The title, as the titles of most things I write has next to nothing to do with the actual story. If you’re expecting something having to do with mythology, you can leave now, as there is none of that here. It was the title of the original draft of this, a much darker piece. I scrapped it, as that was not what I needed to write just then. The name stuck when I started this piece.

I was reluctant to post this, as most of the characters involved are creations of my own imagination. The narrator was the protagonist of a series of unfinished stories I wrote nearly a year ago, but for those of you who read those stories (and, if I recall correctly, not many people read what I wrote…something having to do with the fact that they didn’t like how I wrote) the character presented below is quite a bit different from the one in those old stories.

"’Scuse me, Kisre," I said as I turned away from the bar, dropping a handful of sweaty change on the counter top as payment for my drink. Ferengi don’t usually accept non-latinum-based currency as any kind of legal tender, but Kisre trusts me. Well, she trusts my trust fund. And like most inhabitants of DS9 she knows I’ve been watching too many flatfilms with the rest of the Otaku Temple to not use any of the strange little habits I see. I’m strange enough as it is that most people don’t even blink an eye when I insist upon paying for my drinks - and anything else I buy - with the Federation’s own, obsolete currency.

I wove my way through the crowds, swerving around the distinct clusters, and trying not to trip over anyone. On Cardassia Prime, this wouldn’t have been a problem - and not because we don’t have that many aliens there. Back home, my height is a bit above average, but not so tall that I protrude above the crowds like a tree in a field of deitadi. Here, eighty percent of the population is Bajoran. And if there’s one way you can identify Bajorans, other than by their low intelligence and small genitals, it’s by their short stature.

Going off on a tangent, like all short people they make up for it by being really nasty. But if you ignore that, and their horrid body odor, they’re quite a nice people…if your definition of nice includes a repressive nature that makes Old Earth’s Puritans look like anarchists. A nice people. Really. I should know. My father had at least six Bajoran mistresses and got at least one of them pregnant. If you think I sound bitter, you’d be right. My therapist has kept telling me not to hold an entire species responsible just because a scan few of their number destroyed my family…but it’s not one of those things one can forgive easily. And it’s not like this sort of thing happens to me very often. Over the years, my family has been threatened by species too numerous to count: My uncle was a prisoner of war of the Tzenkethi, my mother and I were held hostage by the Romulans, my sister, Orra, was paralyzed from the waist down because of the Klingon invasion…And the list goes on. But I don’t hate any of those species, and - surprisingly - I rather like the Romulans.

There is something visceral about the Bajorans that just strikes a chord within me.

My friends, my human friends, assume that I was taught at school to hate all things Bajoran when I was very small child, but that’s simply not true. The Cardassian education system and I were not formally introduced until I was nine - check what happened that year, and I’ll give you three guesses as to why - having been pretty much raised by my mother until then. And despite what most people believe, Cardassian children aren’t taught to hate Bajorans at school. No matter what the Feds might say, we aren’t all blindly bigoted xenophobes.

Honestly, I think the real problem with Bajorans is their attitude. Like I said, they’re nasty. And quite prideful…but not in a good way. The way they talk about it, you’d be hard-pressed not to believe that they were better off during the Occupation.

Crazy. Stupid. But nice. Really. I just haven’t seen any evidence of it yet.

Where was I?

Ah, yes. Quark’s.

I managed to squeeze my way out - which, during happy hour isn’t a very easy feat to accomplish - and found myself spilled out onto the Promenade. In marked contrast to the chaos in Quark’s, it was nearly empty, with only a few Bajoran civilians and some ensigns walking around. And Garak, who lurked in the shadows near the entrance to his shop like the wraith he was. Despicable creature, that man. Makes my skin crawl.

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I think I might have started a bit too fast. Back to the beginning.

…Not that beginning, you pervert! You really don’t need to know how I was conceived to understand what’s going on. I just meant back to the beginning of the story.

My name is Mekor Dukat, and, yes, I am his son, although, by now, he’s certainly dead.

Don’t mourn for him, or celebrate his death, for my father died as he deserved to die, as he killed a great many people during his life. He rotted from the insides out, knowing he and only he was fully responsible for his own fate. He was forcibly infected with the Dominion’s legacy, a slow, deadly disease that touches only Cardassians.

They say you can never go home again.

In my case, in the case of every Cardassian refugee who fled before Damar was imprisoned, they were right. That virus - Feds have taken to calling it Legacy - can survive in anything, plant or animal, living or dead. We can only return to Cardassia and come back healthy after the entire world has been cleansed of any and all forms of life. And then, why would we want to return?

My father’s fault.

My burden.

And that wasn’t the only one.

But that’s not why you’re reading this. Many, many other testimonials depict the fall of Cardassia much more objectively and clear-eyed than I ever could.

No. Out of the many…legacies my father left behind before he had the decency to die, there were few that could be described as good.

And I’m going to tell you about one of them. A legacy of life, you might call it.

-In 2346, Father hooked up with Kira Meru, Colonel Kira’s own mother. He might be dead, but she still hates him for it.

-In 2353, Meru dies, but not before he manages to knock up a young lady named Tora Naprem

2366, Ziyal (Naprem’s daughter, and my sister) and Naprem disappear. Father mourns.

2372, Ziyal reappears. Naprem is dead, though. By then, father was gone from Bajor, and had a nice little political career going back home. That got tossed down the proverbial memory hole.

A year and a half later, he brought in the Dominion, Ziyal died, he went mad, and then he died.

Simple, huh?

But remember Kira Meru. She’ll become important a bit later on.

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‘Theahereh’ was Theahereh al Faran. She’s a colleague of mine, although only in the loosest sense of the word. We don’t even work in the same department. She’s also an old girlfriend. I was standing beside her, outside the Infirmary, watching happy hour at Quark’s.

"Such energy they waste, trying to forget their lives. It would be tragic if it weren’t so pathetic."

"Thea. Don’t go all orthodox on me. It’s far too late in the day for me to handle it."

"Too late for coffee?"

"No. Too early for alcohol"

"Oh." She grinned at me, and her eyes lit up in the same way that endeared her to me so many years ago. I couldn’t help but smile back at her.

"Well, the Admiral wanted to see you," she continued, lowering her voice. No matter what people might say, DS9 is not a very secure installation.

"What does he want?" I replied, my voice as low as hers. I grew up under the iron fist of the Obsidian Order. I know how to keep a secret.

"I don’t know," she said, and grimaced. Theahereh isn’t used to being kept in the dark. "He just told me to get you to his office and to not use the com relays."

"Old Man isn’t usually this paranoid."

