"They're flying into Dominion space?" Sisko's voice rose to keep pace with his mounting disbelief. "In the middle of a war? In a runabout?"

Kira Nerys recognised the fire that blazed behind his eyes. She understood what impulse had led him to grab her by the arm, and tug her from the Security office with enough force to hurt. She could still feel the after-effects of his large hand around her upper arm, and rubbed involuntarily at the place where it throbbed with a dull, steady pain. But she knew just as well that whatever frustration he expressed was scarcely directed at her, or even at O'Brien and Garak.

"It's not so inexplicable, if you really think about it," she reasoned, but regretted even this brief comment, when faced with the captain's thunderous glare.

"And no less stupid for that," Sisko growled.

The major nodded, conceding his point. She had considered arguing further, and discovered even then that her mouth was open to provide a rebuttal - which she may well have done in the initial days after the Cardassians' withdrawal from Bajor. But since then, she had developed a reflexive habit of swallowing back the angry comments she generally longed to make. Instead, her response was considerably more subdued - so much that it barely carried. "Do you think they have a chance?"

"Possibly," said the captain, but then closed his eyes, sighing, head bowed. He rested one closed fist against the wall.

"One disaster at a time." He paused, with an audible sigh. But when he finally opened his eyes again, Sisko's expression was oddly resigned, although darker than a gathering storm. He turned once more towards Kira. "I'll meet with you again before too long, Major, but for the moment I'll leave it to you and Dax to ascertain their most likely heading. Right now, there's somewhere else I need to be."

Orders.

The thought reached Sisko, together with a surprisingly bitter taste at the point where his throat joined the back of his mouth. That's the bottom line, isn't it? We're still under orders.

As far as he saw it, a large part of the problem was that he could not stop himself from secretly agreeing with Kira. He had felt the same churning impatience ever since his talk with Ross, partaken of that same rotten dish and tasted the same acrid bitterness at the admiral's stern directive. He did understand whatever sentiments had led the Chief and Garak on their foolish escapade. Perhaps he was just as stupid as they, but a part of him had little desire to force them back to the station.

In spite of the anger inside him, he was just as loathe to punish his Chief Engineer upon his return. Assuming, of course, that O'Brien stayed alive for long enough to face the consequences.

Both their guests were still in the office, Kwan with his hands locked together and elbows resting against his thighs, Corinna with her back to Sisko as she gazed unhappily down at her lap. She turned at the sound of Sisko's renewed approach, and he winced at the even deeper hurt in the woman's dark caramel eyes.

Odo also locked his gaze together with that of his captain, and coughed quietly as though he had not expected the interruption any more than his present company.

Again with eyes averted downwards, Corinna rose to her feet and stepped hurriedly towards the exit. Her brow was gathered into what looked like a painful frown. "Captain," she muttered quickly - never even glancing towards him.

Let her go, Sisko told himself. She's not ready to talk any more. Let her escape from here, if that's what she wants.

"We'll talk again," he promised her in a soft whisper. Nodding briefly, Corinna stepped through the door. Toran Kwan disappeared after her, smiling a little awkwardly as he cast a final glance at the dark eyes of DS9's commander. The doors closed, leaving a solid cloud of silence in their wake. Sisko felt it expand until it pressed against his back and chest.

"I want to see your prisoner," he told Odo, his voice cast deliberately low enough to cut through the weighty tension in the air.

The Constable nodded. "I thought you might."

Jocelyn Davies looked up at the captain until her pale blue eyes finally caught the light. "It's was never for myself." Her voice was clear, confident and steady. "We in the Federation have sacrificed too many ideals already - made too many compromises - and lines have to be drawn."

"Those kind of ideals are all very nice, in theory." Sisko glared at the prisoner through the transparency of the forcefield. He had listened to the information of his Security Chief - all about this woman, her name, her cause… and far more about her crime than he'd ever cared to know, although he questioned the notion that ignorance would have made him feel any better. "But what you have done is an act of terrorism, and treason."

"You make it sound so definitive."

"Which is exactly what it is."

Davies appeared to consider her position, as though investigating a diverting toy. "The Dominion has the resources we needed," she said, once more looking out of her cell. "That's all."

