AUTHOR'S NOTES:

Hello, everyone.

(The holiday was terrific. Thank you to everyone who sent good wishes for safe and pleasant travels. I've been home for less than twenty-four hours, but the trip is already taking on something of a dreamlike quality. While we were away, it felt as though the holiday was lasting for ages, but now it feels as though everything happened in a flash. Thank heavens for my journal and about 1,500 photographs that I need to sort through!)

I'll hopefully be able to stick to the usual routine of posting once a week from now on.

Thank you, as ever, for reading, reviewing, following and favouriting.

Now...back to the story!

-=o=-

Chapter Twenty-one

Julian looked up from his chopping as Sisko walked into the kitchen. "A message has just arrived for you," Sisko said. "It's from Starfleet, stamped high priority and confidential."

"Thank you," said Julian. Sisko could tell that Julian wasn't particularly happy about the news. Then again, the last confidential message he'd received had been the first step towards his losing his licence, so perhaps the lack of enthusiasm wasn't surprising. Julian was probably worried about what this latest correspondence might lead to.

Sisko watched as Julian left the dining room, going in search of Joseph's comms system. Then he picked up the knife that Julian had just put down and started where Julian had left off. Sisko smiled ruefully, reflecting that, despite all his years of practice and experience, he wouldn't do the job half as well.

Ten minutes, and a mountain of carrots, later, Sisko realised that Julian hadn't come back. He put the knife in the sink, rinsed and dried his hands, and then went to search for him.

Sisko found Julian sitting in front of the communications terminal, staring blankly at the black, empty screen.

"Julian?"

Julian didn't answer. He didn't even give any indication that he'd heard.

Sisko called his name again and put his hand on Julian's shoulder.

Julian leapt to his feet, throwing Sisko's hand off. He jumped away and spun into a defensive crouch. He stared wide-eyed and uncomprehending at Sisko, who found himself staring back.

Sisko waited until understanding, quickly followed by embarrassment, reached Julian's eyes. Then he said, "I didn't mean to startle you."

"I'm sorry," said Julian, sitting down again. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

"What's happened?"

"I..." Julian frowned. He shook his head, trying to clear it.

"What did Starfleet want?"

"Transfer orders. The message says I have to report to Starfleet Academy in three weeks for retraining, and that I'm being transferred to Intelligence."

Sisko didn't know why he was surprised. He shouldn't have been. He'd known that Fischer was interested in Julian, but he'd never really taken that interest seriously. Why not? Because, given that Julian hadn't heard anything before now, Sisko had supposed—hoped—that Fischer and his staff had changed their minds? Or was it because he'd thought that the idea was too preposterous to be entertained, in the first place?

After the way Intelligence had treated Julian, the idea that he transfer into that Service didn't sit well with Sisko. From Julian's reaction, Sisko gathered that the idea didn't sit well with him, either.

"I replied," said Julian. "I said that I wanted to refuse the transfer, and I pointed out that my appeal to the MSB is still pending. Also, until the police find Mother's killers, I can't leave Earth."

Sisko nodded. "And?"

"I haven't heard back yet."

Sisko eyed Julian. There was more at play here than a simple desire to turn the transfer down. Julian's startled reaction had been disproportionate, and Sisko wondered why. He frowned. "Something else is bothering you?"

"No," said Julian, but he sounded doubtful.

"You sure?"

"No," said Julian. "I feel... This feels... I don't know. Everything about it feels wrong."

"Maybe that's because it is wrong."

"Maybe," agreed Julian.

Sisko looked at him. Julian was calmer now, and Sisko decided that a change of scenery might be just what he needed. "I think Dad could do with some help downstairs. What do you say?"

With the smallest of smiles, Julian answered, "I say, let's go."

-=o=-

"New customer," said Julian quietly, as he carried two bowls of jambalaya through from the kitchen.

"Thanks," said Joseph, who turned around to meet and greet.

Julian served the couple at table five, noticing how they looked into each other's eyes and touched each other's hands across the table, letting go only long enough for him to put the food down. New love, he thought. Would anyone ever look at him that way? Would anyone ever love him the way he was? Would he ever be able to fully believe anyone who claimed that they did?

He shook the questions away and distracted himself by watching Joseph at work.

Joseph treated his newest customer to a wide smile and a warm welcome. Not for the first time, Julian admired the way Joseph dealt with strangers. He wished some of Joseph's ease would rub off on him.

"Table for one, if you have one, please," she said. The sound of her voice caught Julian's attention and he looked at her more carefully. Deep voice, early fifties...

His heart sank. He'd heard her speak once before, in a three-dimensional FNS broadcast, although she'd been out of sight for most of it. He'd seen her then, too, and he'd seen her again, since. She'd been in the public gallery at his disciplinary tribunal. He put a name to her face and voice: Elizabeth Lilienfeld. She was a journalist.

Maybe it was just a coincidence that she'd come to the restaurant now. After all, Sisko's had a continental reputation. There were plenty of reasons for her to be here, other than because of him. But he couldn't think of any, especially since Sisko had mentioned that a journalist been in touch with Jake.

Julian moved to stand in the shadows and let his eyes track her as Joseph, using expansive gestures, guided her out onto the patio, where he offered her the choice of two bistro tables.

