Chapter Text
"You're going to wear a hole in the deck plating."
Julian looked up from his PADD to find Jadzia watching him with amusement. He'd been pacing—when had he started pacing?—in the small space between the helm and the aft compartment. The Somoni wasn't built for restless energy.
"I'm not pacing."
"You've circled the cabin four times in the last ten minutes."
"I'm stretching my legs. It's a long flight."
"Uh-huh." Jadzia's smile was knowing. She was curled in the co-pilot's seat, legs tucked beneath her in a way that would have given Julian a cramp within minutes. "You're nervous about the conference."
"I'm not nervous. I'm preparing. You can never be too prepared with the kinds of questions the Vulcan delegates ask."
Miles snorted from the pilot's seat. "You've been preparing since we left DS9. At this rate you'll have Taknor’s entire publication history memorized before we reach Earth."
Julian glanced down at his PADD. He'd been reading the same paragraph of Doctor Taknor’s paper on Bolian neurochemistry for the past five minutes without absorbing a single word. "His keynote presentation is important. If I can get him to review my comparative analysis—"
"Julian." Jadzia's voice was gentle. "You know your work is good. You don't need to convince yourself of that."
"I'm not trying to convince myself of anything. I just want to make a good impression."
"You want to make a perfect impression," she corrected. "There's a difference."
Julian opened his mouth to argue, then closed it. She was right, of course. Jadzia usually was. So many lifetimes of experience gave her an annoying advantage in reading people.
"Is it that obvious?"
"Only to everyone who's known you for more than five minutes," Miles said, not unkindly. The console beeped as he ran another diagnostic. "You get this look. Like you're about to take your final exams at the Academy all over again."
"I do not have a look."
"You absolutely have a look," Garak's voice drifted from the aft compartment, smooth and amused. He stood in the doorway. "It's quite distinctive, really. The way your jaw tightens just so. And you get that little crease between your eyebrows. It’s going to give you wrinkles, you know."
Julian resisted the urge to furrow his brow. "I don't have a crease."
"Of course not, doctor." Garak's smile was pure innocence, which meant he was being deliberately provocative. "I must have imagined it."
"Anyway," Julian said, determinedly changing the subject, "Doctor Taknor’s presentation starts at 1400 hours. I need to be at the conference venue by 1330 at the latest, which means—"
"We know," Jadzia and Miles said in unison.
"You've mentioned it," Jadzia added. "Several times."
"I just want to make sure everyone's aware of the timeline."
"We're aware," Miles said. He frowned at his console, tapped something, frowned again. "We'll get you there with time to spare. Stop being so twitchy.”"
"I have not been twitchy," Julian protested.
"You reorganized your dress uniform three times yesterday."
"That was—I wanted to make sure it was properly pressed."
"Uh-huh." Jadzia's smile was knowing. "Let me guess. There's someone speaking you want to impress."
Julian felt heat creep up his neck. "Doctor Temnor is one of the most respected xenobiologists in the Federation. His work on Bolian neurochemistry is groundbreaking, and if I can get him to review my paper on—"
"There it is," Miles said, a trace of amusement in his voice. "The Julian Bashir networking mode. I've seen this before. You're going to follow this poor Bolian around like a lost puppy, aren't you?"
"I am not going to follow anyone around. I'm going to attend his keynote address, and if the opportunity presents itself for a professional discussion—" He was cut off by a series of sharp beeps from Miles’ console. "Is everything all right, Chief?"
"Hmm? Yeah, fine. Just running pre-arrival checks." Miles waved a hand dismissively. "Standard procedure."
Julian wanted to press into Miles's tone, a hint of frustration he couldn't quite place, but Garak spoke first.
"What about you, Lieutenant Commander? Besides delivering me to the tender mercies of Starfleet Intelligence, do you have plans?"
Jadzia's grinned. "I'm visiting the Rozhenko’s, actually. Helena agreed to send me home with some family recipes to make DS9 more like home for Worf."
"You're going to cook?" Julian couldn't keep the surprise from his voice.
"I've cooked before."
"You set fire to a replicator once."
"That was Curzon," Jadzia corrected. "Completely different host, completely different circumstances. Besides, Worf mentioned that he missed his mother's knishes. I thought it might be nice to surprise him."
Eight lifetimes of experience, centuries of accumulated confidence, yet even Dax got anxious sometimes. Julian found it oddly comforting.
"That's really sweet," he said.
"Don't tell Worf. I want it to be a surprise."
"Your secret's safe with me."
"And you, Chief?" Garak asked, settling into one of the rear seats. "Surely you have more planned than equipment maintenance and family reunions?"
Miles's expression shuttered. "Nothing’s more important than seeing Keiko and the kids. Figured it was safer to have them here with her parents on Earth while things escalate."
"I'm sure they'll be thrilled to see you," Jadzia said gently.
"Yeah." Miles's jaw tightened. "Keiko's been having a hard time with it. Being away from the station. Away from me. And Nerys."
Julian glanced at Jadzia, who raised her eyebrows. Miles and Keiko's relationship with Kira wasn't exactly a secret on DS9, but Miles rarely mentioned it directly. The Chief was private about personal matters, even with friends.
