'Repeat to yourself, it's just a show - I should really just relax.'

- Love Theme From Mystery Science Theatre 3000

Star Trek: The Last Generation created by Leila Fetter & Urac Daria Sigma

With apologies to the late Great Bird of the Galaxy, Gene Roddenberry

Highlander created by Gregory Widen

'Security to the Promenade. Urgently!' Constable Gemma heard the intercom cry out to her. She instantly leapt from her desk and sprinted out of her office, almost flooring Dr Brassiere and Garak as she went.

She sprinted into the area in question to find that the source of the problem was two people - one human, one Neelablan - sword-fighting in the main square outside Quirk's. Not just fencing or indulging themselves in SCA antics, mind you. These two were quite maniacally one-of-us-wants-to-kill-the-other-one hacking at each other with blades.

'Security!' Gemma screamed at them. 'Put down your weapons!'

Much to nobody's surprise, they ignored her. They plainly couldn't be allowed to continue, either. They were so absorbed by their conflict that they weren't noticing what fell around them. Very dangerous. She unholstered her phaser and shot a minimum-level burst into the air above their heads. 'I'm warning you...' she told them.

Neither of them seemed to care much for whatever she was warning them about, but the Neelablan did look up at the flash of light above her head. An unarguably stupid thing to do, it transpired, as the human took that chance to kick her opponent's legs from beneath her and pin her to the floor. The Neelablan struggled for her weapon, but it had been knocked aside in her fall, and was out of reach.

The human raised her sword for the killing blow. 'There can be only one!!' she cried, before bringing the blade down and severing her foe's head.

Then, something rather odd happened.

There was a flash of light from the headless corpse, which seemed to grow in intensity until it embraced the victor. Arcs of lightning-like energy played all around, over both victor and vanquished, and in fact over most of the surrounding area. A small gale blew up with no identifiable source, and the human let out a cry like feedback given life.

'What the fuck?' she had to say, little as she could be heard.

About a minute later, the storm (she couldn't think of any other word for it) subsided, and the human sank to her knees. She seemed exhausted, but had a strange pleased expression on her features, as if she had just experienced an incredibly intense orgasm.[1] She could barely put up any form of fight at all when Gemma sent some of her officers over to apprehend her.

She looked around the Promenade. All about her, people were pulling themselves to their feet, picking up spilled objects, and generally looking puzzled at the whole thing.

Quirk came storming out of his bar, the Ferengi's face a picture of fury. 'Constable!' he snapped. 'I do not open my bar every morning simply so you can demonstrate how inefficient you are at keeping order! I demand to know what is going on!'

For once in her life, though, Gemma could think of nothing to say to him.

Always Something There To Remind Me

'How much?' Bobbi asked as Ratbat removed the tape measure from around her waist.

'A new kilometrestone.'[2] Ratbat looked at the place her thumbnail was keeping. 'Ye're lookin' at the two-metre mark.'

'Good Lord...' Bobbi gratefully sank into one of her quarters' chairs. 'That's...that's a lot.'

'I think it's probably justified,' Ratbat returned. 'You are seven months pregnant, an' all.'

Bobbi adopted an expression of mock betrayal. 'Who told you I was pregnant?'

'Och, I'm just intuitive.'

'Anyway - I suppose that's not a bad size, considering I've had four people living inside me for over half a year. And,' she added, making a show of trying to look down her own top, 'I don't mind having a bustline for the first time in more than five centuries.'

Ratbat shrugged. 'They're no all they're cracked up to be. They just mess with ye back, move round all over the place, and at this stage, they're as sensitive as a head with a hangover.'

'What are you talking about?' scowled Bobbi. 'Mine aren't in the least bit sensitive.'

'Really?' asked Ratbat, a rise in her voice. She fished around on Bobbi's desk until she found a paper-clip. Picking it up, she tossed it with just enough force to clear the room and end its descent on the left of Bobbi's sure-I'm-not-in-the-least-bit-sensitive breasts. Bobbi nearly doubled over[3] as a result.

Ratbat already regretted doing it, but Bobbi felt that a point had been made. 'Owww...' she groaned. 'Two months...two months before I finally get this body all to myself again. At least this means I get to wear dresses on duty, mind you.' Bobbi had never thought much of trousers, particularly the Starfleet style, which weren't so much trousers as they were thick stockings.

'I honestly dinna think there are any trousers in the readily-available range that'd fit ye right now.' Ratbat added that to her list of reasons to be glad she hadn't been carrying quads - at the time, Ratbat's attitude towards dresses versus trousers had been the opposite to Bobbi's own. 'Just be glad ye're carrying reasonably high, like I was...if you were as low as young Terri 'ad been, with this...' She patted Bobbi's stomach.[4] '...I think ye'd be fair on kicking it.'

'Gghhhh.....Don't talk about kicking.'

'Mm? Getting a bit restless, are they?' Ratbat put her hands on Bobbi's bulge.

The Engineer sighed, as the webbed fingers gently probed her enormous protrusion. It had been comforting having Ratbat around every minute of the pregnancy so far, but...

'Ratbat,' she said, gently removing the hands. 'I think you're getting a bit...'

'A bit what?'

Bobbi bit her lip. There wasn't really a delicate way of putting it. 'Just remember - this is my pregnancy, and they're my babies.'

Ratbat looked up in shock. For a moment, she looked like she was going to cry. Bobbi, internally kicking herself, remembered the last time she'd seen that look.

'Look, I know you didn't exactly have the best experience with Anja, but you can't go taking over this pregnancy to satisfy...oh, I don't know.' Bobbi looked away, ashamed and annoyed with herself.

Ratbat sat for a moment, staring at nothing.

'Ratti?'

'I've got to...go.' She jumped up and almost ran out of the room.

Bobbi groaned. Now things were worse.

I Love Paris - Tony Marziano

Emma stood behind the bar. She was feeling edgy; out of sorts. It was getting closer, she could feel it. For all the times she'd put it off or simply ignored it, this time she wasn't going to be able to avoid it. It was hard - being Klingon and being drawn into this kind of thing. Friends invariably got hurt, or even killed, and there was always the risk of being killed herself, a prospect that filled her with dread.

She poured herself a cup of blood-wine. She normally didn't like it, but sometimes she needed to feel something close and familiar, something that she'd grown up with. It was really getting close now. She had a few days and that was it.

The door slid open and the quartet of catering officers wandered in.

'Hello, Emma. Let's have eight pints of beer,' said Jarrah.

'I'll have eight pints too,' said Mark.

'And me!' Lieutenant McCarron-Benson took the teddy bear out of the front of his uniform. 'And squeezy-bear wants eight pints as well.'

Emma sighed and put her glass of wine down. Great, she thought, Only a few days to another one of these bloody confrontations and I'm serving beer to a catering officer's teddy bear.

She plunked the trays down on the table and went back to sitting despondently behind the bar. An approaching conflict always made her edgy.

How was she supposed to get there? It was all very well to say that it was everyone's responsibility to get to the Gatherings, but when you were on a starship with other orders, it was quite difficult.

She looked over at the catering officers. A slow, wicked smile began to creep over her face.

This was going to be good.

'All right! Don't nobody move!' Emma bellowed, bounding onto the bridge and firing her phaser at the ceiling. The quartet of caterers followed close behind her.

'When you say "don't nobody move", d'you mean you want everybody to move or nobody to move?' asked Leila in a conversational tone of voice. She picked a piece of oxidised ceiling off her latest embroidery project and continued to stitch.

'I mean, everyone stop what you're doing and do what I say!'

There was a general lack of obedience to these orders.

Euan strolled out of his ready-room. 'What's going on here, Emma? Shouldn't you be down in the bar?'

She turned to face him, the phaser ready to fire. 'I'm taking over this ship, and there's nothing you can do to stop me!'

He sighed wearily and thrust the phaser out of his face. 'Look, Em, we're not actually doing anything important at the moment. If you want a lift somewhere, all you've got to do is ask.'

Emma seemed to wilt. 'Oh. How does Deep Shit Nine take your fancy?'

'OK. It'll be nice to see good old Ben again. Lieutenant O'Ferez, lay in a course for Deep Shit Nine, warp seven.'

