Hope this is readable to everybody. I'm using a different mailing system to my
 usual one and it's awkward to get the hang of. If the following is unreadable,
 please email me and I'll use my old email system to send it that way.
 
For continuity people : the DS9 parts of the tale are set between the season 1
 episodes "Battle Lines" and "The Storyteller"; the FK parts are set between the
 season 2 episodes "Can't Run, Can't Hide" and "Capital Offense".
 
Mark.
 
----------

                               BLOODLUST
 
          A Forever Knight/Star Trek : Deep Space 9 crossover
 
                            by Mark Overton
 

BAJOR.
2370, OLD CALENDAR.
 
        "It's the end! The end of everything, I tell you!"
        The wild-eyed man with the dark hair sat crouched in a corner of
DS9's Promenade and bellowed in a tremendously loud voice at the people
who passed by. Most of them ignored him; a few, newcomers to the
station, glanced nervously in his direction before picking up speed and
hurrying on about their own business. Occasionally one of the passersby
would make threatening gestures, quietening the man for a few minutes
until they had passed out of earshot. Then he would start up again,
shouting his warning every thirty seconds or so.
        "It'll be the end of you if you don't stop making that noise," a
gruff harsh voice said suddenly. The wild-eyed man had just taken a
deep breath to shout again; he stopped himself and looked up into an
artificially smooth and curiously unfinished face.
        "Hello, Odo," he said in his normal, mellow voice.
        Odo's small eyes narrowed. "You again, Cruickshank? Unless my
memory's started supplying false images, I thought I told you not to
come back on DS9 again."
        "I'm like a bad penny," the man replied, apparently unbothered by
Odo's sarcasm. "I keep turning up." He turned suddenly and raised his
voice to a deafening level. "It's the end!"
        "Stop that!" Odo snapped sharply, grabbing Cruickshank's arm and
spinning him round. His face wasn't quite well-formed enough to express
anger, but then Odo didn't need to change his usual demeanour much;
there's not a lot of difference between *grumpy* and *angry*. Odo
tightened his grip on Cruickshank's arm. "I told you before. I don't
want you scaring people with your talk of Armageddon!"
        "Words have power, eh?" Cruickshank winked at Odo, then suddenly
turned serious. He leaned towards him, and Odo had to shift his
position to take Cruickshank's weight. The drifter didn't appear to
notice Odo's discomfort. "This time it's for real, Odo," he said in a
low urgent tone. "They're here, on board DS9. It's taken me this long
to track one of them down, you see. To get proof."
        "Proof?" Odo demanded. "Proof of what?"
        "Proof that they exist, of course," Cruickshank said as if it were
the most obvious thing in the world. "Proof that they're here. They're
ready to act, Odo!"
        "Who is? Ready to do what?" Odo felt suddenly foolish. Here he was,
standing in the Promenade giving credence to the ravings of one of the
station's crazier lunatics. Why was he asking questions like this?
        "I've had enough of this," he said aloud. "Come on, Cruickshank.
You're back in detention again."
 
 
The shuttle dropped from the freighter's underbelly and slowed its fall
with adroit use of maneouvring thrusters. The nacelles running along
the base glowed a bright blue, and the shuttle began to move forwards,
its target the grey spiky shape of DS9. The pilot and co-pilot, both
graceful blue-skinned Andorians, chattered back and forth in their own
language as they directed the shuttle towards the space station's main
docking ring. Being only pilots for a low-key freighter operation, they
hadn't paid for intravenal translators. Not that they would have
bothered speaking to their passenger.
        Nick Knight leaned against the wall of the shuttle, feeling its
gentle vibrations, and looked through the window to where DS9 was
looming up in front of him. He ran a finger gently across the
transparent aluminium window; it came away with a thin layer of dust,
as if the shuttle's cleaning systems weren't functioning. That was
presuming it had any; another expense the freighter's captains probably
hadn't bothered with. Out here, on the edge of Federation space and
moving into Cardassian territory, things tended to get a little rough
around the edges.
        DS9 rose upwards as the shuttle's nose dipped towards the docking
bay. The station was now dwarfing out the distant sun and planets, the
grey bulk seeming to loom almost menacingly. Knight leaned down and
picked up the small hexagonal case lying by his feet. He slung it over
his shoulder and gripped tight hold of the chair arms just in time. As
the shuttle passed into the space station's synergic field the
artificial gravity hiccuped and he experienced the disorientating
sensation of weightlessness.
        Then it passed and he could no longer see the stars. He was inside
the space station.
        His mission could begin.
 
 
Benjamin Sisko was bored. Very bored.
        Normally his life as the commander of DS9 was filled with duties,
both interesting and uninteresting. The interesting ones made his life
on the space station seem worthwhile; the uninteresting ones kept him
so busy that he didn't have time to be bored. But, once in a while, he
completed both kinds of duties. Usually this was once in a blue moon,
and unfortunately Sisko suspected Bajor's satellites were at this very
moment changing colour.
        The Cardassians were quiet. This was one of the few weeks in Bajor's
calendar when there were no religious days, jihad days, or any other
troubling kinds of day. The Federation population were happy and
content, and Earth wasn't producing any more administrative files which
needed completion. The alien element of DS9's populace each had their
own problems to deal with and each were dealing with them in peaceful
ways. For once, even O'Brien wasn't confronting him with a crisis in
the space station's internal systems.
        Sisko was bored.
        He got up and paced his office, staying well clear of the big double
doors. If he got too close they opened automatically and people always
looked up; it was embarrassing when he had to back away and let the doors
close once again. Through the transparent portions of the doors he could see
several of DS9's main ops crew at their stations, with the addition of
Doctor Bashir, trying to chat up Dax as usual. Kira was looking on with
exasperated tolerance.
        Sisko turned away and crossed to the window looking out into space,
to where Bajor itself rotated gently, regularly. He sighed and turned
away from *there* as well. He seemed unable to find a place he could
look at for more than thirty seconds.
        "Hello," said the grey man.
 
 
Odo gave Cruickshank a gentle helping kick, as the man half-staggered
into the holding cell, for no real reason other than that he (Odo) was
generally tired with him. It was threatening Odo's reputation as well,
the fact that the wanderer had returned to DS9. After all, if
Cruickshank had been brave enough to defy Odo's eviction, other people
probably would too. It wasn't that Odo was worried; his reaction was
more like that of a worker faced with the sudden prospect of having to
redo his job all over again. Without any extra pay.
        "You won't listen," Cruickshank muttered. "It's like Calissen all
over again. Death...nothing but death. Even mine this time."
        "Calissen?" The reference meant nothing to Odo other than that he
knew it to be the name of a colony some lightyears distant from the
Bajoran system. He frowned at the huddled wanderer. "What do you mean,
Calissen?"
        Cruickshank looked up listlessly. "They're taken, Odo, taken. All
under the spell...and we'll be as well, soon. All of us."
        "Under whose - oh, not again." Odo made a sharp noise of disgust.
"I'm listening to you, aren't I? Damn."
        He turned and thumped the field control with more violence than was
intended. The console bleeped plaintively as the forcefield across the
cell entrance swished into existence. Odo ignored the machine's
complaint and stalked off. Not looking back. *Resolutely* not looking
back.
 
 
The turbolift hum slowed and then faded to its usual background level
as the big cabin levelled off with the ops room upper deck. Without
looking round, Major Kira Nerys knew that whoever was in it wasn't
supposed to be. Reason One : none of the current ops crew were due to
be relieved. Reason Two : nobody had an appointment to see Sisko that
she knew of..and she knew of *every* appointment. Reason Three : nobody
had informed her, as they should have done, that they were coming up to
the ops room.
        That left trouble.
        "Alright," she began, turning, "what do you - "
        Her jaw dropped.
        "Hello, Major," Nick said as he stepped off the turbolift and looked
around the room. His eyes took in every detail, flicking back to her
before they focussed on each new part of the ops room. Kira watched
him; she couldn't believe it. His age...no, his *lack* of age. Still
the same slightly lean body, clearly fit and ready. Still the same
lines in the face, no new ones added. The fair hair, styled just as it
had been twenty years ago.
        "You...you haven't changed a bit," Kira said. "Literally."
        Nick grinned and made one of his little shrugs. "You have." His eyes
swept over her whole form, and he smiled. "But for the better, I think.
I'd like to speak to Commander Sisko first. It's important."
        Kira blinked. "Uh...I guess you don't have an appointment."
        "You guess right," Nick said, looking apologetic. "But it's
definitely important. Please."
        Kira hesitated...or thought she hesitated. Then she found her hand
was already moving to her combadge and tapping it. "Ops to Commander
Sisko. You have a visitor." She dropped her hand. "Is it a secret or
can anyone play?"
        Nick smiled but didn't answer. Instead, he descended from the lower
level and looked up at her, spinning in a slow circle to take in the
full height of the ops room's vaulted ceiling. "Quite a nice little
setup you have here."
        "It's...not mine."
        "No. You never know, though."
        Kira half-smiled, then became aware Sisko hadn't responded. She hit
the combadge again. "Ops to Commander Sisko. Please respond."
        Dax looked up. "He's only in his office, Major. He shouldn't need
paging a second time."
        "Obviously he does," Nick remarked.
        Dax turned her cool eyes on him. "Obviously."
        Kira stepped away from her console and skirted round the upper deck
towards Sisko's office. "He's probably busy." She reached the doors of
the office and peered through. A frown crossed her face, unseen by the
others in the room. Nick's cool eyes saw the muscles in her back
stiffen, tightening under her close-fitting uniform.
        "What's wrong?" he asked.
        "He's not in there," Kira said absently.
        "That's not possible," Dax responded. "I saw him go in."
        Kira looked instinctively upwards, towards the ceiling. "Computer,
this is Major Kira Nerys. Override code on Commander Sisko's door."
        "Confirmed," the computer said placidly.
        The doors parted and Kira strode through. Somehow, Nick was beside
her in an instant, though she hadn't heard him move. A few moments
later Dax and Bashir were coming through the door of the office, looking
around.
        The office was empty.
        Kira turned her eyes to Dax's. Then, almost unwillingly, she lifted
her gaze to Nick.
        "He's missing," she said hollowly.


