Seduction
This is the first of a series of stories in the Destinies story line, written before DS9 continued the Section 31 time line beyond Inquisition. In this alternate time line the details are different, but not radically. The second story, Shadowdance, will be posted after revisions. The third is a short novel called Paying the Piper, and the final portion will be called Redemption. The first three parts were written back in 1998-99 and posted on ASC. I have edited the writing somewhat after reading it again after so long.
Please REVIEW. It's helpful to see your reactions. And I would love to hear from those who still love DS9 after all this time.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Julian Bashir, Ben Sisko, Elim Garak, Miles O'Brien, Section 31, Sloan, and other possible elements are the property of Paramount Studios. Abersand's Station is mine.
ooo0000ooo
All he wanted to do was lose himself in a comfortable world. Most of all he wanted to sit in the audience at Vic's, with music and song and a friendly greeting from the host. It would be enough to just listen and lose himself in the music and laughter and food. There would be no scones or redleaf tea to be seen. He needed out of his nightmare for a little while.
He was so tired. Since Sloan had taken him from his bed, he could seldom sleep without waking at every sound, and morning he feared he was in another illusion. He'd wandered into Quark's very late, desperate to somehow forget so he could sleep, but the bubbling cauldron Quark offered was a nightmare in itself. It surprised him that all the holosuits were busy that late, but he did not often frequent the bar then.
He tried Miles. His friend looked confused and sleepy when he came to the door, yawning after being awakened.
"What happened?" asked Miles, the two sitting in the empty living room with Chester draped over Bashir's lap.
Miles was his best friend, but he could not tell him, thought Julian. "I just can't get to sleep," he said.
Miles yawned. "More bad dreams?"
"Something like that, " Bashir said quietly. Maybe if they could talk longer, or if Miles wasn't so sleepy, he could say something more. But his friend was falling asleep and he was sure someone was watching. Perhaps they might think Miles knew too much.
Chester rolled over, purring and waiting for his petting. Julian scratched his neck and the cat relaxed into kitty nirvana. Miles yawned again, fighting sleep and he knew it was time to go. His only regret was dislodging Chester, who had collapsed into a rug with all four feet in the air.
"I should go," he said.
"Stay if you want. Chester won't mind. But I gotta get some sleep."
"No, I'll manage." He gently woke the cat and pushed him to the couch. Standing up, he watched his friend. "Thank you."
"Try to relax," mumbled Miles.
"I'm doing better," he said, stroking the cat. It was true. Thanks to Chester and the peaceful company he'd relaxed considerably.
"Good," said Miles. Bashir took his leave, much improved, but not yet ready to return to his quarters.
He swung by the Infirmary, the duty nurse inquiring if he needed anything. He said no, just heading home. Something got her attention and she didn't notice as he took the hypo.
Home, he entered cautiously. Nothing was amiss Dressing for bed, he set the hypo for a minimum setting as he sat on his bed.
He couldn't see the replicator from there. When his tarkalian tea had become redleaf tea and scones he'd stared at it in horror, and nearly dropped it on the way to the recycle. It wasn't the first time, but it always brought the nightmare back in vivid detail and reminded him of what had been demanded of him by Sisko. That day he had fled, but nothing could dim the memories. He arranged the covers, and his hiding place before he injected himself, drooping the hypo into its space. Laying back in the prearranged bed, he let the drug take him to a welcome oblivion.
o0o
When the alarm woke him, he was in the middle of a dream, and bits of itself remained in his waking. He had been at Internment Camp 371. Before Sloan's ordeal had brought them back he'd manage to only have the nightmares occasionally. He was there again nearly every night but the sedative dimmed his memories of the details. But in this one, Weyoun had been there. He knew it had never happened, but his dreams were not limited to reality.
Checking, he confirmed the hypo had another dose, for the next night he'd have to sleep. It was crew physicals and he must be alert. But he moved his hiding place before he showered and dressed. Still, a foggy sensation followed him. It was as much the dream as the drug. He wanted a raktageno but would not chance more redleaf tea and scones.
The replimat was crowded. He wasn't hungry, playing with his breakfast, but had inhaled two raktagenos when Miles arrived.
"Late night," observed Miles. "Want another one?" Miles accepted the two empty cups as space was cleared on the table.
Miles returned with his breakfast and two cups, one of which he plunked in front of Julian.
"Just couldn't get to sleep," he said, before Miles could say anything. But he needed someone to look at the replicator. He doubted they'd find anything wrong, but if they did he'd rather it was Miles.
"You look like you need to go back to bed," observed Miles.
"Another dream," he said. "Look, I need somebody to check my replicator. I tried a cup," holding up his nearly drained cup, "but it didn't taste right."
"I'll get somebody to look at it," replied Miles, watching a little too closely. "Just let me get some sleep."
"Crew physicals tomorrow," said Bashir. "I'll find a way to sleep tonight."
Miles gave him a strange look, Julian curious if only Miles noticed so easily when he was this exhausted. "Just take care of yourself," He noted the time. "Got to go," he added.
Julian nodded, taking a few bites of his breakfast before getting one last raktagino.
oo000oo
Work revived him as he lost himself in his job. It was his sanctuary. But the shift ended and Miles wanted to play darts.
"Maybe it will help you relax," Miles suggested
"It's worth a try," he'd replied. But sleep would not be a problem that night, and he wouldn't remember any dreams.
Miles did unusually good, and Julian was more tired than he looked. He was no more relaxed than before. He could not tell Miles it was the inevitable prospect of having to return to his quarters.
They shared a couple of synthaols. But Julian followed it up with the real stuff, Quark happy to oblige. While he nursed his drink Miles finished his refill. "Oh, I couldn't find anyone to look at your replicator today. I'll go check it out now."
Julian was careful to finish his drink. "Sure. It would be nice to have a cup before breakfast."
Miles gave him a look but he ignored it. "Or three," he commented, standing and moving towards the door, waiting for Bashir to follow.
Entering his quarters, it was easier with Miles by his side. Nothing unpredictable would happen unless he was alone. He sat across the room and watched as it was examined, still avoiding it. He watched as his friend checked everything and shrugged.
"I can't find anything wrong. If you have any more trouble we'll do a level two check."
