The Time of Hagalaz, Presumed Guilty Part Two

Chapter Six

"Friend of yours?" Bashir passed Quark and Garak motionless like two statues over the body of a Special Forces officer to dash past Kira grabbing for him. "Dukat. Yes, I know, that's where I'm headed. See if you can locate Pfrann. From the looks of that blood trail he may need a donor -- unless, of course, Pfrann's with him -- "

"No, he isn't with him!" Kira shouted angrily after him for some reason. He also missed her aggravated look around. "Maybe he is with him, I don't know." she glared at Garak and Quark. "What are you doing?"

"Yes…" Garak answered. "Well, this would be one of Gul Dukat's assailants -- "

"We're guarding him," Quark grabbed the phaser rifle.

"No, I'm guarding him," Garak took the rifle back.

"He's dead!" Kira snapped.

"Dead?" Garak blinked. "Really." He looked down on the Bajoran's cruelly discolored face with its sightless blank eyes. "Why, that's true he is."

"Oh!" Kira stalked off on a hobbling gate after Bashir.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Quark asked.

"I don't know…" Garak stared from the Bajoran into the crowd fighting to flee from whoever had fired the phaser and the team of station security determined to keep them corralled. "Possibly…Possibly not."

"The bar?" Quark said.

"Yes…" Garak agreed. "Yes, that's exactly what I was thinking."


"Who was that?" Leeta asked Janice frowning concerned after Anar.

"I don't know," Janice shook her head.

"Oh. Just curious." Leeta bit her lip watching Janice applying a fresh napkin to Anon's wound. "Is he still all right?"

"He needs help now,” Janice assured. ”I wish Commander Dax would just come back. The security guard is only trying to help."

Leeta nodded. "If Rom were here he could effect one of those transports -- "

"Rom's here," Rom gasped onto the scene out of breath. "Sorry, but the crowd, wow, everybody just suddenly went crazy -- Julian here?"

"No!" Leeta stamped her foot. "You were one who was supposed to find him!"

"Um…" Rom said. "Well, he's here somewhere. We kind of got swallowed up -- that doesn't look to good," he mentioned to Janice.

"Do you know how to call for an emergency transport?" she asked.

"Um…You mean over Quark's system? Yup. I know it can be done -- it's just -- " he cringed from Leeta.

"Just don't stand there!"

"We're at Red Alert," Rom reminded her. "That's all those flashing lights and alarms and yup, okay, let me see what I can do…" he scurried around the bar for the console.

"He can do it," Leeta promised, biting her lip again, her curiosity really getting the better of her about this Doctor Lange and Dukat's son. "Is he your boyfriend?"

"Yes," Janice nodded.

Leeta worked on what to do with the confession. "Well, that's okay," she decided with a shrug and a pat of Janice's arm. "I won't say anything -- Rom either. Quark," she sneered. "I don't even think Quark even noticed. Garak either. The two of them. They like everyone to think they know everything that goes on around here, but they don't.They couldn't see it if it was in front of their face --" she blinked into the wild and confused eyes of Pfrann shoving his way between her and Janice for his brother.

"What happened? Janice, what happened!" Pfrann insisted.

"Hey!" Leeta gave Pfrann a sharp whack on the top of his head. "Don't be hollering at her!"

His brother wasn't the only one who sometimes wondered if their father's masochistic tendencies didn't outweigh his sadistic with his fascination with her species. Physically smoother in appearance than the Cardassian and therefore arguably appealing to the Cardassian esthetic senses, the Bajorans were as crazy as any Klingon Pfrann had ever met.

"Leeta, it's all right," Janice quieter her. "He's just upset."

"Of course I'm upset," Pfrann snarled. "Anon has a knife in his stomach! You're not upset?"

"Yes, I'm upset," Janice assured him calmly. "But Anon needs help. Rom's trying to effect a transport -- "

"Transport -- " It clicked. Pfrann yanked his field control unit out from under his tunic. Janice glanced at the palm-size instrument that looked like a sand beetle. It was very similar to what Anon had used to disable her security tag.

"Can you help him?" she agreed excitedly.

"No, but Tan can," Pfrann desperately attempted to raise a communication link to his ship. "I'm sorry -- I wasn't thinking -- I didn't mean to yell -- "

"I know," Janice smiled. "Just try to relax."