Lilienfeld chose one in a corner. With her back from the wall, she had a commanding view over most of the restaurant as well as into the kitchen. It was the table Julian would have chosen, too.

Joseph flitted around, getting her a menu and then a drink, and Julian got back to work, busying himself with clearing tables and carrying dishes to and from the kitchen.

Julian was stacking plates in the washer when, fifteen minutes later, Joseph said, "That woman at table eleven? She's watching you."

"I know," said Julian. "I've been trying to ignore her."

"Do you know who she is?"

Julian gave an almost infinitesimal nod. "Her name's Elizabeth Lilienfeld."

"You know her?"

"No. But I recognise her. She's the journalist who interviewed Shiva Ghazi."

"Oh." Joseph's eyes widened in understanding. "Any idea what she wants?"

Julian shook his head. "Not really, other than I'm guessing she's here because of me."

Joseph considered Julian. Then he said, "Do you want to go? Things are quietening down, and we can manage without you, if you want to avoid her."

The offer tempted Julian, but he said, "No. I'll stay. If I go, she'll only try again some other time. Besides, I don't want to give her the satisfaction of thinking she's chased me off."

Joseph flashed a grin at Julian, patted his arm, and said, "Attaboy!"

-=o=-

As Julian reached to clear Lilienfeld's dessert plate, she snagged his wrist. He froze, then slowly turned his head to look at her.

"You're Julian Bashir, aren't you?"

He wanted to lie, but there was no point, just as there was no point to the question, when she already knew the answer. "Yes," he said curtly. Then, more politely, he asked, "Would you like tea or coffee?"

"Coffee, please," she said.

She released her hold on his arm, and Julian turned away to complete his tasks.

In the kitchen, as Sisko made the coffee and Julian gathered together cup, saucer, spoon, milk and sweeteners, Julian said, "She knows who I am."

"That surprises you?" asked Sisko idly.

"No. She talked to me."

"What did she say?"

"Nothing. Not yet."

Sisko focussed more attention on Julian. "Do you want me to take the coffee out?"

"No. I'll do it. But..."

Sisko picked up on Julian's incomplete thought. "It's okay. We'll keep an eye out for you."

Julian felt tension in his shoulders that he hadn't been aware of lessen. He flashed a quick smile. "Thank you, Captain."

Sisko nodded an acknowledgement.

Julian carried the coffee tray out to table eleven and unloaded its contents.

"Have you got a minute?" Lilienfeld asked.

Julian didn't answer. Instead, he simply looked at her.

"Your watchdogs are bristling," she said.

"My what?"

"The Siskos. The chef, whatever his name is."

"Nathan," said Julian automatically.

"They're all watching me, like they're worried I'm about to eat you alive. They're quite protective, aren't they?"

"Are they?" asked Julian. He knew they were, and he was grateful. They'd looked after him, and now they were looking out for him.

"It took me a while to recognise you, even after watching you at the disciplinary tribunal," Lilienfeld said. "You're not what I expected."

Julian crossed his arms and said, "What did you expect?"

Lilienfeld shrugged, untouched by, or oblivious to, his attitude. Julian wasn't sure which. "Not this. Not you waiting tables. It just seems incongruous, somehow."

Now it was Julian's turn to shrug. "I'm just helping out."

"But that's my point. You're chipping in, doing your bit. Doesn't quite fit with the image of the mighty Augment, does it?"

Julian couldn't help it. He flinched. He moved to leave.

"You don't like being called an Augment, do you?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"It has...connotations."

"So, what would you prefer? Nip? Unnatural?" When he didn't answer, she pressed further. "What would you rather be called?"

"Human," said Julian, although he supposed that "mutant" might also be acceptable, at a pinch. He tried to move away again.

"I'm sorry," said Lilienfeld quickly. "I didn't mean to offend you."

"I'm not offended," lied Julian. "I'd just rather not have this conversation."

"What would you prefer to talk about, then?"

"Why would I want to talk about anything, especially with you?"

"Good question," said Lilienfeld. "All right, how about this: Shiva Ghazi is a bastard. I'm predisposed to like you, simply because he doesn't."

Despite himself, Julian found himself wanting to laugh.

Lilienfeld picked up on the shift in his mood. "Please..." she said. "Sit down."

Julian perched himself uneasily on the edge of the seat next to hers.

"I wanted to do a profile on Ghazi. I sold it to his people as a puff piece about the great Ghazi dynasty. He's the third generation of his family to serve in public office and, if his son hadn't died, there'd have been a fourth."

"What happened to the son?" asked Julian. Why was he even asking? What did it matter to him? Then he realised that his questions were a distraction, and it was easier talking about other people's lives than about his own.

"Apparently he took an overdose. The coroner said that it was an accident." She shrugged doubtfully.

"You don't think so?"

"I don't know. At the time, there were rumours of suicide, but that didn't make much sense, either. Nobody ever traced the physician who had prescribed his medication, and he had no history of depression. In the end, I think the coroner returned the verdict of accidental death because he could find no definite evidence to the contrary and because it was kinder to the family."

"What did he overdose on? Do you know?"

"Not off the top of my head. Why do you want to know?"

"Professional curiosity, I suppose." Julian looked away, suddenly fascinated by the stonework in the wall. "Old habits die hard, even if I'm not a doctor any more."

