station, another Cardassian 
ship following Garak's, some admiral calling whining about something or 
other, and -- hell, he just didn't want to face coming home. 

Home, he thought again, as the doors closed behind him. Same Zulu 
masks, same wall hangings. He didn't recognize the painting on the far 
wall or, more interestingly, the school prize beside the spare bedroom 
door. He took a closer look. It had been awarded to Jacob Joséph Sisko 
from Lycée Lavoisier, Montpellier for excellence in Physique-Chemie. 
Below it there appeared to be a framed blank page - no, not blank; the 
sheet was signed James T. Kirk. Sisko had kept that souvenir in his 
office back - 

No, there is no more back, Ben. This is reality now. 

"Replicator's not working again," Julian called from the other room. "I 
tried to get dinner from it when I came home this afternoon and all it 
would give me was one of those horrid donair things. Then it spit flour 
or something white out at me. I put in a repair request for tomorrow 
morning." 

"Did you get anything to eat?" 

"Just a glass of water from the bathroom replicator before I took a 
nap." He came out of the bedroom yawning and stretching - and stark 
naked. 

Ben stared at him. "You're not wearing any clothes! What if I had 
brought somebody home with me?" 

He smirked. "At 2413? Ben, you know that if I heard you talking to 
somebody I'd have thrown something on before I walked out. I'm not an 
idiot." He sashayed up to Ben. 

Good Lord. Aesthetically, he had to admit that the man was gorgeous -- 
God, there should be a line-up halfway to Bajor for him -- but... "Um, 
well, I..." He backed up until his calves were touching the back of the 
sofa. 

"Ben, remember that horrible day? You told me that if I ever caught you 
acting like an old man I was supposed to tell you?" He put his hands on 
Ben's shoulders. "I'm telling you now. You're acting like." He kissed 
him on the forehead. "An old." He kissed him on the nose. "Man." He 
kissed him on the lips, hard. "Now stop it." He pushed Ben down into 
the corner of the sofa and straddled him. 

Part of him wanted to panic; part wanted to shove his way out and run 
out the door screaming; but part -- part just wanted to kiss Julian 
again. No, not just: oh God no, more than that. An involuntary groan 
escaped him as their bodies pressed together and their mouths met. His 
hands found Julian's buttocks almost of their own volition. So taut, 
round...oh God he loved a tight ass on a man... 

"I believe we have unfinished business from last night, my ancient 
one," Julian murmured in his ear. He squirmed in Ben's lap; their 
erections rubbed together through the fabric. "Maybe not so ancient, 
hm?" he purred. "You are, however, entirely too dressed." He sat up and 
unzipped Ben's jacket and turtleneck and pulled them off. 

Smooth skin touched as Julian leaned down to steal a kiss; Ben ran his 
hands through Julian's hair and across his shoulders, holding him down 
as he explored his mouth. Somehow his trousers became undone and they 
and his shorts were pushed down, down over his hips, over his straining 
erection, over his knees. Suddenly his feet were bare, then he was nude 
under Julian's sinewy body as the last of his clothing was removed. 

And oh the feeling of that body pressed into his...he let his hands 
explore from head to mid-thigh as Julian ground their hips and their 
cocks together. Such exquisite pleasure - he wasn't going to last long 
- 

"Oh baby - yes - don't stop please" he moaned, grabbing Julian's ass 
and rubbing himself harder, faster against the man before losing all 
semblance of conscious thought. Seconds later, the unbearable tension 
exploded and he cried out, falling over the abyss of pleasure and 
release. He barely felt Julian's fingers biting into his shoulders or 
heard his cry as he followed him. 

"God I needed that," Julian gasped into his ear after their heartrates 
returned to a semblance of normal. 

"Just, wow. Been a while." 

Julian snorted. "Two whole days." 

Twenty-eight years, he thought, as his hands ran over Julian's sweat-
drenched back and through his thick hair. And he wasn't sure if he had 
just made love to the man under false pretenses or if it was the other 
way around. Hell, did it really matter? Should he have even done this? 
He had let himself get carried away, and- 

Oh, what did it matter? It had felt glorious to hold somebody and to 
make love, even if it had been a little informal. 

He looked down at the sticky mess they had just made. "We need a 
shower." 

Julian pushed himself up onto his elbows and kissed him. "You know, if 
you'd just put in for a full-size stall we could shower together. I 
know you're embarrassed by it, but honestly, Ben, everybody knows we 
have sex. We're an old married couple by now. It's not breaking news in 
Station Operations." 

It was only breaking news to him. "Okay, in honour of your birthday 
I'll put in a requisition. In the meantime, do you mind if I go first?" 
He touched Julian's nose with a finger. 

"Be my guest." Julian kissed him on the forehead, then hopped up and 
walked towards into the bedroom. "I'll get you a robe." 

Ben collected his uniform from the floor, threw it in the recycler, 
walked into the bathroom (he wondered why he always used his father's 
word), stepped into the shower, and let the silent ultrasonic waves 
wash over him. At least there was one constant in every universe he'd 
been in: sonics felt damned good. 

"By the way," he heard Julian say from the other room, "I got a letter 
from Jake. He wants to know if we've received any new holos from 
Cardassia. Have we?" 

Jeez. "Not recently. At least I don't think so." 

"Want me to go through your old letters and figure it out?" 

"No, that's okay. I'll do it." He wondered what class Jake needed the 
holos for - xenosociology or xenoarchaeology, perhaps? He'd go through 
his old letters and find out what type of holos he was looking for. He 
rinsed with 60 seconds of water. "Do you want me to leave the sonics 
on?" he asked after he shut the water off. 

"No." 

He took the towel Julian proffered and dried himself off before pulling 
on his robe. "Why don't you wear pyjamas?" 

