Deep Space Nine
Galaxy's End
by John Scott
(johnnymoonuk@yahoo.co.uk)

Galaxy's End

A memory.

Two years before the dreaded Tomed Incident. The ship had been exploring an area of space to the galactic west of the Federation, out past the Regulon system. They had come across an inhabited M-class planet; from the first scans made of the planet, the society on the surface was pre-warp, though there was evidence of previous space travel.

That was when the alien warships appeared; weapons armed, shields raised, and ready to fight. They were a golden tan colour, as if they had been in the sun; the front looked like the forward half of a Starfleet saucer section, with devices and hull plating jutting out at random intervals. A long hull tapered back behind it that split out into two horizontal fins. It looked like a tanned fish.

Then its friends turned up behind it, all armed to the teeth.

The USS Invincible was an Excelsior-class starship, the latest of the class, only ten years old, with an experienced captain, and the latest Starfleet technology.

Without a word of warning or mercy, the five alien ships pounded Invincible, forcing her shields down, and disintegrating hull plating in the engineering section. The ship tried to fight back, but the weapons overloaded, and the nacelles were destroyed along with the forward half of the saucer section, with holes being punched straight through the secondary section and the neck that joined the saucer with the engineering hull.

The order to abandon ship had been given. Half the crew were already dead, some dying, the rest wounded in some way.

The Captain, the Helmsman, and seven others made it to the two escape pods nearest to the bridge.

"We're going down," the Helmsman called out.

"No shit Sherlock," the Captain snarled, though it sounded rather weak, what with the piece of debris sticking out of his useless arm. He suddenly found it rather odd that he would say something so harsh to a junior officer, but it was the wrong moment for the young helmsman to state the bloody obvious.

The planet, a brilliant combination of deep blues and greens covered occasionally with white clouds, was getting awfully close in the escape pod's window.

"We really are going down," the Helmsman repeated forcefully.

Fire exploded across the window as the pod hit the atmosphere, the Helmsman wrestling with the controls. The pod jolted and vibrated violently, and then began jumping around as the atmosphere became thicker and heavier.

The last violent jolt threw the Captain across the pod and smacked his head against the bulkhead.

His vision went grey, then black as unconsciousness took him.

His eyes opened, and he looked up into the eyes of the Helmsman, and a human-looking woman who had a crinkle-ridged nose, and a large piece of jewellery attached in several places on her ear.

"Welcome to the Kendra Province," the crinkle-nosed woman smiled grimly. As it turned out, the five ships that had destroyed the Invincible had in fact been an invasion force, and the Captain had been unconscious for the first four days of the occupation of Bajor.

Three weeks later, the Captain slaughtered forty-three of the occupying soldiers, and stole a warp-capable shuttle, taking the Helmsman, and the other seven survivors off the planet. Starfleet ordered them never to speak of their experience, and contact with the planet was lost for another fifty or so years...

* * * * *

2373.

It was dark.

The world was spinning, everything was blurry, and the sky was turning an unhealthy shade of pink. Or was it a dirty brown? Nobody could be sure. The rocks were changing shape all the time; at first some of them looked like animals, then morphed into cutlery, and then suddenly they were...sofas?

It could mean only one thing.

They were drunk.

Unequivocally.

Unabashedly.

Inconceivably.

Incontestably.

Indelicately.

Drunk.

They couldn't stand up, let alone move. The Andorian tried to convey his thanks to the rock beside him, thinking it to be a member of the famous Rock People of Alpha Centauri. There were, of course, no Rock People, though that didn't stop him from trying to welcome them into the Federation with open arms.

"As senior -hic- Starfleet officers," the Andorian began, "we welcome -hic- you into the -hic- United Federation of Planets -hic."

"You do realise that's just a rock," the Captain giggled.

"Are you sure?" the Andorian slurred.

The Captain nodded emphatically, and continued nodding. They were on shore leave, the ship was in for refit, and they were determined to do something they hadn't done before: get drunk.

They hadn't reckoned on the drink being quite so effective with the effective side effects, or was that the drink talking?

The Andorian belched loudly.

"That's the drink talking," the Captain said out loud without realising it.

"I'm terribly sorry if I offended thee," the Andorian slurred, leaning on what he thought was the leader of the Rock People. "It was the drink talking," he added, gesturing to his best friend's obviously correct statement about the status of the aforementioned belch.

"Captain," a crisp voice said.

The Captain turned to see a young Vulcan Lieutenant from Starbase Two on the other side of the rocky ridge. He pointed at the Vulcan.

"Ears," he giggled.

"Hi there, mister Vulcan," the Andorian said, his voice still a slur.

"What can we do for you, mister Ears, I mean Lieuuu-tenant?"

"Captain Var, Commander h'Thane, I'm here to report to you that hostilities with the Dominion have begun in earnest."

"That's nice," Var smiled inanely.

"Who's Ernest?" the Andorian asked innocently.

"Captain," the Vulcan said forcefully, "The Federation has just declared war on the Dominion."

"Well, what do you think?"

"I think you should get a refund," O'Brien chuckled upon seeing his friend's latest Holosuite costume. He took in Julian Bashir's garish Hawaiian outfit. To Miles, it looked like someone had vomited green on a bright yellow tee shirt. And then there was the stupid straw hat.

"If that shirt got any louder," Miles continued, "Quark'll be selling earmuffs by the dozen." Miles' chuckle became outright laughter, holding his stomach as it became uncontrollable. Several other of the bar's patrons began laughing as well, forcing Bashir's dark complexion to go red with embarrassment.

Despite the continuing bloodshed with the Dominion, it was relaxing to experience a brief moment of total stupidity and happiness.

Julian's legs were way too skinny to be wearing a pair of white shorts that barely reached his knees. It was like something out of a comedy holonovel.

The laughing died down enough for O'Brien to hear his combadge. It was Captain Sisko.

"All Defiant crew report to the ship immediately," Sisko's disembodied voice said, filtering through between guffaws and chuckles in the bar.

