They grabbed me from behind, and shoved me into a corner. I tried to fight back. One of them grabbed me by the hair, and slammed my face into the wall. I saw stars, and got confused for a moment. I remember thinking that I had a visitor. Someone was saying, pay attention.

They must have turned me around while I was stunned. When I came to, I had my back to the wall, and a forearm across my throat. "Wait," I croaked.

It took me a second to realize that they weren't Cardassians. It took me another second to figure out just who they were. I saw the tusks first. Chalnoth have four tusks on their lower jaws. They have thick orange fur and dog-like faces. The one with his arm across my throat had broken and irregular teeth. The other one had a badly scarred face. They were ugly, even for Chalnoth.

All of a sudden, I was angry. "What the hell do you guys want?" I said, stupidly.

Snaggletooth leaned on his forearm, cutting off my air. I gurgled, and grabbed his wrist and his elbow, trying to lever his arm off my throat. He was too strong.

Scarface grabbed me by the hair, again. "We want you to answer some questions," he said, yanking my head to the side for emphasis.

I nodded quickly.

"Good boy," said Scarface. Snaggletooth took some of the pressure off. I stood there gasping, wondering, why me?

"Your name is Jaffar," said Scarface. Snaggletooth was the strong, silent type.

"Yes," I gasped.

"You were a Starfleet officer."

"Yes."

"You are familiar with this star system."

"Yes."

"Tell us about the wormhole."

"The what?" I said, surprised.

Snaggletooth cut off my air again. "The wormhole," said Scarface. "There is a wormhole in this star system."

Snaggletooth eased off. "Who told you that?" I gasped. I needed time to think.

"I'm asking the questions here," said Scarface. "Where is it? Where does it lead?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," I said.

"That's too bad," said Scarface. "Kill him."

"Wait!" I gurgled.

"Why should we?" asked Scarface. Snaggletooth kept choking me.

"I...know...something..."

Scarface let me suffocate for a few more seconds, then nodded to his buddy. I could breathe again. "Tell me," said Scarface.

* * * * *

The 61 Virginis wormhole is an open secret. Officially, it doesn't exist. Unofficially, it was created about five years ago. That's right: created, by Starfleet scientists and engineers. The project was code-named 'Highjump'.

They chose the 61 Virginis system for two reasons. First, it was already restricted, because of the starbase, and the prison. Second, the subspace conditions were ideal. 61 Virginis is on the edge of the Virgo Shallows, a region where subspace is denser than usual. From what I've been told, this made it easier to 'tunnel' through subspace.

* * * * *

I took a moment to catch my breath, and then said: "You're fight. There's a wormhole here."

Scarface made a sound of disgust. "Kill him," he said.

"I know more!"

"Then tell me more," said Scarface.

"It's periodically visible," I said.

"Like the Barzan wormhole," said Scarface.

"Yes."

"How often?"

"Once every 2 hours and 24 minutes."

Scarface growled. "Where does it lead?"

"Deep space, near Spica."

He made some quick mental calculations. "That's over two hundred light years away. Excellent," he said. "You're doing well, human. Answer one more question, and we'll let you go. Where is the opening?"

I almost told them. Why not? It wouldn't do them any good. Project Highjump was one of the biggest disappointments in the history of science. If they'd just asked, instead of pushing me around and threatening to kill me, I would have told them.

But they didn't ask. Instead, they pushed me around, and threatened to kill me. It made me angry. And it gave me an idea.

"When are you planning to escape?" I asked.

Scarface frowned. "I told you-"

"Yeah, yeah, you're asking the questions here. Take me with you," I said.

That was a big gamble. If Scarface said 'yes,' I was dead. But I was pretty sure he'd say-

"No."

"Take me with you, and I'll tell you where the wormhole is," I said.

"Tell us where it is, and we won't kill you."

I shrugged. Here goes. "Kill me, then," I said.

Scarface snarled. "You think I'm joking?"

"I hope not," I said. "Do you know where I've been for the past ten days?"

"In Isolation."

"Do you know why?"

"You killed a Cardassian."

"I killed Arnok. Arnok was the son of Gul Sark. Gul Sark is the Head of the Thirteenth Order. The Cardssian prison gang."

"Am I supposed to be impressed?"

"If I don't get out of here, I'm a dead man."

"Too bad."

"Yeah, for you. Do whatever you want. It can't be worse than what the Cardassians will do to me."

Scarface bared his teeth and leaned in close, staring me right in the eye. "Listen to me, human. I can hurt you so badly, you'll beg me to kill you."