"Because you keep the room too warm." Julian's voice was muffled as he 
closed the shower door behind him. "You grew up in New Orleans, I grew 
up in London. I'm used to a colder bedroom. We've been through this." 
He switched on the water. 

"Sorry." He folded the towel and left it on the dryer/warmer, returned 
to the main room and checked the stasis unit. Hm...two servings of what 
looked like leftover Chicken Pontalba, half a loaf of bread, salad, 
strawberries macerated in something, maybe Cointreau...he took 
everything out, set the chicken in the heating unit to warm up, put the 
bread, fruit, and salad on the table, and grabbed the necessary plates, 
forks, knives, and glasses. Damn I'm good, he thought. I haven't been 
in this timeline 48 hours and already I'm serving a dinner they'd 
charge 200 credits a plate for in the French Quarter. He ran back for a 
bottle of synthwine and uncorked it before removing the hot chicken 
from the unit and transferring it to the plates. 

Julian walked out of the bedroom in his robe, towelling his hair, and 
stopped staring at the table. "Ben, what are -- how the hell'd you do 
this?" 

He smirked. "There's a reason they pay me the big credits, you know." 

"You never cease to amaze me," he said with a brilliant smile as he sat 
down and broke off a chunk of bread. 

If you only knew, Ben thought. 

****** 

Chapter 5 

******

No wonder Dax had been impressed with him. 

Every time he thought he had a handle on what was going on in this 
timeline, something would jump in and give him a good shake and remind 
him how difficult his task really was. Until now, though, he had been 
able to handle the upheavals. First he had found himself human again, 
but he could handle that: he had been human before. Then he had found 
himself married, and to Julian Bashir of all people, but he supposed he 
could handle that: he had been married before, and Julian was a decent, 
moral person (with an incredible - well...). Then he had found himself 
in a timeline where Bajor and Cardassia were quickly becoming close 
allies, and he certainly could handle that: after all, it had been one 
of his major goals. Then he had found himself in a sector where the 
Emperor of Cardassia was for all intents and purposes an ancient Human 
autocrat, but he could handle that: it was no stranger than a timeline 
where Dukat was the Emissary of the pah-wraiths and glowed red. But 
this.... 

Julian had been called in early that morning to supervise the transfer 
of the injured to the Simaran hospital ship. Ben had been alone in 
their quarters, snooping around trying to figure out where he kept 
everything, when he had found the envelope. He had never seen real 
paper like that before: it was clearly handmade, as thick as cardboard 
but far more delicate, and a soft creamy white. Curious, he opened the 
envelope to find a signed original of the proclamation returning the 
DMZ to the Federation along with a letter, hand-written, in blocky 
Standard. 

     My dearest beloved Julian, 

    Politicians, diplomats, and historians will see this as an enormous 
step towards peace in the quadrant. I must confess that it is not 
wholly meant as such. It is in fact but a tiny gesture; a token of what 
you could have were you to be mine. The political rights to a few rogue 
planets are nothing as compared to what I could give you - entire solar 
systems, sectors of space, nebulae, colonies, worlds almost without 
number. A life without worries; a life of wealth and security and 
peace. 

    And yet I know that none of these things interest you. You would 
prefer to hear that I would give you my heart: but I cannot tell you 
that, for you already have possession of it. From the first day I met 
you, Julian Subatoi Bashir, my heart belonged to you and you alone, and 
it always will. How can I give you something you already own? 

    Please think about what you are planning to do. I have nothing 
against Sisko as a loyal state official or as a man, but I fear that as 
a religious icon he may be using you. I fear that his position as 
Emissary and his belief that you are this "Companion" may have led him 
to convince you that for the good of the Bajoran state you must be with 
him and not me. But I love you and have loved you for far longer than 
he has, and I love you with a greater fire than any human could ever 
know. And you are not Bajoran. Your duty is to the Federation, not to 
Bajor, and I strongly believe that your duty to the Federation would be 
better served on Cardassia. You must see this. 

    Julian, my beloved, I wish you to be by my side as my consort. I 
wish for our union to act as a bond between our peoples. I wish us to 
raise a family that will serve and know the love of both our states. 

    If at any time you find that Sisko mistreats or neglects you, know 
that as long as I draw breath you will be welcome here with open arms. 
I can dissolve your Bajoran "marriage", as you call it, with a flick of 
my pen, and give you in return the security of a true lifelong 
Cardassian bond that will benefit not just you and our children but the 
Cardassian state and the Federation. Together we will create a 
permanent alliance between our peoples. What greater service to the 
state could there be? 

    But most of all I love you, Julian; I always have and I always 
will. I shall wait for you. 

    Mine eyes desire only you. 

    Elim 

 That was what all those catty comments had been about: the Emperor of 
Cardassia, the most powerful individual in the sector and one of the 
most prominent men in the quadrant, was jealous. Of him. 

He supposed he should laugh, but it wasn't terribly funny. After all, 
Elim Garak was a known killer. Senator Vreenak had arguably been a 
legitimate target, but there had been others, civilians during the 
Occupation. Hundreds of them. Intelligence had reported that Garak had 
taken their lives without a second thought. He was certain that Garak 
knew of ways to end his life that would appear perfectly natural, even 
to a brilliant physician like Julian. A runabout accident, an 
infectious disease, even a blow from a fanatic like the deputy who had 
apparently murdered Vedek Bareil in this timeline would draw little 
attention, and especially not to a Cardassian Emperor sitting on his 
throne light-years away. 

So why was he still alive? Then again, why was he even in the situation 
in the first place? He stared at his reflection in the bedroom mirror, 
shook his head, and went to check his mail. He was about to sit down at 
the terminal when the door chimed. 

"Enter." 

"Morning, Captain," Chief O'Brien said, towing a antigrav cart behind 
him bearing a large piece of equipment. "I saw your replicator in the 
repair queue. Julian on duty already?" 