"It must have been my imagination, I guess," Julian said, yawning.
"What's wrong?" asked Miles suddenly, watching him closely.
"You know. Nightmares. It's been a pretty bad week for us."
It had been a particularly bad week for the Federation and its allies. Everybody had been a little too quiet.
Miles didn't look away. "I guess we all know about that." Miles was almost staring when he turned to retrieve his tools..
Julian was feeling the effect of the stiff drink, lack of sleep and the safety of Miles presence. "I think I'll go to bed early," he said.
"Good idea for the both of us," said Miles, nodding at him.
As soon as Miles was gone, the gloom that had filled this room since the first redleaf tea returned. Julian only wanted oblivion and rest . As he dressed for bed, he retrieved the hypo, and reset the dosage a little higher. There would be no shadows of Vorta's to ambush him in the morning. The hiding place was prepared.. Lying down, he injected the drug, feeling it immediately. He barely was able to hide the hypo. Drugged into near unconscienceness, he slept without nightmares.
oo000oo
He woke well rested. He did not dare take the chance of the scones appearing that day, and took his raktaginos in the replimat. Miles wasn't there, called away on some sort of emergency so he ate alone. Even the physicals went well, keeping him busy and preoccupied all day. But as his shift ended and the evening approached, he forced himself to think of nothing but his report and not the recipient of it.
He did not want to speak to Sisko. The scones had reminded him of the order again. He had not agreed to the order, but had spent many a night trying to find a way out. The secret agent programs were abandoned, all the fun gone from them. He waited for some horrible news of a plague made from the biomemetic gel he'd been forced to release. But that had only confirmed his new view of the Captain. What if he refused? Likely he would disappear, but if Sloan let him go what would Sisko do? Sloan was a man who answered to no one, but Sisko had once had principals. He distrusted those who could abandon themselves.
The reports ready, he steeled himself to the unpleasant task of facing the man who had betrayed him.
o0o
Ben was working late, surrounded by a sea of reports it was going to take him half the night to review. Bashir caught him ready to escape for a break and a raktageno, cornering him in his office.
The doctor was waiting by the door. "Come," said Sisko.
"Sir," said Bashir rather stiffly, holding several padds. Sisko did not know why he'd become so distant but wanted the padds dropped off and the doctor gone.
"Crew physicals?" he asked to confirm the padds.
"Yes, Sir," Bashir said formally and coldly. "I have more to do tomorrow but generally the crew is healthy and doing relatively well at handling the stress."
Well, *some* of them, thought Sisko, making it a point to take the padds quickly. "Is there a problem?" he asked.
"No, Sir," said the doctor, snapping out the words.
"You seem a little stressed yourself."
"Just busy," said Julian as if he'd been offended.
Sisko decided he didn't care what the doctor's problem was that particular moment. He wanted his raktageno and away from his desk for a few minutes. And away from the doctor as well. "Just get as much rest in as much as you can." Bashir looked more tired than the rest of them.
"I should have the physicals done by afternoon."
"That works." Sisko surveyed all the paperwork laid out in front of him and hoped he wasn't still deeply buried in it then.
Bashir left abruptly, Ben watching his quick retreat. So much had happened since the war, so many desperate decisions, and there were so many fears to live with. The doctor wasn't alone. Pushing himself up from his chair to take his break, he stared at the padds Bashir had delivered and decided he didn't have the time to worry.
ooo0000ooo
The scones still came, but Julian didn't mention the replicator anymore. Not even to Miles. It was never the same dish, and at random times. He simply recycled the dish and ordered what he wanted again. He was resigned that sooner or later Sloan would finally come for him.
But sleep was difficult when the scones came. He did not know why anymore, but each dream with Weyoun appearing left him lost in that isolation cell again. He was sure of the time. Or was he? He did not dare ever begin to question his belief. He did not dare ever allow that Sloan might have had a reason to ask.
So when the scones appeared the hypo banished them. When Sisko had run away after Jadzia's death, he had hoped the Captain would stay. If he had abandoned his post, Julian wasn't bound by the order. But Sisko returned, and Julian watched, hoping to find a hint of reconsideration. But he'd already been forgotten.
Life fell into its usual pattern. Breakfast with Miles. Lunch sometimes with Garak. Dinner rushed so he could spend time with Vic and his music. Working and losing himself in the only real peace he knew. He steeled himself against the inevitable, be it meetings with Sisko or double orders from his replicator.
He'd traveled again, worry filling his journey. But nothing had happened. He'd traveled twice again, still nothing. Packing for Abersand's Station, the site of an epidemic caused by a virus he'd researched, he had almost convinced himself that everything would be fine again this time. Boarding the transport, he remembered the man who checked boarding passes. But that was all. He never made it to his seat.
ooo0000ooo
There was no trickery this time. Julian woke in an unfamiliar room after a restful sleep. He already knew he wasn't on the transport when he woke because no one short of an admiral got a private room anymore on the crowded transports. He waited, awake and impatient, for his kidnappers to appear, astonished at how calm he was now that the time had finally come.
The door slid open and Sloan strolled in, looking rather amused. "Good morning, Doctor. I trust you had a good sleep this time."
Julian considered Sisko's order, wondering if Sloan already knew. Sloan had already comfortably settled in a chair. "I appear to be rested," he said tersely, remembering his exhausting first encounter.
"You have a decision to make, Doctor. I still want you. I'm offering you a chance to be a part of something which could *save* the Federation." Sloan was calm, almost disinterested, but as things were not going as well as hoped for the allies he wondered if it was worth it.
Julian did not want to agree. He knew he would never be allowed to leave. A part of him wanted to refuse simply because Sisko had ordered it. "And if I refuse?"
"Then you turn us down. But I'm confident you won't." Sloan smiled at him. "Secrets are very hard to keep on a station like yours."
So he did know about the order. Julian still did not know if he was going to obey it. "I'm still considering."
Sloan smiled again. "Not so loyal as they all think, I see. I would take care with that. He kept you in Starfleet and that 'arraignment' could easily be reconsidered by 'certain people'."
Julian was certain that Sloan would easily arrange just that. He'd been ready to run once, but now there was nowhere to go. They could take away more than Starfleet. They would steal what he could not ever replace if they took away his right to be a doctor. He stared at Sloan, who smiled back with that thin smile and cold, unbending eyes. "And if I agree to become part of your organization it won't ever be a problem to those 'certain people', I assume."
