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PERHAPS IT STARTS LIKE THIS. A man goes on a journey, to an island in the sky. He brings his son with him; and he also brings his sadness. It takes him time, but, surrounded by strange people, and their even stranger ideas, he learns many things. He grasps that he can put the past aside; he learns to live with it; he begins to hope for the future. And that is not all that he learns from the strangers around him. He finds, as well, that he can do things differently.

Or perhaps it starts later than that. A stranger comes to town, to the island in the sky. He brings suspicions with him, and so it does not take much time for him to grasp that he has been deceived. He leaves in anger, but it is not until later—not until far too late—that he realizes he has not seen everything. He has failed to see the full extent of the deception.

But perhaps it all started much earlier. A man goes on a journey. He has been cast out of his home, and now he is stranded on an island in the sky. He brings regrets with him, and scores as yet unsettled (and some not yet even made). He knows that the past cannot be wholly put aside, and he bides his time, and he watches, and he waits for his opportunity. And when he sees it, he grasps it with both hands.

And where does it start right now? A message is sent out, perhaps, summoning someone to a rendezvous, or giving someone her instructions. A message is received, instructing a path to be diverted, foretelling events to come. Slower than messages, ships set out, and pass; and, as they journey, other communications are sent, weaving between them, weaving them together. In time, it's hard to see how they're connected; like looking at a picture of old friends found in a drawer, it is hard to guess exactly where it is that they would go. But this is how it always starts. Some men go on a journey. Some strangers come to town.

What is it about a tuxedo?

Jadzia smiled as she saw Julian catch a glimpse of himself in the two-way mirror, stop, and smooth away some of the creases in the dark jacket. He started playing with the bow tie. His other hand was holding the gun.

"Is that a real one?" she said.

He looked down at the gun and then up at her. "Of course not."

"I meant, is that a real bow tie?"

"Well, of course it is!" He sounded piqued.

"Aren't the ready-made ones less trouble?"

"They are," he said, "but they don't look as good. Garak said that wearing a fake bow tie was like taking someone on a date to the Replimat. You might as well not bother."

"Oh, well," she murmured, turning away to gaze out beyond the mirror, "if Garak said so…"

Jadzia sighed and lifted up one aching foot, squeezed into a sparkling and thoroughly unreasonable shoe. On the other side of the glass, the banquet was well under way. Soft strains of some exquisite music floated round the hall, to the clatter of silver and the tinkle of crystal. A lavish, fabulous occasion, attended by lavish and fabulous people—politicians, diplomats, ambassadors, even the odd scion of some royal family tree here and there, very odd—and all of them upstaged by their surroundings. The hall was wide enough that there were rows of chandeliers hanging from the gilded ceiling and, beyond the huge table, in front of the long row of windows, a line of golden candlesticks, each almost as tall as a man and crowned in glass lamps. The light glanced and shimmered off every surface, seeming to fill the room with jewels. From where they were hiding, Jadzia couldn't even see the hall's most spectacular feature. Seventeen huge mirrors lined one wall, facing the long windows, and reflecting all the opulence back upon itself, duplicating it. And behind one of them, looking out through a piece of fake glass, stood Julian Bashir, Secret Agent, and his beautiful assistant, Jadzia Dax, waiting to make their entrance.

She switched feet. The other was hurting just as badly. So much for glamour.

"Julian," she whispered, "when are things going to start happening?"

"Sssh…"

"Are we going to be standing here much longer? My feet are killing me!"

Copyright © 2005 by Paramount Pictures