by Christine Francis

***NOTE:  This story takes place during the early stages of the Federation/Dominion war, before the wormhole was closed.***

  The Defiant wasn't quite limping, but she wasn't at the top of her form, either.  Fresh from battle and amid repairs, they were the last people likely to respond to a distress signal.  Unfortunately, for Captain Sisko and crew, they were the only ones in range.  A Klingon Bird of Prey had also survived a recent battle, but unfortunately crash landed on a handy planet.  Normally this would be, at worst, an embarrassing moment for the stranded Klingon crew.  The reason for the distress signal, though, was the ship's corpsman's opinion that their captain had been fatally wounded.  Assistance, even from Federation hands, was requested.

  "It must be pretty bad, if they're asking our help."  Sisko mused, then looked over at his weapons officer.  "Worf?  Opinions?"

  Worf mulled it over.  "The head physician must be dead, and there must be some question over the corpsman's diagnosis.  I do not believe the captain's condition would even be mentioned, if normal procedure were being followed."

  "To die in service of the Empire,..."  Sisko began, in agreement.  Why would a Klingon complain about meeting his lifetime goal?  Puzzling it out, he turned to Dax.  "Old man; could this be a trick?  Could Jem Haddar mask their signal to appear Klingon, to lure us down?"

  Dax thought it over.  "Anything is possible,"  she admitted with a shrug, "but the trace signal of the ship does match that of one deployed to this area.  As far as our sensors show, Klingon customs aside, the signal did originate from a Klingon ship."

  Benjamin Sisko weighed his filial obligation against just how much risk he was willing to take.  Deciding, he looked over at his own chief surgeon.  "We can certainly risk one doctor or paramedic.  Who would you recommend, Doctor?"

  Julian Bashir smiled ruefully.  "I think if you sent anything less than the chief of surgery, it might be construed as an insult."  He saw Sisko about to protest, and stood up.  "I could use some fresh air, anyway.  I'll just pick up some supplies, and head down to the transporter room."

  It occurred to Benjamin Sisko that this might not be the wisest course, but he knew Julian was right; if these were Klingons, and they had humbled themselves to the point of actually asking for help, a medic with a bag of pressure bandages would be construed as a slap in the face.  Besides, he reasoned, it wasn't like they were about to go looking for action any time soon.  "All right."  He nodded.  "We'll beam you down, and remain in orbit, cloaked, while we finish our repairs.  We'll be maintaining radio silence, once you've given me your initial evaluation of the situation.  After that, don't call us; we'll call you."

  "Understood."  The doctor nodded, stepping into the turbolift.  Down in sickbay, he packed a bag and a case full of supplies; hoping to be ready for anything.  Even as he packed, he knew as surely as he knew his name that whatever presented itself to him, he'd find himself unprepared and having to improvise.  He was right, of course, but not the way he thought.

  Down on the planet, he was instantly met by two Klingon ensigns and led to the ship in silence.  The Klingons could still easily be shapeshifters, but Julian felt just a little reassured at the sight of bony heads and bad teeth.  The ship was not far; it's nose buried in a large berm at the end of a long furrow.  The flyboy slang "Augured in" was literally applicable.  Rather than beaming in or climbing down into the furrow to climb up the normal airlock, they simply climbed the berm and lowered themselves through a hatch on the "roof" of the ship.

  Inside, crewmembers busily went about their work trying to salvage and repair all they could.  Julian knew the sight of a grim Klingon wasn't exactly unusual, but these Klingons looked more grim than was to be expected.  The two who accompanied him led him back through the ship.

  The captain's quarters, small as they were, were on the same level as the bridge; which is where they'd accessed the ship.  Outside the door stood a large male, of the rank of ra'wI':  a commander.

  "I am bepSop,"  the male introduced himself, "second in command aboard the jaghchon."  Barking something in Klingon that Julian was quite certain was neither complimentary nor supportive, bepSop dismissed the two guards who had accompanied the doctor.  Once they were alone, the large Klingon leaned toward the doctor conspiratorially.  "I am sworn to serve and defend quvQob HoD,"  he said of his captain, "but I must also act in the best interest of the crew."  With a scowl and a cough, he went on.  "That is why I have gone against my captain's orders, and taken command.  The crew does not know, and I do not intend them to.  Once you heal the captain, her command will be restored and she will do with me as she sees fit.  Until that time, you will restrict yourself to these quarters and speak to no one but me.  Do I make myself clear?"