"Acknowledged, Captain," Miles replied, wiping away the tears as Bashir attempted to look dignified in his outfit. The Irish chief of operations turned to his friend, choking back the laughs that came automatically. "Julian, we've gotta report to the Defiant."

Julian sighed over-exaggeratedly that got a few more chuckles from Broik. The hapless Ferengi waiter got a slap round the back of his head from Quark.

Miles shook his head, slapping Julian gently on the back as they left Quark's.

"I think I'm going to throw up," Ensign Nog groaned, cradling his lobes.

"By the looks of Julian's shirt, I imagine someone already beat you to it," Jadzia smiled, taking in Bashir's unusual apparel. Julian went red again.

"It's loud enough that Nog could hear it if he tried," O'Brien chuckled.

"Doctor," the captain chuckled from his command chair, "I think it's best if you changed your uniform." Julian sniffed and nodded, leaving the cramped bridge muttering something about not enough time on the beach.

"What's the emergency, sir?" O'Brien asked, taking his seat at the engineering console.

"We picked up a Starfleet distress call from the Lagora system," Sisko's naturally soft voice answered from behind the engineer.

"That's the other side of the Cardassian border. What's a Starfleet vessel doing out there?"

"We honestly don't know," Sisko shrugged. "Starfleet Command hasn't responded to our queries about the Lagora system yet, though since it's on the Cardassian border we're being accompanied by the Malinche and the Gremathor."

"Gremathor?" Dax queried suspiciously, "Wasn't she decommissioned last year?"

"They've spent the last year bringing her back into service to fight in the War," Worf answered, his deep voice a growl as ever. "She's only been out of the refit yards a month."

"Oh," Dax said quietly, turning back to the semi-circular helm console.

"Dax, set a course for the Lagora system," Sisko ordered. "Worf, battlestations."

"Aye, Captain," the two replied simultaneously. The lights flickered from their usual bright white to the deep red of red alert, darkening so that the bright light reflecting off the shiny surfaces of the consoles would not distract the officers during combat.

The three ships leapt to warp speed, leaving Deep Space Nine behind, and speeding toward the Lagora system.

"They're coming around again," Commander h'Thane, sat at the helm, shouted over the din of the battle outside the ship.

"Did the distress signal get out?" Captain Var asked. Steam, or something like it, poured from a conduit hanging from the ceiling of the large bridge, above his head. His ship was falling apart around him, and he could do nothing but watch as the small Jem'Hadar ships outside pounded his ship.

"It got out just before they started jamming us," the ops officer replied. Some of the displays were flickering -the area around the computer cores must have taken a serious hit.

The ship's chief engineer's voice suddenly came over the intercom.

"Bridge, this is Najeema."

"Go ahead, Commander."

"Captain, we've got a coolant leak down here," the engineer's voice called. "Ever since we lost the port nacelle, we've been venting massive amounts of plasma."

"Evacuate main engineering," Var ordered.

"Already doing it, Captain," the engineer cried.

"Report to the bridge, Najeema," Var ordered.

"We've lost shields again, Captain," the big tactical officer called out.

The ship was rocked and thrown about as the Jem'Hadar warships exploited the big Starfleet vessel's sudden weakness.

"Fire everything we have at them," the Captain ordered.

The tactical officer nodded, and tried desperately to use as many weapons as possible to fend off at least one of the three remaining enemy ships. The ship was big enough that it could withstand a physical attack without shields. But even a ship as big as a Galaxy-class could only take punishment.

The one remaining phaser array on the ventral side of the saucer section lashed out against the nearest Dominion vessel, striking its flaring shields. Torpedoes streaked away from the aft torpedo bay, hitting another enemy ship, disabling its shields, and slicing a great deal of its mass away.

"Captain, they're targeting the bridge," the tactical officer cried out.

"Crap."

"Jesus," O'Brien muttered. On the main viewscreen was the source of the transmission, a Galaxy-class starship, its hull almost completely blackened and beaten. The port nacelle was missing, plasma spreading out into space.

"They're targeting the starship's bridge," Worf announced.

"Fire phasers," Sisko ordered. "Tell Gremathor to move in closer to that ship, and begin beaming survivors off; bring the Malinche in behind us to hit anything we miss."

"Aye, sir," the Klingon nodded.

The Ambassador-class starship moved away from Defiant, and slipped in beside the Galaxy-class, extending its shields around what was left of the behemoth.

"Captain, that ship," Nog began.

"What's wrong, mister Nog?"

"Sir, it's the USS Galaxy."

Sisko was sure his heart stopped for a beat.

A memory.

Ensign Benjamin Sisko, fresh out of the Academy, was psyched; he'd met a beautiful girl on the beach the other day, and now he was finally being assigned to a starship. Although it would take him away from Jennifer, it was only temporary until he could serve aboard the Lexington upon its return from a mapping expedition near Tzenkethi space.

But until then, he would be serving on board the famous Starship Excalibur, commanded by a Starfleet legend. He was being assigned to a short tour aboard the Excalibur and then move on to Pelios Station.

He stood there, waiting by the airlock, his bag in one hand. He was nervous; Captain Var's tactics, strategies and attitudes were required reading at the Academy, perhaps more so than James Kirk, since Var was still in Starfleet for over eighty years.

Excalibur herself was just as legendary, and had recently been responsible for an exploration treaty between the Federation and the Klingons. The airlock hissed open, and an officer wearing the red of command, and the three gold pips of a full Commander.

Several other officers and crewmen barged past Ensign Sisko, heading for McKinley Station's operations centre.

"You must be Ensign Sisko," the grinning Commander said.

"Yes, sir," Sisko replied somewhat nervously.

"I'm Commander Korsmo, first officer of the Excalibur. The Captain's waiting to see you, Ensign."

As the two walked through the ship, Korsmo pointed different details, and some amusing anecdotes that went with the objects. Sisko had heard of the fun-loving Korsmo, and his stern captain.

