Two men stood by a viewport at the outer edge of the wardroom, both anxiously silent, one staring through the unbroken, transparent forcefield that served as a window to the outer vacuum beyond. A soft light settled from above, revealing the true depth of the creases beneath his eyes and those still framing the corners of his lips.

The pale-skinned admiral was first to break the illusion of stasis. Silent and controlled, he unclenched all five fingers of the hand behind his back, clenched them again, rocked back onto his heels, and sighed deeply. "I'm sorry, Ben."

The other man stood no more than a single step away, and kept a steady eye on his companion.

With a shake of his head, Admiral Ross shifted his gaze away from the speckled view at the other side of the thick, metal wall. "Starfleet Command cannot agree with your assessment, nor to your proposal."

"May I ask why, Sir?"

The admiral was silent.

"You think this is a vendetta on my part? That I'm putting my personal feelings above the interests of the Federation? It isn't like that at all, Admiral. This could well be a matter of internal security."

"Nice try, Benjamin. But Starfleet Command doesn't see it that way. To endorse your request would mean occupying our most vital resource in a dangerous and possibly fruitless search for just one man."

"And how do you see it?"

There was an uncomfortable pause, and Sisko wondered if he'd really caught the faint grimace that briefly appeared on the face of the admiral. Finally, Ross spoke. "I agree with them."

Now it was Sisko who stepped forward to gaze out of the window. His skin was smoother than was usual for a man his age, his face not bearing the same marked creases as that of his commanding officer. But still his anxiety showed. "Sad," he remarked.

Ross did not ask what he meant, but the captain continued to elaborate regardless. He sensed from the weight on the admiral's face that he must have already known. But words were more than mere carriers of information. They were a release, a way to solidify the thoughts behind the pain stabbing into his temples. "It's a sad day, when the lives of our people become so unimportant. We're abandoning a good man, Admiral."

"I know that," said Ross. "But there are a great many things that we might call 'sad', these days."

Sisko nodded in response. The admiral was right, of course, and he could not have gotten as far as he had up the chain of command by only ever telling others what they were eager to hear. But the knowledge did not make him any more willing to accept this reminder. "No action," he muttered to the stars. "Take no action."

He looked back, and saw the admiral still watching him with wary concern. "Don't worry, Sir. I understand."

Which meant that he only had one remaining task. The unsavoury taste returned to his mouth like overcooked stew. Someone still had to relay Starfleet's orders to the rest of his senior staff.

"And you think the Dominion might have targeted the Ragnarok specifically?"

The core personnel of DS9 gathered soon after Admiral Ross had left for his command base. Almost the instant that he finished his meeting with the admiral, Sisko had resolved to sort through the rumours he knew would be circulating among the officers by now, especially with the Darwin at one of the docking ports, and a number of her passengers already prepared to disembark.

The senior staff responded far more swiftly to their captain's second summons than they had to his first, and he was soon surrounded by a line of worried faces, every one of them desperate for news. As they spoke, their words were framed by awkward silences, so brief that they might well have been missed by a less than attentive passer by.

Sisko looked to the right of him, to the ruddy faced doctor sitting three places from the head of the elongated and brightly lit table. Nathan Hayes was a far more naturally reserved man than Sisko had originally come to suspect, and unlikely to argue any point unless he felt too strongly to be easily persuaded otherwise.

Outwardly, even in battle, he often appeared detached, analytical… But, as the captain himself had noted, he did share one important quality with his younger predecessor. With few, if any exceptions, Starfleet medical officers thought of themselves as doctors first, soldiers second. Nathan would yield to his orders if it proved to be necessary, but was unlikely to agree with any decision to abandon a man in trouble. Captain Sisko was having enough trouble compelling himself to agree. He paused before responding to Hayes' query.

"I do."

Clenching both hands in front of him, Sisko looked down at the steady white glow of the conference table, and continued. "Two starships and a freighter reported sighting of a Dominion vessel which failed to engage either one. I believe the Jericho managed to chase it as far as the Chintoka system but they did note that it appeared to be more interested in escaping than fighting - unusual enough in itself for the Jem'Hadar. Projections based on its known course seemed to put the ship en route to Cardassia."

"Cardassia." Casting her hands in the air, Kira half turned away from all their other faces. "I should have known."