  Julian stiffened a little.  "Now see here,"  he began, asserting himself but nevertheless keeping his voice down.

  "I am more than willing to take your blood, if you do anything to compromise the health or honor of my captain."  bepSop confided.

  Julian grimaced slightly.  "Understood."  He said, thinking the fellow's heart seemed to be in the right place.  This was obviously some Klingon power play; which (he theorized) was what these people did when they wanted to show they cared about something.  Everyone had their role, everyone had their lines, and everyone had their rituals to go through.  He supposed every culture had their ways; but to him, Klingon ways seemed more convoluted than most.  Why turn an expression of deep concern into threats and posturing?  Why waste time with all this roleplay, when a few simple words would do?  As soon as he entered the captain's quarters, though, he saw things were even more convoluted than ever he suspected.

  Gritting her teeth in pain and letting out a constant stream of curses, the gray haired captain lay tied to her bed like a prisoner on some medieval rack.  "What the devil is going on here?!" Bashir cried, and flew to the captain's side.  As he began to untie the bonds, though, bepSop prevented him.

  "She is not in her right mind."  He warned, firmly.

  "Cursed dog!"  the captain growled.  "I will dine upon your very heart, while it is still beating!"

  "Sounds sane enough, for a Klingon."  Julian said, his mind racing.  Just what was going on here?  Why would bepSop humiliate his captain, rather than just kill her and take her place?  And if humiliation were the goal, why was he keeping her hidden?

  "I am perfectly sane, and he knows it!"  quvQob growled.  "Coward!"

  bepSop lowered his eyes and wordlessly moved to his captain's side.  Once there, he peeled off a pressure a bandage and gestured for Bashir to take a look.  As a doctor, Julian had learned to view illness and injury from two perspectives; the empathetic caring of a fellow living being, and the cold analysis of a biological mechanic.  There was always a danger of shutting down the caring side to protect one's own feelings, but this wasn't one of those times.  What lay on the table looked more like something in a butcher's shop, than something that wore a uniform and commanded a ship.  An involuntary wince spasmed across the doctor's face, before he was able to get control of himself and look at the wound objectively.

  "How did it happen?"  Julian asked, already mentally cataloging what tools he might need to ply his trade.

  bepSop swallowed.  "A support strut pinned her to her chair, piercing her body.  When the helmsman was thrown from his chair and killed, she pulled herself along the strut to take the helm and land the ship."

  "Pulled herself along...?"  With a grimace, Julian lifted the captain's torso as gently as possible.  Sure enough, there was an exit wound consistent with the commander's story.  He looked in wonder at the captain's now profusely sweating face.  "Is this true?"

  quvQob blew out a few quick breaths.  "Yes," she grunted.

  Julian made a quick scan.  The readout was grim.  Portions of internal organs had been torn away.  Bones and blood mixed with flesh and sinew in a gruesome and indistinguishable stew.  To prevent further bleeding, Julian re-sealed the bandage.

  "The repairs?"  she asked bepSop quietly, apparently too concerned or tired for grandstanding.

  "Nearly complete."  He answered after a moment's hesitation.

  "I forbid you from delaying battle in order to waste time on me."

  "My HoD,-"

  "Silence!"  she barked, then winced.  "Untie me, and stop this foolishness." She sighed, putting her bluster aside.

  "Each time she moves, her injury worsens!"  bepSop pled his case to Bashir.

  quvQob laughed quietly, interspersed with coughing.  "You idiot; it's already killing me.  Can I not die with dignity?"

  Again, Bashir tried to match what he was experiencing with what he knew about Klingons, and something was not matching up.  Without looking at the menacing commander for approval, he began to untie the captain's bonds.  She gave him a look somewhere between gratitude and regret, as she seemed to age before his eyes.  It was as if something was leaking out of her; something not even a pressure bandage could keep in.

  "bepSop,"  she whispered, reaching for him once her hand was free.  "As you know, I never wed.  Still, I have always thought of you as my son."

  "My HoD,"  he choked, miserably.   Grasping her hand, he knelt beside her.  "I can not let this end.  Not yet."

  She nodded, knowingly.  "Yes.  This is no way for a warrior to die.  But, as we do not choose the circumstances of our births, we rarely have a say in that of our deaths.  To redeem mine, you must lead this ship and crew back into battle, as soon as possible.  Let me adopt you, here and now, so that you may honor me and carry on my legacy."