After a bit of messing around with the control panel, which was currently buried underneath Terri's library of chook magazines, she complied.

Emma was not altogether pleased with the situation. When you hijack a starship, the captain and crew are supposed to respond with cries of 'You won't get away with this,' and 'But why, Emma?' So far, no one had said anything of the kind, and it was beginning to piss her off.

She sat down in Ruth's chair. No one had seen Ruth for a few hours - she'd apparently ordered two of her new 'Ensines' to accompany her on a routine testing of all the runabouts' weapons facilities, and was expected to turn up later in Sickbay when the lovelies were taken in for treatment.

'Euan, aren't you even going to ask me why I'm doing this?' she asked.

Euan, who was reading a Neil Gaiman comic and giggling, looked up. 'Um? Not if you don't want me to.'

'I think you're just going to get what you asked for, Emma. It's unlikely for anyone to ask about the whys and wherefores,' Leila remarked, fishing around the back of her seat for the scissors. 'If you want a bit of unnecessary dramatic ridiculousness, you should have taken over sickbay.' She sighed. 'I think young Ruth has nicked my embroidery scissors again.' She put her work down and walked into the turbolift.

Emma glared. 'I've got to go now, so keep the ship on this course.' She gestured to Mark and Jarrah. 'Keep an eye on the proceedings. You two,' she waved at Matt and Hal, 'can get back to your duties.'

She walked out into the turbolift.[5]

Euan sat down in his chair. 'You don't have to point that thing at us, you know,' he remarked to Jarrah. 'We were going to be nicking off to Cardassia sometime soon anyway, so we can afford to take some time out at DS9 on the way.'

'What do the Cardies want?' asked Mark, settling himself in Ruth's seat.

'Beats me. Now shut up, I'm trying to read.'

Princes of the Universe - Queen

Emma sat on her bed with the large ornate case on her lap. It was ridiculous - she should have got rid of it long ago. But somehow, there was always something inside her that wanted to keep it. It seemed almost sacrilegious to throw it away as though it wasn't important. She knew it was important. She just wished it wasn't.

But if she'd got rid of the bat'leth, she wouldn't have to participate in the Game any longer.

Then again, the only reason she wouldn't have to play would be that she'd be dead.

That was how the Game went - literally kill or be killed.

She sighed. This procrastination wasn't getting her anywhere. If it was going to be done, it had to be now.

Slowly, she opened the case and extracted her bat'leth. It was a fine one, an antique. She'd taken care of it over the years - every month she'd polish it and sharpen the blade, making sure the cutting surfaces stayed smooth and unblemished. It was almost as if by polishing the weapon, she'd make herself unwilling to use it.

What had her father said when he went off to fight the Borg? It was something like 'When you go out to fight, you have to be prepared for death. Be aware of the possibility. The thing to not even think about tolerating is compromising your honour, or that of your family.'

He'd never understood. No one could. Death would be a breeze compared with what she had to go through. The idea of finishing the Game was the one thing that kept her going. She'd once had a friend who had decided that the game was too much, and had tried retiring to Risa.

He'd been hunted down and killed within three weeks.

The memory of it still made her blood run cold.

She sighed and wiped her polishing cloth along the blade again. With a kind of gloomy satisfaction, she watched it fall into two neat halves on the floor.

'I hate my life.'

Why Did It Have to be Me? - Abba

Bobbi sat gloomily in the bar. There was so much that was running around her head with the pregnancy and the prospect of being a mother, the way it would effect her life and how her future could be. She'd briefly considered getting hold of Terri for some commiseration, but decided against it. Terri wasn't always the most sympathetic person.

The door swished open and Leila walked in. Bobbi sighed and attempted a smile.

'Bobbi, I think I should have a word with you.'

Bobbi was momentarily surprised. It was very rare that Leila actually employed her position as Counsellor. Most of the time, she didn't really seem to do anything much, and it was easy to forget that she actually had a proper job.

'I just saw Ratbat, and she's in a hell of a state.' She sat down. 'I don't like to pry, but did you say anything to her?'

Bobbi sighed, and stared at the glass of Coke in front of her. What she really needed right now was a Scotch. 'I know, I think I may have got her back up. I told her that I wanted my pregnancy to myself. Well... something along those lines. You know what she's like. I think she took it badly.' She looked up sullenly. 'I suppose you're going to tell me I said the wrong thing?'

'No.' Leila shrugged. 'No, I'm not going to tell you anything of the sort. It's not my job to say that things are right or wrong. But I think, in a way - even though I'm not meant to say anything like this - you did the right thing.'

She looked up in amazement. 'What do you mean?'

'Thing is, you've got to set your own limits. It's your body, and your pregnancy. If you don't want anyone mucking around with it, that's your decision.' She smiled. 'Do you remember all those marches and protests we went to just to get these rights? Well, sometimes you've got to remember you've got them.' She patted Bobbi's hand. 'I think you're on the right track.'

Bobbi smiled at her. 'You know, I don't think you've ever said anything that's made me feel so much better.'

Leila laughed. 'Why thanks,' she said sardonically. 'If you like, I'll have a word with Ratbat, see if I can't make her see reason. I'm sure she'll come round sooner or later.'

Bobbi nodded. 'In the meantime, what should I do?'

Leila shrugged. 'Well, there's no set rules about what you can or can't do. But for the moment, you've got some time on your hands. Why not take up one of your old hobbies again?'

Bobbi grinned. 'I think I may just do that.'

'Compromise coming in to upper docking pylon one, Captain.' Major Tolol Nerys tapped a few keys on her panel, and looked up at her commanding officer.

'Hmmm...' he said thoughtfully.

'Sir?'

'Tell me, Major. Do you think I should convert the main replimat on the Promenade to a baseball diamond?'

She gave him an even stare. 'No. Shall I let the Compromise crew on board or not?'

The captain snapped out of his reverie about baseball diamonds.[6] 'What? The Compromise?'

'Yes, Captain...they've just pulled up at upper docking pylon one. And I told you about it ten minutes ago,' she added nastily.

'Oh, no.'

The communications panel flashed into life. 'Ben! How are you?' Euan beamed.

Tolol sighed. 'And things were going so well here, too.'

Captain Disco proceeded to bang his head against the console.

'Welcome aboard,' the young man standing by the airlock announced, with only the smallest trace of sarcasm.

Graham bounded out. 'How are you, Jules? You well?'

'About to drop dead.'

'That's good,' Graham replied, with a similarly small amount of sarcasm.

They wandered off toward the promenade.

'So why have you lot decided to disrupt our otherwise peaceful existence here on the station?' Dr Brassiere asked.

Graham shrugged. 'Beats me. All I know is, I was hanging upside down in sickbay with this new leather thing I got last time we were on Risa. You see, one of the nurses--'

'Yes, Graham, I know what you're like. I didn't ask who you were shagging this morning, I asked why you were here.'

'Well....'

'Yes?'

'Our Klingon bartender kind of hijacked the ship.'

Julian frowned. 'Kind of?'

'Well...' Graham had the good grace to look mildly embarrassed. 'The Captain kind of let her.'

Julian looked at him squarely. '"Kind of".'

Graham looked feeble. 'Kind of.'

Dr Brassiere sighed. 'Do Starfleet Command know about this?'

'I don't know. I doubt it, otherwise Euan would have got a dressing-down from Geoff or his dad, and he'd be sulking in his room.'

'Probably,' agreed Julian.

'So how's things been going here? Got any further with that O'Brien chick?' He nudged Julian. 'They say engineers--'[7]

'Yes I know, shut up. No I haven't got any further, for the very good reason that I'm not trying.'

'You're losing your touch, Julie. Remember at Starfleet Academy? You were pulling them out of the trees!'

Taking a deep breath, Julian told him, 'I decided not to chase Chief O'Brien after I discovered her...preferences.'

'What? She prefers women?'

'Not exactly,' muttered Julian, trying to think of something else to talk about.

'What then? She goes for...dogs? Silicon life-forms? Stiffs?'