"How is Nerys handling it?" Jadzia asked.
"About as well as you'd expect." Miles's Shrugged. "She understands why Keiko and the kids needed to go. Doesn't make it easier. For any of us."
"Long-distance relationships are difficult enough," Garak observed. "I can only imagine… the complexity for you."
His voice lacked the mockery Julian half-expected from it. Miles must have heard it too, because his shoulders relaxed slightly.
"It's not that complicated," Miles said. " You make it work."
"How remarkably simple," Garak murmured. "And yet you're making this trip alone."
Miles's hands stilled on the console. For a moment Julian thought he might snap at Garak, but instead he just sighed. "Nerys can't leave the station. Not with everything going on. Someone has to hold things together with Sisko's."
"Of course," Garak said, edgeless.
"I'm hoping to convince Keiko to come back sooner rather than later," Miles continued, almost as if he were talking to himself. "The kids miss their friends. Molly keeps asking when she can see Nerys again. And Keiko..." He shook his head. "She's safer on Earth, but she's not happy. None of us are."
Julian’s chest tightened. He'd always envied Miles's certainty about relationships, the way he'd built something solid with Keiko despite the challenges of Starfleet life. Learning that they'd opened that relationship to include Kira had surprised him at first, but watching the three of them together, it made sense. They fit.
And now they were scattered across light-years, held apart by a cold war that threatened to turn hot any day.
"I'm sure you'll figure it out," Julian said, because he didn't know what else to offer.
Miles just nodded, returning his attention to the console. His hands moved over the controls with more force than necessary.
"You know," Garak said after a moment, tone deliberately light, as if to lighten the mood. "I've always found it fascinating how humans handle separation from loved ones. The way you all scatter across the galaxy, yet maintain these bonds as if distance were irrelevant."
"It's not irrelevant," Julian said. "It's just... necessary sometimes."
"Necessary," Garak repeated, as if tasting the word. "Yes, I suppose it is. Though I must confess, the idea of family visits has always eluded me. Cardassian families tend to be more... self-sufficient."
"You mean Cardassians don't visit their parents?" Jadzia asked.
"We visit when it serves the family's interests. Family is paramount to Cardassian society, yet, but this compulsion to share meals and discuss trivial matters..." He waved a hand.
"Not everything ties to the state. Sometimes we just want to spend time together," Miles said, not looking up from his console.
"A very human perspective."
"Yeah, well. I'm human."
Julian watched the exchange, noting the tension in Miles's shoulders, the careful neutrality in Garak's voice. The two had developed a sort of détente since the Empok Nor incident, but it was fragile. Miles didn't trust Garak—sensible, given Garak's history—and Garak found Miles's straightforward nature both uncomplicated and deeply suspicious.
The Somoni shuddered slightly as they dropped out of warp. Earth filled the viewscreen: that familiar blue-green sphere. Home, for some of them.
"Entering standard orbit," Miles announced. "We're about five minutes out."
"You know," Garak said casually, "I've always found Earth to be remarkably... temperate. So much water. It must make your people terribly complacent."
"It makes us appreciate what we have," Julian replied, not taking the bait.
"Mmm. Perhaps that's why you're all so eager to share it with everyone else."
"Garak."
"Just an observation, my dear doctor. I would never dream of critiquing Federation policy."
Jadzia was grinning now, clearly enjoying the exchange. "Play nice, both of you. Julian has a Bolian to impress, and Garak has intelligence officers to charm. Everyone gets what they want."
"I'm not trying to charm anyone," Garak said, affronted. "I'm merely providing information in exchange for the Federation's continued tolerance of my presence."
"And doing it with such grace," Miles muttered.
Julian felt his stomach tighten. He pulled out his PADD again, reviewed his notes one more time. Doctor Taknor’s key publications, discussion points, intelligent questions that would demonstrate familiarity without presumption...
"You're doing it again," Jadzia observed.
"Doing what?"
"Reviewing the same information for the fortieth time like it's suddenly going to change."
Julian closed the PADD. "I just want to be prepared."
"You've been prepared since before we left DS9." She stretched, unfurling from her seat with feline grace. "In fact, why don't we transport down as soon as we're in range? You and me first. Get you to your conference before you worry yourself into a coma."
"I'm not going to—" Julian started, then stopped. There was no point. "That would be good, actually."
"I'll drop you two off first," Miles said, fingers moving over his console. "Then I'll dock properly and head out to meet Keiko. Garak's debriefing isn't until 1800, so there's no rush on that."
"How generous," Garak murmured. "Being the lowest priority."
"Gentlemen," Jadzia warned. "Let's try to part on good terms, shall we?"
Miles muttered something under his breath, but didn't argue. Julian stood, smoothing his uniform. His bag was already packed, PADD secured in his jacket pocket. Everything was in order. Everything was fine.
"Coming up on transporter range," Miles said. Something in his voice made Julian glance over, but the Chief's expression was neutral. Professional. "Give me a minute to run a final diagnostic."
"Is there a problem?" Julian asked.