I stared back, as steadily as I could. "I'm begging you now. Please kill me."

He didn't reply right away. For a second, I thought I'd miscalculated. Then-

"You're not coming with us," he said.

Direct hit. "Well, then," I said. "You'll have to kill somebody."

"What do you mean?"

"Kill Gul Sark, and I'll tell you where the wormhole is."

"Tell us where it is, and we'll take care of him for you."

"No way. I'm not saying another word until Sark is dead."

"Damn you-"

"Loitering in the hallways is a violation of the code of conduct."

I grinned. I actually grinned. The Chalnoth looked over, startled. I didn't have to look. I knew that voice. Officer Tomak. Tomak the hack.

"Release him, and move along," said Tomak. I glanced over. He had his baton out.

The Chalnoth released me. "Just passing the time," said Scarface.

"I will not warn you again," said Tomak.

The Chalnoth glared at me, then stalked off. I slumped against the wall and felt my throat.

Tomak holstered his baton. "Do you require medical attention?" he asked.

I shook my head.

"Do you wish to press charges?"

I shook my head, again.

"Then move along."

I went back to the Yard-Unit Seven's common area. The first thing I did was talk to Blot the Ferengi. Blot was the biggest magic dealer in Supermax.

"Hey, Blot."

"Just a second. Evade," he said. "What?"

"I need three tricks."

"Confront," he said, spinning the wheel. "My office, tomorrow morning, after breakfast."

"Done." That took care of Matsuda. I left Blot to his tongo, and went to find the Captain. He was sitting at another game table, playing against the computer. He frowned when he saw me coming. "What happened to you?" he said, clearing the board.

"I had a visitor," I said, sitting down. "Am I orange or black?"

"Black." The Captain set up the board and made his opening move, Panthan to Chief-3. "Who was it?" he asked.

I moved my Flier to Chief-4. "Nobody."

ACT FOUR

I lost. Like I said, I always lose, but that's all right. Knowing how to play Martian chess got me into the Fleet.

Ordinarily, rats aren't allowed to join. That's what they call deserters: rats. Never trust a rat, said Tiny Tim. If you ratted on Starfleet, you'll rat on us. Now get the hell away from me, before I twist your head around backwards.

I didn't give up. I knew I wasn't going to survive in the Big Time without a crew. I managed to get an interview with the Captain. When I finished my pitch, he asked me if I played Martian chess. Sure, I said. We played a game. I lost, but it was close. After that, I was in. So I guess I won, after all.

When I was done losing this time, I went to Vang the Klingon and got my new shank: like the old one, it was made from a piece of cafeteria tray that wouldn't show up on any scan. The handle was wrapped with no-slip tape, and was comfortable to hold. Vang takes pride in his work.

I paid him, and went back to my own pod, to rest. Home, sweet home. It had been a rough morning, and right now, my pod was probably the safest place for me.

After supper, I went back to my pod again, and let the time pass, thinking about Kalila. A couple of hours after lockup, I decided it was time: there's no muezzin on Sundancer.

I got up, took off my slippers, and performed the wudu, washing my face, hands, arms and feet. Then I stood in the center of the pod and faced the force field. I didn't know the direction of Earth. It might have been up or down, for all I knew. I figured God wouldn't mind.

I raised my hands to my shoulders, and said, "Allahu akbar." I placed my hands on my midriff, with the palm of the right hand over the left. I gripped the wrist of my left hand with my right hand, and began: "Bismillahir ramahnir rahim"-in the name of God, the most gracious the most merciful.

My podmate was a Caitian named M'rorr. He stopped reading and stared at me. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"Praying," I said. "Al hammdu lillahi rabil 'alamin"-praise be to God, the lord of the Universe.

M'rorr smiled. "Are you serious?"

"Yes," I said. "Ar rahmanir rahim"--the most gracious, the most merciful.

"You said that part already."

"Shut up," I said.

I went through the whole routine, bowing, prostrating myself, and sitting, much to M'rorr's amusement. I was surprised at how well I remembered it all. I don't pray very often. Just when Kalila comes to visit, for some reason.

Maybe she reminds me that there's something worth praying for.

The next morning, after breakfast, I went to Blot's office, an out-of-the-way washroom. He was standing in front of his desk, the washstand, waiting for me. There was no one else there. Slow morning.

"Morning, Blot," I said.

"Good morning, Jaff," said Gul Sark, stepping out of a stall.