They entered the bridge, and Sisko caught his first look at the Excalibur's veteran captain. Even sat in his command chair, he was tall, with a commanding body language that spoke volumes about his experience. His eyes were a vivid bright red; he wasn't a genetic defect, it was just the way he was born.

But the most noticeable thing about him, other than the bulging muscles wrapped under his skin-tight uniform, was his facial tattoo. Two thick black lines ran through his left eye, with a third smaller line running away downward from his cheek toward the corner of his jaw. Sisko had heard that the tattoo was a symbol of the captain's long-lost people, though wasn't sure what it meant.

"Benjamin Lafayette Sisko," Captain Gabriel Var grinned.

Sisko was taken aback by the Captain's cheery manner. When he glanced at the ship's first officer, Korsmo was trying to hide a smirk that told Sisko that this wasn't the first time someone had come aboard and been mistaken about Captain Var's mannerisms.

"Captain," Korsmo said, "If you'll excuse me, I believe Lieutenant Najeema is still trying to convince the Chief about his pet project."

Var snorted, and turned his attention back to the ship's new recruit.

"I understand you have some expertise in engineering, Ensign?"

"Yes, Captain," Sisko answered quickly.

"The Chief has been having trouble with the impulse engines. Stow your gear in your new quarters, and go lend him a hand."

"Right away, Captain," Sisko replied happily.

The observation lounge had taken a direct phaser hit, and had been exposed to space, with a massive gouge dug into the saucer section, leading away from the bridge toward the main shuttlebay. The Jem'Hadar ship had missed the bridge by virtue of the fact that the Defiant had blasted it to pieces just as it was firing.

The Starship Galaxy, and the space around it, had been made safe by the Malinche and Defiant, whilst the Gremathor had beamed any lifesign or large biological mass off the Galaxy. However, the top three decks of the Galaxy's massive saucer section had been so badly damaged, that the Gremathor's engineers were unwilling to beam any survivors off because of the effect the transporter beams might have to the unstable bulkheads.

So some of the Gremathor's engineers had beamed in lower down, and begun a search, deck-by-deck, section-by-section. Sisko and Worf were leading the search, though they had skipped the lower decks, and headed straight for the bridge.

They both grunted as they forced the emergency hatch open. The hatch opened up onto the aft of the barely-recognisable bridge. Bulkhead panels lay across chairs, the arcing tactical console behind the command chairs was snapped, and the tactical officer slumped over it with a wall support buttress leaning heavily on his back.

Sisko checked the man's pulse, and found nothing. He cursed softly, not willing to say anything loudly in case the noise affected the stability of the wreckage around him.

He moved toward the front of the bridge, looking over the blackened bridge. There was a small fire in the corner by the ready room door. It seemed to be going out, though it was obviously much bigger as there was a trail of black leading from the ready room and up the walls to the ceiling.

Sisko turned and almost let out a gasp, as he saw the man sat in the command chair. He was slumped, his head back, blood pouring from a large cut on his forehead, as well as burn marks across his shoulders.

"Gabriel," Sisko whispered.

Worf was attending to the Andorian officer unconscious over the helm, and the ops officer, whose legs seemed to be missing, and his console in tatters. The Andorian, a full Commander, was all right, just out cold, but the ops officer was bleeding to death, close to losing his legs, if not his life.

They had to risk it, if they beamed all the searchers, survivors, and bodies at the same time.

When the other searchers signalled that they had only found corpses, Sisko contacted the Gremathor, and had them beam everyone off.

As the transporter beam grabbed him, he heard a screeching of metal, and a rush of air, as the bridge's domed ceiling collapsed.

As it turned out, Sisko had been right; the bridge had been exposed to space, and the top three decks of the great ship Galaxy had collapsed and crumpled into an unrecognisable metal crater. Sisko watched the Galaxy drift in space, debris spreading across the viewscreen.

He, and Worf were standing on the bridge of the Gremathor, awaiting the ship's CMO to return with the casualty. They could have returned back to the Defiant, but Sisko wanted to stay near Var, and Worf was unwilling to leave Sisko's side; Worf more than anyone knew what it was like to lose a ship that he called home.

"What the hell was the Galaxy doing in the Lagora system?" a gruff voice asked from behind Sisko, breaking his train of thought. It was Brag Franks, the captain of the Ambassador-class vessel, brought out of retirement along with his old ship just for the War.

"Command mentioned that Starfleet Intelligence had discovered another Cardassian Nor-type station in the system. Sentok Nor, if you can believe it. Captain Var was ordered to investigate, but then the distress signal was released." Worf seemed to growl as he repeated Starfleet Command's message via the Defiant.

"It was a trap," Franks grunted. Tall, silver-haired, and almost fragile-thin, he was a born spacer, and something of a cynic when it came to Starfleet's policies.

"Indeed," Worf nodded.

"The Dominion have shown time and again that they can outthink us as well as outfight us," Sisko sighed. Even Franks had nothing to say to that, since it was a simplification of the truth.

"Captain," Franks' ops officer called out, "I'm detecting a group of Dominion warships approaching at high warp. They should be here in two hours."

"Damn!" Sisko shouted, slapping the nearest console in arm's reach. "I was hoping to salvage the Galaxy without leaving it for the Dominion; now we may have no choice but to leave it."

"Unless we set it for a warp core breach," Franks suggested. "The Galaxy still has a large complement of torpedoes. We could rig some of them around the ship itself like mines. When the Dominion ships approach, the torpedoes are set off, then the Galaxy's warp core goes off, and obliterates anything within several million kilometres."

Despite liking the plan, Sisko was still working up the courage to inform Captain Var what happened to the remains of his ship.

The trap was set, and the Starfleet ships were at warp.

The explosions of the torpedo detonations could be seen from the warping ships, then the warp core went, and there was a massive bright flare, followed by several smaller ones as the Galaxy's end took the Dominion battlegroup with her.

A Memory.

"She's all yours, Captain Korsmo," Gabriel grinned, pumping his former first officer's hand enthusiastically. They stood in an observation deck in Utopia Planitia, where the Excalibur was in for another refit, and Var was being reassigned to the Galaxy-class project, along with some of the Excalibur's crew.