"The hospital ship arrived about an hour ago. He went to co-ordinate 
the transfer." He switched his terminal on. 

"No rest for the weary, eh, sir?" O'Brien said with a grin. "I've felt 
the same way these past few days. What happened last night?" 

He looked up, startled. "What do you mean?" 

"With the replicator. When I saw it in the queue I brought up the 
repair history. I noticed that Nog's been working on it for the past 
couple of years." 

"Oh. Julian said he tried to order something for dinner. First it gave 
him a donair, then it spit out what looked like flour." 

O'Brien looked at the mess on the floor and made a face. "A donair. I 
hate those things. Eddington's lunches will be the death of me. But 
this..." He scanned the floor with a tricorder. "This is actually 
calcium carbonate. You could make bread out of it. My mother used to." 
He frowned. "What Nog needs to learn, sir, is that there comes a time 
when you don't just replace parts. I'll swap out the entire replicator 
and be out of your hair as soon as I can." 

"Thank you, Chief. Any chance of a Starfleet replicator?" 

"I'm afraid not, sir. We can't really afford a Starfleet replicator 
right now. Besides, even if we could it has a different footprint and 
takes a different power supply. I'd have to rewire the entire wall, 
install a stepdown transformer, and replace this chunk of panelling." 

"Hm. I guess there's no chance of having a larger shower stall put in 
either?" 

"Now that might be possible, sir," O'Brien replied. "The Cardassians 
have two options for shower size and we have extras. You've got one of 
the smaller stalls, don't you? I'll take a look after I'm done with 
this." 

He sat down and went through his inbox. A memo from Admiral Barron 
setting a meeting to discuss the rescheduling of the Ilarian peace 
talks, whoever the Ilarians were...a survey on the new uniform design 
(he'd have something to say about that)...a reminder of the Station 
Services Christmas party next month...a message from General Receiving 
of a parcel received from Felix Nadarov for Benjamin Sisko containing 
two holoprograms (ah, the birthday present, most likely)...a memo from 
Admiral Barron's assistant rescheduling the meeting about rescheduling 
the Ilarian peace talks...a message from Cadet Jake Sisko containing a 
joke so old it probably predated messaging and possibly the human 
race...a further memo from Admiral Barron himself rescheduling the 
rescheduling of the rescheduling meeting (damned bureaucrats)...a memo 
from Dukat, of all people, regarding annual physical examination 
requirements for personnel aboard the Dakor...He clicked the terminal 
off and stood as O'Brien tightened the last bolt on the replicator 
assembly. 

"There we go, sir. Any more problems, just let us know." 

"Thank you, Chief. You didn't have to come out here yourself, though." 

O'Brien smiled and shrugged. "I needed the break from paperwork, and to 
be honest I was just getting in my staff's way. I also owed Julian a 
birthday present. Not quite the same thing as a space station or a 500-
year-old Japanese cabinet, but still." 

"It'll probably be appreciated more." He frowned at a brown stuffed 
bear sitting on one of the top shelves as O'Brien went into the 
bathroom to check the shower. "What are we going to do with an antique 
like that? I suppose there's a museum on Earth that will want it." 

"They'll probably send out their own ship for it. Something that old 
and in that shape and especially from that part of the world..." He 
exited the bathroom. "I don't think there'll be any problem with the 
stall, sir. You'll lose some room in the spare closet." 

"That's fine." 

He nodded. "I'll schedule it for later this morning. It shouldn't take 
them more than an hour or so." He paused. "Captain, by the way, we were 
thinking of taking Julian out to Quark's for an early birthday party 
tonight. Would that be a problem?" 

"No, not at all." He thought for a second. "You and who?" 

"Oh, just the regular gang; me, Mike, Nog, Rom, Morn, you know. Morn 
won't shut up about it. I thought I'd check with you in case you had 
something planned. Anyway, I should get going. Good morning, sir." 

"Good morning, Chief, and thank you." 

Curiosity got the best of him as he attached his comm badge to his 
jacket. "Computer, who is the current Ferengi Grand Negus?" 

"The current Grand Negus is Ishka." 

He shook his head and chuckled as he left for his office. What next. 

******

He was reading recent correspondence between his son and him when his 
office door chimed. "Enter." 

Rom entered. "Captain, I have those, um, figures you asked for." 

He had no idea what the man was talking about, but he raised a hand to 
take the padd with an air of authority. "Certainly. I'm in the middle 
of something right now. I'll get back to you tomorrow." 

"Actually, Captain, the Prelor docks in two hours, and Gul Selos wanted 
an answer when he, uh, returned." 

"Ah, then I'll look at them now." 

What would he and Selos be doing that would need a Ferengi middleman? 
Trade, he supposed. O'Brien had said something about the station not 
being able to afford a Starfleet replicator. His tricorder had been 
Cardassian too. Sisko had noticed that Deep Space Nine seemed to be in 
excellent repair despite the station budget being one-tenth of what it 
had been in his original timeline. It was possible that he was trading 
with the Cardassians, and possibly with others, to supplement the 
station budget. 

He scanned the numbers. Medical services (annual physicals) rendered by 
Deep Space Nine, medical supplies from Cardassia Prime, terbilide from 
Derna, dilithium from Cardassia XI...17% goods and services tax... 

He looked up at the son of the Grand Negus. Goods and services tax my 
ass, he thought. 

"That's a rather significant tax rate." He scratched his cheek with a 
finger, wishing he had a beard to stroke. "To whom exactly does that 
go?" 

"Um, to the Cardassian Customs and Revenue Agency," Rom said, his voice 
somewhat unsteady. 

He raised an eyebrow. "Computer, what is the goods and services tax 
rate on Cardassia?" 

"The Cardassian Empire's goods and services tax rate is 3.5% and is 
payable on all items except food, medical services and supplies, and 
infant and child clothing." 