"Which begs another question," the doctor persevered, scratching at the back of his thinning, copper-red hair. "How did they know who would be on board?"

Sisko stopped, frowning, and saw that over half of the other faces around him now bore their own storm-driven expressions. He realised with surprise that, however unconsciously, he'd been wondering exactly the same thing. But before Hayes had found the words to give it substance, the question had failed to reach the surface of his thoughts.

It was Odo who filled in the lengthy silence. "I have formulated several theories already, Doctor, every one of which I am currently investigating. I am certain that I will have an answer before long, in spite of the continued lack of information. Captain, I believe there is still a chance to intercept the vessel in question. If you would allow me to contact…"

"No."

Captain Sisko's voice was quiet, barely louder than the occasional sleepless rumble of stones shifting deep beneath the surface of Bajor. All eyes were suddenly directed his way.

The captain drew a deep breath inward, wincing slightly as though the refusal had brought him physical pain. Make it quick, he thought. No anticipation, minimal discomfort.

"I received orders this morning from Starfleet Command. Their view is that we should stay exactly where we are. Do nothing."

"Nothing?" Another voice rose in disbelief. Chief O'Brien leaned forward as though to correct his own hearing. "You can't be serious."

"I can and I am," insisted Sisko. He glared at his Chief of Operations, all the more fiercely for the knowledge that he shared this reluctance to accept Starfleet's directive. But, orders were orders, and those Ross had passed to him had been too clear to allow for any other interpretation. "Look, people. I understand how you feel. This isn't making me any happier than it's making you. But whether we like it or not, this is wartime, and Starfleet Command can no longer give us the latitude that they might once have done. If Admiral Ross tells me they cannot spare the Defiant, then I have no choice but to believe him. So, I'm afraid there won't be any rescue missions. Not this time."

The major supposed that it was unusual for her, to be the last one out of the wardroom. Directly following the Cardassians' departure from Bajor, in what she occasionally thought of as the early days, she would have been first through the door - always rushing, never slowing down, impatient to be at her destination even before she had found the time to take a first step.

She had scarcely slowed over the years, but liked to think that she'd learnt some measure of self-control. And on that day, she paused and glanced back to find the face of Captain Sisko. The man's feelings were not clearly shown in the shape of his face, but they were no less easy to find as he stood by the table and watched the line of officers file sombrely into the corridor. Catching his eye, Kira nodded, once - and the anxious tension in her captain's face seemed to loosen. If only by a little.

The others were already separating, walking away in different directions as they forced their feet to carry them to their day's assignments. The atmosphere was grave, weighty, and none of her colleagues seemed willing to break the silence.

Kira looked to either side of her. The thoroughfare was even more poorly lit than the wardroom had been, but she could not have mistaken that stocky figure at the far end - especially not the tight, sandy-brown curls of his hair. Briefly quickening her pace until she was half jogging along the carpeted passage, she caught up with O'Brien and fell into step beside him.

"Chief."

"Major," he half growled. The slender Bajoran pretended to ignore the hostile shade of his voice.

"Join me."

"Why?" O'Brien stopped - although now with a frown more of suspicion than anger.

"Because I feel like a raktajino." Kira grabbed the engineer by the arm and began to lead him away, matching her force to correspond to his resistance. "And I feel like company."

The Replimat was less than half occupied that morning, but there were another three hours at least before the lunchtime crowds were due to arrive. Kira flashed O'Brien a brief, tight smile. By the time they reached one of the outer tables, she no longer had her hand around the Chief's forearm. He opened his mouth to protest, but he knew this woman, a lot better than he currently cared to. She had lived in his home, borne his child… There were times when the force of her will was even more difficult to escape than his wife's.

The major selected an empty place close to the border between the Replimat and the Promenade. Grunting from the base of his throat, O'Brien dropped into another nearby chair and resolved to keep his arms folded stubbornly in front of him. He turned his head to one side, hoping to avoid Nerys' penetrating gaze.

"Thanks," he grumbled as she approached him again, this time with a hot drink in either hand. Kira positioned herself at the opposite side of the table, leaning slightly back as she waited for the Chief to speak. O'Brien's frown turned quickly to an open scowl, his lips pursed into a thin, small line. There was something infuriating, about the steady gaze of those ebony eyes, in her silent, watchful smile, that drew confessions from Miles like iron to a magnet.