'According to her, Kaye O'Brien goes for...people who aren't Julian Brassiere.' Julian sighed, seeing the other doctor's reaction approaching. 'Graham, I don't mean to be rude, but we've got a bit of an awkward situation here at the moment.'

'More awkward than that thing with the Kai?'

'Yes.'

Graham whistled. 'That's an awkward situation! What's going on?'

'You see, the other day, we found this pair sword fighting on the Promenade. And then one chopped the other one's head off and got full of this...funny, lighty stuff and then just got up and walked away.'

'Why didn't you arrest him? Her? Them?'

'We did. Gemma threw her in gaol, but we're not actually getting anywhere with her.'

'With who? Gemma?'

Julian glared at Graham. 'Do you think you could keep your mind on business, Graham? This is quite a serious matter.'

'So you haven't got anywhere with this sword-fighting woman. What's that got to do with business? If you want to have flings with unidentified sword-toting females, it's up to you.'

Julian sighed. 'I mean she hasn't said anything. We don't know who she is, we don't know who the Neelablan she killed was, we don't know anything. For all we know, there could be millions of them on the station.'

Graham laughed. 'Don't you think you're being a bit paranoid, Jules?'

Emma strolled nonchalantly along the promenade. It was a bit difficult to stroll nonchalantly with a large carry-case under one arm, but she managed it, to a certain extent.

She reached Gemma's office, and knocked on the door.

The Constable was inside, reading a pamphlet on new quantum torpedoes. As Emma walked in, she looked up and smiled.

'Emma. What can I do for you?'

Emma took a deep breath. 'I'd like you to take a look at this.' She placed the case on the desk.

Gemma stood up and bent over it. 'Hmm. Seems like a perfectly ordinary ceremonial bat'leth case.' She opened it. 'And this looks like....'

She paused for a minute, looking puzzled. Then her eyes closed and she quietly collapsed on to the floor.

Emma removed her hand, rubbing at the fingers. The Vulcan neck grip always played merry hell with her tendons, but it was a useful thing to know, particularly with Ensign Murphy on the ship.

She dragged the Constable's unconscious body behind the table, then grabbed the isolinear rods from a desk drawer and ran to the holding area.

Bobbi sighed and put her book down. Reading was about the only thing she had energy for at the moment - the four people in her womb seemed to be sapping what little reserves of energy she had left. It was just rather dull.

She heaved herself off the bed, with difficulty, and managed to get standing up on the third attempt. Feeling even more ungainly and huge than she had for the previous six months, she half-staggered, half-waddled out of her room. Now that they were at DS9, she decided to get about and see a bit of the station.

Outside the door to Quirk's she paused. It would be nice to go and have a drink and maybe spin the Dabo wheel.

Nah. She didn't need to come away from the day with a bill for fifty bars of latinum, and she wasn't allowed to drink.

A little disconsolate, she wandered on.

A Kind of Magic - Queen

Emma hissed between her teeth. After rescuing the woman from gaol, it was a bit of a jump to have to attack her, but she was doing her best. And she was doing a good job of it.

She swung the bat'leth around and felt the satisfying shhhinngggg of metal being put under strain as she collided with her opponent's sword. The other woman jumped back, flexing her sword-hand to get some life back into the fingers.

'You know, it's a shame I have to do this,' Emma remarked.

'I know. But I'd do the same thing under the circumstances,' the other woman replied. She swung her sword in a figure of eight, easily parried by the bat'leth.

'Yes. I just wish we'd had time to have a quiet drink and a bit of catching up.' Emma made a thrust with the end of her blade and brought the other end around, which her opponent had to duck clumsily to avoid.

'Better luck next time,' she replied, although in response to the drink or to the attack, Emma was never sure.

It was into this unhappy scene that Bobbi walked. 'What the...?'

Emma glanced up and immediately swung back to face her opponent. 'Bobbi! Get out of here, this is nothing to do with you!'

'Crap it's not!' Bobbi tapped her comm badge. 'Scholes to Constable!'

'She won't hear you, Big Mama,' the swordswoman said. 'Gemma's out of action.'

She never even saw it coming.

As the human turned to address Bobbi, Emma made a deft overarm swing.

'rathlaHebj wa' neH!' she bellowed, shearing the woman's head off neatly.

Bobbi stood, aghast, as a kind of insubstantial fire plumed out of the dead body, drifting up and around and eventually forming its way into the Klingon.

The air gradually cleared, leaving an exhausted Emma, a distressed Bobbi, and a decapitated corpse.

Bobbi looked sideways at Emma, shock and surprise radiating from her every pore. The most violent thing she'd ever seen Emma do was beat up Ensign Murphy for trying it on with her one too many times.[8]

The Klingon was staring mutely at the broken body on the floor. 'There can be only one,' she repeated softly. 'And I'm sorry it had to be me.'

She sighed, and knelt down and collected the severed head, placing it on the body. Suddenly she looked up. 'What the..? You're still here?'

Bobbi, who hadn't moved, nodded. 'And I think you owe me an explanation.'

Emma looked back down at the body. 'I guess I do.' She rubbed her eyes, weary beyond measure. 'I think, though, it's going to have to wait.'

With that, she took the corpse by the ankles and dragged her away.

'Calm down? I don't want to bloody calm down!' Bobbi shouted. 'Our bartender is going all over the station killing people! Why the hell should I calm down?'

Euan put a hand on her arm, having it rudely shaken off again. 'You don't know she's killing lots of people, you only saw one. And Gemma's going to be fine.'

'That's not the point! She's still at large!'

'Not as large as you,' remarked Terri from the other side of the table.

She suddenly felt all eyes on her.

'Sorry.'

'The thing is, we've got a potentially very dangerous situation on our hands, and we don't know what the hell is going on. Emma just decided she wanted to come to Deep Shit Nine, just decided that she wanted to bust this woman out of gaol, then just decided she wanted to kill her? This doesn't happen!' Bobbi started pacing around the conference room, or pacing as well as she could.

'Hmm,' said Captain Disco, his voice resonating off the woodwork.[9]

'What d'you mean, "Hmm"? Do something!' she shouted at him.

'I think, Ms Scholes, that it might be a good idea if you went and had a lie-down. This has been a very traumatic experience for you, and all the stress isn't good for your babies.' He gave her a minuscule smile. 'Please, calm yourself down, and we can talk about this later.'

'You don't understand. There's a woman on the station...'

'Dismissed, Chief. That's an order from a captain.'

She glared at him, and stalked[10] out of the room.

As the door shut behind her, Euan turned to Disco. 'I don't want to go over your head, Ben, but she's got a point. We do kind of have a vicious murdering Klingon criminal at large on the station. Are we going to do anything about it?'

Disco sighed. 'I think there may be more at work here than we realise. For now, Gemma,' He nodded to the young woman, no worse off from her encounter with the Vulcan neck-grip. 'I think you should have your security teams on alert. Double the patrols around the station, and if they see any sign of violence, they are to do whatever they can to avoid bloodshed. Is that clear?'

'Yes, Captain.' Gemma rose and left the room.

Terri sighed. 'I'm bored. Who's for a pint?'

Colleen looked up. 'Actually, Tel, d'you want to come and play in the holosuite with me?'

'Play what?'

'Tennis.'

'No thanks, Col, I hate tennis.'

Colleen sighed.

'I wouldn't mind a game if you want one,' piped up Dr Brassiere.

Colleen gave him a vague smile. 'Sounds nice, Doc. Meet you up at Quirk's in fifteen minutes?'

'You're on.' Julian smiled. As she left the room, he briefly wondered what she'd look like without that duty jumpsuit on.[11] With a vague attempt at diligence, he turned to the others in the room. 'I'm not...needed here, am I?' Disco shook his head, and Julian left.

Remaining in the room were Captains Bowen and Disco; Lieutenants Crabb, O'Ferez, Techie and Trousers; Commanders Buj and Forde; Lieutenant Commander Henstock; Chief O'Brien and Major Tolol.

'Well, Scholes might be talking seven kinds of rubbish,' said O'Brien. 'But she's right. I mean, if this woman is running around DS9 cutting people's heads off, then...' She made a gesture with her hand which, basically translated, meant 'I don't know what to say next'.

Disco nodded. 'Trousers,' he said, 'are you thinking what I'm thinking?'