"Thank you, Captain," Korsmo grinned.

"You made an excellent first officer, and now you'll make a better Captain."

"So why did you accept the transfer, sir?" Korsmo asked, belatedly realising that he no longer needed to call Var 'sir'.

"The Galaxy is an exciting project; it's different than just taking command of a ship, I actually get to build it, and then command it. Plus, it means I get to see Faye and Christiana on a regular basis rather than over subspace."

"I still can't believe you're married; you're the last person I expected to get married, or have a child."

"I think you said exactly that at our wedding, since you were the best man," Var grinned. They both turned toward the massive viewport beside them, watching as the Fleet Yards engineers finished the Excalibur's refit.

"She's a beautiful ship," Korsmo smiled proudly.

"Yes she is," Var returned. "And she has a good captain."

"Gabriel," someone said through the fog. It wasn't actually fog of course, just seemed like it. As Gabriel awoke, the image of Morgan Korsmo, happy as a schoolboy after his promotion, staring at his new command, the Excalibur.

Morgan had been killed during the most recent battle with the Borg of course, and the Excalibur had taken heavy damage. His first officer, Elizabeth Shelby, had been the one to inform Var. It hadn't helped the pain of losing a close friend.

As he took in his surroundings, he saw that there was nobody standing nearby. Had he imagined his name being called? He slid off the biobed, and realised that he wasn't in a Federation facility, but a Cardassian one. Had the enemy captured him? Surely not.

Then a Bajoran woman stepped into the small ward. There were other patients on other beds, though none were actually awake. Var assumed she was here to visit one of the other patients.

The Bajoran in question wore golden robes, covering a set of white under-robes, all of it embroidered beautifully with the same colours. She wore a golden-coloured hat that only partially covered her blonde hair. She was an older woman, on the topside of forty probably.

She took one look at Gabriel and shouted.

"Barbarian! Demon!"

Kai Winn, spiritual leader was passing the Ferengi's establishment on Deep Space Nine's Promenade. She was here for yet another celebration of Starfleet's re-taking of DS9; not that she was complaining, she was enjoying the publicity of the Kai being on the station.

She had heard that the Emissary had recently returned from a mission to rescue a Federation starship under attack. As it turned out, the starship's remote detonation had destroyed a Dominion battlegroup on its way toward the Bajoran system. The ship's captain had been taken to the station's Infirmary, where he was still recovering. She wanted to thank the captain in person; more publicity wouldn't hurt.

And then, a glass had come out of nowhere -or rather, had come out of Quark's- and smashed her over the head. Doctor Bashir had attended to her himself, and then walked her to the Infirmary. When he released her after repairing her injury, she stepped into the side ward, and saw a demon of a man, with brilliant white hair, glowing red eyes, geometric tattoos on his face and chest, not to mention scars across his muscular body.

She had heard of a description of a demon that had visited Bajor in the early days of the Occupation; the tale was an underground legend -nobody truly believed it except those that had witnessed his actions firsthand, though everybody was still enthralled by the tales.

But when Winn saw the man getting off of the bed, she screamed names at him, thinking he was here to take her pagh.

"Barbarian! Demon!" she cried in terror.

He held his hands up defensively.

"Easy lady," the demon said calmly. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"I am the Kai of Bajor," she warned, " and I command you, demon, to leave this place."

"I can't do that, Kai; Doctor Bashir hasn't said I can leave yet!" the demon shouted.

Was this lady nuts? Gabriel wondered. She was screaming Bajoran profanities, and began moving toward the door, accusing him of being a demon -a demon?

He knew who the Kai was though; Ben had told him all about her, with some choice swear words to go with the descriptions.

"Kai Winn," he said, danger in his voice. "Back off, I'm not what you think I am."

"Who are you?"

"Captain Gabriel Var," he sighed heavily, "formerly of the Federation starship Galaxy."

"Oh," was all she said before walking quickly out of the Infirmary and back to her quarters.

Gabriel stood there, utterly perplexed.

A memory.

Wolf 359.

A time and place nobody would forget.

Lieutenant Commander Sisko hugged his son Jake as the escape craft blasted away from the Saratoga. Jennifer was in there somewhere, lying dead under a pile of debris in a burning room on the ship they had called home for several years. The tears hadn't come yet; he was still too agitated from the battle -the battle in which Jennifer died, he reminded himself.

His captain was gone, killed on the bridge, Sisko was the senior officer; it was down to him to help the others, yet he could barely contain his own grief. He couldn't even look at his son without being reminded of Jennifer's beautiful face. Jake was so much like his mother that it hurt to look at him.

Sisko could only watch as the Borg cube obliterated the Saratoga. Ships were dying all around the escape craft, Starfleet officers giving their lives in a futile gesture of defiance. But at that moment in time, Benjamin Sisko didn't care; his mind was still on the Saratoga before he had been dragged kicking and screaming Jennifer's name. He knew he should be guilty for not caring, but he just couldn't care; he was too numb to care.

"Warning," the computer announced, "incoming vessel."

Jake was hurriedly trying to scramble to see the incoming ship. He pressed his face against the rear viewport, craning his neck.

"Wow," he exclaimed.

Anyone else who had a clear view watched what Jake saw. Though they didn't know it, it was the Starship Enterprise that slid between the mass of wreckages. The Federation flagship moved through the graveyard without stopping, twisting and turning occasionally to avoid collision.

"Warning," the computer announced, "incoming vessel."

Panic rippled through the crowded escape craft -they believed the Borg had come back to finish the job.

From another direction, a Galaxy-class starship cruised into the graveyard; at first, it looked as though the Enterprise was returning. But someone with very sharp eyes, cried out that it was the Starship Galaxy.

For the first time, Sisko looked up from his grief.

His friend had arrived.

* * * * *

"Must be a Friday," Gabriel said from behind Sisko.