"No. I only wished he’d said something."

Not a good time to make a joke, but I can’t help myself. "Maybe he thinks we’re spies…"

"Oh, please," she snorted, "for who? The Arab-Israeli Liberation Front? The Khetan Freedom League?"

I leaned in closer. "Who knows what the Old Man is thinking?"

"The shadow do."

"What?"

She waved her hands dismissively. "It’s nothing. Just a cultural reference from Old Earth."

"I’ll ask Jude."

"He might not know."

"It’s Jude."

"True…Just go see the Admiral first…"

"Yes, ma’am"

We parted, and I ambled off to a turbolift, trying not to think very much about this. Frankly, I couldn’t care less why the Admiral wanted to see me. I know I should, but I don’t, not really. I’m his aide and everything, but frankly, I don’t care what he does.

Correction. I’m actually his adjutant. Yeah, I don’t know the difference either, but ‘adjutant’ sounds better on my CV than ‘aide’. They both mean ‘right-hand man’, and my duties include shuffling padds and standing behind the admiral’s chair looking detached. It’s nice work if you can get it, but well, I’d prefer something more challenging.

Today is my day off. The admiral has more than half a dozen aides. Why me? And why send Theahereh to fetch me when a simple com call would do?

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The door to the Old Man’s office slid open silently and I stepped over the threshold, hands behind my back. The lighting, as in every room on DS9, was goldy-orange and subdued, dim by human standards, but not too bright by my own.

The admiral sat behind his desk, facing a trio of stony-faced Bajorans and a half-breed.

Now, when I say half-breed, I don’t mean the product of one ugly alien having sex with another different, uglier alien. This fellow was a half-breed, whose mother was Bajoran and whose father was a Cardassian. Or vice versa, although that’s quite rare.

He was a handsome fellow, with thick browny-red hair I would love to bury my fingers, and indigo blue eyes. But I do wish he were facing the other way; I want a look at his clan earring.

The other Bajorans were unremarkable, all with dark hair and eyes like chips of ice, and they all wore near-identical charcoal gray suits.

Proper stupid remark: "Oh, mommy, can I get the whole set? Please, mommy, please?" Naturally, I didn’t say a word, because without a beautiful female (or male) I’d look like an idiot, and not a semi-charming man ‘flirting’ with his significant other.

Besides, the three Bajorans didn’t strike me as the type who’d laugh at that kind of joke. In fact, they didn’t seem the types who laughed at all.

"Lieutenant Dukat," the Admiral said, interrupting my train of thought. "This is Chiba Mamoru of the Bajoran Ministry of Commerce."

The Bajoran, centered between the other two, grunted in my direction. I nodded in return.

"Admiral!" Another Bajoran, not Chiba nor the half-breed, exclaimed. "Did you say his name was Dukat?!"

"Yes," the Admiral said curtly, in a tone that encouraged no discussion. Some might say he made a foolish decision choosing me as his aide, um, adjutant when he was appointed commander of DS9, especially considering how the natives feel towards me and my family. But I don’t give a damn.

If it hadn’t been for the Admiral, I’d still be at the Academy, teaching Intro to Biology to first and second year cadets. I would have taken any opportunity available to leave Earth, but none were offered. Very, very few starship captains were willing to take aboard a Cardassian who happened to be the Son of Dukat.

Zorah Najeelev and Ghent Tenno are both first officers of relatively important ships, I know, but they are what Starfleet considers ‘good’ Cardassians. I am not good, not matter what standards you use.

The Bajoran raised an eyebrow, clearly expecting more. Did I mention they like to fight more than Klingons?

I just fixed him with a steely glare and took my place at the admiral’s left.

They carried on their conversation as if I wasn’t there. It was mostly between the Admiral and Chiba, with the other two Bajorans interrupting to add details every few minutes. I suppose that’s why I was there, but for the life of me, I couldn’t fathom why. I didn’t even know what they were talking about.

The half-breed sat silent, slightly hunched over, his hands resting limply on his knees. He didn’t seem to have any purpose here, other than perhaps to demonstrate to the Federation that the Bajoran people were accepting to aliens.

Coulda fooled me.

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I miss Kheiel

Out of everything that I abandoned when I left Cardassia, I miss him the most. He was my only friend during those last, horrible months, and he’s also the reason I’m here, alive, instead of a corpse rolled in some mass grave outside of the public eye…

Name not familiar?

I’m not surprised. I should be, but I’m not.

But if you’ve read any reference text on the Dominion War, you might have seen it, as a footnote. Probably along the lines of ‘From mid-2374 to the end of 2377, Cardassia was ruled by Legate Kh. Damar." Or something like that.

Don’t worry. I’m used to the shock. I once had a man spill coffee all over me when I told him one of the former rulers of Cardassia was my best friend.

But he’s certainly dead, and all the tears in the universe won’t bring him back.

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In his own way, the half-breed looked like Kheiel. He had the same expression of lost innocence, as if there had once been something fundamentally good there that life had burnt away. As if he kept his emotions on the surface, instead of concealing them beneath half-truths and innuendo.

And the eyes were the same…

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Unlike my father, Damar didn’t traverse the Galaxy spreading his seed. He had a wife on Cardassia Prime, and was more than content to remain with her.

It couldn’t be.

I just wish I could see his earring!

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"Admiral," the Bajoran said, "I insist that the Federation replace the defective subspace platforms!"

Oh, bloody, buggering hell! Not this again!

Last year, the Federation council gave the Bajoran government a dozen subspace transceiver arrays to replace their old network, destroyed during the war. There was only one problem. The last four don’t seem to be working. But every engineering team the Federation sends runs every test in and out of the book, and they still swear up and down that nothing’s the matter. The platforms should work. They just don’t.

"Mister Chiba," the Admiral replied, his voice booming in the confines of his office, "I am afraid that, unless the Bajorans can identify the problem with the array, we simply cannot replace perfectly functional equipment."

"But, surely the Federation can…"

"Mister Chiba! You are as aware of the current crisis with the Romulans as I am! We cannot spare that kind of resources at the moment. In a year, maybe. But not now!"

At that, Chiba stood. "Very well, Admiral," his tone brought a chill down my back, "but I must warn you that this isn’t over. Bajor will not stand by and let the Federation treat her citizens as second-class colonists!"

It was tempting…but no. This is too tense a situation for any kind of insulting remark, especially not concerning the Occupation, nor coming from me.

The four stood to leave, and it was then that I caught a glimpse of the half-breed’s earring. It was a small circle, set concentric with a half-circle. A single chain was attached opposite the half-circle.