BAJOR.
2370, OLD CALENDAR.
 
Sisko awoke to darkness.
        He tried to look round, but he couldn't move his head. With an
effort, he looked back through his memories. He remembered looking out
of the window at Bajor. He remembered turning. He remembered the face
of the grey man.
        He couldn't hear anything.
        Sisko wondered if this was some kind of sensory deprivation. He
couldn't hear, see, touch, taste, or smell. He had no sense of where
he was; he knew only that he was awake. Probably, he was still on DS9,
but he had no idea.
        Then it occurred to him that he might not have survived his meeting
with the grey man.
        He might be dead.
 
 
Nick Knight watched the people of DS9 mounting a search for their
missing commander with a sense of sadness, and lost opportunity. Had
he booked passage on a commercial cruiser, risking discovery but
travelling faster, he might have saved Sisko. Then again, he might
have been found out whilst on board. That could have been utterly
disastrous. At least he was here now. The weight of the case on his
shoulder banged uncomfortably against his chest, even through his
clothing.
        He was sitting at an unmanned console, listening with half an ear
to the constant stream of communications between the station's
security staff and the ops crew. The young female Trill host, the one
Kira had addressed as Dax, was co-ordinating the search even though
Odo should be doing so, but the metamorph security chief preferred to
be in the front line of duty. Nick knew Odo as well (though not *as*
well) as Kira, but he hadn't quite worked out how he was going to face
him down yet.
        "Excuse me, sir." Chief Engineer Miles O'Brien leaned past Nick and
tapped instructions rapidly into the console. After a moment readouts
flashed up and O'Brien grunted. Without looking at Nick he turned and
went back to what he was doing. Nick was being ignored.
        "Nick."
        No, he wasn't being ignored. He looked up and then across to where
Kira was standing in front of Sisko's office, the doors open to allow
a couple of forensics people from Odo's team to go over the place with
a fine toothcomb, looking for anything to explain the mysterious
disappearance of the occupant. She gestured for him to join her; Nick
rose and did so.
        "Are you going to tell me this was a coincidence?" Kira asked.
        Nick grinned. "Would I lie to you?"
        "Yes."
        He shrugged, the grin growing fractionally wider. "Ah well. I
suppose someone has to know. It would have been Sisko but you're next
in the chain of - "
        *"Odo to Ops."*
        The gruff voice interrupted what Nick had been about to say. Kira
mentally cursed. "Yes, Odo. What is it?"
        *"We've found the commander's uniform and combadge. He's not inside
them."*
        "Keep looking. Especially in that area," she ordered.
        *"Wonderful idea. Why didn't I think of that?"*
        As the last afterecho of Odo's voice disappeared, Kira turned back
to Nick. Her eyes widened as she realised he was gone. And she hadn't
heard the turbolift start up either.
 
               +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
 
TORONTO.
1994.
 
The murder was spectacular.
        "Wow," was all Schanke could manage.
        "Wow indeed," Natalie agreed. Standing beside them, Nick was the
only one not to offer an opinion. The slightly frozen expression of
absolute horror on his face told them exactly what it was that he was
thinking.
        The bridge was undergoing repairs. For several decades it had arced
over the river, the concrete standing strong, but those same decades
had worn and chipped at the same concrete until a casual inspection
had suddenly realised that the bridge was a danger to traffic-kind and
its kin. Scaffolding had been hurriedly erected around each support
pillar as reinforcement work began.
        The pillar nearest their side of the riverbank had been decorated.
        The woman was swinging gently in the breeze which blew across the
water. She was balanced with the back of her knees against one of the
poles, like a kid swings, but with her ankles roped to her thighs to
prevent her falling off. Upside down, her long blonde hair descending
to the water and her skirt dropping around her waist, she looked like
a child's doll. Or she would have done, if not for the fact that her
throat had been slit from ear to ear. Her hair was streaked with blood
and her face a red mask, for the blood had simply flowed over her neck
and covered her.
        It was, quite simply, grotesque.
        "I've never seen this before," Natalie murmured.
        "Puts you off your lunch," Schanke commented.
        "I thought that was impossible," Nick said with a faint smile that
took some of the sting out of the remark.
        "It must have taken some effort to get her up there in the first
place," Natalie muttered absently, watching the other officers
struggle to carefully remove the body from the scaffolding and get her
down.
        "Detectives!"
        The call brought both Nick and Schanke spinning round. An
attractive female officer was crouched over something in the half-
grass (too muddy for grass, not muddy enough for slime) by the
riverbank. The two men crossed over to her and saw she was looking at
a black handbag, a woman's handbag.
        "Don't touch it," Schanke said automatically.
        "Of course not, sir," the woman said stiffly, sounding offended.
Schanke grinned at her and she relaxed a little.
        "Nice one," he said. "Go and get some of the forensics people."
        "Yes, sir."
        As the woman moved off, Schanke caught movement in the corner of
his eye. Nick was bending down, examining the handbag. "Don't *you*
touch it," he warned. "You ought to know better."
        "Very funny, Schanke," Nick said, not sounding, Schanke thought,
much amused by his flash of wit. His partner was frowning.
        "What's wrong?" Schanke asked. "It's evidence, right?"
        "It's planted evidence," Nick corrected.
        "Planted? Oh, right, and how do you know that?"
        Nick shrugged as he rose. "Well, if it's not planted, it's
suspicious at the very least. Firstly, if the murdered woman dropped
it or it fell from her as she was being carried towards the bridge,
it's too far to the right. The killers would have to be virtually
walking in the river. Secondly, we're obviously supposed to believe
that it was casually dropped; that's why the fastenings are open. Yet
none of the contents have spilled out." Crouching down again and using
a pencil from his jacket pocket, Nick lifted the edge of the handbag
slightly, just enough to show Schanke all the bag's contents; they
were still almost exactly as they should be.
        "So you're saying this was put there deliberately? Why?"
        Nick shrugged. "To throw us off the scent?"
        "What *are* you two doing?" Natalie peered over Schanke's shoulder,
then skirted round him and picked up the handbag.
        "DON'T!!" the two men shouted automatically.
        Natalie frowned at them. "Why were you examining my handbag?"
        Schanke blinked.
        Nick began to grin.
        "I only put it down here for while I was examining the body,"
Natalie continued, oblivious. She struggled with the catch for a
moment, then snapped it shut. "It keeps springing open. I need a new
one." She tossed it to Schanke, who just about caught it. "Hold on to
it for me, will you?"
        Nick's grin widened even more as she strolled back to where the
corpse was being brought ashore. Schanke looked down at the handbag,
then at Nick, then the handbag again. "Where's that woman?" he
demanded aloud, stalking off.
        Nick turned and crossed to the body. Natalie was crouched by it
now, showing no signs of distaste or revulsion as she went through the
usual routine procedures.
        "Guesses?" he inquired.
        "She's dead."
        "Funny girl."
        Natalie chuckled. "First guess is suffocation."
        "Suffocation!" Nick stared at the gory throat wound.
        "Yep." With a biro, the pathologist indicated the dead woman's
mouth and nostrils. "See these are clogged up? The way her throat was
slit, the blood poured over her face and suffocated her. She'd have
died from the throat wound anyway, a little later. This was quicker
but a lot more painful."
        Nick made a sound which could have been a snarl. Natalie looked up
at him over her shoulder. "Something wrong?"
        "Murder's always wrong."
        "And you just evaded my question." She looked at him keenly.
"You've seen this style of death before, haven't you?"
        Nick nodded. "Unfortunately."
 
               +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
 
BAJOR.
2370, OLD CALENDAR.
 
Odo saw him while he was still a good hundred fifty feet away, but
then Odo had been looking. While the clothing differed, the style was
fundamentally the same; dark but well-chosen, smoothly integrating
with most fashions. Physically, he looked no different. Odo stepped
out and stalked towards him.
        "Hello, Nick Knight," he said aloud as he reached him.
        Knight spun and looked at him. "Hello, Odo."
        "You don't seem surprised," Odo observed.
        "Should I be? I never imagined you'd leave this station while there
was work to be done here. And by the looks of things you've still got
your work cut out for you."
        Odo bristled. "Are you criticising my achievements?"
        "I'm complimenting you on the efforts made...so far," Nick said
diplomatically. He made an expression of polite interest. "Shouldn't
you be looking for Commander Sisko?"
        Odo barred his way as he tried to head off. "Not so fast, Nick
Knight. I have a few questions to ask you."
        "As do I," a female voice purred in an accent Odo's memory couldn't
identify for him. The effect on Nick was almost electric; he spun and
looked upwards. So did Odo.
        "After all," continued Janette, "it's been *such* a long time since
we saw one another."
=========================================================================

TORONTO.
1994.
 