* * * * *

I swore, pulled my shank, and got into a fighting stance, with my knees bent, and my left arm up to block. That was my first mistake. I should have run. The next thing I knew, someone grabbed my chin from behind, pulling my head back and to the left, and I felt the point of something sharp against the right side of my neck.

That was it. I was dead. A knife thrust to the carotid artery, and death occurs within fifteen seconds. I've done it myself. Served me right for not checking my blind spots. What a stupid, careless way to die.

Funny: have you heard about people's lives flashing before their eyes? I saw something, but it wasn't my life. It was all the lives I could have lived. Me, being decorated by Starfleet after exposing the New Palestine maquis. Me, resigning from Starfleet like Kalila wanted, after I turned. Me, kissing Kalila after my release from Tantalus V.

So many bad choices. So many wrong decisions.

It took me a few seconds to realize that I wasn't dead.

* * * * *

I heard Death-Head's voice behind me. "Drop it," he said. I dropped my shank.

Sark patted Blot on the shoulder. "You can go now, Blot," he said.

The little Ferengi scuttled past me. "Nothing personal," he said, on his way out. "Just business. You understand." Then, it was just me and the Cardassians.

Gul Sark moved toward me, drawing a knife. It was one of Vang's, but not one like mine, for stabbing. It was a bleeder, with a sharp edge, and no point. "I'm going to enjoy this, Jaff," he said.

Suddenly, I understood why Death-Head hadn't killed me. Sark wanted that pleasure for himself. "Get on with it," I growled.

Sark feigned surprise. "What's your hurry?" he asked. "I was looking forward to spending some time together."

"Kuss ummak, you reptile," I snarled. "Pig-eating crotch cannibal."

"Shocking," said Sark. "Do you kiss your wife with that mouth?"

I didn't reply. He laughed. "Did you enjoy your visit? Your last visit?"

"Leave my wife out of this."

"Ka-lee-lah," he said slowly. "That's a nice name. Sounds almost Cardassian. Don't you think so, Vornak?"

"Very nice," said Death-Head.

"Lieutenant Kalila bint Ibrahim al-Filastiniyah," said Sark. "Starfleet. Senior Operations Officer, USS Leinster. Presently en route to Earth, for the remainder of her leave. Pity she wasted three days waiting for you. She doesn't have many left."

"Sark," I said.

"Yes?"

"Don't hurt her. Please."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Please don't hurt my wife."

"My dear Jaff," he said, smiling, "it's very difficult to kill someone without hurting them."

"Sark," said Death-Head, "is this-"

I snapped my head back, hard, hitting Death-Head in the eye and the nose. He grunted in pain and surprise, and tried to stab me, but he missed. Instead of plunging into my neck, his knife made a shallow incision in my throat, like a paper cut. It hurt like hell.

I grabbed his knife hand, twisting it and pulling it down across my chest. Sark was cursing, rushing forward and slashing. I leaned back against Death-Head and kicked Sark in the gut, sending him staggering back. Death-Head stumbled backward as well, off-balance. I tried to break his elbow on my shoulder. He snarled, let go of my chin with his free hand, and clawed at my eyes.

I jerked my head away, and pushed back with all my strength, driving Death-Head into the washstand. I tried to throw him, but I couldn't quite manage it: he was too strong, too heavy. Sark was coming at me again, his face twisted with hate. I stopped him with a snap kick to the groin. He folded up, fell over, and flopped around on the floor.

That kick was my second mistake. At Starfleet Intelligence College, they teach you not to kick above the knee. Death-Head pushed forward before I could get my balance back. I tripped over Sark, stumbled forward into a stall, and hit my head on the toilet, hard. Death-Head grabbed me by the hair, and hit my head on the toilet again. Hard.

I only remember pieces of what came next. Lying on my back, the room spinning around me. Sark's face. The blade of a bleeder. Then, a flash of orange fur. Fangs. Claws. Something hot and wet on my face, and I couldn't see. Animal noises-roaring, screaming. Bones crunching. Crawling away. An alarm. A riot shield, pressing me down...

I woke up in the Hospital. Doctor Chang was scanning me with a medical tricorder. "Good," he said, and tapped his combadge. "Chang to Sinclair."

"Go ahead, Doctor," said the voice of Lieutenant-Commander Sinclair.

"Dawud Jaffar has regained consciousness."

ACT FIVE

Lieutenant-Commander Sinclair looked tired and bored, as usual. It occurred to me that if you took away their uniforms and stun batons, you'd have a hard time telling the guards from the prisoners. Everybody's bored in the Big Time.