Trousers nodded. 'I think so, Benjamin.'

'Hmm.' Disco beckoned Euan to take notice. 'I think, Euan - and everybody - that I know what we're dealing with here.'

'So what's that?' asked a disinterest Emma the Techie.

Disco drew a breath.

'Immortals.'

Leila emerged from Ratbat's quarters, slightly confused. The Green Flame, it seemed, wasn't at home. She hadn't been in 10-Foreplay, either, nor in any of her other usual haunts. Leila had purposely made the decision to leave it a while before talking to her about the Scholes situation, but she seemed to have become inexplicably absent in the meanwhile.

'Computer,' she grumbled, 'location of Commander Sigma.'

'Commander Urac Sigma is not on board the Compromise.'

'Bum.' Where could she have got to?

Julian had fully intended to keep his tennis date with Colleen. He'd only actually gone back to the infirmary to fetch his tennis shoes - trust him to do this on one of the days he didn't wear them on duty. It was as he was about to leave that he came across by two women in blue and black uniforms.

'Hello,' they both said.

'Have we met?' he asked.

'No,' one of them replied. 'We don't work here.'

'We're from the Compromise,' added the other.

'We work with Graham,' they said together.

Julian snapped his fingers. 'Of course! Yes, he was telling me about you. You'd be two of "Graham's Angels"! Dr Julian Brassiere,' he introduced himself.

'Anthea M^cMillan,' said one.

'Melanie M^cMillan,' said the other.

Julian turned back from picking up his racquet. He hadn't quite caught which one had said which name while he was facing the shelf. Never mind, he'd soon work it out.

'What can I do for you, my dears?'

'We heard you were going to play tennis.'

'We wondered if we could join you.'

Julian smiled at the two Graham's Angels. 'Of course,' he said. Wait a moment...whose Angels? He suddenly remembered the conversation he'd had with Graham earlier that day. 'But then...' He laid a hand on each woman's shoulder. 'You could always join me for some mixed doubles in here.'

'Oh?' queried one sister.

'Oh,' realised the other, and both their eyes widened - but only slightly.

'If you'd care to wait for me in the ward,' he continued, adding Steamy Look 4G[12] for good measure. As they did so, he smirked to himself, and said, 'Computer - environmental settings macro Casanova 7.'

Most of those in the room had been taken slightly aback at Disco's announcement.

'Immortals,' Euan had said after a time. 'Well, well...gotta be those Immortals, hasn't it? Oh, yes. Dearie me.'

O'Brien quickly read his expression. 'Bowen...' she ventured. 'D'you even--'

'No,' he said sulkily. Damn, but she was rude. Couldn't she see that a superior officer was trying to fake it out?

'Don't worry if you don't, Euan,' Ksenia put in. 'Not many people have heard of them who aren't one themselves.'

'What's the big deal?' asked Tolol. 'I mean...immortals. People that never die. What, the Galaxy's gotta be full of 'em.'

'That's not quite the full story, Tolol,' Trousers informed her.

'Yes,' added Disco. 'Wait, I mean no. Anyway...I'm talking about Immortals with a capital I. Not so much a race, as a...culture. You could even say a culture that spans cultures. It seems that every so often, no matter what the race or planet - even though many worlds first thought it was something exclusive to their own planet - someone will be born who is one of these beings called "Immortals". They're called that, because usually their birth race aren't immortal. Humans, Bajorans, Vulcans...even Klingons. They'll be exactly the same as anyone else they grow up with - physically, there's nothing different about them.'

'Except the immortal part,' Ruth reminded him.

'Thank you, Lieutenant - I was coming to that. They'll first notice that when...when they die, I suppose. If they suffer some mortal wounding, they'll find that it just...' He spread a hand. '...mysteriously heals itself!'

'They come back to life?' asked Terri, who had some experience in that area.

'Exactly. And then they'll see that they're...different. They won't age a day from that moment onwards. Any injuries will heal like that.' He snapped his fingers for effect. 'What's more, they become aware of other Immortals.'

'"Aware"?' repeated O'Brien.

Ksenia jumped in, eager to show that she also knew something of this. 'It'll be a bit like a warning-light, only for a sixth-sense. Then, sooner or later, by fair means or foul, they learn about the Game, and the Prize.

'A battle-cry of the Immortals is "There can be only one". That's talking about the Game. The "rules" of the Game are more like folklore, handed down and retold ever since the first Immortal got up after being trodden on by a dinosaur. And all the Immortals are in the Game, whether they like it or not. I'll tell you this...A lot of them don't. Because to win the Prize, every other Immortal has to die.'

'Excuse me...!' put in Ruth. 'If they're immortal, how the Hell are they supposed to die? Isn't that what "immortal" means? "Doesn't die"?'

Graham looked at her. 'You're starting to sound like Ratbat.'

'No, if I was starting to sound like Ratbat, I'd have a really funny accent and crap on about being the daughter of Elizabeth I. Tell me about the dying Immortals. How do we kill these guys?'

'Cut their heads off,' Trousers told her. 'Or vaporise them, which essentially does the same thing. And when that happens, or at least when it happens because of another Immortal, the Immortal that killed them will receive their Quickening. Basically it's like a power boost. An enormous rush of energy to the Immortal in question. That would have been what Gemma and Julian saw earlier on the Promenade.'

'Then what's the Prize?' prompted Terri, beginning to realise how a Doctor Who companion felt.

Trousers shrugged. 'No-one really knows. Some legends say it's power over everything, some say that it's unlimited knowledge. All the stories are clear on is that it's almost unattainable, so it must be something pretty big.'

'And we just let this go on on Deep Shit Nine?' asked Euan.

'Do we crap!' Ruth exploded. 'No-one's playing a killing game on my ship! Or at least, on the station where my ship's parked!'

Val held up a hand. 'I don't think it's quite that simple, Ruth. That could even be a violation of the Prime Directive.'

'What?!'

'It is another culture. This is part of what goes on for them.'

'But they're part of our culture! (Well, some of them, anyway.)'

Val nodded. 'I know. It's difficult. I might have to look this one up.'[13]

'In the meantime,' added Disco, 'I'm not sure if there's much we can do. These people are throwing themselves into these fights. Are we supposed to charge them with attempted suicide?'[14]

Colleen paced up and down the catwalk in front of Quirk's holosuites. She'd decked herself out in a mid-to-late-twentieth-century tennis outfit for the game, and it felt really out of place in a seedy bar in space. All this, of course, being due to the fact that, from the point of view of most people, she'd been stood up.

She scowled at Quirk, who was looking smug. 'Why don't you talk to your Uncle Quirk about it?' he said in mock sympathy.

'I don't have an Uncle Quirk, thank you very much,' she replied.

'Go on - bend my ear for a bit.'

Colleen, who knew perfectly well where Ferengi kept their erogenous zones, turned away. He shrugged, and left.

It was in turning that one of the holosuites' display panels became visible to her. Particularly one part:

She didn't know if there were that many people bearing the last name Sigma, but she was willing to take a guess at who this particular one was. The same one that no-one had seen since this morning. She grabbed the first attendant she saw (who happened to be Quirk's brother), and with a bit of smooth-talking, badge-flashing and ear-fondling, managed to gain access to the holosuite.

As the door closed behind her, she assessed that she had entered the simulation of the entry hall to a house. Just that - nothing too remarkable, as might be found anywhere in the Federation. There was a lot of green amongst the decor, but that was hardly surprising, it being one of Ratbat's programs and everything.

'Hello?' she said quietly. Now, wasn't that silly? she thought. I said it quietly, like I didn't want anyone to hear me. So why did I bother saying it at all? She crept on, rounding the bend into what she guessed would be the living room. She was about to enter when she heard a sound and concealed herself at the edge of the door-frame.

The sound had been made by someone entering through what she could only guess to be the back door. A moment later, she could see who that someone was: a black-haired chiropteran girl, about seven or so, wearing one of those sailor-suit-type school uniforms. Colleen couldn't place it, but something about her looked familiar.

'Mama!' called the girl. 'Mama! I'm home...!'

