Well aware that the last battle had left other sections of the ship shorthanded, Reese approached Colonel Kira and volunteered to help guard the shapeshifter. If the Bajoran officer had glimpsed the fire that still burned in his soul, she betrayed no sign of it.

  A few minutes later, Reese stood outside the brig. Through the shimmering blue force field, he studied the creature that sat on the cell’s narrow cot, its eyes closed in apparent meditation. When he’d run the console in the transporter bay, Reese had kept his eyes downcast, not wanting anyone to sense the blinding hatred that had seized him the moment he’d laid eyes on the Founder.

  The Founder. The vile thing to whom the Vorta and the Jem’Hadar ultimately answered. The inhuman monster whose pliant hands were spattered with so much innocent blood. The fiend who had filled his dreams with visions of Billy’s death-slackened face and sightless eyes. The beast that had sent Loomis, Parker, McGreevey, Larkin, Kellin, Vargas, and so many others beyond the veil of mortality, simply to gain power and territory.

  She’s the one who’s responsible for all of it, Reese thought, wishing his eyes were charged phaser banks while still struggling to keep his expression as blank and unreadable as that of the shapeshifter.

  He stood there, letting his need for vengeance burn like the sweet agony of an anticipated sexual tryst. He continued studying her, standing as unmoving as the changeling until the Cardassian glinn came to relieve him four hours later.

  As he brushed past Ekoor, Reese was careful not to meet his eyes, lest the cauldron of rage within him overflow.

  That evening, Reese ate alone in a corner of the small mess hall. He had no particular desire to talk to anyone, though nearly a dozen other officers were present, dining, drinking, and conversing with the celebratory conviviality that came only with the triumphant resolution of a war.

  But Defiant’s small mess hall had only four large tables. On an occasion such as this, it simply wasn’t possible to be as alone as one might wish, even with the crew’s numbers diminished.

  Reese wondered how long Ekoor had been standing in front of his table before he’d noticed the Cardassian’s presence.

  “Have a seat,” Reese said, though he wished fervently that the glinn would go someplace else, anyplace else, instead.

  “Thank you,” Ekoor said as he took a seat across the table from Reese, who returned his attention to his replicated Reuben sandwich, French onion soup, and Telluridian synthale.

  A few moments later, Reese noticed that Ekoor wasn’t eating or drinking anything. He set his sandwich down.

  “Can I do something for you?”

  The Cardassian leaned forward and spoke in a low tone, obviously not wishing to be overheard by anyone seated at any of the other three bustling tables. “I’ve watched you at the brig, Mr. Reese. I’ve seen you studying the changeling.”

  Reese felt his hackles rise. New allies or not, surveillance by Cardassians was always cause for alarm. “Just staying alert. In case you haven’t noticed, Captain Sisko can’t spare a lot of warm bodies for the security detail.”

  “I know. That’s why I volunteered. Or at least that was my pretext for volunteering.”

  Reese slowly pushed his lunch tray aside. “What are you trying to say?” he asked very quietly, not wishing to attract anyone’s attention. Ekoor was clearly up to something.

  “Only that I’ve taken the liberty of reading your service record, Mr. Reese. And that I’ve never seen such malice in the eyes of a non-Cardassian as I’ve seen in yours. With the possible exception of the Jem’Hadar themselves.”

  Reese stood, but continued to keep his voice down. “I don’t need to sit here and listen to this.”

  Ekoor remained seated as he glanced around the room. Reese noted that everyone else seemed too caught up in their own private conversations to pay any heed to his tense exchange with the Cardassian.

  “I need your help in doing precisely what I’m certain that you, too, want done,” Ekoor said, almost whispering. “I want to discuss it with you tonight. In private.” He leaned forward and looked up at Reese. “Once the Founder leaves Terok Nor for the war crimes tribunal, there won’t be a lot of opportunities to do what we both know has to be done.”

  Ekoor’s cobalt eyes blazed with a supernova intensity that he recognized at once. Reese understood the glinn’s meaning all too clearly. In a fit of pique, the Founder had devastated the Cardassian’s homeworld, nearly committing genocide in the process. Ekoor was revealing his abiding hatred, just as Reese must have inadvertently displayed his own during the changing of the guards outside the shapeshifter’s security cell.