"Not enough of a problem for them to do anything about it," said Sloan with a dismissive wave.
So he had a choice between Sloan and disgrace. He had no illusions about his options. Whatever he chose, it would come at a high cost. What kind of madness had gotten into Sisko that night? Under the skin was he no different than Sloan?
Sloan stood, ready to leave. "I don't know," Julian said.
"Give it some thought," said Sloan. "Your breakfast will be here soon and we'll talk after that."
Bashir just hoped breakfast wasn't redleaf tea and scones.
o0o
A young man in the black uniform had come to his room asking him what he wanted for breakfast. Bashir ordered and was happy to see it turn out to be the same. Then a short note was delivered saying that Sloan had been delayed. He paced around the room, knowing if medicine was taken away nothing else would matter. Sloan would simply start the process, and without help or support he'd end up locked up as dangerous, or a security risk. There were plenty of 'certain others' who would be happy to be rid of the freak. He still hid most of what he was because even his friends could not accept it.
But Sloan didn't care. In fact, Sloan would take full advantage of everything he was. He thought about how those at home–the station–had hedged on his nature. In Dominion captivity he'd been more free to use it, but even then did not want them to know. Even Garak appeared to be uncomfortable when he'd allowed more of his true talents to show. Nothing had changed. He was still living a lie.
And if Sloan wanted him enough he'd wait. There would be more scones and redleaf tea, more sleepless nights wondering when he'd disappear from his bed again. Was there someone watching, making sure Sloan knew the right time to strike? Were the 'certain persons' keeping tabs on him? If he started to slip, show more of what he was, showed any sign of mental instability, they would be waiting. Every other *known* person who was genetically enhansed had suffered severe effects. They would find something. If anyone found the hypo it would be over. They would blame his genes and lock him away.
Lunch came, without his chosen order but an old favorite, usually with Garak. He ate wondering if they'd always been watching. Knowing they would always be would make pretending he was "normal" even harder.
A few hours later Sloan reappeared. Bashir had already made his decision. Sloan was not surprised when he accepted. For a moment he was swept with a relief he did not want, knowing where this would lead. "Good," said Sloan, calmly nodding. "I always believed you would. We already have your first assignment ready to go."
Julian though of all the spy adventures he'd ever had in the holosuite, and knew this would not resemble any of them. Nervous, and for the first time admitting he was scared, Julian followed Sloan to a small meeting room and the next chapter of his life.
o0o
He sat in a plain room, at a table which was unmemorable knowing that in what remained of his life he would never forget this place. Trying to wrap his imagination around the idea this madness was real, he forced away the fear. He was to be captured by the Dominion. He'd be placed, as an escaped prisoner, in high security where there would be a man he would be able to identify. His mission was to plant a transmitter on him which would lead to both being rescued. Sloan made it sound so simple. To Julian it was the essence of every nightmare he'd ever had.
But he understood the way it was done. Sloan knew. He had to prove himself before they could trust him. Not only to do as ordered, but to fight his fears. After Garak had willingly endured the tiny wall at the internment camp despite his terror, he'd been given a respect he hadn't had by those who knew. Sloan wouldn't settle for a holotest or an easy one. He had already given up any choice when he had agreed. He still wondered if he was truly obligated to obey Sisko, but there was no question he had to obey Sloan.
But Sloane was full of surprises. He was shown a picture of himself, except it wasn't. "Meet Dr. Julian Bashir," said the agent.
Bashir was annoyed, even if it was Sloan. "I've met him."
"Not *this* Dr. Bashir. I'd like you to go home. If you mysteriously disappeared for a week leaving the station that would be awkward, at best. So you've been on Abersand's Station doing your work, just as well as you always do. When your done, and your double is done, you'll take the transport back to DS9, raising absolutely no questions which might be hard to answer."
Julian kept his surprise to himself. "You plan ahead."
Sloan smiled again. "I assure you, Doctor, this twin of yours is *quite* as knowledgeable as you and no one will suspect the real doctor wasn't there."
o0o
He woke to hazy light, coming out of anesthetic. He'd gone to sleep exhausted after a long meeting about his assignment. Even now, it wasn't real. He could hear Odo taunting him about his fascination with spies. Shaking his head, he let the fog fade before he tried to sit up.
But his toungue found something that hadn't been there before. Something was sticking out from a tooth. He looked up to a blurry Sloan standing above him. "Rest easy, Doctor. We simply placed the transmitters. One is embedded in your tooth and will work loose on its own. The other is . . . elsewhere."
"I found the one in the tooth," he said, noticing his voice was a little slurred.
"That you will implant in your contact. It will stick into the skin so it will not fall out.. It will simply work its way loose for you. No need for plyers."
"You're sure it will be the right time." Julian was still nervous despite the drugs.
"You'll manage. I have great faith in you. You think well on your feet."
Bashir wasn't sure anymore. Adventures in the holosuite were one thing. He could end up in one of the rumored brutal prisons the Dominion was now using. It had entirely ceased to be a game. "I wish I shared your confidence," he said.
Sloan looked amused. "Getting nervous I see. Don't underestimate yourself. Those silly adventures didn't always go as planned." He just looked at Julian, not mentioning any details. "You learned a few things. Why, Captain Sisko would be proud of you."
Julian felt a burst of anger, but was not sure where it was aimed. And he knew this was no place for that. He said nothing.
"Very good, Doctor," said Sloan and Julian thought he almost looked proud.
"How soon?" asked Bashir softly, after a bit of silence.
"As soon as your ship comes into range. Just rest, Doctor. You've always wanted to be a spy, now, haven't you?"
Julian just stared at him. *Be careful what you wish for.* Ruefully, he thought to himself how much more he had in common with Garak now. Bad family upbringing, secrets, a love of the game, and now...