"Rom," he said, returning the padd, "Gul Selos would have caught that 
in a second. Don't make foolish mistakes like inflating the amount of 
well-known taxes or remitting them on exempt items. Adjust the numbers 
and get me the final figures before the Prelor docks." 

"Um, aye, sir." An abashed Rom bowed and left. 

Wonderful, Sisko thought, I'm a pirate. He wondered what Rom's title 
was. Chief of Acquisitions? He suddenly laughed; Rom was smarter than 
that. He inflated the tax knowing Sisko would catch it and his more 
subtle graft would get through. Obviously he wasn't a very good pirate. 

He returned to his last letter to his son. He had expressed his pride 
at his son's fourth-place finish at the end of the winter semester. Who 
wouldn't be proud, Sisko thought. First in history, first in 
xenosociology, second in biochemistry, third in astrometrics; Jake was 
doing very well at the Academy. If he kept up the pace he would be on 
the way to a solid career with Starfleet. His letter had also passed on 
information about some new virus Julian had discovered, a bit of gossip 
about Kira's pregnancy, a humorous story about Dukat (why would Jake 
care about him?), and an old family recipe for aubergine stew. The 
outgoing message showed that he had sent three holos with the original 
but he hadn't kept copies on his work terminal. The file names were 
unremarkable numerical gibberish. Probably something to do with Jake's 
xenosociology or history classes, he thought. 

"Infirmary to Captain Sisko." An unfamiliar Teutonic male voice broke 
in. 

"Sisko here." 

"Captain, Major Kira has just gone into labour. Julian wanted you to 
know that he won't be available for lunch." 

This must be Dr. Riis, he thought. "Wonderful news. Keep me informed." 

"Will do. Sivok out." 

Julian's Vulcan nurse calls him by his first name and speaks in 
colloquial English with a German accent? Good grief, every few minutes 
there's something new to know. He brought up Sivok's personnel record 
on his terminal. Vulcan - no, half-Vulcan, born in Hamburg, one mother 
a diplomat, the other a kindergarten teacher. He had bright red hair. 
His full name was Sivok Petersson, which was Scandinavian if Sisko 
remembered correctly. His wife's name was Agnetha Karlsson. She was a 
civilian and ran the station daycare. 

His door chimed. Would this morning -- hell, this timeline -- ever end? 
He clicked his terminal off and put on his competent Captain face. 
"Enter." 

Dax walked in. "Have you heard about Nerys?" 

"Sivok just commed me. Isn't she a bit early?" 

"A week or so, nothing unusual. Amazing, isn't it, that Bajoran women 
don't feel pain? I wish I could go through it for myself, but 
apparently some species just aren't compatible," she said with a sad 
sigh. "Which reminds me: we just got word that the Dakor is docking in 
about an hour. I take it that's what Rom was here about?" 

"No," he said, confused. The Dakor was..."Rom was here about the 
Prelor. Do you mean-" 

His door chimed again. "Enter." 

Rom scooted in with another padd. "Captain, I just heard that the Dakor 
is docking in an hour. I thought-" 

"Just give me the figures," he sighed. He pretended to study the padd. 
"No 17% goods and services tax this time?" he asked. Jadzia snickered. 

"No, sir." 

"No excessive price gouging? I let you have a little extra this morning 
with the Prelor, but the captain of the Dakor isn't going to be as 
accommodating. He'll beam you into space if you try those kind of 
shenanigans on him." 

"I know it." Rom looked over at Dax. 

"These look fine. Whatever you're skimming off is inconspicuous 
enough." He affixed his thumbprint. "Now, do you have the other padd?" 

"Right here." 

He looked through it, then thumbed it as well. "Good day, Mr. Rom." 

"Always a pleasure doing business, Captain." 

He shook his head as the Ferengi left. "The trick in dealing with 
Ferengi is not in figuring out how to prevent them from cheating you. 
You can't do that. The best you can do is to minimize your losses, and 
that's on a good day. I'm lucky if I catch one item out of twenty." 

Jadzia laughed. "They learn how to cheat, as you so aptly put it, at 
their mother's breast, and Rom learned from the best." 

"Someday I'll tell Leeta on him." 

She gave him a strange look. "What would his sister-in-law care about 
what he does?" 

Oh shit. "Well, the way Ferengi culture is changing, soon women will be 
running everything, including their extended families," he improvised. 

Fortunately she laughed. "Leeta's too busy trying to run Quark. Talking 
about Quark's, since it sounds like you're free for lunch, why don't 
you meet up with us? 1300 sound good?" 

"Sounds fine with me," he said. He'd like to know who this non-
compatible "us" was. 

******

"I'll have quinoa tabbouleh with pita and tabaldis sauce on the side, 
and tomato juice," he told the waiter. 

Jadzia gave him a knowing smile. "You know, Tobin's wife was a doctor, 
and he ended up doing the same thing." 

"Hm?" 

"Eating healthy even when she wasn't looking." 

Sisko frowned at her. "I'll have you know I used to have this all the 
time when I was in the Academy. Used to annoy the hell out of my 
roommate. He said it stunk up our quarters." 

"I'll bet it did," she said. "Tabaldis sauce?" 

"You're the one who ordered anchovies on your taspar eggs. And a black 
hole." 

Their meals were served. "I thought we were meeting-" he said vaguely 
as he started on his lunch. 

"He'll be late. So, what are you getting Julian for his birthday? I saw 
the incoming shipping list this morning." 

He swallowed a bite of tabbouleh. "If I tell you, old man, everyone on 
the station will know by 1800." 

"Ben, I promise. Did you get him that holoprogram we were talking 
about? The Vegas one with the singer?" 

"If you already know, why are you asking?" Vic Fontaine? In this 
timeline as well? He hadn't picked up the parcel to make sure yet. 

