That was why Kira's appearance startled him. Her sudden approach, her urgent warning to "watch your back" confused him at first. Something had upset the major and she was not going to tell him what. Suddenly, their plan was different -- forget the transporter -- forget O'Brien. They needed to get to a runabout pad. He listened. He even responded, though he felt as though he were communicating through a tunnel filled with tar. And when she flew out of the processing center, his eyes followed her to where the shapeshifter stood, listening and smiling
Bashir quickly looked away. A surge of fear tightened his stomach and sharpened his wits. There was no immediate retaliation for this infraction, and within minutes he had passed back into the depths of the complex, but the skin over his spine tingled with the warning prickle of impending danger. Kira's warning kept him glancing over his shoulder. "Watch your back." What did Kira mean? What could happen that had not already happened? Did the Bajoran major realize how dearly he paid for her previous visits? Or how, without them, he would have no hope? "Watch your back." My back? Why my back? The shapeshifter's smile was his answer.
They had been given yet another rest break. He had lost track of how many he had been allowed to take, and could not longer remember how long he had been there. A kaleidoscope of faces whirled around him and though some workers had been removed and replaced, O'Brien had not reappeared, nor had the old woman he had worked with for several hours. He was desperate to sleep, but they would not let him. Collapsing onto an overturned bucket, he stared at the container of ore in front of him. His head nodded, the noise around him a low buzz. Drifting in and out of sleep Bashir was more asleep than awake. There was something he had to do -- something important. Major Kira had been very firm when she had given him his instructions. Talk to O'Brien? No, that was not it.
Bashir's head jerked up. He had been dozing. But staying awake was so difficult. Drifting in and out of a half twilight sleep he wondered what he was to remember, what he was supposed to do. His back! Yes, guard his back. Kira had warned him of some danger, and he was supposed to guard his back. But it ached, from the constant toil and the Kiingon's knife. When Duvan freed him from the ore crusher, he had been cut and had not noticed at first. Now the wound throbbed and burned. An infection, no doubt. And his hands. He would have nightmares about what was happening to his hands. He had to watch his back. But he was so tired. He drifted again. Like a swimmer caught in a storm tide, unable to hold on, sinking, until a kick, by a boot well placed in the middle of his back brought him sharply awake. Major Kira's warning raced through his mind.
"You're not accustomed to this work load, are you, Doctor?" The shapeshifter's voice, so long absent, now growled coarsely in his ear.
Bashir tried to sit upright, afraid to show the slightest weakness. He had to stay alert and take his chance when it came.
"You have much to learn," the shifter gloated.
Bashir looked up at the half-formed visage towering over him and hadn't the energy to respond. His head fell back, his chin touching his chest. But the shapeshifter was not going to let him rest.
"It's a shame this is going to be your last night on the job."
Last night? What did he mean, last night? Before Bashir could determine the answer to that cryptic threat, all hell broke loose. The thorium containment field, as O'Brien had predicted it would, suddenly ruptured, pouring the toxic chemical gas into the processing center. Odo sprang into action, calling for the release of the security doors to allow the workers trapped within to escape before they were all dead.
This is it, Bashir thought. He knew it was his only chance, and acting on instinct, attacked the shifter's assistant and grabbed his sidearm. When the shifter turned toward him, hand on his own weapon, Bashir fired. Then he watched in horror as Odo's face rippled and burst outward, a thousand gelatinous blobs, shimmering in the fluctuating light, refusing to coalesce again into the familiar shape of the shifter. It wasn't supposed to happen that way, Bashir thought in shock. The sight caused his stomach to lurch as from a well-placed gut punch. His training and sheer habit made him want to help, but there was no time and nothing he could do, so he turned and ran.
*****
And he kept on running, through the twisted corridors with which he was barely familiar, deep in the space station. He could hear pursuit close behind him, voices hounding his every move. Bashir was not sure what made him seek refuge in the maintenance conduit. Maybe it was something O'Brien said once, about how a man who knew his way around those conduits could hide on this station forever and never be found. Ripping the cover from the opening, he crawled in, pulling the screened plate behind him just as footsteps approached. Klingons! But they ran past, not suspecting he was here.
Bashir pushed farther into the conduit, then collapsed against the side wall, waiting for his pulse and respiration to return to something close to normal. His head spun, giddy with the luck that had suddenly set him free. Well, not free as long as he was on this station, but at least no longer under guard.
Then he shifted, bringing the weapon he still clutched in his hand back into view. He stared dumbly at where the intensity gauge should be. There was none. This disrupter apparently had only one setting, and it was not stun. Would he have fired on the shapeshifter had he known this weapon was set to kill? Despite all that had happened, was he justified in taking that kind of vengeance?