  He must be pretty desperate to get some Starfleet help to carry out his plan, Reese thought. Or else he wouldn’t have risked having this conversation with me.

  “Sorry to disappoint you, Cardassian,” Reese said, sotto voce. As full of rage as he was, he still hoped he’d left his very worst impulses back on the Chin’toka battlefield, where he’d discarded his Jem’Hadar knife. “I’m better than that.”

  “Ah. Of course.” Ekoor favored him with the creepy, wide-mouthed expression that seemed to pass for a smile among Cardassians, his eyes taking on a pop-eyed innocence.

  Reese turned and left the mess hall without saying another word.

  I can’t believe I’m actually considering going along with this, Reese thought, perspiration pooling beneath his collar in the Cardassian’s too-warm quarters. But the earnest young glinn had presented him with an irresistible opportunity. Reese found it strange to think that they might have treated each other as shoot-on-sight enemies as recently as yesterday. But their exchange earlier in the mess hall had refused to leave his mind until he had found himself pacing in the corridor outside Ekoor’s guest quarters.

  “The allies will no doubt have the Founder sign the official surrender documents aboard Terok Nor,” Ekoor said, perched on the edge of his narrow bunk.

  Reese remained standing, his arms folded across his chest. His earlier distrust of Ekoor flared up again. “We like to call it Deep Space 9 these days.”

  Ekoor blinked. “As you say. Regardless, the allies will then take the Founder away to stand trial for war crimes.”

  “Assuming we can reach an agreement with the Klingons and the Romulans over who has jurisdiction,” Reese said with a dry chuckle. After all, the Dominion had inflicted horrendous casualties upon the forces of those two empires as well.

  “My people may also have some thoughts on the matter,” Ekoor said, almost growling. “A lengthy Federation trial will disgrace the memory of hundreds of millions of brutally slain Cardassians.”

  And of Billy, Reese thought. He shrugged, crushed by the futility of it all. “Of course, once the allied authorities get her off the station, she’ll be beyond your reach.” Beyond our reach, Reese added silently.

  “I’ll see to it that we’re both present when she signs the surrender papers. Once that’s finished, we can make our move.”

  As much as he wanted to see the Founder suffer for her crimes, Reese found Ekoor’s plan entirely too simplistic. “How do you propose getting past Odo? From everything I’ve seen, he won’t exactly sleepwalk through his security preparations. And then we’ll have to get away afterward.”

  Ekoor chuckled and reached for a padd that lay on the edge of his bunk. He lifted it so that Reese could see the graphics on its display surface. One was a handheld Dominion transporter unit; the other was an image of an all-concealing Breen helmet.

  “Leave those details to me,” he said, smiling a shark’s smile. That smile gave Reese a chill of revulsion.

  And a rush of anticipation.

  Sisko watched in silence as the Founder accepted the document that the Vorta sitting at her right placed before her on the wardroom table. With quiet dignity, she took the stylus in her left hand and placed her mark at the bottom of the page.

  “The war between the Dominion and the Federation Alliance is now over,” she said as she rose and handed the surrender treaty to Vice Admiral William J. Ross.

  Standing ramrod straight in his dark duty uniform, Ross addressed the room, which was filled with witnesses representing the victors: Starfleet, the Klingon Empire, and the Romulan Star Empire. Also present were the vanquished, including several Cardassians and a pair of cold-suited Breen officers—unarmed, of course, per Odo’s careful security screening prior to the ceremony—who stood silently at parade rest near the bulkhead behind the Founder’s chair, which was flanked by her Jem’Hadar bodyguards.

  “Four hundred years ago,” Ross said in solemn tones, “a victorious general spoke the following words at the end of another costly war: ‘Today the guns are silent. A great tragedy has ended. We have known the bitterness of defeat and the exultation of triumph, and from both we have learned there can be no going back. We must move forward, to preserve in peace what we’ve won in war.’ ”

  The brief speech seemed to linger in the air momentarily. Sisko found Ross’s words perfectly appropriate; judging from the expressions on the faces all around him, from Chancellor Martok and the Klingon contingent to Praetor Neral and the Romulan delegation, so did the allies.