"Because it's the last thing Julian expects, that's why. He's been 
noodling around playing with the idea for ages. It's the only thing 
that's kept him from boredom over the past few years, with all the 
Cardassian physicals and routine work he's been doing. Well, not the 
only thing," she said with a sparkle in her eye, "but you see what I 
mean. You know, what we really need in this sector is a good war." She 
suddenly smiled, raised her hand, and waved. 

He looked behind him, but he couldn't see who she was waving at in the 
crush of bodies that had suddenly entered Quark's. "No, Dax, actually I 
don't think we do. I'd rather do without-" 

He froze as a chillingly familiar voice suddenly said, "Jadzia, my 
dear, you look lovely today," and Dax raised her hand and pressed her 
palm into the outstretched hand of a smiling Legate Senn Dukat. 

No. This is not happening, Sisko thought, as he tried desperately not 
to hyperventilate. This can't be. This just can't be. 

Dukat turned and grinned - grinned! - at him. "Ben, I've brought a gift 
for you and Jake from Ziyal. New holos." He held the padd out to him. 

'Ben'?!? "Thank you," he said, taking the padd automatically, before 
looking at the first holo: a smiling Ziyal holding a little girl in her 
arms. A pretty girl about three years of age with curly black hair, tan 
skin, Bajoran nose ridges, Jake's eyes, Jennifer's mouth... 

"So are you bringing them here for her birthday?" he heard Jadzia ask. 
He couldn't move. 

"Ziyal wants to come. I know Jake can't get away from the Academy, but 
I'm sure Ben and Julian would love to see Miali..." 

"Oh no..." Sisko barely reached a stall in Quark's fresher room before 
violently ejecting the contents of his stomach. "Gods no, Prophets no, 
anything but this, anything but this....no, no, no..." he moaned 
quietly to himself, shaking, collapsing into a stall... 

******

Chapter 6 

******

"He's awake, Doctor." 

Sisko opened his eyes to see a young Bajoran woman in a nurse's uniform 
hovering over him with a medical tricorder. "His cortisol and ACTH 
levels are only slightly higher than normal, but his epinephrine levels 
are off the chart," she said. 

A blond man with a bowl haircut came into view. "Hm. No obvious 
adrenopathy." He hit his comm badge. "Riis to Dr. Sisko. Your, um, 
patient is conscious." 

"Thank you." 

A moment later a door opened and Julian came into the room. "Thank you, 
Pauli, Jabara, I'll handle it from here. Perhaps you'd like to assist 
Dr. Magaran with Nerys?" The nurse handed him the tricorder and they 
left through the same door. 

Sisko tried to rise up on his elbows, but found himself too dizzy to 
lift his head off the pillows. "What happened?" 

"You've put me in the position of the shoemaker whose children go 
barefoot, that's what's happened," Julian said with an exasperated 
frown. "Your stress hormone levels are through the roof. Anybody else 
would have been in here days ago." He looked down at the tricorder and 
frowned. "Let me just run these tests on the main biosensors; these 
results-" He crossed to the head of the biobed and pressed buttons 
above Sisko's head. 

"I remember Jadzia - we were eating in Quark's, and Dukat came over..." 

"Mm? Were they discussing the engagement party again? She gets so anal-
retent- Ben! Calm down! Try to breathe normally!" 

He willed himself to relax. "My chest hurts." 

"That's from the release of epinephrine. Relax." Julian squeezed his 
hand. "Your body is releasing enormous amounts of adrenal hormones. 
This is normally stress-related but there is a possibility of this 
being an adrenal or neurological problem. Either way, we can treat it. 
I'm going to run some tests just to make sure. All right? Just close 
your eyes and lie back." 

He nodded. Dukat and Jadzia - okay, think of something else. Think of 
Jake being fourth in his class at Starfleet Academy. It's not so 
strange: Sir Philip Sidney was a military man. Think of Ishka being the 
Grand Negus of Ferenginar. It's not so strange: Indira Gandhi was the 
Prime Minister of India only twenty years after sati was banned on 
Earth. Think of - think of being married to Julian. It's not so 
strange: he seems like an okay guy in this timeline, and maybe you 
don't love him, but apparently your body doesn't know that, and parts 
of your mind don't seem to know it either, and -- oh damn. 

I thought I had been doing all right, he told himself. I thought I had 
been adjusting. I thought I was doing well. But no: I can't accept 
Dukat and Jadzia. I can't accept Jake being the father of Dukat's 
granddaughter. Dukat murdered Jadzia. Dukat is an egomaniacal bastard. 
Dukat murdered Jadzia. That's not a small change. I have to tell her. I 
can't tell her. Hell. 

"You check out fine," Julian eventually said. "Triglycerides are a 
little high so we'll keep an eye on that, but otherwise no 
abnormalities other than the hormone levels." He readied a hypospray 
and pressed it into Sisko's neck. "This will prevent the epinephrine 
rushes. It should also reduce the levels of ACTH and cortisol somewhat. 
Can you sit up now?" 

He pushed himself up. "Any idea what's causing this?" 

"I should be the one asking you. It was the meeting with the Prophets, 
wasn't it?" 

He nodded, falsely. 

"Ever since you were in there you've been distant, a bit detached." 
Julian took his hand. "Sometimes you just zone out. You don't seem to 
recognize people at times, and at others you appear to be suffering 
from both short and long-term memory loss. You also had a few 
nightmares last night." 

"I didn't notice." 

He shrugged. "Unless you awaken within a few minutes after the dream 
ends, you won't remember them. Although I'm not sure what would prompt 
you to have a romantic dream about the head of Starfleet Protocol." 

Sisko stared at him. "The head of..." 

"You were yelling his name out and telling him you loved him and how 
sorry you were about something." Julian batted his lashes. "I didn't 
know you cared that much about Admiral Cassidy." 