"I can't relax," he shook the field unit in her face. "This would never happen to me. Never! Fields! Shields! All over the station! A thousand security -- it didn't stop a knife. No! It didn't stop anything." He took a breath.

"Try Tan again," Janice encouraged.

"I'm trying. It's not working …this is ridiculous," he jumped up. "We'll just take him -- I'll carry him -- "

"You can't carry him -- "

"I can carry him!"

"No, you can't," Janice grabbed him by the hem of his tunic. "Pfrann, Anon's hurt and I'm not going to let you hurt him more."

"Fine, he can carry him," Pfrann's fist clouted the powerful giant Morn. "Don't tell me he can't. He can carry the three of us."

"Unnecessary, but I can understand the reasoning," Bashir excused his way by Pfrann to have a look at Dukat.

Startled, Pfrann stepped clumsily away, fumbling to press his field unit into Leeta's hands so the Federation doctor wouldn't see. She took it. He looked at her. It wasn't loyalty to his father that found her protecting his son. None of them were loyal; it had to be something else. Blackmail. Bribery. He glanced at Janice crouched at his brother's feet. She knew. The Bajoran knew. "Betray them and I'll kill you," Pfrann promised Leeta.

"Don't be such a jerk," Leeta tucked his field unit down inside the extensive cleavage of her chest.

Pfrann shook himself alert with a snap. "I'll want it later."

Leeta snorted. "You and how many others."

He groaned. "No, the field unit. I'll want the field unit later -- it's mine."

She looked at him. "I know it's yours. What's the matter with you?"

"Nothing," he insisted. "Just give it to me later -- the field unit."

Leeta eyed him. From him, her cleavage and back to him. "How old are you?"

"Seventeen!" Pfrann pushed her out of his way to see what Bashir was doing with his brother.

"Old enough, I guess," Leeta shrugged to Rom.

"Um, yup," Rom agreed. "Like…you know. Like father, like son."


"Finally," Janice sighed, relieved to see Bashir. "It's his iliac artery. I don't think it's severed, but I know it's involved."

"Left common…about halfway," Bashir quickly scanned Anon. "The knife penetrated the internal oblique pinching the artery and muscle back towards the iliac crest -- that explains the bubbling. The reaction of the abdominal compression would force the initial hemorrhage down the knife and out -- it's quite long, though blunted. Some sort of serving knife?"

"I don't know…" Janice shook her head.

"And who cares?" Pfrann snapped. "Long, short, blunt, sharp! It has to come out!"

"Yes, it does…" Bashir applied a hypospray to Dukat's throat with a smile for Janice. "Just a little generic boost to his oxygen -- you can get up. The knife's not going to move."

"I wasn't sure."

"No, but he is. Come on," Pfrann's arm clasped around her shoulders, grateful and apologetic. "I'm sorry. Really. I'm not angry with you."

"I understand that," Janice promised. "Of course I understand."

"Quite," Bashir added his understanding. "Apologies aren't necessary, though thank you certainly is appropriate. Doctor Lange deserves an A for a lot more than effort. There is only so much the artery muscle can do to impede the flow. Not removing the knife, and sitting him down to ease the demand for blood, forced added compression of the abdomen, constricting the blood flow considerably."

That's not what O'Brien saw coming up behind Kira with Damar. No constricted blood flow. No anything except the hemorrhage covering Lange from her face to her feet.

"Jeez…" he was past Kira and grabbing Janice away from Pfrann. "Are you all right? You're sure?" The kid was shaking like a leaf, her lips blue with fright. Who could blame her. The place looked like a slaughterhouse. Bodies all over. People crying and screaming. "It's okay," O'Brien consoled her. "Everything's all right. It's over."

"It's Dukat!" Kira's arm flailing in disgust after O'Brien caught Damar in the chest. "What are you looking at?" she snarled.

"Everything, Major," he promised. "Everything. And how very little, everything has changed."

"You can say that again," Kira hobbled up to Bashir. "Status?"

"Nothing that a little surgery and a day or two in bed won't cure," Bashir packed up his field kit, activating his com badge. "Emergency medical beam out, Doctor Bashir and party of two -- make that three," he nodded to Damar. "Gul and Sentinel Dukat and Legate Damar -- I need a vascular team stat. Surgical suite now."

Anon was gone. Janice clung to O'Brien feeling herself sway and the strength of his chest and arms, large and powerful like Anon's.

"I've got you," O'Brien assured. "I've got you."