The big tattooed captain was back in uniform, a phaser on his hip. They were in the wardroom, staring at a large display screen. It was the casualty lists, newly updated with the crew of the Galaxy.

"What makes you say that?" Sisko asked softly, unwilling to tear his eyes away from the screen.

"I always did the same; put the casualty lists up in Ten-Forward for the crew to see. Gave the crew a chance to comfort each other without spending time trying to get to the issue."

"The ship's counselor suggested that, I take it?" Sisko smiled.

Var could only nod, and then pointed to a name half down the ninth column.

"Your ship's counselor?"

Var nodded again. Sisko could see in his friend's face that Gabriel was having a hard time with the loss of his ship and so many of his crew. Starfleet officers were trained to handle the loss of a ship. In peacetime, there would have been a full inquiry, but now it was wartime, and in wartime the loss of starships was a given, more so in the current conflict with the Dominion.

"What's on your mind?" Sisko said, though he feared that he'd said it a little too forcefully. He didn't want to upset his friend at such a tender moment, no matter how strong and physically invulnerable he always appeared to be.

"Invincible," Var said.

Sisko looked at him questioningly.

"Two years before the Treaty of Tomed was signed, I was in command of the USS Invincible." Several officers and crewmen, both Starfleet and Bajoran, stepped into the wardroom, hoping to look at the latest copy of the casualty lists. Var moved away out of earshot of the others, leaning against the large oval window, with Sisko still beside him. Sisko saw Worf and Dax among the crowd, and wondered who they had lost today.

"Invincible was exploring a region past the Regulon system. At the time, we had no idea what to expect; we'd never made contact with the Cardassians, or Bajor at that time, and the Argolis Cluster was the furthest Starfleet had explored out in this region."

Sisko wasn't sure where this was going, but he held his tongue to wait for his friend to get it off his chest.

"We came across an inhabited planet with a pre-warp society, though they had small impulse ships. When we scanned the planet five ships that we later identified as Cardassians. They fired without warning, and destroyed the ship after a few of us escaped. We never even fired a ship. We stole one of the invader's shuttles, and escaped back to the Federation."

The big captain looked at Sisko.

"Starfleet covered the whole incident up, and I was given command of the Excelsior after Sulu was promoted. Invincible was the only ship I lost before the Galaxy: the Frontier was decommissioned, and I was transferred away from the Excalibur."

"Where did this take place?" Sisko asked. He hadn't read anything about a Starship Invincible, wasn't even sure it even existed. Invincible wasn't the kind of name a Federation starship would have -it seemed too harsh and provocative for a ship of exploration, and representative of a peaceful society.

"I know you've never heard of the Invincible," Var said, as if reading Sisko's mind. "Not surprising considering the amount of starships that have been in production since the end of the twenty-third century."

"Still, a name like that, you would have thought that an incident like that there would have been more publicity. Disastrous first contact with the Cardassians, the ship's crew surviving for weeks on an alien world, and then escaping from a full inva-" and then it hit him like a lightning strike: Cardassians, invasion, pre-warp society, 2309.

"Bajor," Sisko said, the revelation leaving a strange but sad smile on his face.

Var could only nod.

"Starfleet's been aware of Bajor since the very day that the Cardassians invaded?"

Var nodded again.

"Why did Starfleet never do anything about it?" Sisko accused, turning on Var.

Var sighed heavily. "When we escaped Bajor," he said, keeping his voice down so that nobody else in the room could hear, "the Federation was still experiencing problems with the Khitomer Accords. The Tomed Incident and the Treaty of Algeron saved the Federation from annihilation." When Sisko just looked at him with a frown, he reluctantly explained, eyeing the other officers on the other side of the room. "Before the Tomed Incident, Chancellor Azetbur was seriously considering joining the Romulans in moving against the Federation. When the Romulan warship Tomed attacked across the Neutral Zone, it destroyed several Federation outposts."

"I am aware of Federation history in that regard," Sisko reminded him, and then remembered what they were discussing, and that Var had actually already been in Starfleet for over forty years before the Tomed Incident.

"But are you aware of the political situation back then? When those outposts along the Neutral Zone were destroyed, the Klingons sided with the Federation, and forced the Romulans to back down, who declared the Tomed's commander a rogue. The Klingon Chancellor was murdered, and the two Empires returned behind their borders. All three powers signed the Treaty, which prevented a war."

"What does that have to do with Bajor?"

"Ben, at the time, we were facing wars with a dozen major races. Starfleet Intelligence had heard rumours from traders and the like that there was a major power beyond our borders. We'd lost a ship already."

"That was the real reason Invincible was near Bajor, wasn't it? Starfleet wanted you to keep a lookout for any sign of this major power, but instead you walked right into the invasion."

"Ah, actually, the Cardassians left not long after we did," Var added. "They returned when there was a change in government; not entirely sure why, but it's probably because of Bajor's growing influence in the sector. The first attack was only five ships, and then they left for some reason, and returned with a whole fleet."

"An event that's had bad repercussions for billions of people for decades," Var nodded. "Starfleet's defences were concentrated along the Neutral Zones, they couldn't afford to be involved with more cold conflicts with some unknown race."

"I thought first contact with the Cardassian Union happened during their conflict with the Klingons?"

Var nodded again, though he himself was foggy on the details of that first contact.

"Yes, at the same time they invaded Bajor en masse. The Cardassians became obsessed with Bajor. And that was before you discovered the wormhole in the Denorios Belt. Are you alright, Ben?"

Sisko returned to watching the stars outside the station. He could only nod. Everything he knew about the Federation's relationship with Bajor had been a lie, and nobody had talked about it before; not even the Bajorans.

A memory.

A new start.

The starship sped at warp speeds to the planet Bajor; the Cardassians had finally left the planet, having stripped the planet of minerals and its people's pride. They had left a massive station in orbit of the planet, a former ore mining facility.

The starship in question was the Galaxy, there only to drop off some hand weapons and equipment, the station's new commanding officer, his son, and several crewmembers. The Galaxy was on its way through to upgrade the defences of Starbase 211 on the Cardassian border.