        "The death occurred some time in the early hours of the night,"
Natalie said. "I guess that confirms it."
        Nick nodded absently, still staring at the yellowing document in
his hand. It was crinkled and stained with the ravages of time, but
still perfectly readable. "It couldn't have been anyone else other
than a vampire," he said slowly. "And it had to be one who was alive
in the last century."
        Natalie peered over his shoulder at the document. "Metropolitan
Police?" she read aloud. "That's London, right?"
        "Right. The 1850s, just before the Crimean War. I was at a theatre
performance when a chorus girl was discovered backstage. She'd been
hung from the rafters and killed in just the same way. Suffocation
with her own blood."
        Natalie looked down at her dinner, wrinkled her nose, and then
pushed it aside. "Sometimes even pathologists get squeamish," she
muttered. Then she decided she was too hungry to leave the dinner and
began to eat again. "And then?"
        Nick waved the document at her. "This report tells it all. Three
more girls were murdered in similar ways before it was stopped."
        "But who *was* it?"
 
               +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
 
BAJOR.
2370, OLD CALENDAR.
 
        "Why do you want to know who she is?" Nick countered as Janette
descended a flight of steps towards the lower area of the Promenade
and made her way to their side. Odo, who had asked the question,
glared at him suspiciously.
        "Ah, Nicolas," Janette purred softly as she reached them. She
glanced in Odo's direction and frowned. "You should try surgery, you
know. Especially for the ears."
        "Odo, meet Janette," Nick said quickly. "Janette, this is Odo,
DS9's security chief."
        The change Janette underwent was remarkable. From being slightly
disgusted she became marvellously polite. "Oh. *Do* forgive my earlier
rudeness, please. I'm always much more polite to people with
authority."
        "Is this a friend of yours, Knight?" Odo demanded gruffly.
        "An acquaintance, yes," Nick agreed.
        "Oh good. You'll have company in the cells."
        "Cells?" Janette looked at Nick. "Nicolas, what have you been up to
in the past half-century?"
        "This and that," he said.
        "Would you mind telling me?" Odo asked sarcastically, folding his
arms and gazing at them. Nick sighed. This was going to take some time
to explain.
 
 
Kira frowned. "You arrested him," she repeated.
        *"It seemed a good idea at the time,"* Odo responded over the
communicator. *"No charge, just a holding for seventy-two hours. He
had a lady friend with him, this time. Name of Janette. Major, right
now we don't need any more problems than we already have with Sisko
missing."*
        "Understood," Kira agreed reluctantly. "Keep an eye on both of
them, though, Odo."
        The security chief didn't even bother to reply. *"Odo out."*
        "There may be a way to scan for Commander Sisko," Dax said
suddenly, looking up and catching the major's eye.
        Kira frowned. "He doesn't have his combadge."
        "True," Dax nodded, "but he always has the same DNA. Doctor Bashir
will have the commander's DNA structure on record. We can scan every
single warm body on the space station and check."
        "How long?"
        Dax frowned. "It depends on the station's current population. I
would say anything from four to eight hours."
        "Get started," Kira ordered. She paused for a moment, then came to
a decision. "I'm going down to the holding cells. Page me the moment
you find anything."
        "Of course," Dax nodded.
 
 
Quark blinked.
        "Hello," he said uncertainly.
        It wasn't the entrance of a customer into the bar which was making
the Ferengi barkeep so uncertain. His normal reaction to any new entrant who
hadn't been there before was to resemble a whirlwind of arms and legs as he
guided them to a table, got them drinks, gave them a brief life history of
himself and his family, and finally made sure they were aware that at least
one holosuite upstairs could be used for dubious pleasures of whatever
nature they chose.
        This time, Quark doubted his visitor was in search of dubious
pleasures. Which was a shame, because once or twice he'd considered
just that sort of pleasure with Keiko O'Brien. For a human, she was
definitely attractive. Good enough to -
        "Quark," Keiko said in her no-nonsense tone, "where's Nog?"
        Quark made a *gulp* sound. "Who?" he offered weakly.
        Keiko leaned on the bar. Thoughts of pleasures, dubious or
otherwise, fled from Quark's mind. His admiration of O'Brien went up a
notch as he considered what it must be like to face up to an angry
Keiko more than once a week.
        "I. Am looking. For Nog," Keiko said through clenched teeth.
"Give."
        Quark hesitated. "What's it worth?" he asked hopefully. He couldn't
give in without a fight; that would threaten every principle he didn't
stand for.
        "Your existence," Keiko offered.
        Quark gave in. "Good enough." He waved to where Nog's small shape
was just descending the staircase. Nog yelped in alarm as he saw Keiko
striding towards him and scampered back upwards towards the
holosuites, obviously hoping to hide in one.
        "Lock the holosuites!" Keiko commanded over her shoulder as she
started up the staircase. Quark sighed and did so as her feet reached
the gallery.
        Nog looked around wildly and then flipped up a grating which
covered one of the network of conduits running around the space
station's skeletal structure. Keiko dived towards him just as his feet
vanished into the darkness. "Nog!" she called after him. "Nog, you
can't hide forever! I want that homework file!"
        "When my ears fall off!" was the reply that drifted back up the
conduit towards Keiko.
        "Nog - "
        The yell of agony made her flinch backwards, away from the conduit
to lose her balance and sit down suddenly on the gallery. Nog's scream
was heard by the patrons of the bar, and several of them glanced up in
her direction. Quark looked worried.
        "Quark, call for help!" Keiko shouted down. "I think Nog's injured
himself!"
        As the bartender turned to a communicator, for once behaving
without question, Keiko reluctantly bent down and climbed into the
narrow conduit. She scraped her forearm almost immediately and
muttered angrily as she felt blood dribble down her hand. Reluctantly,
because Nog might need to be rescued, she crawled onwards.
        After about ten feet, the conduit suddenly widened and she realised
she was able to rise to her knees. They were in a junction port, an
area where several of the station's systems converged for easy
maintenance. Lying in a pathetically small huddle in one corner was
the motionless Ferengi boy.
        "Nog?" Keiko asked uncertainly. She started to move across towards
him.
        LaCroix dropped down on her from above.
 
               +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
 
TORONTO.
1994.
 
        "Got an ID on the dead woman," Schanke announced as he came back
fron the canteen, absently wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "Name of
Marla Hamilton-Hazeley."
        "Hamilton-Hazeley?" Nick repeated. "I know - I've heard of them."
        "Yeah, the Hamilton-Hazeleys  have been pretty big for some time,"
Schanke nodded. "Funny name though."
        "I guess you just have to put up with what you're born with,"
Natalie remarked, perching herself on the edge of Nick and Schanke's
double desk.
        "Bored?" the two men asked her simultaneously.
        Natalie frowned. "Are you telling me I only come up here when I'm
bored?"
        "They live on the outskirts of the city," Schanke continued.
"Mother, father, three daughters. Our victim was the middle one. The
oldest is married. Youngest still lives with the family, like Marla
did before her acrobatics act tonight."
        "What did they have for breakfast this morning?" Nick asked,
straight-faced.
        "I don't know, they don't put these things in - " Schanke caught
himself and glared at Nick. "Listen, buddy, one day you'll be grateful
for all the information they put in these reports. Sometimes you can
pick the really vital stuff up just by reading carefully."
        "And miss something even more important by not lifting your nose
from the paper," Nick pointed out. "Alright, we'd better call on the
family and break the news to them."
        Schanke held up a hand. "I just got to go to the john first. Back
in a sec."
        As he started to move away, Natalie leaned over to Nick. "What are
you going to, then?"
        Nick looked at her innocently. "About what?"
        She shot off a frown in his direction. "You said there was a mad
vampire who killed women like this."
        "Gabriel. Yes."
        "And then he died."
        "Disappeared," Nick corrected. "Nobody ever knew how or why. They
just knew the killings stopped."
        "And now they've started again," Natalie nodded. "There must be
something you can do, Nick. Before some other poor girl finds herself
choking to death on her own blood."
        Nick frowned. "There's one major problem. Gabriel has a big
advantage over the rest of us."
        "What's that?"
        "He can move around in daylight."
 
               +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
 
BAJOR.
2370, OLD CALENDAR.
 