"What?"

"It is unfortunate about your doctor, Captain Sisko," responded Davies. "But even more unfortunate that centuries ago, there were many more people than now who would have considered our lives, our humanity, to be sacrosanct."

Now, finally, she stood and approached the forcefield. The blue of her eyes was as intense as a New Orleans summer, but far, far colder. "We can't just sit around as idle bystanders, watching others tear apart that same humanity and twist it around for no more than their own selfish ends. We'll lose everything we are, don't you see? We'll be no better than the Borg, if we allow ourselves to turn each other into something that's no longer…"

"No longer what?" prompted Sisko, feeling sick at his core. "No longer human?"

He could see from the sudden shift in her gaze that his guess had at least been close to accurate. His shoulders heaved in its struggle to contain the anger in each deep inward breath. Treason, he thought. She's willing to commit treason - not to mention, endanger a good man in the process - just for the satisfaction of some narrow-minded definition of humanity.

Still, before he had known, there had always been that part of him - the barely perceived voice that might once have agreed with Davies' assessment. There was still that unwanted flash of sympathy, and knowledge that - in theory, at least, in a distant, intellectual setting where his voice was not likely to carry any consequences - he might have argued the same points as she. But theory was very different from action. That was something he could never countenance.

"So." Still fighting for self-control, he shifted the focus to another, clearer topic. "That's why you made a pact with the devil - to safeguard your particular version of humanity. To cast one ideal in stone, you were willing to throw all others aside."

Davies' pale face was turned squarely towards him. "Don't tell me you've never considered making a few deals of your own," she reasoned. "Captain."

Turning on his heel, Sisko marched from the holding cells. Giving in to his sudden urge to punch the wall might release some of the rage that was now at boiling point, but it would not help his knuckles in the process.

Corinna found the Replimat a curious place, although a little subdued for the hour. She placed herself on a seat at the far corner, and set her steaming herbal tea onto the table's surface, with a quiet tap. The aroma was supposed to be soothing. It was supposed to calm the nerves, neutralise a downcast mood. But even as she felt the steam enter her nose, and smelt the accompanying scent, it was difficult not to slouch and allow the length of her hair to conceal the expression on her face.

"Thank you," she told Toran Kwan, who clasped his own mug in both hands.

The youth shrugged, although even his usual cheer seemed forced on that occasion. "No problem."

He looked around him, fidgeting slightly. "Twenty six hours…" He spoke to himself, and Corinna found that the sound of his voice may have even been a little amusing. It was his way, she supposed. Any words at all to break the silence at their table. Kwan smiled, although this was not his usual eager, excitable grin. "Haven't you always thought the day could use a little extra time?"

"You'd think so, wouldn't you," whispered Corinna.

But all I can do with that time is sit around drinking tea. She took a sip, and suppressed a quiet grimace at the taste of it.

And pretty bland tea at that…

She could see the struggle on Toran's face before he even spoke. "Are…" He stopped, hesitate, frowned momentarily, and began again. "Are you all right?"

"I'm useless." The ache in Corinna's throat was close to unbearable, and the words had escaped before she even realised she'd been about to say them. She shook her head. "That's what I am."

Kwan blinked, still frowning. "I wouldn't have thought so."

Corinna managed to smile, which caused an enthusiastic grin from Kwan. His new expression did more for her mood than any replicated drinks could possibly have done. "I wonder if the Darwin's captain has any real idea just who he's taking on."

"What do you mean?"

"You're contagious, Toran!"

Her companion laughed aloud.

"Sit there."

Bashir tensed to back away, and forced himself not to glance behind him. The indicated furniture was a stunted, skeletal chair at the very centre of the room, with two angry shards of metal curving inwards from the corners of its back. The shape lent a likeness to its silhouette - something resembling a solid pair of horns. He had not noticed until that moment, but he was already dizzy, marginally able to maintain his sense of balance, and realising only then how shallow the irregular in and out of his breathing had become.

