AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Thanks for reading, and special thanks to those who have liked this story enough to follow, favourite and / or review.

-=o=-

Chapter Four

Julian was back in Telnorri's office. He felt as though he'd spent more time there in the last two weeks than in all his previous time aboard the space station.

Previously, he'd simply been a fellow professional, talking through patient referrals. Now he had become a patient, or, he thought darkly, a victim.

He felt as though he knew this room intimately. He had become familiar with the lumps and bumps in the chair cushions. He'd noted the scuffs on the furniture, scratches and marks on the walls, the way one of the pictures refused to hang dead straight and how, no matter how many times Telnorri adjusted it, it would list about five degrees to the left. He'd become familiar with Telnorri, himself: the way the hairs in his eyebrows varied in length; the hairs that grew out of his ears; the ragged skin on his fingers that he chewed instead of his nails...

Julian had become intimately acquainted with the starscape visible through the windows. If he wanted, he could see it when he closed his eyes. He knew which stars had planets orbiting them, what class those planets were, which were inhabited... Cataloguing them had become an almost meditative exercise, which he used when he wanted to distract himself from the rigours of his counselling sessions.

Despite his best efforts, nothing was managing to distract him today.

His secret was out, and that would change the shape, the focus, of these meetings. It was inevitable.

"I didn't understand," said Telnorri. "You're brilliant. You know this about yourself. Yet you were still harbouring feelings of insecurity. Why? Which was the real you? They couldn't both be true, could they? It seemed very paradoxical. Until now. I hope, now I know what's been holding you back in our sessions, you'll talk to me. Actually, you'll have to, if you want me to sign off on this part of the deal."

So. There it was. Telnorri had power over him, and he fully intended to use it. This wasn't any form of counselling Julian recognised. This wasn't, "Let me support you, while you work through your problems." This was coercion.

The change spoke not too subtly of his altered status. He was now less than an equal, no longer due peer-to-peer respect.

Well. He'd expected nothing more, had he? Actually, hadn't he expected rather less than this?

Telnorri must have seen the cascade of emotions and thoughts reflected in Julian's expression, because he smiled apologetically. "I didn't mean that to sound so harsh. I'm sorry. If it makes you feel any better, think of this as the means to an end, a bit of pain and discomfort, but worth it in the long run."

Was Telnorri offering platitudes? Or did he mean what he said? The only bit that rang true was that this session—and any that followed—were the means to an end.

So... He might as well get it over with.

"All right," said Julian dubiously. "What do you want to know?"

-=o=-

"...and if that doesn't work, we'll try a blindfold!"

The force of his relief made Julian want to grin. Sure, Miles was annoyed with him, but he wasn't resentfully angry. Julian could live with annoyance. Miles had found him annoying from the day they'd met. In fact, Miles's annoyance was both familiar and deeply reassuring.

Julian felt the tension in his shoulders ease, and he felt more relaxed than he had in days. All was not yet right with his world, but it was better than it had been in what felt like a very long time.

Miles threw his darts, then waited for Julian to follow suit.

Julian concentrated on hitting the target and mused that the game really was more fun this way. It was a novel experience, trying to do his best rather than trying his damnedest not to.

Match over, with victory going to Julian by the narrowest of margins, the two men decided to take a break. They cozied up to the bar, where they ordered two pints of beer.

"What was all that about?" asked Quark, as he put their glasses down.

"What was what about?" asked Miles.

"You making him," Quark pointed at Julian, "stand further away from the dartboard."

Julian didn't say anything, though he felt his cheeks warm.

"Ah, that," said O'Brien. "I'm handicapping him."

"Why?"

"Levels the playing field. He's better than me."

"Really?" Quark looked at Julian thoughtfully. "I've never seen any evidence of that before. Have you been hustling the chief, Doctor? I never thought you had it in you." He smirked and sounded mildly impressed.

"I haven't been hustling anyone," said Julian. "I wouldn't do that."

O'Brien shook his head. "Of course not. You've just been letting me win."

"He has? You have? Why?" asked Quark.

Julian's cheeks were burning now. He couldn't bring himself to answer.

O'Brien said, "Turns out our Julian here has certain...advantages."

"Ah!" said Quark. "I take it this relates to something I heard on the news."

Julian nodded morosely.