His mind kept replaying the incident. Odo's face, and it was Odo, was there one moment, the next, bubbling outward like soap from a child's toy, floating in a surreal dance outward, defying even the laws of gravity. Bashir buried his own face in his free hand, trying to blot out the memory. The vision would haunt him for a long time, and now he just needed to think clearly. He should be able to get to a runabout pad using the maintenance conduits, but he was not sure of his directions. He had become completely disoriented over the past hours.
Moving slowly, deeper into the duct-work, careful not to make any noise that would reveal his location, he heard a sound in front of him and froze, weapon at ready. O'Brien moved into view, and Bashir breathed a sigh of relief. This O'Brien might not be a friend, but with luck, he would not be an enemy. At best, Bashir hoped, he would point him in the right direction. At worst, he would say nothing and let him pass without alerting the guards.
*****
Kira stood on the outer edges of the merry gathering swirling around her. She had made eye contact with Sisko, but he had made no move to approach her, nor she him. Garak, it seemed, would keep a close eye on her, so she kept a careful distance from him. Besides, she was too absorbed in watching her alter ego, the Intendant. How could she take this woman's place? Would she? Even to save herself and Bashir? She hoped she would not have to make that choice.
Although the Intendant was in a "happy mood," Kira sensed the undertone of tension in the crowded room. Sisko's people kept to themselves, near the bar, but always alert. Klingon guards placed at regular intervals were undoubtedly Garak's doing. Were they intended to guard the Intendant or eliminate her? Kira was positive that whatever Garak had planned would be done covertly No one on this station would ever know the truth. Kira could see no options. She was watched constantly, and although her movement had not been inhibited, she doubted she would be allowed to casually stroll onto a runabout. And the was still the problem of Bashir.
So absorbed were the party-goers that none suspected disaster had struck the ore processing unit beneath them. Removed from the Promenade so that its sights, sounds, and misery would not unduly invade the life and pleasures of the chosen few, the wailing klaxons and choking, dying Terrans were of no concern until thrust abruptly into the midst of the Intendant's gaiety. Kira felt the surge of anger course through the gathering at the rudeness of the intrusion. Insulted by the disruption, the guests muttered their dissatisfaction, but were sharply cut off by the Klingon guard's words.
"Intendant. The new Terran killed the shapeshifter, and O'Brien tried to help him escape.
Kira felt her own sense of shock. Staring at Bashir and O'Brien, she was unable to believe the Klingon's accusation. Yet her counterpart believed, and a wave of rage pounded from her. Kira watched, speechless, as the Intendant stormed, ranted, and pronounced sentence with chilling surety. The Terran doctor would die. Turning on this other O'Brien, the Intendant's tone changed from fury to disappointment, and she spoke as a pet owner would express dissatisfaction with a favored animal who had done nothing more offensive than act out of instinct.
Kira Nerys barely heard the exchange. Part of her mind registered the softly spoken words, but her attention whirled. What now? She had seen the look of anticipation on Garak's face. He was looking forward to this execution. Did that mean his other plan was forgotten? Kira wanted to turn away. Whatever was about to happen, she could not control. She would be lucky if she did not join the two Terrans on the Promenade. She wondered how she would react if she was made to watch. Kira had never completely warmed to Bashir, and she made no excuses for her attitude. Her assessment for the Intendant had been her honest appraisal. Bashir was an arrogant Terran who probably had led a soft life compared to hers. He was overbearing, over enthusiastic, and his thoughtless chatter had infuriated her on more than one occasion. Kira took great delight in using her rapier tongue to shoot him down.
But there was a world of difference between embarrassment and the degradation he was about to be subjected to, doled out as only a sadistic Cardassian could. It was not lost on the Bajoran major the irony of who would orchestrate Bashir's torment. She knew the doctor considered the Cardassian tailor a friend of sorts. What must Bashir be thinking now?
It was then Bashir glanced toward where she stood, dressed in her finery, well-fed and well-rested. His handsome face was smeared with sweat and filth. barely able to stand, he swayed with exhaustion. A rush of guilt surged through her. Why had she allowed him to remain below? She should have known how he would be treated. She had worked in ore processing herself. She knew. Somehow, she could have arranged to have him released in her custody while she had still had the Intendant's favor. She could have pretended he was her consort, that she had need of his services. The story was not unbelievable. The Intendant would have understood. He was certainly desirable by both human and Bajoran standards. Had she left him below to satisfy her own perverted sense of justice, to give him a taste of what her own life had been like?
Kira did not want to meet his eyes, but she did, and the look there brought back bitter memories. She had seen that quiet despair on hundreds of Bajoran faces. She did not want to see it here, echoed on this human face. There was no mistaking his silent plea for help. But did he want help to escape or help to die, swiftly and painlessly? It did matter. He was beyond her aid. He knew it.