Kira tapped her foot absently as she waited for the turbolift to carry
her down to the Promenade. Several things were happening, each one of
them much too fast for her to think about. Nick Knight had turned up
out of nowhere, looking no older than he had twenty years ago, just as
Sisko had gone missing. Odo was now reporting a sudden rise in the
rate of mysterious deaths.
        The doors swished open, cutting off her thoughts with the sudden
flood of noise from the Promenade. The major stepped out of the
turbolift and pushed her way through the crowd, noting that it must be
time for some kind of special sale as people were beginning to build
up on the upper and lower levels.
        She reached the cells at the same time as Odo, who was coming from
the opposite direction. The security chief grimaced at her. "It's at
times like these I start to dream about changing into an extra docking
pylon and helping DS9 that way."
        Kira grinned. "Can I see Knight and his friend, Constable?"
        Odo grunted. "I - "
        "Me too, please," a female voice said. Kira and Odo both turned,
the latter getting exceedingly tired of continuously meeting Nick
Knight's female friends. This one had chestnut-brown hair and an open
face with a friendly smile, but there was the same hint of agelessness
about her as there was for Knight and the woman Janette.
        "I'm a friend of his," said Natalie.


BAJOR
2370, OLD CALENDAR.
 
        "If there is one thing I hate it's dungeons," mused Janette lightly,
casually trailing one finger over the shivery blue forcefield blocking
the entrance to the holding cell. "Somehow they never change, no matter
what century we live in. A dark room at the bottom of a castle...a
brightly-lit animal cage on a space station."
        She turned round and looked across at Nick. "It's still..captivity."
        Nick looked up. "Are you planning a jailbreak, Janette?"
        "I hope not," said a voice that sounded like the owner had been
chewing rocks. Odo crossed over to their cell and peered at them
suspiciously, looking faintly myopic. "I'd have to spend time catching
you all over again. I *hate* wasting my time."
        "Catching us, mon cher?" Janette laughed lightly. "You could try."
        "Odo," Nick intervened hastily, "what are we being held here for?
For making Commander Sisko disappear? You've got no evidence to hold us
and you know it."
        "You're being held," Kira said, moving into view, "because you are
the ones holding out on us, Nick. Why haven't you aged? Why are you
here?"
        Janette looked round to Nick. "Good questions," she said.
        "In strict order of asking; skin cleanser and a holiday," Nick
answered briskly. He ignored Odo's sudden snarl of anger. "Look. If you've
got any evidence, any evidence at all, then you might be allowed to hold us.
But you haven't, otherwise you'd have charged us by now.  It's just Odo's
natural instinct to lock up anything and everything that isn't dead."
        "Or undead," Janette added with an eerie smile.
        Her eyes locked onto Kira's.
        Kira shuddered, despite herself. She blinked. "Yes, well. Let them
out."
        "Major?" Odo snarled.
        "Do it, Odo," she said tiredly. "Nick's right."
        Odo thumped the control on the side of the holding cell with more
venom than was necessary. The forcefield dissipated, and Nick and
Janette stepped out. Both were taller than Kira and Odo, making the
latter two feel slightly disadvantaged. Well, making Kira feel
disadvantaged anyway.
        "If I find out you're involved in this business - " Odo began.
        "You'll stamp on his toes?"
        Nick swung round. Relief showed on his face. "Hello, Nat."
        "Hi," she said brightly. "Long time no see. What's all this about
Calissen?"
        "I hate to interrupt the reunion," Kira said, doing just that, "but
can you kindly tell me one thing? Do you know how we can find the
commander or not?"
        Nick shrugged. "He may not be on DS9 any more."
        Kira stared.
 
                +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
 
TORONTO.
1994.
 
        "But how can a vampire move around in daylight?"
        Nick sighed and leaned back against the sofa. "Come on, Nat, think
about it. Let's take it for granted that vampirism is like a kind of
virus. Very strong, almost impossible to kill."
        Natalie nodded grimly. She knew that for herself, having tried
numerous experiments to cure Nick. "Alright."
        "Now think about influenza. Some people catch it worse than others,
don't they? Some people don't have all the symptoms, some do. Different
consitutions, different levels of immunity. Now, suppose someone was
brought across."
        Natalie could see his point; it wasn't exactly inconceivable. "And
because something was different in his mortal body, being brought
across affected him differently. The allergy to sunlight didn't take
hold."
        "It took hold," Nick corrected, "but to a very small degree. Gabriel
usually wears sunglasses, because his eyes are weak in sunlight. But
his skin doesn't burn, nothing like that."
        "I can see how it would be an advantage," Natalie said slowly.
        Nick stared into the fire. They were sitting in the front room of
his apartment. "Too much of an advantage," he said grimly.
        "But why kill people? And why in such a grotesque way?"
        For a moment, Natalie thought Nick hadn't heard her ask the
question. The expression on his face didn't change, but nonetheless she
saw some kind of shift in him. He sighed suddenly. "Because of me."
 
                +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
 
BAJOR.
2370, OLD CALENDAR.
 
        "I suppose you're going to ask me why I sent for you," Nick said as
he leaned on a railing and looked across DS9's Promenade.
        "Well, we could just follow you blindly," Natalie said, "but blind
people are never much use. Even blind vampires."
        "I think she means we would like an explanation, yes," Janette
purred idly, standing beside Nick. She was wearing real animal fur of
some description, a coat over close-fitting dark clothes which did
nothing to conceal the more attractive curves of her body.
        "Alright." Nick turned and faced them both. "You heard about what
happened to Calissen? It's happening here, on DS9."
 
 
        "What did he mean, not on DS9 any more?" Kira asked aloud, leaning
absently on Dax's console. "No ships have left the station, and there's
no other way to get off. Even travelling by transporter would have been
noticed becuase we'd have picked up the energy drain, right?"
        "Unless our computers had been reprogrammed not to notice it," Dax
said thoughtfully. "And reprogrammed not to notice they had been
reprogrammed, if you follow me."
        "I follow you," Bashir volunteered.
        "Thank you, doctor," Kira said sardonically, sounding, she thought
to herself, dangerously like Odo. "Dax, is there any way for you to
discover such reprogramming? Or, better still, to get a completely
reliable indication of whether or not anyone used the transporters?"
        O'Brien looked round. "Major, I can answer that. It's possible that
even if the computer has been reprogrammed, there would still be a
record in the equipment log."
        "Equipment log?"
        "Every piece of process-essential equipment in the station's
transporter systems has its own equipment log," Dax answered. "Each log
is a semi-automatic program that records how many times a piece of
equipment has been used. When that equipment's usage quota is reached,
it flags the engineering computer and the transporter automatically
goes offline until a replacement is made or the log is reset."
        "And the log can only be reset using my voiceprint," O'Brien added.
"I know I've not reset any logs. So they should record exactly how many
times the transporters have been used."
        "Check them," Kira ordered firmly. "I want to know the instant you
find anything significant." O'Brien nodded and turned back to his
console. "Dax, set a subroutine to keep track of Nick Knight, Janette,
and Natalie. I want to know if they go near any critical areas or do
anything else that may be relevant."
        "Understood."
        She nodded, satisfied. "Good. With any luck, we're actually getting
somewhere now."
        A communicator trilled. *"Doctor Bashir to medical unit now!!"*
        Bashir slapped his combadge. "On my way."
        As he sprinted for the turbolift, Kira crossed the operations room
to Sisko's office. "Page me if there's anything important, Dax," she
tossed over her shoulder as the doors closed behind her. Once alone,
she sat down at the commander's desk, hesitating for a moment. She
didn't realise how used she'd got to the big dark human form sitting
there.
        She shook herself out of her reverie and reached for the computer
terminal. Something Natalie had mentioned was bothering her. "Computer,"
she said aloud. "Access all data on the Federation colony of Calissen."
 
                +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
 
LONDON.
1852.
 
        "A nasty mess and no mistake," the inspector said, removing his hat
and scratching his balding head. He replaced his hat as a couple of
chorus girls passed him and his companion by, whispering anxiously to
themselves and shivering in their skimpy costumes. The constables up in
the rafters of the theatre gently paid out the ropes around the
motionless blood-covered body as the dead girl was lowered to the floor
of the stage.
        It was merciful that the body had not been discovered until the end
of the performance, and the audience had gone home. The thick velvet
red curtains had been closed by the time one of the stage hands had
casually glanced up and seen the gory sight. He had raised the alarm,
and the police had arrived on the scene as promptly as possible.
        Strictly speaking, there was no reason for Nicholas to be on the
scene. As far as the police knew, he was merely a friend of the
theatre's owner. It was his upper-class clothing and his obvious high
breeding that kept him from being escorted away.
        "Inspector," he said aloud, suddenly. "Have there been any other
deaths like this one?"
        McClintock, for such was the inspector's name, suddenly looked up at
him suspiciously. Evidently class deferral didn't extend as far as
sharing information in a crime investigation. "And why would you want
to know that, sir?"
        "Because it makes a difference in the crime," Nicholas said,
deliberately forging an air of knowledge. "If she was killed as part of
a string of similar murders, it means a serial killer. If not, then it
becomes a question of investigating her associates."
        "Are you trying to tell me to do my job, sir?" McClintock inquired,
leaning menacingly towards him.
        "Don't be so ridiculous, Inspector," Janette chided sharply from
behind the two men. As they turned, she dabbed briefly at the corner of
her left eye, as if wiping away tears. "Nicholas is trying to help you
solve this..terrible..crime. A girl murdered in my own theatre."
        "Tragic, ma'am," McClintock agreed uneasily, uncomfortable at seeing
what he thought to be a woman in distress. "If you'll excuse me, I have
to see to the investigation."
        He hurried off without waiting for Janette's acknowledgement. As
soon as he was gone, she stopped her pretence of feminine grief and
allowed the cold hard anger to show on her face. She turned to
Nicholas. "Do you see what has happened now?"
        "Not like you to be concerned over the death of a mortal," Nicholas
frowned.
        "*Who* he killed is not the point," Janette snarled harshly. "My
point is that he has done so. I warned you that you were unwise to
anger Gabriel."
        "So you did," Nicholas said shortly, as the body was being carried
away behind them. "That doesn't change the fact that I had to do what I
did. I would have thought you of all people would be in support of me,
this time."
        Janette took a deep breath. "He is mad, and a fool into the bargain,
Nicholas. He's also very dangerous. Don't you realise what you could be
risking by depriving him of that girl? By angering him?"
        "What is danger to a brave man like Nicholas?" said LaCroix from
behind them.
 