Once they left, the Admiral turned to me: "Do you know why you’re here, Dukat?"

"My parents never heard of birth control," I said, and forced a smile from my face.

He looked at me, wide-eyed, for a long moment before recovering. "I suppose that’s a valid answer, but I meant for this…conference."

"I wondered about that, sir, but I supposed you had your reasons."

He nodded. "Hm…yes. I trust you could tell I wasn’t exactly being truthful with the Bajorans back there."

"You mean the platforms are malfunctioning, sir?"

"No. The Federation could replace them if we wanted to, but if four new machines had the same flaws as the old ones, I think they’d begin to catch on…"

"Catch on to what, sir?"

The Admiral smiled cryptically. I hate it when he gets like this. "As you delight in reminding us time and again, Mekor, the Bajorans, as a whole, aren’t very good at pattern recognition. Do you know where they’ve deployed these so-called ‘defective’ platforms?"

"No, sir." But I’m sure you’re willing to tell me…

"Take a look." He keyed a sensitive area on his desk, and a small holo of local space hovered above us. "There, there, there, and there," and they became yellow as he pointed them out, "are the ‘defective’ subspace transceiver arrays. What former empire are they facing?"

My throat went dry, and something cold and hard clenched at my gut. "Sir, it can’t be…"

"An extremely powerful signal from Cardassia Prime itself."

"It can’t be! Everyone should be dead!"

"Obviously, someone isn’t. Can I trust you to investigate this objectively, and to keep it quiet?"

"I…I…yes, sir. But I’m not an engineer."

"You don’t need to be. It’s simple," he smirked at me, "pattern recognition."

I got up to leave, but at the door a thought occurred. "Sir, how long will the Bajorans be staying on the station?"

"A few days, I believe. Why?"

"No-nothing. Just…curious."

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Two days.

If I found nothing of the half-breed, I would forget it all. And yet, there was something about him that nagged at me, a sense of - familiarity? - that shouldn’t be there.

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In my quarters, I slid in front of my own networked terminal and contacted the Bajoran genealogical database. While the two computers exchanged basic information, I looked down at my hands. With a numbing dread, I realized they were shaking violently.

And with good reason.

It’s been - oh, what has begun to feel like an eternity - since I last laid eyes on my homeworld, and even longer since I’ve last seen my family. The Legacy virus was released less than a year after I fled, and I have spent years trying to accept the fact that everyone I once held dear is now dead, dead, dead!

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I’m…sorry about that. It’s a touchy subject, and I do tend to get a bit emotional about it.

I’m not over it. I never will be. And the day I am is the day I die, for once I no longer let that affect me, I will become the one thing I hate - I will be as cold, as hard, and as callous as my father.

I’ve lost family, friends - in fact, my whole life - and the possibility that they are still alive scares me, even more than their supposed death. Would they feel the same if I returned? I don’t know the exact details how Damar got me out of prison and off-world, but if it involved my faking death, my family would receive the same shock I did.

But if they aren’t alive, if it isn’t a beacon alerting the galaxy that Cardassia is once more alive, but a last message: ‘we are all dead; leave us our dignity and our world.’

Either way, my life will never be the same. I am either alone, or free from my self-exile. Both scare the life out of me.

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My console beeped, and the portal to the database appeared on it’s main screen. I navigated my way through the various layers, until I reached the searchable database of clan earrings. I sketched the half-breed’s earring in the space provided, keeping the proportions accurate, and submitted it.

After a time lag, the system returns a name.

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Can you guess what it is? If you’ve been paying attention, you should already know.

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Clan Kira of Dakhur, it read, in simple Bajoran script.

Since half-breeds inevitably take the names of their mothers, as is the custom on Bajor for all children and on Cardassia for illegitimates, I knew where he was from, and his name.

Another query to the database revealed no known half-breeds within the Dakhurian branch of the Kira family, but since it doesn’t even list Nerys’ children, I’m not too inclined to trust it’s accuracy.

A genetic test, then. Obtaining a sample of his DNA would be a bit difficult but not impossible, and I’d have to run it against the database’s samples to determine his exact parentage. And then…

Most people assume, when told Cardassia is dead, that everything, everything, of our civilization is gone. Most is, but the subspace computer nets are still active. Silent, but active. The Federation hacked into them years ago, and since no one has changed the basic access codes, it is still ours to play with as we like. A simple query to the collective genetic database would be enough to yield the half-breed’s father.

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A change to civvies - a kilt, tunic, and boots - and I head off to the Promenade. One of the first places new arrivals to the station head towards is Quarks, and that is where I expect to find not only the half-breed, but his three Bajoran colleagues as well.

They did not disappoint. The three, quiet, dark, and brooding, were clustered around a small table on the second level; only the three, since, of course, ‘proper’ Bajorans aren’t seen in public with children of shame. Proper protocol demanded the same of Cardassian citizens when I was a child; and I - rebel, anarchist, revolutionary - went along, for it had been even deeper ingrained than ‘Follow the State’ into my open, malleable child’s-mind. And I believed it. Every. Single. Word.

A girl, my sister Ziyal, died because of my hatred. No matter what Kheiel might have told me those sleepless nights so many years ago, that it was he who shot her in the heart, that it was his the fatal blow, had I not been so…cold-hearted, so ready to curse very being, she would not have fled to Bajor. She would be alive.

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I look around the bar anew, and almost miss him again. He stood, hunched over the bar, sipping a glass of…well, what looks like spring wine. Somehow, his lanky frame seemed as if it belonged there at the bar, as if he simply blended into the crowd. He should have stuck out the same way I did, but he did not. Curious.

I slide up beside him - an easy task, as the bar is half-empty. Wordlessly, the bartender, a delicate-looking Ferengi girl, sets my usual drink in front of me. The whiskey was strong and sharp, setting a gentle fire in my guts, and the beer tasted of apples.

After a long moment, the half-breed does a double-take and looks at me. I smile in return.

"You…you’re that fellow from the Admiral’s office…" Although hesitant, his voice was still strong and deep…and very beautiful.

"I’m his adjutant, yes."

He shook his head, his lips stretching up in a nostalgic smile. "Chiba was furious when you walked in. It so flustered him he was nearly unable to present his main argument. If this is how the Federation negotiates, it’s a wonder you aren’t constantly at war with your neighbors."

Touché.

Is it a simple statement, or something deeper? If he expects me to launch into a vitriolic tirade on why Federation foreign policy is better than all others, or a high-handed speech on my allegiances, he will be sorely disappointed.

"Chiba? He would be the little fellow with the hideous comb-over?"