He watched as Sloan walked away and the door shut, wondering what Garak would have said about all this.
o0o
He did not remember how he got there, but when he woke he was lying on a bunk, sharing a small cabin with three others. His tongue traced the edge of the implant, still firmly attached to his tooth. He was on the ship that Sloan had picked to sacrifice. His companions had been through some ordeal, he thought, curled away protectively and dressed in dirty, damaged clothes. They were probably refugees from one of the planets the Dominion had recently attacked. Sloan had not given him any details of how he'd end up a prisoner of the Dominion, but he guessed he would not be alone. These people were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time and would be sacrificed for what Sloan considered a greater good. He would have objected if he could, but it was far too late now.
One of them was a young girl, and she rolled around the bed as if caught in the middle of a nightmare. Should he wake them and warn them? Would it make a difference? Probably to him. Sloan might forget to rescue him. And the man knew he'd consider it. He would have taken steps to prevent it mattering at all.
A sudden alarm blared and he knew. "All passengers will stay in their quarters. This is not a drill."
The Jem'Hadar and his assignment were coming. But he wondered if Sloan had miscalculated. Would they simply discover who he was, what he'd done, and execute him immediately?
The ship shuddered and everything went pitch black. The others were out of their bunks, mumbling and huddling together. He retreated under his bunk, too, as another shudder caused everything loose to fall. He traced the implant in his tooth again, wondering if Sloan and his cold blooded plan were a warning. There had to be a reason why he'd been sent here. He wouldn't sacrifice these people for nothing.
The lights flashed on after an infinity of darkness. But following behind them were Jem'Hadar. He surrendered without any resistance as did the others in the room, already knowing what came of those who fought back.
In the corridor, the captured passengers were herded into the cargo bays, and the doors shut leaving them in darkness. He found an empty spot to sit, stunned by the reality of things, no matter that it wasn't a surprise. People were crying, whispering conversations, and some, simply silent. As was he. His only real option had been to do as Sloan wanted, but in the dark, ghostly room he wondered if he should have refused anyway.
Time went on without any real measure except hunger and thirst. But prisoners were removed in batches, forced to stand and be scanned, then some of them pulled aside. Those who remained were herded to another ship. Watching them go he wondered if the rumors of the Dominion's slave labor camps were true. Those who had been spared were marched down a corridor, and shoved into a smaller room, a bucket of water sitting in the corner. It was lit, too, just a low light but better than the near total darkness before. A box of rations was shoved inside, and he remembered them. The others looked at them with disgust. He took one and nibbled a bad tasting bite without expression. They would learn to in time, he knew.
A young woman was keeping the box. She had given everyone an equal amount. He slid towards her. "You'll need to sleep," he said. She looked exhausted, and nodded. He moved so she could lie down, and used his leg for a pillow. He guarded the rations, but hours later she was awakened as the Jem'Hadar stood at the door and called his name. He stood, hesitant and nervous but moved before they insisted. The door shut and he wished those left inside better luck.
It didn't really matter that Sloan had promised to rescue him anymore. He would never forget these people and the extra blood on Sloan's hands. And his as well. He hoped this contact was worth it, if anyone was worth this.
He was shoved into a smaller room. Nearly falling on the hard floor, he froze when the First spoke. "You have been identified as an escaped prisoner. You will answer for this."
It was his nightmares become reality and no matter what Sloan promised, he would remember this moment forever. As he sat on the cold floor and the room grew murky, even Sloan faded as the nightmare took over.
ooo0000ooo
He didn't remember when or how he'd passed out, but woke curled up on the floor. He wasn't alone. He could hear the steady breathing of a companion, his toungue testing the implant and finding it still firmly in place. It felt surreal. He wanted to wake up and order some tea. Sloan promised rescue, and claimed there was another transmitter hidden inside him. But what if it was a lie? A man who would condemn a ship of refugees to this kind of place would not hesitate to lie. The story which seemed so important back home sounded suspiciously manufactured now.
But the plan seemed to be working. They'd caught him, identified him, and now he was in the room with the man Sloan wanted to save. It was just light enough to recognize him. Sloan had left much of it out. The refugees, the questioning which had finally ended with his confession. He vaguely remembered someone rearranging him more comfortably after he'd been dumped on the floor. He felt sick and lightheaded, and did not try to sit up. But he rolled towards the man and looked at him. "Ummm," he grunted, for everything was blurry, "Thanks." He closed his eyes and the pounding in his head went away.
"You must have been stubborn, " said the man.
"I escaped from them before. I don't want to go back," he whispered.
"Nobody does," said the man quietly. "Sleep. I'll wake you when they feed us."
"Have they yet?" he asked, trying to get some sense of time.
"No. They will when they will."
o0o
Some unknown time later, when he woke, his headache was better and the dizziness gone. But everything else hurt. It was not the sharp throbbing it had been, but more muted. Noticing he was awake, his companion pushed a ration bar into his hand. "I saved you some food. I couldn't wake you up."
He didn't want food right then but knew he probably needed it. Encouraged, he tried to sit up and was met with a wave of dizzy exhaustion. "Maybe not," he mumbled to himself.
Julian couldn't stay awake and the pounding in his head was too much. And there wasn't any kind of safe conversation he would trust himself with anyway. Shielding his eyes with an arm, he nearly passed out.
Letting the wave pass, he opened his eyes but did not try to sit up. He unwrapped the bar, taking a bite and trying to forget the memories of his first taste of the ghastly things. He chewed carefully, concerned that the implant would be knocked loose too soon. But each time anything brushed against it he wondered again if any of it was true.
"Got another one when you're ready," said the man. "You look feverish."
"When I'm done with this one," he said, determined to stay awake. Little shudders passed through him as he shivered. Something else Sloan had left out.
"Probably something I caught from the refugees," he mumbled.
"Might delay their plans. Or not. Doesn't really matter in the end." His companion laid the second bar next to him. "I'm gonna sleep a bit." There was resignation in his voice, and Julian wondered why, or if it was even real.
He listened while the man laid down, giving them some space to move around. He ate more of the bar, chewing with greater care. He did not know, when the time came, how he would implant the device if he was too sick to sit up. Wrestling with the question of if the sickness was intentional or not, if this would keep him from his accepted duties or was a part of it, he too fell into a restless sleep.
o0o
He was awake. Despite the hideous taste and texture of the rations, he was waiting for them because he was hungry. The fever remained, though only mild. The dizziness had vanished. He assumed he'd been drugged and the drug had finally worn off.