                +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
 
BAJOR.
2370, OLD CALENDAR.
 
It was approaching night cycle on DS9. Many of the ordinary shops had
closed down for the night, their owners activating protective
forcefields to make sure anyone with light fingers didn't try to steal
their stock. A couple of old and impoverished Bajorans set up camp
outside a currency trader's, opposite a small nightclub, and began
trying to beg off the occasional passersby who hurried off on their way
home.
        "Mrs O'Brien!" the husband said loudly as a slim figure passed from
shadow briefly into light. He nudged his wife. "Mrs O'Brien, you'll
help a couple of poor Bajorans, veterans of the Cardassian occupation,
I know you will. Won't you?"
        Keiko looked down at them, then turned her head aside.
        Thinking she wasn't going to respond, the man scrambled to his feet
and advanced. "Oh, please, Mrs - "
        She turned her head back. Her eyes were glowing green and her teeth
were pointed fangs.
        A hissing snarl spat from her mouth.


BAJOR
2370, OLD CALENDAR.
 
The grey man looked out over the silent Promenade. It was in the
middle of night cycle, and DS9's denizens had generally sought cover
out of a sense of fear; the atmosphere of edgy chaos which normally
prevailed on the station had changed to an unnaturally silent peace at
night. The grey man, Gabriel, smiled; night had become his dominion on
DS9, just as with Calissen. His empire was expanding.
        Footsteps echoed suddenly through the Promenade, and Gabriel
tilted his gaze downwards. A lone woman, Bajoran was staggering
dazedly along, not looking where she was going off. She barely avoided
crashing into a bulkhead, then veered across to the other side of the
deck, her hands close to her neck as if warding off evil.
        A dark shape flew out of the darkness and dropped to the ground
beside the Bajoran woman. A choked scream was cut off as the vampire
sank her teeth into the woman's throat, starting to feed. Gabriel felt
his own fangs grow out as anger built inside him; there were others on
the station, more of his kind.
        More footsteps. A man emerged from the shadows at the side of the
Promenade and, ignoring the feeding Janette, looked up in Gabriel's
direction, obviously aware that the grey man was there. The faint glow
from a lamp further down reflected off blond hair.
        "I know you're there, Gabriel," said Nick Knight.
 
 
        "Got it!"
        Kira looked up tiredly. "Got *what*, Chief?"
        "Got where Commander Sisko's gone, that's what." O'Brien had a
big grin on his face and the words were tumbling out of his mouth
almost too fast to be understood. "Most of the equipment logs showed
evidence of tampering, but there was one log our kidnapper didn't know
about. The control feed between the transporter console here and the
pad over there." He nodded to the transporter pad halfway across the
ops room.
        Kira frowned. Maybe O'Brien had been working too hard, maybe they
all had. "Chief, it's late. Are you telling me Commander Sisko was
beamed out from that pad over there? Without us seeing him?"
        O'Brien shook his head. "No. I got some upgrades from Federation
Central through last week. That transporter's the only one on the
station which can manage point-to-point beaming as well as pad-to-
point, right? All the kidnapper needed to do was bypass the
authorisation code from this console and then use the transporter
console to beam the Commander right out of the office."
        "To..." Kira prompted.
        O'Brien's fingers danced over the console. "To a location on the
lower third pylon. And at the time he went missing there was a
freighter docked there."
        "Bajoran?"
        "Federation. Destination..." O'Brien frowned. "A Federation
colony not far from DS9. Calissen."
        Later on, Kira would come to the conclusion that the thirty-six
hours she'd been going without sleep were a reason for her not making
the connection immediately. Instead, she nodded and was about to give
Dax another order when the metaphorical lightbulb above her head
blazed with radiance.
        "Calissen," she said thoughtfully. Then she slapped her combadge
with slightly more violence than was necessary, making her wince
absently. "Kira to Odo."
        *"Odo."*
        "Constable, you can stop searching for the Commander. He's long
since left the station on a freighter heading for Calissen." Kira
waited expectantly.
        *"I see."*
        Kira looked disappointed. "Odo, you surely realise who else has
been talking about Calissen?"
        *"It seems to be a popular conversational subject right now,"*
Odo observed drily. *"I'll attend to the matter, Major."*
        The channel closed before Kira could say anything else, but she
didn't bother re-opening it. She had someone else to speak to now, and
a reason to do so. She opened a civilian channel. "This is Major Kira
calling Nick Knight. Please report to the ops room. Now."
        The deep-throated hum of the turbolift made her spin round,
thinking in momentary shock that it was Nick coming to the operations
room at that moment. She relaxed as two heads came into view, one
dark-haired, one fairer and unfamiliar.
        "Keiko?" O'Brien frowned. "What are you doing here?"
        His wife didn't look at him as she stepped out of the turbolift
and to one side. The stranger accompanying her joined her on the deck
and surveyed the operations room thoughtfully. "Yes, this will do," he
said in satisfaction.
        "Keiko?" O'Brien repeated. "What are you doing here, love?"
        "More to the point," Kira observed, "who are you?"
        The stranger accompanying Keiko looked down at her; for a moment,
his eyes burned. Then he smiled, almost pleasantly. "I'm LaCroix."
        "Keiko, what's wrong with you?" O'Brien emerged from behind his
console and started towards his wife, hand outstretched as if to reach
out and shake the strangeness out of her. As he got within three feet
of him, she turned towards him, her eyes a glowing green. Her mouth
opened in an animalistic snarl, revealing her vampire fangs.
        "Jesus!" O'Brien flinched backwards, tripped, and almost fell
over a console before regaining his balance. The corners of Keiko's
mouth twisted upwards in a kind of dangerous amusement.
        "I wouldn't get too close," LaCroix observed. He began to circle
the upper gallery of the operations room, pausing as he passed each
console as if reading the displays. Every single crew member there
turned to follow him as he walked around, dominating the room with his
presence.
        Kira struggled to regain the initiative. "Don't you think you
should - "
        "Tell you what's going on?" LaCroix interrupted, anticipating her
question. A smile flickered across his face. "Oh yes. A fireside chat
for all of us. Why not?"
        "What have you done to my wife?" O'Brien demanded.
        "Brought her across."
        The new voice brought Kira spinning round. She didn't see the
triumphant expression on the face of LaCroix, but she heard the
almost-delight in his voice.
        "Nicholas," he said, spreading his arms wide. "Welcome to Deep
Space Nine."
 
 
Natalie could feel the wind stirring her hair as she soared up the
empty turbolift shaft. She passed closed pairs of doors occasionally,
but slowed at none of them; the doors she wanted were much further up
the station, and flying through the turbolift shaft was the quickest
way to get there. The wind blew in her uplifted face and down the gaps
in her tight-fitting dark clothing, ruffling the long coat she had
chosen to wear - something of an archaism, but Natalie retained a
special affection for the clothing of the twentieth century.
        She slowed her pace suddenly as the particular pair of doors she
was seeking loomed up out of the unlit shaft. Hovering in mid-air,
Natalie pulled the doors apart with barely a grimace at any sort of
physical effort and floated through them into the level beyond, a
low-ceiinged corridor. She sank to the deck floor and began to walk
normally, her eyes losing the green glow that marked her out as beyond
human.
        Walking rapidly along the corridor, Natalie's thoughts wavered
beyond DS9. She had been debating with a colleague at the university
in England when Nick's message arrived. Natalie had cheated and
produced an artefact from her own collection to prove her case. There
were advantages, when you are a professor who teaches twentieth-
century history, to having lived in that century. She had hopped on a
commercial cruiser and come straight to DS9 by paying an exorbitant
fee to the captain, an Orion. As usual. They were always Orion.
        Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted as she reached an
intersection. Natalie paused, considered, and then went down the
left-hand corridor. As she walked, memories returned. Memories of a
particular day. Her transition.
 
               +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
 
TORONTO.
1999.
 