Lilienfeld nodded. Then she said, "His son-in-law now looks to be the favoured heir apparent. We made a deal: I got to do the profile so long as I also did that broadcast interview."

Julian slowly turned his head back towards her and asked, "What has this to do with me?"

"Maybe nothing. But I'm one of those namby-pamby liberals that Ghazi detests so much, and I feel at least partly responsible for what's happened to you. Plus, you're a big story in your own right, and I was curious. If I can get you on record, put your point of view across..."

"You're here because you want a story," said Julian flatly.

"Yes," said Lilienfeld. "But this would be so much more than a story. It might undo some of the damage we've done."

"I don't know," said Julian. "Maybe I just want to be left in peace." He stood up again.

The skin around Lilienfeld's eyes crinkled with humour, taking some of the sting out of what she said next. "Oh? And how's that working out for you?"

He could have walked off, but he stayed rooted to the spot. He didn't bother answering, letting her draw her own conclusions from his silence.

Lilienfeld read his indecision, then she said, "You know Shiva Ghazi has been using you."

Julian waited, hoping that his expression gave away nothing of his reaction.

"He's been using you to raise his own profile. He's been having his holo taken with the protestors and criticising the tolerant stance Starfleet has taken with regard to your continued employment."

Julian couldn't help himself. He snorted derisively.

"What? What did I say?"

Julian shook his head. "Starfleet doesn't seem all that tolerant from where I'm standing."

"Oh?" Lilienfeld said blandly.

Julian tried to gather his thoughts. Then he said, "According to the law, I'm unemployable. But Starfleet offered me an alternative, and a continued career in medicine. Only, that's not how things have turned out. Now the only thing Starfleet is offering me is a transfer into Intelligence. I tell myself that I should be grateful, that that's better than nothing. But I don't feel grateful. I feel..." He shook his head.

Now that he tried to find the words, he couldn't explain the jumble of confusion and repugnance he felt. He sighed. "I don't know why I'm telling you this." And then he forced himself to shut up.

Lilienfeld considered him. "Please..." She gestured to the chair he'd recently vacated.

Slowly, Julian sat down again, his eyes on her face all the while.

Lilienfeld reverted to a previous topic. "I don't like Shiva Ghazi's politics, and I don't want to see him get away with this. And, just so you know, if you think Ghazi is bad, his successor will be even worse. At least Ghazi has some principles, no matter how misguided I think they are. Samil Fahid just believes in expediency and personal ambition."

"Fahid...?" whispered Julian, shocked into wide-eyed immobility.

"You know the name," said Lilienfeld.

Julian nodded nervously, a twitchy and reluctant agreement. Thoughts rushed through his mind. Fahid was a common enough name. It could be a coincidence. But he found himself calculating the odds...and he knew that the chances of this Fahid being unrelated to him were minimal.

He was making connections.

"Is everything all right?"

Sisko's voice snapped Julian out of his stupor, and he realised that Sisko must have been alerted by Julian's expression. Julian forced himself to nod. Then he looked up at Sisko and said, "Samil Fahid works for Shiva Ghazi."

It took Sisko a moment to process the words, then his eyes widened and his jaw dropped. "He had motive."

Julian nodded.

"What?" demanded Lilienfeld, picking up on the import of the information she'd unwittingly imparted, if not the reason for it.

Julian and Sisko exchanged glances, then Julian said, "Samil Fahid, if it's the same Samil Fahid, is my maternal uncle."

Now it was Lilienfeld's turn to let her jaw drop.

And then the three of them began to talk.

-=o=-

Sisko bolted upright in bed and wondered what had woken him up. Then he heard it: screams loud enough to curdle even the freshest blood.

Julian.

Sisko leapt out of his own bed and crossed over to Julian's. Julian was in the throes of a nightmare. Sisko shook him roughly. "Wake up! Wake up! You're dreaming!"

Julian thrashed, gasped, and then his eyes popped open. Julian's return to consciousness brought with it a heavy silence that pressed almost painfully against Sisko's ears.

"Captain?" asked Julian.

"You were having a nightmare."

Julian pulled himself into a sitting position, rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands, and then raked his fingers through his hair. "Oh. Sorry. Did I wake you?"

"Rather," said Sisko. "You probably woke the whole block."

"Sorry," said Julian again. He looked down at the sheets.

"What were you dreaming about?"

Julian shrugged. "The usual."

"Nightmares like that aren't usual," said Sisko.

"They are for me," said Julian. Then, thoughtfully, he added, "Mind you, the yellow people are relatively new."

Sisko raised his eyebrows. "Yellow people?"

"Yes. Faceless, androgynous and yellow. Not canary yellow; more yellow ochre. I think it's a side effect of the kenfitamol. Ever since I was overdosed, they've been in my dreams. They make cameos as Jem'Hadar, Vorta, doctors..."

Sisko stared at Julian. A doctor who had nightmares about other doctors? How...odd. Quietly and carefully, he said, "You have nightmares about...doctors?"

Although Julian made a point of not looking at Sisko, he nonetheless answered the question. "Adigeon Prime," he whispered.

Sisko closed his eyes against the revelation. "You have nightmares about the enhancement procedures." It wasn't a question so much as a nauseating realisation.

Julian nodded. "It was...terrifying and painful, and it wasn't until much later that I fully understood what had been done to me. And I was alone most of the time. Except for Kukalaka, of course."