"It was all I could think of to do…" Janice clutched Kira's hand smoothing her hair. "I knew what to do, but I still felt so helpless."

"I don't know why," Kira shook her head. "You heard Bashir. You were great. Steady hand, cool head. You can't ask for more than that. No one can."

"Hm," Janice smiled over O'Brien's shoulder at Morn. "I'm making your uniform wet."

O'Brien chuckled. "It's been wet plenty of times before."

"You were great."

"Me?” O’Brien said. “What did I do?"

"Morn," Janice nodded. "Cool head. Steady hand. Anon owes you his life. We all do."

"Morn?" Kira questioned the mute, cute, lumbering Morn swelling with pride and presenting her with his phaser rifle; she took it. "Morn."

"And Leeta," Janice nodded. "Rom. Garak. I never could have held him up, Garak. Never."

"The pleasure was all mine, my dear," Garak cooed. "As I explained."

Yeah, well, before it got any deeper than the blood already there, O'Brien had this idea in his mind about just getting the kid the heck out of there.

"You're not taking her anywhere," Kira's pleasant smile for Janice masked a behind-the-scene painful gouge of her fingers in O'Brien left kidney.

"What the heck are you doing?" O'Brien glared. "I'm taking the kid out of here now. End of story. No line. Infirmary. Temple -- are you sure you're all right?"

"I'm fine," Janice said.

"You look it," O'Brien nodded. Like he said. Shaking like a leaf. Frightened half to death. If she was lucky she had a leg under her; which she didn't. "Don't worry about it. Two minutes you'll be out of here and in your quarters -- less than two," he activated his com badge. "Emergency beam out -- "

"Cancel that!" Kira slammed hers.

"What's the hell is the matter with you?" O'Brien sputtered. "She's a diplomat!"

"I know who she is," Kira flung the phaser rifle to Garak. "Get her out of here. You!" she seized Leeta, spinning her toward him. "Go with him."

"Huh?" O'Brien said. "Now, wait a minute -- Wait a minute!" he barked, holding Garak and give-him-a-break Leeta off. "They're changing their clothes! We're fighting ghosts. Got that? Ghosts!"

"I know that!"

O'Brien stared at her.

"What do you think I would do?" Kira snapped. The tricks of the trade still the same, the names of the players were all that had changed. "Come on," she disengaged Janice from O'Brien's grasp. "No, you don't have to wait in line, but I can't effect a beam out. We need to reserve that for medical -- "

"Hold it!" O'Brien roared

Kira's eyes flashed black. Dax was right in her erecting an immediate protective shield around Lange. Maybe it was drawn from Ziyal; she didn't know. The nausea filling her stomach when Rom reported Anon was injured told her it might be. She'd preferred to think it was her ankle even though she was conscious of the nagging fear in the back of her mind that she was somehow killing Dukat's children one by one. She wasn't. Who was, were Bajorans. Along with killing everyone else's including their own. That was wrong. They were supposed to be protecting the station from Damar. Martok.

"Sisko to Major Kira!" the Captain's burning voice interrupted over her com badge. He was canceling his call a moment later, before she had a chance to respond. The Chief's com badge came alive. "First level Promenade, on the double. We have a hostage situation -- take it slow. It's a child."

O'Brien bolted for the entrance. Kira hit her com badge. "Major Kira to Captain Sisko -- "

It's all right, Major. Maintain your position. There's enough of us."

"Understood."

"The holosuites?" Leeta thought of when Kira signed off to consider what now to do about Lange.

"No, you can't go through the holosuites," Kira reactivated her com badge. "Priority transport for Doctor Lange and escort to quarters."

"Thank you," Garak exhaled. "I must say I agree with Chief O'Brien, Major. Doctor Lange is in no condition to wander the Promenade, even if we weren't at war with one another."

"Just stay with her," Kira suggested. "Someone from security will be there to relieve you as soon as they can."

"Oh, we will," Leeta blew Rom a kiss goodbye.

"Hostage?" Kira went from thinking about some organized extreme left-wing outfit to suicidal desperadoes penetrating an enemy camp. If you got out, you got out. If you didn't, you took as many of them with you as you could. She was close. Sometimes there was just that one determined to get out of there.