His eyes widened. "You saw?"

I tapped the soft flesh between eye and orbital ridge. "Unlike most, my eyesight is at it’s best in such lighting. I saw much more than just that."

He laughed and stuck out his hand. "Kira Ekhel."

I grasped his wrist, and felt his fingers wrap around mine. "Mekor Dukat."

"Are you, um, related to him? I mean, it’s probably a very common name…"

People step lightly around this subject, and tend to be awkward. It’s best to get the truth out as quickly and as painlessly as possible. "I’m his son," I replied softly.

He almost seemed to shrink back. It’s one of the more milder reactions I’ve received. I’ve seen it all, from being blinked at, to having a woman throw a drink in my face, to a keeper of the faith tell me in hushed tones that despite my father’s sins, I could receive absolution if I followed his god.

Very gently, he reached out, and like an oek’he landing on a leaf, brushed his hand against the fastening of my tunic. His eyes were wide, almost scared.

Without a word, he pulled away and left the bar. I could see his chest heaving and could almost smell the fear. That was not how I wanted that conversation to end, but I could take some bitter comfort in the thought that I had found my quarry: I had a sample of his DNA, on both hand and glass.

I tapped the bar top twice and nod at Kisre - put it on my tab - scooped up the glass and headed for the Infirmary.

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A nurse looked up as the doors grunted shut behind me. Her eyes narrowed at the sight of me, and her sharp, cold gaze drilled into my back, following me as I sat down in front of a simple scanner. I ran the warm-up sequence and them set the glass atop it’s scanning plate.

The nurse had gotten up, and was now hovering over my shoulder. "Can I help you?" she asked, her voice cold and sharp.

"No. Thank you."

Before you protest, I have every right to be there. Hell, it’s where I should be, instead of toadying to the Admiral. It wasn’t my choice, might I add. Neither career was. I wanted to be an architect when I was a child…but they don’t have architects in Starfleet, so I was shuffled into medicine, because there I could do the least ‘damage’…and have as little security clearance as possible. I eventually got my license revoked, in the same incident that busted me down from lieutenant commander to ensign…at least before my last promotion, but I still know how to use the equipment.

I set the device to scan for Bajoran and/or Cardassian DNA, sit back and wait. The nurse leaves. After a while, the screen above me activates and displays a list of the distinct, whole genomes it could find. My name is on it, along with a few Bajorans. At the bottom is ‘Unknown Hybrid’. Kira.

I downloaded his genome to an isolinear rod, erased the history files, and droped the glass into the matter reclamator. It’s much easier - for both my concentration and my privacy - to do the analysis alone.

I smoothed out my kilt, and leave.

Once back in my quarters, I submitted the genome to both Cardassian and Bajoran databases, and then head off to bed.

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I stayed in bed, tossing and turning for hours until my wake-up reminder sounded through my quarters. All night, all I could think was ‘alive-alive-alive’, and Kira was the furthest from my mind.

I rolled out of bed, sore and edgy, a rotten taste in my mouth. Naked as the day I was born, I fetched a cup of coffee - double strong and black as space - and slipped into the chair by my terminal. The information from the genetic databases was displayed in hard, bright light upon the screen.

From Bajor: Kira [Meru]

From Cardassia: [Nheirr] Dukat

Nerys’ mother. My father. Ekhel was my brother! He couldn’t have known. He wouldn’t have reacted as he did if he knew he was also Dukat’s son.

So. Tell him. Contact the planet, tell Nerys and maybe Mika.

I copied the results from the databases to the same data rod that contained his genome, and pulled it from the terminal. Sitting on the window ledge, I rolled it between my palms and watched the stars, my emotions roiling in confusion.

"Computer! Location of Kira Ekhel."

The monotone, cold voice replied: "He is in his quarters, in section G, level 23, room 105."

"Awake?"

"Please reformulate query." Sometimes, I wonder if, when this place was built, they let the lowest bidder build the computer core - it’s quite stupid.

"Question: Status of Kira Ekhel. Authorization Dukat omega-one-zero-seven-seven-phi."

A small mock up of Ekhel’s quarters materialized at eye level, and I could see him sitting on the couch in the common room, reading a padd. I pull on a change of clothes - trousers this time, a tunic, an open jacket, and boots - and head out to his quarters.

The isolinear rod clenched in my right fist, I paused in front of his door, breathed for a moment, and then touched the signal. The door opened, and I stared into indigo-blue eyes that mirror my father’s. That mimic the shape of my own. I should have noticed it before, but I was too distracted by…other things.They are sad, sorrowful, tired, expressions I have never seen in my father’s eyes.

"Dukat," he said.

"Kira," I replied, and nearly force my way in. He watched me, unmoving, as I began to pace the length of his living room. "We need to talk."

"I…" he hung his head, and buried his hands in his hair. "I’m sorry about last night. I shouldn’t have reacted as I did. I don’t know what came over me. I mean, I’ve heard all sorts of horrid things about Du - your father, and it could be I just…"

"That’s not why I’m here!" And I wince at the brusqueness of my tone. Not the best way to talk to a man you’re about to tell is your long-lost brother. "Who are your parents?"

His brow ridges shot up in surprise. "I…don’t have any. I was raised in an orphanage. This is going to sound cliched, but they said they found me as a baby, in a basket by the door, with only my name scrawled on a scarp of paper and my earring." He reached up, unconsciously, to touch it, a wistful smile on his face.

I took in a deep breath, and handed him the rod. "You’re going to hate me for the violation of your privacy, but you have to know." And left.

Once back in my quarters, I collapsed to the floor and shook, my body trembling, convulsing, with emotions I didn’t dare comprehend.

«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»

A status bar trailed across the screen as I awaited a response from Bajor’s com network. A cup of rapidly cooling coffee sat on the desk next to me. I had - almost literally - boarded myself in my quarters since I gave Ekhel the data. I don’t know if he’s read it, if he’s waiting outside my quarters to talk about it, or if he destroyed it without even seeing what it contained.

At the moment, that’s not my main concern.

My main concern is if anyone at the Kiras is going to answer the damned com call!

And right when I was about to give up and contact someone at them military to see if Nerys or Odo both were off on maneuvers, or training, or something, the screen blinked, and the face of a red-haired, blue-eyed girl appeared. At the sight of me, she narrowed her eyes in suspicion.

"Hello, Anisu." I forced a smile to my face, a practice I’ve had time to perfect since I’ve been on Earth.

"H’lo…Mekor." My given name. That’s a good sign…I think. Her eyes narrowed again, until they were but slits. "Wha’d you want?"