There was noise. They'd thrown something inside the room. Pushing himself up a bit, he rolled to face his companion. Studying the face, he had to be certain that this was the man he was supposed to find. Before his vision had been just blurry enough he wasn't sure.
The man hefted himself to his feet and gathered the bars, dividing them between them. "Eat carefully. They don't seem to worry about any particular schedule." He approached, feeling Julian's head. "You're doing better."
"I seem to be," he said, accepting the bars. Then he rolled himself up to a sitting position to eat.
They tasted less awful this time. He remembered how that worked. He was hungry enough he could have eaten all of them but stopped at the first. But he was less cautious. The implant had worked its way half out.
He reached in to pull it out, wary of swallowing it. With it cupped in his hand he looked up, making a fist and starting to push himself up. "Got to move around a bit," he said.
The man leaned down, offering a hand to pull him up. The device laying prong side up in his palm, he reached out his hand to be grasped.
There was a look of dull surprise and equal resignation in the man's face. But he did not let go and soon Julian was standing.
The implant had slipped under the skin. Both men looked at the small bloody spot. "Sharp fingernail," said Julian, studying his nails.
The man stared for a flash, then looked away. "Must be," he murmured.
The dull headache was helped by standing and moving, and between them they moved the water closer. But he was still a little dizzy and both settled on the ground.
"I found this helps," said the man, as if nothing had happened. He dipped the bar into the water, holding it there long enough for the outside to soften.
Julian tried it with his. It made it much easier to chew, and diluted the flavor a bit. It probably flavored the water but that was just a minor thing.
They lapsed into silence. His companion saved a bar and rolled to his side to sleep. Julian ate a little more and did the same.
He had no idea of what to expect now. He'd done as ordered. And now they waited. It was Sloan's move next. If you disregarded the cold blooded sacrifice, it had gone as he'd been told. Falling asleep, he chose to believe the last part, their rescue, would as well.
o0o
Resting curled on the floor, Julian faced the door. Their rations were almost gone. Sloan's people had not yet whisked them away, and he was worried. He had gotten sicker, too dizzy to stand, and knew the fever was still rising and his strength fading fast. But his companion was much worse. Just hours after the implant had been placed he'd become sick. But his fever had spiked quickly. He had not tried to get up, and Julian did not know if he was even conscious anymore. Had the disease come from the implant? Had his own? If so, Sloan had told a lie because unless rescue came soon at least one of them would be dead. He was growing much weaker as well. And no more rations had been provided.
He didn't know how he'd gather them, but if the door opened again and rations fell, he would find a way. But when the Jem'Hadar had come they had scanned both men and left, leaving nothing. Now there was only one bar remaining. He supposed it was his since his companion was too ill to eat anymore. Was it the last? Were the Jem'Hadar going to waste any bars on prisoners who were likely to die anyway?
He rubbed the nick on his tooth where the implant had been. He had been sickened after it was put there? His companion had become ill almost immediately. Sloan had sacrificed a shipload full of civilians, and Julian was afraid he'd trick a naive doctor into doing what he would not have done if he'd known.
He dreamed of the Infirmary. There were a dozen treatments which would at least treat the symptoms so they might fight it. But when he tried, the equipment wouldn't work, and all the drugs were gone. Waking, he knew prisoners, unless they were personal toys, did not receive any medical help. If Sloan did come through he would need a doctor standing by.
There was more noise, the door opened just far enough to toss in a small handful of rations. He roused himself to a crawl. Pulling himself slowly along, he checked his companion. There was no pulse. The man was dead. The man had died with his eyes closed but Julian tore loose a piece of cloth from his jacket to cover his face.
He kept crawling, but was numb now. Sloan had made him a killer. Perhaps by accident, but that seemed unlikely now. Would he leave him here to die too? Or would he, having compromised the doctor within him, believe he owned Bashir now?
It was not so. It could *not* be so. Inside, though, he knew the truth. But he wouldn't die here. He would make Sloan pay for what he had done to this man and the others taken with them. But he had been changed forever and no revenge could ever change him back.
With renewed strength, he pulled himself forward, and forced his exhausted body to cooperate. Once the bars were gathered he pulled himself back to the water. Sloan would come. He would
survive because so many others had not, or soon would not live.
ooo0000ooo
Drifting out of a dream, Julian woke. There were noises around him. His fever was down and every part of him vying for what ached most. So he'd live. He could even think clearly. He wasn't sure that was such a good thing at the moment. Had he recovered enough to be shipped off to Internment Camp 371 again, or some place worse? Perhaps it would be better if they simply executed him.
But a voice pulled him instantly into different reality. "Well Doctor, how are you feeling?" It was Sloan, feigning concern this time.
So he *had* kept his promise. "Your operative is dead," he said. "Your device killed him. I suspect it almost killed me."
"Actually, Doctor, you did rather well," said Sloan, sounding pleased with himself. "You passed."
"So this was just another simulation on your special holodeck." Julian felt awful and just wanted to sleep. Somehow the sickness didn't work with that idea. But he wanted Sloan to tell him he hadn't unwittingly become an assassin.
"I assure you, it was quite real. If we hadn't been able to rescue you, you too would be dead." Sloan added as an afterthought. "Considering where you'd have gone if you'd lived it perhaps would have been a better option."
So he'd condemned the people on the ship to hell. The light made his head throb, but Julian opened his eyes and lifted his head so he could stare at Sloan. "Who was he that you sacrificed all those innocents for?"
Sloan surprised him by answering. "A double agent. We've been feeding him information for some time. He hadn't had the chance to tell them anything new since he'd caught on. So he was running back. Once they discovered who he was it would have undone everything we had achieved. We had to make sure he didn't live that long."
In a reluctant way, it made sense. If they had told him would he have done it for them anyway? "And Starfleet Intelligence doesn't even suspect your doing them this favor?"
Sloan smiled, looking quite pleased. "Ah, Doctor, you're catching on. Perhaps you learned more than I'd hoped this week." Julian thought of those he'd sent to hell, what of them? "Starfleet Intelligence had no idea he was a double agent. Should they have come to suspect, his usefulness would have immediately ended."
And they would have killed him. Julian wished it had been that way instead. But why did they not trust Starfleet? "Starfleet has been infiltrated by others, then."