"Kuka— Oh. The bear?"

Julian nodded again.

Six years old. Terrified. In a strange hospital, on a strange planet. And, at least to begin with, incapable of understanding what was happening and why anyone would want to hurt him. "Where were your parents while all this was going on?" Sisko asked.

"Around. Somewhere. I'm not sure."

Are you really as accepting or oblivious as you seem? Sisko wondered. Do you even know that they should have been with you? They should have helped you, comforted you, and not left you to learn how to scream yourself out of your nightmares on your own.

-=o=-

Sisko came downstairs the following morning to find Julian pacing, all gangly legs and flailing arms, a coil of barely restrained energy. Sisko had never before realised just how long Julian's limbs were in proportion with the rest of his body. Julian reminded him of a spider, moving to and fro, to and fro, weaving an invisible web.

Sisko doubted that Julian would find the analogy particularly flattering, so he suppressed his smile and kept his thoughts to himself. Sisko waited for a minute, but then he could contain his curiosity no longer. "What's going on?" he asked.

"I got a message back from Starfleet. From Admiral Fischer. He says that I can't refuse the transfer. Take a look."

Sisko raised his eyebrows, sat down, and read the message that Julian had left up on the screen. With every word, his eyebrows crawled higher. Finally, he finished reading, and he found himself staring. He had to force himself to tear his eyes away from the monitor.

"That's...outrageous," Sisko said. He turned to look at Julian and saw that his disbelieving anger had somehow comforted Julian, momentarily stilling his angry movement. "You must have some say in what happens to you, surely," said Sisko.

Julian shook his head and waved a hand in the general direction of the screen. "Not according to Admiral Fischer, I don't," he said bitterly.

"But...you must have rights."

"Must I? You know what the laws say." Julian began pacing again.

Sisko stood up and rubbed his right hand over his pate. "Not even Bennett or Magnusdottir could have intended this to happen!"

"Do you think they cared?" Julian snarled.

"They should care! This isn't fair!"

"When," said Julian, "has anything about this been fair? It's been rigged from the start. At least we know why, now."

Sisko blinked. "You think the transfer is why?"

"Don't you?"

Julian picked up speed, his fury growing ever closer to the surface until it finally erupted, and he roared, "I have had enough!"

Julian, angry, was a sight to behold. His rage was incandescent and magnificent, and Sisko felt himself grinning.

"Why are you smiling?" yelled Julian. "There is nothing to smile about!"

"Yes, there is. There is you. I've been so angry on your behalf. You should be furious! You have every right to be mad! You have no idea how frustrating it has been to see you let everyone trample over you, accepting it as your due. And now? It does my heart good to see you angry on your own behalf."

Julian stilled and stared at Sisko, his mouth open in shock. Then, in a small voice, he said, "Really?" as though he needed Sisko's permission.

"Yes! If you want to scream and rant and rave, go ahead. It'll do you good. You're allowed to be angry."

"I am?" Then, as he finally gave himself permission, he said more firmly, "I am allowed! And I am so angry!"

Sisko nodded approvingly and said, "So, what are we going to do?"

"We?" asked Julian, as though the idea that Sisko might have any concern for him had never crossed his mind, even after everything that they'd been through in the last few weeks.

"Yes. We," said Sisko impatiently. "I think you need to talk with Commander Magnusdottir. Not only can she shed some light on what they thought would happen, but she's also a lawyer, so she'll know the legal position better than either of us. Besides, I think she owes you, after everything you've been through." The idea firmed up in Sisko's mind as he talked. He nodded to himself. "I'll get in touch with her. Set a meeting up for you."

An almost-smile graced Julian's lips again as he gratefully said, "Thank you."

-=o=-

The next day found Julian sitting out on the fire escape again, his head tilted up to the sky. The early morning sun warmed his cheeks.

Over the last few years, he had become accustomed to life on Deep Space Nine, and he missed the clarity of the stars, the now familiar configuration of the Bajoran heavens, and the spectacle afforded by the opening and closing of the wormhole.

But he also liked being able to breathe the fresh air and the feel of wind on his face. Back on Earth, he'd rediscovered the pleasures to be found in environments that had evolved over millennia rather than the artificial construct of a space station that had been project managed by an alien, invading power over mere decades.

However, he hadn't come out here just to kill time until he needed to transport to San Francisco for the meeting Sisko had set up for him with Magnusdottir. He'd also come out here to think; after every thing that had happened the day before, he had a lot to think about.

For one thing, all the anger he had ever feared to feel had boiled over, and it hadn't been anything like he'd expected. He closed his eyes, allowed himself to remember, and he smiled.

The emotion had burned and filled him with pulsating energy. His anger had made him want to rant and to shout. He had wanted to punch and to kick things. It had made him swell with indignation at the unfairness of everything.

And Sisko had told him that it was all right for him to feel that way.

More than that, though, he hadn't lost control. There had been no homicidal fury within him. He wasn't frightened of his anger anymore. There was nothing to be frightened of.

Thus, even as he remembered the fire of his emotions, he felt a spark of joy. His fury had been liberating, and now he found himself feeling empowered in ways he'd never imagined. In anger lay strength. He hadn't expected that.