"Is your mother home?"

"Yes." But she made no move to get her. Someone’s being difficult.

"May I speak with her, please?"

She grumbled something under her breath that sounded like Klingon, but acquiesced and slipped off-screen. I heard her scream "MO-therrr!", the sound of racing feet, and them Nerys slid in front of the screen.

"Dukat."

"Kira."

"How are you?"

"I…I’m fine."

"How’s Zorah?"

I hadn’t seen her in two years, and she knew it! "She’s fine. How’s Odo?"

Kira nodded once, sagely. "He’s doing well."

"And B’jamin and Dax?"

At that, she smiled, a brilliant, beautiful expression. "They’re wonderful. Dax has been getting into everything since she started walking. But that’s not why you contacted me, is it?"

"No. It’s not."

After a long pause, she furrowed her brow. "Alright, kid. Out with it!"

I laughed, a sad bitter sound. "I’ve just found I have a new sibling. His name is Ekhel." Break it to her slowly.

She shook her head slowly, her red hair gently brushing her shoulders. "Your father sure got around, didn’t he?"

I forced the same tight-lipped smile I gave Anisu. "Oh, yes."

"So where did you find this pour, unfortunate soul?"

"He’s working for the Bajoran Ministry of Commerce."

She laughed. "So he’s a half-breed, then?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"So who’s your brother’s…"

"He’s not my brother," I interrupted.

"But you said…"

"He’s my sibling, not my brother."

"I can’t see the difference."

I groaned. Damn translators. "It’s a problem of semantics. There’s no word in Bajoran for ‘male sibling’, female sibling’, half-brother, or half-sister so they’re all translated as ‘sibling’."

"Mekor. That explains nothing."

"I was getting to that. ‘Sibling’, in Bajoran at least, is a person with whom you share the same father. ‘Sister’ or ‘brother’ is a person who shared the same womb as you, although not necessarily at the same time. In that case, there doesn’t have to be a genetic link."

"So this Ekhel is your sibling because you shared the same father…but whose brother is he?"

"Not mine, obviously," I laughed.

"Ziyal’s then."

"No…" I can only hope she didn’t see me wince…

"Aliessa’s?" and she laughed.

"No."

"Then whose? I don’t have time to sit here and play guessing games."

My voice soft, soft, soft: "Yours," I whispered.

Kira shrank back from the screen, as pale as death. "No…No! You bastard!" she shouted, her eye clenched shut.

"Nerys! Nerys, you know I wouldn’t lie to you about something like this. Please, believe me…"

"Then…then…he’s…"

"Your mother’s son. By my father."

She opened her yes, and looked at me, a single tear trailing down her right cheek. "I should be happy - I mean, I really should be! - I have family for the first time in, oh, twenty years, but it feels like…like…"

"Like someone has just," I finished, "ripped the proverbial floor out from beneath your feet and you’re in free-fall."

"Yeah. No bottom in site, no walls, no light. You’re just falling, like a horrible, horrible nightmare."

"It’s been like that for me for the past few hours."

"I wonder…how many hidden links are there between you and I?"

I forced a laugh. "I’d rather not think about it."

"Have you told Mika yet?"

"About an hour ago."

"Didn’t take it well, did she?"

"Oh, no. It’s bad enough you and I nose around her affairs, now she has another sibling she’s going to have to introduce Aliessa to…"

"How is Aliessa, by the way?"

"He’s doing well, all things considered. He’s gotten quite tall. And very handsome."

"A little hellion, too."

"No. He takes after Mika in that regard. He’s a quiet boy. Very reserved."

"Completely unlike you at that age."

"Quite the opposite," I laughed. She’s never going to let me forget those days…

She narrowed her eyes conspiratorially. "Do you think he might be willing to come visit his Aunt Nerys in the next few days? It’s about time someone started to undo the brainwashing she’s done to him…"

I grinned evilly at her. "My thought exactly. I did invite him to come spend a few months with me on the station. I’m sure he could be talked into going to see you while he’s here."

"Tell…tell me about him."

"Ekhel?"

She nodded.

"I…I don’t know much about him. He was raised in an orphanage and works for the…"

"No. That’s not what I meant. What does he look like?"

I sighed. "Red hair. Beautiful red hair, very thick, about shoulder length. Blue eyes, almost purple. Pronounced orbital ridges, Bajoran nose - with three ridges - a Cardassian forehead and chin, Bajoran earlobes and jawline. Small neck ridges. Sharp cheekbones. Sort of reminds me of Damar, in his own way."

"What does he think about being Dukat’s son?"

"I…er…I don’t know. I…um…I haven’t spoken to him about it yet."

"What?! You haven’t told him yet?"

"Nerys! Yes…well, sort of. I gave him a data rod containing the names of his parents. I don’t know if he’s read it yet."

She clenched her eyes shut and muttered something under her breath. "Why am I not surprised?"

"I didn’t want to force it upon him!" I shot back. "Some people don’t want to know their parentage if they spent most of their lives thinking they were orphans. He has a choice now, Nerys. If I had just walked in there and told him who he really was, I would be no better than…than…" I couldn’t say it. It would have hurt the both of us far too much.

"I know," she said, and wiped at her eyes. "You would be no better than my mother when she abandoned him."

"Nerys, I…"

"No. I know you might be sorry, but it’s the truth, and you should never apologize for the truth."

"Yeah…but why? Why did she give him up? Father was more than willing to raise Ziyal as his own, and back then, he didn’t nearly as much to lose with such a risk."

"My mother is dead. We’ll never know. We can’t - we don’t dare speculate on such a thing. It’s bad enough for us, but think of Ekhel! Mekor, I can only imagine what’s going through his mind. You should have at least stayed to talk to him."

"Why?" I snarled back at her, inexplicably angry. "When my life was in a shambles, I had no one to turn to, no one! When I was barely even twelve, I lost my family because of my father’s stupidity and my own brashness…"

"I thought you said you never wanted anyone to go through anything like that."

"Dammit, Nerys, don’t twist my words!" I felt light-headed, and my pulse raced at my temples.

"I’m not. I just think you ought to talk to him. This must be very difficult for him…"

"So was a great part of my life. I received no emotional support during those years, apart from you, and Damar in the early days."

"Just because you suffered doesn’t mean everyone else should. Just look at Aliessa; you were more than willing to help him."

"That’s different!"

"How? How is Aliessa’s case any different from Ekhel’s?"

"Well, first things first, I’m trying to protect Aliessa from his own mother. I don’t think Ekhel needs to be protected from anyone."