Anar was aware as he ran for his life through a crowd that seemed to part that he was running less for his life and the life of his son than he was for the sons of the defiler Dukat and the daughter of a man he didn't even know. Less for preserving the sanctity of Shakaar and sparing him the scandal and embarrassment of his uncle's apprehension than he was for Bajor. Prophets false or true were on his side. Beyond the widening path of figures was the sweeping vision of a bridge. Broad and broken. Her multi-levels clinging to each other for support. Anar jumped up the steps for the causeway to Quark's second level, the bright lights of phaser fire streaking over his head and past him; a Klingon growl close to closing in. It was an ambitious effort on both their parts. Visions of bridges suddenly cleared from Anar's eyes when he realized he was running straight for the section of connecting levels he had vaporized out from under Sisko. Thirty feet across to the next surviving section was out of the question unless he had wings. Behind him was security. It was either left over the rails in an attempt to cut back for the causeway, or right over the rails for the heart of the main dining area that security had just cleared for emergency medical triage and evac of the second level.

He did not have wings; he prayed Sisko had a heart. He whirled back, firing his phaser rifle set for disruption in rapid bursts as he opted to cut the hard right for the main dining section; the Klingon Worf grappling to catch his ankles as he vaulted over the rail.

Worf missed. They were even. Anar had missed him and the second Klingon accompanying him, General Martok. Odo caught one of the strikes in his chest. He saw it coming. There was no time to avoid it. Little he could do other than to allow his matter to disassociate of its own accord in an effort to displace the violent force of energy attempting to displace him. It was a seven; close enough. Powerful enough to crush his transmuting humanoid form back against the rail; the disrupted pulse imploding deep within his resistance to spread through and exit in crackling ribbons of electricity. He was fine after a few seconds, a distant memory of acid indigestion crossing his mind. The security officer immediately behind him, momentarily grateful to find himself shielded by a Changeling that he likely pledged his allegiance to the Dominion on the spot, was electrocuted.

"Stand down!" Sisko issued a general order on his way up through the ranks directing security to hold firm on the bridge to prevent the intruder from backtracking. "Clear shot, gentlemen, only, clear shot," he exchanged a nod of understanding and appreciation with Odo, knowing the Constable would have done more if he could.

"Sorry about that," Odo apologized for the officer's death anyway even though they didn't need any more converts to the Dominion's cause.

"The only way out is the front door," Dax gasped for breath as Benjamin caught up to her.

So there was and there were two ways to reach it. Sisko was over the rails to the left and heading for the causeway with a shout for Worf and Martok.

"It'll be a race," Dax followed knowing it was one Benjamin intended to win.

He did indeed. "Clear the area," Sisko barked over his com badge to security out on the second level of the Promenade. "Get those people out of the way now."

"How many did we lose?"

Two, perhaps three. Sisko hadn't stop to count. There would be time for that later.

"He's desperate," Dax agreed, not quite sure how she managed to be so lucky other than possibly the intruder's lingering delay over the bodies of the fallen security officers downstairs gave him time to formulate his escape route.

"He's more than that," Sisko assured.

"Looking for someone perhaps?" she frowned. Sisko's head wrenched around to her. "An idea," she shrugged.

"I'm sure you'll tell us what," Odo grunted.

"Motherless targ," Martok cursed in Klingon as Worf came away empty-handed. "He knows you will not fire for fear of hitting the wounded."

"Neither will you," Worf caught the phaser rifle.

"Then we go left," Martok agreed with Sisko's shout.

"We go left," Worf assured. He caught up with the Captain at the entrance to the Promenade, easily sixty meters too late to trap the intruder inside the bar. A distance shortened considerably when the Bajoran sacrificed much of his valuable head start to cut a diagonal path, crossing in front of them.

"He is insane," Worf reacted, though where exactly the Bajoran would have gone with his head start other than into one of the shops was unknown. The immediate turbolifts and airlocks were locked out of use to minimize his options. He seemed to know that instinctively; he didn't stop to even try them.

"He's has a plan," Dax decided.

"Living shields," Sisko promised as the Bajoran raced straight into the arms of spectators and patrons being shoved out of the way by security. "I said to clear the area!" he bellowed at the Task Leader approaching on the run. "Not left! Right! The area!" he fired his disruptor up over the heads of the crowd at the ceiling to panic those people out of the way; up against the walls and back inside those shops now. Had the Bajoran turned and fired back on them in response Sisko would have assumed the utter and complete responsibility for anyone harmed in the return fire right down to the smallest scratch.

