Khan Sing clones.

“Doctor! Lieutenant! You’re just in time! I’ve had a cancellation in holosuite two, it’s all yours. Will I load up your usual scenario or were you two looking for something more…stimulating…”

Quark dropped the vaguely lascivious grin as soon as he saw the look on Dax’s face. Hell, even Bashir looked menacing today.

“We’re not here for R&R, Quark” Dax said coldly.

“We need information” Bashir added quietly.

Quark began to nonchalantly wipe the bar in the age-old stance of a man who was about to give out sensitive information without looking like it to anyone who might be watching.

“Go on,” he said, almost too quiet to be heard.

“What do you know about a race called the Kaminoans?” Dax asked, leaning in.

“Kaminoans” Quark mused breezily, but Bashir noticed that his wiping had become faster, as if he was nervous. “Kaminoans…”

“Do you know them, Quark?” Bashir asked, carefully sliding a slip of latinum across the bar.

“Sure, I know of them,” the Ferengi said as the slip vanished like magic. “Their planet is around 12 parsecs from Ferenginar. Halfway between Clarus and Irtok. They keep to themselves. They’re cloners. Damn good ones.”

“Are they friendly?” Dax asked.

“Depends,” Quark said with a shrug.

“Oh, what?” said Bashir, irritably, sliding another slip of latinum.

“On how good your manners are. And how how much latinum you have.”

“Kaminoan Homeworld, this is the Federation Starship USS Rubicon, do you copy?” Dax said as the Runabout orbited a respectful distance from the blue, the almost entirely aquatic world below.

“Greetings Rubicon” a strangely accented but perfectly translated voice responded. “You were expected. Kamino welcomes you. Please follow the coordinates we are transmitting you to you know.”

“Copy that, Kamino. Many thanks”

Dax shut off the communicator and shot Bashir a quizzical look.

“I don’t think it’s us they were expecting” Bashir whispered.

“Why was Section 31 interested in this planet?” Jadzia asked.

“No idea. Let’s find out” the doctor replied.

Within an hour they were walking down a brightly lit corridor following the Prime Minister of Kamino, a pale softly spoken alien with a long neck and inscrutable placid features named Lama-Su.

“Agent Sloane was unable to come?” the alien asked with an air of mild disappointment.

“No,” said Bashir. “He’s terribly sorry. He sent us instead.”

“I understand. Your people are engaged in a terrible war. To be honest, I’m surprised you did not come sooner. We have every confidence the project will be able to reverse your fortunes militarily.”

“That’s…very gratifying to hear,” Dax said. “What can you tell us about the current status of the project?”

Lama-Su smiled as if he’d been waiting for her to say that since she arrived.

“We fully expect the army of clones to be ready to deploy within mere months. And, may I say, I believe this army is the finest we’ve ever created. Though, of course, we cannot claim full credit for that. The genetic template Agent Sloane provided was truly exceptional. Quite incredible given its provenance.”

“Did Agent Sloane confide in you why he ordered this army?” Bashir asked. It was a trick Garak had taught him. Ask the question, but make them think you’re testing them.

“Of course,” Lama-Su said innocently. “Agent Sloane believed the Federation was ill-equipped for conflict with a major galactic power. He commissioned this army, I believe after your people first encountered the Borg. Of course, now it will be put to work against the Dominion. We have had an opportunity to study these “Jem’Hadar” Lama-Su sniffed disdainfully. “Not to disparage the work of others, but we do not anticipate them providing many challenges for our troops.”

He gestured to a view-screen and Dax and Bashir found themselves staring at thousands upon thousands of identical humans. They were all tall, dark-skinned, and dark-haired, and possessed of strong, handsome features with an undeniable stamp of arrogance and cruelty.

Dax realized the features of these clones were familiar to her. She knew that face from some history book. She realized that Bashir looked as if he was watching a nightmare come to life.

“Tell me, Prime Minister,” Dax asked. “Did Agent Sloane say who the template came from?”

“Oh yes,” said Lama-Su. “A great warrior from your people’s past. An exceptional individual. His name was…”

“Khan,” said Bashir hoarsely, watching the rows upon rows of cloned soldiers in their white armor, about to be unleashed on an already bloodied galaxy.

“His name was Khan.”