"This is a very patient enemy with long term plans, and who was well prepared long before anyone knew to worry about them."
Julian thought about Martok, taken so long before the war began. How many others? "And one with the patience to wait for the right moment," he added.
"If it makes you feel better, you made a great deal of difference. You and Garak."
The camp. Their warning. The war would have been long over by now if that had not come. "Your dealing with these infiltrators."
Sloan looked very pleased. "Your certainly catching on. I see we picked a perfect mission for you. If he had not been receiving controlled information, it's very possible the Federation, and the quadrant perhaps, would be under Dominion control. As you know what that's like I suspect you'll see the worth of the sacrifice."
"Why did you use a ship full of refugees?" demanded Bashir.
"They were in the right place. It wasn't personal. Each of them has saved countless others."
He remembered how the girl had been crying when they'd pushed her out of the cabin to start her journey to hell. He wished he could ask her if it was acceptable. But he realized he did not know anymore.
Around him was an infirmary with things he did not recognize. Curiosity was hard to deny. If Sloan did own him, perhaps he'd be familiar with them some day. But now, he was exhausted and hurting and still quite sick. He wanted this particular nightmare over as soon as possible. "I can't recover if you don't let me rest," he said, staring at Sloan.
Sloan simply nodded. "You'll need to be getting back to your own Infirmary soon. Sleep doctor. Rest peacefully knowing the cost of your idealism was so well spent."
Sloan left, and Julian closed his eyes. He couldn't shut out that dark and terrible place Sloan had put him. But it was done. Perhaps the Julian Bashir that had stepped on the transport for Aberstand's Station was already dead and he was what had become of the wreckage.
o0o
Declared sufficiently recovered, Julian was moved to quarters, which turned out to be a small utilitarian room little different than those on smaller ships. It was at least private. He'd spent the days before studying the equipment around him, wishing he could examine it more closely. It was easier than thinking about what he'd done, and most of all what he'd become. There were things Sloan hadn't said. There had been someone else at the prison who worked for them, someone not expendable. The last rations still did not make sense. But without him he quite possibly would have died. They had to kill the double agent, but quietly. And they dared not risk their mole. But it had given them the perfect chance to both test him and draw him in so deeply there would be no escape.
The first day out of sickbay, Sloan came for a visit. He made himself comfortable in one of the chairs, and sat a package on the bed. "You appear to be doing quite a bit better than you counterpart. That virus on Abersand's is quite virulent. He is currently rather ill so you'll be spending a bit longer with us than we anticipated."
Julian had been keeping to himself, enjoying the solitude. "He will recover, I hope."
Sloan smiled. "I'm told he will, most certainly. He simply doesn't have that superior immune system you do."
"Your disease almost killed me. It can't be that much better," Julian said quietly.
"Our disease was designed to kill quickly. We knew that you would survive if we could pull you out soon enough."
Following a hunch, Bashir continued. "It's not communicable."
"No, doctor, that would be far too dangerous."
He'd suspected as much but didn't really want to hear it so bluntly. Bashir was angry but not so much at Sloan as at himself. He should have felt more guilt than he did. "He knew something was wrong when I placed the implant. I didn't see it then, but he was expecting to be eliminated."
"You'll learn, " Sloan said, dismissing it. "In fact I believe you have already learned quite a lot."
Julian hid the anger inside him. Sloan was far too perceptive ,or perhaps had been down this road himself and remembered. "I don't want to learn."
Sloan was studying him, as if he could see all Julian's shields. "You must, but not too quickly. You'll be going home soon. You'll be Dr. Bashir of DS9 again." Then he paused and fixed his gaze on Julian. "If you can."
He looked away, hating that Sloan already knew. "And if I can't?"
"We'll have other opportunities for you. But I think you'll do well. We have uses for you there. If your double had not been ill you'd be there already. Consider taking advantage of the time and making peace with yourself."
Bashir ignored the remark. "Those people you sacrificed, why did you put them in harm's way? I'm sure there were other ships you could have used not full of refugees."
"Now Doctor," said Sloan, looking a bit disappointed. "We didn't do anything to them. We knew there would be a Jem'Hadar attack. It was just a matter of figuring out where. They were defenseless and the Dominion has been capturing prisoners of late."
So they were doomed anyway. "And if you'd have had to make a situation and they were the best suited ship."
"Casualties of war, as I said before."
He said nothing. As much as he wanted to tear into Sloan, he knew the stakes. Would he rather there be no Federation or some of its citizens suffer? He could not get their faces out of his dreams, but in cold logic they were just soldiers sent for a different kind of battle.
Sloan continued. "You'll come to understand. Or perhaps to a degree you have already." He shifted in the chair and watched Bashir for a moment, who said nothing. "When a predator chases a herd of animals, some of them die. But the predator goes away fed and the rest continue. These people are their prisoners, but many more will never be."
"We are not herd animals," Julian countered.
"No, but the principal is the same. You must rest, Doctor. You'll be busy when you get home." He indicated the package. "For now, welcome to Section 31. This makes it official."
He smiled, and Bashir looked at him coldly. He did not have the courage to say only for now because he did not know if he could believe it.
o0o
He didn't open the box until the evening. Sloan was right, he very badly needed rest. He had recovered from their disease but it had largely depleted his strength. But he kept staring at the box just the same until curiosity won.
It was one of their black uniforms. It had no rank or department indicators. They were all shadows in the night. He had no doubts that it fit him perfectly. But he tossed it on the chair and sat the box over it so he did not have to see it. No doubt, someone was watching.
He never wanted to wear it, but somehow Sloan knew that. What had he been before they had infiltrated his very core of being? How long would it take before Julian Bashir was no different?
Sloan was who he had been made to be. But others certainly knew better. Sisko should have. If there had been any chance of saying no, Sisko had taken it away.
He had been looking forward to going home. It had been a recent feeling but it was comforting. At least he knew who he was supposed to be. But Sisko would remind him of why it was a mask every day. The man would never comprehend what he had done. But someday he would be made to regret it.
o0o
His double had recovered sufficiently to go home, but a quarantine had been placed on Abersand's Station. Bashir was fully recovered and growing more bored by the hour when Sloan dropped by to introduce him to his new commander. At least until he could leave.