"No, just..." Miles tapped at his console. "Had to jury-rig one of the components the other day. The supply chain being what it is these days. Just want to make sure everything's calibrated properly."
"Jury-rigged how?"
Miles’ look gave him all the answer he needed.
“Really? How much are you going to cannibalize the station?”
“Tell that to bureaucrats who've been sitting on my requisition forms for three months!” Miles frowned. “Look, the biological filter was registering false positives, and since DS9 had a spare Cardassian phase discriminator sitting in storage, I replaced it. It’s temporary. I’ll swap it out for proper Federation components once we're back.”
Garak raised an eye ridge. “Temporary fixes have a way of becoming permanent in your capable hands, Chief.”
"It's fine, Garak. I know what I'm doing."
Julian wanted to press, but Jadzia touched his arm. "He's got this. Come on."
She was right. Miles O'Brien could fix anything with spare parts and determination. If he said the transporter was fine, it was fine.
Julian picked up his bag, moved toward the small transporter pad at the rear of the cabin. Jadzia joined him, her own bag slung casually over one shoulder.
"Try not to kill each other while we're gone," Julian said.
"No promises," Miles and Garak replied in unison. They both looked faintly horrified at the synchronization.
Jadzia laughed. "I’ll be back within the hour."
"Coordinates locked," Miles said. His fingers hesitated over the controls for just a moment. "Starfleet Academy, transporter room three. You're all set."
Julian stepped onto the pad, closed his eyes as the transporter engaged. That familiar tingle spread through his body, consciousness riding the carrier wave through subspace—
The sensation lasted longer than it should have.
Julian's eyes snapped open. Something was wrong. The transporter's hum had shifted, gone higher-pitched and discordant. He tried to call out, but his voice scattered across dimensions. He could feel Jadzia beside him, or thought he could, but when he reached for her his hand passed through empty space.
The world twisted.
Then gravity reasserted itself with shocking violence.
Julian hit the ground hard, rolling instinctively to absorb the impact. Pain shot through his shoulder. Cold bit at his exposed skin. He gasped, pushed himself up onto hands and knees.
Dirt. Not deck plating. Not the smooth floor of a transporter room. Dirt.
Above, the sky was stark, blue with the whisper of smoke through it. Trees surrounded him—actual trees, Earth trees, deciduous and looming
This was not Starfleet Academy.
"Jadzia?" His voice came out hoarse. He pushed himself to his feet, spinning around. The topography was dense, echoing with distant sounds he couldn't quite identify. No other transporter signatures. No sign of his friend. "Jadzia!"
Nothing.
Julian's hand went to his communicator. "O'Brien, come in. Chief, there's been a problem with the transport. I'm not at the Academy. I need an emergency beam-out." Static. "Chief? Garak? Anyone?"
Just faint, meaningless static.
He was alone. In a forest. On Earth, presumably, but where?
Training overrode panic. Assess the situation. Gather information. Make a plan. Julian turned slowly, taking in his surroundings. The trees were Earth-native—oak, perhaps, and pine. The temperature suggested northern hemisphere, temperate zone, late autumn or winter. The sky had that particular quality of sun that could cook and burn, if given the chance.
Then he heard it. Distant but distinct. The sound of artillery.
Julian's blood went cold. Artillery. Not phaser fire. Not photon detonations. Old-style, chemical-propellant artillery. Ancient technology.
He moved carefully through the underbrush, staying low. His Starfleet uniform was going to be a problem. Bright colors, distinctive design, nothing remotely appropriate for wherever—whenever—he'd landed. The sounds grew louder as he walked. Voices now, shouting in languages his universal translator struggled to capture over the bombardment. Korean, his mind supplied as he picked out some words. Some Chinese and English mixed in. Military terminology.
Julian crested a small rise and froze.
Below, maybe half a kilometer away, he could see them. Soldiers in mid-twentieth-century uniforms, moving in formation. Vehicles that belonged in museums. The distinctive profile of early Cold War-era military equipment.
Korea. War.
Julian pulled back behind the tree line, his heart pounding. This wasn't possible. Transporter malfunctions didn't send people through time. They caused pattern degradation, molecular dispersion—but they didn't breach temporal barriers. That required exotic matter, deliberate manipulation of spacetime...
Or components that weren't designed to work together.
Movement to his left made him turn. More soldiers, closer than the ones below. Maybe two hundred meters away, moving through the forest in a tactical pattern. Searching for something. Or someone.
Julian pressed himself against a tree, barely breathing. His uniform was too bright, too visible. If they saw him...
But they weren't looking his way. They were focused on something else, sweeping the area with grim efficiency. One of them called out in Korean. Another responded. They were getting closer.
Julian needed to move. Needed to think. Needed to figure out where—when—Jadzia had ended up, whether she was even on Earth, whether the others knew what had happened.
Needed to figure out how to get home.
The soldiers' voices grew louder. Julian turned, moving carefully through the underbrush, every snapped twig like a gunshot in his ears. He didn't know where he was going or what to do
All he knew was that he was alone in the middle of a war zone, with no way home and no idea if anyone was coming for him.