Then Ratbat herself finally appeared at another door, dressed in a Chinese jumpsuit. 'Mama'? thought Colleen, then finally pieced it all together. The little girl Ratbat was now stooping down to hug was Anja. Ratbat's daughter who had never been. Or, she had been, but she hadn't been the way Ratbat remembered her. The stark reality of what had been was that Ratbat's reproductive system had been little better than hijacked and accelerated to full-term pregnancy in a matter of days by a life-form who, when fully realised, looked like it could well be Ratbat's daughter (the 'child' too had grown quickly, but had started to slow right down by the time she reached about 'sixteen'), but actually wanted nothing more than to suck out the credibility of anyone it came across. Ratbat had started to see it another way, and apparently the passage of three years hadn't improved matters. To her, despite everything strange about it, she had had a baby daughter who had then been cruelly taken from her. Colleen swore quietly to herself, and let her head fall back against the wall.

The noise of that attracted Ratbat's attention. 'I'll be back in a moment, darling,' she told Anja, then moved to the source of the noise. Colleen tried to get to the exit, but her hesitation in how to go about it enabled Ratbat to catch her.

Ratbat turned a horrible shade of yellow and looked as though she might cry. Colleen didn't know where to look.

'Col...' Ratbat managed. 'I...cruk. Cruk it, I brought the program down here so no-one on the Compromise would find me...'

Colleen took a breath. 'I can go again if you want. I can never have been here.'

Ratbat hesitated. 'Yes. No...Ohhh...' She wanted Colleen to go, and she wanted her to stay. She wanted to keep going, she wanted to stop. 'Hhhh...computer,' she said at last. 'End program and save.' She closed her eyes to wipe away a tear (of what - anger, sadness, frustration...?) that was forming. When she opened them again, both house and daughter had disappeared to be replaced by the electronic workings of the holosuite.

'Come on...let's go for a walk back to the Compromise,' she told Colleen. 'Let's find Leila...and I'll tell you both about what the smeg's going on.'

Emma slammed her fist against the turbolift door as the Vulcan ducked into it. 'YIntagh!' she spat. Still, there were plenty more, she knew. The number of Immortals on the station was steadily on the increase. Despite being on a remote station,[15] this Gathering - this more decisive round in the Game - was doing quite well for itself. That made sense, though. The strength of the calling to a Gathering tended to increase with the Immortal population already present.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the voice of Captain Disco over the PA system. 'Attention all Immortals currently participating in the Game. We respect your traditions, and we know that you must do what you are currently doing. However, if you could all report to Constable Gemma at the station security office, we have devised a method by which you can fight your duels without destroying this station in the process.'

Emma thought for a moment. That sounded fair. Something almost like a tournament, she didn't doubt.

'Well, it's the best we can do for the moment. As far as I can tell, we can't stop it outright.

'What?

'Of course I'm sure. I turned it off as soon as I-- Oh, wait a minute.' Then the sounds went dead.

Emma was about to turn and make for security, when she felt a hand on her shoulder. 'Do my eyes deceive me?' asked a voice. 'Or is that not Emma the Klingon, the only non-Risan who can successfully mix a Sumerian Sunrise?'

She whirled around at that, bat'leth at the ready. She swung for the new arrival's throat, only to find herself blocked by the human's own sword. 'Whoa...! Easy, Emma - it's me!'

'Sarugetts,' Emma recognised. But she didn't lower her weapon, which meant that Sarugetts (being a smart chap and in no small way mindful of the laws of physics) didn't lower his. Of course, his code of honour meant that he would never strike a female...this did of course have the drawback that girls had been beating the crap out of him for the past six hundred-odd years.

'What are you playing at, Emma?' he asked.

'There can be only one,' she said.

Sarugetts' eyes widened. 'What?? Emma...my, but this Gathering really has sent things to your head, hasn't it?' Mind you, he added silently, I suppose being a Klingon wouldn't help matters. Oh, well...I can see I'm going to have to do it after all. With his free hand, he reached over to his wrist and activated a communication to his docked ship. 'Computer,' he said. 'Two to beam to the chapel on level seven.'

After a few seconds of blue haze, the pair now saw a place of worship, rather than a place of commerce, around them.[16] Emma took her bat'leth down.

'That's right,' Sarugetts told her. 'We can't fight on holy ground. That's actually why I came here, in fact...' He trailed off as he noticed Emma staring off into space.

'I can't believe it...' she muttered. 'I was actually ready to kill you. Where would the honour in that be...? I'm sorry, Sarugetts! Believe me, old friend, I'm sorry!!'

He laid a hand on her shoulder, this time making sure she had plenty of opportunity to see it coming. 'It's all right, Emma...believe me, there might actually be a good reason why this Gathering is getting to you more than usual.'

She looked up. 'Oh?'

'Yes...' He sheathed his sword and leant back on the altar. 'I wasn't actually coming here for this Gathering. I was on my way to Bajor, to leave the Game.'

'Leave the Game? How?'

'As we just proved, there's no fighting on holy ground. And the Bajora are such a spiritual people that most of their planet is holy to them, in some sense or another.' He gave her a wan smile. 'I'm getting out the sensible way.'

She smiled back at him. 'Thinking about old Sutcliffe?'

He nodded, his face grim. 'He thought he could get out just by saying he wanted out. I'm getting out by going somewhere I could never get back in.'

Emma nodded. 'Good plan. But why are you here? I'd have thought you'd be off to Bajor as fast as you could go.'

He nodded. 'That's what I planned...but then I got a tip-off from someone. They told me that this Gathering...isn't right!'

'That's why I'm getting more stressed than usual, right?'

'Well...look just at the Gatherings we know of. Kling, Qo'nos, 1862? Argo, Krypton, 1897? Shame about that place, really... New York, Earth, 1985? That one was pretty heavy. Seacouver, again on Earth...started in 1992? The Pritt Capital, Kespritt, 2044? Pe--'

Emma tapped Sarugetts' head with the handle of her bat'leth. 'Is there a reason you're listing off every Gathering you can think of?'

'My point is - each time, the call of a Gathering started to happen when there were already a lot of us there to begin with. But here? As far as my source could make out, there was one or two at best.'

'A trap!' Emma sprang to her feet in realisation. 'They want us to fight!'

'Exactly! Fight, or they've some other reason to bring a large number of Immortals together. Whatever it is, I don't think it's part of the Game...and that means it's worth checking out.' He stood up. 'So what d'you say? One last time, before I go into retirement? Emma and Sarugetts - side by side?' He held out his hand.

Emma sneered. 'I don't like the Game, but I like the idea of some bastard using it for themselves even less. You're on.' She took his outstretched hand, and shook it.

Fernando (synthesiser version)

Having located Leila in 10-Foreplay, Colleen and Ratbat took her to a reasonably secluded table so that the latter could tell her story. They looked slightly odd, as all three were quite out of uniform. Ratbat was still wearing the silver-green jumpsuit, Colleen was still in her tennis outfit, and Leila - delighted to see that she'd lost some weight since her last experience with it - was once more trying out her Deanna Troi-type bunnysuit. Unfortunately, she hadn't realised that it wasn't a matter of weight for those garments - it was just that it was physically impossible for anyone to look good in them.[17]

Ratbat looked slightly - though only slightly - less distraught than when she'd discovered Colleen.

'Are you sure you want to talk about it, Rats?' asked Leila. 'You...you almost look as if you don't.'

Ratbat nodded vaguely. 'Yes...yes...it was this morning, really. I dunno if ye heard, but Bobbi and I had a bit of a...falling out.'

'What d'you mean?' Leila asked diplomatically.[18]

'She made out like I was...I dunno, dominating her pregnancy...like I was acting as if was me having babies, trying to...' she sniffed, '...muscle in it all.'

Colleen patted her hand.[19] 'Come on...' she told her. 'I don't really think you'd--'

Ratbat looked at her, ready for more tears. 'The worst part is,' she continued, 'she's completely right! I first realised it a while ago, when the babies kicking was more of a novelty. She asked me to touch the nursery, so I could feel it too...' She didn't cry, but her fidget rate increased, which the others knew to mean it was simply finding another outlet. '...and...and I did,' she completed.

