For a long moment now the wyte had not given tongue.

Wyte stood up and backed away to let him pass.

The barrel rested on a rock top, pointing at the wyte.

Then he nodded in Wyte's direction, though his gaze never left the colonel's face.

Wyte placed the chair before the colonel's desk, facing it.

He and Wyte had been the two guards charged with marching the prisoners around today.

"Jessel is monitoring right now; Wyte had to get medical attention after you attacked him."

That was bad, being taken by Wyte, but it was survivable.

After a moment, Wyte emerged with another chair.

Then, as quickly as Wyte had begun to choke him, he stopped.

The wyte withdrew to nose the ground over which the off-worlders had stumbled.

Wyte backpedaled uncontrollably, stopping only when he struck the wall.

He spun quickly past Wyte's slumping body, sending his chair crashing into the wall.

Quark had no particular interest in seeing that Wyte received medical attention, but he elected not to interfere with such efforts either.

At the front of the building, Wyte pushed Rom hard into the wall beside the door.

Wyte reached forward and opened the door, then grabbed the from of Rom's jumpsuit with both hands.

Then, without changing the beat of his speech, he said, "Sergeant Wyte."

Between the broken wood and the whole chair, Sergeant Wyte lay where he had fallen.

A wyte bay, very loud and clear.

No warning bay from the wyte, nothing but a flicker of movement from among the rocks.

Rom fell through Wyte's hands like water through a sieve.

Wyte crossed to the opposite side of the room, brushing past Rom quickly and almost knocking him from his feet.

Before Rom could prepare himself, Wyte's arm swept around his neck.

To Rom's right, Wyte moved, again entering the small file room.

Wyte spent three years touring and releasing mixtapes in preparation for his next album.