“The procedure is actually somewhat simpler than the mathematics would make it appear,” T’rb said.

“Unless you happen to be one of the people standing on the transporter pad,” Ezri parried gently. “Nog’s plan calls for the transporter relays to be beamed ahead of the away team by just a second or two. That’s pretty slim timing.”

“If we don’t beam the relays out at essentially the same time as we send the away team,” Shar pointed out, “the Nyazen ships are much likelier to discover what we’re trying to do and launch an attack before we can carry off the mission.”

“But it’s risky,” Ezri said. “The only test of the transporter relay series will be in actual use.”

Shar nodded, conceding her point. “I admit that there is a…nonzero possibility that one of the relays might fail during operation, or that the transporter beam carrying either a relay or the away team might be diffracted or scattered by the internal crystalline structure of one of the Oort cloud bodies. Either of those eventualities, of course, would immediately kill the away team. Also, if any of our coordinate lock calculations contain errors—”

“Just how much of a ‘nonzero possibility’are we talking about here?” Tenmei wanted to know.

Shar’s antennae were nearly flat against his head. Nog knew he hated to be pinned down like that, with so many chaotic variables at play.

“If I were a betting man,” Nog said, answering first, “I’d lay odds of seventeen or eighteen in twenty in favor of our surviving the process.” The riskier the road, the greater the profit.

“I agree,” Shar said.

Vaughn sat in silence, mulling it all over. He didn’t look happy with the odds, as good as they were. For a moment, Nog feared that he was about to be sent back to the drawing board again. Vaughn appeared to be about to speak—

—when Nog realized all at once that he was elsewhere.He was outside, standing on a city street, a warm rain running down his face. He looked up into the darkening sky and saw the Tower of Commerce looming above him.

“Come along, Nog!” the scowling woman in front of him said. She was middle-aged, and nude in the old-guard fashion of Ferengi females. He recognized her with a start.

Prinadora!

He looked down at his clothing, and saw that drab green Ferengi street clothes had replaced his Starfleet uniform.

Starfleet. He laughed at himself for even entertaining such a foolish hew-mon notion. Ever since his father’s death at the hands of the Cardassians had forced him to leave Terok Nor, he had been so busy cleaning up his mother’s financial messes that—

The Defiant’s mess hall suddenly returned, and almost everyone’s face was a study in incredulity. Tenmei was opening up a tricorder.

“It wasn’t a bad place at all,” Bashir said, looking disoriented. “Not the way I expected.”

“I was back on the Destiny,”Ezri said, owl-eyed.

“What just happened?” Nog said, his voice a harsh whisper.

“The three of you,” Bowers said, almost stammering, “you, Lieutenant, ah, Tigan, and Dr. Bashir—you all just… vanished.”

Tenmei stood, carefully scanning the room with her tricorder. “For almost one second,” she said, “your quantum signatures synced up with some other nearby parallel universes. It’s another sign of your increasing quantum fluctuations. Fortunately you all snapped back to this reality as part of the oscillation. But there’s no guarantee you’ll be so lucky next time.”

“Well,” Vaughn said quietly. “We couldn’t have asked for a better demonstration of the consequences of doing nothing.”

“I don’t know about anybody else here,” Ezri said, “but I think I’d prefer the risk of scrambling my molecules to ending up in some random parallel universe. Or to the way I’m living right now, for that matter. I say we get on with it.”

Nog couldn’t see any better alternative either. “I have to agree.”

Tenmei didn’t look convinced. “And once you’re aboard the artifact—what then?”

That question seemed to bring Ezri up short, at least for a moment. Nog realized then that he hadn’t thought that far ahead himself. He looked across the table at the inscrutable alien, as though the answer might reveal itself in the creature’s large, oil-black eyes.

“You will realign your worldlines,” Sacagawea said with surprising clarity. “Restore yourselves, you will. Or in the attempt, perish/disperse.”

No one spoke for almost another minute, and it was Commander Vaughn who finally broke the silence.

“There are times when we have to take certain things on faith. Considering our other alternatives—which consist of either doing nothing and losing the Sagancrew forever, or starting a fight with the Nyazen that we can’t win—I’m forced to conclude that this is one of those times. Mr. Nog?”

“Sir?”

Vaughn stood up, signaling that the briefing was coming to an end. “I want you and Shar to see to whatever technical preparations remain to be made. Let’s get busy.”

Bashir startled everyone by choosing that moment to speak. His earnest brown eyes were trained on Sacagawea as he said, “Why would anyone worship a thing that can destroy entire worlds?”

That struck Nog as an excellent question, though he hadn’t given the matter much thought before now. Sacagawea merely sat impassively, showing no overt evidence of having even understood the question.

“Many ancient Earth religions were built around some rather fearsome, angry gods,” Vaughn said. He sat once again, keeping a weather eye on the doctor as he continued. “Maybe the D’Naali and the Nyazen have developed similar belief systems.”

Ezri nodded in agreement. “That fits with everything we’ve seen so far. And it might explain their confusion about whether that artifact out there is a ‘cathedral’ or an ‘anathema.’ My guess is that they have a sort of love-hate relationship with whatever gods they worship.”

Again, Sacagawea said nothing, though the creature was looking in Ezri’s direction. The D’Naali either did not understand the drift of the discussion, or it was keeping its thoughts to itself.

Shar was scowling. “How much faith are weprepared to place in this alien religion?”

“Do we really have any other choice?” Vaughn said. Everyone rose, most of them clearly anxious to see Nog’s calculations finally put to some practical use.

“So the Kukalakans worship monsters,” Bashir said to Ezri in a plaintive, almost singsong voice. She took his hand again. “I wonder if any of them will be waiting for us inside the cathedral.”

Ezri’s reply was quiet, but not quiet enough to elude Nog’s sensitive Ferengi hearing. “I’ll be right beside you, Julian. And there aren’t reallyany monsters.”

Images of Taran’atar, Kitana’klan, and the Jem’Hadar hordes who took his leg at AR-558 sprang without warning to Nog’s mind. He wasn’t at all certain he agreed with Ezri’s reassurances.

Bashir didn’t look completely convinced either. But Nog saw no sign of panic on the doctor’s face. Despite his obviously stressed, diminished state, Bashir still seemed prepared to face whatever terrors awaited them all within the alien structure.

As Vaughn adjourned the meeting and dispatched everyone to their various tasks, Nog resolved that he could do no less. With Shar at his side, he walked briskly toward transporter bay one.

And tried very hard with every step not to think about his left leg.

Chief medical officer’s personal log, stardate 53580.3

While we were sitting in the place where Ezri and I eat, and where the captain sometimes calls meetings, I went away. There was a flash of light, and I was…gone. Sam Bowers says it wasn’t just a dream this time. He says we were actually off the ship, someplace else, for a second or two.