The room spun again. "I -" 

"Don't worry, Ben," Julian laughed. "I'm not jealous of a 84-year-old 
admiral! But it proves my point -- Ben, hold on, I'll get you another 
dose of the anoxynephrine." He rushed back to the replicator. 

He lay back on the bed again and covered his face with his hands. The 
hypospray barely registered as he realized the enormity of his offence 
last night: he had made love to his husband but in some part of his 
mind he had cheated on his wife. 

Sure, he chided himself: go to the other end of the quadrant, find 
Kasidy Yates, and tell her that. Tell her she's your wife. Tell her you 
love her. She doesn't know you from Adam. In this time stream you are 
nothing to her and she is nothing to you. She'd laugh in your face. 
She'd kick you in the nuts. She'd be right. She's not your wife. 

He looked up at the ceiling as his heartrate returned to normal. The 
Prophets were right, he admitted to himself; I'm not handling any of 
this very well at all. I need help. 

"I have to visit the Orb," he said weakly. 

"If you think that's necessary, then yes, we'll do that. But there's 
something else you're doing first, which is taking time off. I'm 
relieving you from duty for the next 18 hours." 

"What?" 

Julian frowned down at him. "You're not fit for duty as it is, and the 
anoxynephrine is slightly psychoactive so I'd have to relieve you 
anyway. At any rate, Dax owes you one. After all, it was your lunch 
with her that was the straw that broke the camel's back. I don't know 
what she said, but-" 

"It wasn't her fault," he protested. 

"-nevertheless, you're relieved from duty. I want you to go straight 
home. You should be fine, but I want you to check in with me in about 
an hour. All right?" 

He nodded as he raised himself to a sitting position, noticing that the 
dizziness was gone. 

"If you develop a bad headache or any further dizziness, comm me 
immediately. If you can't sleep, do something boring. Read the 
Prophecies." 

"How very respectful." 

He smirked. "Just repeating what you said last week when you were 
trying to interpret Zocal's final book." He thought for a second, then 
looked back at the delivery room door. "In fact, why don't I walk you 
back?" 

"I'll be fine," he said. "Stay with Nerys. I'll-" 

"Ben," Julian interrupted, "she's not going to want me in there if I'm 
worried about you." He helped him off the bed. "She'll know if I'm not 
at ease and I won't be of any use to her. Now come on, let's go." 

******

He lay ensconced in bed, wrapped up in flannel pyjamas and layers of 
blankets, a tray covered in padds beside him. He hadn't noticed until 
now that this bed was a good 30 centimetres longer than his old bed had 
been. Then again, Julian was a good 15 centimetres taller than he was. 
"I could at least go through some reports," he called to the front 
room. 

"No," the Voice of Final Authority responded. "There's Horran's and 
Zocal's Prophecies, a padd of crosswords-" 

He groaned. 

"-the last three years of Flavour magazine, and a few other things I 
found in the bedside table. You're not doing any work." Julian returned 
to the bedroom with a small tray on which two covered insulated cups 
were perched. He placed the tray on the side table. "Chamomile-ginger 
tea and beef broth, if you feel up to it. No solid food until tonight, 
and then just a little stewed fruit and dry toast." He leaned over and 
kissed Ben on the forehead. "I'll be home long before then. I love 
you." 

"You too," he replied, hoping Julian wouldn't notice the evasion. 
"Don't forget you're going out tonight with Miles." 

He stopped in the doorway. "Oh damn. I should cancel that." 

Ben shook his head. "They've been planning this for days. I'll comm you 
if I need anything." He didn't need to be mothered, for heaven's sake. 

"Are you sure?" 

"Absolutely. Now go." 

Alone, he flipped through the padds. Why would Julian leave him a 
crossword padd; didn't he know he hated the things? His dad was the 
puzzle freak in the family. Always bringing padds along on trips and 
bugging him for a seven-letter word for 'approval' or some such thing. 
Flavour magazine, on the other hand: he always liked that one. The July 
1, 2373 issue contained some interesting articles...maple sugar 
tarts...tamarind fries...cod cakes...ginger beef...tandoori masala 
spring lamb chops....his stomach rebelled. Maybe he'd pass on the food 
magazines for now, he thought as he took a quick sip of the herbal tea. 

He picked up the padd containing Horran's Prophecies. Horran had been a 
mystic at the temple at Lintara; his prophecies were simple and 
straightforward, perhaps deceptively so. The Third Prophecy read, "The 
sky will betray us: white men and black rain will flood the land." The 
vedeks saw this as a premonition of the arrival of the Cardassians, who 
had used chemical weapons in their first attacks on the main cities of 
Dakhur Province. Sisko preferred the Fourteenth Prophecy which read, 
"Her eyes will be as diamonds and her heart as iron; she will not allow 
them to lead the people to harm." He had always wondered if Horran had 
seen Opaka in that Orb experience. 

Another favourite of his was the final prophecy in the book, the 
Twenty-third. "Her body will carry the sweetest burden: the child of 
the Emissary and-" It was unfinished; the learned vedeks believed 
Horran had either died during composition or hadn't bothered to 
complete it for one reason or other. It had given him joy to think that 
Kasidy had been mentioned in the Prophecies. He scrolled through the 
padd to read it -- 

-- but it was complete. 

"Her body will carry the sweetest burden: the child of the Emissary and 
the Companion." 

He dropped the padd to the bedcovers and stared at the wall. He didn't 
hyperventilate -- there were too many drugs in his system for that 
still -- but he blinked a few times. 

He picked up the padd again and re-read the prophecy, noticing that it 
was no longer the final one. He scrolled through some of the remainder. 

"The Emissary will open up the skies." 

"One will return who will stand for the people." 

"A holy man will spill his blood to end the divisions." 

"The pagh of the Companion is as the jewels of the heart of the 
Emissary. The Companion will stand by the Emissary in life." 

