“I see it, too,” Shar said. “It must be a distortion effect caused by the object’s being in multiple dimensions simultaneously.”

“Or our sensors are just reading it wrong,” T’rb said dryly.

Vaughn didn’t like the sound of that. “Ensign Tenmei, can we beam an away team safely into the interior?”

Tenmei looked at her console again as though to double-check, then nodded. “I believe so, though I can’t get a reading on the atmospheric composition, if any. And Chief Chao had better stay away from those shifting boundaries.”

“I’ll tell her to aim for the middle.” Vaughn said, and turned back toward Shar. “Lieutenant ch’Thane, I want you to assemble an away team, with full environmental suits. Jury-rig an EV suit for Sacagawea and bring him along.”

“Yes, sir,” Shar said. “I request permission to lead the team as well.”

“I don’t think so, Lieutenant,” Vaughn said with a gentle shake of the head. “I want to keep you on board. We still need a working translation of that alien text, and so far you’re better grounded in it than anyone else.”

The young Andorian’s eyes flashed with an intensity Vaughn had never seen before. His aspect was half plea, half fulmination. “The computer and some ancillary equipment are handling the bulk of the work now, sir.”

It wasn’t like Shar to argue with him right on the bridge. Something was wrong. For some reason, the usually reticent science officer appeared to needto go.

“All right, Shar. You can come along. But I intend to lead the team myself. I want to keep a low profile, but I also want plenty of secur—”

“Incoming bogeys, Captain,” Bowers said, his fingers suddenly moving at blinding speed across the tactical console.

Vaughn shifted instantly into his combat-imminent mode as everyone who had been standing about watching the screen scattered to various battle stations. “Are they coming from the artifact?”

“No, sir,” Shar said from the science station, fully intent once again on his own console. “From the sunward direction.”

“How many?” Vaughn wanted to know.

“Eleven,” Bowers said. “No, thirteen ships. Closing fast, in a tight wedge formation. Configuration matches the hostiles we chased away from the D’Naali ship. And they’re powering weapons.”

Though his heart thudded heavily in his chest, Vaughn maintained a studied outward calm born of decades of practice. “Yellow Alert. We’ll maintain a passive posture as long as possible, but I want you to keep the shields and phaser banks warm, Mr. Bowers. And give me a tactical display.”

The image of the mysterious alien edifice vanished, replaced instantly by a baker’s dozen bulbous, blocky aggressor vessels, each of them very similar to the ship that had opened fire on the Defiantand the D’Naali earlier.

“Lead ship’s range is three hundred thousand kilometers,” Bowers said. “Closing fast.”

“Hail them, Mr. Bowers.”

The ships continued their inexorable approach. “One hundred and fifty thousand,” Bowers reported.

Vaughn rose. “Any response?”

“Negative.”

“Keep trying,” Vaughn said. “And ready phasers.”

Bowers: “Sixty thousand and closing.”

“Aren’t you going to raise shields, Captain?” Tenmei said. Vaughn heard the subtle Are you nuts?timbre that colored the phrase.

“Not yet. Be ready to fire on my command, Mr. Bowers. A shot across the lead ship’s bow.”

“Aye, Captain,” Bowers said, showing no sign of apprehension.

Then, to Vaughn’s immense surprise, the aggressor flotilla broke formation, with most of the ships tumbling rapidly away from the Defiant.

“They must have picked up our weapons signature,” Tenmei said. “Maybe we scared them off.”

“I wouldn’t count on that, Ensign,” Vaughn said.

Bowers consulted his console and quickly confirmed Vaughn’s suspicions. “They’ve slipped around and behind the artifact. Now they’re coming around toward our side of it and are taking up new positions between us and the object.”

“Confirmed,” Shar said.

Vaughn fumed silently. Damn! Suckered me. They weren’t planning to attack. They were trying to set up a blockade.

Aloud, Vaughn said, “Hail them again, Shar.”

Shar’s antennae lofted in surprise. “Sir, theyare hailing us.”

“Put them on.” And let’s hope the translator that’s good for the goose is also good for the gander.

The viewer image shifted again, this time revealing a dimly lit ship interior. A squat being that reminded Vaughn of nothing so much as a blotchy snowman draped in seaweed regarded him with an inhuman, unknowable expression.

This could only be a member of the species that Shar’s enhanced translator had tentatively identified as Nyazen.

The translator spoke in a voice that evoked something halfway between wind chimes and highland pipes: “Cathedral/anathema never you to be sullied/defiled by seekers-of-curiosity, such as we believe/intuit to be your motive/purpose/goal.”

He doesn’t want us near the artifact. Either because it’s holy, or because it’s dangerous.

Vaughn spread his hands in what he hoped the Nyazen would take as a benign gesture, though he wasn’t at all certain that the creature even hadhands as such. “I understand that you don’t wish to let strangers approach this…object. But it has brought harm to members of my crew. We believe that it also holds the key to undoing that harm.”

“Believe you, we cannot. Your vessel, a D’Naali contains/shelters. Blood-foe/ancient-vow-to-destroy D’Naali represent/are/shall ever be. Trust with you not achievable/ advisable, therefore.”The Nyazen abruptly vanished from the screen, replaced by the artifact, slowly tumbling through the yawning interdimensional gulfs.

It took Vaughn only a moment to gather the Nyazen’s meaning. His sensors have picked up Sacagawea’s presence aboard theDefiant.

Bowers spoke quickly, his voice half an octave higher than usual. “Energy readings spiking aboard all thirteen ships’ weapons tubes.”

“They’re opening fire,” Tenmei said.

It was no longer possible to read any ambiguity into the Nyazen fleet’s motives. “Shields up, Mr. Bowers!” Vaughn said. “Lock and load.”

11

“Well, you’re certainly not one of my regular customers,” Vic said, appearing mildly surprised. “What brings you to my establishment this fine afternoon?”

Taran’atar regarded the holographic human simulacrum stonily for a long moment before replying. Because his senses were attuned to energy fluctuations—such as those made by shrouded Jem’Hadar—he remained keenly aware of the twenty or so luminal demihumans who milled about the restaurant and dance floor of Vic Fontaine’s lounge. Only one of these beings, a gray-haired humanoid who sat drinking alone at a small corner table, appeared to have any discernible substance. Taran’atar decided that he would do well to keep an eye on that one.

“I walked,” Taran’atar said, turning his attention back to Vic. The tuxedoed human bared his teeth in what all humans and Vorta seemed to regard as a nonthreatening gesture. Taran’atar had never enjoyed looking at teeth, whether human or Vorta.

“And I thought Frank and Dean were the greatest straight men who ever played Vegas. They’re not gonna be happy to hear about the competition, pallie.”

Taran’atar wasn’t at all certain what to make of the holo-human’s remarks. “Are you saying I’m not welcome in this establishment?”