Sisko and his son had just stepped out of the holodeck, and come across an observation window. Beyond it was the six-pronged circular space station, recently owned by the Cardassians, and renamed by the Federation to Deep Space Nine.

"Is that it?" Jake asked excitedly, pointing to what was beyond the window. Sisko nodded, smiled, and guided the young boy away toward the nearest transporter room since the Galaxy wasn't docking with the station.

Gabriel Var and his first officer, the newly promoted Commander h'Thane, were waiting for them in the transporter room. Gabriel was smiling, h'Thane trying his best to smile like a human.

"We thought we'd give you a send-off, Commander," Gabriel said cheerily, happy that his friend was moving on from his grief, or at least trying. He hugged Sisko, and then shook Jake's tiny hand. "Good luck, mister Sisko."

"Thanks," Jake grinned. There was some tension underneath the young man's grin, though it was understandable considering he was being shipped to an alien space station near hostile space with a bunch of Bajorans that didn't really want the Federation there.

"You'd better write," the big captain warned. "Chrissie's waiting to hear from you."

Jake nodded enthusiastically, and took hold of his dad's hand again.

"Good luck, Commander."

"Thank you, Captain," Sisko answered.

"I hope it's the new start you're looking for, Ben," Gabriel said sincerely.

"So do I, Gabriel."

Ben and Jake stepped onto the platform, both nervous, but both excited.

"Captain Picard is asking after you, Commander," h'Thane announced. Both the starship officers noticed Sisko's uncomfortable shifting on the transporter pad, exchanging wary looks. They were both aware of Sisko's history with the Enterprise captain, and the reasons behind it.

"You've got to face him some time, Ben," Var said, almost apologetically.

Sisko nodded.

"Energize," he called to the transporter chief.

The father and son disappeared in the blue-and-white haze of the transporter beam.

"A strip of latinum says they last a month," h'Thane said grimly.

Var could only nod.

Gabriel strode slowly down the Promenade, hands clasped at the small of his back. He could practically feel Constable Odo's eyes boring into him. He wasn't worried about the station's shape-shifting security chief, just annoyed that the changeling was watching him. Sisko probably asked Odo to watch over him, to make sure Var was all right, and to watch for any signs of post-traumatic-stress.

Var didn't think he had PTS, but he was still upset, and still worried about his crew. Commander h'Thane and the rest of the survivors were being questioned about the ship's mission to Lagora -purely routine.

Var had already had his debriefing from Starfleet Command over subspace, so he had decided to walk the Promenade. Most of the Starfleet officers whispered to each other, pointing and respectfully keeping their distance from the legend that was Gabriel Var, or some such. Civilians and the Bajoran officers and crew seemed wary of him, or at least his unusual appearance.

That was when a middle-aged Bajoran monk stepped in front of him, a concerned look on his face.

"You look troubled, son," the monk said.

"Don't call me son," Var growled. "I'm old enough to be your ancestor."

"My apologies, Captain," the monk said, holding up his hands defensively. "I was merely offering my services to you."

"In what way?"

The monk merely gestured for Var to follow him into the Bajoran temple on the Promenade. They stepped through into the temple, and Var was hit by the sweet smell of incense. The smell was soothing and relaxing.

The monk pointed to the carved box at the other end of the room.

"An Orb of the Prophets?" Var whispered.

The monk only nodded, and lowered the forcefield protecting the Orb.

Almost by instinct, Var opened the box, and saw the glowing green construct inside. He was about to tell the monk it wasn't working, when a green light encompassed him, and took him away.

Suddenly, he was standing on the bridge of a ship.

Not just any ship; it was the bridge of the USS Horizon, the ship that had found him floating in space in a starfighter, with no memories of his life. The Daedalus-class starship's bridge was like most of that era: round, brightly coloured panelling, and brightly coloured uniforms.

The centred command chair was empty, as were all the others in fact. But there was something off about the whole thing. His vision seemed blurry.

"You are the Destroyer," a voice said from behind him. He turned to see his late adopted father, Christian Starkey, in the same gold starship captain's uniform of the day they had first met.

"You are the Preserver," another voice said. The voice belonged to his adopted mother, Doctor Sylvia Jones, the Horizon's former chief medical officer. Neither of them looked quite right, as if they were possessed somehow.

"You are the Var," his wife said. "You are of the Sisko."

"Benjamin Sisko? He's a friend of mine, if that's what you mean."

"You are of this galaxy," his daughter, in her Starfleet uniform, said, stepping forward next to his wife.

"Who the hell are you people? You look like my family, but somehow I don't think you are, since most of them aren't anywhere near Deep Space Nine." He snapped his fingers, the revelation of what he had realised sinking in. "This isn't just another Orb experience, is it? You're the wormhole aliens -the Prophets of Bajor. What the hell do you want with me?"

"It is aggressive," the Starkey-Prophet suggested.

"Adversarial," the Faye-Prophet added.

"Of course I am, I've just lost my ship, and half my crew," he complained.

"You were of Bajor," the Chrissie-Prophet stressed. "You are of this galaxy."

"You are of the ancient ones," the Starkey-Prophet said.

"Wait, when you say ancient ones and Preservers, you're talking about the Preservers that seeded the galaxy with humanoid life, and were the first race to exist in the universe. You're saying I'm a member of that race?"

The Sylvia-Prophet simply nodded.

This new revelation shocked him to the core. He knew he was old -his DNA was like nothing Starfleet had encountered, and Starfleet Medical had discovered that the DNA was, in fact, several million years old, making him older than just about every civilisation in the galaxy.

"You were not aware?" the Faye-Prophet asked.

Var shook his head. "I have no memory beyond the day I was picked up by the Starship Horizon, one-hundred-and-nine Earth years ago."

The Faye-Prophet stepped toward him, and pressed a hand to his forehead, and suddenly he saw a vision of another place. It was a barren planet, one that had once been verdant and alive. The planet was scorched, the ground turned to fused glass, like the after-effect of a nuclear explosion. The clouds in the sky were tinged green, as if radioactive like in the old Earth comics. Dark lightning struck the ground on the horizon, kicking up the ground into yet more clouds of dust.