"Ha! He’s a half-breed; his life must have been enough of a living hell as it was. Then you waltz in, and without even a ‘by-your-say’, you tell him that not only is he not an orphan, but that the notorious Gul Dukat, leader of the Occupation, rapist, murderer, turncoat to his own species, is - was - his father. How would you feel, growing up, knowing you will be forever an outcast because of what you are…and then, one day, you discover you are even an outcast among the outcasts, because of the man who got your mother pregnant."

"I went through that at Jerjin Hall and the Academy!"

"Not in the way Ekhel did! At Jerjin, at least you were among fellow Cardassians."

"What about Starfleet? I was ostracized there for months!"

"Months! Only months! Might I remind you, Dukat, that humans are much more open than the average Bajoran, who’ll hat anything with the name Dukat attached to it, Cardassian or no! You have friends now, at least. I bet Ekhel could count on one hand the number of close Bajoran friends he has, and still have five fingers left over!"

"You’re exaggerating…"

"I don’t think so."

She glared at me, accusingly, and I stared back, defiant. For a long moment, we held each other’s gazes, tension and anger and years of bitterness bubbling between us, until I broke and looked away. Defeated.

"Fine," I said, still staring at the desktop in front of me. "Fine. Tomorrow morning, I’ll go talk to him."

She smiled. "Good," and closed the com link.

I sat like that, unmoving, for a very long time.

«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»

I spent the rest of that day, going through my lifelike an automaton. Following the Admiral around, arranging his meetings, doing paperwork…I didn’t even bother eating. When my shift was over, I went to Quark’s and spent three hours getting very, very drunk.

I dreaded seeing Ekhel, the same way most dread meeting with a doctor when they know the only news is bad. In retrospect, I had nothing to fear. I only had to offer a shoulder to cry on and a friendly ear. Even then, I knew he would need only that…but I was still afraid.

«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»

Despite my best efforts to the contrary, tomorrow morning became this morning. I had a - sort of schedule planned for the day ahead: At ten hundred hours, I would march up to Ekhel’s quarters and talk to him.

Until then, I would but wait, working on getting rid of the headache throbbing above my left eye and going over the data from the Bajoran subspace platforms. The Admiral had told them that an ‘expert’ in his staff would try to figure out what was going on, so I, as the expert, received a 26 hour a day live feed from the arrays.

This ‘live feed’ scrolled along my screen at a brisk pace, but unfortunately for me, it was complete and total gibberish. That, in itself, was interesting, because I was beginning to suspect that this just might not be a final message from my homeworld. I had a niggling feeling that the data was encrypted, but none of the decryption programs I ran managed to unscramble it.

So I let it run through, in the hopes that something would click into place, and it would all make sense.

I sat at my terminal, drinking coffee and occasionally staring out the window at the stars. My ghostlike reflection stared back at me, and I couldn’t help but wince at how bad I looked. My eyes were bloodshot, and the contrast between the veins and my yellow iris made me look demonic. The scars on my face stood out, bone-gray, against my skin. There were dark circles under my eyes and my hair was a mess, with long, loose strands hanging around my face, and a greasy sheen, evidence of the fact that I hadn’t bathed the night before.

The doorcom chirped, drawing me out of my moping. I touched a key on my desk, and the doors slid open to admit the security chief, Lieutenant Commander William Jonathan Grey.

"Ah, Mekor! I’m glad you’re in…" He took a few steps forward, and then stopped, squinting at me. "Are you all right? You look like death."

I waved it off. I love him, but he’s nosy as hell. "It’s nothing. The Old Man just had me up late, working on the details of…some treaty."

"Ah." We’ve known each other long enough so that even if he didn’t buy that excuse, he knows I’ll tell him everything eventually. "Well, I need to talk to you about the security arrangements for the Bribaasi delegation arriving on station in a few days…"

"They don’t want any security arrangements."

"That’s what I want to talk about."

"Why? It’s not a problem."

"In this case, I’m afraid it is."

"Huh?"

"In exactly four days from now, the Acret holy month begins."

"Oh, crap."

"My thought exactly. The last thing we need would be to have the Acrets wandering around the station, with swords nearly as long as they are, ready to impale all things Bribaasi."

"Armed escorts, then."

"At the very least."

I sighed. "I’ll tell the Admiral."

John took a step forward and laid a hand on my shoulder. "Mekor," he said quietly, "on second thought, why don’t you have Marissa, or Thea, or Jude handle this instead? You look awful."

"I feel fine."

"Regardless, maybe you should take a few days off. Maybe we could go down to Bajor, visit the beach…" I wanted to. I really, really wanted to. But I had promised Nerys…

"I’d love to," I forced a smile, "but the Admiral has given me an assignment that needs to be finished within the next few days."

He shrugged. "Just take it easy. Please."

"Yes, mother," I laughed. "How are you, since we’ve already determined that I’m overworked and overstressed."

He smiled. "I’m fine. Things have let up since the Bajoran delegation left."

"What?! What Bajoran delegation? When did they leave?"

He furrowed his brow. "I thought you’d have heard. The four that came to see the Admiral two days ago. They left last night."

"They’re gone? All of them?"

"Yes, Mekor, all of them. Goodness, you’d think one of them was your long-lost cousin they way you’ve been acting."

«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»

An anticlimax. And I thought I would be ill all over John when he told me. What is Kira going to think when she hears about this? "Sorry, Nerys, I would’ve talked to him, except he left before I worked up the nerve."

She is going to kill me.

«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»

"Brother," I choked out, after a long silence. "The half-breed is my long-lost half-brother."

"That might have been quite the shock."

"You can’t imagine."

"So do you want to talk?"

"No…No. This is something I need to work out by myself. But thanks."

"All right. Well, I’ll see you later."

I watched his retreating form until the doors slid shut between us.

I then tossed my coffee, already cold and stale, into the matter reclamator, crawled into bed - this is just so humiliating - and cried myself to sleep.

«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»

I went through the next few days as if a great weight had been attached to every cell - every molecule - every particle of my being. I had expected some great, powerful emotion to sweep through me - sadness, anger, betrayal…even my familiar self-hate would have been welcome - but there was nothing, as if that part of me simply shut down when I found out Ekhel had left. It was a betrayal, of sorts…but it was the sort of betrayal one experiences as a child, when the universe doesn’t contort into the shape you wish it to. Besides, Ekhel wouldn’t have spoken to me had I gone to his quarters; he would have fled, as he did in Quark’s.

It’s not like I need more family. I already have Aliessa, and Nerys and her kids, which is more than some people have.