"The infants will suffer. The parents will not grieve." 

"He will ascend to the air on golden wings. The people will rejoice. 
They will shower him with white. Bajor will be safe. One will kneel." 

"The men will dance. There will be much merriment. The women will bring 
chalices of spring wine. The Emissary and the Companion will join hands 
and smile on the children." 

"B'hala will awaken." 

"She will join the enemies with a burden of love." 

"The Emissary will free the Prophets from their captivity." 

"Two devils will be cast out of the flames. A girl will face them. Her 
flesh will be wanting, but her pagh will be victorious." 

"He will return." 

And the final prophecy: "If the Emissary chooses wrongly, Bajor will be 
dark for a thousand years. He must seek his pagh." 

What did they mean, he wondered. Some, such as the prophecy of B'hala 
and the freeing of the Prophets, seemed to portend events that he 
remembered from his timeline, but the others -- he couldn't make heads 
or tails of them. He put the padd away and lay back on the pillows. 
Perhaps "he will return" pertained to his current dilemma. 

The final prophecy concerned him most of all, though. Horran's 
prophecies tended to be more linear than those of other writers, which 
meant that he likely hadn't made the choice he referred to yet. Would 
he be forced to make the decision in the near future, or was it 
something that would happen in his old age? What was it about? 

He wrapped the blankets around his feet. The drug Julian had given him 
must have affected his internal temperature controls. 

That reminded him...he reached over and pressed his comm badge. "Sisko 
to Dax." 

"Ben, you're not supposed to be working." 

"I'm not. Could you ask somebody to stop by Receiving and pick up 
Julian's birthday present? I didn't get around to it and he's got me on 
bed rest." 

"Is that what he calls it?" 

He groaned. "Old man..." 

She laughed. "Relax, I'm alone in your office. I'll have someone drop 
it off in a few minutes. I'll send along those holos too. Are you 
feeling better?" 

"Much." He swallowed his pride. "I'm sorry about what happened. Would 
you apologize to - would you apologize for me?" He couldn't spit out 
the bastard's name no matter how much he tried. 

"I already did. Don't worry about it - he's highly sympathetic. Senn 
was never that much of a fan of Quark's cooking anyway. Dax out." 

That woman would be the death of him some day. Dating Dukat...engaged 
to Dukat...what was she thinking? 

He lay back, suddenly exhausted. As he drifted off to sleep, it 
suddenly hit him: Jake was a father. He was a grandfather. 

Hell. 

******

"How was the party?" He sat up in bed. "Lights, ten percent." 

"I didn't mean to wake you up. Go back to sleep." 

"I couldn't sleep," Ben said. "How was it?" 

Julian crawled under the blankets. "I'm starting to think that I'm the 
old man around this place. The party's still going on without me, but I 
was worried about you so I begged off early. How are you?" 

"Confused. Dizzy. I can see why you relieved me from duty. Jabara came 
by and gave me another hypo about an hour ago, so I was just lying here 
waiting for you to come home. She told me about Nerys." 

"I wanted to be the one to tell you," he said with a pout. "Did Jabara 
tell you that he was over four kilos? Nalas was crying, it was..." He 
sighed. "You were waiting for me? You should have commed me; I would 
have come home earlier." 

"No, it's just -- I contacted the monastery earlier, by the way. They 
can put us up tomorrow if we want to go." He sighed and stared up at 
the ceiling. 

"Come here." 

"Hm?" He looked over at Julian; he was holding his arms out. 

"Come here. You're still upset, aren't you?" 

Ben looked into Julian's beautiful eyes. 

He had always been the one to do the holding, the caring. He was the 
father, the husband, the captain, the son, the brother; the alpha male 
who kept a stiff upper lip and never once, not even in his own bed, 
allowed anyone to hold him, no matter how badly he needed it at times. 

Things were different here, and oh how he needed them to be different. 

He allowed Julian to pull him into his arms. "It's bad," he said 
against the younger man's shoulder. "It's so difficult right now." 

"I know, honey. Can you talk about it?" 

"I don't even know what to say. It's all so confusing - I don't even 
know the words-" 

"You don't need to. Just rest. Let me hold you." He felt lips press 
against his forehead. 

Enveloped in Julian's arms he didn't feel like the Emissary to the 
Prophets or a Starfleet captain. He didn't even feel like the all-
around badass he tried to pretend he was most of the time. He felt 
protected, as if somebody actually cared about him - just plain and 
simple Ben - enough to stop Starfleet and the Bajorans and this 
confusing, messed-up timeline and everybody and everything else from 
getting to him for just a few hours. 

Somebody did, he supposed. It was a nice feeling. 

******

"What's the name of this monastery again?" Julian asked over his cup of 
Tarkelian tea. 

"Kerasha. It's on Nerel Island, up near the polar regions. Just here." 
Ben pointed at a spot on the map he had unfurled on the Replimat table. 
"The Cardassians left it alone for the most part. There's not much up 
there and the climate isn't terribly inviting, at least not from their 
point of view. The area is a lot like the Alaskan Panhandle; right now 
they're in the middle of the rainy season. Opaka was telling me that 
she used to send vedeks who were causing too much trouble up to Kerasha 
for safe-keeping during the Occupation." 

Julian laughed. "You know, if Bajor ever does decide to join the 
Federation, she'll be president within a week. Well, if my aunt lets 
her." He gave Ben a sardonic look. "Which reminds me; I received a 
subspace from her this morning when you were packing. She and 'Uncle 
Ali' send us their love." 

"Uncle Ali." He didn't even know before now that Julian had an aunt. 

"Mmm. Can you believe it. If I had been him, I'd have just given her a 
commission instead of -- Good morning, Jadzia." 

Ben removed the map quickly before she could drop her tray onto it. 
"Happy birthday, Julian," she all but snarled. 