        "It's starting again," Nick observed.
        The body was hung from a flagpole, swinging grotesquely in the
breeze that blew across the garden of the American ambassador's
residence. The blood that covered the woman's face looked almost black
at three o'clock in the morning. Beside him, Schanke grunted absently
and scratched his ear with a pencil.
        "Looks to me like this nut doesn't know when to quit," he said,
looking down at the three-and-a-half inch disc in his hand. Schanke
pushed it into the drive of the laptop computer resting on the car
bonnet and called up the files he wanted. "Five murders in 1994, and
now he's starting again. This time we gotta catch him."
        "We'll try," Nick said grimly.
        "Yeah." Schanke cursed suddenly.
        Nick turned round. "Something wrong?"
        "Yeah, my back." Schanke put a hand at the base of his spine and
pressed sharply, straightening up. "One of these days I'm going to get
round to seeing a doctor about it. I'm sure I'm dying."
        "Might be a good idea."
        "Dying?"
        "Seeing a doctor."
        "Oh." Schanke shook his head. "Nah. I don't want to be invalided
out of the force before I'm sixty-five."
        "You've only got backache," Nick said, "not terminal cancer. It's
called age, Schanke."
        "Yeah." Schanke shot an envious glance at his partner, who seemed
to have aged hardly any since they first met. "You know, you should
take up a career in advertising. Any face cream company'd pay you a
fortune."
        Nick fluttered his eyelashes. "It's my clean lifestyle."
        Schanke chuckled, then yelped. "Ow! That's hot!"
        "It's only lukewarm," Natalie said tolerantly. "Sorry. I'd rather
not drink my coffee off your sleeve. It was an accident."
        "They always say that," Schanke grumbled, brushing ineffectively
at the dark stain on the sleeve of his trenchcoat. "Looks to me like a
conspiracy."
        Natalie chuckled and sipped her coffee, watching as the woman's
body was lowered to the ground. "Here we go again."
        "We hope not," Schanke said.
        "Yes, well - " Natalie started to say.
        "Hey there!"
        They turned as one as the two young men sauntered idly across the
grass, one of them staring at the body of the dead woman as she was
lowered from the flagpole, the other grinning at them.
        "Pissheads," a police officer near Nick groaned.
        "Doin' your job, lads?" one of the young men asked. He had a
British accent, but the words were slurred as a result of the alcohol
he and his friend had obviously been imbibing. "Nice one."
        "Who let these two geeks in?" Schanke demanded disgustedly,
starting to turn away. "Someone get rid of them." He looked back at
the two youths. "This is a crime scene, guys, you know? Just go and
bother someone else."
        "Who's he calling a geek?" the second youth wanted to know.
        "Come on, lads," a female officer suggested, moving forward,
"let's get you back onto the streets, okay?"
        "Calling us geeks!" the second youth spat angrily, his mood
changing with drink-inspired speed. His hands delved into his pockets,
reaching for the obvious.
        Nick's eyes narrowed and he started to move forward.
        The youths, the first one following the second's lead, pulled the
guns from their pockets. Two each.
        The guns roared.
        The policewoman was the first to fall, a spray of blood
fountaining from the back of her head as a neat entry hole appeared in
her forehead. She had time to scream once before the damage to her
brain killed her and she collapsed. The others at the crime scene
started to turn.
        Bullets screamed through the air towards them. Nick's eyes could
see them, tiny little packages of death racing through the molecules
making tiny whistling noises that only he could hear.
        And he hesitated.
        Natalie's scream split the night air. Nick barely felt the bullet
which tore through his left lung, enough to paralyse or kill a human,
barely enough to touch a vampire who was furious. His teeth
lengthened, his eyes glowed, and he let out an inhuman sound of fury
as he whirled and leapt. He covered thirty feet in one bound, catching
both youths in one go and twisting his grip sharply. Two cracks echoed
in the night as their necks snapped.
        Nick stopped. With an effort he controlled the forces stirring
within him, quelled the bloodlust. He turned and sprinted back to the
two huddled shapes near the car. Nobody else was moving, they were all
in shock.
        Nick dropped to his knees. Blood was pouring from the ragged
wound in Natalie's throat. He could hear rasping sounds from her
oesophagus as she struggled to breathe, her lungs filling with blood
from the gory wound. Her eyes flickered and half-focussed on him, then
hazed again.
        "Don't leave," Nick managed to whisper aloud, "don't leave."
        He turned his head. Schanke was lying motionless against the car,
his chest not lifting nor falling. Nick felt the tears cold against
his face, and touched them in wonderment. For the first time in
centuries, he was able to cry.
        The achievement gave him no pride. He crouched down beside
Natalie and lifted her in his arms. He couldn't let both of them leave
him at once.
        He sprang upwards and disappeared into the night sky.
        Schanke's empty eyes stared after him.

BAJOR.
2370, OLD CALENDAR.
 
        If not for her preternatural senses, Natalie would never have
heard the soft whispering which alerted her to the presence of the
person she was seeking. She paused in her long rapid strides,
listening attentively until she could pinpoint the whispering's
location. There; coming from ahead, up on the right. With a satisfied
nod, she continued forwards until she reached a bundle of rags
sandwiched between a Tellurian food container and a collection of
Bajoran religious books.
        Natalie stood looking down for a moment, then nudged the bundle
with her foot. "Hello?"
        The whispering stopped. The rags shook, wobbled, and then a
tousled head emerged, looking up in bewilderment which changed to fear
as he saw her. "You're one of them," the vagrant stated.
        "That's right," Natalie nodded, "and you can tell, can't you?"
        He nodded. "Always could."
        "I know. That's why I came looking for you." She knelt down,
ignoring his flinching in fear. "Don't worry, I'm not interested in
feeding on you. I'm interested in your abilities. This space station
is under threat, just like the colony of Calissen."
        He nodded vigorously. "Tried to tell Odo, I did, but nobody
believed me." A hand strayed to a black burn mark on his face. "Can't
think properly now...got mugged, hit a field accelerator."
        Natalie tried to restrain her worry. "But you can think clearly
enough to recognise people like us, can't you? Those of us who are
beyond human?"
        "I..I think," he said hesitantly.
        "Don't just *think*," Natalie interrupted. "Can you or not?"
        Cruickshank blinked at her uncertainly.
 
 
        "I've been here just as long as you have," Nick said defiantly,
looking across DS9's operations room at LaCroix. "I judge from her you
know what's happening?" He gestured to Keiko O'Brien, who was standing
motionless waiting for LaCroix's command.
        "Ah, the wonderful Gabriel," LaCroix agreed. "A powerful man, but
with no sense of how to do things."
        "Excuse me," Kira said, getting tired of this, "but do you think
mere mortals can interrupt here?"
        LaCroix considered the question seriously. "No."
        "Yes," Nick said at exactly the same time.
        They glared at each other, and Kira seized the opportunity to
insert a question. "What's going on here? Who are you people and why
have you - " She pointed at Nick " - not aged in the slightest?"
        "That's something of a secret," Nick said reluctantly, after a
glance across at LaCroix. "Just call us the Illuminati."
        LaCroix laughed. "What a lovely analogy."
        The turbolift hummed and descended away from the operations room,
apparently on its way to pick someone up. Nick turned away briefly,
reacting to the sound, when he looked back, LaCroix had moved over to
stand near the entrance to Sisko's office.
        "Carry on," Kira prompted menacingly, her hand straying
dangerously near to her phaser.
        "Gabriel is one of our people," Nick said quickly. "He and some
friends of his have taken over Calissen and are now trying to do the
same with DS9."
        "Why?" O'Brien demanded, still casting anxious glances in his
wife's direction. "What does he want?"
        "Power," Nick said simply. "What does anyone want?"
        "And how is he doing this?" Kira asked. "We've seen no evidence
of anybody taking anything over. Is this just another ruse to try and
distract us? I checked the computer on Calissen. It's functioning just
as normal."
        "Of course it is," Nick nodded. "But probe deeper and you'll find
hints, rumours of something darker. Scratch the surface and there are
unpleasant things crawling around underneath. I imagine Calissen has
just acquired new bosses with the majority of the people there not
knowing a thing about it."
        "Covert invasion," Dax noted. "Theoretically possible, but
extremely difficult to achieve effectively without someone being aware
of the changes."
        "Why?" Nick queried. "Look at this woman here." He gestured
towards Keiko. "Eyes and fangs, yes, but we learn to conceal these
when we have to. What else sets us apart? Almost nothing."
        "Eyes and fangs..." O'Brien said reflectively.
        "Continue, Nicholas," LaCroix invited in approving tones. "You're
almost there. One more stage."
        Nick glared at him. "Our own codes forbid us to tell you anything
of who or what we are. I can only ask you to trust that you won't stop
Gabriel taking over DS9 without our help. At this moment he'll be
building an army on the station, either through ships docked here or
on the station itself."
        "What sort of army?"
        "The kind that kills."
 
               +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
 
TORONTO.
1999.
 
Nick stood on top of the skyscraper overlooking the city that had been
his home for so long. A city that he could remember being founded,
could remember when Canada itself was colonised by the British Empire
in the previous century. A century responsible for a number of things,
such as the industrial revolution, the Empire (somehow, he always gave
the British one a capital E and the others a small one), emancipation
of serfs, and Gabriel. There were times when Nick believed that only
the third of these was good, mostly times when he was feeling
depressed at having to leave things behind.
        Like now.
        One thing he'd learned was how to escape, how to abandon what had
been. There would undoubtedly be officers crawling over his home by
now, a fast response to the death of Schanke and the disappearance of
Natalie and himself. They would not think to look thirty-three storeys
above the city, and in daylight Janette could hide them.
        He felt her stir uncertainly.
        "I should be dead," Natalie said in a muffled voice, her head
hidden under the huge blanket he'd found from somewhere to wrap her in
as she recovered from the changes he had wrought inside her body.
        "Obviously not," Nick remarked.
        "Nick?" She threw back the blanket and stared up at his
silhouette in the night sky. His eyes were glowing green.
        She understood why she wasn't dead.
 