He didn't recognise the planet from any Starfleet file, nor could he ever remember ever being on such a planet. Was this place something from his past? Or his future?

There were craters all around him, evidence of a bombardment from orbit. But what could destroy a planet like this? The Borg? The Dominion? Klingons? Or another race the Federation hadn't encountered? He didn't know, but it worried him.

Then the vision disappeared, and was replaced by the slightly blurred Horizon bridge.

"What was that?" he asked the Prophets around him.

"The future," the Starkey-Prophet said, laying a hand on Var's shoulder, just as his father had always done.

"The past," the Sylvia-Prophet said to him.

"That's rather vague," Var pointed out.

"As it should be," the four Prophets said simultaneously.

The Horizon's bridge disappeared in a mass of sickly green light, replaced by the soft candlelit glow of the Bajoran temple on Deep Space Nine. The monk was stood silently in contemplation.

"Are you alright?" the monk asked.

Var was still a little disoriented at the suddenness of the transition from the vision to the temple.

Var could only nod his head, trying desperately to wrap his brain around what he had learned in the vision. How could it be true?

"Thank you for this," Var said sincerely.

"You seemed to need it."

Var smiled, his mind still stuck on the idea of being a member of a race so old that every civilisation in the galaxy had a name for them: Old Ones; Builders; Constructors; Intendants; Gods; Preservers. They were a myth in every culture.

"I did need it," Var admitted.

"And what did the Prophets tell you?" the monk asked.

"Who said it was the Prophets I spoke to?" Var queried suspiciously, glaring at the monk. The Bajoran didn't shrink from the big captain's gaze, but said nothing, just gestured to the arched exit. Var left, and almost barrelled into DS9's Bajoran first officer.

"Major Kira," Var greeted her, still a little distracted. Kira seemed to note the four gold pips on his red collar, his facial features and connected it with the Defiant's recent trip to the Lagora system.

"Captain Var, I wasn't aware you were interested in Bajoran beliefs." Kira seemed to be suspicious, though Var couldn't entirely fault her -she was defensive about her religion, it was understandable.

"I was just talking to the monk," he said, gesturing behind him.

She looked at him like he was mad.

"What monk?" she asked. "The Prylar of the temple is on Bajor."

Var looked around, and found to his amazement that there was no monk in the temple. Could it have been another vision? Or his own subconscious? Or was he one of the Prophets, guiding him to speak to those in the Celestial Temple?

He didn't know, but he was determined to find out what was going on.

First, he needed to find access to the Federation database.

A memory.

A bad memory.

The Starship Galaxy was travelling from Earth, the Klingon attack on Deep Space Nine only days behind. The ship had been tasked to meet the Agamemnon in orbit of Andoria, and escort the ship to Qo'nos for a high-level meeting with Chancellor Gowron to cease the hostilities between the Federation and the Klingons.

The Galaxy entered orbit of Andoria to find the Agamemnon under attack.

Two Klingon Birds-of-Prey were firing on the Apollo-class starship, wingtip disruptors flashing, pounding the old vessel relentlessly. The Agamemnon's shields were failing, and the Klingon ships weren't letting up.

"Raise shields," Commander h'Thane called. "Lock phasers and load torpedo bays." The Bolian tactical officer set to his work with as much enthusiasm as ever.

"Hail the Klingon ships, Lieutenant," Captain Var ordered.

"Trying, Captain," the Bolian grumbled. He slapped his console, and cursed. "They're not answering, sir."

"Broadcast this message on an open channel, Lieutenant," Var ordered. "Klingon vessels, this is Captain Gabriel Var of the Federation Starship Galaxy. Stand down, or we will be forced to fire upon you."

One of the Birds-of-Prey seemed to understand the message as it kept the Agamemnon between itself and the Galaxy. The other, however, decided to gain honour by destroying a Galaxy-class vessel.

Christian Starkey, retired from active Starfleet service, stood on the bridge of the Agamemnon, desperately wanting to take command from the ship's young captain. Admittedly, the Vulcan woman was more than capable, but Starkey still felt the itch to take the centre chair, no matter how old he was.

He was desperate to take charge, to fight the Klingons just as he had on the Horizon and the Frontier. That need dissipated when the Galaxy warped into the Andorian home system.

His adopted son, a man more experienced in ship-to-ship combat than anyone in the universe, had just arrived on his city-sized starship.

The first Bird-of-Prey moved to intercept the behemoth Galaxy. Phasers lashed out, and struck the warship's shields, flaring brilliantly before falling in a spark and flash. The Galaxy showed no mercy; two photon torpedoes streaked away from it, and slammed into the Bird-of-Prey, obliterating it in a chain of explosions that blew the ship's hull violently outwards.

That was when the crew of the Agamemnon was reminded of the other Klingon ship behind them.

Disruptor blasts detonated along the large ventral sensor pod, destroying the pod, whilst the disruptors continued up the saucer.

Three high-yield quantum torpedoes obliterated the Bird-of-Prey from bow to stern.

But not before the Klingon disruptors destroyed the bridge of the Agamemnon.

Gabriel Var sat in his command chair, insane rage building inside him. Christian Starkey, the man who had rescued him from floating in space, adopted him as a son, and entered him into Starfleet Academy, was dead. It was a senseless, pointless death.

And Gabriel didn't know what to do.

He had requested use of one of DS9's Type-6 shuttles, and taken a brief leave of absence on Bajor. He had expected to be there no more than a day or so. He wanted to see where he had landed so long ago. He needed to clear his head, get away from the bustle of the station, and the other Starfleet officers, who continued to ask if he was all right.

As he had hoped, he had accessed the Federation database and downloaded everything he could find on the Preservers, and any myths and legends of gods and higher beings. As the shuttle sped toward Bajor, he found himself sifting through the Preservers information on a padd he had replicated.