  BepSop's face became neutral, and he slowly stood.  "No,"  he said.  "Doctor, a word."

  Julian followed the Klingon into the hallway.  "She is dying."  He confirmed.  "There's really nothing I can do."

  "You swore a vow to preserve life!"  the commander protested.  "You took an oath!  That is why we called you here.  Did you think Klingons do not know how to die, without Federation advice?"  He leaned in closer.  "There are things a Federation doctor can do, that a Klingon one will not!"

  Realization dawned.  In a flash, Julian knew just where this conversation was headed.  "Klingon tradition forbids prosthetics."

  "Do not school me on Klingon tradition, human!"

  "I'm not completely convinced she's even a viable candidate!  There might be too much damage, and I've only the most basic equipment with me.  Besides,"  he glanced around.  "She'll only kill herself, once she discovers what we've done."

  "She has to live!"  bepSop insisted.

  Julian's eyes narrowed slightly.  "Why?"  It was a question he normally wouldn't even consider asking.  "You tell me why you went through all this trouble, and perhaps I'll think about violating your laws and traditions.  You can't expect me to do that, without a reason."

  BepSop hedged, hemmed, and hawed for a few moments.  "Because..." he began.  "For the same reason I could not let her adopt me."  Wiping his face, he looked away.  "Damn my soul to Gre'thor, for the fool that I am!"

  "Why?"  Julian repeated.

  "Because I love her!"  bepSop burst out, angrily, then punched the wall.  "Ten years we have served together; from the time I was a sniveling lagh!  Is it so inconceivable?  Yes, she is my captain.  Yes, she is more than twice my age.  No, she has done naught to encourage me, save be the finest warrior I ever knew!  Yet, since almost the first time I saw her, I have loved her.  I tried to find a more likely mate, but the best I could find were lukewarm pallid imitations.  And now,"  he sighed, facing Bashir, "after all those years of slavish devotion, of hoping and waiting for the right time, of knowing that time would never come, yet feeling satisfied with at least remaining by her side- I passed up three promotions to stay here!  Now, she is dying; and I still lack the courage to tell her."  Suddenly washed with a fresh wave of grief, he grabbed the doctor by his shoulders.  "You can not let her be taken away from me!  Not yet!  Lie to her.  Trick her.  Do anything you must, to stave off death just one more day.  You can do it, I know!"

  Julian remained unmoved.  "If you can convince her to ask, I'll see what can be done; but it must be her decision!"

  The commander started to protest, then his eyes slid away.  After a moment, he nodded.  "Let me speak to her."  Without a further word, he entered the captain's quarters again.

  Alone in the hallway, Julian released his emotional control a little, and let himself react to all that had happened.  The captain's wound was truly horrid.  It almost looked as though a bomb had gone off in her abdomen.  True, the strut had missed the heart and lungs.  True, the organs that had been damaged, could be either repaired or replaced.  A foot or so less of intestines would not seriously harm her.  The muscles that were destroyed could not be replaced, but she could easily learn to compensate for them by strengthening some of the surrounding muscles.  She might limp, but what Klingon her age didn't?  An artificial liver was going to be hard to justify, and maybe even harder to get.  Did the Defiant's sick bay have the proper equipment to make one?  Yes, it could be done.  "The Defiant!"  he suddenly realized, and tapped his comm badge.  They were no doubt awaiting his initial evaluation!  "Bashir to Defiant."

  >>Sisko, here.  Go ahead, doctor.<<

  Go ahead?  How?  "Captain, things here are a little more... complicated, than I expected."

  >>You're going to have to do better than that, doctor.<<

  "Well,"  Julian drew a deep breath, "there are certain resource considerations, and a matter of ethics."

  >>Ethics?<<   Benjamin Sisko's sigh was clearly audible.  >>In case you haven't noticed, doctor, there's a war on.  We really don't have a lot of time for "ethics".<<

  "Yes, I know.  I'll try to wrap things up as quickly as possible, but... it's rather... involved."

  All those kilocams away, it was still easy to sense Sisko's frustration.  Dealing with Klingons could be fascinating at times, but much of the time it was a good old fashioned pain in the ass.  When was anything concerning Klingons simple?  >>Do what you can,<<  he snapped.   >>Next communication in three hours.  And, doctor?<<

  "Yes?"