And yet the hurt throbbed, like a rotting tooth, through my duty shifts at the Admiral’s side, through long, tedious lunches with people whose names I wish I couldn’t recall. But it wasn’t ‘hurt’, per se, but a psychological numbness that overwhelmed my waking and sleeping moments…except for…

Except for the three hours each night I spend staring at the data stream from Cardassia.

I probably should say that it was a balm against the numbness, but it wasn’t. It was a…distraction, something that just let me forget my day, forget all that was wrong with my life. I could sit at my desk for hours, ignorant of the passage of time. The only indication would be the wide swaths of light that swept through my quarters at irregular intervals as ships passed through the night.

The ‘data stream’ wasn’t in the form of anything recognizable, simply a distorting sine wave that scrolled off-screen, the heights of the peaks and the depths of the valleys indicators of the amplitude of the signal as it was received by the array. It reminded me of something I had seen before, but I simply didn’t have the time in my schedule to squeeze in the few hours a decent memory association required.

So I sat there, waiting, watching, for something to click into place. And yet, despite my efforts, nothing did.

Jude came around sometime during the week – either Thursday or Friday; those days have all blurred together for me – and offered a half-hearted invitation to a film the Otaku temple was showing over the weekend. I think John might have sent him, and, in retrospect, it might not have been such a bad idea to go along…but I simply didn’t want to. It had nothing to do with the fact that I don’t think he much wanted me to come and drag everyone down with my melancholy, I simply needed to be alone.

Saddest part about it – he was with me for nearly a third of an hour and I never got around to asking him what that reference was that Thea mentioned. The Mackenzie’s computers have nothing on it, so I suppose I’ll never know.

«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»

A week after Ekhel left, in the middle of graveyard shift, as I was curled in my bed, sleeping fitfully, the doorchime rang.

And rang again. And again.

At the fifth time, I emerged from a fog of sleep, rolled out of bed, and lumbered to the door, where I would punch out the bastard who would wake me at such an ungodly hour.

The doors slid open, and I was greeted by the sight of someone familiar in his strangeness.

Kira Ekhel stood at the threshold, wringing his hands, his eyes wide with fear. He dropped his hands to his sides, pulled the datarod from a pocket and looked up at me. "Mekor. We have to talk."

"About that," I said softly, hopeful.

He nodded violently. "I-Yes. Yes."

"It’s true."

"What?"

"You were going to ask if I made all that up. I didn’t. It’s all true."

He smiled, and it was gut wrenching how much re resembled my father. "I know. I spent the past week checking it. I do have some connections."

I simply shrugged at that. It asked for no answer.

"What happened to them? My – I mean, our father and my mother."

I stared down at the floor, unable to meet his eyes. "As far as I know - as far as I’m concerned – father is dead. He was the first to be infected with the Dominion’s legacy…"

He winced. "I watched that on the news. They were celebrating in the streets when it was announced."

"And as for your mother…um, how old are you?"

"Thirty-six. Why?"

"She died about a year after you were born."

"Sweet Prophets."

"I know."

"What of your family?"

"Dead. They’re all dead."

"So we’re both orphans, hm? No family, no connections…"

"What? Ekhel, my family is dead; I never said yours was."

"What are you talking about?"

"You have a sister. Well, a half-sister. Uterinal."

"A…a sister?"

I nodded. "Her name is Kira Nerys. Perhaps you’ve heard of her," I added rather sardonically. Over the years, Nerys has become the most famous Bajoran ever, even more than the Kai himself.

"How do you know…"

"Nerys and I have known each other ever since I defected to the Federation."

"No, I mean…isn't it too much of a coincidence…"

I nodded emphatically. "Oh, yes. But knowing Father, I think he arranged to work in close proximity with Kira, just to remind himself of Meru…or to enjoy some secret thrill at the thought."

He shuddered. "That's disgusting."

"That's what Nerys says."

"So, Father and my mother, they were…"

"Lovers."

"This was before he met you mother?"

"Oh, no no no. He had been married to Mama for years before he even heard of Bajor. Hells, you're the same age - well, almost - as my youngest older sister. My oldest brother is twenty three years older than I am."

He looked at me for a long moment - probably trying to gauge if I was serious or not - and then, began to laugh.

I joined in, but had to stifle a yawn.

He stopped suddenly, eyes wide with concern. "Was this a bad time?"

I nodded and yawned again. "I’m afraid so. I was asleep when you came."

"Oh," he said simply. When he mad to leave, I grabbed his arm.

"Stay here, please"

"Where will I sleep?"

"The floor, the couch my bed, the other room…"

A strange expression flickered across his features, before they softened, and he nodded in agreement. "The other room."

"The most preferable of all options," I replied, barely keeping a smile from flitting across my features.

«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»

My melancholy was gone, as well as the overbearing ‘heavy’ feeling. It was so strange.

I could hear him, in the guest room, snoring softly, the bed creaking beneath as he moved in his sleep.

It was a problem I’ve had for years, but I’m unable to sleep after being awakened abruptly. So I stayed in bed, watching starlight, shiplight, an the occasional splash of blue play across the ceiling, listening to my breathing and waiting, waiting.

Eventually, I reached a state of mind difficult to describe – I wanted to sleep, and yet I could not bring myself to. I had but the last resort.

I spoke a few words to the computer, and let myself be carried away, on the wings of a chill filling my quarters, to a dreamstate, and then sleep.

«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»

When I awoke the next morning, the ambient temperature was a comfortable – although a bit nippy – 305 degrees Kelvin, and I was, as the cliché goes, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. What ever that means.

I slipped on a robe, and wracked my brains to remember if I had answered the door in my pajamas – now knotted on the floor – or if I had been naked. It's not like there's anything Ekhel hasn’t seen before, and he certainly didn’t act surprised when the door opened…Well, it doesn’t matter, one way or the other.

I stepped out of my bedroom, got a cup of coffee from the replicator, and stepped up beside Ekhel, who was sitting at my console, rapt, watching the data stream from Cardassia scroll off the screen.

He looked up at me, slightly startled, but then flashed me a cheery smile. It was then that I noticed what he was wearing – one of John’s dressing gowns that he had left here when he last visited. It clung to Ekhel's body like a second skin, every scale and ridge visible. It was mad of a fabric that had come straight from the Tholians; it seemed to shimmer, like wet skin under moonlight.

I don’t have incestuous thoughts about my brother, no matter what the above might sound like. I simply come from a long, libidinous line, and I openly acknowledge that at any point in my life I’ll find just about every person I meet attractive on one level or another. Even creepy Garak. Even Bajorans.