His thoughts drifted towards O'Brien, and his request that Julian fight for what he wanted. What he still wanted, more than anything, was to be a doctor, if that were at all possible. What he didn't want was to be forced to work for Intelligence. It wasn't just that intelligence work didn't appeal to him. There was something about the idea that made his skin crawl, that upset him on a visceral level that he couldn't explain. The idea nauseated him, and made his pulse race. His palms felt clammy.

What else did he want? What might he tell Magnusdottir, when he met her?

He wanted to be allowed to live in the world. He wanted to be able to come and go on his home planet without having to worry about what people might think about, or do to, him. He wanted the freedom of movement that other people took for granted.

For all that he was unsure about his relationship with the rest of humanity, he had roots here on Earth, and his being was tied more tightly to this planet than to anywhere else. Earth was in his psyche in a way nowhere else could ever be. He wanted to be allowed to live here. He didn't want to be turned away or rejected. Assuming that Garland ever bothered to find his mother's killer, he might leave, he might settle down somewhere else, but he wanted that to be his choice.

No matter what, he would always be from Earth. He had been born here, even if he had been altered somewhere else.

He blinked as he realised something for the first time. He'd been created on Adigeon Prime, but he felt no emotional attachment to that planet, only a nebulous, persistent resentment. He didn't belong there. He belonged on Earth, even if there were those who would never want him here. If he wasn't wholly human, that was because the doctors on Adigeon Prime, albeit at the behest of his parents, had robbed him of that possibility. However, he was still more human than he was anything else, and he ached to claim his birthright.

How much of this would he admit to Magnusdottir? How much of it was relevant? And would any of it do any good anyway?

He sighed, used the metalwork of the fire escape to pull himself to his feet, and muttered to himself, "Guess it's time to find out..."

-=o=-

"Come!"

The doors to Magnusdottir's office slid open, and Julian stepped through. He glanced around, quickly cataloguing details: light and airy; tidy; cream-coloured walls; beige carpet; a large ficus in one corner; a credenza on the far wall; desk with a built-in computer console in front of the window.

Magnusdottir looked him up and down, then walked around the desk, her hand extended in greeting. Julian moved forward to greet her.

As he shook her hand, he realised that he recognised her. She'd been in the public seating at the disciplinary tribunal, but that hadn't been the first time he'd seen her...

-=o=-

There were the tiered seats of a large lecture theatre... Somewhere in Starfleet Academy. The Law Faculty. She was sitting three seats in from the side and five rows from the back.

She stood out from all the cadets because she was dressed in the uniform of a commissioned officer. She wore a command red uniform that was adorned with the two pips of a full lieutenant.

-=o=-

"What can I do for you?" she asked.

Julian pushed the memory aside and said, "Captain Sisko thought you might be able to help me." He stopped short of reminding her of the actual conversation. Julian had watched, unseen, as Sisko had told Magnusdottir in no uncertain terms that, as she'd engineered things to make the current situation possible, she had a moral duty to help make things better. In the end, she'd agreed to meet with Julian. Reluctantly, to be sure, but she'd agreed.

Now she said, "What do you want?"

"I've received transfer orders. I'm being reassigned to Starfleet Intelligence."

"So?"

"I don't want to work in Intelligence, but Admiral Fischer has told me that I can't refuse the transfer. He says that I have no choice. Surely this wasn't the intended outcome of the deal Admiral Bennett struck with my father."

"Somehow I doubt you came here just to tell me that. So why are you here?"

"I want you to sort this out."

Magnusdottir's eyebrows lifted. "I beg your pardon?"

"You made this mess. Surely you can fix it," Julian said.

Magnusdottir considered her immaculate nails for a few seconds, then she said, "I wish things were that straightforward."

Julian felt his heart sinking. "They're not?"

Magnusdottir shook her head slightly and said, "No."

Of course they weren't, thought Julian. Nothing about his life was ever straightforward.

Magnusdottir considered Julian carefully, looking at him long enough to make him feel uncomfortable. He waited for her to continue, meanly hoping that his discomfort was mutual. Eventually she said, "What has happened to you has gone beyond anything we anticipated. We thought you would either be accepted with open arms or that there might have been a bit of controversy for a few days, but that would be all. We didn't realise how strongly anti-Augment sentiment ran, and we didn't consider the MSB." Magnusdottir sighed softly. "You'd better sit down."

When they were both seated, she said, "We didn't know what would happen."

That was no excuse, Julian thought, but then he remembered that Magnusdottir had shaken his hand, and he managed to contain the worst of his annoyance when he said, "But you wanted to find out, didn't you?"

"Yes." Then she sighed again. "That was the whole point of the exercise, as I'm sure Captain Sisko has already informed you."

Julian nodded and said, "Yes."

"If we hadn't left loose ends hanging, there would have been nothing for us to find out. If, in all that, we forgot that we were dealing with a person... Well. I'm sorry."

Julian said nothing to indicate one way or the other whether he accepted her apology. He supposed he understood what she was saying, but understanding and forgiveness were different things, and he wasn't ready to forgive yet. "You still haven't explained why things aren't straightforward," he said.

Magnusdottir seemed to consider her answer carefully. Then she said, "We made a deal. We didn't change the law. And now we have to try to reconcile the conflicts between the two."

"So, what am I supposed to do?" asked Julian.

"Take legal advice."

Julian found himself rising to his feet. His frustration manifested in an extravagant, jerky wave of his arms. "I thought that was what I was doing here!"