"Well, Doctor, I have to admit, you're full of surprises. I just wish you'd let me in on your little secret a couple of days ago, before everyone else found out. We could have taken the opportunity to turn an excellent profit."

Julian lifted his eyes towards Quark, astonished. "That's it? That's all you have to say? That we missed out on an opportunity for profit?"

Quark shrugged. "What else do you want me to say?"

"Nothing," said Julian, and he meant it.

Quark wandered off to see to other customers. Julian and Miles made inroads into their beers.

Finally, two-thirds of the way down his glass, Miles said, "You could have told me, you know. Before, I mean."

Julian stared at Miles in disbelief. Did he have any idea what he was suggesting? Julian could no more have told Miles that he'd been genetically enhanced than he could have flown to Bajor under his own power. The very idea that Miles thought Julian could have broken over a decade and a half of ingrained silence made him ache. "When?" asked Julian, his voice thick with emotion. "What would you have done if I'd told you in the first week I was on the station? In the first month? Even the first year? You could barely stand to be in the same room as me back then."

"That changed," said Miles. "I changed."

"I know. But I still couldn't tell you. I couldn't tell anyone." Julian stared into his glass, then said, genuinely curious, "When do you think I could have told you? When would have been the right time? Not too soon, but not so late that you'd think I'd missed my moment?"

Miles considered Julian, his expression thoughtful. "Maybe you've got a point. Maybe there never was a right time. But I don't like the idea that you've been carrying this on your own for so long. I wish I could have helped. That's all."

Julian mumbled, "You have helped. More than you know."

There was a lull in the conversation while they both turned their attention back to their drinks.

"Did you really think I wouldn't understand?" asked Miles eventually.

"Honestly?" said Julian. "Miles...I didn't think anyone would." He looked up, straight into Miles's face.

Amazingly, Miles seemed to appreciate the full import of what Julian was trying to say. Leastways, he nodded slowly and thoughtfully. "I just wish..."

"What?"

"I wish you could have trusted me."

"I do trust you," said Julian. "More than I've ever trusted anyone. But I still couldn't tell you. Besides, it wasn't just about trust. It was also about...what I am, and what I'd like to be."

"You'll have to explain that one to me."

Julian took a poorly coordinated gulp from his beer glass that did much to belie the notion of his having enhanced hand-eye coordination. He mustered his thoughts as he drank. Then he said, "I was in denial. I was...pretending." He sighed, then said, "I was fifteen when I found out what my parents had had done to me. But, even before that, I knew I was different. I stood out from my peers, at first because I was slower than them, then, later, because I was smarter. Children—some children, anyway—are very...unforgiving of difference. I was bullied, and all I ever wanted was to fit in." Julian shrugged. "When I came here, I thought that, with there being so many different people, all experts in their fields, even if I wasn't exactly normal, at least I'd be normal enough not to stand out."

There was another pause while Miles considered what Julian had just told him and Julian wondered whether he had said too much.

"Promise me one thing?" said Miles.

"What?"

"You'll never let me win again."

Julian nodded. "I promise."

There was yet another lull in the conversation, during which more beer was consumed. Then, with barely a quarter inch of beer left, Miles slammed his glass down on the bar and exploded. "How could you stand it, losing all the time?"

"I didn't lose all the time," said Julian, embarrassed.

"Often enough to make me feel good. Don't you like winning?"

Julian looked at Miles, wondering how he was supposed to answer. Yes, he liked winning. He just didn't have much experience of it. He hadn't dared to win too often.

Maybe Miles read something of his confusion in his expression, because he said, "But... You used to play competitive tennis."

"I gave it up."

"What about racquetball, at the Academy?"

"Someone spotted me when I was practicing by myself." Julian shrugged. "I shouldn't have played, but I couldn't see a way to get out of it. And, even though I knew it was wrong, I enjoyed it."

"And with me?"

Julian looked down at the counter and didn't answer.

"You let me win! Or, at least, you made sure I didn't lose too badly."

Julian felt the guilt well up inside him, and he blurted out, "I'm sorry! All right? I'm sorry about all of it!"

"I'm not looking for an apology! I'm just trying to understand."