  Even the hardest warrior has to look forward to a campaign’s end, Sisko thought, idly wondering how long the current peace among the Federation, the Klingons, and the Romulans would last now that the common purpose of defeating the Dominion no longer existed.

  Sisko’s eyes lit on the two Breen soldiers who stood behind the Founder’s chair, their battle-scarred metal helmets, face masks, and eerily glowing visors completely obscuring their faces. So far as he knew, nobody except the Breen themselves knew what lurked beneath all that headgear.

  The Founder rose from the signing table and approached Odo with graceful, gliding steps. “It’s up to you now, Odo.”

  Odo, a pair of Starfleet security officers, and the Breen bodyguards quietly escorted the Founder from the wardroom. Sisko knew that she was to be returned to one of Odo’s holding cells until the time came to bind her over to the allied tribunal for her war crimes trial.

  Watching the Breen soldiers depart, Sisko recalled seeing the rubble of part of the Starfleet Headquarters complex, and the twisted wreckage of San Francisco’s Golden Gate Bridge. He thought of all the good people who’d died during the Breen sneak attack that had brought down those venerable monuments.

  For a moment he wished the Breen guards would give him half a reason to throw them into a cell along with the Founder.

  Then, glancing at the small Cardassian delegation, Sisko noted that one gray, ridged face was conspicuously absent. Feeling a sinking sensation in his gut, he considered signaling Odo via combadge right then and there. He decided against it; the “Breen” who accompanied him would overhear, and—if his suspicions turned out to be warranted—might do something desperate.

  Instead he approached Colonel Kira, who was standing in one of the far corners of the wardroom, and spoke very quietly to her for a few moments. After giving him a grave acknowledgment, she moved discreetly toward a rear exit as Sisko joined Admiral Ross and Chancellor Martok, who were in the midst of an enthusiastic discussion about Worf.

  Sisko accompanied Ross and Martok as they exited the wardroom and entered the adjacent corridor. Sisko was about to mention the precautionary order he had just given to Kira when Worf and Dax approached the group from the opposite direction.

  But there’s no point in bringing it up until Kira and Odo look into it further, Sisko thought. Besides, something in Martok’s aggressively joyful manner—particularly the uncharacteristically expectant way he was looking at Worf—told him that other matters now required his immediate attention.

  “Commander Worf,” Sisko said, catching his tactical officer’s eye. It was clear that Martok was about to drop a bombshell on Worf, and that Ross was anxious to see Worf’s reaction.

  Worf and Ezri put their own conversation on hold and came to a stop. “Captain,” the Klingon said simply.

  “Can you spare a moment?” said Sisko.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Fixing his one eye firmly on Worf, Martok said, “We’ve been discussing your plans for the future.”

  Though Worf remained as impassive as ever, his eyes widened marginally. “I was not aware I had any plans.”

  Smiling at Worf, Ross said, “Commander, how would you feel about being named Federation ambassador to Qo’noS?”

  Worf evidently found the notion as surprising as Sisko had when Martok and Ross had first broached it to him hours ago. “I am not a diplomat.”

  “And I am not a politician,” Martok growled good-naturedly. “But sometimes fate plays cruel tricks on us, Worf. Come. Qo’noS needs you. And what’s more, I need you.”

  “You helped him become chancellor,” said Ezri, looking up at Worf. “Can’t very well turn your back on him now.”

  Worf seemed to mull the offer over for a moment before turning to Sisko. “Well, my first loyalty is to you, Captain.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Worf,” Sisko said, feeling genuine warmth for the Klingon, and sadness over what he knew was coming. “I’ll probably regret this in the morning, but if it’s what you want…then by all means.”

  Worf answered with his usual decisiveness. “It has been a great honor serving with you.”

  “The honor is mine,” Sisko said.

  Worf trained his piercing gaze on Martok. “I accept.”

  Roaring with martial ebullience, Martok clapped Worf on the shoulder. “Excellent! An ambassador who’ll go targ hunting with me.” He laughed again, already resuming his course down the corridor. “Well, perhaps being chancellor won’t be so bad after all.”

