"We'll be meeting the Defiant soon," Kalandra had told him less than a minute before his release. Her soft, husky voice remained as light as she could make it, but there was also something very deliberate in her air of self-control. "If you need to get anything done in the meantime, now's the time to do it."

Bashir recognised what she was offering. A brief respite from the attentions of others - a moment of freedom, possibly even some privacy before having to answer to his former captain, and finally to Starfleet Command.

What if I were to ask for a console? It was an appealing idea. Access to a Starfleet database Wasn't that what he had wanted from the start? He could get the information he needed, without having to bother anyone on Deep Space Nine.

But no matter how secretive he attempted to be, no attempt to access information would pass by the Destiny's medical staff without somebody noticing. What exactly did he want to know? And why? The beginnings of a request stuck inexorably in his throat.

Please. No questions.

Instead, Bashir hook his head with a small, heavy smile. "Thank you, Irina. Really. You've been wonderful."

Far better than I deserve.

"Well just remember not to push yourself too hard." The doctor's voice turned just as quickly to blunt steel, as though to scold him in advance. "Don't try anything unless you're sure you feel up to it."

Julian inclined his head again, the smile on his face now mildly ironic. "I promise to give it my very best shot." He had no doubt that someone would notice if he disobeyed.


The blood rushed to Julian's face, suddenly hot with betrayal. "You might as well say." He spoke quietly - mumbling as much as he challenged - and frowned at both of his tightly clasped hands. "Who's idea was this? Just tell me who set it up."

"Nobody."

"Tell me."

"Nobody." Tigan's second reply was noticeably more forceful. "I swear this isn't a set up. I mean, I totally understand why you would think so, but…"

"So. This was all your idea?"

"I thought it was yours as well."

Bashir's anger instantly deflated, giving way to an heavy, crushing guilt - and not undeserved, he thought with contrition. At exactly what point had he become so distrusting?

"I…" he began apologetically. "I'm sorry if I offended you. I didn't mean to accuse."

Twisting away from the table, he rose to his feet - stumbled a little - and crossed the distance to the nearest shielded portal. He turned around, noticing that the Trill had come to stand less than an arm's reach behind him. "So I guess there's not a lot about me that you don't already know."

Tigan said nothing.

The next words to emerge were diluted behind a soft, tired sigh. "What's over, is over." Bashir spoke more to break the silence than to tell of anything that mattered. "Time to put the past behind us, isn't that right?"

And there was still the Defiant to consider. His old ship, now less than an hour from their location. Again, he felt his head beginning to shake. He should have been looking forward to seeing them again, shouldn't he?

"There's nothing wrong with me," he muttered. "Really."

Tigan's expression remained dubious. "You've been a doctor, haven't you?"

"Thanks for the reminder. Did you read that in my file as well."

The petite young woman ignored the poison behind his response. "Then you already have the experience to know," she told him. Just as so many had before her. "People don't suddenly become 'fine' the moment they say they are."

"I wish everyone would stop saying that."

"Why? Because it's true?"

Fuelled by a flush of anger, Julian opened his mouth for an automatic, immediate denial. But he was even quicker to hesitate. Choking on unspoken words, he pictured himself stumbling through yet another stream of half truths and meaningless assurances. Perhaps it was better to find that nothing was forthcoming.

He shook his head, resting one palm against a gleaming decorative column. For a moment, he was distracted by the subtle, computerised patterns that shifted smoothly across its surface - but then he turned to look at the near total blackness outside, and froze.

A flash of purple light passed by in the distance, so quickly that it took all of his enhanced vision and perceptions to see that there had been anything there at all. Running his mind over all remaining possibilities - and just as quickly discounting every one - he realised with despair that there was one thing only that this outside movement could have been.

They're back, he thought, staring at the darkness beyond the clear, bright lights of the café. Just like last time.

For a moment he was frozen, struggling with all his will to force himself to move away - not to allow anyone to see his weak limbs tremble.

Exactly like last time.

A small, pale hand touched his arm. Bashir jumped, startled, and jerked his head around - finally recalling that he was supposed to take an inward breath. He hadn't even realised that he'd stopped.

"You didn't see that?" he gasped hoarsely, and watched as Ezri Tigan turned once more to look out of the portal.

But then, he thought, bringing himself to a halt before his doubts could run too far. There was nothing at the window now. Only the same scattered, distant stars. It could still be a mistake. Maybe you really did just imagine

"Oh, God--" breathed Julian at the sight of the ship now visibly turning and positioning itself clearly within his line of sight. Every glowing streak on its surface extended like the touch of a vengeful deity. He watched the space beyond the portal as the sharp-edged, flat and hard metal shape glided smoothly back to face the Destiny. But they're not firing. Even the solidity of the floor seemed to shift precariously beneath the soles of his feet. Why?

A shrill noise filled the space around them, shattering his hopes like delicate crystals on a hard, stone floor. Ezri looked in several directions - to where the other Starfleet officers were already abandoning drinks and meals, and striding in a direct line towards the exit. She opened her mouth, returning her attention to her taller companion even as she continued to glance at the rest of the café. But all she could manage was a wordless stammer, with no success in finding what she had to say.