There was a pause, which Colleen finally ended by saying, 'Umm...isn't that what you would expect?'

'No...I don't mean I felt it here,' she said, holding up her hand. 'I felt it here.' She poked her own underdeveloped midriff.

'Oh,' Leila said finally.

'See? I don't know if it's my psychic abilities playing up or what... Somehow, I think I lost track of being at Bobbi's side like she originally wanted, and started acting like it was just me pregnant in a different body! And it's not! It's Bobbi, this is her starting a family...all I'm going to do is make things horrible for her!' She started to sob quietly.

'Is that why you started using that program?' Colleen prompted.

Ratbat drew a breath, calming herself. 'Actually, I've had that for a while. I first did it...about a month after it happened. One night, my mind kept drawing itself back into a little hole, until I couldn't stand it any more. I went down to a holodeck, spent a while designing the program, and then a couple of hours using it.

'But after I was finished - I felt disgusted with myself. Running off into a fantasy like that. What it meant, and the way I did it, it just all felt so wrong. I couldn't bring myself to wipe it, though. And so I kept doing it, on and off. It wouldn't be that often. I was ashamed, so I only did it when I knew there was no chance of anyone finding me...like the first time we came to DS9... there were hardly any crew on the Compromise at the time, and basically everyone who was there disembarked... Sometimes, whole months would go past and I wouldn't do it because I just didn't feel like I needed to. But now, with Bobbi...Oh Glenda. I've been at it again. Taking higher risks against getting caught...' She trailed off. 'Cruk. I'm pathetic. There's something very wrong with me, I can tell.'

Leila gently took Ratbat's hands away from the face she was covering them with. 'I'm not going to lie to you, Sig... There is something wrong with you. Your daughter died - and after people had tried to take her away from you, too! How could that not make something wrong with someone?'

'It was just all so fast...' Ratbat managed. 'It's like I don't have enough memories of it.'

'And you're trying to make some more,' appended Colleen.

Leila scowled with demarcation. 'Really, no-one can blame you for feeling like that, but...you've got to let Bobbi have her babies. She's still your friend - and don't say "Is she?", I think that it would take more than this to break up a friendship of four hundred and eighty years - and you should still be with her, because she's going through a lot. Just try to make sure that you're not part of that lot she's going through.'

Ratbat calmed a bit, and nodded.

Leila leant back in her chair. I'm proud of myself now. I thought all that up just then, I did.

Bobbi (who had no idea of being the subject of so much attention) had got bored with sulking about being sent to quarters when she had worked out that there was no-one around to sulk to. Instead, having hacked her way into the surveillance system (she was an engineer, after all) and heard the conversation about what was happening on DS9, she'd decided to see what she could find out about these 'Immortals'.

That had been some hours ago, and the simple answer to the question really was 'not much'. All the texts, books, articles and files she'd managed to dig up and read told her little more than what had come from the briefing. Sure, now she knew the locations of some of the Gatherings, and how many of them people thought would be the Gathering to end it all. She could recite famous Immortals who had had long and industrious careers spanning centuries before going on to die in stupid boating accidents. It didn't tell what she'd really wondered, though, which was just what the hell this mysterious Prize was. Some sources said it was power, others knowledge, others again said it was mortality. They were all vague, and all admitted that they were little more than guesses.

Picking up a padd to read from, she wearily shifted herself on the bed, her massive belly meaning she didn't exactly end up with the most glamorous position. God, she'd give anything to be able to lie on her front again. Not that she had in five years, but she missed it all of a sudden.

Dismissing the thought, she took another jelly baby, dipped it in tomato sauce, and returned her attention to the padd.

Now this was interesting. It was a reproduction of a collection of essays on transcultural phenomena, one section of which leapt out at Bobbi.

While many have speculated on the true nature of the Prize, the true answer is known to be contained within the following writings. Sadly, however, due to their age, and the obscurity of the language, they remain untranslated to this day.

Underneath, she saw the following:

Well, no wonder they'd remained untranslated. It certainly wasn't any language Bobbi recognised. But still, this volume was written a few years back; maybe the Universal Translator had been updated since then. 'Computer,' she said, 'translate the selected text into English.'

'Working.' There was a pause. 'Text translation has only four point seven per cent confidence of accuracy.'

Of course, she guessed, there was always the chance that the update hadn't been up to much. 'Display it anyway,' she said resignedly.

GET THEM WHILE THEY'RE HOT FEELING HOT HOT HOT. PAINT YOUR WAGON BRIGHT RED. IF FORCLOSING TODAY, THEN CONFUCIOUS SAY SEE YOUR DOCTOR LIVINGSTON, I PRESUME. WALTER. COURIER. COCOA, TELEPHONE, WHITE-OUT AND PANTS. REMEMBER, NO MATTER WHERE YOU GO, THERE YOU ARE. IT'S BETTER IN THE ORIGINAL CLAUSE OF YOUR CATARACTS FOR PROSTATE SERVICE. JEKYLL AND SEEK, LOCATE, DESTROY. IF YOU'RE HAPPY AND YOU KNOW KNOW KNOW IT'S LOVE.

Forsaking reading any more, she guessed that somehow that wasn't the Prize. But...what if it was the sort of thing a machine couldn't cope with? If there'd been linguistic evolution and scramblings that only a sentient mind could see through. For a start, some bits of this looked like they might have belonged to completely separate languages, insofar as she recognised them. She knew who she needed: a linguist.

'O'Ferez from Scholes,' she paged.

There was the briefest of pauses, and the chirp of Terri's communicator on Deep Shit Nine. 'Yeah, whatcha want, Bobbi?'

Bobbi briefly outlined the language problem.

'Hmm,' Terri considered. 'Well, I'm good with languages, but I tend to just have a few, and just try to get really good at them. If it's diverseness you want, well...the woman you're looking for is Ratti.'

'Thanks,' Bobbi almost moaned. 'Scholes out.' She felt one of her babies kick her. 'Thanks, kid,' she muttered. 'It saves me the trouble.'

Immortals milled around the centre of the Promenade, closely watched by a handful of Ruth's and Gemma's officers. True, they probably wouldn't be terribly effective if those they guarded seriously wanted to put up some resistance, but it showed that the station had its eyes on them, as it were. Despite a tendency to regularly kill one another, most of the Immortals were civilised beings, and had agreed to the suggestion that this round of the Game be run as a series of organised duels, to save damage to DS9.

Gemma herself spotted a certain bartender across through the crowd, talking to a group of people she could only describe as TV personalities. Well, she'd seen them on The Federation's Most Wanted, anyway. She strode over and grabbed him by the ear.

'Oi!' the Ferengi squealed as she dragged him away. She released him, and he rubbed his ear tenderly. 'You wouldn't like it if I went 'auling you around the station by your 'ot points, now, would you?'

'You're right, you wouldn't,' Gemma told him. 'What do you think you're doing?'

'I'm just rubbing it 'cos it hurts!'

'Not that. With the other people, over there.'

'Just talking.'

'Just talking about placing bets on the fights. Just talking about placing bets on these people competing for their lives.'

'No law that says I can't.'

'Yes there is.'

'What?'

'Me.'

Quirk swore and stomped off. Gemma turned away from him, only to find herself face to face with Boris Garak, resident tailor and suspected Cardassian spy/saboteur/superhero/drug-dealer/whatever Julian's fevered imagination came up with that week. 'I do deplore these events, don't you, Constable?' he asked.

Gemma shrugged.

'I mean - they're so crowded and noisy...I simply can't work in the boutique, or at least I couldn't if I ever got any business at times like these.'

The security chief eyed him carefully. 'Garak - you have the look of one who knows more than he's letting on.'

'I assure you, Constable, I just have one of those faces. What could there possibly be for me to know?'

'I wonder.' Then they, like many of the others gathered, be it to fight or to watch, then turned towards the makeshift podium Chief O'Brien had erected at the head of the clearing. Major Tolol mounted it, then tapped her comm badge, which had been linked to the PA.