Some of the information, gained during Captain Picard's chase of the Preserver DNA codes years ago, was useful; other information was just pointless folklore with no proof or facts. However, there had been several artefacts found on less advanced planets that had had writings on them that was identical to his own tattoos.

For some reason, despite the lack of memories beyond his discovery in space, he was able to read the writings, though he wasn't sure he wanted to share that information with Starfleet just yet.

None of the writings were anything more than instructions on how to view or use the artefacts -nothing useful there.

Bajor slowly appeared beyond the cockpit's forward window.

Requesting landing permission in the Kendra Province from the Bajoran authorities, he piloted the shuttle through the atmosphere, until he saw a range of mountains on the border with the Lonar Province. There he found a deep gouge in the mountainside, still blackened as he remembered -it was the site where the USS Invincible's escape pods had crash-landed, skimming into the mountain, and creating that gouge.

He landed the shuttle at the stopping point of the massive scar.

He stepped out, and walked up to the wreckage that lay there.

On the side of the pod was the vehicle's classification: Emergency Escape Pod, USS Invincible, NCC-11110.

"She said you would come," a woman's soft voice called from behind him.

Var turned to see a teenage Bajoran girl, not unlike a woman he had known in this very province, her long dark hair blowing in the wind whipping around the mountainside. She was as beautiful as the woman he had met before, and there were some startling similarities between the two.

"Who did?" he asked.

"My grandmother," she explained. "She always said you'd return one day, though she always told me she hoped it would be in her lifetime."

"When did she die?"

The girl sighed.

"Not long before the end of the Cardassian Occupation; she was killed by a bunch of drunken soldiers looking for some fun."

"I'm sorry," he said sincerely. She only nodded, stepping up onto the ridge made by the huge scar in the ground. They both stood there, staring at the wreckage of the escape pod. "I'm amazed this thing is still here. I was sure the Cardassians would have found it long ago."

"The Cardassians never came up here; most of them wouldn't go into the mountains for fear of the Resistance using the terrain against them. There was also some concern that the rocks had some properties that messed with their scanners." She turned to him. "But you didn't come here for a history lesson on the Occupation, did you?"

He shook his head.

"Here," she said, holding out a battered old satchel. He opened it, and inside found a Starfleet uniform. Nothing like the one he was currently wearing, but the old-style uniform: angular maroon jacket with fold-over chest placket, black belt, black trousers, and the white command-division collar and shoulder strap.

"Grandmother kept it after you left, cleaned it, repaired it, and handed it to my mother, and then it came to me. I think grandmother would have wanted you to have it back."

He had to admit it felt good to see it again; he could easily replicate one in a few seconds, but having an actual uniform he had worn so long ago, in his hands and be able to touch and feel it, it was strange. Nostalgia overwhelmed him, and the memories of his career flooded back to him: serving under his adopted father on the Frontier; commanding the very same ship, and three more after that. He had made many friends, and had many adventures. Starfleet was his home and family, he had just never seen it that way.

And it had taken a sixty-year-old uniform to remind him of that.

Even if there was no longer a Starship Galaxy, there would always be other adventures, other opportunities, and more friends.

The First Memory.

2265.

System Alpha-19/004.

It never had a name, not even in the twenty-fourth century, just a numerical/alphabetical designation. Three lifeless rocks orbited a dying sun, only a millennium or so away from going supernova, and then perhaps it would turn into a black hole. He would never forget that system, not in a million years.

How could he? It was the first thing he could remember.

Space was... let's face it, space was black with little white dots splattered over it, like a toddler playing with paint. Var was getting bloody sick of it. His view was only of the damn stars. You would have thought someone could have been a little bit more exciting, say having blue dots, or red, or multi-coloured dots; anything but bloody white!

The ticking chronometer strapped to his wrist told him he'd been sitting in that seat for three hours. He paused in his boredom. How did he know what a chronometer was? Or what the colours were called? Or even what the hell an hour was?

He wasn't even sure of his own damn name. It was stitched into the left breast of the black jacket he was wearing. He could understand the strange characters; which in itself was weird since he couldn't remember anything beyond three hours ago. He could, of course, be wearing someone else's clothes; who knew when you had no memory?

He had simply opened his eyes three hours ago, and not known his name, his home, if he had one, or even if he had a family. He had awakened in a small vessel -of that he was sure; blank screens, blank consoles, and blank lights surrounded him, only the starfield outside was lighting the cockpit around him. There wasn't a decent enough light to see his reflection in the transparent canopy. Pity, he wanted to know what he looked like.

The air was getting thinner, his breathing getting harder and harder. He realised he was shaking; it was getting cold. No life support? There had to be only a limited amount of air.

He stopped himself for a second. How could he know all this, and yet not know his name? He felt his bottom lip tremble, and then tears began to form in his eyes. He plunged his tearful face into his open palms. Then he ran his wet hands through his long matted hair. The length and bad condition seemed at odds with the military-esque clothes he was wearing.

He gave up trying to understand how he could remember some things, and not others.

When he looked up through the elongated canopy above him, he saw something move out in space. It was white, or was it grey? Yes, definitely grey. As it came toward him, he realised it was a fast-moving streak. An object moving at abnormally fast speeds.

In fact, it was moving very fast.

A loud sonic boom smacked the small craft around. The object came closer at a terrifying speed, and then the blurred streak slammed to a stop in front of the canopy, resolving into a massive image.

"Holy mother of -"

The massive object was in fact a starship, the front end a perfect sphere attached to a long, horizontal neck, itself attached to a thick tube of a secondary hull, with two nacelles attached to struts at forty-five degree angles from the hull. The ship began to pass underneath, manoeuvring itself to tractor the smaller ship into its shuttlebay.

Printed on the hull of the great ship were the characters USS HORIZON. Var didn't know what it meant, but it was a completely alien language, and it intrigued him nonetheless.

Spots began to appear in his vision. Everything became red, his eyes trying to see in the airless atmosphere of the cockpit.

Then the black of unconsciousness took him into nothingness.