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“Name’s Kaz. He’s the ship’s doctor, and he’s a valuable hostage.” The Changeling yanked on the restraints, cinching them tight.

“Is he drugged?” Moset asked, slipping into scientific mode.

The Changeling smiled without mirth, twisting Kim’s pleasant face. “Only as much as a good punch in the jaw will drug someone,” he said. “I don’t want him sedated; we may need him to talk to someone for us.”

He glanced at Chakotay and Sekaya, who regarded him silently. “I thought I told you to put these two in stasis. Why are they still conscious?”

Moset bristled. “I told you I was at a critical stage,” he replied testily.

“You idiot!” “Kim” bellowed. “We’ve got an Intrepid-class starship doing its damnedest to land on the planet! Stop whatever it is you’re doing right now and start packing things up. I don’t want to leave you behind, Moset, but I will if I have to. Don’t push me.”

How could I not have seen this in him? Moset thought, almost with a brush of wonder. The Changeling had spoken this way before now, but somehow, Moset had always been deaf to it. Now, for perhaps the first time, he truly listened to what his companion was saying. More to the point, Moset was paying attention to how the Changeling was saying it. It had taken a human prisoner to open the Cardassian’s eyes to the truth: He was at as much risk as Chakotay and Sekaya.

“Point taken,” Moset said icily.

The Changeling appeared not to notice his ally’s new demeanor. His eyes roamed over the occupied stasis chambers. “Kill anyone but him,” he said, pointing to the humanoid that Moset knew was named Alamys. “I might need him. Finish up in here as quickly as you can. I’ll be concluding some business of my own.”

Attempting to look industrious, Moset began to gather up some vials and tools. As soon as “Kim” had disappeared down the corridor, however, he turned to the two imprisoned humans.

“Listen to me,” he said quickly in a low voice. “And listen well.”

Kaz returned to consciousness and searing pain. He felt the cool press of a hypospray against his throat, and the pain ebbed. He blinked, trying to focus, turned his head—and stared into the face of a Cardassian.

I know that face—

He tried bolting upright but was gently restrained by a strong hand. “It’s all right, Kaz,” came a familiar voice. Kaz’s head whipped around and he relaxed slightly as he saw Chakotay and—

“Sekaya!” Both siblings were standing beside him. Pleasure surged through him. “I thought you were dead. Chakotay—” He broke off in midsentence as more recent memories flooded him and turned again to regard the oddly familiar Cardassian.

Chakotay smiled. “It’s really me,” he said, “and this is really Sekaya.”

Still, Kaz stared, not at Chakotay’s face but at his shaved head and the blinking lights that had been inserted into his skull.

“What happened to you? Who’s he? Where are we? Where’s the Changeling?”

“It’s a long story. Let’s start with the introductions. Jarem Kaz, this is Crell Moset.”

And suddenly, quietly, coldly, everything locked into place in Kaz’s memory.

Crell Moset. The Butcher of Bajor. This was the man who had rounded up Bajorans like cattle, like lab animals, who had performed deadly and brutal experiments on them, blaspheming the name of “science.”

Vallia. He killed my Vallia! The ones who survived told me that he gave her no relief from the pain, not even at the very end, when she was begging for death, for release from the torment—

Vallia’s Revenge was what Gradak had named his little ship; was what Gradak had vowed to achieve—

The Cardassian’s expression went from pleasant to wary as he regarded Kaz. “Have we met?” he asked.

Icy hatred seized Kaz’s throat, closing it up. He wanted to scream, but he couldn’t; wanted to cry out his fury, but remained silent.

“You might have,” said Chakotay cautiously, “he’s a joined Trill.”

A joined Trill who had a Bajoran wife you murdered, you son of a bitch—

“You’re dead,” Kaz said, his voice as cold as death itself. “You were killed in a warp core breach accident years ago. It was the best news I’d heard in a long time.