"You have to go," guessed Bashir. Wrapping one hand as tightly as he could around the other, he did his best to squeeze the tremor away. There was no mistaking that rising mechanical sound.

Red alert.

Tigan nodded, an action which Julian mirrored a lot more slowly, still furiously kneading the fingers of both hands. "Everyone's going to battle stations," he said. "I understand."

He was concerned to hear that a soft gasp still clouded his voice.

"Sir? Ensign? We really do need to clear this area."

He looked around at the sound of a new, only slightly familiar voice at his ear - and realised that a short, brusque Human had been trying for some time to get their attention. "Quickly." The café manager was a smallish man in a green and olive suit - with a ridiculously thick and tangled moustache concealing much of his mouth. He was pale and worried, but efficient in his efforts to get everyone to relative safety. As if this emergency was nothing more than a temporary break in routine.

Julian stepped away awkwardly, concentrating to keep his balance, and cursed the unsteadiness in his limbs. Not now. He caught a moment of uncertainty as it passed across Tigan's expression, one of her brows twitching into an intently watchful frown.

"Anything I can do to…?" he began, forcing himself to turn around on shaky legs - but found that he was steadying himself with both hands atop the nearest table.

"It's nothing," he promised his onlookers, both of whom were still at his side. And yet, he could not stop himself from glancing repeatedly at the ominous glow of the Jem'Hadar ship. His voice was as anxious as either of theirs had been. Aside from ship's Security, the café manager himself, and a few young waiters remaining to help with the evacuation, he and Ezri were the only ones still to leave. Easy targets in the well-lit café.

Tigan glanced again behind her as the last of the officers departed through the double doors. "Come on, Julian," she encouraged with a colder than usual hand upon the Human's left wrist. "We should probably both get out of…"

A flash of superheated energy burned glaring images against the backs of their eyes, only moments before the beam tore along the metal flank of the ship.


Chief Petty Officer Miles O'Brien was on his knees before an open panel, squinting in concentration - even while his expression turned to half a grimace as he contemplated meeting again with Captain Sisko. But that's not important.

It must have been the twentieth time he'd reminded himself of that point. He could deal with Sisko's retribution, as long as he knew that he'd helped to accomplish what he and Garak had set out to do. Nodding quietly to himself, the Chief blinked away the moderate soreness that was already wearying his eyes. Back to work.

He tensed at the red alert siren sounding in his ears. His blood turned rapidly hot and cold, a current of static sliding all the way across his skin. Cursing the pain and sudden annoyance, he gave himself barely a moment to replace the panel. As always, the repeated rising tones were shrill enough to stab. The blood had only begun to flow back to his legs as he hurried away through the runabout door.

Crossing the flat, open floor with a speed borne of anxiety, O'Brien glanced briskly around him. But with no view port set into the walls of the shuttle bay, and no-one in sight that he could possibly ask, he would most likely take some time to discover the cause of the wailing siren.

As though sensing his need to pass through without delay, the doors slid open with O'Brien less than a metre from the exit. Leaving the runabout behind, he glanced for a moment at the multitude before him - officers hurrying in both directions - and noted the excited tension in the air. No-one spoke, and what little sound their footfalls may have caused was masked beneath the klaxons' persistent call.

Right, O'Brien thought. He wasn't a member of the Destiny's crew, only a visitor aboard somebody else's ship - but he was still a Starfleet engineer. And all the Starfleet engineers he'd ever known lived by one simple maxim. If there was still a chance he could be useful, he had to take it.

Pausing no longer than it took him to find a break in the crowd, he started towards Engineering.

"Chief," said a voice at his ear, moments before O'Brien caught a glimpse of a stocky grey, black and green shape at the very edge of his vision. A shock to his muscles caused them to jerk involuntarily - the primitive, animal part of his brain reacting before his frontal cortex had a chance.

"Garak!" he shouted, the tone of his voice turning even the tailor's name into something between an accusation and a startled expletive. "Bloody Hell - don't you ever… Where'd you come from?"

The Cardassian remained infuriatingly unfazed by either the Chief's tirade or the alert sirens around them. "Merely endeavouring to see what assistance I might render."

I doubt anyone needs their pants let down right now, O'Brien thought, but kept the remark to himself.

"I thought you were with Julian," he almost accused.

Garak glanced at two passing officers as he spoke. "Ah, yes. Well I was, but he and I parted company some thirty minutes ago. His idea, not mine. And speaking of ideas, any thoughts on what's going on around here?"

O'Brien could scarcely believe he'd even heard the question. "You don't know?"

"Given our current position I would assume it has something to do with the Dominion or possibly the Cardassians. But none of our friendly hosts seem to know much more than you or I. And the computer isn't exactly forthcoming either."

"You hacked into the ship's computer?"

"I may have stumbled across an obliging terminal here and there." Garak was already turning away. "But the two of us had better find some way to make ourselves useful, or find somewhere more appropriate to stand. I assume you were headed for Engineering?"

Grinding his teeth as he muttered some variety of silent, wordless curse, O'Brien hurried after his retreating companion. Now what? he despaired. Was he going to have to keep an additional watch on Garak as well?