Magnusdottir shook her head. "You said you wanted me to sort this mess out. Not the same thing."

Julian stared at her. "But you're a lawyer, aren't you?"

"I trained as a lawyer, but I've never practiced."

"And that matters how?"

Magnusdottir's eyebrows rose and she said, "That's like me asking why someone who has learned anatomy doesn't pick up a scalpel and practice surgery."

Julian nodded, understanding. He sat down again and said, slightly helplessly, "I don't know any lawyers apart from you."

"What about Professor Hessayon?" asked Magnusdottir. "You know him."

Julian's eyes widened as he remembered the professor from his student days and, in that same instant, he realised exactly when and where he'd seen Magnusdottir for the very first time. "Do you think he'd do it?" he asked.

"I don't know, but we can ask. You'd be happy with him?"

Julian thought back to his dealings with the professor. He had no idea what Hessayon might think about his genetic background, but he was fairly sure that Hessayon would never let his personal beliefs get in the way of what the legal system required. Julian didn't know him well enough to trust him on a personal level, but he thought he could trust Hessayon's professional ethics. "Yes," he said.

Magnusdottir tapped her commlink and said, "Computer: connect me with Professor Hessayon's office."

The computer replied, "Connecting."

Then a different voice came out of the speakers. "Professor Hessayon's office. How may I help you?"

"Hello. This is Magret Magnusdottir, from the office of the Judge Advocate General. Is the professor available?"

"I'm sorry. He's teaching at the moment. He should be back in about ten minutes. I can get him to call you back when he returns, if that would suit?"

"Yes. Thank you. He can reach me through the JAG office. And, please, tell him it's quite urgent."

"Yes, ma'am."

In the lull that followed, Julian said, "I recognise you."

"Have we met?" asked Magnusdottir. She frowned.

"No. I'd remember that. But you sat in on in one of my Medical Law and Ethics classes." What had she been doing there? He remembered wondering that at the time, too, but the presence of strangers had been the least of his worries that day, and his curiosity hadn't lasted. "It was a required course in my final year of medical school. You sat in on one of the debates."

Magnusdottir smiled faintly. "I'm surprised you noticed me."

"Yes. Well." He ducked his head and felt his cheeks warm.

Magnusdottir nodded, more to herself than to him. "I see. You noticed me for the same reason you remembered me. You notice and remember everything."

"Not everything," said Julian. "Just...most things."

"I remember you, too. Though I have better reason to. You were, after all, one of the stars of that day's events."

Julian remembered that, too. Even without his eidetic memory, he'd have been hard-pressed to forget.

"You looked terrified."

"I was terrified. I wasn't very good at public speaking anyway, and the topic..."

"A bit too close to the bone, was it?"

"Yes."

"How come you got to take the 'pro' side of the argument, anyway? Did you volunteer?"

"Of course not! Nobody in his or her right mind would have volunteered for that! Professor Hessayon picked me."

-=o=-

Julian felt wrung out. Exhausted. He'd lost the debate. He'd failed. Yet Professor Hessayon was smiling at him. "Congratulations, Cadet. You did an excellent job."

"But I lost," said Julian.

"You valiantly fought a battle that you had no chance of winning. And you lost by a smaller margin that anyone would have ever anticipated."

Julian tilted his head to one side. "If this were medicine, my patient would have died."

"Ah, but this is law, and you have passed with flying colours."

If that were true, Julian thought, as he watched the professor wander off, how come he felt as though he'd failed?

-=o=-

"It's ironic, really..." said Magnusdottir.

"What is?"

"Every year, the Law Faculty sends invitations out to the JAG for someone to attend the debates and, occasionally, in the name of good relations, someone from the JAG actually goes along. Of course, everyone thinks that they have far better things to do, so it's usually the most junior officers who have to go. I was an adjutant. My senior officer didn't want to go, so he sent me instead. What I heard... That's when I decided to join the Triple-Ps. We started Project Mendel soon after that."

Julian stared at her.

"So, you see, in a way, you kick-started the whole thing."

"You're saying, I'm to blame for everything that's happened to me?" said Julian, trying to keep the automatic bitterness and disbelief out of his voice.

"I'm not talking about blame at all. But, if you want to look at things in terms of positives and negatives, then consider this. Without the arguments you presented at the debate, there would never have been a project. Without the project, there would never have been a deal. You would have been summarily cashiered from the service, convicted, and, quite possibly, locked up. But, because of what you did back then, you have some hope now."

-=o=-

Professor Hessayon was smaller than Julian remembered, and thinner, and more stooped. His age was catching up with him. His hair was a cloud of white. Backlit by the sun, it shone like a halo.

"We've met before," Julian said, as he reached for Hessayon's outstretched hand. "You probably don't remember." Julian wasn't sure that was true. He sometimes found it hard to know what normal humans could be expected to remember. When he'd been a teenager, he'd tried reading up on memory, but he hadn't found any of the texts particularly helpful. There seemed to be a huge amount of variation between individuals, and he hadn't found anything to help him anticipate norms. All he'd learned for sure was that his eidetic memory was unusual, but even that wasn't beyond the limits of human ability.

Since then, through experience, he'd learned that underestimating people's capacity for memory usually worked in his favour. If they did remember him, they'd feel pleased with themselves, and, if they didn't, he would have saved them from embarrassment.