Covering the uniform with the box hadn't helped. He knew it was there. He folded it back in its place and sat the box on the floor where it wasn't so easily in view. He had resisted trying it on. But Sloan dropped it on the bed.
"Be dressed in ten minutes," he ordered. "Commander Redman will be waiting outside."
And would continue to wait until he complied. He had no idea how long he'd be there. The walls were becoming far too familiar.
Taking his time he unpacked it. It fit like a standard uniform. But it gave a very different impression. He put on the jacket first. The smooth leather was soft and silky, fit exactly to its wearer. It wrapped him in a solid shield, strangely not restrictive though it did not give like his starfleet uniform. He looked at himself in the mirror and saw a stranger. But then he would when he saw one in starfleet blue as well now.
An impatient reminder came from outside the door. He finished dressing, taking one last look at the black suited man he did not yet know, wondering if he would be able to pretend to be the starfleet doctor when the quarantine finally ended.
Stepping out, Redman was annoyed but showed little of it. "This way," was all he said. Bashir followed, discovering that he could not wait to find what surprises were at the end of the walk.
o0o
Redman worked in the main lab, and once inside Bashir found the stern atmosphere relaxed considerably.
"I understand you specialize in viral research," he said once they'd made introduction.
"Yes, when I have the time." Bashir was fulfilled by his duties as a doctor, but missed moments like these. At least his time here would not be wasted.
"We do population samples for viral pathogens. There's something we keep finding but we've never seen anything like it. Want to take a crack at it?"
Bashir was quite honored to be asked. "Certainly. How long ago did you begin seeing it?"
"Just recently, but its so widespread it should have shown some kind of pathway. But nothing."
Bashir remembered Ekoria and the quickening. "Get me any records you have of it, no matter how small. Or similar patterns. I'll need genetic breakdowns on how it effects the host too."
"That's the thing. It doesn't. It's there, and it replicates, but that's all. We haven't seen any sign of effects on the host itself other than it hiding in the cells." He was shown his workspace. "It's all loaded for you," finished Redman.
He settled into the chair, pulling up screens one by one. Redman watched from the side. When he worked alone he used all of his gifts and somehow understood that here it they were expecting him to.
Several more of the lab staff had arrived. They'd done good preliminary research, but were just beginning.
"It doesn't look complete," said one of his audience, as he compared a screen full of various samples."
"No," he said, watching the images and waiting to see what was eluding him. "It's not unheard of, but this is unusually partial."
Two hours later, they had examined it to the limit of the technology. It had a core and an outer layer. The outer layer was very dense. The inner one was identical in every sample from every species. The outer layer was not. But it was not clear how they differed.
By the end of the day, exhausted but not ready to go, Bashir didn't care if they ever sent him home. He had worked at his full capacity that day, the first he could remember in his life. But the virus was what drew him. Whatever it would become it would take time. But it was everywhere. When it matured, if no one had found a way to stop it, it might eclipse every plague ever known.
He fell asleep with no dreams of the girl and her tears or the man in the cell as he watched the blood on his palm. He woke with an impatience to start the day. Rushing through his breakfast, he was dressed in his black skin and waiting before Redman even arrived.
He worked in the lab that day. It was his dream. Everything was top flight or better. There was nothing unfamiliar, at least not that day, and not knowing when this respite would be over he used half the staff that day to finish the tests.
The third day he was ready before Redman and was impatiently pacing when he arrived.
They had images of the tiny changes inside the outer layer this time. None of them would ever forget what they saw.
Redman leaned close to the image, pointing to a tiny seed like shape with structures inside which were only half defined. But visible. "Look at this one. From a Klingon. Then this one, from a Vulcan. Look how different they are."
Bashir was staring at the different images. It was older, and there were no structures at all there, just the faint outlines of the "seed". "This is from a Vulcan too."
"It's one of the oldest we have," said Redman. He loaded another to the screen. It was identical, but of the same age. It had been taken from a Klingon.
The two men stared at the screen. "Biological warfare," said Bashir. Redman said nothing, but there was fear in his eyes.
o0o
It took two more weeks before quarantine was lifted and the double who was calling himself Bashir boarded his transport. The real one was not ready to go.
Sloan was impassive as Bashir attempted to change his mind.
"*This* is more vital than anything you can assign me there to do."
"You've already left, Doctor. We're leaving our man on the transport to the end to give you more time."
"This virus is mutating into a group of species specific plagues. If we can create an inoculation that will prevent its maturing we will save many more trillions than anything you can force me to do."
"It's going to take time," said Sloan. "You'll get your chance. Meanwhile, we need *you* for your assignments on DS9."
Bashir did not want to go back. It was not only Sisko, but those he'd called friends. How could he be the man they knew? "Perhaps your man could have a sudden relapse."
"And make everyone think this disease he had was being spread? I think not. You will report to the shuttle in an hour."
The tone was final. "Can I see Redman first? I have a idea. If I can't pursue it then someone needs to."
Perhaps it was the passion of the request but he was granted *two* hours before he left. He spent all but the time to change back into Starfleet blue huddled with the men who had become his colleges.
"I'll get you back," said Redman. "And you know the rules."
It was so secret that only a few within the Section knew. It was only happenstance that he had learned of it at all.
Section 31 dealt with threats to security. Even their own. Quietly and covertly. One slip and he'd see how it was done. "Of course."
He rushed out, in a hurry to change. His mind was still on the small feather-like structures growing in their different ways when the shuttle arrived at the rendevous point and he went back to the life he'd forgotten how to live.
ooo0000ooo
His double went to the restroom. Bashir came out. He had changed clothes and been fussed with on the 31 shuttle before he was beamed in. He had to stand a few minutes, holding the wall to steady himself after transport. Apparently theirs were of a quite different technology than the ones everyone else used.
The shuttle was crammed and he was very near his destination. He could not sit. His mind was still furiously considering the virus and its ramifications. The silence Redman had shown when he identified it as a weapon was still curious. If they would sacrifice whole ships full of people they would use that too. It hadn't occurred to him at the time.
But this was aimed at the alpha quadrant and would someday kill a meaningful portion of the population if it was not stopped. He had ideas. But he could do nothing with them or risk disappearing. And Redman... Yes, they'd want to stop this plague. It was what they were about after all. . . stopping threats. But it would provide an excellent blueprint for making their own.