"What's to understand?" asked Julian miserably. "I cheated, just like I cheated to get into medical school. Just like I cheated on my finals. It's as much of a cheat to lose deliberately as to win unfairly. But, if I'd used my abilities, that would have been cheating, too. Wouldn't it?"

"Damned if you do, damned if you don't, eh?"

"Something like that, yeah," muttered Julian.

"But...all those games... What was in it for you? You can't enjoy losing, surely?"

"Actually, I sort of do," admitted Julian. "Sometimes. There's an intellectual challenge to it, to get things wrong by just the right amount. But that's not why I did it."

"Then, why? Because you had to hide what you can do?"

"No," said Julian. "If I'd only wanted to hide, I wouldn't have played at all."

"Then, why?"

"Because...I liked spending time with you and...I wanted a friend."

Miles took a final swig from his glass. "Right, then." Then he plunked his glass down, stood up, slapped Julian on the back, and said, "What d'you say to another game?"

Julian's lips stretched into a smile, hearing in Miles's words everything he'd left unsaid.

-=o=-

Telnorri handed over his official report to the captain.

"Sit down," said Sisko, gesturing towards the couch in his office. "I want to hear about your findings."

Telnorri nodded. "Very well, sir."

Together they moved across the room and sat down on the couch. Once they'd made themselves comfortable, Telnorri said, "The first thing I need to say is that I believe there is nothing about Dr Bashir's personality or behaviours to concern Starfleet. And that is what I've said in my report."

Sisko nodded. He hadn't thought that there was, but it was a relief to hear that Telnorri had come to the same conclusions he had.

"However," said the counsellor, "there are a few things that concern me and that, given Dr Bashir's somewhat unusual circumstances, I think you should know about."

Sisko said, "Go on."

"The most important thing is that Dr Bashir finds it hard to form deep emotional attachments."

Sisko frowned slightly and said, "Is that a side effect of the enhancements?"

"It's possible, but I doubt it. He wants to be able to; you can see it in his behaviours. But his background has left him ill-equipped."

"His background...?" prompted Sisko.

"Dr Bashir experienced a...disjointed childhood. His family moved around a lot when he was growing up. He didn't stay in any one place long enough to make friends. Additionally, his unusual genius would have set him apart from other children. Those experiences on their own would be enough to explain why he has problems." Telnorri warmed to his theme and continued. "But, now, on top of that, I understand that he experienced developmental delays until he was six, at which point he was genetically enhanced. He went from being in the bottom five per cent for IQ to off the scale at the top. Both led to ostracism from his peers. Then, at the age of fifteen, he learned what had been done to him."

Sisko leaned forward as he focussed on what Telnorri was telling him.

"Given the curricula in Federation schools—particularly those on Earth—along with the cultural taboos surrounding genetic engineering, that discovery can only have been traumatic. From what little he has told me, it's evident that Dr Bashir had a sheltered upbringing. His parents protected both him and his secret, and he has no other family. So, when Bashir found out about the enhancements, he found himself estranged from his parents and with no network of support." Telnorri paused and glanced at Sisko to make sure that the captain was still following him.

Sisko nodded for him to continue.

"That man barely had a childhood," said Telnorri. "He's felt compelled to hide the truth for both his own and his parents' sakes. It goes without saying that he has never received any counselling to come to terms with what was done to him. He has rarely allowed himself to get close to anyone. Certainly, he's been careful to keep most of his romantic relationships casual, and those that have become serious, he's ended. Probably the most meaningful attachment he's managed to form—certainly the longest lasting—has been with your Chief of Operations. To be frank, it's a wonder that he copes as well as he does."

Sisko twiddled his thumbs as he thought about what he'd just heard. Counsellor Telnorri was very clear: any deficiencies in Julian's social skills were not because of the changes that had been made to his genetic code but because of all the surrounding circumstances. Not because of his nature. Because of how he had been nurtured.

He thought about the terms and conditions Bennett had set and he shuddered. O'Brien's concerns had fuelled his own, and Sisko understood that Julian was going to need all the support and reassurance he could get. But Sisko now understood that Julian was singularly ill-equipped to look after himself and to seek help when he needed it.

"Thank you, Counsellor. That has been most helpful."