Sinclair sat on the edge of my biobed. "You're lucky to be alive, Jaff," he said.

"Am I?" I wonder about that, sometimes.

"Yeah, you are. Tell me what happened."

I shrugged. "Nothing."

"Oh? How'd you get that wound on your throat?"

"I cut myself shaving."

"I suppose you hit your head shaving, as well?"

"No. I slipped on some water and fell. I don't remember anything after that."

"We interrogated the Chalnoth," said Sinclair. "They say that Sark and Vornak were trying to kill you. They say they intervened, and the Cardies attacked them. They say they killed Sark in self-defense."

"Oh?" I said. Salaam aleikum, Sark. "That must have happened after I fell."

Sinclair frowned. He was getting impatient. "Officer Tomak says he caught the Chalnoth roughing you up outside your Unit, the day before yesterday."

"We were just talking." I'd been unconscious for a day. Death-Head must have broken my skull pretty badly. I guess I was lucky to be alive, after all. I wondered where Death-Head was. In the Tank, probably.

"Talking," said Sinclair. "One day, they're choking you, and the next they're saving your life. Why is that, Lieutenant?"

"I don't know."

"Come on, Jaffar. Tell me something."

I shrugged. "I don't know anything, Sinclair."

"Tell me what's going on, and I'll put you in protective custody."

"No thanks. I can take care of myself."

"Tough guy, huh?"

"Tough enough for Starfleet Intelligence," I said.

I was trying to rile him, and I succeeded. Nobody volunteers to work on Sundancer. The hacks are mostly screw-ups and losers. Guys like Sinclair are the cream of the crap.

His face hardened. "How'd you like another time-out in Isolation, tough guy?"

Not very much, I thought. "What for?"

He held up my new shank. "We found this on the washroom floor."

"That isn't mine," I said.

"Really? It's a lot like the one you used to kill Arnok."

"That wasn't mine, either."

"It's got your DNA and fingerprints all over it."

Ahh...crap. "Whatever," I said. At least in the Tank I wouldn't have to worry about getting stabbed.

"Maybe I should just put you back in your unit, and let the Cardassians take care of you."

"Maybe you should. Are we done here?"

"Yeah," said Sinclair. He stood up and pocketed my shank. "We're done here."

* * * * *

Doctor Chang kept me in the Hospital for another day, before sending me back to Unit Seven. Sure enough, Death-Head was in Isolation, along with Scarface and Snaggletooth. The two Chalnoth got out the next day. They came to see me first thing.

"We took care of the Cardassian," said Scarface.

"So I heard," I said.

"Tell us where it is."

I told them. They walked away without another word. "Hey," I said.

They stopped and turned. "What?" said Scarface.

Once again, I almost told them about the wormhole. They had saved my life, after all.

"Well?" he said.

I shook my head. "Nothing. Thanks for the save," I said. To hell with them. They should have just asked.

They broke out two days later. I didn't see it happen, of course. No one did. I was sitting in the Yard in Unit Seven, playing Martian chess with the Captain.

It was close. I thought I might actually win a game, for a change. A couple of guys in the Fleet were even betting on me. Then, all of a sudden, it was condition red, and the hacks were yelling lockdown, lockdown, everybody back in your pods.

The Captain grinned at me. "Saved by the bell," he said

I went back to my pod, and they locked us down. M'rorr and I stood by the force field, watching the hacks run around. M'rorr scratched himself. "What's going on?" he asked.

"It's a breakout," I said.

"You're kidding," said M'rorr. Nobody breaks out of Supermax. But then the cheering started. Word was getting around. The Chalnoth were missing. They'd escaped.

M'rorr looked at me, surprised. "How did you know?"

I told him. He asked what was wrong with the wormhole, and I told him that too. He almost laughed his head off. "You are [i]such[/i] an asshole, Jaff."

"Thanks," I said.

* * * * *

I didn't lie to the Chalnoth. The wormhole exists-a stable artificial wormhole, with one opening in the 61 Virginis system and the other in deep space, more than 200 light years away, near Spica.

A lot of people know about it, but 61 Vir is a restricted system, and there's no way for unauthorized vessels to scan for the wormhole's location. That's why Scarface and Snaggletooth came to me. I never did find out their plan, but I knew they were pirates. I figure their gang disguised a ship as a supply vessel, beamed them out, and ran for the wormhole.