Bashir looked away, and for a moment his shoulders slumped. Kira knew what would come. Did he? Even if this pampered, idealistic, naive young man did not know what fate had decreed for him, she certainly did. She had seen it before. Prisoners stripped, taunted, tortured for all to see, held up as examples to intimidate their comrades. Her cheeks burned with the remembered humiliation, and she also averted her eyes.
The moment of defeat passed as quickly as it had come. When Kira looked again, the doctor seemed calm, resigned. He would die with as much dignity as he possessed. and like it or not, she would probably be forced to watch. That, in the end, would be the greatest indignity of all. To die in front of strangers was humiliating. But having someone present he knew, someone who in the past had shown him no kindness, would be far worse. He probably believes I'm enjoying this, she thought savagely.
Bashir had turned back to the Intendant, who had turned her back on the O'Brien, effectively sealing his fate. Kira, too, focused on the Intendant's last words to the sandy haired Terran.
"Oh," the Intendant said. "He's going to take you with him all right. Just not exactly where you thought he would." She then nodded slightly to Garak.
The Cardassian's face split in an unholy grin. Stepping forward, he spun his victims around, shoving them toward the door. Bashir shot a final look over his shoulder at Kira, and she knew, successful or not, that she had to try something. Turning on her Klingon guard, she realized Sisko had also taken action. Stepping from the shadows, his crew behind him, in a coup as well organized as the Kohn Ma at its deadliest, Sisko's people had the room under their gun in seconds. Before the Klingon's could recover from the shock, they were out of Quark's Place, racing to the runabout and to freedom.
*****
Though the face on the view screen was concerned and the voice stern, Kira sensed relief in the Federation commander. She could not deny the overwhelming echo of that emotion within herself.
"We've had ships from here to New Bajor looking for you two. Where have you been?"
"Through the looking glass," Kira said. "It's good to be home."
Bashir nodded agreement and grinned weakly before leaning back into the padded contours of his chair.
"Our sensors indicate you've sustained damage. Do you want us to tow you in?" Sisko asked.
"No," Kira replied. "I think we can manage to dock on our own."
"I'll be curious to hear your explanation of all this," Sisko added.
"It's a...curious story," Kira answered. She dared not say more over an open comm channel. The entire affair could well become a security matter. For now, she was content to know she was communicating with the right Sisko, even though there was a pang of regret at having left his mirror image to his fate. Somehow, she consoled herself, that Sisko would do well. She wished she could have thanked him, but years in the underground had taught her sometimes thank yous must remain unspoken. She wondered if, a hundred years from now, she would be a name in the history of this alternate universe. Something told her that Sisko certainly would be. Her train of thought was broken by Dax's calm voice. "You are cleared to land at Docking Bay Two."
Kira nodded, well aware that the Trill could not see the gesture. "Our estimated time to docking is fifteen minutes," she said. "Kira out." She cut the transmission and glanced at Bashir. His eyes were closed and be appeared to be asleep. She turned her attention to the pilot's board in front of her. They had taken a damaging hit from the Klingon cruiser moments before entering the wormhole. She did not like the readings she was getting from the warp core.
"Actually, I think you have the wrong fairy tale," Bashir said, startling Kira.
"What?" Kira's attention was on safely docking their crippled ship.
"We may have gone through the looking glass, but at this moment, we look more like Beauty and the Beast"
"Huh?" What was he talking about? Kira thought as her fingers danced across the control panel. There were too many blank and red indicators on the main board to please her. The Bajoran was glad to be back in her own universe, but they were not home yet it would take all of her piloting skill to bring the crippled runabout back to DS9. She was going to need his help.
"Doctor," she said after a moment of prolonged silence. "What is the status of the plasma leak?" He did not answer. "Doctor?" Kira's voice edged with irritation. She needed both hands to maneuver into docking position. She turned sharply to the co-pilot's position, a verbal jab on the tip of her tongue, but bit off her comment with a twinge of concern. Her companion apparently had fallen asleep this time. Kira took the barest moment to scrutinize his face. Beneath the grime, his olive skin was pale, purple smudges shadowed his eyes, and livid bruises traced his jawbone and neck. A sudden shimmy drew her undivided attention back to the control panel. They would soon be back on the station. It was her job to make sure they arrived safely.
*****
Fifteen minutes later, with a gentle bump, they settled onto the landing pad. Kira sat back in her seat and sighed, then rose to make the necessary connections to the air lock. Walking back to where Bashir slept, she thought about his last comment Beauty and the beast, indeed. She would have to check that one in the computer file. References to old Earth fairy tales, as they called them, both baffled and intrigued her. She had difficulty conceiving of a childhood so carefree that such indulgences could be made. Yet, these adults seemed to take great pleasure in teasing each other with childish images from long told tales.