  >>Don't get yourself any more "involved", than absolutely necessary.  Sisko, out.<<

  "Bashir out."  He counter tapped his comm badge, and echoed his captain's sigh.  "That is so much easier said than done."

  At that moment, the door opened and bepSop literally pulled the doctor back into the captain's quarters.  Something had changed.  There was a spark in quvQob's eyes, and she seemed less old.  Julian looked at bepSop in silent question, but the way that Klingon's eyes slid away told him whatever perked quvQob up, it wasn't the truth.

  "Leave us, wa'Dich,"  she told her second in command.  All too eagerly, bepSop slipped out the door.  Once they were alone, the captain fixed her eyes on the doctor.  "So.  Perhaps it is not yet time to leave this husk of a body, and join the Black Fleet."  She shifted, making herself comfortable.  "Very well; do whatever you have to, to get me back on my feet."

  "It's not that simple,"  he began.

  "You think I do not know it?  I don't want you to give me a few more years; just a few more hours.  I do not wish to die in this accursed bed.  I want to die as a warrior."

  The doctor's face was a study in confusion.  "I don't know what bepSop told you, but your injuries will takes days, or weeks, to even begin to heal.  I don't even have all the proper equipment."

  Equipment be damned!"  she roared, then coughed hard.  "You have a bone knitter?  You have a skin replicator?"

  "Internal injuries-"

  "You have pain killers and stimulants?  Use them.  I don't say that I so much mind the pain, but it's getting in my way.  If I am to lead this final assault-"

  "Final assault?"

  She tried to sit up, and found it possible.  "Why are we wasting time, when the Cardassians approach?!"

  Again, Julian's brow puckered.  Moving to a discrete corner, he tapped his comm badge.  "Bashir to Defiant."

  >>Doctor,<<  Sisko's irritated voice sounded.  >>I thought we agreed-<<

  "Are Cardassian ships approaching this planet?"

  >>What?<<

  "The Klingons seem to think so."

  There were a few moments of silence.  >>Doctor, the only thing approaching is the end of my rope.<<

  "Understood.  Bashir, out."  He was just trying to sort this out, when quvQob spoke; sans bluster.

  "You think I didn't know?"  she asked, gently.  "He is like a son, to me.  No one wants to see their mother fade away, while lying on a bed.  I am not so wrapped up in my own suffering, though, that I can not wish to give my only child what he wants.  Give me the drugs, and do what you must.  Let his last memory of me be that of a warrior, standing proud."

  Julian Bashir was rarely at a loss for words, but he was now.  Once bepSop had confessed to him, he easily saw meaning in the way he looked at her.  How could she, who knew him so much better, mistake that look for something else?

  She mistook his silence for something else.  "Would you make an old woman beg?"  she asked, a small smile on her lips.  "I'm dying, anyway.  What does it matter, where or how?  I doubt I can even get them out of the system, before I give up my ghost.  His ruse will seem to work.  He will watch me die, believing I believe we go to join glorious battle.  The lie will remain intact."

  "It would seem so."  He mumbled, thinking there was more lie here than she could imagine.

  "Is not the first part of your oath, to do no harm?"  she asked, her eyes narrowing.

  "To patch you up and fill you full of drugs, would do irreparable harm."

  "Be a doctor of the soul, rather than of the body."  She sighed, weary.  "To put me in a hospital and make my body into some kind of patchwork travesty, would do more harm than any sadistic Gul could hope to.  He thinks that is what he wants.  Failing that, though, he wishes to give me a final moment of glory.  For the sake of love, we are willing to put aside our selfish wants and choose something that will honor us both.  I will not lie; to see the respect and admiration in the eyes of my crew, is headier draught than the oldest of wines.  I would not mind drinking that draught, one more time.  But, to see... pity in their eyes,..."  she shuddered as much as her broken body would allow.  "Forsake the harm in that, and give me the good of the other.  Let me be Klingon, to the last."

  Fighting two inner turmoils, Julian distracted himself by rummaging through his bags.  Yes, considering the priorities of the culture, pretending he could heal her and letting her die in sickbay a week or even a month from now, would be more cruel than killing her with his own hands; which, when you thought about it, was practically what she was asking him to do.  With a little bit of perspective, that argument was easily settled.  But what about the other?  What about what he knew about bepSop's feelings?  As a doctor of the body, that was none of his business.  But as a doctor of the soul...?  Without even realizing it, his hands had begun the work his mind hadn't even decided to do.  In fact, he was nearly ready to close the wound, roll her over, and work on the other side.  "I'll do as you ask," he said, plying his tools.  "You must allow me to remain on this ship, though, in case something goes wrong.  Suppose, for some reason, you don't die right away.  I couldn't leave, thinking I might actually cause you more suffering than if I'd done nothing."