It's a good plan, on paper. There's just one problem. Most people think that wormholes are shortcuts through normal space. And most of them are-but not all of them.

Think of it this way. Suppose you're a worm, and you eat your way through an apple, in a straight line, from one side to another. Once you're done eating, it would take you less time to crawl back through the hole than to crawl around the surface of the apple.

But suppose you're a worm with a bad sense of direction. Suppose you start to eat your way through the apple, but you don't go in a straight line. Instead, you eat your way through in a series of loops and spirals. By the time you emerge from the other side, it would take you longer to crawl back through the hole than around the surface.

That's what happened with Project Highjump. When Starfleet probed its brand new wormhole, they found it was about 600 light years long--three times the equivalent distance through normal space. A starship can travel from 61 Vir to Spica in about two months, at cruising speed. Do the math.

That wormhole is worthless. Starfleet tried again, twice, in other star systems, but they got similar results both times. After that, Project Highjump was cancelled. Like I said: one of the biggest disappointments in the history of science.

I don't know what happened to the Chalnoth, but I never saw them again. They might still be in the wormhole, for all I know. I haven't lost any sleep over it.

* * * * *

I was in the sonic showers six days later when I heard a familiar voice. "Good morning, Lieutenant Jaffar."

I jumped. It was Death-Head. "Sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to startle you."

I watched him for a few seconds while he started his shower. He was moving like an old man. Of course, I thought. He just got out of the Tank. He wasn't here to kill me. He probably couldn't even hold a shank. I could have killed him with my bare hands. What was he doing here?

"Have they increased the gravity in Unit Seven, or is it me?" he asked casually, like he hadn't tried to stab me in the throat ten days ago.

"It's you," I said, and went back to showering. "It takes about a day to readjust."

There was another few seconds of silence. "You're looking well," I said. I couldn't think of anything else to say.

"Yes," said Death-Head. "Doctor Chang did quite a good job reconstructing my face. The weightless conditions in the Isolation Cells helped my recovery as well." He turned to me again. "I understand that the Chalnoth have escaped."

"Yes."

"Pity," he said, closing his eyes and turning his new face to the projector.

"Not really," I said.

"Oh?"

I explained. He thought about it for a moment, and then shook his head. "You're a hard man, Lieutenant."

"Thanks."

"I wanted you to know," he said, turning off his shower. "You have nothing more to fear from myself, or the Thirteenth Order. As the saying goes, I was just following orders. Gul Sark's little vendetta died with him."

I turned off my own shower and looked at him. "What about my wife?"

He smiled again. He looked like a skull when he smiled. That's why they called him Death-Head. "I don't see any need to involve our families in our affairs," he said.

For a moment, I wondered if he was telling the truth. Then, I finally said: "Thank you."

Death-Head was old-school. At that point, I knew what he was trying to say when I head-butted him. Sark, he was saying: is this really necessary?

"Good day, Lieutenant Jaffar."

"Good day, Gul Vornak."

I couldn't believe my luck. I was in the clear. Kalila was in the clear.

There was just one thing left to do.

* * * * *

Blot was careful, but not careful enough. I finally caught up with him four days later. He was coming back from D-Block's holodeck when I grabbed him and dragged him into a corner. The little Ferengi shouted and cursed, until he saw who I was. Then he screamed.

A Ferengi scream is a very unpleasant sound. I shoved him against the wall with my body, covered his mouth with my free hand, and showed him my new shank. "Shut up," I hissed. "Shut up, or I'll cut your ears off."

That stopped the screaming. I took my hand away. He was trembling. His eyes and his mouth were wide open in fear. "What-what are you going to do?" he said.

As if he didn't know.

I moved my face closer to his. "What am I going to do? What do you think I'm going to do, Blot?"

"Please," he whimpered.

"Please what?" I snarled. "Please don't kill me? You sold me, you little swamp rat. You sold me to the Cardassians. It's payback time, Blot!"

I grabbed him by the throat, and cocked my knife hand, ready to strike. He tried to scream again, closed his eyes, and covered his face with his hands.

I waited for a few seconds. Then, I let go, stepped back, and put my shank away. He gasped, opened his eyes, and lowered his hands a little. "What..." he said.

I said: "I'm not going to kill you, Blot."

"You're not?"

"No. But I could have," I said, moving closer, menacingly. The little Ferengi cringed. "You could be dead right now. Remember that, Blot."

And I walked away.

I've never been a very good Muslim. But God had been merciful to me, lately. And like I said, it was payback time.

Kalila would have been proud.