"Of course I remember you. Julian Bashir. Although, I didn't expect to ever see you again once you'd passed Medical Law and Ethics." Professor Hessayon's voice, which was young and vibrant, was at odds with his physical appearance.

Hessayon's office was the complete opposite of Magnusdottir's. There was clutter everywhere. Shelves lined two walls from floor to ceiling with antique paper books and teetering piles of PADDs. There were also PADDs strewn across his desk. "Student assignments," said Hessayon with a gesture. "Fortunately, I've graded most of them. Unfortunately, I'll be seeing a lot of these students in my resit class." He dropped the small talk abruptly and asked, "Now, what can I do for you?"

Julian explained as dispassionately as he could, and he could see Hessayon's interest piquing as he listened. More than that, the years seemed to fall away from him as his brain engaged with the problem. His back straightened, and his eyes focussed.

When Julian was finished, Hessayon stood up and wandered over to his replicator. He didn't ask what Julian wanted to drink. He simply ordered two coffees, then put one of mugs down in front of Julian. "Replicator's broken," said Hessayon. "It's coffee or nothing, I'm afraid."

"Coffee's fine," said Julian, and he felt grateful for all the practice he'd had with the drink while he'd been in New Orleans. "Thank you."

This coffee was watery and barely lukewarm, and weak enough that Julian was able to drink it without any milk or sweetener. He watched as Hessayon glugged his down like a thirsty man presented with a canteen of water. Julian copied him, and managed to suppress a grimace as he swallowed the dregs from the bottom of his mug.

The drink might have been foul, but Julian was grateful for the way Hessayon had unthinkingly offered it to him.

Hessayon said, "Why don't you want to work in Intelligence?"

Julian wasn't sure how to answer. Wasn't it enough that he didn't want to? Did there have to be a reason?

Hessayon prompted him. "Is your objection based on a matter of principle, or is it an aversion to that transfer, specifically?"

"Well...both," said Julian. "I don't want to work in Intelligence, specifically. But that makes me object to the principle, more generally." Julian paused, then said, "I probably wouldn't have fought a transfer to Science."

Hessayon nodded thoughtfully. "What, exactly, is it about Intelligence you object to?"

Julian ducked his head, suddenly finding his fingers fascinating.

Hessayon correctly interpreted Julian's silence as a reluctance to explain, and he said, "Whatever you tell me here goes no further than these four walls. Client confidentiality and all that."

Julian looked up. "Are you sure about that?"

"Absolutely. You have my solemn word."

Julian nodded to himself, then he said, "The people. The culture of the Service."

"Can you explain?"

Julian avoided looking at Hessayon's face as he said, "I expect to be treated differently to other people. But the behaviour of the Intelligence officers is different from the usual prejudices."

"How so?"

Julian thought for a moment, then he said, "They say one thing and do another. They say they want to recruit me but, up until now, they've treated me as though I'm an enemy. I don't know where I stand with them. And I...I don't trust them."

"They acted as though you are the enemy? How so?"

"Maybe 'enemy' is too strong a word. But they've certainly treated me as though I'm under suspicion. These last few weeks, any time I was at Starfleet Medical, Security personnel have tracked and reported on my movements. At least, I thought—I assumed—they were Security. Now I know that at least some of them were Intelligence officers, pretending to be Security."

"Really," said Hessayon, and Julian thought he sounded sceptical.

Julian looked Hessayon squarely in the eye, determined to be believed. "They weren't very subtle about it. And I could hear them making the reports. And then there was the incident in the holosuite and Commander Roughsedge's comments at my disciplinary tribunal...although, with hindsight, those could be taken in one of two ways."

Hessayon held up a hand. "Slow down. Let's take this one step at a time." Then he said, "Tell me about Starfleet Medical. How, specifically, do you know you were being watched?"

Julian told Hessayon about being met by a security—or had he been Intelligence?—officer on his first day there, about all the officers lining the corridors of the twelfth floor, and of how he had heard them making reports whenever he moved around the building.

Then, at Hessayon's prompting, Julian spoke about how Roughsedge and her cronies had turned up at the café where he, Sisko and Loews had had lunch on the day of his disciplinary tribunal. "They must have followed us there," he said. "They ate, but didn't leave. Instead, they watched us. And then, when we were heading for the door, Roughsedge waylaid me and said, 'When the medical community decides it doesn't want you, we'll be waiting'."

"You thought she was making a threat?"

"I...I don't know. At the time, I thought she was being deliberately provocative."

"And now?"

"It might have been...a promise. Like she knew ahead of time what was going to happen."

"All right," said Hessayon. "Now tell me about the holosuite and, while you're at it, tell me how you found out that they were Intelligence officers."

So Julian did.

When Julian was done, Hessayon stared sombrely at him. "You're telling me that Starfleet Intelligence officers lured you to a Starfleet facility under false pretences, escorted you at phaser point into a turbolift, drugged you, then left you to wake up in a facsimile of a Dominion prison camp?"

"Yes."

"And then this Commander Roughsedge overdosed you with kenfitamol?"

"Yes."

"And you were rescued by Captain Sisko and Dr Loews?"

"Yes," said Julian, "although I don't really remember that part."