  "You let me worry about that."

  He looked at his work, approving.  "I'll need help turning you, to get the exit wound."

  "I can turn myself."

  "No.  The strain could undo everything I've already done.  I'll get bepSop."

  "Very well."  She waved him off.

  Heading out into the hallway, Julian practically ran right into the commander.  "You have to tell her,"  he said, cutting to the chase.

  "Impossible."  The Klingon was just as direct.

  "Isn't one lie enough?"  Julian began to get angry; or at least appear to.  "Letting her believe you dote on her like she's your granny, is playing her for a fool!  Is that how you honor those you respect?"

  "She thinks of me as a child!  She would laugh at me, or worse!"

  "Ten years?  You think she doesn't know?  Maybe she's just better at living with lies, than you are!"  Reaching up (way up) to grab the Klingon's shirt front, Julian got up on his toes and brought his face as close to bepSop's as he could.  "Listen, you bastard!  I'm already allowing you to get away with one lie; you don't get to have two!  Now you're going in there, you're helping me turn her so I can finish my work, and then you're telling her!  Am I making myself clear?"

  bepSop didn't know whether to roar with anger, or laughter.  "So it's true.  Humans really are insane."

  "You have no idea,"  The doctor confirmed, giving what he hoped was a fierce grin.

  bepSop grabbed Bashir about the waist, lifted him, and set him away at arm's length.  Julian saw no point in holding on to the Klingon's shirt, so he let go.

  "Are you going to tell her?"  Julian asked, tugging his coveralls into place.

  "I suppose I ought," the Klingon brooded.

  "Yes.  Well, then; shall we?"  Standing as tall as he could, Julian led the way back in.  He wasn't really sure why he was going through all of this; only that it seemed to be the thing to do.  He wondered if that would fly, in his after action report.  Well, Captain Sisko seemed to actually enjoy chewing his staff out, so he supposed in some small way he'd be bringing joy into his captain's life by giving him a reason.

  It only took a few minutes to finish up, and a few more minutes for the drugs to take effect.  In close to an hour, quvQob was on her feet and ready for action.  It was a good thing, too.  Just as he was admiring his work, Bashir's comm badge chirruped.

  "Bashir, here."  He tapped to respond.

  >>Doctor, I don't know what kind of sensor array those Klingons of yours have, but if we make it through this, I'd certainly like a peek at the schematics.<<

  "Sir?"

  >>I'm afraid you'll have to cut your house call a bit short.  Two Cardassian fighters and a troop carrier are headed our way.<<

  Julian quickly looked at bepSop, who shrugged ever so slightly.  "Can I have a few more minutes?"

  >>Sorry.  I'm afraid you'll have to come, now.<<

  He nodded, said "You promised," to bepSop to remind him, then told captain Sisko he was ready.

  "Promised?"  quvQob asked, once they were alone.

  "My HoD,"  bepSop took her hands in his, sinking to his knees.  "I have very little time, and perhaps even less courage; but honor demands I proceed, anyway."  In no'Hol (the ancient dialect), he began.

            "With amorous heart, I delight in the thought of thee.
              With amorous eyes, I eagerly gaze at thee.
              With amorous arms, I prepare to hold thee.
              With amorous teeth, I hunger for the taste of thee.
              With amorous-"

  "Stop, right there!"  she warned, but she seemed to be holding back a smile.  "I have no interest in what the other amorous parts of your body are doing."

  bepSop stood, deciding it was time to put up, or shut up.  "Then let me show you, rather than tell you."

  "No such thing!"  She actually seemed to blush a little, her eyes twinkling.  "I am old enough to be your mother!  How can you speak to me in such a manner?"

  "Blood calls to blood.  What does blood know of numbers?"

  "You heard the Terran's captain!  Battle approaches.  There is no time for foolishness!"

  "Time enough for one embrace."  bepSop stepped up to her and took her in his arms.  "Yet no time for games.  Strive not to be coy, or gentle, or considerate.  Tell me only if it is possible... could have been possible... and that will be enough."