               +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
 
BAJOR.
2370, OLD CALENDAR.
 
        "Shall we explain a bit more?" LaCroix suggested, leaning on a
console lightly. "Gabriel has an obsessive hatred of what he is, what
all of us are."
        "Which is?" Kira suggested with deceptive casualness.
        LaCroix completely ignored her. "Thus his favourite method of
killing was to bring a woman over, thus damning her, and only then to
kill her in the most grotesque way possible. Then he could feed."
        "Remember camp 1637A, Kira?" Nick's voice said from behind her.
Kira spun round and stared up at him.
        "By the prophets," she murmured in shock.
 
               +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
 
BAJOR.
2350, OLD CALENDAR.
 
Kira ducked and the bone spanged off a rock behind her. The Cardassian
guard grunted in vague disappointment and moved on, not particularly
caring by all appearances. Kira was grateful he hadn't chosen to pay
her any more attention; this week alone, four Bajoran women had been
viciously raped. Three of them killed themselves not long after
learning they were pregnant.
        She moved on, crouched over, low and rapid, in the way she had
learned to do so after years and years surviving camps such as this
one, 1637A. Firelight reflected off the determination in her features
as she dropped to her stomach and squirmed under some primitive-
looking barbed wire the Cardassians had placed there as a deterrent to
anyone casually wandering too close to the caves. They had also
electrified the wire to enough of a strength to kill.
        Kira rose to her crouching run again and hurried over to the
caves. Camp 1637A was built at the base of a big rock formation on
Bajor's second continent, and the rock was so full of caves it came up
as a Swiss cheese on any seismo-geographical scanner. She chose one
cave she knew well, very well, and disappeared into its pitch-black
depths, slowing her pace now as she picked her way over rocks that
were strewn across the cave floor.
        Eventually she reached the inner chamber she was seeking, seeing
it a few seconds beforehand by the faint flicker of a carefully-
shielded phosphor lamp. She skirted a huge outcropping of rock and
stepped into the chamber. "I see you're awake."
        Nick looked up from a bottle he was holding in his hand. "Yes,
I'm awake." He took a drink from the bottle, which contained some kind
of dark red liquid.
        "What's that?" Kira asked curiously.
        "Just something I have to drink now and again to keep my spirits
up," Nick said evasively, stowing the bottle of synthesised blood away
in one of the three bags that contained all his possessions whilst he
was on Bajor.
        Kira dismissed the incident as unimportant. "I'm going to need
your help again. One of the rape victims this week, Calora."
        "Not her as well." Nick looked instantly concerned, obviously
believing Calora had taken the same escape route as the Cardassians'
other victims."
        "No, nothing like that," Kira shook her head. "It's just that she
can't take this place any more. Too many memories. She needs to get
away, to go somewhere else. Can you arrange it?"
        Nick considered this. He had spent the occasional night flying
Bajorans out of the Cardassian camps, by the simple expedient of
grabbing hold of them as he flew, insisting they were drugged during
the experience to preserve his secrets.
        "I'll try to," he said. For safety's sake he kept up a pretence
to Kira that he had a network of contacts who arranged this.
        "Good," she said, relieved. "Listen, there was another of those
murders you asked to know about. Over at the next camp this time,
1637B. It looks like whoever you're looking for has moved on to some
other location."
        "I'm not going to lose him this time," Nick muttered, half to
himself, half to Kira.
        "This Gabriel person you keep talking about?" The young woman
scrutinised him. "Is he human? Are you? I've never seen a real human
before."
        "We're not Bajoran," Nick agreed.
        Kira compressed her lips, then shrugged. "I suppose you have to
keep your secrets. We all do."
        "I suppose."
 
               +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
 
TORONTO.
1999.
 
The funeral was lengthy, and it took place in daylight, so they
couldn't attend it. But that night, over the grave of a brave
detective, two dark shapes stood a silent vigil.
 
               +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
 
BAJOR.
2370, OLD CALENDAR.
 
        "Then why my wife?" O'Brien demanded explosively.
        "Your wife?" LaCroix frowned at Keiko. "She never told me she was
married...ah well, I suppose I didn't ask."
        "Why bring her across?" Nick wanted to know.
        "But I didn't." LaCroix extracted a small vial from his pocket
and tossed it spinning end over end to Julian Bashir, who was standing
silently in the centre of the operations room, looking more than a
little lost. Bashir caught the vial, then dropped it.
        Fortunately, it bounced.
        "What is this?" he asked, holding it up.
        "An antidote," LaCroix informed him.
        "To vampirism?" Natalie asked, stepping into the operations room
with Cruickshank nervously hanging onto her arm. He whimpered
uncertainly at the sight of Nick and LaCroix.
        "To Green Eye," LaCroix said. "It's a designer drug I had made in
a small illegal chemical laboratory on Vulcan. All the appearances of
being one of us...none of the actual effects." He waved airily at
Keiko's motionless form. "She, and others like her, are temporary
satellites to my will. They have been searching the space station for
Gabriel."
        "Then she's not really a vam - one of us?" Nick hastily corrected
himself.
        LaCroix gave him a sardonic smile. "Would I ever want to replace
you in my affections, Nicholas?"


BAJOR.
2370, OLD CALENDAR.
 
The hold was dark and silent, reflecting the way DS9 seemed to have
slowly slid into non-operation without any of the crewmembers
noticing. Suddenly the darkness was pierced by a shaft of light and
the silence torn apart by the rumble of the main doors opening to
allow several people to enter. Foremost among them, Kira gripped her
phaser tightly and stared futilely into the blackness.
        "Can you see?" she asked Nick, standing behind her.
        "Yes. They're here alright." Nick could see the motionless shapes
huddled against the crates on the far side of the hold. "So are
several other people."
        Kira charged the phaser. "Bajoran? Human? Your kind?"
        Nick hesitated. "I'm not sure. Possibly."
        "More of them here," Cruickshank observed, his arm entwined in
Natalie's. She patted his hand reassuringly, then disengaged herself
and moved across to Nick.
        "Shouldn't we do this ourselves?" she asked. "I don't want to be
patronising, but this is a bit out of the major's league."
        "Is Commander Sisko in there?" Kira demanded.
        Nick shrugged. "Possibly. Cruickshank's led us to where Gabriel
has been hiding his chosen victims. I don't know if Sisko has been
shipped off the station yet or not."
        "Either way, Sisko is our responsibility," said a new voice
gruffly, as the lean shape of Odo strode into the hold, summoned by
Kira as they were on their way following Cruickshank. The security
chief scrutinised the darkness of the cargo hold beyond. "I should
have thought of these areas earlier, but it never occurred to me
anyone could get access." He glared at Nick as if it were the latter's
fault. "Do you know how much security there is on these holds?"
        "Not enough," Natalie observed flippantly.
        Odo gave her a disapproving glare, then turned to Kira. "Major,
the security teams are on their way. Two minutes."
        The doors slid shut in the hold, enveloping them in blackness.
 
 
LaCroix watched from his vantage point on the upper ring as Bashir
administered a few drops of the antidote from the vial to Keiko
O'Brien. The effect on the Asian woman was almost immediate; she
coughed, spluttered, and doubled over, dropping to her knees on the
cold metal floor of the operations room. Her husband shot an angry
glance upwards. "If this doesn't save her, I'll - "
        "Miles?" Keiko said weakly, looking up. The green was gone from
her eyes and her teeth were back to normal. "What am I doing here?"
        O'Brien said nothing, but his actions spoke volumes as he dropped
to his knees and hugged Keiko harder than he had done in a long time.
Bashir watched proudly, carefully corking the vial and stowing it in a
pocket ready for any future cases.
        Dax's console signalled suddenly for attention, and she turned
from watching the others to see what was wrong. A frown flicked across
her smooth almost flawless features. "Odd."
        Bashir turned. "Something wrong?"
        "There's a ship just come into sensor range. Approaching at warp
eight, destination DS9."
        "Time I was leaving," LaCroix murmured, inaudible to everyone in
the operations room. He started for the turbolift.
 