Telnorri stood up. Then, just as he was about to leave, he looked down at Sisko and said, "There is one other thing: Dr Bashir's ability to work with other species is highlighted in his personnel records. Indeed, that ability is something that Starfleet looks for, and values, in its officers. What the records don't say is why he is so willing to work with non-humans. Dr Bashir is more relaxed around non-human species than around other humans, and that was clearly a factor in his decision to request assignment here. He feels alienated from other humans. And given the laws and fears about the genetically enhanced, it is easy to see why.

"He's good at what he does. But, as a coping strategy, avoiding humans is unhealthy. He needs more human contact."

Sisko looked at Telnorri. "So, in short, you're saying...?"

"Dr Bashir needs to have a better support network. If his family can't provide it, then his friends will have to. He needs to form relations with other humans. He also needs to come to terms with himself, and with the fact that he has been outed."

-=o=-

Samil Fahid stood in the shadows, watching and listening to the ebb and flow of the interview. The Federation News Service had sent one of its best-known correspondents, a human called Elizabeth Lilienfeld, to interview the shadow minister.

Fahid knew, from the biographical information the FNS had given him, that Lilienfeld was in her early fifties and that, in her time, she'd covered peace negotiations as well as a range of minor, and not so minor, conflicts. He was very aware of the coup he had engineered by getting her to carry out the interview. He was also aware that her name attached to the resulting broadcast would increase ratings across the quadrant by at least twenty-five per cent. Her name alone would make people tune in and would help to ensure that the shadow minister's profile increased, and, with it, his own.

So far, the interview had gone smoothly. Neither journalist nor politician had put a foot wrong. Ghazi had spouted forth on UFP politics without saying anything controversial. Fahid knew that Ghazi's approach was carefully calculated. Of course he did; he'd helped to plan it. Ghazi would show how reasonable he was, how sensible and rational, and that would help to lull people into supporting him on more contentious matters. He was saving his most forthright views for the inevitable questions about the upcoming war.

Sure enough...

"You're on record," said Lilienfeld, "as supporting a reduction in resources for space exploration. Could you explain your thinking?"

Ghazi smiled paternally and leaned forward in his chair. "The worst thing the Federation ever did was to confuse its military with a mission of science and exploration. As a result, the role of Starfleet has become diluted and unclear. It has also, because of the breadth of its activities, become too influential in quadrant politics."

"Go on..." prompted Lilienfeld.

Ghazi warmed to his theme. "Starfleet has become the natural home of the idealistic and the liberal-minded. Starfleet's mission being to seek out new civilisations? That sounds fine in theory, but has anyone given any thought to what this has meant in practice?

"What happens when these new civilisations turn out to be hostile? In recent years, we've had to face the Borg threat. There have been conflicts with the Cardassians. The Klingons broke the Khitomer Accords. And now we're facing the worst threat of all: the Dominion. Yet Starfleet's first response is always to negotiate for peace. It makes us weak. Plus, our starships aren't designed for battle. They're hybrids, designed to do a bit of everything, but unable to do any of it well. Having families on board? That automatically limits the risks any commanding officer can take, and again it makes us look weak. We don't need to find new worlds. We need to protect the ones we already have. We need to be tough! And resourcing exploration activities is distracting Starfleet from its most urgent priorities.

"Starfleet has become the natural home of the namby-pamby, liberal-minded and weak-willed. President Jaresh-Inyo is an idealist, and he lacks the strength of personality required to stand against the cult of Starfleet. We need someone who is prepared to lead us into war. No shilly-shallying. No appeasement."

"That's rather a...strong...opinion."

"Is it? We need to end Starfleet's tendency to pander to known threats."

"'Pander to known threats...' What exactly do you mean by that?"

"A case in point, which is currently in the news... You will be aware of course that the Starfleet JAG office has recently brokered a deal to allow a genetically enhanced individual to retain his commission in the service, a commission that had been obtained through deception?" Ghazi make his statement into a question.

"I believe we are all familiar with that case, yes," agreed Lilienfeld. "I don't understand, however, what that has to do with your view that Starfleet should be preparing for war."

"It has nothing to do with it, other than both things being symptomatic of the same malaise. Being idealistic makes us vulnerable. The liberals in the JAG overreached themselves when they made this deal. The law is the law. The JAG should be enforcing it, not bending it. And, you will notice, President Jaresh-Inyo has not made any statement about this matter. History tells us that the genetically enhanced are a danger to us all."