The Bajoran didn't. He ran, firing straight ahead into the parting sea, moving them out the way his way; by killing them. Plan? He had no plan. He had a goal. The way to achieve that goal formulated as he ran. Decisions made and aborted in split seconds. Calculating the actions of his pursuers ahead of them to stay ahead of them. Cold, the bloodless officer was an officer; Sisko knew that. That was no farmer who took up arms joining some local militant group. Highly trained and highly skilled, the cloak the man wore to cover his soul reeked to Sisko of Shakaar's Special Forces, nothing less. By his age alone, ranking. By his actions, a leader. One who surrendered his phaser rifle back in time on that dining platform, centuries ago now, turning to the officer behind him to secure his. Those were the actions and words of a commanding officer speaking for himself and his subordinate to the enemy. Arrogance pressed the trigger of the disruptor bringing that platform down around Sisko and his men. Determination, not desperation pressed the trigger now. A leader? Quite possibly the leader. Shakaar himself would be hard put to convince Sisko otherwise. "Move! Move! Move!" he directed Worf and Odo across the Promenade and Dax to stay left while he aimed for the middle.

"Your victims' survival must be earned, targ!" Martok emerged from Quark's to howl after the fleeing coward. "But so must be your victory!"

"General, no!" Sisko barked.

"Concern yourself with your crowd," Martok muttered, "leave him to me…That will be the day I run from someone's back!" he shouted above the screams of the masses. "At your side, I am at your side!"

"Well, at least we don't need a bull horn," Dax agreed, trying to anticipate the movements of the crowd. "Back! Just stay back! Against the wall!"

"Get ready to take him…" Martok nodded to Sisko.

Sisko was ready. Martok halted suddenly, thrusting his arms into the air, waving his phaser rifle. "Turn and fight, Bajoran! The son of Dukat has already tasted the blood of Martok, are you any less of man than he?"

That was almost a little too difficult for Anar to resist. He needed a rest, to rest he needed a diversion. "What the hell," he succumbed to the words of his Federation background, activating his holographic implant, fumbling with the Cardassian field unit he pulled out from inside his sweat-drenched shirt. "Distortion by thirty meters…that should do it." Sisko and his crew weren't too much farther behind him than that, despite the Klingon's lung power. Anar cut the power level of his rifle back to three and the beam to narrow width as he whirled around, firing from behind a shield of a hundred images of himself emerging from inside each other in a straight line down the Promenade. The last one appearing right at the tip of Martok's boots, not a second after the stream of phaser fire neatly sliced the rifle out of the General's hand. It was enough to confuse the optic nerve of most beings. Blind some of them momentarily as the brain scrambled to assimilate the images. Humans were no exceptions. Neither were Klingons nor Trills. The Changeling? Prefect Dukat's Constable Odo would have to be moderately impressed by the trick even if he didn't want to admit it.

It didn't matter to Anar what Odo cared to admit or didn't. The holographic projection was there and gone in seconds. The features far too visually distorted for the Changeling or anyone to be able to identify Anar as anyone other than an older man with white hair wearing a yellow jumpsuit. Anar was inside the minimally comforting security of a narrow door frame of some shop. Noting his location and eyeing the Promenade rail several feet in front of him, trying not to think about just how far down it might actually be to the first level while Martok battled the spots in front of his eyes.

"Good shot," Dax voiced Benjamin's thinking of a trained and highly skilled adversary. "Or maybe not," she checked that. Actually it didn't make any sense as to why the Bajoran didn't kill Martok from behind his shield of blinding images.

The potential of answers raised a few questions, yes. None of which Sisko cared to address at the moment. Only one thing on his mind. "Odo…" he hailed him over his com badge.

"He's in the doorway," Odo reported. "Forty meters, no more. Sorry, but that's about all I had time to see."

Forty meters. It was gift. This close and still just that far. He had to have something on his mind. "Line up," Sisko ordered.

"Beg your pardon?"

"Line up," Sisko jerked Dax up next to him. "Mister Worf."

"We've got it," Odo was there, taking his place in line; the five of them abreast. "Somewhat unnecessary…"

"If I thought he would stop with you, Constable," Sisko assured, "I'd tell you to go for it."

"Point," Odo agreed. "Now what?"

"Captain!" Sisko barked for the officer's attention. "Unconditional surrender is the offer, there will be no other. Choices died the moment you opened fire, not here!"