I handled it the way I usually do: I thought of the least sexy thing I could possibly conceive. I simply closed my eyes, visualized it for a few seconds, and looked back at Ekhel.

"Morning," he said.

"Have you broken fast yet?"

He shook his head.

"Well, I wonder if you would be willing to join me. There are some pretty good restaurants on station, at least when it comes to breakfast fare."

He smiled sunnily, and tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. It was one of Nerys’ mannerisms, and not for the first time did I wonder if that sort of thing was genetic, at least among Bajorans. "I’d love to. Just give me a few minutes to change."

I nodded once, and we headed to our respective rooms. Once suitably attired, we met at the door and headed to the Promenade. He gave me a cursory once-over, but seemed to focus his gaze on my bare feet.

One of the funniest misconception alien have about us is that we have some sort of elaborate nudity taboo surrounding our feet. Sure, they’re erogenous zones, like our hands, nipples, and other parts, but we don’t have anything against flaunting them.

«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»

I talked him into going to a small Andorian restaurant that had just opened a few months ago, for two reasons, only one of which I told him. Firstly, the food is exquisite. The chef is a genius, playing together the tastes and textures of the food like a maestra.

The second reason is this: The food is perfect, delicious…and much too strong for Bajoran palates. More often than not, the place is empty, save for the few stalwart supporters.

We ordered a simple meal – I didn’t want to overwhelm him – and at in silence, too absorbed by the food to be concerned with something as trivial as conversation.

But when it was finished and the petite, slender waitress had brought up large, steaming cups of tea, we had no such qualms. Ekhel, to my great surprise, was the first to talk.

"What was Father like?"

If he had announced that the sun was going to explode, I wouldn’t have been even half as surprised as I was then. It’s rare that people want to talk about my father; mostly they just swing the blood at him as loudly and as emphatically as possible.

"What do you mean?"

I’m not saying he’s a nice person – I’m his son, and thus know him better than most living experts on the Dominion – but he’s not ‘evil’. He’s kind of like Macbeth…or one of those fake historical people in those plays by Shakespeare. Father had a flaw in his character, and in the end, it killed him.

"What was he like, as a person - "

"I don’t know what he was like as a person. He was my father. I never got to know him as more than that. He was simply a great, powerful authority figure that would sweep into my life every so often and upset my mother’s carefully laid plans, like a sandstorm sweeping through a summer fair."

Ekhel scowled. "It sounds like I was better off at the orphanage."

"That depends."

"On what?"

"On how bad the orphanage was." We both laughed. "Seriously. I did have a nice childhood, even if he did ruin it when I was nine."

"What happened then?"

"Father decide Mama wasn’t competent enough to raise me on her own, so he sent me to a boarding school. The clincher is where Jerjin Hall was located. There’s a great desert on Cardassia called Sekheta – enormous beyond belief and the most beautiful place I’ve ever been to. Well, my parents’ villa was to the north of this great desert; Jerjin was to the south."

Eyes wide, Ekhel simply gaped at me.

"I’m serious," I continued. "He wanted to be rid of me so badly he had to resort to separating us with a desert."

"Was it funny when you were little?"

I felt my mouth go dry, and I looked down into my tea to avoid meeting his eyes. "No. No. No, it never was. It still isn’t. I hated him for years for that, and I still do, in a way. It took years – years! – before my hatred mellowed into a grudging dislike, but I never forgot. Never."

"Why?"

"Beg pardon?"

"Why did he sent you there if it was so Prophet-forsake awful?"

I shrugged. "I don’t know. Because he could, because he didn’t like seeing me receive an education he could never have…I just don’t know."

"I’ve noticed, that when you’re little, adults don’t explain much."

"Yeah. Oh, great Goddesses, I hope I never end up like that."

He reached over and patted my hand. "You won’t." And he sounded so sincere, I almost believed him.

"What about you, brother? How’ you grow up? Are orphanages as bad as I’ve read?"

He laughed, and his lips curled into a smile. Had it not been for the nose ridges, I could have mistaken him for my father. I shuddered involuntarily, glad he wasn’t looking at me. "It wasn’t the greatest upbringings one could have, but it was the Occupation, I was a half-breed, and I didn’t expect much more than that. I was ignored more than I was attacked, and for that I am grateful."

"I know. I’ve seen first hand what was done to…people like you."

"Yes. The Klingons were right when they said that children pay for the sins of their parents. We are proof of that. We both have been held accountable for the simple crime of being born. I paid for my mother’s love affair with your father, and you paid for your father’s name…right?"

"Yes," I said, tight-lipped.

"It…wasn’t that bad, the orphanage. It’s all I ever knew, really. T wasn’t mistreated, thought. The prylars and the monks ignored me most of the time, so long as I prayed regularly and did my schoolwork. The others…weren’t so kind. I was beaten up regularly, and not a week would go by when I didn’t have bruises."

And we talked for a few more hours, about everything and nothing. Burt only the above is relevant to this situation.

«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»

Forgive the rushed pace, but we’ve just entered the Cardassian system, and the Trudeau has come into weapons range. Their weapons range, not ours. Runabouts aren’t as well equipped as starships.

«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»

Ekhel and I returned to my quarters once we realized I had but an hour before my next duty shift. We walked in silence, but it wasn’t the silence of an awkward conversation. We just…didn’t talk.

In my quarters, he mulled by the door as I went to check my terminal to see if I had any messages…and it was then that I noticed that the data stream from Cardassia had just ceased.

I knew then exactly what I had to do. I grabbed Ekhel’s arm, and we raced up to the launching pads. It was there that I used my override codes to steal the USS Mackenzie.

«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»

If it isn’t clear, the above was a confession.

«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»

The Trudeau has just fired on us, but we’re entering orbit of Cardassia Prime. We can land soon

«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»

Once stolen, we set the Mac on a course to Cardassia. It was as soon as the Trudeau and the Pierson began to pursue us that I started to record this log. Since our odds of survival have decreased steadily the closer we’ve gotten to Cardassia, I figured it was for the best if people know why I died. And who it was who died with me.

As for the signal from Cardassia, I believe it was some sort of mind-altering medium that programmed me with the impulse to return to Cardassia as soon as it ceased.

I’m not stupid enough o believe it was for my eyes only – there were surely hundreds – thousands, even – of signals buried within it for different Cardassians within the Federation.

I only wish I knew why…

«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»

Hang on a moment. I’ve triangulated the source. We’re landing.

«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»

There’s someone waiting for us down there, it’s…it’s…

Oh, mothers of the moons, it’s-

[Recording ends]