Trip squinted, hoping that his next statement wouldn’t offend the other man. “Yeah, but what about the whole ‘God created everything’ proposition? Does that mean that the Vulcan and Andorian deities don’t exist, and only Earth’s God does? And what about all the religions on Earth that don’t worship the same God?”

“In all your years in Starfleet, I’m certain you’ve seen many things that might have seemed inconceivable to you at one time,” Phuong said, now standing up. “The universe is full of things beyond our ken. We knowthat time travel is possible, we know that some phenomena can defy the laws of physics as we think we understand them, and we know that beings live and exist in dimensions just beyond ours.”

He drew closer to Trip. “I’ll tell you something that will reallymake you appreciate the mind of God–or at least the mysterious nature of the multiverse. The bureau has proof of the existence of an alternate universe that is virtually identical to our own– almost. But in thatuniverse, significant changes have occurred throughout history. Some of the people there are us,only us raised in an alternate environment that forced them to make different choices in their lives.” He paused for a moment. “We doubt that this ‘mirror universe’ is the only one of its kind.”

He turned away, looking toward the window. “So with all of the knowledge you have gained aboard Enterprise, can you really fault the idea that the God we were both taught about might exist–right alongside other planes of existence in which allGods might be real? Or that in certain other realities, noneof them exist?”

Trip wasn’t sure how to respond to such deeply metaphysical questions–or to the mind‑boggling scientific revelation Phuong had just made–but he was saved from having to do so when a trio of Adigeons entered the chamber.

“I am Carver MoulMa’s,” the lead creature said–at least according to Trip’s translation device–his vertical mouth undulating as he spoke. “I will be the principal carver in your operation. I see you have been prepared, so we will proceed.”

A jolt went down Trip’s spine as he heard the words. He hoped that “carver” was just the translator’s way of saying “doctor” or “surgeon.”

“I trust our instructions remain clear,” Phuong said, a slight edge to his voice.

“Certainly,” MoulMa’s said. “When your operation is complete, you will be fundamentally indistinguishable from a Romulan.”

“Which means we’ll look like what exactly?” Trip asked.

The three Adigeons made some noises that sounded like glass being crunched beneath a hard boot heel. On one hand, Trip hoped he was hearing whatever passed for laughter on Adigeon Prime; on the other hand, he was worried at least a little that they might actually belaughing.

“You will look much like you do now,” MoulMa’s said. “Only with the superficial distinguishing characteristics of a Romulan rather than those of a Terran.” He then gestured back toward the direction from which the trio had come.

“Your financial arrangements are nonreversible. Your carving is scheduled to commence in selb dakkiwso. So, unless you wish to abandon your plans, we should proceed presently.”

“No refunds,” Trip said, aiming a wry smile at Phuong. “Guess we’d better stay and get our money’s worth.”

Phuong met Trip’s gaze steadily. Then he stepped toward the Adigeons. “I will be the first to be…‘carved.”’

Trip had remained within the confines of the surgical theater’s observation gallery for as long as he could stand it, watching the three Adigeons and their various assistants “carve” into Phuong. Unlike the medical procedures he’d seen Phlox undertake in sickbay, this one seemed almost brutal, and was definitely far more bloody. He exited the room swiftly and threw up in what he hoped was a trash receptacle, then returned to his solitary viewing post, where he kept his eyes either closed or averted for the duration of the procedure.

After what seemed to be several hours, the assistants began wrapping Phuong in regenerative bandages. With so many surgeons and their assistants crowded around Phuong at the moment, Trip couldn’t see precisely what his fellow operative looked like, but he was heartened to note that no limbs appeared to have been discarded. Of course that doesn’t necessarily mean they haven’t attached anew limb or two,Trip thought with a small shiver.

Minutes later, the assistants gently placed Phuong into a hovering antigrav chair, then carefully pushed him out of the surgical theater and into an adjacent sterile white area that Trip guessed was some sort of recovery room. The patient was definitely conscious, but seemed unsteady. Bandages entirely covered his skin, making him look like the Mummy in one of Trip’s favorite series of monster films. With the addition of a hat and a pair of sunglasses, he would have been a dead ringer for Claude Rains in The Invisible Man.

“Can I talk to him?” Trip asked one of the Adigeons.

“You appear to be capable of speech,” the creature said, and the others made the crushed glass sound in response.

Now Trip was sure that this was the sound of Adigeon laughter. He did his best to ignore having made himself the butt of one of their alien jests.

“Tinh?” He kept his voice low. “Are you all right?”

Blinded by the bandages, a woozy Phuong turned his face in Trip’s general direction. “This hurts like hell, but they’re taking me in for dermal regeneration now. Can’t wait to see what I look like afterward.”

“Yeah, me too,” Trip said. He resisted the urge to pat the Section 31 operative on the shoulder, since he was unsure just where it might be safe to touch him.

“I’ll see you on the other side of the gauze,” Phuong said as the three Adigeons pushed his hovering conveyance away.

My turn now,Trip thought as he entered the operating chamber, which had been sterilized by some sort of mist during the brief time he had been talking with Phuong in the other room.

MoulMa’s and the other doctors entered the room again, with three new assistants in tow. All of them were clad in fresh, unbloodied surgical apparel. “Disrobe and place yourself on the table,” MoulMa’s said crisply and emotionlessly.

Trip shivered as he dropped the blouselike garment to the floor, then approached the table. Sitting on it and lying back, he was pleased to find that the padded surface was warm to the touch.

MoulMa’s hovered over him, looking down. The effect of the surgeon’s sideways mouth and gills and dinner‑plate eyes was even more disorienting from below, and Trip’s already racing heart began to beat even faster.

“Shkt’kooj will administer some farrongas to you as an anesthetic,” MoulMa’s said. “You will feel nothing until you wake up after our carving is complete.”

Yeah, and then I bet it’ll hurt like hell,Trip thought, remembering Phuong’s words.

“One question before we start, Doc,” Trip said aloud. “I just want to be certainthat this operation is reversible. I’m not going to be stuck looking like a Romulan forever, am I?”

MoulMa’s tilted his head, his eyes widening. “Your agency has paid us to reverse the carving after you return. The amount they paid is significant enough to make certain that your current…countenance will be restored with an extremely high degree of fidelity.”

Trip let out a breath, not quite certain if the Adigeon had reassured him or not. “Just wanted to be sure,” he said.

With a flick of a long wingtip, MoulMa’s signaled to one of the assistants, and Trip felt a tiny prick at the side of his neck a moment later. Almost instantly, he felt his muscles go completely limp, and his mind began to fog.

As if from a great distance, he heard MoulMa’s, but he wasn’t even sure if the carver was talking to him or to the others.