The young Trill known as Lieutenant Commander Tana was used to things happening on this deck. It was a popular place on Deep Space Nine, right off the Promenade - the market and auction room. To her right, an auction for commodities and rare goods was underway, as always. The sounds of shouting, of the Ferengi auctioneer, the occasional growl of his Nausicaan muscle, were a constant presence on this deck. Just beyond that were a series of consoles up a short staircase. Bustling with officers eager to access bank or mail functions, this was a fascinating place for the lieutenant commander to have her duty watch.

She stood, as ever she did, with her back to one of the station's peculiarly Cardassian support pillars, its lights glowing a yellow-green behind her, at attention, awaiting the interest of one of the hundreds of serving captains who walked this deck regularly. It was a fascinating duty posting, always interesting, people coming and going. The market and auction room was always a lively place, and Tana noted with relief that the activity level on this deck always made the shift fly by. This room was also the usual haunt of the chief medical officer, which seemed odd to Tana. After all, Deep Space Nine had a fully stocked infirmary, and a very well-run one at that.

Tana noted a bit of a lull in the action and moved to the chief medical officer's side. "How are you?" she asked.

The medical officer looked up, her green features, reflective eyes and pointed, hairless dome of a head as inscrutable as usual. "I am well. Are you in need of treatment for your injuries?"

"No, I'm well, thanks." Tana noted that the medic's eyes were not fully focused upon her. "What are you up to?"

"My usual business in this room, at present," the medic replied.

"I like it - so different from a starship. It's not like any place I've ever served before."

The chief medical officer scarcely noticed Tana's words. "Hm?"

"The personnel traffic," Tana repeated, a bit miffed. She adjusted her regulation-length brown hair and stood beside the chief medical officer, observing the coming and going officers of the various factions of the galaxy's great powers as well as of civilian outfits and freighters, the pedestrian traffic of the commerce and trade of the Alpha Quadrant.

"Not all the personnel," the chief medical officer replied, nodding forwards. "Just... her."

Together, the two women watched, while a civilian crewman in a two-part grey/drab outfit, seemingly human with a light complexion, dark eyes and shoulder-length hair, stood impatiently with her arms crossed - for just a fraction of a moment - before she gave a rather sharp cough. She then stretched her arms for a moment before indulging in a more severe coughing fit. She wandered back and forth in a sort of zig-zag pattern for a moment, first towards the Exchange, then away from it, towards the doorway, before cutting back towards a large hexagonal table in the room. She seemed to trip over the outermost stool, but actually stepped up onto it before turning away again, stepping up onto it yet again, then back down, before coming to a halt. After a few moments, she once again doubled over, hacking, before stretching her arms again.

"Is she unwell?" Tana asked.

"The cough is troublesome," the medic replied, "but the major cause of my interest is her pattern of motion. I have observed her continuing in this pattern unendingly for ...hours. She doesn't sit, she doesn't - she doesn't even notice the people around her, even the walls. And she continues going around like this for... I don't even know how long."

"Do we know who she is?"

"Station records have no listing for her. It's as though she just... turned up."

Tana continued to observe as the woman stopped, then looked at her wrist. "What is that motion she's making now?"

"The humans call it 'looking at one's watch'."

"Watch?" Tana was confused. "But she's a civilian officer, she wouldn't be asked to take watch here-"

The chief medical officer shook her head. "A human short-form for a portable chronometer. They've been obsolete for centuries."

"So why does she-?"

"No idea," the chief medical officer replied. "It's part of why I'm here. She'll pace back and forth, up and down, criss-crossing all over this deck, and I'm not entirely sure it's a pattern of mentally healthy behaviour. In fact, I can't see any evidence of any mind there at all."

"Have you tried talking to her about it?"

"She doesn't stay still long enough to listen," the medic replied, her reflective eyes two pools of compassionate empathy. "Or she starts coughing, and probably can't hear me anyway."