He had grown used to the black skin. It was soft and comfortable. His uniform, by contrast, ruffled as he sat and he yanked it back into place. But had he grown too close to the black skin? He had not left with one, but had worn it just the same. Starfleet blue didn't feel quite right anymore.
Nor did the station. As he stepped from the transport, and passed to the station proper with its odd but beautiful architecture, he was struck with the feeling that it had changed. Nothing looked the same. But he knew that was only perception. It was him that been altered. Everything was distant, as if there was an invisible wall between them. He greeted those who believed they were friends, and retreated to his quarters.
Kukalaka was still there, holding his vigil. He picked up the old stuffed bear, holding it gently. Then laid it back in its place, a little smile on his face. There was something they hadn't destroyed. But the replicator was no longer an instrument of torture. Sloan had won now. His books had been shelved and he pulled them out, feeling the covers. The one he had traded with Garak felt too heavy, and he put it back. Somehow he would have to pretend he was a man who had been already destroyed. He had done that before, but his family had moved away where nobody knew him. It would be harder this time.
He picked up a pad, entering a formula. His guess was that the same general pattern of Dominion dna was used to make the virus. He guessed that something that would kill or disable the quikening virus might at least slow it down. Everyone knew that was one of his obsessions.
He unpacked his bag, and put the clothes aside to clean. Had this other Bashir worn them? He doubted his double had used any of his things, but he replaced them anyway. Showering, he changed to something comfortable and settled down for the evening. The replicator produced exactly what it was told and he ate his dinner alone that night. Then he settled comfortably, holding the padd, and wiped it.
Carefully, recreating its files from a second one, he added a special encryption. Redman had not noticed how closely he'd been watching when he loaded their files. Anyone using it would see only what was expected, but a special key would release a second layer of memory.
That done, he realized how tired he was. Putting the padd with his personal things, for tomorrow he'd load it with a layer of the innocuous before he began his study. Then he retired to bed. It was odd to feel one was out of place in his own home, but he didn't have one anymore. Just stops along the way until it was over.
o0o
The next day he established the routine everyone would see. He rose early, taking his first cup of raktageno alone. Then he dressed and took his breakfast openly in the replimat. But he ate alone. Work would follow tomorrow. He expected it, at least, to be something familiar. Or perhaps it was only a hope. Later he had dinner alone. He spoke to whomever spoke to him, but kept to himself. He wanted to go to Quark's and see Vic, but wasn't ready. Not yet. There was something else he needed to do.
During his dinner, Captain Sisko had wandered past. He had apparently paid no attention, but watched as the Captain paused ever so quickly before he seemed to hurry away. Who had he seen? The man he had helped create? Or the one he had abandoned?
Sloan was ruthless, but he had been made that way. Sisko had no such excuse. He would never know unless Bashir told him. With the rest he would pretend. But not Sisko. The Captain deserved nothing less than the truth.
o0o
Bashir hadn't been back to the station much more than a day. Sisko had seen him once, eating his dinner alone. It was as if to the doctor the rest of the diners didn't exist. But he'd been very ill, and perhaps he'd need some time to readjust.
There were more things to do after dinner, and Sisko retired to his office to finish. But there was someone at his door. Julian stood quietly, formally waiting to be invited inside. His manner was distant. Sisko waved him in curious about what had brought on this late night visit.
He stood rather than sitting, striking Sisko as somehow different, keeping a barrier between them. "I'm glad to see you back, Julian. We were all very concerned when we were notified you were ill."
Bashir didn't react. He didn't stare, but examined Sisko with unforgiving eyes. Ben was uncomfortable with the close scrutiny. He stood stiffly, staring down at the Captain. "I thought you'd like to know I wasn't anywhere near that hospital and I didn't get sick there." His voice was calm and deliberate.
Sisko was shaken by both the tone and the information. Looking up at Bashir he asked, "Then who was there?" but did not expect an answer.
"I don't know. A double of sorts," Bashir said rather casually.
Sisko was putting it together. He wasn't quite sure how to ask. "You were contacted, then?"
"And I obeyed your orders." His voice was calm, rather cold in fact. "And they were expecting me to since you had ordered it."
Sisko was shaken, barely hiding it. Only those who he knew and trusted knew of the order. "This isn't the best time for a briefing," he said, a trifle nervous. Something terrible had happened and he didn't know if he wanted to know.
"I have no intention of discussing it," said Bashir flatly, with no emotion at all. "And it will never be mentioned again. It would be wise to keep it to yourself."
Sisko was shaken, both by the words and the stranger who stood before him. Whatever had happened, whoever had hurt him, the blame was placed on Sisko. His plan had failed miserably. He had delivered Bashir to them, and lost any chance of learning about the elusive black ops section.
But he had to try to get him back. "Julian," he said using his familiar name."They kidnaped you, and for all you know might have killed you. Don't protect them."
There was anger in Bashir's eyes. He fixed Sisko with a stare that was full of nightmares. "And you forced me to join them. Did you think that Sloan would simply accept my word of loyalty?" he snapped. "You never considered I'd have to prove some sort of loyalty to survive. I hope you are satisfied now." A deadly quiet came over the room, Bashir going cold. "He is."
For the first time, Sisko realized how dangerous Bashir could be, certainly to him, but to who else he had no idea. "I regret my order, " he said.
"It just made it easier for them." Bashir stood rigid, watching Sisko closely. Sisko though the doctor could tell how nervous he was. "If I could transfer off this station I would but Sloan has ordered me to stay. I suggest you forget this conversation every took place."
Sisko was locked in his gaze. "Welcome back from your assignment, Doctor. If you feel you need some time just tell me, he said as cordially and lightly as he could.
Bashir transformed. He was still stiff and distant, but the threat had vanished behind a curtain. "Thank you, Captain, but I'm looking forward to being at work."
"All right then, you start your duties tomorrow."
Bashir nodded, sounding almost friendly. "I'm glad to be home." But there was a look, just a brief look but he was meant to see it. Where ever home was now, it certainly wasn't here. Then he turned and marched away.
Sisko realized that of the bad decisions he'd made in his life, this one was possibly the worse.
Finis
"