"Don't answer him," Anar shook his head at himself, changing his mind. "Wrong. Answer him if you want to get to that railing…A reasonable presumption, Captain, though wrong," he activated his field unit, talking into it. Out of breath and hoarse from trying to catch his breath the voice distortion was only necessary for the computer logs sure to be reviewed. "As reasonable as mine. I said you were Cardassian, remember?"

Oh, Sisko remembered as clearly as he could hear the Chief saying "I'm trying" while trying to clean the distortion to get a clear pattern of 'the noise' as he was also sure to call it.

"And how Cardassian of you," Anar supplied them with as much data as they cared to analyze, "not to admit defeat when defeat -- is at your feet," he chuckled. "The tip of your boots. Why didn't the intruder kill Martok? Or the Trill wife of the Klingon Worf when he had no guilt about killing others? It doesn't make any sense. When is arrogance not arrogance but instead something else -- " he steeled himself in preparation for the plunge to his life or his death. "Such as suspicion? To tell you the truth, I'm not quite sure myself. Something to do with the choice of destroying or preserving the present to destroy or protect future's past. Which choice would you choose?" he dropped the field unit in the doorway rather than risk ending up wearing it inside the flesh and bones of his chest as opposed to only his jumpsuit.

The phaser he had throughout his free fall over the railing. Losing it as he tucked into a roll to land on the tips of his feet and immediately over onto his chest on the level below; he still didn't know just how far down it was. He had no idea where the child came from. He saw the crowd being herded by security and each other back into the airlock as he jumped, noting he was closer to the security office than he had calculated. That was the good news. The bad news was now down, he had to get up before security satisfied by his death, realized he was alive. He was alive. His last steps along the road to freedom came by way of the Prophets, or she came of her own accord.

"The ravings of a madman," Worf proclaimed as the intruder surprised them once again with his sudden decision to vault for the rail and his death.

"A premature assumption, Mister Worf." Sisko was at the rail barking for security to keep the crowd back and proceed with caution. He had no idea why other than suicide didn't fit the man's profile. The Bajoran officer had to think he could get out of it alive AND free. The fact that he was on his chest rather than his back indicated he had misjudged the distance, falling into a tumbling somersault or missing the opportunity completely to 'tuck and roll'. The phaser rifle resting on the floor several feet away added to Sisko's elation that part of the plan anyway had gone awry. Still…there was something about the silent figure on the floor he didn't quite trust. He released the railing bolting for the stairs. Behind him, he heard Worf shout the intruder was alive and Dax screaming to security something about keeping the crowd back.


"It's a child!" Dax was there when Sisko whirled back from descending the stairs. "Bajoran. Maybe there's a chance…" Benjamin passed her halfway to the bottom of the staircase, calling for Kira over his com badge.

"Her ankle's fractured!" Dax reminded. Benjamin stared at her again, canceled the call and hailed O'Brien instead.

"Give your best," Sisko ordered her, halting Martok in his tracks before he uttered as much as a growl.

"Right," Dax's hands were colder than their normal cool, motioning for security to retreat slowly -- all but the Task Leader Benjamin had by the breast of his uniform.

"Where did those people come from!"

"The airlock," Odo grunted. "It's the local shuttle. They probably just got the order that it was all right to disembark." But then the riot down the other end at Quark's was over with. Had been for five minutes or so before this started. Why keep two hundred people bottle-necked in an airlock any longer than necessary? After forty minutes or so it did start to become uncomfortable and hot despite the life support systems.

"Forty minutes," Worf commented. "It does not seem possible."

"That's all," Odo nodded. Forty minutes since the first disruptor streaked across Quark's. The shuttle must have docked just prior to Red Alert with just enough time between docking and Red Alert for her passengers to disembark to find themselves moments later sealed in the airlock.

"Not saying someone didn't jump the gun," he assured Sisko before his uniform ended twisted in the Captain's fist. "Saying the Bajoran's timing's almost uncanny."

"Sheer luck!" Sisko released the Task Leader with a sputter. "Damn sheer luck!"

"If you say so." Odo thought back to those 'ravings of a madman'. "He has more than a goal, he has a mission." Sisko looked at him, he nodded. "That's not Maquis. We're dealing with some religious sect -- possibly Winn." He was also close. Unfortunately, like Major Kira, Odo didn't know where he started out right and ended up wrong, or vice versa.


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