On the far side of the table, the civilian woman stood still for a moment, as if listening, before turning towards the threshold of the nearby door. Convinced they had offended her, Tana made a half-step to go and apologize before the woman turned back into the room, then walked back towards the table, and began stretching. As if allergic to exercise, she immediately gave a sharp cough before staring off into the distance, impatiently, before looking at her bare wrist yet again.

The chief medical officer leaned towards Tana, who shook her head in amazement. "I've seen this sort of thing in others around the station. There's an Andorian who's a member of a freighter crew, she does something similar out on the Promenade." The medic pointed over Tana's shoulder. "And over there is a Vulcan whose motion has a similar pattern. It is sincerely distressing - if this is a pattern, as I believe it is, then even the disciplined minds of Vulcans are susceptible."

Tana's eyes were wide, perturbed - there were others like this on the station so afflicted? She began to fret over the states of minds of these individuals. What sort of madness, what sorts of horrors had this young human female witnessed in her time to be put into such a state of repeated, pointless action? How had she managed to endure, to feed and sustain herself, for long enough to continue this pattern of behaviour almost continuously? Could this be the effects of a nerve agent, or a chemical exposure, or some psionic influence? Was this a general threat to the Federation - was this poor woman's plight merely the beginning of a greater doom?

Tana felt for her, and the urge to intervene was overwhelming. Still, if the medic at her side was only at the point of observing, there was little Tana could do without such medical expertise to offer any meaningful support or assistance - although she had to admit, the urge to scream at the woman, to try to snap her out of this continual living reverie, was overwhelming. She looked back to the chief medical officer. "You think it's some sort of illness?"

"I don't know yet," the medic replied. "My earlier scans were inconclusive - nothing particularly notable. Were I telepathic, I would want to scan these people, see if they were in some form of distress... but in all honesty, I'd be worried that in their minds I'd see nothing at all."

Now the civilian crewman walked across the front of the right-side Exchange booth, towards an Andorian female who was locked in a quiet yet passionate argument with a member of a species Tana did not recognize. While the alien pleaded with her, the Andorian merely looked conciliatory, if apologetic. Strangely, the presence of the human woman in the midst of their conversation - walking right up to the Andorian woman nearly close enough to slam faces into each other - did not disrupt the flow of their argument. Still, the woman walked, back and forth to the table, then stopped in the middle of the floor, directly in front of Tana. More coughing, then stretching, then coughing again - harder now - before an impatient cross of the arms, and another sharp cough. Then she continued on back towards the threshold of the doorway, walking into the wall on one side before moving across the threshold, standing on the far side for a moment, and coughing.

"We should report this to Captain Kurland," Tana admitted, simply heartbroken at the sight she had beheld. "I don't know how I didn't notice this before. It's so sad to see."

"Not yet," the medic replied. "I realize this is awful to behold, but the captain prefers for me to bring him answers, not questions. That way no one jumps before it's necessary."

"I understand, just... damn."

"Looks like you have a customer," the chief medical officer said, pointing to a Tellarite captain who seemed to be pacing about angrily near Tana's usual duty station.

Tana nodded. "Right."

"Look, just - trust me. I'll get to the bottom of this, I promise."

"You will?"

"I will. You handle your responsibilities - let me handle mine."

"Alright," Tana replied. "Good luck."

"And if you find yourself wandering about aimlessly between the replicator and the table, tell me."

Tana laughed, thinking the alien medic was making a joke. She glanced over to see her fellow officer's face to be completely serious, watching in concern as the civilian crewman walked back towards the table, then to the Exchange, back and forth in a zigzag pattern, and out into the corridor again before coughing and stretching in the doorway for a moment. Saddened, Tana realized that this was a situation well beyond her ability to correct, and returned to her post to assist the Tellarite captain. Yet she barely heard the captain's words, a tear trickling down her cheek as she watched the poor, desperate woman cough, stretch, and look at her wrist, before coughing again, walking into a nearby wall, almost without any notice at all, and wandering off throughout the room yet again.