  "wa'Dich,"  she chided, reaching up and tugging in his beard.  "When have you known me to be coy, or gentle, or considerate?  And when have you known me to cry in my wine about what could have been?"

  He had no words.  Time was running out.  Beneath his feet, he could feel the thrum of engines.  They were lifting off the planet, and preparing to go to battle.

  "Have I taught you nothing?  Where is your faith?"  She stroked his hair, enjoying the feel of strong arms around her after so long... so long... "You ask me if it is possible; if I could ever love you.  I tell you that I do love you!  All this time, faithfully by my side; gods, how could I not love you?  Sometimes I dreamed you would accept a promotion and take a ship of your own, and perhaps then when we both were captains..."

  "Yes; gentle, you are not," he agreed.  "I could have died happily, without knowing that."

  "It matters not!"  She was smiling, now.  "I hear the creak of Stovokor's gates opening for me.  The time for keeping our place is over.   If I said you were my devoted son before witnesses, then you would be.  And if I proclaim you are my lover, and I am yours, who will argue?"

  "Compassionate, neither.  How can you speak words to give me hope and joy, when I am so close to losing you?"

  Again, she asked "Where is your faith?  We are going into battle with an injured ship, against a powerful enemy.  Anything could happen!"

  A strange light began to burn in bepSop's eyes.  Suddenly, he held her tightly and buried his face in her neck.  He did not bite, for fear she had already lost more than enough blood, but he let his teeth pinch the soft folds of her flesh.

  "Oh, my,"  she sighed, letting her head roll back.  Such a young lover, after such a long time!  A brief wave of regret swept over her, but she forced it back.  "Save it, for when we meet in Stovokor."

  When his eyes met hers, they looked as though they might hold tears.  "Say what I want to hear, and I will be able to do anything."

  Letting her claw tips dance across his noble brow, she sighed happily.  "I love you, bepSop.  I love you."

******

  Usually, Dr. Bashir preferred to wait battles out in sickbay; but as chief surgeon, he had the option of taking a seat on the bridge.  For this battle, he took that seat.  It wasn't so much to watch his crew and his ship battle their foe, but to watch another ship in the same battle.  His curiosity was like a strong craving.  Though not exactly ethical, he used sensors to spy where his eyes longed to see.  Having quvQob's medical scan enabled him to see there was an adult female Klingon of her approximate age with her considerable internal injuries, seated in the center of the bridge of the Bird of Prey.  Sensors told him an adult male, presumably bepSop, stood nearby.  As the battle raged, he watched the pair closely.  Did he tell her, as he'd promised?  Did she accept him, or was she put off?  And why did he care about people he'd just met, and would never see again?  Part and parcel with the role of a doctor, body and soul.  He looked around at the tense faces of his fellow crew members.  Did his caring for strangers somehow diminish his love for those who had become his friends?  No.  There was a line between a doctor's care and personal care, after all.  His deep thought almost caused him to miss a crucial bit of information.

  "The Cardassians are boarding the Klingon vessel."  Worf announced grimly.

  "What?"  Julian gasped, drawing brief attention from everyone in earshot.

  "Troop transport in range."  Worf went on, ignoring the doctor.

  "Are they armed?"  Sisko asked.

  "And shielded."  Worf confirmed.

  "Then open fire."  Benjamin Sisko was above firing on an unarmed carrier vessel, but an armored personnel carrier was another story.

  "What about the jaghchon?"  Julian asked about the Klingon ship.

  "Right now, we have our own problems to deal with."  Sisko suddenly looked around at the doctor.  "Why aren't you in sick bay?"

  "Thought I might be needed here."  Julian offered, weakly.

  "Not for tactical advise,"  Sisko warned.  "Understood?"

  "Yes, sir."  Julian turned back to his sensors, scanning the captured ship.  There were mixed lifesigns, indicating a pitched battle on the bridge.  If the distribution of signals were any indication, the Klingons were holding their own.  Colder blooded Cardasians seemed to be stuck in corridors and doorways.  He imagined staunch bepSop, shielding his beloved HoD from battle with his enormous body, and the intrepid quvQob practically ravenous to get at the enemy with her sword.  Or maybe they stood back to back, joined in battle against their common foe.  As the Defiant shuddered and rocked from the impact of battle, the doctor worked on monitoring his own crew with one eye and the Klingon crew with the other.  Suddenly, a bright flash caught his attention.  He looked up at the view screen, in time to see the Cardassian Troop Transport explode.  Not waiting around, the Defiant turned her back and went to see how her partner in battle was faring.