The Cardassian man raised his disruptor until the hollow at its tip of it was pointing directly at his captive's face. Julian gasped at the sudden, unyielding pressure of a soldier's hand against each arm, holding back a cry of alarm that was forced out anyway as both strong Cardassians man-handled him into the precisely jagged, isolated chair. Gritting his teeth, he heard the hiss of air pass sharply between them. He shuddered, eyes closed as if this would lessen the agony of hard metal against his tailbone, concentrating on the ragged heaving of his chest as the initial pain had dulled to a throbbing background ache.

A hand was at his shoulder, close to his throat. It was not painful, but cold and heavy - impossible to ignore. "Name," said a voice from the shadows. His focus sharp, Julian imagined that he saw the outline of somebody's face move in time to this detached query. But with the paucity of available light beyond his immediate surrounds, he supposed that obscure outlines were all that he was ever likely to see.

And there was still that cold, numbing weakness in his arms and legs - holding him down even without the guards at his side.

He hesitated.

"Name."

The deep voice had not varied its tone. It was steady, far too patient, possibly even just a little bored. There was no suggestion that the barely visible inquisitor expected to receive an answer, or even that he cared either way.

The arch through which they had entered was not yet closed to him. But even a backward glance, it seemed, was more than his courage would allow him. And where would he go? There was a slim chance that he could overpower the guards in this room, but at that moment it was less than one in a hundred. It was possible to succeed in that much, at least.

But even if he did, he would be lucky to get half a kilometre, and would almost certainly never make it away from this world. Not on his own, without access to a working ship. Could one man pilot a Jem'Hadar vessel, alone? He dismissed the idea in the moment that it occurred to him, knowing by instinct that any attempt at escape would require far better luck than the universe seemed willing to provide.

"I don't have any answers for you." Bashir forced a degree of control into his voice. "Whatever you think you can get from me, it won't work."

"Everybody says that," said the same cold voice. "And they all surrender, eventually."

"Perhaps they do. But there's nothing I can tell you. I simply don't know."

"Your old friend Deyos seems to believe otherwise."

"My old friend Deyos is wrong."

"We shall see."

Oh, God… Locking his fingers around the rungs of the chair did little to stop or even hide the agitated trembling of his hands.

Another sound came from the shadow before him. It was soft, barely distinguishable, and very nearly quiet enough to escape even Bashir's enhanced senses. But his heightened nerves easily provided as clear an amplifying effect as could have come from the acoustics of the room. The Cardassian interrogator was sighing.

"Very well." The man nodded to a guard waiting patiently, a mere step away from Bashir's line of sight. Julian flinched from the hand that suddenly entered his visual field, but what he finally saw of this man's face was every bit as void - the detachment of a soldier with just another mundane task.

Clean your weapon. Polish your uniform. Report for duty on time, and say nothing of what you might see. There was nothing in the young Cardassian's expression, not anger, or concern… Not even hostility, and its absence set an even greater chill in Bashir's heart than he would have gotten from the stab of open hatred.

Hands clamped around either side of his head. They were rough and determined, jerking him around to face forward again. He winced from the harsh pressure as much as from the memories they aroused. They were not about to beat him, he realised - although the thought brought no relief. None of those around him cared enough for that. Something hard was pressed against his throat, and he heard a familiar brief, sharp sigh.

The effect was rapid - an invading fog at the depths of his head, like the grip of some thick, ghostly cloud. They were the thickest, most solid of all… Advancing through the streets of his childhood home, until - enhanced or not - even he could hardly see four steps in front of him. Uselessly, he waved one hand in front of his eyes, and grunted as though to shoo away the tingle of imagined mites beneath his skin. Every breath was deep and slow. "Wha…?" he mumbled, even as his mouth grew dry and sticky, reluctant to move.

Indistinct colours advanced from the edges of his vision, as though a dark veil had been positioned across a tunnel. His head was heavy, eyes half closed and swollen. Distant pain swelled and faded behind them, but the ache across his lids was constant and steady. But then… Eyes? What eyes? Every part of him was distant - scarcely discernable from the surrounding air. The shape before him was shifting, blurring - dark mingling incorporeally with the light.

"Name," said the same cold voice.

He answered in a monotone, barely aware that he was speaking, no longer certain of why he'd ever resisted.