'Ladies, gentlemen, hermaphrodites, androgynes, transvestites, transsexuals, those for whom it's strictly a comfort thing, pre-ops, robots, binnaum, those who have rejected rigid social gender structures, and anyone who's had a nasty accident with a transporter.[20] This round of the Immortal Game is about to commence. Remember - only fight in those contests you have been put down for, and any use of fire-arms or trickery is strictly prohibited. Now - the first duel is between Phuong Woczek from Earth, and Selamnes from the L--'

'STOP!!' called a voice. Everyone looked around for the source, until Emma the Klingon and Sarugetts (who just had to be one of those mysterious one-name gits) made their way through the crowd to stand opposite Tolol's podium.

'This Gathering is not right!' cried out Sarugetts. 'It shouldn't be this way!'

He was put out as he was suddenly punctuated by a loud disembodied burp. Eyes around the room started to settle on a blushing Tolol Nerys. She tapped her communicator off and muttered, 'Excuse me.'

Getting back to the matter at hand, Emma added, 'You're all being used!'

'Used for what?' called back a voice. Looking, Emma was surprised to see it came from a Borg. A member of the separationist cell, she didn't doubt.

'Er,' muttered Sarugetts. He hadn't quite managed to find out exactly what was going on, so he had been hoping to avoid that question. 'Something unspeakable!' he attempted.

Ruth saw instantly what was about to happen. What the hell are they doing that for? For once in my life, I'd hoped to avoid a fight!

There came a cry of 'Bullshit!', which happened to be Tetrap for 'Bullshit!'.[21] 'You two are up to something!'

There was a general rumble of assent, followed by a cry of 'Take them down!'

The security lovelies tried to keep the rampaging Immortals at bay, but as predicted, it wasn't terribly effective.

Emma and Sarugetts knew that this ire was directed towards them. Immortals in the wrong mood don't like to be told they can't play the Game.

Emma had already decided that, threats or otherwise, she was leaving the game. She'd go with Sarugetts to Bajor if she had to, or ask the Kai to bless 10-Foreplay if that's what it took. But one thing was for sure - today, her killings ended.

She looked at the fight breaking out around (or rather, towards) her, and then at Sarugetts. He shrugged, and smiled slightly.

Of course, as a son of Mogh once said, the day was not over yet.

They crossed sword and bat'leth, and held them aloft. Together, they faced the hordes and cried out, 'There can be only two!!'

Hijo de la Luna (synthesiser) - Russell B

Bobbi tentatively entered 10-Foreplay. She didn't know quite how to deal with Ratbat. Should she pretend that that morning had never happened? Should she be strictly professional? Make a perfunctory apology, maybe? She spotted her at a far table with Leila and Colleen, and reasoned that whatever she was going to do, she was going to decide soon.

Euan watched her crossing the room with mixed feelings. Despite what he intellectually knew, there was still an odd feeling seeing a woman that you had a major crush on being pregnant. It was a kind of vague envy, like seeing the car you wanted to buy with someone else's personalised number plate on it. He sighed and started blowing bubbles in his drink until it spilt onto the table and Matt hit him with a tray.

Ratbat looked around, wondering why the other two had suddenly decided to make discreet exits. Then she saw her. I guess it had to be sooner or later, she reasoned.

'Hi,' she said as Bobbi sat down.

'Hi.' There was an awkward pause.

Ratbat was then about to say something wise and profound, which would have ended the notion of any conflict between them, made both their lives completely perfect, and eventually effected galactic peace, when Bobbi spoke up and made her forget what she was going to say.

'I'm sorry,' she said, speaking quickly. 'I said some things this morning that probably hurt you more than I intended.'

'You w--'

'I shouldn't have said what I said the way I said it, but I still meant some of it. Now, I don't hate you, but I could understand if you never want to speak to me again. I think, really, that maybe we should address this later, because I've found something that might explain what all those people on the station are going nuts over, and if you're as good as those guys who used to Email you and propose think you are, you might be able to work out what it is.'

Ratbat, distracted for a moment from analysing the emotional content of her speech, tilted her head and asked, 'Me? How would I help?'

Bobbi just panted a few times.

'I think maybe ye shouldn't speak so fast.'

Underground - Ben Folds Five

The Fosters took a tight loop around the reactor base of DS9, then swung just as tightly in a full circle around lower docking pylon C.

Graham, the executor of the move, was enjoying himself. As far as he could tell, any medical matters likely to arise in the next few hours would probably be on an Immortal, so he'd really be of little use. As a result, he'd relieved himself of duty and gone joyriding in a shuttlecraft.

It was a shame the station's shields weren't up - he wouldn't have minded staying on the inside of them, and taking the Fosters for a 'pinball ride'. Oh, well. Couldn't have everything. He slowed the shuttle right down, got up and went to the replicator.

'Guinness,' he told it.

As he took the duly formed drink, he was annoyed to find that it then spilt all over him. 'Wha'fuh?' he wondered aloud. Had the shuttle hit something? 'Computer? Was that an impact?'

'Affirmative.'

'Why didn't you sound the proximity alarm?'

'The sensors detected no obstacle.'

He scowled, and looked through the windshield. 'Run an active scan on the area just in front of us and put it on the monitor.'

'Working.' After a moment, the monitor in the middle of the dashboard lit up, and figures started playing across it. Graham didn't claim to understand much of it, but he deciphered what he could to take a fairly good guess. He tapped his badge. 'Henstock to security,' he said, grinning slightly.

'Leuning here,' answered Nic's voice.

'Do you think that you could beam yourself down to this shuttle?'

'Oh? Why?'

Graham put on his naughtiest voice. 'Oh, come, Nic...I'm a virile male doctor, you're a pretty female security lovely...this is a small shuttle...why do you think I want you down here?'

'Ohh-hohhh...'

'Yeah, I've got a security matter,' he said flatly.

'Oh.'

There was a pause, then Lieutenant Leuning sparkled into existence in the cramped space. Graham looked at her. He didn't think much of her new blonde colour. Maybe if she'd done somewhere besides her eyebrows...anyway, not important now. 'Take a look at what's just in front of us,' he told her.

She looked out the front. 'Nothing.'

'Nononono.' He tapped the console. 'Check that over, and tell me if that doesn't say "cloaked ship" to you.'

She looked, and nodded. 'And the rules are clear: No cloaking while docked at DS9. Besides...it's not a very good cloak...see? Not really up there with anything a Warbird or whatever might have. Basically, anything except straight visual or a passive scan, and it's as clear as day.'

Graham leant back, a cunning look on his face. 'You know...I'd say that if someone wants to go sneaking around Deep Shit Nine with a ripped-off cloaking device, that they'd probably be up to something.'

Nic grinned back. 'Yeah.' She tapped her communicator. 'Leuning to Smith and Sword. It's invasion of privacy time.'

Ratbat looked from her incomplete translation, uneasily, back up at Bobbi. 'It's not pretty,' she commented.

'Why?'

'See this? I can recognise bits that ended up all over the place in later languages. Some bits of this became Klingon dialects, Rhianni, even the odd Earth language could have sprung from this. And the grammar is another matter entirely. It's almost like the Pangaea of languages, this mess.'

Bobbi decided not to ask too many more questions. Ratbat knowing parts of seven languages by the time she was seventeen had been scary enough. No need to imagine what another seven hundred and ninety-five years had done for her. 'Can you translate it, though?'

'Pretty much...I've got most of the meanings down. Just let me sort out this word order...' She softly fanged her lip as she spent a few minutes doing a lot of cutting and pasting. '...Gordon Bennett,' she said at last.

'What? What?' Had she not been sitting down, Bobbi would have been jumping up and down with anticipation.

Ratbat tossed her a padd. 'Dig that,' she told her.

After reading it, Bobbi whistled. 'That certainly throws a new light on things.'

'Dunnit, though?'

'We'd better take this to Emma.'

'Well, she'd be at that tournament.'

'What tournament?'

'Have ye no heard? They're havin' a tournament in the Promenade to try to sort out this round of the Game.'

'Really?' She thought. 'Then we should get there fast. A lot of people could get hurt - killed, for that matter - with no cause for it.'

'Aye.' Ratbat made to hurry out the door, but barely made it into the corridor before Bobbi was asking her to slow down.

'Sorry,' Bobbi told her. 'Wait a minute...Scholes to transporter room seven.'