"I don't understand," he said at last. He still had not looked directly her way. And had no intention to, he insisted in secret.

Kira sighed, nodding, tapping one finger against the rim of her mug. "I doubt very much that the captain likes these orders, any more than we do." She paused. "But he understands them."

"Sisko's never been such a stickler for protocol before," O'Brien complained. "Have you forgotten what happened when those Romulans captured Odo and Garak? He had no problems disobeying orders then. And I could name at least a dozen other examples when…"

"I haven't forgotten," Kira assured him. Her voice was uncharacteristically soft, but successful in undercutting the rest of his tirade - until even O'Brien was no longer sure of what else he'd been about to say. "But there wasn't a war back then. We're not likely to get much notice, if the Defiant is suddenly needed on the Front. The captain knows that, and so do you."

"Fine," growled O'Brien. He glowered, feeling a rush of sudden heat to his face. Kira's mahogany-dark eyes continue to search his expression, as though for something she did not want to miss. He sensed his scowl transforming far too easily to an open glare. "Fine!"

That's it, then, he thought. Do nothing. Just go about your business, O'Brien.

After a token effort to finish his coffee - more for Kira's sake than from any real desire to feel the heat of it settle in his stomach - he sprang from the thin blue chair and stormed away in the direction from which they had come.

Miles kept his head low and dodged the scant crowd that peppered the carpeted walkway. He could sense Kira's unwavering stare as she tracked his progress along the Promenade. The certainty left a tingle of misplaced energy all the way across his back - she had to have been staring at him. And no doubt she would continue to stare for as long as the Chief was still in sight.

Those bastards shacked up with the Cardies, dammit. Everyone knows what they do to prisoners. Nerys knows. He slowed to a near stop, but refused to turn around and let her see his face. And so do I.

He had ridden the Enterprise all the way to the galaxy's centre and back again. And his service on the Rutledge had seen her crew escape from several Cardassian warships at once. But no amount of speed would allow him to outrun the angry heat that burned in the skin of his ears.

Work. That was the answer. Get the upper pylons back to peak proficiency, and focus his endeavours on a problem which could at least be solved. Cardies, he reminded himself. And now the Dominion as well. God only knew what could happen if those bloodthirsty monsters had really captured his friend. Recaptured - O'Brien amended the storm of thoughts that had plagued him all the way from the wardroom. And even before, he realised. Ever since the first elusive touches of rumour had started to creep around the station.

There were moments when he still felt the pain of Cardassian nails upon his shoulders, echoing the sensations of their grabbing hands as they had torn his clothes away and attached him, naked, to the awkwardly inclined chair. Metal had been cold against his flesh, as powerful lights stabbed all the way to the backs of his eyes. He recalled the chill on his skin, goose pimples forming even in the sultry heat of Cardassia Prime, and the uneasy fear that had risen within him, even more for the level, emotionless voices of his captors.

The intense glow of the pylon circuits was many times harder to focus upon than O'Brien had hoped it would be. His hand closed tightly around the slender piece of machinery he had fished out of his box of tools, until he was certain that he'd felt the corners dig painfully into his palm. Pausing so briefly that no observer would even notice that he had stopped, he glanced at the darkened imprints it had left upon his skin, and forced his grip to loosen upon its handle. He would need a steady hand if he wanted to make any progress that day.

Hang on… He sat back, realising suddenly that he'd forgotten to adjust the power flow regulators before continuing on to what would normally have been the second step. It was an EJ-7 interlock he needed, not a decoupler. Still muttering near-inaudible curses, he rubbed away yet another flush of agitation, and dropped the wrong implement to lie abandoned beside his open toolbox.

Hunched like a man of twice his age, O'Brien sat back and bowed his head, drawing back his lips like an angry dog, until his jaw was so tight that he imagined he would have to use one of his own tools to pry his teeth apart.

And you call yourself an engineer?

"I always did enjoy visiting this part of the station." A voice spoke from behind him - loud, although not enough to be a shout - and infused with a dose of deliberate levity. "A most pleasant experience, to find time away from the crowds. Very… diverting. Wouldn't you agree?"