Hessayon stared at him. Julian felt a need to convince Hessayon about the truth of what he said. Earnestly, with just a hint of desperation, he said, "I know it sounds far-fetched. But ask the captain or Dr Loews, if you don't believe me. And the hospital must have my admission records."

Hessayon nodded. "I'll look into it." Then, maybe he read something in Julian's expression, because he said, "It's not that I don't believe you, young man. Rather, it's that your word on its own isn't enough. We need corroboration."

"Oh," said Julian. He settled back in his chair, relieved that Hessayon was apparently taking him seriously.

"More coffee?" said Hessayon, getting up.

"No. Thank you."

"Don't blame you," said Hessayon, but he got himself another one, anyway. He sat down again, put the mug on his desk, and proceeded to ignore it. Julian gathered that he'd used getting the coffee to buy himself thinking time, rather than because he'd wanted another drink.

"I can see why you don't want the transfer. The question is, how do we prevent it?"

Julian's heart leapt at hearing Hessayon's "we".

"Now. You say that you tried to decline the transfer order...?"

"Yes, sir. I was told that I couldn't refuse."

"I'd like to see a copy of that communication, if I may?"

Julian nodded. "I'll forward it to you."

"If your following normal Starfleet procedures hasn't worked, then I fear we will have to try something more formal. There is a problem, though..."

"Only one?" asked Julian wryly.

"One immediate problem."

"Which is?"

"Your status. You are aware, I assume, that your genetic status prevents you from filing any legal claim or petition on your own behalf?"

"You're suggesting that I need to go through formal legal channels, if I want any of this resolved. But you're telling me that I can't, that the law forbids me from filing a petition?" Julian was suddenly on his feet, pacing in what little space there was, his arms and hands punctuating his words. "Am I the only one who sees the...absurdity...of that?" He stopped and turned to look across the desk at Hessayon. Julian's chin jutted out pugnaciously.

"There are ways around it," said Hessayon.

"What ways?"

Hessayon gestured towards the visitor's chair with his right hand. Julian sighed and sat down again.

"You need to find someone who will file the petition on your behalf. Ideally, that would be your Advocate, but—"

"My Advocate?" said Julian.

"—given your rather unusual circumstances, I'm assuming you don't have one."

"But, I do," said Julian. "At least, I'm fairly certain that I do." Julian quickly told Hessayon about Sisko, and how Sisko had unwittingly taken on the role.

At the end of Julian's explanation, Hessayon nodded thoughtfully. Then he said, "That would certainly make things easier, if he'll help."

Julian looked at Hessayon and frowned. Hessayon must have guessed at least something of what Julian was thinking, because he said, "According to the law, your Advocate's role is to act in what he sees as your best interests. If your Advocate doesn't agree with you as to what your best interests are, the Advocate's opinions will take precedence."

Julian felt his teeth clench.

"I didn't say I agree," said Hessayon, raising his hands to forestall any possible protest. "The system is subject to abuse, and there aren't adequate safeguards to protect vulnerable individuals from the actions of their Advocates."

Was that what he was? A vulnerable individual? That made him sound weak and feeble. Irritated, Julian said, "If I'm a vulnerable individual, it is only because the law has made me into one!"

To Julian's surprise, Hessayon smiled. "I agree. So let's add that to our list of things we might want to challenge." He ran the stylus over his PADD. Then he said, "Do you think Captain Sisko will act on your behalf?"

"I...I think so. I'd have to ask him, to make sure."

"You do that. Assuming that he says yes, then I'll want to talk to you both. Meanwhile, I'll look into the case to see what ideas I can come up with."

"So, you'll help?"

"Oh, yes. I think so. It's an interesting case, and, at my age, there are few new challenges anymore. This will be quite fascinating."

-=o=-

"Captain?" asked Julian.

Sisko glanced up from the stew he was tasting. He nodded to himself, satisfied with the seasoning, put the lid back on top of the pot, then added the dirty spoon to the pile of washing up. "Yes?" he said.

"May I have a word?"

Julian looked sombre and anxious, and Sisko wondered what had gone wrong this time. He nodded. "Let's sit down."

They sat at one of the bistro tables, and Julian said, "I...I need your help. If you'll give it to me."

"Of course I'll help, if I can."

"It's a big ask," Julian said.

"Tell me."

Julian swallowed, and Sisko added upset to his list of Julian's emotions. Julian quickly outlined what had happened in his meetings with Magnusdottir and Hessayon, and ended with, "But Professor Hessayon says I can't file a petition on my own behalf."

"What!" exclaimed Sisko. "Why not?"

"Because, as the law stands, I—" Julian broke off. He stood up and sat down again. Then he took a deep breath and, struggling to sound calm, he said, "According to the law, I'm mentally incompetent to do it."

"Oh, for—" Sisko bit back his frustration. Being angry wouldn't help Julian, at least not here and now.

"I need you to do it for me. As my Advocate. If you will."

Sisko looked at Julian; Julian looked back. Sisko wondered how difficult it must be to have to ask for something that should have been a basic right. How did that make Julian feel? Demeaned? Embarrassed? Frustrated? Indignant?

Sisko's response came easily and with righteous passion. "Of course I'll help."

Sisko saw the rigidity leave Julian's body, and the grim set of Julian's mouth gave way to a relieved and grateful smile. "Thank you, Captain. In that case, Professor Hessayon wants to meet with us—both of us—to discuss what we need to do next.