'Schwinghamer here,' came the calmer-than-usual voice from that post. Wherever Emma the Techie had gone after the staff meeting, it hadn't been her usual haunt.

'Hi, Noomy - two to beam to the Promenade.'

'You mean six,' she giggled.

'Energise,' Bobbi said firmly.

As the blue haze consumed the two, they heard someone remark, 'Gee - some people have no sense of humour.'

Who Wants to Live Forever? - Queen

Emma flung an opponent away by his own sword, then allowed herself enough respite to turn and call to Sarugetts. 'How are we doing?!'

Sarugetts, the incorrigible show-off, turned while he was still engaged in swordplay. 'Not too badly,' he admitted. 'But I still wish I'd worn a duranium turtle-neck!'

'It's getting like that,' Emma muttered, throwing herself back into the fray. She was only half-surprised that she was still alive at this point. The mix of the two of them, the angry contestants, and the various security personnel had meant that this was more of a chaotic brawl than directed attack. On the other hand, that didn't exactly make it a picnic.

'Stop!!' called a voice. For a few moments, everyone ignored it, so its owner felt it needed repetition. 'STOP!!' cried Bobbi - Ratbat had bowed to her as the better to be heard. As one, everyone stopped fighting and turned to catwalk where she and Ratbat had materialised. It seemed the infamous Scholes vocal capacity was in no way diminished.

'What now?' asked someone.

'It's what we told you!' Sarugetts piped up. 'This Gathering is a sham!'

Bobbi paused. 'I don't know about that,' she called. 'But the whole Game is a sham! We've just deciphered an ancient text, and...there is no Prize!'

Now, that gave everyone something to think about. 'There's not?' asked Emma, mounting the stairs with Sarugetts to join them.

Major Tolol clipped her communicator onto Bobbi so she wouldn't lose her voice before the explanation was out.[22] 'Thank you,' said Bobbi, now relayed over the PA. 'As everyone knows, Immortals are born, not created. You're either an Immortal or you're not. But there's a reason why they're born.'

'That is?' asked Sarugetts.

'It's the Quickening. True, that gives an Immortal an immense sensation of power, but not all of the Quickening from the late Immortal goes to the victor. It's like an overflow effect. A little bit escapes, and goes wandering in the ether. That energy will drift until it finds, say, an egg yet to be fertilised, a sperm waiting its turn...' She rubbed her bulge self-consciously. '...even an unborn child. It might do it right away, it might be years, but there will still come another Immortal. Even if by some chance only two Immortals were left...as soon as one of them was killed, their Quickening would go on to create another Immortal - maybe more than one. You see? There can be no Prize, because there never can be only one!'

There was muttering amongst the Immortals. Somehow, the words of the long-haired woman and her friend with the ears rang true. They had no express reason to believe them, but on the same level that they knew how to recognise another Immortal, they could tell that her words were so.

'But...' began Emma. 'That doesn't explain what's wrong with this Gathering.'

'No,' said a voice. 'But this does.'

On the bridging catwalk, Graham, Nic, Sam Smith and Cathy Sword were escorting a man towards Bobbi, Emma, Tolol, Ratbat and Sarugetts.

'Another Immortal?' asked Tolol.

'A Betazoid Immortal,' confirmed Graham. 'Michan Spiren. And even by Betazoid standards, he's not too bad in the old telepathic department.'

Nic took up the story. 'He used his mental abilities to generate the calling that Immortals feel, the one that draws them to a Gathering. And then he hid...we've just come from his badly-cloaked ship underneath the station. And...tell them what we found on your ship.' She tapped him on the back of the head with her phaser.

'A warp-field disruption generator,' grumbled Spiren.

Sam nodded. 'And I don't think we need to explain what would happen to the station if he fired that at the reactor core.'

Everyone shook their heads, until Cathy piped up, 'What?'

'Boom,' he told her.

'Gotcha.'

Tolol realised what this meant. 'Wow...talk about your major defense oversights.'

Sarugetts thought. 'So...you'd have blown up the station...that would possibly vaporise or decapitate everyone on it...'

'...and as the nearest Immortal,' confirmed Spiren, 'all the Quickening would go to me.'

'You might not have won the Game,' mused Tolol, 'but you'd certainly have advanced a few stages.'

'But there is no Game now,' Bobbi told him - unlike someone we could name, she remembered to turn the comm badge off.

Emma gently pushed those in front of her aside, then wrenched Spiren from the lovelies' arms, and threw him to the ground. 'It's just what I said earlier. Cheating...and killing. All for this non-existant Prize, which probably wouldn't be all that great anyway. And you were going to wipe out everyone on this station just to get yourself a few points.' She raised her bat'leth over her head. 'No wonder Sarugetts wants out. Well, let me remind of something, Mr Spiren...' She swung down her bat'leth, and Spiren let out a cry as it rushed towards him...

...to end its journey in the floor in front of him. 'There can be more than one!' She motioned to the security team. 'Get rid of him.' The three of them duly did so.

Below, a large number of Immortals, representing many races and cultures, simply stared. They'd all been playing the Game for a long time - some even millions of years...only to find that the Game no longer existed.

What would they all do now?

'So what do you think happens now?' Emma asked Sarugetts, as they sauntered along the Promenade.

'Word'll spread fast amongst the Immortal community,' he guessed. 'I mean, you know what they say: "The only thing that travels faster than warp 10 is gossip." I think a few will stay in the Game, cutting each other to pieces for each other's Quickenings, but...by and large, I'd say it's over.'

At this point Ruth ran up to them. 'Emma,' she said. 'The Captains are making their farewells...the Compromise is out of here in a few minutes.'

'Right,' acknowledged Emma, before turning back to Sarugetts. 'Hey - you never did tell me who your source was about the Gathering being bad.'

'Well, a good informant never reveals his sources,' replied the voice of a certain Cardassian clothier.

'That they don't,' mused Ruth, before it hit her. 'You, Garak? You're an Immortal?'

'Me?' replied Garak. 'Why, Ms Crabb, I'm...'

'...just a humble tailor,' finished Ruth. 'Of course, I remember. You were just giving an example, right?'

'But of course.'

Ruth sighed. 'Emma - we've got to go. What about you, Sarugetts? Do you want a lift anywhere? I mean, our first stop's the Cardassian Union, but...'

Sarugetts shook his head. 'No, I think I'll stick with my Bajor plan.'

'But the Game's over!' Emma reminded him.

'True...but it still seems like a nice idea. Besides, you know that Sakit woman, the Kai?'

Emma nodded.

'I hear she's still single.'

'Git,' smiled Emma, before hugging him farewell, and accompanying Ruth to an airlock.

Meanwhile, Emma's namesake, the Techie, stewed in her quarters. She hadn't liked Euan doing that. She'd been herded out of the staff meeting early because she was 'only a transporter chief', and there was 'nothing she could do' about the Immortal problem. She'd been sent back to transporter room seven, but she hadn't gone. Not that anyone really noticed - they mostly thought of her as a tool, it seemed. And since that mess with Bobbi and Mrs Troi, a faulty one.

That was an attitude she'd had too much of lately.

If some respect didn't come her way soon...it wasn't going to be pretty.

Ratbat shuffled along a corridor, vaguely going in the direction of her quarters.

'Hello.' She looked around, to see that Bobbi was the owner of the voice.

Ah, cruk. It's crisis over now. Time for that problem to rear its ugly head. 'Bobbi...' she managed. 'I'm sorry I was acting like I was taking over your pregnancy... It...it wasn't nice of me.'

'And once more...I shouldn't have snapped at you, either.'

'Hm.'

'Hm.'

They stood there awkwardly for a moment, before Ratbat made to go on her way again. 'Well, I'll...see ye around,' she said quietly.

Bobbi grabbed her arm. 'Oh, no you don't,' she said.

'?'

'Well, I took your Demi Moore-does-Vanity Fair pictures for you when you were pregnant. The least you can do is take mine for me.' She smiled.

'Oh,' replied Ratbat, returning her smile. 'We'd better get to that, then.'

And both women, having learnt some lessons about self-control, walked off down the corridor.