  "The Cardassians seem to be leaving the jaghchon."  Julian finally had something to add.

  "They no doubt found Klingons do not make good captives."  Worf theorized.  "Either that, or they are preparing to destroy the jaghchon and must retreat to a safe distance."

  "Let's keep our distance; see what the Klingons want to do."  Sisko rubbed his chin, sitting back.

  "Klingon vessel powering up!"  Dax suddenly cried, from the sensor position beside Julian's.

  "If they fire at that range,..."  Sisko left the obvious unsaid.  Should the Cardassian ship explode, surely it would take the jaghchon with it.

  "It is not their weapons, which are powering up,"  Worf clarified.  "I believe they intend to ram."
 
  "Cardassian vessel releasing tractor beam, and powering up engines,"  Dax reported.  "Making a run for it, I'd guess."

  Suddenly, the newly released Bird of Prey lurched toward the Cardassian fighter.  At the last moment, the Bird of Prey pulled it's nose up; strafing as it went.  There were a few small explosions, than one huge all consuming one.  For a millisecond, everyone on the Defiant's bridge held their breath.  Then, from the gout of flame and debris, the nose of the Bird of Prey emerged; shields glowing white with stress.  It looked like glory.  It looked like victory.  The Klingon vessel cleared the brief conflagration, then slowed to a stop.

  "Doctor Bashir; assemble a medical team, and-"  Sisko stopped, because he saw the still swiveling seat Bashir had been sitting in, was now empty.

******

  The smell of barbecued meet filled Julian's nostrils, as he and his team beamed aboard the jaghchon.  "Smith, Caruthers, go aft and check engineering.  Johnson and Kessler, take decks one and two each.  I'll check forward.  Call in any supply requests directly to sickbay."

  "Aye, sir."  Julian's team answered, and got to work.  Taking a bracing breath, he headed forward to see what had happened.  The sight that met him, did not disappoint his expectations.

  "They automated the bridge, and ordered us aft."  The helmsman explained the situation.  "They knew it was too tricky a maneuver to execute by remote."

  "Here died warriors."  The weapon's officer pronounced, then threw back his head and roared.  Others joined him, until the noise was enough to make Julian's teeth vibrate.  Then, filled with wonder and awe and a strange sort of satisfaction, Doctor Bashir of Starfleet threw his own head back and roared.  It was not a roar of grief, but a genuine roar of celebration and warning to those of Stovokor that true warriors would soon stand at their gates.  For many weeks, though, the image of the cooked corpses of bepSop and quvQob would pop up in his dreams and nightmares; forever locked in each other's arms.  Everything in his culture and training told him this was so wrong; but something else, something from long ago and far away, told him it was good and true and right.  Here, indeed, died warriors.

  The crew of the jaghchon was soon made ready to go on their way.  Already, in the span of one week, legends and sagas were beginning to form.  As part of the stories, Julian did nothing to rebuke the inflated tales; even when they contradicted.

  "In a way,"  he explained to Worf, "all of them are true, you see."

  Worf nodded, knowingly.  "That is the deeper truth of legends.  They tell more about what happened here,"  he thumped his chest, "than what happened here."  Sweeping
 his arms, his gesture encompassed the entire universe.

  Julian considered this.  "I always thought of stories more as entertainment, than another perspective on history.  I see, though, how that could be so."

  Again, Worf nodded.  "Songs will be sung for many years; perhaps, even, forever.  Your name will ring through, a witness to what has passed."  Something almost like a smile, dawned on the Klingon's face.  "How does it feel, to be immortal?"

  Julian winced a little, then shrugged.  "Too much responsibility.  I'm not so sure I like it."

  Worf leaned in conspiratorially.  "Welcome to my nightmare."  He growled, then turned and walked away.

  "Good Lord,"  Julian breathed, slightly stunned.  "Worf's making jokes.  Perhaps it really is the end of us all!"  Spirits lifted, for the moment, he headed back to sickbay.

  But out in space, where all is silent and cold, two forms locked together as one tumbled endlessly through the void.  And following them, was the vibration from roars of the throats of Klingons.  And, of course, one human.

**********THE END