  Leaving Worf and Ezri standing alone, Sisko continued down the corridor for another few moments beside Ross and Martok. So much change, he thought. And it’s all happening so quickly. Recalling that Chief O’Brien’s departure for a Starfleet Academy teaching post was also imminent, Sisko tried to will himself to expect still more change in the future; after all, any number of such transformations were inevitable now that the war had ended.

  Except for the unnecessary and tragic changes that could be prevented by quick action. Once again, he considered the clandestine order he had given to Kira.

  He excused himself and strode purposefully toward the security area.

  Sisko saw that the wormhole aliens had taken the forms of two of his former shipmates from the Saratoga: Doran, a young woman whose specialty was planetary science, and Hranok, a blue-skinned male Bolian tactical officer. They had both been aboard the Saratoga on the day the Borg had come.

  Though he knew he was really somewhere inside the Bajoran wormhole—the Celestial Temple of the Prophets—Sisko seemed to be standing with Doran and Hranok in one of the Saratoga’s burning, debris-strewn corridors. Visible through the haze of smoke was the open door to the quarters Sisko had shared with Jennifer and Jake. The Borg were attacking yet again, as they had done in countless dreams since the Battle of Wolf 359.

  Only this scenario seemed far more vivid than any dream Sisko had ever experienced. Part of him wanted to sprint down the corridor and try again to rescue his wife. But another part of him understood that such an act would be an exercise in futility.

  Jennifer will still be dead, Sisko thought, turning away from his quarters. I can’t go back in there again. I won’t.

  Sisko noticed the Hranok-alien eyeing him quizzically. “But this is your existence,” the alien said, as if challenging him to try to rescue his dead wife.

  Sisko nodded. “It’s difficult to return here. More difficult than any other memory.”

  “Why?” asked the Hranok-alien.

  “Because…because this was the day I lost Jennifer,” Sisko said, pausing as waves of exhaustion threatened to overwhelm him. “I don’t want to be here.”

  Reese watched in silence through the helmet’s visor, biding his time. The internal refrigeration unit in the too-tight Breen cool-suit was doing little to prevent him from sweating. Reese assumed it must have been damaged by whoever had acquired the suit; a real Breen would no doubt already have expired from heatstroke.

  “Raise the force field, Deputy Etana,” Odo said after he had emerged from the holding cell into which he had just escorted the unresisting Founder. One of the two deputies present, a female Bajoran with a severe haircut, immediately complied. A male Bajoran deputy and a pair of Starfleet security officers looked on attentively, their hands never wandering very far from their sidearms.

  Reese noted that all of them except for Odo were armed with phasers. Standing quietly outside the cell beside Ekoor—who, like Reese, was still disguised as one of the Founder’s Breen guards—Reese completely understood the hypervigilance of the security people. The presence of a pair of Breen, even if ostensibly unarmed, had to be making everyone jumpy.

  Of course, the female shapeshifter was anything but jumpy. Indeed, she struck Reese as the very essence of calm and serenity. Now safely confined in the cell, she had taken a seat on the edge of the chamber’s single narrow bunk. Secure, at least for the moment, behind the cell’s unblinking light-blue forcefield, she smiled blandly up at her guards.

  Reese felt that his hatred alone just might be sufficient to pierce the energy barrier. He turned to look at Ekoor. Like Reese’s, the Cardassian’s facial expression was unreadable, thanks to his Breen helmet and mask. But the glinn’s body seemed almost to vibrate with tension.

  Now is the time, Ekoor’s body language seemed to be saying. Not for the first time, Reese found himself wondering whether he had the courage to continue. Or to stop. Perhaps it didn’t matter either way. Once again, an image of Billy’s dead, vacant eyes came to him unbidden.

  The only way out of this is through it, he thought, feeling the reassuring weight of the disruptor that was concealed in the small scan-proof compartment on his thigh. I have to do this thing.

  Reese heard footfalls behind him and turned toward the sound.

  “Back away from the cell, please,” said Colonel Kira, her sharp gaze trained first on Ekoor, and then on Reese. Reese saw that her hand hovered near the phaser she wore at her side as she took a single deliberate step toward them. “We’ll take charge of the Founder from here.”