"Thank-" 

"So I understand the two of you are taking off to a monastery on Bajor 
for -- medical reasons?" she continued. 

"I'm afraid so," Julian replied. "I'm reasonably certain that Ben's 
adrenogenic crisis yesterday was connected to his experience with the 
Prophets. He needs to commune with the Orb of Time." 

She narrowed her gaze. "All right. You're dragging him off on yet 
another Bajoran mystical journey right when Nerys is recovering from 
delivering a baby - a 4.35 kilogram baby, I remind you - leaving me in 
charge of the station for at least how long?" 

"We don't know. Ben thinks it could take up to ten days." 

"Okay. Ten days, and you don't even have a cogent scientific reason for 
your decision." 

"I feel my reasons are perfectly scientifically cogent." 

Ben stared at the two of them. "I am here, you know." 

They ignored him as Julian spoke again. "Ben's been suffering from 
moderate to severe clinical stress ever since he returned from the 
wormhole. As you well know, I had to remove him from duty yesterday. 
Although I can guess what might have brought on the crisis," he said, 
giving her a cold stare, "my best guess is that the stress originated 
in Ben's meeting with the Prophets. During that meeting he was advised 
to commune with the Orb. It's a reasonable supposition-" 

"But not a certainty," Dax interrupted. 

Julian frowned at her over his teacup. "No, not a certainty, but it's a 
reasonable supposition, and the best one we have, that communing with 
the Orb will resolve the symptoms. Remember, we've seen this before 
with B'hala and with Tyree. In each case, clinical symptoms of stress 
remained until the task was completed even though in those cases Ben 
didn't know beforehand how to complete either task at the time." 

She swallowed a bite of egg. "I hate this, you know. It goes against 
every instinct of mine as a scientist." 

"Just because you don't understand how something works doesn't mean it 
doesn't work," Julian replied. 

"I know." She stared at the two of them. "It's just - couldn't they 
have chosen a better time than this? It was quieter around here a month 
ago." 

Ben shook his head. This timeline hadn't even existed a month ago -- or 
had it? He hated temporal paradoxes. Maybe this was all a big 
hallucination- 

"And again," Julian said, "just because you don't understand why 
something takes place at a specific time doesn't mean it's a random 
occurrence. There may be solid practical reasons why this is occurring 
right now." 

She sighed. "When are you leaving?" 

"In about an hour. Pauli has things under control here and Dr. Magaran 
Atini from Bajor has agreed to act as his locum until we get back. 
Piotr Shevchenko and - what is that other marriage counsellor's name?" 
He thought for a second, then looked at Ben. "What was -- Ezri Tigan, 
that's right." He turned back to Dax. "They're coming in to meet with 
Lieutenant Singh and Ensign Kaur in three days' time. I hope they're 
able to help-" 

Ezri? Ben got up to get another cup of tea. There was no damn way he 
was letting that woman get within a metre of Julian. That cute little 
doe-eyed counsellor act wasn't going to work- 

He stood at the replicator for a second asking himself what the hell he 
was thinking. A week ago you wouldn't have cared if Julian Bashir was 
sleeping with the Dolman of Elaas, and now you're jealous? He retrieved 
his tea and walked back to the table. 

"-also expecting a shipment of medical supplies from Cardassia. Make 
sure Michael does a level 9 biocontainment sweep of them before he 
allows any members of the medical team into the cargo area." 

He looked at Julian. He thought of Julian holding him tenderly last 
night as he slept. He thought of Julian accompanying him into the 
Temple, accepting whatever the Prophets told him without question. He 
thought of Julian marrying him instead of the Emperor of Cardassia. He 
thought of Julian naked, gorgeous, aroused because of him... 

Damn right he was jealous. That Ezri had better be off his station by 
the time they returned or he'd find a way to kick her off. 

"Have they chosen a name yet?" he heard Dax ask. 

"Not that I've heard. I went home early last night, though." 

She sighed. "Well, if I'm going to be running a space station for the 
next week or two, I suppose I had better check in with Ops. Nice robes, 
by the way, Ben." She stood up and returned her plates to the recycler 
before leaving. 

"She took that well," he said. 

"We're both still breathing," Julian agreed. "By the way, those are 
nice robes. Are those the ones Opaka gave you last year?" 

"Mmm." He had found them in a drawer and supposed they were suitable 
for travelling to a monastery. "We should get going. The head vedek is 
126 years old and doesn't like late visitors. If we leave now, we'll 
get there before evening meal." 

"But it only takes an hour - that's right, I always forget about time 
zones. Somehow I always expect it to be the same time everywhere." 

"I know how you feel. It's like a temporal anomaly - disconcerting." He 
put down his cup. "Shall we go?" 

******

Chapter 7 

****** 

He knelt in front of the plain wooden cabinet and tried to quell the 
churning in his stomach. He would finally know...and for some reason 
that frightened him. The Prophets had told him that he wouldn't be able 
to access memories of events that took place before he arrived on Deep 
Space Nine and he wouldn't be able to change history during his Orb 
experiences, but still the fear of learning just how his life had 
evolved over the previous seven years made his stomach muscles clench. 
For a moment he had the urge to run back to the cabin, pack, grab 
Julian, hop in the runabout, and fly the two of them back to Deep Space 
Nine. 

Enough. 

The Prophets had told him this was necessary if he wished to understand 
how Bajor, Cardassia, and he personally had gotten to this point. 
Without these experiences, he would continue to flail, unable to 
effectively handle either his job as station commander or his personal 
life. He was also tired of constantly playing catch-up, constantly 
having to guess at things. He knew he wouldn't learn everything about 
the last seven years from the Orb: in order to do that, he would have 
to spend seven years here. Still, anything he did learn would give him 
an advantage. 

He reached forward and opened the front doors of the Orb's cabinet. 

******
******
******

"Ben