She had once accessed the files on Alice in Wonderland after hearing a comment about the Mad Hatter delivered in a most scathing and sarcastic manner by a Starfleet junior officer who never dreamed his Bajoran superior would take the time to look up the reference. The story simultaneously baffled her and appealed to her perverse sense of humor. Kira was surprised at how easily the looking glass reference had come to her, and how apropos the words of a long-dead Terran writer had been to their experiences.
"Doctor," she said. "Doctor Bashir." She shook him gently, to no avail. "Julian," she said more firmly. Bashir sat up with a start. Disoriented, he scanned the inside of the craft with confused and frightened eyes before realizing where he was.
"We're back?" he asked.
"Yes. We've docked."
The doctor closed his eyes again with a sigh. "It's good to be home, Major."
"We can disembark now," Kira said as she turned to leave, anxious to get off the runabout.
"Major." Bashir's voice sounded stronger, more alert and awake. "Before we do..."
Kira turned to where he sat, leaning heavily on the arm of the co-pilot's seat, and waited. Licking dry lips, Bashir spoke quietly. "I'm sorry."
Kira looked at him quizzically. "What happened wasn't your fault. We're both lucky to be alive."
"I don't mean that." Bashir stood stiffly and took a step closer to her. "I meant, I was sorry if I offended you in any way. By what I said before we entered...the wormhole. Despite how it might have appeared, I was not attempting to seduce you. I was simply trying to make conversation."
Kira felt herself flushing. She had all but forgotten about that exchange. It seemed trivial after what they had been through.
"I realize you don't care that much for me, Major," the young man continued in a voice so tired it almost made Kira cringe. "I just thought if we talked, we could work more comfortably together. Without animosity. No more."
Kira nodded, then said something she knew she would regret later. "We don't need to discuss that now. Perhaps later, when we've both rested." Kira turned back to the airlock and keyed the opening sequence. As the heavy door rolled aside and she stepped through, relief surged through her.
"Major." Sisko's face split into a wide, warm grin.
Kira smiled back, stepping into the brightly-lit companionway. It was amazing how something as simple as bright, Federation lighting chased the gloom from the corridors. She had always thought Cardassian design grim, but she realized now that it was not the architecture but the atmosphere.
"We thought your runabout had been destroyed. You were listed as leaving New Bajor on time, then you completely vanished only to reappear just as suddenly."
Kira was about to answer when she realized Bashir had not followed her. Standing behind Sisko, Odo studied her with intense curiosity. Glancing back, she saw that Bashir had frozen, his gaze locked on Odo. Though it seemed an eternity, she knew he pause only seconds before stepping from the airlock.
The warmth of Sisko's expression chilled when he got a good second look at this chief medical officer. His eyes traveled from Bashir to Kira, then back to the doctor. She was conscious of her non-regulation attire, and of the disparity between her condition and her companion's.
The concern in Sisko's voice was unmistakable as he turned his attention to Bashir. "Doctor, I think you should report to the infirmary."
"I have it on good authority that the doctor is not in."
Kira saw through Bashir's thin attempt at humor.
"I meant as a patient." It was obvious he wasn't fooling Sisko, or anyone else with two moderately good eyes.
"And who would doctor the doctor?" This time Bashir did not even attempt humor. And Sisko's reply was equally sharp. "Your medical staff is quite competent"
Bashir shrugged, having lost the urge to be defiant, and smiled weakly. "I really make a lousy patient, sir. And I don't think there's a thing wrong with me that can't be cured with soap, water, and eighteen hours of sleep."
"Is that a professional opinion?" Sisko asked, his tone now one of cautious concern.
"Yes," Bashir said sharply.
It was then Odo stepped forward. "The disappearance of two staff officers and their return in less than good condition is a matter requiring investigation. I would like a full report as soon as possible. There may be security precautions that need to be taken."
Bashir tensed as the constable moved nearer. Kira could see it in the stiff line of his back. He had not moved away from Odo, but she sensed he wanted to.
"I think we should debrief Major Kira and Doctor Bashir as soon as they feel they are ready," Sisko intervened. "In my office."
Kira readily agreed, curious herself to hear Bashir's version of what had happened. "I would like to make that report as soon as possible." She spoke with professional crispness. "While the details are still fresh."
"I think you can both take time, if you need to, Major." There was an amused twinkle in Sisko's eye. "That will give Dax and O'Brien time to download the computer logs from the runabout and begin an analysis of that data. Do you require assistance?"
Sisko's last words were directed at Bashir. The doctor shook his head negatively.
"I'm going that way," Kira said, then hoped it had not sounded unduly familiar. She had not done much to prevent Bashir from being victimized, but she could at least make sure he got to his quarters. Regardless of her opinion of him, the doctor had shown courage, and that she could respect, even reckless courage.
"All right," the commander said. "In my office. As soon as you are able."
*****