 
Nick could see Natalie, Kira, Odo, and Cruickshank in the darkness of
the cargo hold, all but the first of these looking both wary and
panicked in the pitch black.
        "Nat," he said aloud. "Get the others over to the doors. Try and
open them."
        "And you?" she demanded.
        "Guess."
        Nick turned away from the little group huddled near the entrance
and allowed the change to sweep over him, his eyes regaining their
cat-green glow and his teeth sharpening into fangs. With a little jump
he rose into the air until he could fly over the haphazard piles of
cargo, towards the motionless shapes at the far end of the hold, where
he knew the prey of Gabriel and his followers were being stored.
        He landed lightly on the balls of his feet, resumed his normal
walk until he came to the first body. When he rolled it over he found
it to be a middle-aged Andorian man, one of the shuttlecraft pilots
who had first brought him aboard DS9, what seemed like an age ago now.
Nick's finger traced the gory wound in the Andorian throat almost of
its own volition. He rose and moved on.
        The second and third bodies were Bajoran.
        The fourth was Commander Sisko.
        The big fit form was motionless, like the others, but when Nick
rolled him over onto his back he could see that Sisko was still
breathing, though shallowly and irregularly. Like the others, he had
been wounded, though this time the wound was much smaller and much
more careful, just enough to allow a vampire to feed and not let the
victim bleed to death. Nick hesitated, glancing at the five or so
other bodies that were ahead of him, then bent to pick Sisko up. The
commander was the most important man to retrieve right now.
        Things happened quickly after that.
        At the far end of the cargo hold, a faint cheer sounded from
someone. The big double doors that had mysteriously closed ground
slowly open again.
        A shape flew out of the darkness and hit Nick with a force that
sent him rolling across the ground.
 
               +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
 
LONDON.
1852.
 
The party was gentle, but in full swing by middle of the century
Victorian standards. Outside, it was a foggy cold evening; inside the
big Georgian house, men and women of varying ages were discussing
political and social events over suitably small drinks.
        Nicholas dropped out of the sky right in front of the main door
and adjusted his jacket and hair, both of which had been somewhat
ruffled in his flight. A second later there was a whooshing sound from
behind him and Janette stepped daintily forwards, patting briefly at
her neat (and expensive) hairstyle.
        "Ready, Nicolas?" she asked him. Without waiting for an answer
she moved up the steps and rang the bell. Nicholas followed and
reached the top of the steps just as the butler opened the door. He
smiled politely on seeing them and moved aside to allow them to enter.
        "Mr Nicholas Fairweather and Miss Janette Dupres," Nicholas
murmured in the butler's ear as he passed him. The butler nodded and
closed the front door as a footman took Nicholas and Janette's outer
garments from them.
        "If you'll come this way, sir?" the butler asked deferentially,
moving towards a pair of double doors. He opened them and announced
their names loudly as Nicholas and Janette entered the main room of
the gathering.
        "At last!" Their hostess detached herself from the company of
someone neither of them knew, and crossed over with her face wreathed
in smiles. "I thought the two of you would never come!"
        "Would we miss one of your parties, Raven?" Janette asked with an
equally pleased smile. "Please, credit us with intelligence enough to
know when a social event is likely to be pleasant and not just a
duty."
        "I think Janette is saying we would never miss one of your
gatherings," Nicholas added, feigning pain as Janette dug him
irritatedly in the ribs.
        Raven frowned a little. "But where is LaCroix? Not coming?"
        "He's just not the party type," Janette said with a light laugh.
        "I suppose not," Raven sighed, stroking one of the strands of the
lustrous tumbling black hair which gave her her name. "Still, I find
his company so..stimulating. It's a shame."
        "How many mortals are here tonight?" Janette asked, changing the
subject as she gazed over the people milling around.
        "Not many," Raven shrugged. "This is a party for our kind. Still,
one or two - oh, Gabriel!"
        She stepped aside and seized hold of a tall grey-haired man,
dressed in the clothing of a vicar. "Janette, Nicholas, I'd like you
to meet the Reverend Michael Gabriel. My current paramour."
        "Pleased to meet you," Gabriel said in a surprisingly deep voice,
shaking hands briefly with Nicholas and kissing Janette's hand. He
frowned at them curiously. "Are you..like Raven?"
        Nicholas looked down at Raven, who smiled. "He knows."
        "Yes, we are," Janette interposed, a curious expression on her
face as she looked at Gabriel. Nicholas wondered absently if that was
actually interest on Janette's face; she so rarely looked at other
men, after all.
        "And now our little gathering's complete," Raven said, starting
to entwine her arm in Gabriel's. He pulled himself free and hurt
registered on her face. "What - "
        Gabriel reached into a pocket and pulled out a whistle. He blew
into it, hard. The small band instantly stopped playing their music
and the assembled partygoers all stopped, turning to look in their
direction.
        The doors to the ballroom opened and other men of all ages and
sizes entered, carrying crosses and small vials of clear liquid that
could only be holy water. One of them almost immediately thrust his
cross at a woman, touching her just below the collarbone. Her scream
echoed in the quiet of the ballroom as the cross burned into the skin
above her breasts.
        "It is time to suffer for what you have become," Gabriel said
almost exultantly, looking from Nicholas to Janette to Raven. He
turned to the men who had entered. "Now!"
        Flames leapt up seemingly out of nowhere, specially set-up fuels
ignited in instants by lit matches. The vampires in the crowd, who
made up the majority, hissed and shouted in fear as they recoiled from
the flames and the men with the crosses, who were advancing rapidly on
them.
        "You're killing people!" Raven protested angrily, turning on
Gabriel, who looked at her scornfully.
        "Poor creature," he said. "I hope you're forgiven when you
finally die."
        "Time to leave," Janette murmured, her eyes beginning to glow
green as she opened her mouth to reveal her fangs.
        "There's no escape," Gabriel snapped.
        "Isn't there?" Janette hissed at him. She sprang upwards and
soared into the air, flying up past the chandelier and straight
through a small window in the roof barely big enough for a body to
pass through. Gabriel's mouth dropped him.
        "Go, Nicholas!" Raven insisted.
        Nicholas started to jump, but paused. "Aren't you - "
        "Go!"
        He hesitated, then shot upwards, hovering near the roof away from
the flames and crosses. Down below him, he saw Raven change, then
spring on the unprotected Gabriel. He shouted in pain as her fangs
pierced his neck, and Nicholas knew with a certainty that Raven was
bringing Gabriel across, in a final irony.
        Even as she fed off his blood and Gabriel went limp beneath her,
someone stepped forward and pressed a big metallic cross on her back.
Smoke exploded instantly from the folds of her dress and Raven threw
her head back with a scream of agony, her bloody fangs glinting in the
chandelier light. The man kept the cross pressed down, and flames
began to flicker up and down the vampire's body.
        Nicholas stopped watching, and flew out of the shattered window
instead. He could see Janette standing on a roof a short way away and
flew to join her.
        Neither of them said anything.
 
               +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
 
BAJOR.
2370, OLD CALENDAR.
 
Nick rolled with the force of the blow and came to his feet
immediately, staring at the thin grey form that had flown out of the
shadows of the hold and attacked him. "Gabriel," he said with cold
recognition.
        "Stay back, Knight," the grey man ordered. "Or you'll regret it,
I warn you of this."
        "You were always making empty threats." Nick started forward,
ready to attack the other vampire.
        Shimmering green energy overwhelmed Gabriel and he vanished.
        Nick stopped, stymied and shocked at the same time. He barely
heard the sound of someone landing out of the darkness to stand beside
him.
        "A transporter, mon ami," Janette observed.
        Nick nodded slowly. "An escape route. To where?"
 
 
        "It dropped out of warp right next to DS9," Dax reported, "then
went straight back into warp again without us getting a chance to find
out why it was there. It's leaving the Bajoran system right now."
        "Gabriel must have sent for it almost as soon as he realised we
were onto him," Natalie nodded. "I bet you a century's wages that
ship's going back to the Calissen system."
        "No bet," Nick said tersely, looking thoughtfully at the stellar
map on the console in front of him. "So Gabriel's failed to take
control of DS9, but he still has Calissen. This time, we can't afford
to let this linger. We have to go after him."

BAJOR.
2370, OLD CALENDAR.
 
Station Log, stardate 45301.5
        Major Kira recording.
        Commander Sisko has been rescued and is recovering in the medical
centre under the attentions of Doctor Bashir. The problem with
Calissen remains, and our visitors are preparing to depart to try and
solve that problem as well. Federation assistant is also being
despatched.
        In response to information I have received, DS9 is also sending
an update to the Federation Species Database. A very new and very
unusual race has been discovered.
        See Science Officer's Log for a full account.
 
        "Vampires," Kira said thoughtfully, looking into the glass she
was holding. She'd drunk the wine in it a long time ago. "We had
legends on Bajor about them as well. Creatures who stalked the night
and fed off our lifeblood."
        "Most of the worlds have vampire legends," Nick said. "It seems
that Earth is the only world where the vampires didn't die out, but
survived into the 24th century. Andor, Bajor, Vulcan - all these
worlds lost their vampires a long time ago. Earth didn't."
        "Nicolas." The voice brought both of them turning round sharply,
seeing Janette outlined in the doorway to Sisko's office. There was a
serious expression on her face. "Do you realise what you have done?"
        Nick nodded. "I've brought us out into the open. The whole
Federation now knows vampires exist."
        "To satisfy your own preferences, you would jeopardise our
existence?"
        Natalie appeared behind Janette. "The ship's ready to leave,
Nick, Janette. We have to go."
        Nick rose from his chair and looked down at Kira. "Enjoy the
station, Kira."
        "You have made a serious mistake," Janette said.
        "Possibly," Nick agreed.
        He left Sisko's office without looking back.
 
---------------------------------------------------------------------
 
This story ends here.
But the future remains undocumented...